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Chapter Text

“Are you excited to race against the newest addition to the grid this upcoming season?” 

Magnus stared at the interviewer’s face for a long while. His face wearing the practiced ease of bright grin that he knew the media had grown to love. He knew that it was coming. In fact, such questions come every year. It was even more frequent now that he had found himself in the shoes of a veteran in the game. 10 years in, and the thrill of chasing after the tail of another car still excited him. 

He smiled at the reporter and gave his usual response: “Of course.”

“It’s a special one, isn’t it?” She smiled back at him like it was some inside joke. The red light on the camera blinked at him. One, two, three; not so different from the blinking lights at the beginning of a race. He smiled at her because she already knew the answer. It felt like she knew it better than he did. 

“That’s certainly what the people have been saying, yes.” He was careful to not show too much emotion. Magnus couldn’t afford to let a new driver get under his skin even before the season started, no matter how hard the media was trying to ramp him up as the next big thing. He looked to his left and saw a few fans with Ferrari banners with them, attached with that annoying face. It’s a Mercedes car reveal day. Why did he have to see that face, much less in a proper banner, already?

“It’s always full of hype and celebration before we get to see the real thing.” Grimacing internally, Magnus took a deep breath, “I guess certain people want to celebrate early because they’re scared that they can’t celebrate during the season itself.”

It wasn’t often that Magnus scoffed at upcoming drivers, he liked the thrill of beating another person to a pulp, to see defeat in their eyes when they realised that he was leagues above them and there was no point in even trying to prove anyone otherwise. He swiped to another page of the website, unable to bear seeing the face that had been haunting him, one that everyone seemed to think that he was obsessed with. 

If anything, it was the other way around. Magnus wasn’t rattled at all. He had been in the business for years. There’s no reason to be afraid of a small man who hadn’t even driven a real race once in his life. No, NASCAR races didn’t count. That Hikaru guy wasn’t even the best in America, what made him think that he could make it big in Formula 1 when it’s so difficult to transfer the skill around anyway?

He was running on pure delusion. The media and his fans were even worse for going along with his delusion of grandeur, of being anything more than a speck on Magnus’ footnote. 

“Silly dreams, silly rumours.” He murmured to himself. 

The reigning champion leaned back against the sofa and closed his eyes. He jerked in surprise when an image of that annoying face flash-banged him in a flash. It was all the media’s fault. They were spamming his face everywhere, now Magnus was beginning to see it, even in his sleep. He shifted uneasily, entangling himself in the blanket until he was laying flat on the sofa with his face buried under the magazines that were splattered with Hikaru’s face. 

“Silly man. Annoying face.” He breathed, grimacing to himself when his brain low-key short-circuited, and he imagined what the other man would smell like after a long race. “Stupid rumours,” he mumbled and choked a little because his golden boy, yet ruthless persona was slowly deteriorating even before the season started. 

He should be getting up to train soon. But Magnus couldn’t bring himself to. In the background, a familiar voice rang out from his TV. Muffled by the sound of the on-coming traffic and occasional fan hollering, the man on the screen appeared to be trying out different gelato flavours, which he claimed that he “had never tried before in his life.” 

“Give a shout-out to someone,” the familiar face on the screen read the chat in his slightly high voice. The sound grated Magnus’ ears like every other time, something that he had grown to seek comfort from after a few years of regular listening. He looked up from the sofa cushion just in time to see that annoying face smirking at the screen like he was winning some sort of war that only a few knew of. 

“Shout out to my favourite subscriber: Magnus Carlsen.” Hikaru announced in public, to his live audience of over 25k, like the shameless piece of ass that he was. “I thank God for you exposing yourself as my subscriber every night before I sleep. I know you’re watching me right now, baby. Muah ~”

He made kissy faces at the screen for a moment before continuing to read other chats that were swimming by in a flash. Hikaru’s mouth was shown to be moving on the screen, perhaps complaining about the taste of something that he just put in his mouth. Magnus couldn’t hear any of it besides the rush of blood that was shooting to his face like a schoolgirl with a crush.

Magnus didn’t care. Although it had been unsettling to see two Hikaru’s faces so early in the morning, he couldn’t find it in himself to complain, much less when there was no one to hear him fake his reaction. His eyes lingered on the magazine’s cover for a long minute. As usual, Hikaru’s voice rang out through his penthouse. Unlike last night, however, his face and voice emitted from the small screen of Magnus’ mobile: an old video from when he was still driving in America. 

On the screen, Hikaru was talking about his car seat hurting his butt. The other man was walking around, going into shops after shops to look for something that was “pretty enough” for his butt to sit on while he drove. At the edge of the frame, fans were starting to gather outside the glass windows, waving their phones around as they tried to catch a glimpse of the controversial driver. 

“This one is so nice and soft,” Hikaru beamed, as if he couldn’t see the chaos that was slowly forming outside. “But it comes in this ugly shade of orange. I want something lighter…Mhm…”

Magnus scoffed at the ridiculous words. If he remembered correctly, a few days after the video came out, several seat cushions had been sent to the bratty driver. His sponsors and “fans” seemed to be extra invested in the comfort of Hikaru’s ass more than anything. Magnus skipped the video and rewatched the one of Hikaru unboxing his seat cushions for the nth time. 

“Brat,” he said to his phone as he finished up his breakfast. 

On the screen, Hikaru began to unwrap one of the more luxurious ones. Of course, he would go for that. Magnus should have expected nothing less shameless. He watched as the man in his phone continued to work through all the packages and opened up the familiar baby blue one that he spent 2 hours contemplating on before buying. He didn’t even know why he sent it in the first place. But Magnus still cooed whenever he saw Hikaru hugging the soft pillow to his chest to test how soft it was.

“Hmph, I don’t remember looking for a throw pillow.” The man on the screen mumbled. He could still recall himself being mad about it. How dare Hikaru hug his pillow to his chest and complain? He should be grateful that Magnus or anyone at all got him anything in the first place. In fact, he should have been kissing all of them to say: ‘thank you’. Wait, no. Not everyone. Just him. Hikaru should have kissed him ‘thank you’ for that pillow. 

“It smells soooo good, though.”

It was an expensive cologne. Magnus had spent an extra 2 hours thinking if he should personalise the gift by spraying it on. It was worth it, he commended himself over and over again for the past year. Because whenever Hikaru filmed at his place, he always had that blue pillow on his lap, under his chin, or even against his chest as he read all the fan mail. The other man may not know about him sending the present, but Magnus knew. And that was enough.

“Smells like my dream man,” Hikaru was still cooing at the pillow. Magnus scoffed at the audacity and switched the video off.

He met Hikaru, eventually and reluctantly, at the annual dinner celebration where everyone was supposed to pretend that they were friendly with one another. Magnus never had to pretend, not really. He was moderately nice to everyone. As he aged, it was also obvious that none of the kids were keen to piss him off either. It was a fair trade. He had peace, aside from the occasional playful banter, and the kids got to pretend like they weren't scared of him.

There was just something about Hikaru that made him want to pick a fight. Okay, it’s because he might have had a little more than enough to drink. His friends might have urged him on too much, and his date shouldn't have left him so early. He blamed all of it on them, because before Magnus realised it, he had made his way across the hall to Hikaru.

“Oh hey,” Hikaru said in a volume so small, he might have been better off not saying anything. Magnus could see right through him. He could see the little trembles of his fingers, how he stood by the corner because the dumbass was just a shy little minx at the end of the day.

“Shut up,” Magnus slurred his words. He should have stopped when he heard how drunk he fucking sounded. But he continued to talk anyway because something about Hikaru made him want to stay. It made him want to pull him closer and do all the things that he had always imagined doing when he wanted that pouty face on his screen. “You think you’re so cool…”

He must have tried to get closer somewhere in the middle of his speech because the next thing he saw after a long period of pitch black was an expanse of red that looked too similar to Hikaru’s jacket. “What?” He grabbed the closet thing he could touch, which he sincerely hoped was just some metal rod because the idea of him draping himself all over Hikaru’s body while every form of media possible presence was embarrassing.

The pair of what he thought were just particularly warm metal rods grabbed him back and pulled him straight, “You can’t just insult someone and throw yourself at them, stupid.” Hikaru had a frown on his face when Magnus looked up, and it took him everything to not kiss those lips. He hated him so much. 

“What’s going on here?”

Fuck. He thought that they were in a corner by themselves. How the fuck did that grating voice still managed to reach his ears? He nuzzled back into the warmth of Hikaru’s neck, not caring to ask first if the other man was okay with it. If Hikaru wanted him to go away, he would have pushed him to the ground 5 minutes ago.

“Just getting to know our…friend here,” Hikaru said. Magnus hated how soft he made himself sound to that guy when he had just cussed him out earlier. “He’s a little wonky,” the man continued with a giggle. Magnus would hate to see his face right now. He had seen enough content to know that when his voice got that high, his stupid face also had a dusty pink shade to it. Magnus would hate to know that it came from the rude intruder who was mucking up their little moment. 

“He shouldn’t be your problem, Hikaru.” Alireza continued to talk with his annoying voice like anyone cared about him.

Magnus grumbled against the soft, warm skin and pulled himself straight on his feet because he couldn’t stand the idea of being shorter than Alireza than he already was, much less in front of Hikaru. It felt weird to stand by himself without Hikaru’s hold on him again, and when he turned to look at the youngest man in the group, he felt a little dizzy. 

“Fuck off,” he muttered under his breath. From this dark corner, he was sure that the journalists couldn’t see them. It’s not like the alcohol helped either, whatever they had at the bar that night was some other level stuff, he might have to ask about that later. As soon as he was done dealing with this meddling kid, and maybe find an excuse to kiss Hikaru a bit before he went back to his own mess of a home.

“Easy there, old man.” He felt Alireza’s hands on him, and immediately tried to shrug him off. His coordination, however, didn’t seem to want to cooperate with him. His limbs felt like they were about 100 kgs, he shrugged Alireza’s hand away from him and tried to go back to the warmth of Hikaru’s body.

His plan fell apart when he got dragged away from that red jacket by fingers which he could only describe as cruel. “What the fuck…?” He murmured and tried to reach for Hikaru with his arms like a toddler who was being held back from a snack. It was a ridiculous scene, and if Magnus was more sober, he would have been more ashamed of his behaviour.

“Hey,” Hikaru’s voice sounded so sweet when he wasn’t sober, maybe Magnus should get drunk around him more often. It’s not like they were going to part anytime soon anyway. He’s going to have to see Hikaru for the rest of the circuit, and he couldn’t tell if he was happy about it or not. Especially if his teammate was going to cockblock Magnus the entire time. He felt Hikaru’s hands on him again, “He’s just tipsy.”

“You shouldn’t be nice to our competition, babe.”

“I told you not to call me that,” Hikaru replied curtly. It’s the same voice that Magnus was all too familiar with. The older man loved to use that voice when he’s scolding chatters who began to weird him out. 

It’s funny that Hikaru was already weirded out by his teammate. He knew that it was inevitable. Their age gap was too big, and Alireza was too used to flirting with anything that walks for the other man to be comfortable with it for longer than 5 minutes. He pushed Alireza away with as much strength as he could, just in time to catch Hikaru smiling at him. That was nice. He was about to say something charming to Hikaru when his eyes gave out and everything went to black.

“…stupid, idiot…” 

Magnus came to consciousness again to the sound of Hikaru’s grumble and the familiar sight of his hotel room ceiling. He must have fallen asleep to one of his old videos again. Magnus patted around the bed blindly to find his phone, itching to turn the volume up a little because he couldn’t hear a damn thing that the man in the supposed video was talking about.

“Tsk, what are you doing now?” It sounded like Hikaru was scolding someone again. He wanted to turn the video into something else. Waking up to Hikaru being pissed wasn’t pleasant. He made the mistake of watching a grumpy video of his once before, and Magnus had spent the entire day in a bad mood because he was parasocial enough for his own feelings to be affected by a complete stranger’s mood.

“…Ugh…” He grumbled to himself. His phone was nowhere to be found. The volume might be low, but there was something about that which made it feel like Hikaru was right next to him, as if he was actually there with him. Magnus pressed his face into his pillow and breathed in the scent, which failed to complete him like Hikaru’s scent did. He should sneakily find a way to figure out his cologne soon, he couldn’t embarrass himself like he did again earlier. 

“What are you mumbling about, silly?” The Hikaru in his phone spoke again. Magnus wanted to weep so badly. He looked at the direction of the sound, and to his shock, found that he had hallucinated Hikaru. It was so real. He could vaguely make out the red blob which was supposed to be his mind’s projection of the other man, it was getting closer and closer to him by the minute. 

“Huh?” He mumbled and rubbed his eyes. Slightly disoriented, he sat up on the bed and frowned. The hallucinated version of Hikaru looked so real. He wondered how close he could imagine this version, wondered if he smelt and felt the same. 

“I thought that Nordic men had high alcohol tolerance,” Hikaru came closer, and Magnus was starting to believe that it was all real. The smaller man took a seat on his bed and began to take his jacket off. Magnus was a brave man, but he covered Hikaru’s hands with his own. He was brave, but not enough to have sex even before the first date. What if Hikaru hated how his dick look? They can’t start off like that, he needed to charm Hikaru off his feet with his humour and other parts of himself first. 

“Wait,” he managed to say. If this was the real Hikaru, then Magnus needed to plan well. His eyes might not be working properly, and the room might be spinning, but he was going to make it work. With difficulties and a deep breath, Magnus clenched Hikaru’s hands in his. “My cock isn’t ready yet,” he blurted out.

“What?”

“Huh?” He said puzzled. Did Hikaru not want to fuck? Fuck, he was so fucked. Magnus finally looked away from those entrapping eyes and realised with disappointment that Hikaru had a wet cloth in his hand. His body froze. He tensed up and wanted to dig himself out of the horribly confusing situation that he had put himself in just because he didn’t have enough self-control to not drink.

“I don’t care about your dick, you ass.” Hikaru grumbled and took Magnus jacket off anyway, despite his assertion of not wanting to fuck. He grumpily said something under his breath, then Magnus felt the cloth rubbing against his sweat-slicked skin, his body cooling down from the cold water. 

“Oh.”

“You’re an idiot.” Hikaru finished wiping him down and plopped down on his bed like he owned it. Magnus could vaguely feel him snuggling up near his, but not close enough for him to feel the other man’s body against his own. He had also taken his own jacket off, so Magnus was blessed with the sight of his slightly unbuttoned shirt, his belt long discarded. 

He would prefer him in even less clothing, but Magnus was satisfied with what he got tonight already. Turning his body to the side, he stared at Hikaru’s face, admiring how his button nose seemed to fit perfectly on his face. He willed himself to hate that face once more, his brain contorting imagines of Hikaru smirking at him after he won the race. Hikaru with Alireza. Hikaru possibly rejecting him. Hikaru doing literally anything with anyone but him. 

“Fuck you,” he uttered in vain, trying to calm down his own racing heart because he was so close to pulling the older man in and kiss him. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Hikaru closed his eyes and sighed. “I know you want to,” a smirk formed on his lips. “As long as your dick is big enough, baby.”

“Something is wrong with you.”

“It’s clearly something you like, otherwise you wouldn’t be simping over me on the internet.” Hikaru turned over and gave him a half-hearted smile like they were actually lovers. Magnus hated him so much. Couldn’t Hikaru tell that he wasn’t wanted there? They were supposed to be enemies. If anything, he should be chasing Hikaru out of his room. 

“You’re annoying,” he whispered drunkenly. His lips struggling not to smile when the only thing he felt in his stomach was the fluttery feeling of butterfly wings flapping. “So self-centred, so entitled.”

“Mhm,” the older man mumbled. He must have got tired of Magnus’ rambling, because he got up shortly after, put his coat back on and left. 

It took a while before he noticed, what with the scent of Hikaru’s cologne still stuck in the air like a suffocating embrace. It felt like a wasted night. He had Hikaru in his bed, he should have been happy, elated even. Magnus had spent the better part of the last 3 years being borderline obsessed with that man, going out of his was just to see more of him, even though they were in different countries. 

So why was it so hard to admit that now? He couldn’t understand why it was so difficult for him to own up to that fact. Yes, he wanted Hikaru. Duh, he wanted to kiss the other man since he saw those pouty lips for the first time. But something in him had hoped that they had met in better circumstances. It could have been in some nightclub, Magnus could have bought him a drink and brought him home. 

But no, they just had to meet as enemies on the circuit. He closed his eyes again and tried to simmer down the boiling anger in the pit of his stomach. The competitive spirit in him burnt too bright. It kept him alive all these years. And those pictures of Hikaru “training” drove him insane for about a year now, since the contract was signed. He didn’t want to lose any of it. The fame, the accolades, the fans. They were too important to him, no matter how cute he thought Hikaru looked in that red suit, smiling that brilliant smile which he was all too familiar with.

The other man was a threat. He already had an existing fan base, they were too similar: reckless and too cocky. They’re bounded to clash. He wasn’t going to just sit there and watch another man eclipse him, no matter how much he liked his hair and how he smelled. 

Hikaru regretted his life decisions. It wasn’t often that staying in a room filled with large men, all with different accents, that he felt like wanting to jump off the window. The moment that the meeting was declared over, he immediately got up and rushed out the doors. The race was less than 2 days away. He didn’t think that it was possible for people to still be so confused at that level.

On the other hand, Hikaru thought as he looked back at the figure trying to catch up to him. No doubt, Magnus saw him rolling his eyes throughout the briefing, the other man would be equally pissed at himself and Hikaru that it had to go that way. Rolling his window up, he began to drive out of the car park. Hikaru couldn’t wait to piss Magnus off more tomorrow. It’s only right to pay back how much time the younger man had pissed him off just moments ago.

Chapter Text

Hikaru came back to his changing room with his shoulders slumped and his breath ragged like he had just ran a marathon. 

His breath was uneven. His eyes were blurry, and he wanted nothing more than to rage and destroy everything in his path. It's horrifying to lose. Much worse when he already knew better than anyone what it felt like. For fuck's sake, he's in his mid 30s. He knew damn well what to expect, regardless of how cocky he presented himself.

But fuck it, the crash stung. He surprised the crowd with a brilliant qualifying round yesterday. Then managed to surprise himself with how he seemed to not know how to drive mere minutes ago. 

“And Carlsen's taken the lead back!” The booming voice echoed in the small changing room. “We'll see how he holds on to the lead for the last few laps.”

He wanted to cry. Hikaru's pretty sure that there were a bunch of faces outside, friendly and unfriendly, all trying to know what's going on in his head. He got up to check the door, making sure that it's locked before pacing around the room.

“A brilliant save from Carlsen, who's surely looking to open the season with a win…”

He's choking on nothing. Suffocating in the open air of his room like a fish out of water, except instead of flopping around to find a safe space, he's immobilised by his conscience. It shouldn’t stink that badly, but Hikaru just couldn’t help himself, could he?

He just had to go in there and made a fool of himself even before the season started. Just had to be out and about, gathering meaningless attention to fuel his own flaccid ego. The raced ended. He could see the figures moving on the screen. A black car dashed past the chequered flag. There were people waving and running all around, but Hikaru’s ears refused to hear anything.

Warily, he reached for the remote and turned the TV off, slumping back against the sofa. There’s still the debrief video to film. He made a promise. His fan deserved to see him fulfil it, despite the horrible result. 

The camera sat on the table by the corner. It was supposed to be a different scene. He’s supposed to waltz back here only 30 minutes later, drenched his sweat and champagne, after being hailed for being one of the few drivers who managed to get a podium in his first race. 

But there he was. Hikaru didn’t even drive long enough for his back to sweat. 

“What to do now?” He asked the camera, glaring at it, as if it was the cause of his distress for the day. He wanted to quit, right on the first day. Perhaps, he should walk straight to Ferrari’s office now and put in his resignation. Or maybe, he should just wait for the news of his firing to drop. 

He didn’t know what to do, but he knew that he shouldn’t be stagnant for so long. It’s crippling, the anxiety and the fear of losing. Now that it had happened, he’s stunned. Completely immobilised, Hikaru couldn’t even reach for his camera. It’s funny. Failure and loss never fail to completely rattle him, no matter how long it had been since he first entered the racing circuit. 

He contemplated not doing anything, waiting to see how long it would take for people to notice that he was missing. But he couldn’t do that. His teammate finished in the points after all. He should at least go to congratulate the younger man. Alireza could be annoying, but he was still the nicest person on the grid. At least to Hikaru, anyway.

The closest that anyone else came close was Magnus. And even then, he wasn’t sure if the entire subscription thing was just Magnus and his team trying to fuck with his mentality or not. If he did, then it’s a tremendous success. If he really did, then Hikaru should consider himself lucky to have been a target for such an elaborate hoax.

“Not going to congratulate me?” A knock came at his door before long.

He groaned, not wanting to get up from the sofa. Hikaru didn’t even notice that he had moved from sitting to laying down on his back at some point. He threw a pillow over his face when Alireza opened the door, afraid of letting the younger man see his puffy eyes.

Well, his presumed puffy eyes. Hikaru hadn’t looked into the mirror yet since he came into the room. But he’s pretty sure that at some point between cussing at himself and the camera, he had shed a few lonely tears. His nose was also pretty stuffed, so the chances of his eyes being as red as their uniform was about his high as Magnus’ chances of being world champion again. 

“There’s nothing to celebrate,” he grumbled when Alireza took a seat on his small sofa. The younger man lifted his legs onto his lap, squeezing in the small space like there was no other place to sit. “You barely clinched top 5.”

“Still more points than you.”

“Shut the fuck up,” he snarked, pouring his anger out on the only person who had come in to check up on him so far. It couldn’t be helped. It was so easy. Anger rolled out of him in waves, his shoulders relaxing as Alireza not-so-subtly grasped his ankle.

He still had his racing uniform on. But the brat still somehow manage to graze his skin by pushing his large hand through the leg of the pants, casually caressing the small patch of skin like nothing was wrong with his behaviour. 

“Don’t you have somewhere better to be?” He couldn’t help but ask. 

The stench of sweat and anger was killing him. He wanted to scratch and claw at the young man. But a part of him wanted to cry and asked for more. To beg for a hug and assurance. Selfishly, he wanted Alireza to tell him that he drove better than him, despite their results. 

“There’s some party for the podium assholes,” Alireza answered dismissively. He retracted his hand from Hikaru’s ankle. There was the sound of a zip being dragged down, and Hikaru closed his eyes. He wanted to curl into the floor and die. 

“Sounds fancy. You should go.” 

“Did you not hear what I said?” The racing jacket fell to the floor. Hikaru couldn’t tell if he should ever open his eyes at all after the thud reach his ears. “It’s for those assholes who got podium. Not for losers like us.”

He opened his eyes when he felt warm breath reached his face. That was too much. Alireza was hovering right above his face. Somewhere between the jacket being thrown to the floor and the cussing, the younger man had taken the pillow away from his face. 

“Your eyes are red,” he observed, his fingers pressing onto his chin. 

Hikaru tore his gaze away, “None of your business. Go celebrate your points with your friends or something.”

“But that’s not fun,” Alireza let go of his chin, pulling away just enough for Hikaru to breathe comfortably. He heaved a sigh of relief. “I wanted to celebrate with you. You can’t imagine how disappointed I was when I crossed the flag and not see you.”

“Don’t push it. I don’t want to slap you.” Hikaru threw his legs off the other man’s lap. He sat up. Eyes trained to the floor. “Go away. I’ll go annoy you soon enough.”

“You sure? A bit of rough love is good for your anger.”

“Go enjoy your day, asshole.” Hikaru looked up just as Alireza reached for the door handle. “Don’t let the Australian heat kill you.”

“Don’t worry, baby. I’ll leave that honour to you.”

He left. The red jacket, identical to his own in everything but size, remained stubborn on the floor. Hikaru looked at it once, twice, then decided against sniffing it. He took a shower, then kicked the darn thing under the sofa. 

“Thought you'd never leave.”

Magnus’ voice surprised him when he got out of his trailer. Hikaru nearly punched the other man, scared by a sudden and random intruder. He clutched his chest, feeling his heart beat a thousand mile a minute. 

Hikaru straightened his back. Magnus was always taller than he remembered. It wasn’t even like the man was that big. Alireza was bigger, for fuck’s sake. But Magnus somehow always managed to annoy him with his existence. 

“Don’t you have some lame party to attend?” Hikaru spat. He moved out of the way, ready to ditch Magnus and whatever fuckery he had for a peaceful rest of the day. But he couldn’t help it. The streamer persona quickly came, he smiled slyly, “Or do you just miss me?”

The world champion looked ashamed. For a moment, it made Hikaru really believe that Magnus was genuinely subscribed to him, and it wasn’t just his publicist trying to annoy Hikaru. 

“…You wish.” For someone who had everything in the world, Magnus’ voice sounded small. Hikaru could feel his eyes on his face, as if scanning for some sort of flaw. 

Unfortunately for him, Hikaru had none. 

“What are you doing here, then?” He pushed, excited by the idea of making someone like Magnus flustered. “Trying to see me change?”

“The only person who’s trying to do that was your teammate!” Magnus quickly protested, as if caught in a lie. He recovered, then looked at Hikaru as if he was really trying to report a crime. “He was…he was around here earlier.”

“That was like 30 minutes ago, Magnus. How long have you been standing here?”

“I didn’t see it, I was told that he was sneaking around here.” The world champion replied. He was a horrible liar. Thank god he never tried out for an actor. “Just letting you know so you can be careful.”

“He came around to cheer me up, that’s all.” Hikaru purred, leaning in. “No need to be jealous, Magnus. I’m all yours.”

“I…” Magnus blushed. It was adorable, if the younger man wasn’t the source of Hikaru’s pain and humiliation. To be fair, it wasn’t nice to blame his horrible race on Magnus, but Hikaru could do whatever he wanted. What was Magnus going to do about it?

“You what? Want me for yourself? I know that already, champ. Tell me something I don’t already know.”

“You’re a dick,” Magnus muttered. 

“Woah. Do the media know that their precious golden boy cuss around like this?” HIkaru chuckled. He began to walk, not expecting Magnus to follow him. The younger man did, anyway.

“Where are you going?” Magnus asked like nothing was weird about him following Hikaru. 

For what it’s worth, Hikaru let him. He called a cab, then nodded for Magnus to jump in after him when it arrived. 

“To this café that I’ve been hearing about,” he told Magnus. The younger man looked almost innocent there. No guards. No ego. Just Magnus Carlsen. Hikaru wanted to pinch his nose. He could understand why the public was so obsessed with him.

“Oh,” came the unamused reply. Magnus heaved the sigh, “I’m not a big coffee guy.”

“Then you can have cake or something. We can order two cakes, this way, I can steal some from your plate too.” Hikaru relaxed in his seat. This was better. They were in Hikaru’s turf now. No cars. No press. Just him and his camera. Magnus should be the one trembling with nerves. 

He handed Magnus his camera.

“Huh?” Magnus asked, clearly confused. 

“If you’re coming with me, then you have to be my cameraman.” He couldn’t help but smile, “Enjoy it. I know it must be a treat for a subscriber like you.” 

“Your ego is about to burst,” Magnus rolled his eyes, but started the camera anyway. “…Is this live?”

“Nope, I don’t want them to find out where I’m going. Don’t want you to get swamped.” 

“Ohh, that’s nice of you.” Magnus said reluctantly. Hikaru still didn’t know why he was there, much less why he didn’t mind being his cameraman. But who was he to decline the opportunity of a handsome man acting as his camera stand?

Their destination was the Little Rogue. right in the city of Melbourne. Magnus had never thought about touring around their circuit before, Hikaru knew this. In many of his interview, the world champion seemed to pride himself on the fact that he’s only gone to pubs and bars for his daily alcohol intake before retiring to bed. 

It’s a pretty little place, Hikaru thought when they arrived. Magnus, before he even said anything, was already filming. The younger man walked about 3 steps ahead of him, filming every step of the way to maximise footage and content. 

Hikaru liked that. He liked Magnus like that. 

“So pretty.” Hikaru cooed after they found a seat. He spoke to Magnus like it was normal, though the other man wasn’t in the frame. “What did you get?”

“An Earl Grey and a chocolate cake.”

“Nice,” he grinned. Then spoke to the camera, “I don’t know if you guys heard, but our cameraman for the day, whom I’m not going to reveal the name, ordered a cup of tea and chocolate cake. For me, I got the Matcha cheesecake that you guys have been bugging me about….”

He trailed off, briefly forgetting what he ordered. 

“And a black coffee,” Magnus added from across the table. 

“Yes,” Hikaru clapped his hands, as if to affirm the answer. “A Matcha cake and a black coffee. That’s my order! I’m so excited,” he looked around the café with lights in his eyes. “I’ve heard so many good things about this place.”

“Did you?”

He nodded, unsure of what to say next. He wanted to tease Magnus, he really did. But he also didn’t want the people watching the video later to find out that Magnus was filming for him. The rumours would be unbearable. As much as he trickled him that the younger man was probably one of his viewers, it was still not a good thing to push the narrative too far. 

“So quiet now that the camera is on?” Now it was Magnus’ turn to smile. “Afraid that I would say something that would harm you?”

“No, I’m afraid that my audience can sense your stinkiness and click away later.” He snarked back. Maybe he would leave this part in. 

“So sassy,” Magnus sipped on his tea after the waitress placed it down. Hikaru tried not to let his eyes linger too long. He watched, enticed, when the other man swallowed. “Where was this diva this morning?”

Oh. Magnus wanted to be mean. He could be mean. 

“Maybe the diva was having a hard time adjusting to the Australian heat,” Hikaru couldn’t help but pouted. He looked away from Magnus’ face, similar to how he looked away from Alireza’s earlier. To the camera, he spoke, “It’s hotter than I expected, guys. I know you guys looked forward to my debrief, I’ll let you know after this meal, okay?”

With that, Hikaru turned the video camera off. He looked at Magnus. Something akin to anger and envy bubbled in his stomach. He didn’t like that Magnus brought the race up. If Magnus was going to pretend to be nice, then he should have pretended until the end. 

“You don’t wanna talk to your fans here?”

Hikaru nodded to the window, where people were already gathering with their cameras. He looked back at Magnus. They all came for him. Hikaru was famous, but not that famous. And he’s pretty sure that all the shirts there were Mercedes shirts. 

Maybe this is why Magnus never travelled. 

It’s suffocating. The younger man immediately drew his shirt up to his nose, pretending like the crowd outside wasn’t whispering his name.

“Come on,” Hikaru stood, not wanting any moment more of the relentless crowd. “Let’s get out of here. I don’t want to see them.”

“But you haven’t got your cheesecake!” Magnus protested when Hikaru dragged him through the back door. “You said you wanted—”

“I’ll puke if I eat while your fans scream your name, Magnus.” He harshly spoke, hailing a cab. “What are you doing here anyway? Are you just trying to fuck with me? You acted dumb. Then you acted nice. Then you spoke cruelly to me. What? Is this some new mind games that your publicist taught you?”

“What?” Magnus sounded confused, but Hikaru didn’t care. 

“Fuck you!” Hikaru shouted. “I bet you’re happy about this, aren’t you? Weren’t you the one who kept on tweeting about me having to prove myself before the season start? Well, there you got it! The proof is in the pudding, I failed! And watching it wasn’t enough for you, wasn’t it? You had to come here and see me have a mental breakdown too!”

He caught his breath, his body shaking. The cab arrived, but his vision was blurry. He could feel Magnus taking his hand and returning the camera to him. Before he knew it, the car was gone. His colleague was gone. And there was nothing left but the camera in his hands and the tears in his eyes. 

He walked. 

Past the crowd that no longer recognised him, because he pulled a hoodie over his face. And past the streets which he had planned to film at. Hikaru arrived at the beach before the sunset, when the sky was yolked orange and the crowded thinning like the birds returning to their nest. 

There’s nothing better than the sea breeze. He inhaled it. Letting the salty musk clean his mind and dissolve his anger. “Fuck Magnus and fuck everything.”

He set up the camera on his lap. It’s a shitty angle. But the viewers didn’t need to see his puffy face and red nose. 

“I fucked up so badly, didn’t I?” He spoked softly, the mic caught onto his words and the faint sound of the waves hitting the shore. “God. I know I disappointed you guys so badly, I’m so sorry.” He put his hand on his face, pushing his hair up his head on one side. 

“There’s no excuse. It’s just harder than I thought it would be.” He looked up from the camera to the sea. Then pointed the camera lens to the view of the shore and the ocean. “Look at the sky, guys. It’s so pretty…and I feel like shit. What a day. What a way to start my career.”

He was choking up. Hikaru knew for a fact that he couldn’t face the camera then. The race. It’s all coming back to him. The nerve. The tension and the inevitable downfall. 

“I hope you guys aren’t giving up on me, though.” He chuckled, wiping his tears away. The camera was still facing the sea. “I’ll make you guys proud,” he whispered solemnly. “Just…give me some time. I promise that I’ll make you guys proud of me again.”