I'm wandering down these back alleys, wondering why on earth I'm even here. As I look up to the darkened sky, all I can see is the cloud hanging over my head, as if shrouding my harrowed body in sorrow. I can feel the pellets of rain hitting my face like bullets, and it's right about now that I think this was all a really bad idea. As splashes of water hit my unprotected body (because I'm a moron who couldn't even remember to bring a coat halfway across the world to Paris) I sigh in discontent.

"Wooyoung, you really are something..." I think to myself, kicking a stone down the long stretch of unfamiliar pavement in front of me, "Who runs away from their problems and doesn't even check the weather where they're going?"

Me, apparently. It's my second week here in Paris, and I have to say, I thought it was going to be more to it. Before I came here, I got the impression that this grand city was supposed to be some magnificent gateway to another realm, somewhere that could solve all of my problems - or at least live up to that one stereotype. You know the one. That it's some magical city of romance, where people arrive single and alone, and leave having fallen wildly in love. So much for that dream, Wooyoung.

Having had enough of the long grey stretch of road that seemed almost identical to the ones back home in Busan, I turn off into a little side alley. This one, at the very least, gives a little change to the boring consistency that is the streets of this city. It is smaller; more quaint. Its buildings are closer together, forming a little path through the middle leading a little up hill, and cobblestone underfoot gives it that feeling that you've entered somewhere completely different. The little adventurer inside me felt compelled to carry on down this smaller road - and in hindsight, I'm glad I did!

As I speed walk, head down to block the water threatening to run into my eyes and blind my line of sight, I catch one particular building in the corner of my eye. It's a restaurant - only a small one, mind you, but it seems cozy. And it seems just like the right place to shelter from this ridiculous downpour.

I approach the doorway, and as I put my hand on the brass handle, I notice a brightly coloured, handwritten sign hanging in the window which makes me stop.

Looking for staff. Someone reliable, good at dealing with people and doesn't mind long hours.

I look down at my pockets and pull out my wallet. Since I don't have a lot of money left (because paying for a hotel room in one of the most iconic cities ever is quite expensive) I realize that this is probably a good idea. Another one of my oversights when I ran away from Korea was that I didn't exactly have funds in mind - only to get the hell out of there.

A sharp intake of air later, I push open the door and a bell above it clangs with a delightful toll announcing my entrance. I instantly feel the warmth on my skin when I finally close the door behind me, banishing the icy wind and rain from inside, and it causes a shiver to run down my spine and my hands start to tingle as blood flows back into them. I sigh with content, and finally, I am able to see the beautiful interior of this restaurant. 

It's a pocket-sized place. How would the French say it? Petite. But it's quite charming, with a few round tables in the middle of the room, and booths lining one of the walls along the back. Everything is decorated in a brilliant blue, from the leather of the booth chairs, to the kind of tattered looking rugs thrown down on the floor otherwise hardwood floor, and it has this unique quality. It is honestly the first place I've been since I arrived that was strong enough to leave an impression. Other than the bed in my hotel room, of course, which was very much welcome that first night after my long travels.

A man behind the counter at the back glances up quickly in my direction and to say the least, he looked somewhat surprised. I couldn't really blame him, since there seems to be barely any other customers here, but I suppose that's just the rain's fault. I'm sure during a much more pleasant day, more people would be willing to visit such a cheerful looking establishment.

I approach him, and I can feel my face looks somewhat sheepish. I know exactly why, since the few times I had spoken with the locals hadn't exactly gone totally smoothly, and I'm moderately nervous about my French speaking skills.

"Bonjour?" I start. It's more of a question. It seems I'm already questioning whether or not I can do this. I'd like to say the next utterance went smoothly, but that would be a complete lie. Where I would have just loved to burst out into fluent French, asking something along the lines of, "Hello, kind sir. I'd like to enquire about the job in your window," it really did not happen. Instead, the next few minutes passed in a flurry of hand actions and embarrassed broken speech.

"Er... emploi... s'il vous plaît ..." I stutter, my face heating up again, but this time not from the warm atmosphere within the restaurant. My hand points to the door, hoping that the young guy behind the counter gets the message.

To my relief, he does. To my chagrin after all that effort, he replies in full and correct Korean.

His face lights up into a smile, one that reaches his eyes and causes the corners of them to crease. I realize its the first time I've even looked at his face properly, and then I watch as he raises his eyebrow and speaks.

"Oh, you're looking for a job? That's great, we're pretty desperate around here!" He chuckles at my confused expression, leaning over the counter as he continues to smile. It's a sweet kind of smile, a genuine one rather than the polite smile a stranger would usually give, and even if I must admit it, it makes him look rather handsome. He reaches his hand across the space between us, his finger pointing somewhere behind me.

"The South Korean flag keychain on your backpack kinda gives it away," he states, and I breathe a sigh of relief as I find out I haven't just met some freaky mind reader who could tell where I was from without me even saying much.

I stutter, somewhat intimidated by the beauty of the man behind the counter, "Oh.. I see... But, yes I am looking for a job. This job, particularly."

"You're a traveler?" He turns to fiddle with some cups on a shelf behind him, but I don't even think they needed straightening. Could he feel awkward, too? But why would he be?

I nod, though its not like he can see me, and he turns his head to peer at me from the corner of his eye, fixing his brown pupils on my lanky frame. I can feel myself becoming self-concious - I'm always the same when I meet someone I find attractive. But then I remind myself; Get a grip, Wooyoung! You've only just met him!

 I clear my throat, giving a proper reply this time, "Yeah, I guess you could say that..."

"Well, whatever brings you here, I'm grateful. My little restaurant here is struggling and I need someone to give me a hand," he sighs, turning to face me fully gain. He sticks out his hand, tilting his head with another one of those dazzling grins, and says in an almost sing-songy voice, "Congratulations, you're hired. I'm Nichkhun by the way. But call me Khun, everyone does."

I take his hand into my own, shaking it firmly, but I'm also surprised at how soft his skin feels against my palm so I retract quickly, "I'm Wooyoung," I say quietly.

He walks around the counter, and places his arm around my shoulders. Apparently, this guy is a rather friendly person, not that I mind since he's also pretty attractive! I shake my head at this thought, mentally telling myself off again as he drags me into the kitchen where two women are chatting.

One of them is an older lady, who is smiling just as much as Khun seems to, and she wipes her hands on the apron around her plump midsection. She's got that look, one of friendliness warmth, and I wonder where I've been this whole time to miss the more pleasant side of the Parisian people. The other is a younger girl, younger than me, with her hair tied back into a tight ponytail and a dark shade of lipstick adorning her lips. She seems to look me up and down as I enter, but not in a judging sort of way.

Khun points with his long arm, the other still slung casually over my shoulders, first at the older woman. "That's Jennie. She's a local here, lived here all her life. The first person I met when I arrived in Paris was her, and I couldn't be more thankful for meeting her."

The woman - Jennie - waves his compliment away, and speaks. She speaks to me in English (even though she appeared to understand some of what Khun had said to me in Korean), but has a strong French accent that kind of made it hard to understand everything she said. Still, she had a light and airy tone to her voice that sounds much younger than she looked.

"Welcome, darling. I hope you'll feel comfortable here. If you need anything, I can help!" She raises her eyebrows playfully, the corners of her lips following suit as they curl upwards into a welcoming grin.

Nichkhun laughs at her as he turns his still outstretched arm to the younger girl, "And that's Ji-eun, my apprentice. She's learning how to be a chef, and she's from Korea, like you!" Ji-eun looks up when her name is called, and bows to me politely though she does not speak.

"She's kind of shy around strangers," Nichkhun whispers into my ear, causing my blush to reemerge. I only hope that he cannot see it.

A while later, Nichkhun and I are the last ones left in the restaurant, since its the evening and both Jennie and Ji-eun have gone home. He's poured us both a drink from behind the bar, and we sit at it, getting to know one another. It strikes me then that I don't even know how he knows Korean, since I gather from what he has told me over the last few hours that he comes from Thailand.

"Khun... How are you able to speak in Korean?" I ask, trying to remain polite yet inquisitive. I don't want to seem too friendly just yet, since he is my new boss, even if he acts very familiar with everyone himself.

He sips on his drink, and places it back on the bar. Turning his head towards me as he leans on the wooden counter top, I see his expression in the dimmed lighting within the room. He appears as if he is contemplating something, but he smiles again, and simply replies, "I spent quite a few years living in Seoul after I trained to be a chef..."

His voice sounds wistful, longing for something he misses. Even though I have known him for less than a day, I already feel as if I can make these assumptions since he is such an open guy. Still, I leave it alone, and we continue to drink, sharing our life stories.

Or most of our stories, anyway...