Chapter Text
Sun rays tumble through the parted curtains, a sudden game of shifting shadows that illuminates the grainy pattern of the kitchen counter. Alec leans forwards and tilts his head into the light, sighing as heat pools on his skin. Mornings like these are peaceful and soft in a way Alec never thought they could be. For so long he treated every day like a battle, weary from the moment he opens his eyes. He can't remember when waking became a disappointment, when the mirror started carving more than just his image out of glass, his world fragile and fissured, his own heart a stranger—what a relief it would have been be to simply not exist.
Affection spreads through his ribcage when he thinks about the man still asleep in the adjoining room. Waking up next to Magnus had been like waking to a sunrise, a moment of breathtaking awe as your heart relearns to beat. He could've stayed in that moment forever. But Alec knows that feelings like these are dangerous, that a cocoon of warmth offers no more protection than a blanket pulled over one's head, and sometimes you're safer off being cold.
Two months of relative quiet, of trying in vain to figure out what Valentine is plotting, and Jace is still missing. Alec has never felt more lonely at the institute. All that's left of his home is his sister's unwavering support. Their father has taken Max back to Idris and while he knows it's for the best, Alec can't help but wish for one more cornerstone, one more person who might help him stand his ground.
He wonders if Magnus could tell, if that's why he extended an invitation Alec was too hesitant to ask for. He is grateful either way. For the last two months, sleep has eluded him; he can't remember the last time he slept through the night. Between the patrols and futile search parties, he's had little time to himself and when he does, well, it's hard to relax knowing your parabatai is out there with a madman he believes to be his father; a false notion that Jocelyn was quick to clear up when she woke.
It's hard not to feel envious, watching Clary and her mother interact. Hardest, he thinks, for Isabelle, who cannot conceal her glances nor the vulnerability that casts her eyes away. It reminds him of when they were children, when her small hands would curl into fists beneath mother's disapproving frown, defiance blooming in the rawness of her red-rimmed gaze. He never did learn how to chase those shadows from her eyes.
Lifting his mug, Alec breathes in the steam rising from the tea, the warm aroma chasing the tension from his limbs. It smells like peach and chamomile, some kind of fruit blend he bought on a whim in the supermarket. Closing his eyes, he pictures Magnus scrunching his nose and calling him a heathen for buying generic tea bags—the memory brings a smile to his lips.
He tries to take a sip but the tea is still too hot to drink. His breath pools in the hot liquid, close enough for the steam to billow into his face. The sensation isn't unpleasant. He feels mellow, as if someone has been slowly unscrewing his joints—it's almost enough to make him forget the mess he made of things.
The sudden pressure on his waist startles him, air rushing from his lungs as he knocks into the solid presence at his back. The mug in his hand jerks, tea sloshing over the rim.
“Shit,” Magnus exclaims, and Alec would be amused that he should be the one to curse if he wasn't so distracted by the stinging of his skin and the tea running down the side of the kitchen counter. He grabs a towel to clean up the mess, but Magnus beats him to it with a snap of his fingers.
“Are you okay?”
Alec wrings the towel in his hands, heat rising to his cheeks, and manages to nod. Magnus' brow creases and Alec has to look away, shame pulsing off-kilter through his veins. He's not supposed to be caught off guard like that. What a fine shadowhunter he turned out to be.
Long, elegant fingers touch his elbow almost cautiously. Alec thinks it may be a question, but if it is he doesn't know how to answer. And isn't that just the recurring theme of his life right now? People are either looking to him for answers he doesn't have, or they don't dare to look at him at all. He wonders if it really makes a difference pretending he's not there, because after all it takes an effort to pretend—Alec would know. Still, his mother seems determined to ignore him. A part of him is relieved, he doesn't think he could handle what she has to say about Jace. He should've done more, he knows, shouldn't have been caught of guard. The thought tightens the ever-present knot in his stomach; seems he can't do anything but screw up lately.
A soft sigh spills into the air, but Alec can't look up, not yet. Glamourless, Magnus' gaze is even more consuming than usual and Alec is too weak to fight its pull—or perhaps he's just too willing to surrender. He shivers as Magnus slides his fingers down to his wrist, lifting his hand to heal the now pink skin. It's unnecessary, the burn so superficial it hardly even hurts, and Alec feels his heart clench painfully.
I love you, he wants to say but the words catch on his teeth, retreating back into his throat with their tails between their legs. It's too soon. It'll always be too soon. The thought bleeds through his skull, pooling at the back of his eyes and seeping down into his lungs—at least this is one weakness he can hide.
There is no way, no possible way, that Magnus returns those feelings. Alec might not be experienced but he isn't stupid, he knows how hard it is to earn someone's love.
He doesn't think he has the strength to try.
–
The day they get Jace back, the institute feels more unwelcome than ever. It's not that Alec isn't overjoyed, not at all. A mixture of relief and guilt punches him in the gut every time he sets his eyes on his parabatai, which is often. His gaze keeps snapping back to the other boy, and Alec knows he's being a bit paranoid but he can't help but fear Jace will disappear again.
The problem isn't Jace, who seems surprisingly alright considering all the issues he must be lugging with him—Alec thinks Clary might have something to do with that and is immensely grateful that at least one of them is good at the comfort thing. No, the problem isn't Jace, or Clary for that matter, it's his parents. His smiling, loving, hugging parents.
Alec shouldn't be jealous. Jace deserves their affection, god knows what he's been through. But the bitterness sneaking through his chest is old and familiar, as is the cluster of twisted wires that wrenches his jaw shut.
Jace was always the better son.
Taking a steadying breath, Alec pushes down the petty thought, determined to focus on helping his friend adjust. Still, when his sister's gaze seeks out his, her dark eyes sharing his turmoil, he can't help but feel vindicated—guilt spikes, briefly, before settling into resolve.
Perhaps their parents love them a little less, it just means he'll love her a little more.
–
“No,” Izzy says, lips pursed and eyes like hammered steel—Alec knows he's already lost. “You're not wearing that.”
He sighs, throwing the shirt at her head. “Then what am I going to wear?”
She bats the garment away with a huff, belied by the wide grin spreading across her lips, and vaults from the bed to his closet. After a minute of rooting through his things—while Alec winces at the disorder she's creating—Izzy somehow manages to unearth a shirt that not only has a v-neck but is also purple.
Confusion furrows his brow. “That's not mine.”
“Yes, it is,” she insists, holding it out in front of him.
He takes it from her hands, running his fingers along the fabric. The material is flimsy at best. “I've never seen it before.”
“That's because I bought it.”
“When?” he asks, perplexed.
“Last month.” She gives him a pointed look, clearly unimpressed that he hadn't noticed. Alec just shrugs in response. It would be just like her to sneak colour into his wardrobe.
“I can't wear this,” he tells her, even as he pulls it on to avoid invoking Izzy's wrath. It's tight and clingy and- “It's purple.”
“It's maroon,” she corrects. He just barely manages not to roll his eyes. “Besides, Magnus will appreciate it.” The accompanying wiggle of her eyebrows is almost comical.
“Not as much as you're implying,” Alec says, though she's not entirely wrong. Last time he'd worn something colourful, Magnus had given him a sticker for effort which had somehow led to them languidly trading kisses on the couch.
Maybe he should wear the shirt after all.
–
Alec finds himself perched on the kitchen counter, Magnus standing between his legs, running his hands up an down Alec's thighs almost unconsciously.
He makes a mental note to thank Izzy later.
“I am the High Warlock of Brooklyn,” Magnus sulks, and Alec presses a kiss against the corner of his pout. A huff of air escapes his glossy lips and Alec can't help but smile.
“You're adorable.”
Slanted cat-eyes narrow. “I am all-powerful and terrifying.”
“Of course you are,” he hums in agreement, smoothing down the short hairs at the nape of the warlock's neck.
“Terrifying, Alexander.”
Alec shifts, bringing his head down so their foreheads touch and lowering his hands to knead the other man's shoulders. Magnus leans in, close enough that his breath puffs against Alec's lips.
“You're beautiful,” Alec whispers. He isn't sure why he lowers his voice, only that somehow it feels right. The silence between them is something of beauty, a softness he fears to ruin with the sharpness of his being.
I love you. The words swell against his ribs, tightening his throat abruptly. Alec crashes their lips together to make sure they don't slip out.
–
Mother. The word sticks in his throat, catching on his next inhale. His fingers twitch in agitation as her brow dips, the corners of her mouth pulling tight. He isn't certain what he's done to make her look that way or whether he preferred her silent disdain over this blatant disapproval.
“Is there something I can-”
“Where have you been?” his mother interrupts and Alec isn't prepared for the coldness of her tone or the way the ice settles in his chest, a strange numbness expanding until his hammering heartbeat becomes a dull pulse.
“You missed the meeting.”
“What meeting?”
“You would've known if you'd been here,” she says, and it's silly really because Alec hasn't even been gone that long which means the meeting wasn't announced beforehand. “You've become irresponsible...” If it had been important someone would've called him. He's never turned his phone of when he's with Magnus, not once. He's all too aware of the threat they face. “...gone at odd hours...” She can't expect him to be here 24/7, can she? “...don't even know you...” Jace and Clary missed a briefing last week and no one blinked an eye. “...not my son.”
Her tirade ends so abruptly that the sudden silence hits him like a slap to the face. He thinks back to earlier, in Magnus' loft, how calm and right the world had felt. He wonders where that feeling has gone. He wonders if it was ever really there.
Such memories are like dried up leaves in autumn, pretty and magical but easy to crumble.
He wonders why anyone would do such a thing.
“I'm here now,” he tells her, watching as she shakes her head. Isn't he?
--
“What's up with you and mom?” Izzy flops down on the sofa, somehow managing not to spill any of the unrecognisable mush in the bowl she is holding. She puts her fork in her mouth and tries to find a better position, draping her legs across his knees.
“She was angry I missed the meeting.”
Snatching the fork from between her lips, Izzy looks at him quizzically. “What meeting?”
“This morning?” He waits, watching in horrified fascination as she scoops some of the substance into her mouth and chews. It didn't look solid enough to chew but he's learned long ago that appearances can be deceiving.
“Oh that,” she says between bites. “I wouldn't necessarily call that a meeting.”
Ignoring the sudden pull his chest, he taps a pattern on her calf. “Then what would you call it?
“A 20 minute lecture? I don't even remember, honestly. More of the usual.” She grimaces and Alec knows it's not because she realized the concoction she is eating isn't meant for human consumption.
“I'm sorry.” For not being there. For all the times I didn't have your back.
“Don't worry,” she says, eyes bright and reassuring. “You didn't miss anything, truly.”
Alec can't help but think she's wrong. He misses many things.