Chapter 18: Voting Wars and Romantic Whiplash
The Daily Life of Sacha Jacques
The plush comfort of my bed beckoned after that disastrous "date" with Jules. All I wanted was to sink into the soft mattress, pull the covers over my head, and forget the whole ridiculous ordeal. But as I lay there, scrolling through my Twitter X timeline, the image of her – my supposed date – leading the charge in a fierce online voting battle for our bias group, caught my eye. The competition was neck and neck, a digital tug-of-war between two rival fandoms. A small spark of excitement ignited within me, a familiar thrill of adrenaline. I might have been rejected romantically, but I could still contribute to a cause greater than myself – securing victory for our boys.
With renewed purpose, I rolled out of bed and fired up my laptop. Multiple accounts, strategically created over the years for such occasions, blinked to life on the screen. Time to get to work. The rest of the afternoon dissolved into a blur of clicks, refreshes, and strategic voting sprees. The intensity of the battle was exhilarating, the camaraderie of fellow stans a comforting balm to my earlier romantic disappointment. We were a digital army, united by our shared love for our bias group, fighting for their recognition, their success.
By dinner time, I was mentally and emotionally exhausted, but a sense of satisfaction settled over me. We'd done it. Our boys had won, securing their place at the top of the M Countdown charts. It wasn’t a romantic victory, but it was a victory nonetheless.
Later, tucked into bed, the day’s events replayed in my mind. The cancelled date, the awkward encounter with Jules and Maurice, the unexpected appearance of Stefan and his rice-laden scooter, the adrenaline rush of the online voting battle. It had been a rollercoaster, a whirlwind of emotions. And amidst the chaos, a quiet thought surfaced, a persistent whisper in the back of my mind. What do I really want?
I closed my eyes, letting the question hang in the air. It wasn’t about material possessions or social status. My family had more than enough of both. No, what I truly yearned for was something deeper, more personal. I wanted the experience of love, the thrill of connection, the comfort of companionship, the joy of being seen and cherished for who I truly was, beyond the pretty face and the fashionable clothes. Was that too much to ask?
I knew I had high standards, and rightly so. I wouldn’t settle for anything less than I deserved, especially not with someone like Jules, whose red flags waved more vigorously than a semaphore operator in a hurricane. I wanted someone kind, someone genuine, someone who saw beyond the surface, who appreciated my quirks and passions, who loved me for the messy, complicated, KPOP-obsessed, sometimes dramatic person I was.
As I drifted off to sleep, my thoughts, as they often did these days, swirled around the elusive concept of romantic love. And just like that old wives' tale, the one about dreaming of someone you think about before bed, my subconscious decided to throw me a bone – or rather, a Stefan.
Yes, that Stefan. My adorable, clueless, rice-delivering little brother. Don't get me wrong, I love Stefan to bits. He's family, my confidante, my partner-in-crime when it comes to teasing our parents. But romantic? The thought had never even crossed my mind.
Until now, apparently.
My dream-self, ever the romantic, was having a field day. We were strolling hand-in-hand through a park straight out of a K-drama – cherry blossoms raining down, the scent of street food wafting through the air, a gentle breeze tousling Stefan’s… what was once a buzz cut was now a stylishly messy bedhead. We shared sidewalk snacks, laughing at each other’s clumsiness. We watched the sunset, my shoulder brushing against his.
It was all so cliché, so predictable, yet… different. Because it was Stefan’s hand I was holding, Stefan’s laugh that filled the air, Stefan’s eyes reflecting the setting sun. For a fleeting moment, the absurdity of it all faded, replaced by a warmth that spread through my chest like a sip of hot chocolate on a cold day.
And then, disaster struck. A vision of the younger Stefan, all lanky limbs and awkward teenage angst, popped into my head. The memory of him, during his emo phase, picking his nose with an almost zen-like focus, sent a shudder down my spine. No, no, no, that wasn't right. I coughed, mentally adjusting the image. I meant the older Stefan, the mature, responsible one who hauled sacks of rice with ease.
The dream-Stefan, as if reading my mind, morphed back into his current, 21-year-old glory. And oh, he was… smoking hot. Gone was the boyish awkwardness, replaced by a confidence that radiated from him like heat from a fireplace. His simple t-shirt and jeans somehow looked effortlessly cool, the way they hugged his lean, muscular frame, a testament to his physically demanding lifestyle.
And then, he turned to me, his hazel eyes holding mine with an intensity that left me breathless. A small, almost shy smile played on his lips, as if he were trying to hide the fact that he was just as affected by this moment as I was. His thumb, rough but surprisingly gentle, caressed the back of my hand. "Sacha…" he murmured, his voice a low rumble that sent goosebumps erupting on my arms. And then, slowly, almost hesitantly, he began to lean in.
My heart, even in the surreal landscape of my dream, decided to hold a marathon. Thumb, thumb, thumb… the rhythmic caress of his thumb against my skin was sending electric shocks straight to my toes. I closed my eyes, anticipating the kiss…
And promptly woke up.
Dawn was breaking, the first rays of sunlight peeking through the gap in my curtains. I lay there, heart pounding, the memory of the dream so vivid, so real, it was like a phantom touch lingering on my skin. And the overwhelming emotion that washed over me wasn't embarrassment, or even confusion, but a profound sense of…disappointment. I'd woken up before the kiss! The once-in-a-lifetime chance to experience a romantic interlude with my very own dream-Stefan, and I'd ruined it by opening my eyes!
I’d never been so disappointed in my life.
I lay in bed for a good few minutes after waking up, staring at the ceiling, my dream-induced frustration slowly morphing into amusement. Seriously, what was the universe trying to tell me by offering a glimpse of a Stefan-centric romance, only to yank me away at the most crucial moment? The injustice of it all! I could almost hear the dramatic music swelling in the background, a K-drama OST playing on repeat in my head. Instead of a satisfying climax, I got a rude awakening and a lingering sense of what-if. I let out a dramatic sigh, the sound echoing through my quiet room. Dreams were such teases.
Downstairs, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and warm croissants beckoned. I finished my morning routine, the hot shower washing away the last vestiges of sleep and my slightly embarrassing Stefan-themed dream. As I made my way to the dining room, I found Stefan already seated at the table, leisurely munching on a croissant, his expression a picture of blissful morning contentment.
"Good morning," I said, my voice a little brighter than I felt.
"Morning, Sacha," Maman chirped from her seat by the window, a steaming cup of coffee in her hand. "Did you sleep well, mon chéri?"
Papa, his newspaper lowered just enough to reveal a pair of twinkling eyes, grunted a greeting.
Stefan, however, surprised me. Instead of his usual grunt or nod, he actually looked at me, his gaze lingering on my face for a beat too long. My heart, traitor that it was, decided to do a little tap dance against my ribs. "Wh-what?" I asked, feeling a blush creep up my neck. Get a grip, Sacha, I mentally scolded myself. It was just Stefan, for heaven’s sake!
Stefan squinted at me, his brow furrowed in concentration, as if he were trying to solve a particularly challenging Sudoku puzzle. "You have… a booger in your eye," he finally declared, his lips twitching with amusement.
"What?!" I sputtered, immediately raising my hand to my eye, a wave of mortification washing over me. How could I, Sacha Jacques, master of all things stylish and sophisticated, have committed such a social faux pas? And in front of Stefan, no less!
Stefan chuckled at my expense. "Don’t worry, it happens to the best of us," he said, his tone laced with amusement.
I glared at him half-heartedly, but I couldn't maintain the facade of annoyance for long. He had a point. We all had our less-than-glamorous moments. And besides, there was something endearing about his blunt honesty, his complete lack of malice. He might not be my dream-Stefan, but he was my brother, and I wouldn't trade him for all the romantic clichés in the world.
As I settled into my seat and reached for a croissant, I couldn’t help but smile. Dreams were just that – dreams. A strange, wonderful, sometimes embarrassing glimpse into the depths of our subconscious. Real life, with all its messy, unpredictable glory, was so much more interesting. And besides, who needed a fictional romance when I had a family who loved me, a passion for K-pop, and a talent for whipping up culinary masterpieces? Life was good. And who knew? Maybe someday, my real-life romantic adventures would be even more exciting than anything my dreams could conjure up.