Cursed

Noa Takasu gripped his doctored ID in his pocket as he walked into the love hotel.

At least, that's what he assumed it was. The name—Hotel NIGHT ROSE—matched, as did the by-the-hour payment schedule by the door. The interior confirmed his suspicions—chintz and softly-playing music, small lights reflecting in the too-shiny floor. A chemical, generically floral smell hung in the air. The man behind the counter met his eye and raised an eyebrow. 

Noa kept his face expressionless. It was fine. He was prepared for this. 

He stepped up to the counter. "Overnight stay for one, please."

"Can I see your ID, sir?" 

Noa handed it over, keeping an eye on it as the man inspected it. As he'd thought, there was no ritual involved in checking—just a simple visual inspection. Seemed like the guy by that bar two hours ago had been selling the real deal. The concierge handed his ID back without comment. 

"Thank you, sir. You'll need to fill this out as well." He handed over a clipboard with a small sheet of paper attached. 

This was going to be the tricky part. Noa crossed his fingers below the counter as he took the clipboard, scanning it as quickly as he could. 

He could feel the man's eyes on him. People didn't typically stop to read a love hotel's terms and conditions. It was just a formality, something you dashed off before getting up to…the sorts of things people got up to in places like this. 

But Noa wasn't a typical customer, and he'd really been hoping to skip this step entirely. 

Aware of the man's eyes on him, Noa reached for the pen in the stand. It was faintly greasy from others' hands, and the chain was on the right-hand side, barely leaving him enough to room to maneuver it with his left hand. 

As he brought the pen to the X to sign, he felt a warning twinge in his wrist. 

No, come on. Please just let me—

One line of the small text stood out, glowing and starting to smolder. 

By signing, I guarantee that I have no involvement in any illegal activities or contracts, such as with fae, cults, hostile entities, or other such organizations. 

He tried to start writing anyway, but the pen sat dry on the page and wisps of smoke began to rise from the contract. 

His wrist burned as he dropped the pen back to the paper and stepped away from the counter. 

"I've changed my mind," he said, turning to leave. "Sorry for the trouble." 

"Sir?"

He didn't stop to check the man's reaction. He just pushed open the door and kept walking, turning the corner at a speed that was efficient but hopefully not quick enough to draw more suspicion. 

"Dammit," he muttered to himself, and kept walking until he wasn't sure which direction the love hotel was anymore. 

Then he stopped at the next corner store for a meat bun and found an empty store-front to huddle in, opening the paper wrapping. The shops were already starting to close, the restaurants not far behind. All that was left open were the bars, hotels, and a handful of convenience stores.

It was nearing curfew for minors. He'd gotten lucky this afternoon when that stranger outside a bar had helped him bespell his ID, but it probably wouldn't hold up to any real investigation. He was still a few years shy of legal, and he couldn't afford to draw any more attention to himself. 

Last night, he'd just put his hood of his jacket up and walked, guard up as high as it could go, hoping his instincts would keep him out of danger. 

He couldn't do that a second night. He needed a place to stay.

But so far, he'd tried a business hotel, an onsen, two separate motels, a comic cafe, and now even a love hotel. This curse—this fae involvement—barred him from all of them. 

And he couldn't go back home. Not when the people after him knew where he lived. 

It was nearly thirty hours since he'd opened that damned envelope. He'd gotten home from his second week of school to find the apartment he'd just moved into with his mother deserted, with an envelope addressed to him on the kitchen table. 

He wished he'd known not to open it. He wished he'd known what would be inside. 

Finishing off his bun, he pulled the letter from his pocket, unfolding it and reading it over again. 

A debt in the name of his mother. A number ten times the emergency fund his mother had left behind. An address to turn himself in for negotiating compensation to someone named Murasaki Shijo. And then that torn bit at the bottom of the page where the curse had jumped up, bitten him, and wrapped itself around his wrist. 

Blood magic. He'd never seen it before, but he was getting an up-close-and-personal experience with it now. 

He never could have anticipated this. His mother had never said anything about debts—and still hadn't, aside from her handwriting on that envelope. 

But she'd left him with a world of problems, more than he knew how to begin dealing with. 

The first of which was, he needed a safe place to sleep. 

He'd need to stake his luck on finding an out-of-the-way corner, he decided. It was that, get himself arrested for fae involvement, or throw himself on a fae family's mercy. And he really hated those last two options. 

There was a shopping street around the corner. He could look for an abandoned storefront to start, or perhaps a derelict house…
His planning was interrupted by voices echoing down the street. 

"Hey!"

"Whoa there, sweet thing." 

"It's getting pretty late. You ever had a drink before?"

"I'm not interested—" 

"Don't be like that, come hang out with us." 

"Leave me alone!" 

Noa stood, shoving the wrapper into his pocket. 

He was in enough trouble already. He really shouldn't go around borrowing more. 

But if the last day had taught him anything, it was that minding his own business wasn't enough to protect him. 

Might as well try the opposite.