Page 54 of From Paris to Seoul

After a brief pause, he leaned in slightly, curiosity flickering in his eyes. “Alright, enough about me. What’s your plan, then? Still busy being a responsible adult?”

I shot him another glare but then sighed. “Actually… I’ve been thinking about becoming a piano teacher.”

His eyebrows lifted slightly, as if just realizing that was an option. “A teacher?”

“Well, teaching still keeps me around music,” I said. “And I like the idea of helping kids fall in love with it the way I did.”

Baekhyun nodded, a thoughtful look on his face. Then, after a moment, he smiled. “I think you’d be really good at that.”

I felt my heart skip a little. “You think so?”

He nodded. “Yeah. You make people feel comfortable around you. And you’re not just into classical music—you love anime and manga soundtracks too. I think that’d be a great way to connect with kids.”

I smiled at him, appreciating the encouragement. His confidence in me meant more than I could say. I was truly happy for him—for how he was moving forward. Still, a quiet part of me couldn’t help but wonder if I was figuring things out at a much slower pace.

After dinner, we headed upstairs. The second floor housed his mom’s and younger sister’s rooms. We climbed another flight of stairs to reach the third and final floor.

The moment I stepped inside, I felt it. His room wassoBaekhyun. Minimalist, yet warm in a way that didn’t feel intentional.

Nothing flashy, but enough. It suited him.

I glanced around, taking in the small bookshelf tucked neatly in the corner, packed with a mix of music theory books, old comic books, and a few well-worn French novels by famous writers like Victor Hugo and Marcel Proust.

Against the slanted ceiling was a single bed, perfectly made, almost as if he never let himself get too comfortable.

Next to it, a compact desk sat free of clutter, positioned by the window. Near the desk, a modest keyboard was lined up against the wall, and an electric bass leaned against its stand beside it.

I pressed a key softly, the sound barely filling the room. “I didn’t know you played bass too.”

He smirked slightly. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

I rolled my eyes and continued scanning the room, but my heart beat a little faster. The house is quiet—just the two of us. And for a fleeting moment, I wondered… what would happen next?

Letting out a small breath to steady myself, I turned back to the desk. That’s when I noticed a photograph near the edge. The image was slightly blurry, but I could still make out a young boy grinning widely, a soccer ball in his hands, standing beside a man with a small, reserved smile.

Without thinking, I picked it up.

Flipping it over, I saw a name scribbled on the back.Yang Hae-jin and Baekhyun. 1998.

I felt Baekhyun’s presence behind me and turned to face him, the photo still in my hand. “This is…?”

“My dad,” he confirmed in a quiet, almost distant voice. “I took that from my grandma’s house.”

His expression was hard to read. “I just keep it there so I won’t forget how he looks.”

Then, something in his gaze shifted. Without another word, he took the photo from me and placed it back on the table, face down—like closing a door he wasn’t ready to walk through.

A second later, his arms wrapped around my waist, pulling me into him. His smile was soft, almost teasing. “At least this room is better than that closet I rented in Paris, right?”

I didn’t answer. Instead, I gave him a small, nostalgic smile and let my hands rest on the back of his neck—just like the way we danced that night in that questionable nightclub in Paris.

This feels nice.

And in that moment, I realized just how much I had missed him.

He smiled back, and I felt his fingers move slowly against my back, his touch lingering.

Then he leaned in until our lips met—slow, searching, as if trying to lose himself in the moment.

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