Minho wasn’t lost.  He knew exactly where he was.  He was standing right in front of a shoe shop, catty-corner to a very fancy cafe.  He just wasn’t 100% on where said shoe shop and cafe were in relation to say… his hotel.  

Okay, maybe he was just the teensiest bit lost.

Maybe.  

Okay, definitely.

Lost in a foreign country.  Alone.  And the only words he knew were “hello,” “bathroom,” and a certain male body part that was used as an unsavory insult.  None of which were very helpful at the moment.  

Minho tried not to freak out, but he could feel the anxiety welling up inside himself.  Don’t panic, don’t panic; don’t panic.  It’s fine.  It’s not that late.  He still had some time before it got dark.  He had some money on him, he just needed to find a main road and get a taxi.  It would be fine.  

The rationalizing was doing nothing for his stress level.  Every possible bad outcome was flashing through him mind, from the improbable to the absurdly impossible.  

He needed to calm down.

Minho made a beeline for the swanky little cafe, the bell on the door tinkering when he slipped inside.  The first whiff of fresh-brewed coffee was enough to start easing his tension.  Coffee made everything better.

Pointing and looking pitiful got him a drink order, maybe even the one he wanted, and he paid for with the currency he still barely understood.  He let out a sigh of relief, his anxiety lessening with a few deep breaths and the promise of his favorite drink.  He looked around the small cafe, taking in the delicate decor and searching for an empty seat.  

Rather than finding a secluded corner to hide in, he found his eyes drawn to a man seated beside the window, book in hand and an empty glass on his table.  

Minho felt a little silly at how his heart jumped but… the man was Asian.  He looked Korean but that might just be Minho’s wishful thinking.  Even if he ended up being Chinese or Japanese, hell, even Thai, Minho would still have a better chance of communicating than trying to speak French.  

Minho couldn’t really help himself, his rational-thinking brain was not thinking so rationally at the moment.  He found himself standing in front of the man’s table, clearing his throat rather pointedly.  The man blinked out of his thoughts, his eyes going wide when he noticed Minho.

“Excuse me,” Minho mumbled, “Are you Korean?”  It was kind of a stupid question since he asked in Korean so it was unlikely that he would be understood if the man didn’t share the same nationality.  

The pause that followed was long and uncomfortable.

Minho’s confidence was quickly fizzling, “Ni-hao?  Konnichiwa?”

“I— sorry.  I’m Korean.  You just surprised me,” The man finally replied, a bashful smiling pulling at his lips.  His words were thick with disuse and the slightest twinge of an accent, but hearing his mother tongue in such a foreign land was like music to Minho’s ears.  His earlier stresses forgotten as he plopped himself in the chair opposed to his new friend, smiling like a fool.

“I’m so happy to meet someone I can actually talk to!  Where are you from in Korea?  How old are you?  Are you on vacation?  How do you like Paris?” Minho’s excitement of overdrive as the words kept pouring out of his mouth.  

The man looked stunned at the rapid-fire questions, his jaw going slack as he simply stared.  Minho felt the insecurity creeping up his spine once again, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to come on so strong.  I shouldn’t have bothered you.”  Minho’s smile had crumpled somewhere during their exchange and he couldn’t find it in himself to replace it.  

He stood up, preparing to shuffle away from the table in shame when the man’s arm shot out, fingers pressing hesitantly against Minho’s wrist.  “Please— stay.”

Minho looked up in surprise, the man’s smile was small and gentle and his eyes rang with sincerity.  

“I shouldn’t have bother you,” Minho repeated, still halfway out of his chair, unsure if he should sit back down or bolt out of the establishment in shame.

“You didn’t.”

Minho slowly sank back into his seat, his posture stiff and awkward, a thin-lipped smile forced onto his face.  

“I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean to be rude, you just took me by surprise,” the man assured him, his tone apologetic.  “What’s your name?”

“Minho.”

“Hi, Minho.  I’m Jinki,” the man introduced himself, his smiling widening and suddenly Minho’s breath caught in his throat.  Jinki’s smile was gorgeous.  It changed his whole demeanor and made a little drop of warmth sink into Minho’s stomach.  He hadn’t noticed before, too enthralled with the idea of communication with a fellow Korean but… Jinki was so handsome.  His small eyes all but disappeared with his smile and Minho couldn’t seem to look away.  

The last bit of tension in the air between them was shattered by the waitress coming to the table to deliver Minho’s drink.  He snatched the cup immediately, relieved to have something to distract his restless fingers.

“I take it you’re vacationing?  How do you like it so far?”  Jinki asked, his tone gentle and polite.

“It’s a very beautiful city,” Minho answered.  “How long have you been here?”

“My family moved here when I was about twelve.  I don’t run into too many Koreans though, I probably sound a bit rusty,” Jinki said with a laugh.

“You live here?  Your French must be perfect,” Minho commented, awe painting his features.

“Oui,” Jinki said with a playful wink.

Minho could feel the blush creeping up his neck, taking a quick sip of his drink to give him something to do rather than trying to respond.  Minho was no stranger to flirting but he wasn’t used to it being so… blatant.  It took him by surprise and shook at his rather shy exterior.

“Have you had dinner yet, Minho?”

“No I— I was a little lost actually.  I was trying to get back to my hotel,” Minho’s sheepish reply tinged with embarrassment.  The chuckle that followed was light and void of any malice.  

“Well, let me treat you to dinner and I’ll help you find your way back,” Jinki offered.

“You don’t have to—”

“I want to.  I know a great restaurant just down the road.  It’s authentic and far from the slop they serve on the well-beaten tourist route you’ve probably been going to.  The French pride themselves on three things, our food, our kissing and our la petite mort.  Let me start with the food and perhaps I can introduce you to all three before your trip is finished,” Jinki purred, a playful smirk on his lips.  

Minho didn’t have the slightest idea what ‘la petite mort” meant but the way the words rolled off Jinki’s tongue sent a pleasant little shiver down Minho’s spine.  He wasn’t quite sure what he was getting himself into but he found his head nodding in agreement.

He was in for an interesting night.

in case anyone was unaware

la petite mort is French for “little death” it’s a euphemism for ^^