Page 21 of From Paris to Seoul

But with one hand holding a cigarette and the other trying to steady me, Baekhyun lost his balance too. With no choice, we stumbled backward until my back hit the rough brick wall of a store in the alley.

Cornered between the wall and him, I felt his warm breath—laced with the scent of smoke—skim across my cheek, sending a strange, delicious tremble through me.

“Want to try?” he asked, grinning as he twirled the cigarette between his fingers, holding it up just inches from my face.

Maybe it was the lingering buzz of alcohol, the late-night haze, or some unspoken magic between us—but against all logic, against the answer I had given just moments ago, I nodded.

And I could never have predicted what he’d do next.

Baekhyun took a slow, deliberate drag of his cigarette. Then, lowering his head, he leaned in—so close that I could feel the warmth of his skin, the faintest brush of his breath. Just millimeters separated us.

My heart slammed against my ribs. I gasped. My mind raced with a thousand thoughts.

Is he going to kiss me?

Do I want this to happen?

I’m even sure anymore.

Don’t think too much.

I shut my eyes, bracing for the feel of his lips against mine.

But instead, a slow wisp of smoke curled between us, slipping past my parted lips as he exhaled—straight into my mouth.

A sudden wave of wooziness hit me, and as the smoke reached my throat, I broke into a fit of wild coughing.

Baekhyun scoffed at first but stopped after a few seconds. A flicker of guilt crossed his eyes. “You okay, princess?”

“Stop calling me princess!” I snapped between coughs, landing a not-so-playful punch on his arm.

Now that we were back at a normal distance, I felt… strange. My chest pounded, my breath still uneven as I gulped in the night air.

I had never smoked a cigarette in my life—until now (if this even counted). But I was a hundred percent sure that a regular cigarette didn’t smell so… earthy and herbal, like the one he held between his fingers.

I narrowed my eyes. “Are you sure that’s just a normal cigarette?”

He glanced at it, then at me, before lowering it with a nonchalant shrug. A grin tugged at his lips, his expression unreadable—almost conspiratorial. And then, to my frustration, he simply turned and started walking away.

“Hey!” I called after him, my irritation flaring as I hurried to catch up.

I had thought he was a decent guy. We had spent these past few days in Paris enjoying each other’s company. I thought maybe…

I didn’t even know what I was supposed to think anymore. My head felt light, my stomach uneasy.

“I’d kill for some instant ramen,” I groaned, trailing behind him.

He stopped so suddenly that I nearly bumped into his back. It took me a second to realize he was just checking his phone for directions.

Then, as if it were the most casual thing in the world, he said, “I have some at my place.”

My heart kicked up a notch, but I quickly shook off whatever ridiculous thoughts were creeping in. It was just noodles—nothing more. Not an invitation for anything else, not a secret signal. Just a late-night snack.

And yet, a tiny voice in my head whispered,Are you sure?What if this meant something more? What if I was reading too much into it? What if I wasn’t?

But it was late, I was hungry, and overthinking wasn’t going to help.

So I nodded.

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