Chapter 27: Before Bedtime

Lunch at Le Petit Paradis concluded with the predictable flourish of Aksel’s black credit card, a subtle yet potent symbol of his financial prowess. As they rose to leave, a strange impulse seized me. I had to know, had to see where this… interaction… between Stefan and Aksel was heading. I excused myself from Jules, muttering something about needing some fresh air, and followed them outside, my heart pounding a frantic rhythm against my ribs.

The crisp Parisian air did little to quell the storm brewing within me. I watched as Stefan and Aksel crossed the street towards the parking lot, their conversation hushed, their body language… intimate? I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, but there was a subtle shift in their dynamic, a closeness that hadn't been there before. It was in the way Aksel leaned in, his platinum hair brushing against Stefan’s shoulder, the way Stefan’s gaze lingered on Aksel's face, a soft smile playing on his lips.

"Stefan!" I called out, my voice sharper than I intended, a desperate attempt to disrupt the subtle dance of attraction unfolding before my eyes.

Stefan turned, his eyes widening in surprise, his smile faltering for a moment before it was replaced by a look of… confusion? "Sacha?" he asked, his brow furrowed. He glanced at Jules, who’d followed me out of the restaurant, a knowing smirk playing on his lips, then back at me, his expression a mixture of curiosity and concern. "What are you doing here?"

I hesitated, my carefully rehearsed questions dissolving into a jumble of incoherent thoughts. "I… I didn’t know you two were… seeing each other," I blurted out, my voice a little too high-pitched, a little too breathless. My gaze darted between Stefan and Aksel, searching for an answer, a clue, anything that would explain the strange tension crackling in the air between them.

Before Stefan could respond, Aksel spoke, his voice a low murmur that cut through the silence. "He gave me his number," he said, his gaze fixed on me, his amethyst eyes gleaming with a hint of… challenge? It wasn’t an answer, not really. More of a statement.

"Yeah, I did," Stefan confirmed, nodding. "We’re going to a motorcycle rally," he added, his voice laced with an excitement that made my stomach twist. He was clearly looking forward to it and with Aksel, no less.

"Oh," I mumbled, the word barely escaping my lips. I already knew about the motorcycle rally, thanks to my less-than-subtle eavesdropping skills. But hearing it from Stefan, seeing the genuine excitement in his eyes, it was… different. It was a confirmation, a stark reminder that there were parts of his life that I wasn’t privy to, that I wasn’t a part of.

A heavy silence settled over us, broken only by the distant hum of traffic and the rhythmic chirping of Parisian sparrows. I stood there, awkwardly shifting my weight from one foot to the other, my mind racing, searching for something, anything, to say. And then I saw it. Aksel’s hand, resting lightly on Stefan’s arm, his thumb gently stroking the fabric of Stefan’s shirt, a subtle, almost unconscious gesture of… intimacy.

My head snapped towards them, my gaze fixed on that small, seemingly insignificant point of contact, my mind reeling. Even Jules, ever the observer of human drama, noticed, a low "ooh~" escaping his lips, his eyes glinting with amusement.

Stefan stood there, looking like a deer caught in the headlights. He glanced from Aksel to me, his brow furrowed, clearly sensing the thick tension hanging in the air like a Michelin-star chef’s signature sauce. He was missing something, some crucial piece of information that would explain the strange dynamic unfolding between Aksel, Jules, and me.

Aksel, ever the master of social maneuvering, leaned closer to Stefan, his voice a low murmur that only I, thanks to my newly honed eavesdropping skills, could hear. "We should go," he said, his tone laced with a subtle urgency that made my breath catch in my throat.

Stefan’s face lit up, the confusion vanishing as quickly as it had appeared. "Well, gotta go. See you later, guys," he said brightly, his gaze fixed on Aksel, his excitement palpable. He was clearly eager to escape the awkward tension and embark on their motorcycle-themed adventure.

And then, as if the situation wasn’t already excruciating enough, Aksel added, his voice dripping with a subtle possessiveness that made my stomach churn, "Don’t worry, Stefan will be back before bedtime." The words were clearly directed at me, a pointed reminder of my… place… in Stefan’s life. It was as if Aksel knew, somehow, about Stefan’s schedule, about our shared home, about the invisible threads that bound us together.

I could only gape, my mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water, as I watched Aksel stride towards Stefan’s scooter. Wait… what? Aksel, who practically worshipped his superbike, was going to ride Stefan’s scooter? And Stefan was going to let him? My mind struggled to process the information, the pieces of the puzzle refusing to fit together.

"W-wait! What are you guys doing?" I blurted out, my voice a panicked squeak, the carefully constructed façade of composure crumbling around me like a poorly made croissant.

Stefan looked at me, his brow furrowed in confusion. "Oh, this?" he said, gesturing towards his scooter. "He wants to try it." He shrugged, as if it were the most normal thing in the world for a man who owned a superbike to suddenly develop a burning desire to ride a scooter. Right. Because they were going to a motorcycle rally, and Aksel obviously didn’t want to bring his expensive, high-performance machine. Right.

As Aksel turned on the scooter, the engine sputtering to life, Stefan offered a casual, "Bye, Sacha," before casually slipping his arm around Aksel’s waist, his hand resting on his hip. The sight of their intertwined bodies, the casual intimacy of their touch, sent a wave of nausea rolling through me, my stomach flipping like a poorly executed pancake.

"He’ll be back before bedtime," Aksel repeated, his voice laced with a smugness that made my blood boil. I swore I saw a flicker of a smile, almost a smirk, playing on his lips as he revved the engine and sped away, Stefan clinging to him like a koala to a eucalyptus tree.

I stood there, frozen in place, my mouth agape, my mind a swirling vortex of confusion, jealousy, and a strange, unsettling sense of… loss. Jules, ever the opportunist, sauntered up beside me, placing a comforting hand on my shoulder. I swatted it away, the touch feeling like a violation, a reminder of my own romantic inadequacies. I couldn’t deal with Jules right now, not with the image of Stefan and Aksel, intertwined on that ridiculous scooter, burned into my retinas.

Jules, sensing my mood, sighed. "Come on," he said, his voice gentle. "I’ll drive you home."

I allowed him to lead me to his Lamborghini, my mind still reeling, my emotions a tangled mess of confusion and despair. As he drove, he glanced at me from time to time, his expression a mixture of concern and amusement. I remained silent throughout the ride, my thoughts a chaotic jumble of unanswered questions and unwelcome realizations. What was happening between Stefan and Aksel? Was it just a shared interest in motorcycles? Or was it something… more? And what did it mean… for me?

The ride home was a blur of Parisian streets and Jules' occasional attempts at conversation, all of which I deflected with monosyllabic grunts and strained smiles. I couldn’t focus, my mind still replaying the scene outside Le Petit Paradis, the image of Stefan’s arm around Aksel’s waist, the casual intimacy of their touch, a constant, agonizing loop in my mind’s eye. I felt… lost, adrift in a sea of emotions I couldn’t name, couldn’t understand.

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My bedroom, usually a sanctuary of KPOP posters and overflowing bookshelves, felt more like a prison cell. I lay on my back, staring at the ceiling, one hand resting on my stomach, which still churned with a strange mix of nausea and anxiety. The image of Stefan, perched on the back of his scooter, his arm wrapped around Aksel’s waist, played on an endless loop in my mind, each replay sending a fresh wave of discomfort through me.

I was confused, my emotions a swirling vortex of jealousy, betrayal, and a strange, unsettling sense of… protectiveness? I didn’t like it, this feeling of unease, this sense of Stefan slipping away from me, into a world I wasn’t a part of. I didn’t like the way Aksel looked at him, the possessiveness in his touch, the subtle challenge in his gaze. It felt… wrong, like a violation of some unspoken agreement, some sacred bond that existed only between Stefan and me.

And then there was the nagging question of… fairness. Aksel knew, he had to know, that Stefan was my brother, that any romantic pursuit was… complicated, to say the least. He was taking advantage of the situation, exploiting the unspoken boundaries that existed between us, the lines I couldn’t cross, the words I couldn’t say. It felt… underhanded, like a dirty tactic in a game I hadn’t even realized I was playing. All’s fair in love and war, they say. But this didn’t feel fair, not at all. It felt like cheating.

I sat up, my mind racing, searching for a solution, a way to reclaim the ground I felt I was losing. I couldn’t let Aksel just… take Stefan, not without a fight. But what could I do? I couldn’t exactly confess my feelings, not now, not with Aksel lurking in the background, his presence a constant, unwelcome reminder of my own romantic inadequacies. Besides, even if I did confess, what were the chances of Stefan reciprocating? He’d shown no indication of romantic interest in… anyone, really. And even if he did share my feelings, the whole adopted brother thing… it was a complicated mess, a tangled web of societal expectations and familial boundaries that I wasn’t sure I was ready to unravel.

I sighed, running a hand through my hair, my thoughts a chaotic jumble of unanswered questions and unwelcome realizations. I needed a plan, a strategy, a way to navigate this treacherous terrain of unrequited love and unwanted advances. But for now, all I could do was wait, to observe, to gather information, to plot my next move. This wasn’t over, not by a long shot. I wouldn’t let Aksel win, not without a fight. This was my brother we were talking about. And I wasn’t about to let him be swept away by the first smooth-talking concierge who flashed a black credit card.