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They have no right, Magnus thinks as bodies and boxes make their way into his late friend’s beloved home, every clumsy accident and cheery apology grating on his fractured nerves. It’s too soon.
Aware of someone’s approach and not trusting himself to be civil, he scrambles to get back in his car.
‘Hey, there’s no need to rush off,’ says an annoyingly amiable voice that's getting closer. ‘I’m Alec. Do live around here?’
‘Magnus, from next door,’ he grinds out, shaky hands turning the ignition, adding a hasty, ‘Got to go,’ as he exits the drive, suddenly wishing his house was another hundred yards away instead of thirty.
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‘Nice to meet you too,’ Alec mutters, unimpressed with his neighbour’s lack of welcome but willing to acknowledge an appreciation for his handsome, if sour, features.
His time was better spent unpacking anyway.
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Six hours later, fatigued in mind and body, Alec crashes out on the bare mattress and fumbles to set the alarm clock when his attention is drawn to something lodged behind the ornate dresser it sits on, left by the previous occupant. Reaching over, he discovers it’s a leather-bound diary with the words, ‘What Be-Fell Ragnor in 2018’ embossed in curling, gold script across its front.
Reluctant to pry, he vows to have it forwarded on and tosses it to a nearby chair, only for a photo to drop out that shows Magnus and two others laughing. Curiosity piqued, Alec reads the handwritten inscription inside.
‘Happy New Year, you old goat! C & M xxx’
Smiling at the affectionate wording, he’s eager to learn more but decides to seek out Magnus’ advice on how best to return it to its owner. Setting it aside in favour of sleep, his last coherent thought is how ‘handsome’ didn’t do Magnus justice.
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Magnus isn’t home each time Alec visits over the coming days, though his car’s in the drive. Maybe it’s me? he wonders, oddly hurt, and not just because the homemade fayre he’d left hadn’t been enough to coax a response.
Alec finally succumbs to reading the diary on day five, inexplicably desperate for anything that might decipher his elusive neighbour’s behaviour. Entertained by the candid, and occasionally caustic, anecdotes relating to all three childhood friends, those detailing Magnus are his favourites.
March 12th
‘Wish M would cease looking for his prince/princess in all the wrong places!’
May 4th
‘Hide all instruments from M! Musical appreciation does NOT a musician make!’
July 22nd
‘Insufferably smug M fluked another victory at chess tonight - quoted Karpov like he knew the man!’
September 18th
‘M’s strength in the face of adversity is humbling.’
November 9th
‘M needs someone stubborn enough to scale the walls around his heart.’
He’ll try harder.
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Magnus cautiously answers his door on day twelve.
‘Do you play?’ Alec asks, chessboard in hand.
‘I dabble,’ brings a shy smile to both their faces before Magnus invites him in.
‘You give the best advice, Ragnor,’ Alec whispers to himself and steps inside.
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