Page 5 of From Paris to Seoul

Finally, she took a bite. “Mmm, so yummy! I totally recommend this place!” she said with a bit of an exaggerated smile. “Alright, now we’re going to enjoy our meal, so catch you on the next food vlog, Sunny-side Up Lovers!” She ended the live-session with the name of her followers, which is a playful wordplay on her own name.

She glanced at me after finishing her vlog and, without even taking a breath, launched into her monologue. “Oh right, oppa! It’s hard to believe, but I’ve been invited to Paris Fashion Week! How cool is that?”

She kept going, “It’s next week, and my agency is covering the hotel while I’m there. Can you come with me? Please, please? You just need to buy the plane tickets!”

I blinked, caught off guard. “Uh, hello? How are you? How was your day?” was all I could manage.

She giggled, “Good, good! So what do you think about Paris? It’s going to be amazing—tons of celebrities, famous people… and it’sParis! Can you imagine? I’ve never been, but I just know it’ll be glamorous and romantic.”

“I… well…” The wheels in my head started turning. I’d just paid my sister’s semester tuition, and IthinkI’ve still got some spare cash in my account. Instinctively, I checked my bank balance again and quickly looked up the price of a round-tripticket from Seoul to Paris. Oh, 1 million won. Not bad, especially with the hotel covered.

“Can I think about it first? When do you need a final answer?”

She pouted, and I knew her well enough to tell that “no” wasn’t an option. “I’m flying out next Monday, so I need to know pretty soon.”

“Okay, okay, I’ll check with Byung-ho, see if I’ve got any shoots lined up.” I smiled, keeping things light. “How’s your food? Not planning to finish it?”

She gave me a look like I’d just said something completely ridiculous. “Finish all these carbs? No way.”

I shrugged, taking a big bite of my pizza to make a point (and maybe annoy her a little). But she’d already lost interest in me and was back to scrolling Instagram, eyeing branded fashion.

I tell myself I’m being dramatic, but every now and then, I get this nagging feeling that I’m more of a placeholder than a priority.

That thought’s a little too depressing, though, so I focus on my pizza, wolfing it down while I mull over the idea of going to Paris.

***

“I’m home,” I called out as I stepped into my mom’s Chinese-Korean restaurant, which was already closed for the day.

She’s been running this place for over 20 years, ever since she opened it just months before my dad disappeared without a word. The second and third floors have always been our home, so I’m used to the ever-present scent of cooking oil, soy sauce, and grease that clings to the walls.

Growing up here meant countless hours spent as an unpaid waiter, dishwasher, or whatever else needed doing. It wasn’t glamorous, but it was our life—and it kept us afloat.

“Oh, Baekhyun, have you eaten yet?” As always, it was her first question, no matter the hour.

“Yeah, I had dinner.” I walked toward the kitchen to find her. “What about you?”

“I did, I did. Just the leftover jjajangmyeon, as usual.” She smiled while scrubbing the last of the dishes.

“Mom, you shouldn’t be eating jjajangmyeon so often. It’s not healthy,” I frowned.

“Yes, yes, I know. But I made too much again, and we didn’t sell it all. I’d rather eat it myself than throw it out or serve it unfresh,” she replied with a small shrug, her familiar practicality showing.

“Well, tomorrow, I’m bringing takeout, so don’t you dare eat the leftovers,” I said as I rolled up my sleeves and started helping with the dishes. Watching her like this tugged at my heart a little. She deserved better.

She nodded, waving me off. “Yeah, yeah. Go on, take a shower and get some rest.”

I quickly rinsed the last plate, offered a small, closed-lip smile, and headed upstairs.

On the second floor, loud metal music blared behind a ‘No Entry’ sign. I shook my head, amused—my sister Ye-bin, ten years younger than me, was deep into her metal phase, just like I’d been at her age.

Maybe that’s why I understood her a little too well. And maybe that’s also why I couldn’t help but feel sorry for her—she never even knew our dad. He walked out on us when she was just a few months old.

What kind of man does that, honestly? Abandoning his own family like we meant nothing. Sometimes I wonder if Ye-bin ever thinks about him, but she never says a word. Maybe it’s easier that way, not knowing.

Deciding to skip teasing her today, I climbed the last flight of stairs to the top floor, slipped into my room, and quickly changed into my home clothes.

I grabbed a book from my desk, right next to my electric bass, then flopped onto the bed.

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