Chapter 23: The Concert's Hidden Symphony

Saturday night arrived, a whirlwind of preparation and anticipation. I’d laid out my outfit the night before, a carefully curated ensemble designed to blend seamlessly into the sea of KPOP fandom while still maintaining a touch of my signature Parisian chic. Stefan, on the other hand, seemed less concerned with his attire. He emerged from his room wearing a simple t-shirt and jeans, his hair freshly styled, his expression a mixture of resignation and mild curiosity.

The sleek lines of my Porsche Taycan cut through the Parisian night, the city lights reflecting off its polished black exterior. Beside me, Stefan sat in stoic silence, his gaze fixed on the passing scenery, his usual buzz cut looking even more severe in the dim light of the car. He wasn’t exactly thrilled about attending a KPOP concert, but he’d agreed, a testament to his enduring patience and his (perhaps begrudging) affection for his KPOP-obsessed older brother.

As we pulled into the venue’s parking lot, the palpable energy of the crowd hit me like a wave. Screaming fans, decked out in their bias group’s colors, thronged the entrance, their excitement radiating outwards like heat from a bonfire. I could feel Stefan tense beside me, his usual relaxed posture replaced by a rigid alertness, as if bracing himself for an onslaught of sensory overload.

We stepped out of the car, and the stares began. Whispers rippled through the crowd, curious glances darting between Stefan and me. We didn’t look alike, not even remotely. Me, with my stylishly messy blonde hair, delicate features, and carefully curated outfit, and Stefan, with his buzz cut, imposing height, and the kind of effortless cool that came from not caring what anyone thought. It was no wonder people were speculating. "Are they… together?" I overheard one girl whisper to her friend, her eyes wide with curiosity.

Stefan, oblivious to the whispers and stares, or perhaps simply choosing to ignore them, immediately made a beeline for the concession stand. He returned moments later, a plastic bag overflowing with snacks and drinks clutched in his hand, his expression one of bored determination. He was clearly preparing for a long night of passive entertainment, treating the concert like an extended movie marathon, fueled by overpriced popcorn and sugary sodas.

We made our way to the VIP section, the whispers following us like a persistent shadow. As we settled into our seats, the lights dimmed, and the screams of the crowd reached a fever pitch. The opening chords of 4EVER’s latest hit song filled the air, the synchronized dance moves of the group appearing on the giant screens flanking the stage. The crowd erupted, a sea of waving lightsticks and ecstatic screams. And then, there was Stefan. Lazily munching on a bag of chips, his gaze fixed on the stage with an expression of mild amusement, as if observing a particularly peculiar species of brightly colored bird.

The whispers around us intensified. "Is he… her boyfriend?" I overheard one girl ask, her voice laced with disbelief. "The one who was forced to come?" Another girl giggled, her eyes darting between Stefan and me. I couldn’t help but smile. The idea of Stefan, my stoic, practical brother, being dragged to a KPOP concert against his will was almost too comical to bear. And the fact that they mistook me for a woman, well, that was just par for the course.

I handed Stefan a lightstick, a playful gesture of KPOP indoctrination. He took it with a sigh, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. And then, to my surprise, he actually started swaying it in time with the music, his movements slow, deliberate, as if conducting an orchestra of brightly colored plastic. He continued to munch on his snacks, his gaze occasionally drifting towards the stage, a faint smile playing on his lips. He even stifled a yawn at one point, a testament to his enduring boredom. Yet, despite his obvious lack of enthusiasm, he indulged me, participating in the ritual of KPOP fandom, even if it meant enduring three hours of manufactured energy and synchronized dance moves.

And then, he did something that completely melted my heart. He took out his phone and started snapping pictures of me, my lightstick waving frantically in the air, my face illuminated by the flashing stage lights. He wasn’t taking pictures of the stage, or the performers, or the elaborate light show. He was taking pictures of me. My initial reaction was embarrassment. "Stefan!" I hissed, swatting at his hand. "What are you doing?"

He just shrugged, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "Sending them to Maman and Papa," he replied, his voice a low rumble that barely carried over the roar of the crowd. "They wanted to see."

I rolled my eyes, but a warmth spread through my chest. He was such a dutiful son, always remembering to keep our parents updated on our activities, even if it meant documenting my embarrassing KPOP obsession.

From the perspective of the other concertgoers, however, the scene must have looked… different. While everyone else was busy filming the stage, their phones held aloft, capturing every dazzling moment of the performance, Stefan was focused on me, his phone trained on my every move, his expression a mixture of adoration and amusement. To an outsider, it probably looked like an adoring boyfriend documenting his girlfriend’s KPOP-fueled frenzy. And honestly? I wasn't entirely opposed to that interpretation. The thought of Stefan, my stoic, practical brother, viewing me with even a flicker of romantic interest, caused a flutter of exhilaration in the pit of my stomach. It was a ridiculous fantasy, I knew, fueled by too many late-night K-drama binges and a healthy dose of wishful thinking. But still, a boy could dream, couldn't he?