Chapter Text
It started, as these things often do, with one of them being lost and the other pretending not to be.
They had ended up in the same Norwegian coastal town because of a small invitational tournament — the kind squeezed between larger events, where everyone seemed to know everyone else, except for them. Magnus was on home soil; Hikaru was not. That alone created a quiet imbalance between them, like the first move in a game you didn’t choose to play.
After the final round, they’d left the venue at the same time by coincidence — or perhaps because there was only one street leading back toward the harbor. Magnus walked slightly ahead, giving the impression he knew where he was going. Hikaru followed at a careful distance, mostly because he didn’t know the town and partly because catching up would feel like admitting he needed help.
The rain began abruptly, the way it sometimes does near the sea — no warning, just a sudden, steady curtain. Magnus slowed but didn’t look back. Hikaru, scanning for shelter, spotted a narrow storefront tucked between a bakery and what looked like an abandoned bookstore. He wasn’t sure it had been there a minute ago.
Its display window was crowded with strange objects: tarnished compasses, bunches of dried herbs tied with black string, a chessboard missing one knight. Above the door, a faded wooden sign read “Curios”, the letters almost disappearing into the weathered grain.
Magnus had stopped under the bakery’s awning, watching the rain as if calculating its endgame. Hikaru nodded toward the strange shop. “At least it’s dry in there,” he said, not so much inviting as stating a fact.
Carlsen hesitated only a second before following. The bell above the door made a flat, metallic sound — more like a warning than a welcome. Inside, the air smelled of cedar and dust, with something sharper underneath, something like burned sugar. The light came from old lamps whose shades leaned at tired angles.
They told themselves they were just waiting for the rain to pass. That was the practical, unspoken agreement between them. But as they drifted deeper among shelves of mismatched trinkets, glass cases of coins that seemed to hum faintly, and books in languages neither could identify, the idea of leaving began to feel… less obvious.
“Looking for something?”
The voice came so suddenly that Hikaru jerked, shoulders tightening as if someone had tapped him on the spine. He turned to see the old woman behind the counter — she could have been there the whole time, yet he was certain she hadn’t. Her eyes were sharp, steady, and entirely uninterested in pretending not to stare.
He shot a glance toward Magnus. The Norwegian was already smirking, the expression slow and deliberate, like he’d been waiting for an opportunity to enjoy this.
Hikaru rolled his eyes. “No, nothing like that,” he told the woman, trying to keep his tone even. “Just… looking around.”
She watched them with the sort of patience that comes from already knowing how a story will end.
Hikaru drifted away from her gaze, moving along a low display table scattered with the kind of objects you couldn’t quite place in time — old tin lockets, glass jars holding something like dried petals, and brittle maps curled at the edges. Near the end of the table, his hand paused over a shape shrouded in a faded, moth-eaten cloth.
The fabric was heavy with dust, its weave coarse under his fingers, as though it hadn’t been touched in years. Whatever it hid was solid and cold beneath, edges defined but unfamiliar. He couldn’t yet see it, but the outline suggested a frame — rectangular, with a weight that hinted at something meant to last.
A quiet movement broke his focus. Magnus had stepped up beside him, his gaze flicking toward the covered object with faint curiosity, the kind that seemed casual on the surface but was impossible to fully mask.
Hikaru reached for the cloth, fingers curling into its coarse weave, ready to peel it back — when the woman’s voice cut through the still air again.
“Stop.”
They both looked at her. She hadn’t moved from behind the counter, but her eyes seemed darker now, sharper.
“It is a mirror, old and grim,
Two who gaze will speak no whim.
Truth alone shall pass your lips,
No deceit between your grips.”
The words had the rhythm of something meant to be remembered — or feared.
"If two people look into this mirror, they will never be able to lie to each other again."
Hikaru shot Magnus a sidelong glance, then quickly turned away, angling the object so the Norwegian couldn’t catch its surface. With care, he lifted the edge of the cloth.
Beneath was indeed a mirror, its glass warped ever so slightly, enough to make the reflection look like it belonged to another time. The air around it felt cooler, and for a moment Hikaru thought the shadows in the glass moved differently from the ones in the room.
Footsteps came closer. Magnus had drifted to his side and, without asking, leaned in to look.
“Hey—what are you doing?” Hikaru’s voice was low but sharp.
Magnus didn’t answer right away; instead, he murmured just loud enough for Hikaru to hear, “You actually believe that crazy old woman?”
But the longer they looked, the more their faces in the glass seemed to stretch and shift — not grotesque, just… wrong. Eyes slightly off-center, mouths set in shapes they weren’t making.
Hikaru felt his stomach knot. With a small, abrupt motion, he set the mirror back on the table and let the cloth fall over it, covering every inch.
The woman’s voice broke the silence again, low and certain.
“You have just bound yourselves to a curse.”
Hikaru’s heart quickened, a flicker of unease brushing his face, but he kept his expression calm. Magnus, by contrast, looked almost amused — a spark of mischievous light in his eyes.
“So,” Magnus asked, stretching out the word like a game, “when do we get rid of this curse?”
The woman’s gaze never wavered. “No one knows.”
She settled back behind the counter and began her story, her voice a soft, chilling whisper, like wind threading through bare branches:
“In the late nineteenth century, this very mirror found its way into the home of a couple who seemed the perfect example of wedded bliss. They swore, as lovers do, to always speak the truth to one another—no lies, no secrets. The mirror promised only honesty, a clear reflection of their hearts.
“But after they looked into it, things changed.
“At first, it was small things: doubts whispered in the night, shadows where none should be. They began to see in each other’s eyes a coldness that wasn’t there before. Arguments flared without reason, words sharpened like knives.
“In time, the madness took hold. Their minds unravelled until, one terrible evening, they turned on each other — and neither survived.
“Since then, the mirror has passed from hand to hand, bringing truth that no one wants, and a fate worse than lies.”
Hikaru spun around abruptly, the tale tightening like a noose around his thoughts. Without a word, he strode toward the door, pushed it open, and stepped outside.
The rain had stopped. The sky stretched wide and clear above, the sharp scent of sea and earth filling the air.
Magnus followed at a measured pace, his eyes still glinting with that half-smile.
They walked on for several minutes in a companionable silence that was anything but comfortable. The cobblestones glistened beneath their feet, still wet from the rain that had so abruptly ceased, and the crisp air smelled faintly of salt and damp earth. Above, the sky stretched wide and clear, its pale blue stark against the old stone buildings lining the narrow street.
Neither spoke at first. Hikaru’s mind replayed the old woman’s story, the echo of her words weaving through his thoughts like a chill wind.
Finally, Magnus glanced sideways, breaking the silence with a teasing note in his voice.
“You left that shop pretty quickly. Were you actually scared?”
Hikaru didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he stared ahead, focusing on the way the light caught on the puddles like little mirrors.
“I don’t know,” he said after a moment. “It just… sounded real enough to be creepy. I don’t like that kind of thing.”
Magnus chuckled, the sound low and a little sardonic.
“All those stories? They’re just a sales pitch, you know — designed to make some tourist pay the price of a plane’s wing for a dusty trinket.”
Hikaru’s lips curved into a faint, reluctant smile.
“Seems to me,” he said slowly, “you’re putting yourself a little too high, Magnus.”
Magnus stopped mid-step, eyebrows arching in amused challenge.
“Oh? What now, Hikaru? Going to accuse me of being arrogant?”
Hikaru halted as well, the two of them standing face to face in the quiet street. For a moment, the only sound was the distant gulls crying overhead.
“Yes,” Hikaru said, then suddenly clapped a hand over his mouth, eyes wide with horror.
Magnus’s eyes narrowed, a slow smile tugging at his lips.
“If you want to insult me,” he said, voice teasing, “at least do it properly. Don’t pretend you’re under some ancient curse.”
Hikaru pulled his hand away.
"I swear, I wasn’t going to say that!"
Magnus gave him a knowing look.
“Sure, sure,” he said, with a wink, “I don’t believe you.”
For a moment, they simply stared at each other — a tense, unblinking silence stretched between them. Magnus’s expression shifted first, his jaw tightening as if holding back a retort. With a short, sharp exhale, he clenched his teeth, flicked his hand in dismissal, and turned on his heel.
“Alright, I’m going,” he muttered, striding forward.
“Wait!” Hikaru called out.
Magnus stopped but didn’t turn right away. When he finally did, his look was somewhere between mild annoyance and curiosity.
“I think…” Hikaru hesitated, the words tasting strange in his mouth, “I think this curse is trying to make us fight.”
Magnus stared at him like he was weighing whether Hikaru was joking or just unwell.
“Listen, you—”
“Try lying to me,” Hikaru cut him off.
“What?” Magnus blinked. “You’ve completely lost it.”
“Just try. Say your name is something else.”
Magnus rolled his eyes in long-suffering patience. “Fine… My name is Magnus Carlsen.”
Hikaru said nothing, only kept watching him, the silence stretching long enough for a small crease to form between Magnus’s brows.
Magnus tried again, this time in a brisker tone, as though proving a point. “I’m a man. I play chess. I was born in Norway. I’m—” He stopped mid-sentence, a flicker of realization freezing him.
Something cold and uncomfortable passed over his face.
“I can’t lie,” he said quietly, as if speaking the words made them heavier.
They didn’t wait to discuss it. At the same instant, both turned and sprinted back the way they had come, the sound of their footsteps echoing down the narrow street.
The spot where the shop had been was now nothing but the blank wall of a weathered building, plaster worn smooth by years of wind and rain.
“Damn it,” Hikaru panted, scanning the street. “It was right here.”
They fanned out, checking between the other storefronts and down the side alleys. There was no trace — not even a signboard, not even the scent of cedar that had clung to the air inside.
Magnus ducked into a small convenience shop across the street, the bell above the door ringing sharply. A woman stood behind the counter, counting coins in a shallow tray.
“Excuse me,” Magnus said, still catching his breath. “There was a shop here earlier. ‘Curios.’ Do you know where it moved?”
Without looking up, the woman replied flatly, “There’s never been a shop by that name here. You must be mistaken.”
Magnus stared at her for a moment longer, searching her face for any hint of deception. There was none — just the casual disinterest of someone with no idea what he was talking about.
When he stepped back outside, Hikaru was standing in the middle of the street, scanning the empty space where the door had been, his expression a mix of disbelief and unease.
Magnus shook his head sharply, then slapped his palms against his cheeks as if to jolt himself awake.
“Alright, alright,” he said, exhaling. “That old woman said something about two people not being able to lie to each other. We need to check if we can lie to other people.”
Without waiting for a reply, the Norwegian jogged a few steps away, scanning the street. A young man in a windbreaker and a knitted beanie was passing by, earbuds dangling around his neck.
Magnus intercepted him with a friendly nod. “Hello! I’m a mountaineer — could you tell me where I might stay around here?”
The stranger paused, tilting his head. “Uh… just a second.” He fished his phone from his pocket, scrolling for an answer.
But Carlsen was already grinning. “No need! I’m all set,” he said, before jogging back toward the Japanese, leaving the young man staring after him with faint confusion. The stranger muttered something under his breath — possibly wondering if all Norwegians were like that — and continued on his way.
By the time the grandmaster returned to Hikaru, he was slightly out of breath but clearly pleased with himself.
“I tested it,” Magnus announced triumphantly. “We can lie to other people.”
Relief loosened Nakamura’s shoulders, and he let out a quiet breath. “Good. For a second there, I thought we were stuck telling the truth to everyone. That would’ve been a disaster.”
They started walking again, this time more in step, though every so often the Japanese would glance sideways, as if half-expecting the shop to reappear where it had vanished.
They reached the hotel but didn’t immediately go inside. Instead, they lingered by the entrance, the quiet street around them broken only by the distant cry of a gull.
“I still can’t believe that actually happened,” Hikaru said, his tone halfway between disbelief and resignation.
“Yeah,” Magnus replied, a wry twist to his mouth. “Guess now we can’t have a normal conversation anymore.” He said it almost cheerfully, as if the whole thing amused him more than it should.
Nakamura turned his gaze toward the horizon, where the evening light was spilling gold across the rooftops. After a pause, he said, “You’re right. Maybe we should talk as little as possible.”
Carlsen blinked at him. “What?”
“To avoid trouble,” Hikaru explained. “You know… earlier today, I called you arrogant and you nearly picked a fight with me.” His eyes flicked toward the Norwegian. “I’m not saying I think you’re a terrible person — I just… well, you remember what that old woman told us.”
“Yeah,” Magnus said slowly. “I guess you’re right.” His expression shifted — not quite uneasy, but not entirely sure of itself either.
“Alright then,” he added after a moment, stepping back. “I’ll go. Got plenty to do.”
With those words, he turned and strode down the street, his silhouette soon disappearing behind the closing hotel door.
Hikaru stayed where he was, breathing in the cool air, his pulse still not quite steady. For a long moment, he simply stood there, staring at the cobblestones as if expecting them to shift beneath his feet.
Hikaru took a deep breath and finally went inside. He made his way up to his room, closing the door behind him with a quiet click. From his bag, he pulled out a chess book — heavy, dog-eared, its spine faintly creased from years of use — and set it on the desk. The plan was simple: sink into variations, calculate endgames, and let the logic of sixty-four squares wipe away the absurdity of the evening.
Outside, night had fully settled. The lamplight from the street painted long amber streaks across the floor, and the soft hum of the city beyond the window was a steady background noise.
Then came the pounding on his door. Not a polite knock — a rapid, insistent thud-thud-thud.
He opened it to find Carlsen standing there, laptop in hand, looking as though he’d just sprinted from the other end of the building.
“I found something!” the Norwegian declared.
Hikaru stepped aside without a word, and Magnus strode in, setting the laptop on the small table by the window.
“I found a similar curse online — something about a mirror,” Magnus said, flipping through a long page of text. Hikaru came over, arms folded across his chest, leaning just enough to read.
“There,” Magnus said, tapping the screen. “It says the only way to break the curse is for the two affected people to complete a task requiring absolute trust and coordinated effort over several days, with neither allowed to withdraw until it’s finished.”
Hikaru’s eyes narrowed. “That’s… not going to be easy. And if this turns out to be fake? Just another creepy pasta?”
“I think we should try,” Magnus said firmly.
“I thought we agreed to just keep our contact to a minimum,” Hikaru replied. “Not that there was much to begin with.” As soon as he said it, he realized it might sound harsher than intended — but it was the truth, and he couldn’t take it back even if he wanted to.
Magnus straightened, stepping back from the laptop. There was the briefest pause before he spoke again.
“We’re going to be playing in the same events for a long time,” he said, his tone a little quieter. “And… you’re a decent guy. I’d rather not have this… you know, uncomfortable atmosphere between us.”
“The conditions are… vague,” he said finally. “What does that even mean? ‘Complete a task requiring mutual trust’? That could be anything.”
Magnus tilted his head, his brow furrowing as if he was actually giving it serious thought.
“Okay… hear me out,” he began, pacing a few steps away from the table before turning back with a little smirk. “We could—” He started listing random, ridiculous ideas on his fingers. “—build a raft and cross a river, go to one of those trust-fall corporate retreats, or maybe even train a dog together. Oh! Or—”
Hikaru rolled his eyes. “You’re just listing scenes from movies now.”
Magnus stopped pacing, leaned on the table, and after a brief pause said:
“Alright, how about this — we live together for a week. Make a list of tasks so we actually have to rely on each other. We’ll have to negotiate, coordinate, maybe even cooperate if we don’t want to starve. By the end, you’ll admit I’m not as arrogant as you think… and I might, possibly, stop thinking of you as a boring old man.”
Hikaru’s eyes narrowed. “And what if you are arrogant? Then what?”
“Then,” Magnus shrugged, “we find out for sure.”
The Japanese slowly walked over and dropped onto the hotel couch with a faint thud, leaning back against the cushions.
“I don’t know, Carlsen. This feels like some stupid reality show premise. Is it really that important to you?”
Magnus stepped closer, hands shoved into his pockets, his voice turning quieter but more deliberate.
“It’s not just about whether we talk or not. I don’t like being boxed in — even if it’s something I don’t usually do. Knowing there’s a line I can’t cross… it bothers me. Getting rid of this thing is now a matter of principle.”
Hikaru let out a long breath, tilting his head back against the couch. “Fine,” he said, finally.
Magnus’s mouth curved into the faintest trace of a grin.
“Great. I’ll make the list.”
“Wait,” Hikaru said, raising an eyebrow. “You’re making the list? That’s already unfair.”
“That’s part of the trust test,” Magnus replied with mock seriousness.
Hikaru groaned and grabbed a cushion, burying his face in it. “This is going to be hell.”
Magnus, looking far too satisfied with himself, closed the laptop with a decisive click and started toward the door. “I’ll be back in the morning. And don’t even think about bailing.”
As the door shut behind him, Hikaru sat there in the quiet room, staring at the cushion in his hands. A whole week. Living with Magnus Carlsen.
He wasn’t sure if the curse was the real problem anymore.
The morning was cold and quiet. The brunette had almost managed to convince himself that last night’s events had been some strange dream—until someone started pounding on his hotel room door.
At first, he thought it might be housekeeping. But the knocking was too rhythmic, too impatient.
Still half-asleep, shuffling his feet across the floor, Hikaru opened the door.
“What do you want…?” he mumbled, yawning so wide it almost hurt.
On the doorstep stood Carlsen, dressed like he’d already been out for a run.
“What are your plans for this morning?” he asked, far too awake for Hikaru’s liking.
“I was going to… fly home,” the brunette replied lazily.
“So we’re staying at your place, then?” Magnus asked, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
Hikaru closed his eyes, but then they shot open in horror.
“What?…” Memory hit him like cold water. “Oh. Right… the curse.”
“I just figured it’d make more sense to stay at my place, since we’re in Norway anyway,” Magnus said, as if he were offering the obvious solution.
The brunette grimaced and walked past him toward the small kitchenette.
"I’ll make coffee,” he muttered.
The kettle was set on to boil, and Hikaru leaned against the counter, arms crossed.
“I’ve made a list,” Magnus began, “but there are still a few things undefined.”
“Like what?”
“We need to have a shared goal—something we can accomplish together. I was hoping you might suggest a few ideas.”
“I thought you were the one with all the weird plans,” Hikaru said flatly.
The kettle whistled. He poured hot water into a paper cup, tore open a packet of instant coffee, and stirred it lazily with a spoon.
“Well, we’ll figure it out on the way,” Magnus said, giving a small shrug as if that settled it. "Ready to come to my place?"
They pushed open the glass door of the hotel, stepping into the crisp morning air. The street was already busy — the muted clatter of shop shutters opening, the smell of fresh bread from a nearby bakery, and the low hum of voices blending with the occasional passing car. Hikaru was still half-asleep, holding a disposable cup of coffee.
He glanced down at the steam curling from the lid, took a slow sip, and almost missed the blur of movement rushing toward them.
It happened in a split second — a man in a black cap pulled low over his forehead, a surgical mask hiding his face, and a dark, zipped-up jacket. He was moving fast, his gaze fixed somewhere ahead, until his shoulder slammed hard into Hikaru’s.
The brunette staggered back, his coffee sloshing dangerously close to the rim. His bag slipped from his shoulder, landing on the pavement with a muffled thud.
“Whoa—hey—” Hikaru’s free hand shot out instinctively, palm open, ready to help steady the stranger.
The man didn’t take it. Instead, he crouched in a quick, practiced motion, fingers closing around the strap of Hikaru’s fallen bag.
It took Hikaru a second too long to realize what was happening. By the time his brain caught up—Wait, he’s taking it—the thief had already pivoted on his heel and was sprinting down the street.
“Hey!” Hikaru barked, his voice more startled than angry.
But Magnus didn’t waste a word. The Norwegian was already in motion. his shoes pounding the sidewalk. His strides were long, his focus locked on the black cap bobbing ahead of him.
Hikaru stayed frozen for half a second, clutching his coffee, heart racing. Then he stepped forward, watching them weave through the pedestrians. The thief ducked between an elderly couple and a man walking a dog, forcing Magnus to slow down just enough to lose ground.
“Move!” Magnus shouted at no one in particular, cutting across the street. For a moment it looked like he might catch up — he was closing the gap — but the man in the mask glanced over his shoulder, spotted him, and abruptly veered left into a narrow alley.
By the time Magnus reached the corner, the alley had already swallowed the figure into the shifting tide of the crowd on the other side.
Magnus stood there, breathing hard, scanning desperately for any sign of him — a glimpse of the cap, a flicker of that jacket — but it was no use. Just strangers going about their morning, oblivious.
Finally, he turned back, frustration tightening his jaw. Hikaru was still near the hotel entrance.
“He’s gone,” Magnus muttered as he closed the distance.
Hikaru blinked at him, still a bit stunned. “…That was my bag.”
“I noticed,” Magnus said dryly, brushing past him to glance down the street one last time, as if the man might suddenly reappear.
Hikaru’s breath hitched. The reality of what just happened slammed into him all at once, and his chest tightened.
“Wait—no, no, no… what am I supposed to do now?!” His voice rose, sharp with panic. “That bag had everything—my documents, my money—”
“Hey, calm down,” Magnus interrupted, stepping closer and resting a steadying hand on Hikaru’s shoulder. His tone was firm but not unkind. “Panicking’s not going to help. We need to file a theft report. Come on.”
Hikaru stood frozen for a heartbeat, his coffee cup trembling slightly in his hand. Then, as they started walking down the street, he tipped it toward the nearest trash bin, letting the last lukewarm mouthful slosh away. It landed in the bin with a dull thunk — he hadn’t even taken more than two sips.
The police station was only a few blocks away, but the walk felt heavier than it should. Hikaru’s mind was a tangle of thoughts—how could he have been so careless?
Inside, the station was quiet, fluorescent lights humming faintly overhead. A uniformed officer sat behind a desk, glancing up as they approached. After a brief explanation from Magnus, the officer slid a standard theft report form across the counter and handed Hikaru a pen.
“Write down everything that was stolen, as specifically as you can,” the officer said.
Hikaru sat down at a small side desk, pen poised above the paper. His handwriting came out rushed and uneven as he began listing: Cash – about €600 in mixed bills. Passport – United States passport. Flight documents – printed return ticket from Oslo to Miami, via London. Driver’s license – Florida. Residency and travel permits – the small laminated ID cards he always carried in case of international tournaments. Laptop – slim black Lenovo, with all his prep files. Phone – his primary smartphone, which, by bad luck, he’d tossed in his bag before leaving the hotel. Personal diary – small black leather notebook filled with game analyses, move sequences, and personal notes.
He paused after each item, the knot in his stomach tightening. Writing it out somehow made the loss feel heavier. Magnus lingered nearby, arms crossed, glancing at the list over Hikaru’s shoulder.
When Hikaru finished, he set the pen down with a quiet clack and pushed the form back toward the officer, his expression tight.
They rode back to Magnus’s place in silence, the hum of the taxi’s engine filling the space where words might have been. Hikaru sat slouched against the seat, his gaze fixed on the blur of buildings outside. His thoughts were far away, weighed down by the mess of the morning.
When they stepped inside, Magnus closed the door behind them and spoke quietly, almost hesitantly, as if the words were heavy in his mouth.
“Listen… I get that you’ve had a lot dumped on you today. I’m not going to insist you stay here. If it’d be easier for you to have some space to yourself, I could book you a hotel until your stuff turns up. I’d cover it.”
Hikaru hesitated, his hands buried deep in his pockets. His answer came after a beat.
“No, it’s fine. I’ll stay—if you haven’t changed your mind.”
Magnus shook his head once, and that was the end of it.
The house was a two-story build with clean, modern lines. On the ground floor was a spacious garage. Above it stretched a broad terrace with a view toward the harbor, and higher still was a small balcony, partially shielded by light wooden paneling.
Hikaru stepped in cautiously, the smell of fresh coffee and faint cedar in the air. The kitchen opened up on the right—bright, orderly, and immaculate, its white granite counters free of clutter. Every utensil seemed to have its exact place.
On the wall near the entry to the living area was a narrow shelf inset into the wall. It held an assortment of objects—small plants in ceramic pots, a couple of framed photographs, and some other decorative pieces that looked carefully chosen.
Hikaru moved closer, eyes scanning each item until one in particular caught his attention. He nodded toward a black frame sitting in the middle.
“What’s this one?”
Magnus stepped over, glanced at it, and the corner of his mouth lifted faintly.
“That was a Christmas gift from a very good friend of mine,” he said. “It’s just a table showing me at the top of the Fantasy Premier League that 2023 year.”
Hikaru’s lips curved just slightly, though his eyes still carried the weight of the morning.
“Figures,” he said, brushing a fingertip along the frame before stepping back. “And you put it right where no one can miss it.”
Magnus shrugged, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “What’s wrong with that? You already think I’m full of myself.”
“exactly,” Hikaru replied flatly, but there was a faint glint in his gaze—half amusement, half challenge.
Magnus leaned against the counter, crossing his arms. “At least I’m consistent.”
Hikaru shook his head, muttering something under his breath as he wandered farther into the living area. The space was just as tidy as the kitchen—soft gray couches, a low coffee table, a tall bookshelf neatly arranged.
Magnus watched him take it in for a moment, then said, “You can take the guest room upstairs. It’s at the end of the hall. Fresh sheets, closet’s empty—unless you want the master bedroom, of course.”
Hikaru shot him a look over his shoulder.
"I'll sleep wherever you say—after all, I'm the guest here."
Magnus laughed under his breath, shaking his head as he pushed away from the counter. “Suit yourself. I’ll show you where it is.”
They made their way upstairs, the sound of their footsteps muffled by the soft carpet. Hikaru’s gaze caught on a set of sliding doors leading out to a terrace—just beyond the glass, a hammock swayed gently in the midday breeze, its ropes creaking faintly. For a moment, the sight tempted him, but he kept walking, following Magnus down the hall.
Halfway there, Hikaru’s foot hit something lying on the floor—a tangled mess of headphones, a hoodie, and what looked like an empty chess set box. He stumbled slightly and caught himself on the wall.
“God, what a mess you have here,” Hikaru muttered.
Magnus glanced back with a faintly amused expression. “Most people don’t say that out loud.”
“Sorry, it slipped. You know I can’t lie,” Hikaru replied with a shrug.
“Well,” Magnus said without shame, “I honestly hate all these domestic chores. So they’re your problem now—try to make this place a bit nicer.”
“What?!” Hikaru’s voice sharpened. “Don’t tell me you started all this just so you could get a free maid.”
Magnus smirked, eyes glinting with mischief. “Originally, I had the purest intentions. But then I realized I could actually benefit from this. And now that I’m the one covering all the material needs, I’d say it’s a fair trade.” He paused, then added with mock sincerity, “Sorry—can’t lie either.”
Hikaru exhaled slowly, visibly trying to keep his temper in check.
They reached the guest room at the end of the hall. It was simple and almost impersonal—light walls, a clean double bed with crisp white sheets, and an empty wardrobe in the corner. The air smelled faintly of detergent, the kind that came from unused linens. It was a room meant for short stays, without a single personal touch.
Hikaru stepped inside the guest room, setting his jacket on the bed. He glanced around again, the bare walls and the quiet making the place feel almost like a hotel room—only colder.
“You know,” he said without thinking, “it’s impressive how you’ve managed to make even a guest room feel like it’s waiting for someone to leave.”
Magnus, still leaning against the doorframe, raised an eyebrow. “Wow. Subtle as always.”
The words hung in the air longer than either of them expected. Hikaru realized a beat too late that the comment had come out sharper than he’d intended—another side effect of the curse forcing honesty straight from his mouth. He looked away, suddenly feeling heat creep up the back of his neck.
Magnus’s expression softened for just a second, as if he’d caught that flicker of regret. “Well… at least you’re not pretending to like it,” he said quietly, though there was no real bite to it.
Hikaru sat down on the edge of the bed, rubbing his temples. “Sorry. Guess I should’ve just said it’s… minimalist.”
Magnus gave a small, almost reluctant chuckle. “Too late. The damage is done.”
They shared a moment of silence, both a little unsettled—not so much by the words themselves, but by the fact that neither could take them back.
“Uh… so,” Hikaru began, glancing sideways at Magnus, “do you… often have people stay over?”
Magnus shook his head. “Not really. I’m not exactly a fan of guests overstaying their welcome.”
Hikaru raised an eyebrow. “Right. And yet, you invited me to live with you for a week.”
Magnus’s lips twitched in something close to a smirk. “Yeah. I thought I could use a little experimentation in my life.”
Hikaru sat down on the edge of the bed, tapping his hands lightly against his knees, feeling the awkward silence grow between them. “You realize we’re going to end up saying things to each other that we normally wouldn’t say even with a gun to our heads, right? You still think this is a good idea?”
Magnus hesitated, his eyes holding Hikaru’s for a beat too long before he answered. “No.”
The honesty landed heavier than Hikaru expected. Before he could say anything, Magnus quickly averted his gaze and turned toward the door. His voice was quieter now, almost reluctant. “But I want you to stay.”
Hikaru didn’t have a chance to respond—Magnus was already heading for the stairs, his footsteps a steady creak on the wood. Halfway down, he called back over his shoulder, “Settle in. When you’re ready, come downstairs.”
The sound of him disappearing into the lower floor left the room feeling strangely hollow, the air heavier than before.
Hikaru sat on the bed for a while, elbows on his knees, staring at the bare floor. The whole situation—the “curse,” the stolen bag, and now living in Magnus’s house—felt so absurd it was almost laughable… except it wasn’t funny at all.
With a sigh, he finally pushed himself up and headed downstairs. The soft thud of his socks on the steps led him into the living room, where Magnus was standing near the sofa, phone in hand, brows drawn together as he stared intently at the screen.
“So,” Hikaru began, trying to sound casual, “what do you want me to help you with first?”
Magnus didn’t look up. “Wait… I just got a strange message.”
Hikaru’s expression sharpened. He stepped closer until he could see the pale blue glow of the phone in Magnus’s hand. “What? What is it?”
Magnus stayed silent for a moment, eyes still fixed on the screen.
Impatience won out—Hikaru leaned in and read over his shoulder.
«Tell your friend his password was way too easy to crack.»
Hikaru froze. The words felt cold even without any name attached to them. He took two sharp steps back, his heel catching slightly on the rug, and stopped dead.
Magnus looked up at him. “Listen… you’re sure you don’t have any enemies?”
“God, I don’t know!” Hikaru’s voice cracked, frustration and anxiety spilling into it. “It could be anyone, Magnus. I’m a public figure.”
Magnus tilted his head slightly, studying him with a sharpness that felt almost uncomfortable. “Are you sure? Because it feels like you’re holding something back.”