Chapter Text
Hikaru sat down with a sigh, closing his eyes and shutting out the world for a second or two. Tournaments always tired him out, and this one had been particularly exhausting. He longed for his bed, the warmth of the blanket and the comfortable silence of his hotel room. Unfortunately, Anish Giri wouldn’t let him decline yet another invitation, and he insisted that Hikaru come along, ignoring his protests. Minutes later chaos erupted around him and the cluster of loud chatter approached him. The table was big enough to accommodate all of them and Hikaru winced as his rival Magnus Carlsen sat in front of him, chuckling at some joke. If he had known that the hangout involved the Norwegian he probably would have been even firmer in rejecting the invitation, but Anish Giri clearly wouldn't have taken a no for an answer.
‘’Why do you even want me there? Half of them don’t even like me,’’ Hikaru had protested a few hours earlier.
‘’Then talk to the other half! Be there at 9 PM’’ Giri had retorted, strutting away, clearly amused by the witty response he came up with.
And so, Hikaru’s hell on Earth began. Cursing Anish mentally and bracing himself for the long night ahead, he glanced at Magnus. The blonde’s arm rested on the back of David Howell’s chair, exuding his trademark confidence despite how brutally he had lost his final game against Firouzja. The kid had been ruthless, cold-bloodedly taking advantage of every imprecision played by his opponent. Hikaru’s eyebrows shot up when he heard Magnus pay a heartfelt compliment to Firouzja. When did he stop being a sore loser?
Finally, the first round of drinks started to come in. Hikaru clung to his glass, hiding his face behind it at every sip. Something about Magnus was particularly captivating that night, and Hikaru found himself staring at him once again. He scolded himself for doing so, but he still couldn’t tear his gaze away. Besides, it was only normal for him to stare at Magnus, since he decided to sit in front of him. It was, in fact, weird. Usually, Magnus and Hikaru avoided each other as much as physically possible. Despite FIDE’s insistence upon sitting them next to each other during events or the somewhat neutral balance they had reached after years of public quarrels, interacting with Magnus always made Hikaru feel uneasy.
‘’Hikaru? Did you hear any of that?’’ Wesley So’s voice interrupted his train of thought, startling him. Hikaru focused his attention on the guy sitting next to him, smiling politely.
‘’Yeah, no. Not really, sorry,’’
Shaking his head and chuckling, Wesley repeated what he had just said, eliciting laughter from Hikaru.
Many hours and countless drinks later, he was still engaging in conversation with Wesley. As the night went on, the mood had shifted, and Hikaru had gone from being awkwardly quiet to joking around with those that liked him. Just as he was about to thank Anish Giri for dragging him out that night, Magnus’ voice rose above all.
‘’I just don’t think Hikaru’s performance was that good, that’s all,’’ half slurred Magnus, taking another sip of his drink as he giggled towards David.
Hikaru grimaced in disgust and excused himself from the conversation with Wesley.
‘’I’m sorry?’’
He locked eyes with Magnus for the first time. In his unfocused gaze, he could read embarrassment, a hint of a challenge, and something Hikaru could quite not decipher. Carlsen wanted an argument? He could have as many as he wanted, for all Hikaru cared.
‘’Did you not hear me?’’ Magnus raised an eyebrow, giving him an arrogant, mocking, smile. Hikaru felt the urge to slap him across the face. Instead, he clenched his fists. A tense silence fell upon the grandmasters.
‘’I heard you perfectly. Are you looking for an argument or what, Magnus?’’ snarled Hikaru.
‘’I’m just saying, knight to D5 was an incredibly poor move. And bishop to e6? That was simply trash’’
‘’Oh yeah, I totally should be listening to you. If I recall correctly you didn’t get crushed by Firouzja, right? It must be nice to win yet another tournament!’’ sarcasm spewed out of his mouth.
Just as Magnus breathed in to retort something back, a drunk voice pierced the silence.
‘’Y’all should just kiss and get it over with,’’
In a split second, Magnus’ head snapped towards the unidentified voice. Heat flushed to Hikaru’s cheeks. He blamed it on the alcohol, deliberately choosing to ignore the way his stomach fluttered. The comment, despite being incredibly inappropriate and frankly offensive, succeeded in its purpose of lightening the mood. Magnus and Hikaru locked eyes again, and all traces of anger disappeared, replaced by embarrassment. Just as the people around them went back to conversing, Magnus spoke again with a playful smile on his lips.
‘’We should settle this argument on the chess board’’
This earned a puzzled look from Hikaru, who tilted his head in wonder.
‘’What’s in it for me?’’
‘’Pride, I guess?’’
‘’That’s not convincing enough, I fear,’’ Hikaru dismissed the provocation, proud of himself for the way he defused the dangerous situation.
Unfortunately, drunk Anish Giri was a menace, and, physically unable to stop himself, he seized the opportunity to be an utter pain in the ass to Hikaru that night.
‘’I agree with Hikaru… How about a bullet game? The loser praises the winner for an entire minute. If you draw, you kiss as a punishment!’’ he jested, throwing the idea on the table, not expecting much out of it.
Instead, the table seemed to approve of it, cheering them on. Hikaru looked at the crowd of grandmasters in disbelief. Adults acting like a bunch of chanting middle schoolers, that’s what they were. If looks were to kill, Giri would have been murdered by both of them.
Biting his lip and seriously considering the idea for the first time, he gazed at Hikaru. For just a moment, the world around them seemed to disappear. The lighthearted chatter, the clinking of glasses, the murmurs- they all faded into the background. Then, just as the moment had started, it abruptly ended.
‘’Fine by me.’’ Magnus spoke, confident and resolute.
He went back to focusing on his glass, suddenly incredibly interested in the liquid inside it; imperturbable, as if he didn’t just agree to potentially kiss the other grandmaster.
It was stupid and Hikaru knew. The American also knew that he had had one too many to drink. What he doesn’t know is why he finds himself agreeing to the bet.