Page 23 of From Paris to Seoul

Well, at least he wouldn’t call me princess anymore,I thought dryly.

“I should go,” I mumbled hastily, pushing myself up. I just needed to grab my things and get the hell out of here. But as I turned, I felt a gentle tug—his hand stopping me.

I kept my gaze fixed anywhere but on him.

“Hey,” he said, his voice calm and steady. “It’s fine. These things happen. Do you still feel sick?”

I shook my head quickly, my cheeks burning with embarrassment.

He rummaged through his vanity case, then held something out to me. “Here. I have a spare toothbrush—you can use it.”

I hesitated, but he pressed it into my hand with a small smile. “Come on,” he added. “You’ll feel better after.”

I slowly turned my head to peek at his face. His expression was gentle, a soft smile on his lips, but his eyes were filled with concern.

“I’ll do it too,” he said, holding up his own toothbrush like he was demonstrating to a kid before starting to brush his teeth.

Reluctantly, I followed suit.

Once I was done, I rinsed my mouth and exhaled. “All good now,” I said, feeling slightly more human again. “I should head back to my hotel.”

Baekhyun didn’t respond right away. After a moment, he said, “I think you should stay here for the night. Paris isn’t exactly safe at this hour. And you might still be feeling a little sick.”

He glanced around the tiny room before adding, “I know it’s small, but don’t worry—we’ll make it work.”

Embarrassment quickly turned into hesitation. My mind raced, weighing the pros and cons.

After a long silence, I finally croaked, “How, though?”

Even though it felt a little awkward—maybe even risky—I had to admit, deep down, I was relieved. The thought of heading back alone past midnight in Paris unsettled me, and I still felt slightly nauseous.

The last thing I wanted was to throw up inside a taxi and get into a dispute with the driver in a language I barely understood.

Baekhyun started unfolding the double-seater sofa, turning it into a makeshift bed. Then, he grabbed a duvet and spread it across the narrow space left between the couch and the table.

“You take the bed, I’ll sleep on the floor,” he said matter-of-factly.

“What? No way! That doesn’t look comfortable at all,” I protested. “I already trashed your toilet—I can’t take your bed too.”

“Well, it’s either this,” he said, stretching his arms behind his head, “or I take a taxi with you back to your hotel and come back here after.”

I raised an eyebrow. “You’d actually do that?”

He shrugged, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Of course. But then, by the time I drop you off and make it back here, it’ll be what—3:30, maybe 4 AM?”

I glanced at my phone. It’s 2:15 AM. He wasn’t wrong.

“It’s still way better than when I was stationed in Nonsan during military training.” Baekhyun nudged the floor setup with his foot and nodded. “And believe me, I can sleep anywhere.”

He dug through his vanity case, then unzipped his suitcase and handed me what looked like stomach medicine and a fresh T-shirt. “Here, take this—and this. If you want to change into something more comfortable,” he added casually, flashing that innocent grin again.

A few months ago—hell, even just a month ago—I would’ve flat-out refused. Sharing a tiny room with a male co-star Ibarely knew, after getting wasted at a nightclub and ‘smoking’ a questionable cigarette? Absolutely not.

But ‘yes to everything’ was my new mantra. And even though, so far, nothing particularly good had come out of it, I couldn’t deny that I felt more real. These experiences—good, bad, ridiculous—felt like they were mine and mine alone.

Not something expected of me by my parents, my company, or society. Just me, making my own choices.

“Fine. I’ll go back tomorrow morning,” I relented, accepting the medicine and T-shirt with a small, grateful nod before heading to the toilet to change.

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