Chapter 20: Stefan at The Grand

My shift at The Grand always started early, a pre-dawn ritual of sharp knives, simmering sauces, and the comforting aroma of freshly baked bread. But today, a new layer of anticipation, a nervous energy, buzzed beneath the surface of my usual morning routine. Today was Stefan’s first day as a janitor at the hotel, a fact I still couldn't quite wrap my head around. Why I felt nervous was a mystery, considering we lived in the same house and I saw him practically every day. It wasn’t like he was moving to another country or embarking on some dangerous expedition. He was just… cleaning toilets. At the same hotel where I worked. It was absurd, yet the feeling persisted, a persistent knot of anticipation in my stomach.

I checked the time on the kitchen clock. Almost 9 am. He should be officially checking in any minute now. I glanced around the bustling kitchen, wondering if the other staff knew about my… janitor brother. It felt strange, this new dynamic, the potential for our paths to cross in the hallowed halls of The Grand, a place where hierarchy and social status were as carefully curated as the flower arrangements in the lobby.

An hour ticked by, filled with the usual breakfast rush. Then, around 10 am, the whispers started. Snippets of conversation, hushed tones carrying the words "Sacha’s brother," reached my ears. Apparently, Stefan’s arrival hadn’t gone unnoticed. His height, his build, his… striking presence… had turned heads. The staff, accustomed to a certain level of aesthetic uniformity, were clearly intrigued. "Is he really a janitor?" I overheard one of the waitresses ask, her voice laced with disbelief. Even from the distance of the kitchen, I could feel the weight of their curious gazes.

My break time finally arrived, a welcome respite from the heat and intensity of the kitchen. I had no idea where Stefan was stationed, but the whispers followed me like a persistent shadow. "Have you seen him?" one of the dishwashers asked, his eyes wide with a mixture of curiosity and admiration. "He’s… tall. And built. Like a… like a…" He trailed off, clearly struggling to find the right words to describe my brother.

I just shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant. "He’s… Stefan," I offered, as if that explained everything.

"But… the janitor?" the dishwasher persisted, his voice still laced with disbelief.

It was true. The Grand had a reputation for attracting… aesthetically pleasing staff. From the impeccably groomed waiters to the charmingly efficient concierges, everyone seemed to possess a certain level of polished attractiveness. But even the janitor? Apparently, yes. Stefan, with his buzz cut, quiet intensity, and the kind of physique honed by years of physical labor, was disrupting the carefully curated aesthetic of The Grand. And honestly? I was a little bit proud. My little brother, the rice-hauling, job-hopping, ex-monk, was turning heads at one of the most prestigious hotels in Paris. It was absurd, hilarious, and strangely heartwarming. Maybe this whole janitor thing wouldn’t be so bad after all.

◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇

It was almost comical how different our schedules were. We worked in the same building, yet our paths barely crossed. My shift ended at 1 pm, just as most of the other staff were returning from their lunch breaks. Stefan, on the other hand, was probably just starting his busiest period, cleaning up after the lunchtime rush. I still hadn’t seen him, not even a glimpse of his buzz-cut head bobbing amongst the other staff. It was like we were working in alternate dimensions, ships passing in the night, connected only by the shared address of The Grand.

By the time I clocked out, the afternoon shift was in full swing. And there he was, finally. Stefan, surrounded by a group of fellow janitors, all clad in the hotel's standard-issue uniform. He seemed surprisingly… at ease. Chatting, laughing, sharing stories – my usually stoic brother was actually socializing! I paused, unsure whether to interrupt. Part of me wanted to maintain a professional distance, to avoid any awkwardness or accusations of favoritism. But another part of me, the older brother part, wanted to make sure he was okay, to offer a word of encouragement, a silent show of support.

Hesitantly, I walked towards him. "Stefan," I said, tapping his arm lightly. He turned, his hazel eyes widening slightly in surprise. "Just checking on you," I continued, my voice a little softer than usual. "You seem to be doing well."

He gave me a small, almost shy smile, a rare sight that sent a surprising flutter through my stomach. "Yeah, it's… interesting," he replied, his gaze flicking towards his fellow janitors, who were now openly staring at me, their faces a mixture of curiosity and amusement.

"Anyway, I'm out now," I said, patting his arm reassuringly. "Behave, okay?" I nodded to his companions, a silent acknowledgment of their presence, before turning and walking away. As I headed towards the exit, I could hear their hushed whispers, the inevitable speculation about our relationship, the surprise that the stylishly dressed chef and the newly hired janitor were, in fact, brothers.

"Wow, Sacha’s really your brother, huh?" one of the janitors mused to Stefan, his voice laced with disbelief.

I smiled to myself as I walked out into the bright afternoon sunshine. Even in the mundane setting of a five-star hotel’s service corridor, Stefan managed to turn heads, to disrupt the established order. He might be "just" a janitor, but he was my janitor brother, and I was secretly proud of the way he was carving his own path, making his mark, even in the most unexpected of places.

As I drove home, the thought of our vastly different work schedules, our almost non-existent interactions at The Grand, continued to amuse me. It was ironic, really. We were closer than ever, living under the same roof, sharing meals, navigating the complexities of adulthood together. Yet, within the confines of our professional lives, we were practically strangers, ships passing in the night, our paths diverging as soon as we stepped through the hotel’s revolving doors. But that, I realized, was okay. We had our own separate worlds, our own individual journeys. And at the end of the day, we always came home to each other, to the familiar comfort of family, the shared space where we were simply Sacha and Stefan, brothers, friends in the ongoing adventure of life. And for now, that was enough.

◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇

It was fascinating, almost anthropological, to observe Stefan’s interactions with his co-workers at The Grand. He’d only been there three days, yet he’d somehow managed to cultivate an air of familiarity, a casual camaraderie that I, despite months of working in the same kitchen, had yet to achieve. He treated everyone with the same easygoing nonchalance, whether it was a seasoned waiter or a newly hired dishwasher. No pretenses, no social posturing, just… Stefan. And it was working. People seemed drawn to him, their smiles genuine, their conversations unguarded. It was like they’d known him for years, not days.

I’d never really seen this side of Stefan before, this social butterfly emerging from his usually stoic chrysalis. At home, he was quiet, reserved, content to spend his evenings scrolling through cat memes or practicing his meditation techniques. But here, in the bustling environment of The Grand, he was… different. More animated, more engaged, more… approachable? The thought pricked at me, a tiny barb of insecurity lodging itself in my usually confident demeanor. Was Stefan, my quiet, unassuming brother, actually more approachable than me? Me, with my carefully curated outfits, my witty banter, my effortless charm? The idea was both unsettling and strangely intriguing.

By the fourth day, the whispers had evolved, morphing from general curiosity about Stefan’s presence to something more specific, more… scandalous. I was up to my elbows in flour, prepping for the lunchtime rush, when snippets of conversation, hushed but insistent, reached my ears. "Stefan and… Aksel?" one of the kitchen assistants whispered, her voice laced with disbelief. "But… Aksel’s so… quiet."

Aksel Spitz, the hotel’s concierge, was a figure shrouded in mystery. Tall, elegant, with platinum blonde hair and piercing amethyst eyes, he moved through the hotel with an air of quiet authority, his interactions with both staff and guests limited to polite, professional exchanges. He was the epitome of discretion, a silent guardian of the hotel’s secrets. And Stefan? My brother, the janitor, the ex-monk, the purveyor of dad jokes and awkward hugs? The pairing seemed improbable, like a culinary experiment gone wrong, a clash of flavors that shouldn’t work but somehow… did?

The whispers intensified as the lunch rush subsided. "I saw them sharing a table," one of the waitresses confided, her eyes wide with excitement. "Aksel was actually… smiling. I’ve never seen him smile before!"

Now that was intriguing. Aksel Spitz, the ice king of The Grand, smiling? And with Stefan? My curiosity, already piqued, was now bordering on obsession. I had to see this for myself.

As I was leaving the kitchen, a sudden wave of shyness washed over me. I wasn’t sure why. It felt… inappropriate, somehow, to intrude on their… whatever it was. But the allure of witnessing this unlikely pairing was too strong to resist. I decided to take a detour, a quick peek into the staff dining area, just to satisfy my curiosity.

And there they were. Stefan and Aksel, walking side-by-side down the hallway, their conversation hushed, their body language… intimate? I don’t know why, but I ducked behind a conveniently placed potted plant, my heart pounding in my chest like a trapped bird. I felt like a stalker, a paparazzi hiding in the bushes, waiting for the perfect shot. It was ridiculous, I knew. But I couldn’t help myself. I watched as they disappeared around the corner, their laughter echoing faintly down the hallway. And for a moment, a strange mix of emotions – curiosity, envy, a touch of… longing? – washed over me. I wasn’t sure what was happening between Stefan and Aksel, but I knew I wanted to find out.