Chapter 21: Of Janitors and Concierges

Back at home, the afternoon stretched into evening, each tick of the clock a reminder of Stefan’s presence at The Grand. I’d found myself glancing at the time more often than usual, wondering what he was doing, who he was talking to, if he’d encountered any… interesting characters amongst the hotel’s clientele. I’d even rehearsed a few casual questions in my head, trying to strike a balance between genuine interest and nonchalant sibling inquiry.

"How’s the janitor life treating you?" Too casual.
"Have you encountered any particularly challenging spills?" Too specific.
"So, Aksel, huh?" Too direct.

I mentally groaned. Talking to my own brother shouldn’t be this complicated.

The familiar rumble of Stefan’s scooter announced his arrival. 6 pm on the dot. He was surprisingly punctual for someone who’d spent four years living outside the constraints of conventional timekeeping. I pretended to be engrossed in a K-drama, my eyes glued to the screen even though the subtitles were blurring into a meaningless jumble of Korean characters.

"Hm. You’re watching that again?" Stefan’s voice, a low rumble that always seemed to vibrate through the room, startled me. He gestured towards the TV, a hint of amusement in his tone.

"Huh?" I asked, my mind still stuck on the phantom image of him and Aksel walking down the hallway together. I turned to look at the television, a sudden wave of déjà vu washing over me. The scene playing out on the screen – a dramatic confrontation between a chaebol heir and a plucky candy maker – felt… familiar. "Oh," I mumbled, realizing I’d definitely seen this episode before. Maybe Stefan had a point. I had been spending a lot of time re-watching my favorite K-dramas lately. It was a comforting escape, a predictable world of manufactured drama, a welcome distraction from the confusing reality of my own life.

Stefan’s brow furrowed slightly, his gaze lingering on my face. "Yep. The other day, you did. You were eating bibimbap, remember?"

My eyes widened. Bibimbap. He was right. I had eaten bibimbap the other day, while watching this exact episode. The spicy flavors, the comforting warmth of the rice, the satisfying crunch of the vegetables… I remembered it vividly. But I hadn’t noticed Stefan. Not really. My mind had been elsewhere, lost in the manufactured drama of the K-drama, oblivious to my surroundings. And yet, he’d noticed me. The realization brought about a sense of exhilaration. Was Stefan… keeping tabs on me? The thought was both unsettling and strangely… flattering.

"Oh…" That was all I could manage, my mind still reeling from this unexpected revelation.

I needed a distraction, a change of subject, a way to steer the conversation away from my K-drama obsession and towards something… safer. "Anyway," I said, forcing a casual tone, "how’s work?" I paused, then added, "I heard… things. About you and Aksel." I tried to inject a playful note into my voice, but the words came out a little too breathless, a little too eager. "That quiet Aksel," I continued, "how did you manage to make him… talk?"

Stefan shrugged, his expression unreadable. "I just… talk to him," he replied, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

He went on to explain, in his usual straightforward manner, how their… interaction… had begun. It wasn’t some grand romantic gesture, no stolen glances or whispered confessions. It was a simple "hey," a casual acknowledgment of Aksel’s presence as Stefan went about his cleaning duties in the concierge area. And because Stefan was oblivious to Aksel’s usual aloofness, to the subtle signals that usually deterred others from engaging with him, their interaction continued.

Apparently, most of the staff were intimidated by Aksel’s silence, his curt replies, his general air of aloofness. But Stefan, simply treated him like… a person. He’d offer a casual greeting, a friendly comment about the weather, a shared joke. And Aksel, perhaps surprised by this unexpected display of friendliness, had responded in kind.

During lunch, the staff dining area had been bustling with activity. Stefan, looking for a vacant seat, had spotted one directly across from Aksel. It seemed everyone else had avoided that particular table, intimidated by the concierge's quiet presence. But Stefan, oblivious to the unspoken social cues, had simply sat down, offering Aksel a casual greeting before proceeding to devour his lunch. Aksel, apparently taken aback by this bold move, had simply stared at him for a moment, his eyes wide with surprise, before returning the greeting and resuming his own meal. And that, according to Stefan, was the beginning of their… friendship?

I listened to his story, a strange mix of emotions swirling within me. Relief that it wasn’t some grand romantic affair, a touch of disappointment that my dream-induced fantasies weren’t coming true, and a growing sense of… admiration? For Stefan, for his ability to connect with people in a way I never could, for his genuine kindness, his obliviousness to social hierarchies and unspoken rules.

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When Stefan announced he’d be working at The Grand, a ridiculous, K-drama-fueled fantasy had taken root in my mind. A clandestine romance unfolding amidst the hushed elegance of the five-star hotel, stolen glances across the crowded lobby, whispered confessions in dimly lit corridors… It was absurd, I knew. But a boy could dream, couldn’t he? Reality, however, had a way of dashing even the most carefully constructed fantasies. Our vastly different schedules meant we barely saw each other, our paths crossing only in the brief, chaotic moments between shifts. It was like we were working in separate universes, connected only by the shared address of The Grand. I sighed, another romantic daydream dissolving into the harsh reality of a split shift and a mountain of dirty dishes.

Today was Stefan’s last day as a temporary janitor. Yet, all I’d heard all week were whispers about him and Aksel. The aloof concierge, it seemed, had taken a liking to my brother, initiating conversations, sharing meals, even – gasp! – smiling. It was a development I found both intriguing and slightly… unsettling. I wasn’t sure what to make of it. Was it just a workplace friendship, a temporary alliance forged in the trenches of five-star hotel service? Or was there something more to it?

As I clocked out at 1 pm, the usual dilemma resurfaced. Should I say goodbye to Stefan? Acknowledge his last day? It felt… strange, somehow, to make a fuss over a temporary job, especially one as… mundane… as janitorial work. But it was his last day, and a small part of me, the older brother part, wanted to offer a word of encouragement, a silent show of support.

I spotted him in the staff breakroom, surrounded by his fellow janitors, laughing, joking, sharing stories. He seemed… happy. At ease. And for some reason, that made me hesitate. I didn’t want to interrupt, to intrude on his newfound camaraderie, to remind him of the social hierarchy that existed outside the confines of their shared uniform. They were equals here, united by the common goal of keeping The Grand spotless. And I, the chef, felt like an outsider, a representative of a world they momentarily escaped. I decided to let it be. After all, we lived in the same house. I’d see him later.

Back at home, the hours ticked by with agonizing slowness. Stefan was usually home by 6 pm, his scooter parked neatly in the driveway, the rumble of its engine a familiar soundtrack to my evenings. But today, 6 pm came and went, the driveway remaining stubbornly empty. 7 pm. 8 pm. Dinner time. Still no Stefan. I tried to tell myself it was nothing, that he was probably celebrating his last day with his fellow janitors, sharing stories and cheap beer at some dive bar near the hotel. But a persistent knot of worry tightened in my stomach. It wasn’t like him to be this late, to miss dinner without a word.

By 10 pm, my anxiety had reached a fever pitch. I paced the living room, my phone clutched in my hand, my thumb hovering over Stefan’s contact. I didn’t want to pry, to come across as overly concerned, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was… wrong. Finally, at almost 11 pm, I caved.

"Hmm. Did you go out?" I typed, trying to keep my tone casual, as if I wasn’t frantically imagining all sorts of worst-case scenarios involving rogue cleaning carts, slippery floors, and vengeful hotel guests.

The reply came a few minutes later, a simple, "Yep. I’m on my way home now."

I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. Relief washed over me, so potent it almost made me weak in the knees. "Drive safe," I replied, even though I knew he was probably on his scooter, not a car. It was a silly thing to say, but I needed to say something, to express the relief that flooded through me, the silent gratitude that he was okay, that he was coming home.

My parents, oblivious to my inner turmoil, had already retired for the night. I waited for Stefan, my anxiety replaced by a quiet anticipation. I wanted to hear about his last day, about his interactions with Aksel, about the strange camaraderie he’d forged with his fellow janitors. I wanted to understand this new side of him, this social butterfly emerging from his usually stoic shell.

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The rumble of Stefan’s scooter, finally, broke the tense silence of the late evening. I scrambled to compose myself, quickly switching off the K-drama I hadn’t been watching and flipping to the news channel. I needed to appear nonchalant, unconcerned, definitely not like I’d been anxiously awaiting his return for the past hours.

Stefan entered the house, his movements slightly slower than usual, his shoulders slumped with fatigue. He locked the door, his gaze sweeping over the living room, taking in the flickering images on the television screen, before settling on me. "You’re still awake?" he asked, his voice tinged with surprise. He glanced at the TV again, the serious faces of the news anchors a stark contrast to my usual K-drama fare, then back at me, his brow furrowed slightly. He was probably wondering what had possessed me to watch the news at this hour. I usually reserved my news consumption for the morning paper, preferring the escapism of K-dramas to the harsh realities of the world.

As he approached, a subtle scent, unfamiliar yet intriguing, reached my nostrils. It wasn’t Stefan’s usual scent, the clean, slightly musky aroma of his sandalwood soap. This was something… different. More refined, more… expensive. "A new perfume?" I asked, trying to keep my voice casual, even though my heart was doing a weird little flutter-kick against my ribs.

Stefan looked confused, sniffing his own shirt as if searching for the source of the mysterious fragrance. "Nope. Not mine," he shrugged, his brow still furrowed. He paused, then added, with another shrug, "Probably Aksel’s."