Chapter 28: Aksel's Challenge

A slow burn of frustration simmered beneath my skin. Stefan was out there, somewhere, enjoying himself with Aksel, while I was stuck here, stewing in a cauldron of unanswered questions and unwelcome emotions. This wouldn’t do. I needed a plan, a strategy, a way to insert myself into their little motorcycle-themed adventure, even if it was only digitally.

My fingers hovered over my phone’s keyboard, a mischievous glint in my eye. "Mm. Where’s that motorcycle rally?" I typed, sending the message to Stefan. It was a casual inquiry, innocent enough on the surface, but with a hidden agenda. I needed to know their location, their itinerary, their… everything. All’s fair in love and war, and this, was definitely a war. A war for Stefan’s attention, a war against Aksel’s subtle advances, a war against my own confusing, conflicting emotions.

Stefan’s reply arrived a few minutes later, a simple message with the name of the city and a vague description of the venue. It was another city, a couple of hours away. Just far enough to make me feel excluded, yet close enough to fuel my anxiety. I tapped out another message, my fingers flying across the keyboard. "How’s the venue? Is it crowded? Send pic!" I needed to keep him engaged, to maintain a connection, even if it was only through the impersonal medium of text messages. I needed to remind him, subtly, that I was here, that I was interested, that I… cared.

And Stefan, complied. He sent a barrage of pictures, snapshots of the bustling venue, gleaming motorcycles, and leather-clad bikers. I scrolled through them, my gaze flitting over the images, my mind racing, searching for clues, for any hint of… something… that would confirm or deny my suspicions. The photos were… normal, I guess. Crowds of people, rows of motorcycles, the usual paraphernalia of a motorcycle rally. Nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing that would suggest a budding romance between my brother and the aloof concierge of The Grand.

But still, the anxiety gnawed at me, a persistent itch beneath the surface of my constructed composure. I needed more information, more… evidence. "It’s getting late," I typed, my fingers hovering over the send button. "Will you be home for dinner?" It was a casual question, a subtle way of reminding him of his… obligations, of the shared life we had back home, away from the allure of gleaming motorcycles and smooth-talking concierges.

His reply was short and to the point. "Eating out. Will be back late." My heart sank. Eating out? With Aksel, no doubt. I pressed on, my determination fueled by a potent cocktail of jealousy and sibling protectiveness. "Send pic of what you eat! 😄" I demanded, adding a playful emoji to soften the demand. I needed to see, needed to know, what they were sharing, what kind of intimacy they were forging over plates of greasy diner food or Michelin-star delicacies.

Another picture arrived, a selfie of Stefan and Aksel, each holding a burger, their faces illuminated by the warm glow of the restaurant’s lighting. Stefan was grinning, his eyes alight with an excitement that made my chest ache. And Aksel… Aksel was looking directly at the camera, his amethyst eyes gleaming with a knowing look that was clearly meant for me. It was a challenge, a silent declaration, a subtle reminder of my… outsider status.

I stared at the photo, my stomach twisting into a tight knot of frustration. He was playing a game, Aksel, and I was… losing. He was marking his territory, staking his claim, and I was powerless to stop him. But not for long. I wouldn’t let him win, not without a fight. I would find a way to insert myself back into Stefan’s life, to reclaim the ground I felt I was losing. This was far from over.

The night stretched on, filled with restless pacing and anxious scrolling through social media. Every notification, every mention of Stefan's name, sent a fresh wave of anxiety through me. I was a prisoner in my own home, trapped in a cage of my own making, while Stefan, was out there, experiencing life, forging connections, exploring a world I wasn't a part of. It wasn't fair. It wasn't right. And I wouldn't stand for it.

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The digital clock on my nightstand blinked 10:58 PM. Almost bedtime. Stefan’s last text had said he was on his way home, and a restless energy, a mix of anticipation and dread, had propelled me to my bedroom window. From my second-floor vantage point, I had a clear view of the street below, the quiet, tree-lined avenue bathed in the soft glow of Parisian streetlights.

The low rumble of motorcycle engines grew louder, closer, until two distinct sounds separated themselves from the night’s symphony – the purr of a high-performance engine and the sputtering putt of Stefan’s trusty scooter. They pulled up to the curb, Aksel’s gleaming superbike a stark contrast to Stefan’s modest scooter. Even in the dim light, I could see the way Aksel’s gaze swept over our house, taking in every detail, as if committing the image to memory. My stomach churned. This was it, the moment I’d been dreading. Aksel was marking his territory, staking his claim, right here on my doorstep. Danger! Danger! My inner KPOP fan screamed, flashing imaginary warning signs like a deranged stage manager.

I watched, my heart hammering against my ribs, as Aksel dismounted his superbike and walked towards Stefan, who was still perched on his scooter. They spoke, their voices too low for me to hear, but I saw the way Stefan’s face lit up, a smile spreading across his features. And then… Aksel leaned in, his face close to Stefan’s, his lips brushing against his cheek. A kiss. A chaste, almost brotherly kiss. But a kiss nonetheless.

My breath hitched in my throat, my heart doing a frantic tap dance against my ribs. I couldn’t see it clearly from my vantage point, but I thought I saw a shy smile, a flicker of vulnerability, cross Aksel’s face before he turned and strode back to his superbike. He gave a final wave, a casual yet somehow possessive gesture, before revving the engine and speeding away into the night.

As Stefan entered the gate, the click of the lock echoing in the stillness, I flopped back onto my bed, my body suddenly heavy, my mind exhausted. It had been a tiring day, a day of emotional turmoil and silent battles fought on the digital front lines of social media and text messages. I felt like I’d just run a marathon, a KPOP voting spree with multiple accounts and devices, my energy depleted, my spirit drained.

The house was quiet, the comforting rhythm of family life settling around me like a warm blanket. Downstairs, I could hear the faint murmur of Maman and Papa’s voices, the clinking of glasses, the gentle hum of the television. They were oblivious to the drama unfolding in their son’s life, the silent war being waged for the affection of their other son. And for now, I preferred it that way. I wasn’t ready to share this, not yet. I needed time to process, to understand, to strategize.

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The next morning, the memory of Aksel’s kiss, that small, yet significant gesture of affection, hung over me like a stale perfume. The usual effortless drive to work felt… different, tainted by a strange mix of anxiety and resentment. I’d left my Porsche near Le Petit Paradis yesterday, too flustered to drive after witnessing… that.

As I paid the taxi driver and stepped out of the car, my gaze instinctively swept across the parking lot, searching for… I wasn’t sure what.

The parking lot was, thankfully, empty. I retrieved my Porsche, the familiar sleek lines of the car a comforting presence in the chaotic landscape of my emotions. As I drove to The Grand, my mind raced, replaying the events of the previous day, searching for clues, for answers, for a way to navigate this treacherous terrain of unrequited love and unwanted advances.