Chapter 22: A Seat for Two on the Scooter of Fate

My heart, which had been doing a flutter-kick, decided to skip a beat entirely. Aksel’s perfume? On Stefan? My mind conjured up images of them, close enough to share a scent, close enough to… I swallowed hard, my throat suddenly dry. I didn’t know what to say, the words catching in my throat like a rogue piece of kimchi.

Stefan continued to stare at me, his brow furrowed in what I could only interpret as concern. After a moment, he offered an explanation. "Hmm. I did give Aksel a ride home. On the back seat."

Aksel, on the back of Stefan’s scooter? My mind reeled. Aksel, who was practically synonymous with his sleek, expensive superbike, a source of envy amongst the staff at The Grand? Aksel, who was known for his impeccable style, his air of effortless cool, his… everything? He’d accepted a ride from Stefan? On his beat-up, second-hand scooter?

"You did?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. "Didn’t he have his… motorcycle?"

Stefan looked genuinely surprised. "Really? I didn’t know." He shrugged again, his brow furrowing even deeper. "Hmm. We went to the cinema, and I offered him a ride. I wasn’t aware he had his own… ride." Another casual shrug.

I was speechless. They'd gone to the cinema? Together? And Aksel, despite owning a superbike, had accepted a ride on Stefan’s scooter? My mind struggled to process this information, the pieces of the puzzle refusing to fit together. It was like a K-drama plot twist, but… real. And with my own brother as the unsuspecting romantic lead.

"You okay?" Stefan asked, his voice laced with concern. "I really didn’t know he had his own ride. So… he left his motorcycle?" He chuckled, a low rumble that vibrated through the room, finding the whole situation rather amusing.

The thought of Aksel, abandoning his beloved superbike in the hotel parking lot to ride on the back of Stefan’s scooter, was both absurd and strangely… endearing. I still couldn’t quite wrap my head around it, but one thing was clear – my brother had somehow managed to charm the ice king of The Grand. And for some reason, that made me feel a strange mix of pride, amusement, and a touch of… something else. Something I wasn’t quite ready to name.

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The days following Stefan’s brief stint as a janitor were filled with a strange mix of quiet amusement and lingering curiosity. Several staff members, their curiosity piqued by the sudden appearance and equally swift disappearance of the tall, enigmatic janitor, would corner me during my breaks, their questions veiled in thinly disguised gossip. "So, what’s your brother up to now?" they’d ask, their eyes twinkling with amusement. I’d patiently explain, for the umpteenth time, that Stefan’s janitorial career was a temporary exploration, a week-long foray into the world of five-star hotel hygiene. "He’s…finding himself," I’d add with a shrug, a phrase that seemed to both satisfy and further fuel their curiosity.

But the most surprising inquiry came from Aksel Spitz himself. I’d noticed him eyeing me during my shifts, his gaze lingering a beat too long, a silent question hanging in the air. Then, during one of my precious break times, he approached me, his platinum blonde hair gleaming under the fluorescent lights of the staff room. "How is… Stefan?" he asked, his voice a low murmur that barely carried over the clatter of cutlery and the hushed conversations of my fellow chefs.

"Last I heard," I replied, trying to maintain a casual tone, "he was working as a mascot at a children’s party venue." I couldn’t help but add, with a playful lilt, "A giant panda, I believe." The image of Stefan, squeezed into a fluffy panda suit, entertaining a gaggle of screaming toddlers, was almost too much to bear.

Aksel’s lips twitched, a subtle movement that I, with my newfound Stefan-and-Aksel-observing superpowers, immediately recognized as a suppressed smile. And then, before I could stop myself, the question tumbled out, fueled by days of pent-up curiosity and a healthy dose of sibling protectiveness. "You… rode on Stefan’s scooter?" I asked, my voice a little too breathless. "Didn’t you have your… superbike?"

Aksel’s composure, usually so impeccable, faltered for a moment. A faint blush, a delicate rose tint against his pale skin, crept up his neck and spread across his cheeks. It was a sight so rare, so unexpected, it almost made me gasp. "I’ve never ridden… backseat," he explained, his voice a low murmur, as if confessing a deep, dark secret. "I was… curious. And Stefan… offered." He regained his composure, offering me a curt nod before turning and walking away, his usual air of aloof elegance restored.

Later, one of the other chefs, who’d witnessed the whole exchange, filled me in on the missing details. Apparently, Aksel had been the one to initiate the cinema outing, offering to treat Stefan on his last day at The Grand. And Stefan had simply accepted, offering Aksel a ride to the cinema on his scooter without a second thought.

I shook my head, a smile playing on my lips. Stefan, my quiet, unassuming brother, had somehow managed to charm the ice king of The Grand, turning the hotel’s social hierarchy on its head. He’d navigated the complexities of five-star hotel service, forged unlikely friendships, and even – inadvertently – sparked a minor scandal. And he’d done it all with his usual air of casual nonchalance, oblivious to the whispers and curious glances that followed him like a persistent shadow. I’d never seen him at work before, not really. But now, I had a glimpse, a fleeting insight into the world he inhabited outside the confines of our shared home. And honestly? I was impressed.

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I’d taken Stefan to a KPOP concert once before, back when he was a gangly teenager with a penchant for band tees and an impressive collection of anime figurines. He’d tolerated the screaming fans, the flashing lights, and the earworm-worthy melodies with surprising patience, more interested in the overpriced snacks than the onstage spectacle. Now, years later, with another 4EVER concert looming and my usual concert buddy MIA due to a family emergency, I found myself contemplating a repeat performance. This time, however, Stefan was no longer a wide-eyed teenager, but a fully grown man with his own tastes and preferences. I was curious to see how he’d react to the amplified energy of a KPOP concert as a more… mature… audience member.

The afternoon sun streamed through the living room windows. Stefan was sprawled on the sofa, his attention fixed on the television screen, while I nervously picked at a bowl of kimchi, my mind racing. "Wanna come with me to a KPOP concert?" I blurted out, the words tumbling from my mouth before I could overthink them.

Stefan turned to me, his brow furrowed in that familiar expression of thoughtful contemplation. "Why?" he asked, his voice a low rumble that always seemed to vibrate through the room.

I shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant. "My friend had an emergency," I explained, gesturing vaguely with my chopsticks. "Gave me his ticket. VIP, no less. It’s such a waste…" I trailed off, hoping he’d take the bait. A VIP ticket to see 4EVER was a hot commodity, a golden opportunity for any KPOP fan. Even a reluctant one.

"How long is it?" he asked, his gaze fixed on the television screen, as if calculating the potential disruption to his schedule of odd jobs and gym sessions.

"Around three or four hours, give or take," I replied with another shrug. I could practically see the wheels turning in his head, the mental calculations of lost earning potential versus the allure of a free VIP concert experience.

He took a deep breath, as if steeling himself for a major life decision. "Okay," he finally said, his voice resolute. "When?"

"Saturday night!" I exclaimed, a surge of excitement coursing through me. It's just a sibling outing, a chance to bond over something other than shared meals and sarcastic banter. But still, the thought of spending an evening with Stefan, surrounded by the electrifying energy of a KPOP concert, filled me with a strange sense of anticipation. We hadn’t really gone out together, just the two of us, since he’d returned from Tibet. We were both adults now, with our own lives, our own jobs, our own… complications. A little sibling bonding, even in the slightly chaotic setting of a KPOP concert, might be just what we needed.

Later that evening, as we were having dinner with Maman and Papa, I couldn’t resist sharing the news. "Stefan's coming with me to the 4EVER concert on Saturday," I announced, my voice brimming with barely contained excitement.

Maman, ever the supportive parent, clapped her hands in delight. "That's wonderful, mes chéris!" she exclaimed, her eyes twinkling. "A night out for my two handsome boys. You must tell me all about it."

Papa, his attention momentarily diverted from his newspaper, grunted in approval. "Just don't spend too much money," he added, his usual financial concerns surfacing. I rolled my eyes, a familiar gesture of playful exasperation. He knew I was careful with my money, despite our family's comfortable financial situation. Besides, the Stefan's ticket is free, a gift from a friend who’d been unexpectedly called out of town.

Stefan, however, remained silent, his focus on his plate. He might have agreed to accompany me to the concert, but I could tell he wasn’t entirely comfortable with the idea. He wasn’t a KPOP fan, not really. His musical tastes leaned more towards Tibetan throat singing and the rhythmic chanting of Buddhist monks. But he’d agreed, nonetheless, a silent gesture of brotherly affection, a willingness to indulge my KPOP obsession, even if it meant enduring three hours of flashing lights, screaming fans, and earworm-worthy melodies. And that, I realized, was worth more than any VIP ticket.