Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It’s the sort of stupid fight couples get into every other day during the week and twice a day on the weekends. It comes from intimacy, love, and rocketing real estate prices in New York. Take 8 million people and cram them into a small space and things are bound to get tense. Take one territorial warlock who’s lived by himself far longer than most people have been alive and things go nuclear.

“Would you just leave the dishes?” Magnus says, exasperated. It’s posed as a question, but it’s really a thinly-veiled criticism on Alec’s inability to let anything go.

Or at least that’s what Alec hears, forearms-deep in soapy water. “You just can’t leave messes, or magic them away,” Alec insists, stung.

What Magnus hears is a searing diatribe on how he prefers to run away from problems rather than confront them, mixed in with a typical Nephilim distrust of Warlock magic.

“Well, if you hate my magic that much, maybe you should just sleep on the couch,” Magnus snarls before making a tactical retreat into the bedroom. He slams the door with magic just to be a jerk.

“He can spend the night with his precious clean dishes for all I care,” he tells Chairman Meow, who looks deeply unconcerned with the whole matter.

---

Magnus cannot sleep.

He tosses and turns, punches his pillow a few times before finally giving up. He’s gotten used to sleeping with Alec, is all. He likes folding his body around Alec’s, lulled to sleep by his breathy snores and vague worries of sleep apnea. Alec’s skin against his, tracing his dark runes with the tip of his finger while Alec’s breath hitches. The sheets are a poor substitute. He’s hit by a wave of longing so fierce that it makes his eyes prickle. No doubt Alec is beating himself up over their petty squabble, and Magnus should go get him before he can suffer too much.

Magnus creeps towards the door and eases it open, to see Alec curled on the couch, sleeping peacefully.

The motherfucker is sleeping.

Magnus shouldn’t take as much pleasure as he does in this, but he’s half-human. “You should come to bed,” he yells right against Alec’s ear.

Alec flails awake, eyes wide, clutching his chest. “What, when?” he gasps when he sees Magnus.

“You should come to bed,” Magnus repeats, tamping down his inappropriate urge to laugh. Alec’s hair looks like he had a disastrous flirtation with an electrical outlet.

“I’m very comfortable here,” Alec says, eyes cool and disinterested, cracking his neck loudly, and clutching at a throw blanket that only goes to his ankles.

“No, you aren’t,” Magnus says, watching Alec rub his back discreetly. “This is silly. This whole argument is ridiculous.”

“The only way I’m sleeping in your bed tonight is if you carry me,” Alec says and stretches out as much as he can on the couch, turning his back pointedly to Magnus.

Alec’s determination, his ability to fight against insurmountable odds unflinchingly and bravely is one of the traits Magnus most loves about him, but tonight, it’s just pissing him off. Magnus narrows his eyes. “Is that a challenge?” he asks, voice low.

“Take it however you want,” Alec mumbles into the cushions, a smug set to his shoulders.

Magnus takes a few deep, bracing breaths, then scoops Alec up in bridal carry while Alec squawks, “What the fuck!”

Magnus is a strong guy, works out regularly, has the power from a Prince of Hell surging through his veins, but Alec - Alec is fucking heavy.

“Are you sure you can do this?” Alec asks, anger replaced with mild worry. “Because you’re sweating and I don’t feel like being dropped on my head.”

“Look, I’m very masculine,” Magnus huffs, “and I will love and cherish you no matter what age and weight you are throughout the years, but I beg of you, right now, do shut up and let me concentrate.” Alec looks so slim, but his muscles are made of fucking bricks. Magnus feels a little like Sisyphus rolling an impossible boulder uphill. Why is his bedroom so far away? Who needs this much space in a home?

Alec looks doubtful, but he does lean closer, loops an arm around Magnus’ neck to make it easier.

On occasion, Magnus is baffled by his own behavior. He isn’t sure when this stopped being an argument and became a testament to his virility, but here he is: wheezing while stumbling towards the bed, refusing to take the easy way out and use magic, mainly because he has the vague recollection that had something to do with how this whole thing began.

He drops Alec in a heap on the bed, victorious.

“I’m going to get you a glass of water,” Alec says and Magnus holds up a hand in thanks while he catches his breath.

Alec comes back a few moments later and hands Magnus a glass, which Magnus gratefully shotguns.

“Come to bed?” he asks and Alec stretches out beside him, curling into the warmth of Magnus’ body. “I don’t even remember what we were fighting about.”

“I was doing dishes,” Alec says against Magnus’ shoulder.

“It’s an expression, Alexander,” Magnus chides gently. But his curiosity has been piqued, and he does what he should have done in the first place. He rolls over to face Alec, asks, “Why do you insist on doing the dishes?”

“Why won’t you let me? Why won’t you let me do something for you? You’re always taking care of everyone else.”

Magnus watches Alec. He can easily pick out Alec’s familiar features in the dark, from his pursed lips to his eyes, blinking slowly, like the drowsy beat of butterfly wings. He cannot remember a time or imagine a future in which he will not love this face. “I hadn’t thought about it like that,” he admits. He tucks his head into Alec’s chest, says, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Alec says, carding his hands through Magnus’ hair in a soothing pattern. Magnus’ eyelids droop as all the tension leaves his body.

Alec’s hands stop and Magnus feels his body shift.

“I’m just going to put that glass up,” Alec says.

“Leave it, Alexander,” Magnus says warningly.

Chapter Text

Magnus’ trinkets make Alec nervous. It has not escaped Magnus’ attention that Alec moved in with a couple of boxes and a scuffed duffle bag, which he promptly kicked to the back of the closet and never opened.

All of which would generally tempt Magnus to feel sorry for Alec, but he can tell it doesn’t actually bother Alec at all. Magnus makes a place his home by filling it with trinkets that bring back memories, artifacts of his life, misappropriated priceless pre-Christian antiquities. He does wonder, though, if Alec has ever felt at home anywhere.

So he fishes through the boxes, filled with the few objects that Alec does bring and puts them in prominent places, bestows them great honor and significance. Alec sees his Pez dispenser on Magnus’ bookshelf, next to a Ming vase, and stares at it for a full minute, then continues on to the kitchen, wordlessly.

Well done, Magnus congratulates himself. Well done, indeed.

---

They manage to wrangle a few hours and Magnus takes Alec furniture shopping, tells him to pick out anything he’d like, but he does have to pick out at least one piece for their apartment. Alec looks stressed wandering between the aisles of furniture like he showed up for a test he forgot to study for. Magnus had meant for this to be profound, a symbolic merging of assets, but the more agitated Alec gets, the worse Magnus feels. Alec’s hands are clenched tightly behind his back, spine straight. It’s a military stance, and one he only takes when confronted with something that upsets him.

He’s about to call the whole thing off when Alec’s shoulders drop and watches as Alec carefully runs his hand over something in a quiet, reverent manner he usually reserves for his bow and Magnus’ body. Without looking too closely, Magnus tells the sales associate they’ll take it.

---

When the chair is delivered later, Magnus stares. It’s huge, over-stuffed, and green, like the Hulk crouched menacingly in the middle of his living room. He hasn’t had pleather in a home since that ill-conceived trend in the 90’s.

“It’s here,” Alec says, eyes shining with excitement.

“Yes, it is,” Magnus chokes out.

Alec wastes no time sidling into that hideous thing, and kicking his legs up, as his eyes slide closed. He lets out a small sigh.

It really isn’t fair, is it? Alec is just so beautiful wrapped in the loving embrace of that monstrosity.

“What do you think?” Alec asks, running his fingers lightly over the arms. It feels a little like seeing Alec cheat on him with a Ravener demon; it pierces him to the very soul. Magnus chokes back the bile rising in his throat.

“Wonderful,” he manages.

---

Magnus takes to avoiding the living room after that, which is difficult to do since it’s about half of his apartment and central to oh, everything.

He continues his quest of slowly unpacking Alec’s boxes, albeit with much less enthusiasm now. A small ceramic box ends up on his dresser, a picture of Jace is reluctantly framed and put on his desk. He knows Alec notices; he’s too observant not to, but other than a few puzzled glances, he doesn’t say anything. What he does, instead, is drop a quick kiss on Magnus’ waiting lips and makes a beeline for his ugly chair, settling into it far more comfortably and lovingly than he has ever taken to anything else in his life.

And that alone is enough to make Magnus keep his mouth shut. Mostly.

---

Chairman Meow is sitting in the chair. No, Chairman Meow is sprawled lazily in the chair in a small shaft of light, looking utterly content for the world to burn down around him, which is convenient because that’s exactly what Magnus feels like doing.

“Traitor,” Magnus furiously hisses at his cat, all the hair on his body standing on end.

Just then, he hears a key turn in the lock and Alec comes in. “Hey,” Alec says, pressing a soft kiss to Magnus’ lips. He proceeds to cross the room towards the chair, and Magnus can’t take it, just can’t, fuck it all.

“Seriously?” Magnus snaps.

Alec looks up from where he and Chairman Meow are having a silent battle of wills, eyes wide and startled. “Hm?”

“The chair, that hideous chair!” He’s worked himself into such a state that he’s reduced to shouting nonsense words. “Green! Pleather!”

Alec looks amused and gives up fighting for the chair. “We’ll get rid of it if you hate it that much.” He looks around from where he’s standing, hands clasped loosely behind his back. “It doesn’t really fit your décor, huh?”

And there it is. It does not fit Magnus’ décor, because this is Magnus’ home and Alec is just staying here, like the boxes he has not unpacked in the back of the closet. The only space Alec has taken is what Magnus has insisted he take, unpacked himself, or let Alec have. He sees the few knick-knacks sprinkled around his apartment and feels like a douchebag. Then there’s the chair, soft and hulking, which probably feels great against sore muscles after a long night of patrolling and it was too much, Magnus couldn’t just let Alec have this.

Magnus closes his eyes. You complete and utter wanker, Ragnor chides gently in his ear.

“Maybe,” he says, “it’s because I haven’t tried it.” He scoots Chairman Meow off and sits down in it for the first time and oh--it really does cup the buttocks in a most pleasing manner. Magnus makes a small content sound in the back of his throat. His muscles feel like they’re made of cotton candy.

Alec leans down and says, “It’s nice isn’t it?”

“I can see the appeal,” Magnus reluctantly allows. Alec slides onto his lap and Magnus’ hands come up automatically to circle his waist. This is not something Alec would have allowed even a month ago, but Alec is letting loose, slowly and steadily shedding his ideas of what men do. Magnus has explained everything they do is something men do, by virtue of the fact that they’re men and currently doing it. “Tell me about the Pez dispenser,” he says.

“Uh, that’s the thing with candy, right?” At Magnus’ nod, Alec continues, “Clary gave it to me. Apparently, it’s some kind of cat with a bad attitude that she says reminds her of me.”

“Grumpy cat, yes,” Magnus says, coughing to cover up a small chuckle. Alec acts like it doesn't matter, but it means something that Alec chose to hang onto a silly toy and bring it with him. He has the discomforting feeling Alec doesn't believe anyone thinks about him except when he's directly in front of them, giving them orders. “The picture?” Magnus prompts.

One by one, Alec explains every small memento peppering their apartment, until Magnus has tears of laughter leaking from his eyes at the thought of Jace running after fourteen-year-old girls trying to take a picture of him. It puts the photo of Jace’s outraged face on their desk in an entirely new perspective, one that Magnus finds he enjoys.

“Unpack the rest of the boxes, put the stuff wherever you want,” Magnus says.

“Okay."

“We should probably get rid of a piece of furniture,” Magnus says, “to make room for this chair.”

“Sure,” Alec replies, relaxing into his arms. Until this moment, Magnus hadn’t noticed how tense he was.

He can see it in his periphery, what they’re becoming, something big and too beautiful for words, like the first hint of pink after a long dark night. Alexander is going to change him, down to his very molecules, he realizes. And it’s already begun.

“They had a matching couch, you know,” Alec points out helpfully.

“Baby steps,” Magnus says.

Chapter Text

It’s not a big deal at first; it’s just workout clothes. So what, Alec lays his sweaty t-shirts and shorts out to dry on the balcony? Magnus can just wave his hand, clean them, and put them back in the closet.

The problem is, the workout clothes lead to sweaty gym socks stuffed into running shoes that Alec kicks under the couch and Magnus, unsuspecting, spends an inordinate amount of time wondering what the fuck that nasty smell is.

The first time, Magnus grimaces and sends the offending socks back to the drawer, cleaned and paired off. The second and third times, he mutters under his breath and does the same.

The fourth and the fifth time, he’s pissed.

---

Magnus is sitting on the couch, planning his day when the most terrible odor assaults his senses. He feels like he’s been mugged, his personhood violated, well okay, they’re just dirty socks. Magnus leans down and glares at the garments.

It has been wonderful living with Alec in many ways, but Magnus has made plenty of roundabout comments about how clean and fresh the air is without all of Alec’s sweaty clothes laying around, to which Alec looks at him like he’s lost his damn mind and is only agreeing because he learned there’s no reasoning with crazy people.

Be cool, Magnus thinks.

Magnus generally isn’t one to get angry - though to be entirely honest, he is and often does - but he believes even more strongly in getting even. A great and terrible plan unfurls in his mind.

---

In the back of his closet, there is an airtight bag filled with dirty socks. Magnus makes sure to replace Alec’s old socks with a fresh pair every morning so he doesn’t note his old socks going out of rotation. Magnus puts some holes in the toes and heels and tears the elastic out of a few so Alec, who is both annoyingly observant and at the most inconvenient times deliberately obtuse, doesn’t wonder suddenly why all his clothes are so pristine and normal looking.

When the bag is full, Magnus takes the pillowcase off Alec’s pillow, hollows it out and replaces it with the entire malodorous dreg. He slips the pillow back onto the bed and slings the blanket over it, chuckling quietly to himself.

He can’t wait for Alec to get home.

---

They have a perfectly lovely dinner hunched over the couch and watching TV and grunting about work. Alec tells him about a rise in demon attacks during the commercial breaks and Magnus offers to take a look at the map tomorrow to guess at a pattern.

After dinner, Alec stretches out, leans his head into Magnus’ chest, right where the divot is between his collarbone and shoulder, perfectly matched, like Magnus was built for him. And he was, in a way, because living with someone changes something inherent about a relationship. The giving and taking, learning himself and another person, testing the limits of his patience and faith.

Alec’s eyes fall closed and Magnus looks down at him and knows without a doubt that he will always be stupid crazy about this man.

He also maybe begins to feel bad about the surprise waiting for him.

Alec yawns and gets up. “I’m going to bed, you coming?”

Magnus shakes his head no, listens to the sound of Alec changing and washing his face, brushing his teeth, the toilet flushing, and then silence. Dead silence.

Magnus chews all the nail polish off his thumb with the sinking suspicion that he’s fucked up somehow. It could be that he overreacted, maybe let himself be shitty and kind of petty over something that wasn’t a big deal, something that Alec probably would have stopped if Magnus had just told him outright that it bothered him.

The foreboding quiet puts Magnus on edge, makes him grit his teeth. He gets up. “Alexander,” he says, going into the bedroom.

He stops short when he sees Alec fully dressed with the pillowcase full of dirty socks in his arms.

“Where are you going?”

“To do laundry, I guess,” Alec says flatly.

Magnus' stomach sinks. “Don’t be silly, I can clean them in a second.”

Alec looks unimpressed. “I’ll do them. These are my responsibility, my fault. You’ve made your feelings pretty clear, Magnus.”

But the problem is he really didn’t, not when he could have neatly avoided this whole issue by just being upfront.

“At least let me portal you to the Institute,” Magnus says, finally. There’s a coin laundromat around the corner, but he doesn’t think he can stand the indignity of seeing the Head of the New York Institute waiting for his clothes to dry while sitting in a cracked plastic fold-up chair.

At Alec’s tired nod, Magnus opens up a portal and watches Alec disappear through it. Magnus could let him go alone and no doubt Alec would never speak a word of this again nor would a stray dirty sock appear to befoul the premises, but these are the rules Alec keeps at the institute - he’s seen Alec’s room there, pristine and impersonal - and it's nothing like he is here.

If Magnus just lets this go, it likely won't damage their relationship, but it would be one more thing Alec isn’t allowed their home, one more arbitrary rule.

Magnus follows him through - it's the least he can do.

They end up in the Institute basement doing laundry at 2 am and sitting on faded linoleum, watching the dryer cycle through, listening to Lady Gaga on the tinny radio, knees pressed together.

---

Magnus sets up a laundry hamper on the balcony so Alec can throw his workout clothes in there after his morning run and before Magnus wakes up to take care of them.

Sure, they might be known as “those stinky slobs in Brooklyn,” but with Alec tucked up beneath his arm, warm breath against his neck, Magnus thinks he can live with that.

Chapter Text

Like most major disasters in his life, Magnus really has no one to blame but himself. It’s the kind of sheer stupid curiosity that gets him into trouble all the time, no jokes about curiosity and cats, please.

He’s finishing a job for a client - a demon summoning - when his phone rings. “Alexander!” he answers, delighted.

“Are you coming home soon? I’m starving.”

“I could pick up a little something on my way back,” Magnus offers.

Alec hums over the phone. “I could cook, I guess,” he says.

Magnus has never actually had something Alec cooked. They’re always pinched for time, one coming while the other is going, and it’s easier to go out for food or for Magnus to use magic. The idea of Alec in their shared apartment, in their kitchen, whipping up a tasty morsel for Magnus warms him all over. A nice meal to come home to, his lovely boyfriend to keep him company. This is the brass ring, he thinks. It’s so charmingly domestic.

“Sounds wonderful,” he tells Alec, and seals his fate.

“Is that a good idea?” the demon asks, squinting its many eyes.

“Oh, shut up,” Magnus says and banishes it back to its hell dimension.

---

“I made lasagna,” Alec calls out as Magnus steps through a portal.

“Classic,” Magnus says and drops a kiss on Alec’s shoulder. The smell is…not promising, but the tablescape is lovely. Alec is obviously trying, has been clearly watching Magnus for pointers. No matter what quality of food he's served, Magnus is sure he will adore it.

Alec spoons a pile of something on Magnus’ plate and sets it in front of him. Magnus takes a sip of his wine and then takes a bite of the food.

It is--

It is--

The noodles are soggy, the meat is dry, and Magnus suspects he’s tasting cinnamon. His taste buds shrivel up in horror, pack up, and leave town. Paprika? Vinegar? It’s a bewildering combination of dry and wet that ties Magnus’ brain into knots just trying to figure it out.

Alec is sitting across the table from him, face lit by candlelight, eyes wide and expectant. Magnus loves this man with all of his heart, he has to remind himself repeatedly. With that thought in mind, Magnus forces himself to swallow, even while the food is actively trying to crawl back out of his throat.

“What do you think?” Alec asks curiously, a gentle grin playing about his lips.

“Perfect,” Magnus rasps. His eyes water.

---

The roaring success of the first meal unlocks something in Alec that Magnus desperately wishes he could put back. At least twice a week, Alec insists on having dinner ready for Magnus at the end of the day. Forgetting important last minute meetings only works for so long, emergencies just panic Alec and he insists on helping, then whipping up a “little something” afterward.

Perhaps, Magnus kids himself, the problem is not Alec’s cooking, but the quality of the recipe he’s using. With that thought, he goes to a bookstore, buys dozens of books ranging from the easy to the obscure. He gifts them to Alec with a flourish, clears out an entire section on his bookshelf for them, but all the books migrate to the table, where Alec regularly flips through them for new and exciting ways to give Magnus nightmares.

In his more paranoid moments, Magnus lets himself suspect that Alec is trying to kill him for his fortune. Alec, who has very few possessions and seems content to keep it that way, is a very obvious Black Widow, preying on unsuspecting men with his lovely collar bones.

He sees Alec pull on a pair of socks, note the hole in the toe, shrug and slide them on anyway.

Maybe not.

---

Magnus has lost six pounds, all of his clothes are loose and he keeps having to tailor them with magic. His friends and associates keep asking him if he’s quite all right, as Magnus sways on his feet while belching quietly. He always suspected Alexander would break his heart, but he didn’t know how thoroughly Alec would break his body.

He’s been eating so many antacids, his bloodstream is more calcium than liquid at this point. Which is to say, life can’t continue this way.

Clary buys Alec a “Kiss The Cook" apron, while Jace looks on at Magnus in pity. He’s heard about Isabelle’s cooking terrorizing the Institute for years. What Magnus hadn’t been told was, apparently, Alec had been the one to teach her how.

---

Alec uses a recipe to make pizza, in which the dough is raw and grainy, the cheese unmelted, and there are burned bits of brown and green on top that Magnus is terrified to identify. Mysteriously, the whole mess smells of fish.

Alec is sitting across from him, shoveling bites of raw dough in his mouth, expression unreadable.

“Do you,” Magnus begins and trails off, unsure of how to continue without being insulting. Does Alec think this tastes good? Is he damaged in some unforeseen way? Is he absolutely psychotic? “Do you enjoy your cooking, Alexander?”

“I enjoy making stuff,” Alec says evasively.

“Clearly,” Magnus answers and tries again, more carefully this time, like he’s bargaining for his life with an enigmatic Seelie. In a way, he is. “Do you enjoy eating the particular food you have prepared with your own two hands?”

“Do you?”

It sounds like a challenge. Magnus’ eyes widen and he lets the glamour over them fall. He sees the game now; he wasn’t even aware they were playing in the first place. This is like their first date rewritten and reversed, except he doesn’t find out until the end of the night he’s been hustled. They’re basically playing crappy-cooking-chicken. Alec knows he’s a lousy cook, Magnus knows he’s lousy, the state of New York knows Alexander has no business being within ten feet of a kitchen unless it’s for some exciting brand of sexual escapade.

Every bone in Magnus’ body screams at him to lie his way out of this predicament, tell a whopper with a straight face that’s so obscene, Alec will have no choice but to fold first. He drums his fingers against the tabletop.

But subterfuge and games are for dating, not for relationships. He’s had those kinds of relationships before and they’ve always ended devastatingly, probably because they were both too busy trying to hide things from each other than pay attention to the health of said relationship.

Finally, Magnus admits, “I was trying to spare your feelings.”

Alec pulls Magnus’ hand across the table, laces their fingers together. “I’d rather have honesty,” he says.

---

“So, I’m still hungry,” Alec says later, sprawled on the couch. The food has been tossed, the dishes are clean and put away.

“We should call for something,” Magnus suggests, head tucked into Alec’s shoulder, his arm a heavy, reassuring weight around him.

“We have a fully stocked pantry,” Alec starts. “I know a simple recipe--”

“My love,” Magnus interrupts tenderly, “if you cook for me again, I’ll murder you in your sleep.”

“Takeout it is.”

---

Alec still looks through his cookbooks, tries a recipe here and there and talks Magnus into taking a bite before they throw it away and order in. He watches Alec’s soft smile, the way he carefully turns each page, sitting in his ugly chair with Chairman Meow curled around his feet. Something breaks loose in his chest, messy and completely foreign. They’re in uncharted waters now.

Alec notices him staring, looks up and grins, eyebrow cocked. “See something you like?”

Magnus swallows, caught out and unsure. He discards multiple coy answers and goes for the truth instead: “Yes, always.”

Chapter Text

When Magnus gets to the Hunter’s Moon, Clary’s already there, bent low over Jace, her hair a coppery red curtain separating them from the rest of the room. Next to them, Alec’s swaying on his stool, head against the bar. His agility rune’s faded, one among a host of terrible decisions obviously made this evening.

As Magnus comes closer, Clary looks up. "I always wanted to know what Alec would be like if he ever totally let loose," Clary says, "and I have to live with that for the rest of my life." She reaches over Jace to take a sip of his drink and makes a disgusted face. Magnus shakes his head as a coffee bean rattles around in the empty shot glass.

"That bad?" Magnus says with a wince.

"Think singing Lady Gaga bad."

“They do karaoke here?”

“No,” Maya says from behind the bar, deeply unamused.

"That's my fault," Magnus says apologetically, but not very. "I doubt he'd know it if it wasn't my ringtone."

"Every verse?" Maya asks.

"Thats--Oh, Alexander," Magnus says, fondly looking down at Alec, where he's still slumped over the bar.

“Please get them out of here, they’re scaring the other customers,” Maya says, flicking a towel in Alec and Jace’s direction.

“Shadowhunters not good for downworld business, huh?” Clary asks ruefully.

Maya looks at her like she's grown an extra head or two. “Yeah, let’s go with that.”

Magnus touches Alec’s shoulder gently. Alec may be two nails past hammered, but he’s still a shadowhunter, and Magnus has learned the hard way it’s not a good idea to sneak up on them. “Time to go home, Alexander,” he says.

Alec looks up, bleary-eyed, and Magnus revises his opinion on surprising him. Alec doesn’t look capable of fighting off a dozen furious kittens right now. “Magnus,” he says, accompanied by a dopey grin.

He doesn’t know why, but he’d assumed Alec would be a stoic drunk, contemplating the meaning of life while staring into a bowl of peanuts angrily.

“Hey, hey, you’re my boyfriend,” Alec says.

“Yes,” Magnus agrees. He helps Alec up, reminded once again that Alec is not a light man, and the extra twenty pounds of alcohol is not helping, as Alec leans heavily against his side.

“You’re so pretty,” Alec says, “with your fancy jackets. Like a--like a fancy pirate king.”

“Do you need help?” he asks Clary, who has her hands full with Jace.

“No,” she says. “Simon’s coming to give me a hand. Go on and get Alec home.”

“All right,” he says. He hoists Alec back and up and walks him towards the door. “We’re going to portal home,” he tells Alec, “but you better not throw up on the way or I’m going to stop cleaning Chairman Meow’s coughed up hairballs out of your shoes.”

“Wait, what?” Alec asks.

“Never mind,” Magnus says quickly.

---

It could have been worse, Alec could have stayed home and attempted to work his way through the Joy of Cooking.

They stagger past the stack of books Alec left next to his chair, stumble over his running shoes, knock into a shelf, upsetting the small collection of Pez dispensers Magnus has been adding to when he goes out and sees something that reminds him of Alec.

They end up in the bedroom, Alec’s head lolling to the side as Magnus lowers him to the bed. He pulls off his shoes and slips a pillow beneath his head. He thinks Alec’s asleep when Alec startles him, blinks slowly and rolls over towards where Magnus is sitting on the edge.

“I knew,” Alec mumbles dreamily. “I knew you were it for me from the moment I first saw you.”

Magnus runs a hand up Alec’s side, rucking up his shirt, the hard ridges of muscle under soft skin, so familiar by now, but somehow always thrilling.

Alec’s brow furrows and he looks confused, sad, and Magnus mentally readies his bowl of peanuts. “I’m sorry, Magnus.”

“For what?”

“I knew it was you, but I thought -- with Jace, with Lydia. We don’t have forever, and I wasted so much of our time.”

Magnus holds a finger over Alec’s lips to stop him. Teary confessions can come later, but not when Alec’s been made vulnerable and laid-low by flaming sambucas and poor judgment. “Tomorrow,” he promises.

Alec looks relieved. Magnus knows that’ll only last until Alec wakes up and remembers Maia took a video of him singing. And that Magnus got her to text him a copy.

“Tomorrow,” Alec repeats, and Magnus pulls the covers over him, and gets undressed for bed.

In the bathroom, Magnus takes off his necklaces and rings, peeks outside the door to make sure Alec is really asleep, and then pulls out a small jar. He is technically immortal, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t get sallow. No one wakes up this fabulous, so he regularly makes a potion to give him a little extra zest. And protect from sun damage and wrinkles, real or imagined. It’s the tiny bit of absurdity he allows himself.

He uses the sugared lip scrub he prepared last week when he told Alec he was making a caustic and temperamental potion to keep him out of the room.

The thing is, all couples have shameful secret behavior. Magnus’ is occasionally putting abrasive potions on his face and Alec’s is apparently listening to excellent pop music and feeling guilty about being human. It becomes hard to hide this behavior when you live with another person, and you may never hide it completely. Everyone needs secrets, even small ones, and Magnus has the feeling that soon, Alec will know all of his. No reason to rush the process; he's enjoying it.

Honesty is one thing, total transparency--that’s just fucking ridiculous, Magnus thinks, and hides his pot of wrinkle cream under a stack of towels like a crazy person.

Chapter Text

Their schedules have been brutal lately and while it has been exceedingly positive on Magnus' pocketbook, the same can not be said for their relationship.

Which is to say, Magnus and Alec have not had sex for two weeks. He misses Alec’s sweet booty, sure, but mostly he misses the intimacy of Alec’s solid and reassuring weight on top of him, against him, around him.

When he finds himself with unexpected free time, he calls Alec in anticipation.

Alec picks up immediately, sounding exhausted, but pleased. “Hey,” he says.

“Alexander," Magnus chirps. “I’ve got a surprise for you.”

When Alec answers, it’s unflatteringly suspicious. “Is the gift your dick?”

The gift was his dick. Magnus scoffs, “No, give me more credit than that. I do have a couple days off, though. Do you think you can clear your schedule for a bit?”

He hears rustling papers, then Alec answers, “Maybe a day and a half? If I stay late tonight?”

“I’ll be waiting,” Magnus promises and ends the call.

---

Magnus acquires a bottle of wine, a lovely new cookbook, a silk blindfold, and self-heating personal lubricant. A gift for Alec, a gift for himself, and a couple things to glide the process along, in every meaning of the word.

When Alec comes home, he has dark purple circles under his eyes, his hair is an absolute mess like he’s been running his hands through it repeatedly. He looks wrecked and Magnus would like nothing more than to wreck him further.

Magnus gives him a hello kiss dirty enough to make Caligula blush. When he pulls back, Alec looks gratifyingly dazed.

“I have food and wine,” Magnus tells him. He snaps his fingers, and the blindfold appears between them. “And a few other things.”

Alec grabs the scrap of silk and runs his fingers over it, the delicate fabric catching against the calluses there. “For you or for me?” Alec asks, voice rough.

Magnus shrugs easily. “I’m versatile.”

“I’m aware,” Alec says. They kiss again, stumble to the bedroom, shedding layers of clothing carelessly. Alec’s teeth catch on Magnus’ bottom lip and Magnus hisses appreciatively.

They fall, laughing, onto the bed and Magnus sits against the headboard as Alec slips the blindfold on and settles between his legs.

Alec kisses his way down Magnus' chest and Magnus shivers in anticipation as he feels Alec press his mouth against his hipbone and linger there, Alec’s warm breath ghosting against cock, the pressure of Alec’s head a comforting weight against his thigh.

He scrubs a hand through Alec’s hair, sighing. He waits, and waits, and waits--

--and hears a soft snore.

“What the actual fuck?” Magnus says loudly.

---

Alec clearly does not remember in the morning, but the shadows are gone and he looks happier than he has in the past couple of weeks.

“Good morning,” he says and kisses Magnus so sweetly over coffee that Magnus might have melted into a puddle of love and sparkly goo any other day. But this morning, Magnus thinks, Fuck this. Alec fell asleep on his dick last night.

The spark has clearly gone out of their relationship, they’re practically celibate. Magnus’ dick has been so ill-used, he wouldn’t blame it if it left to go find a more appreciative owner. Maybe what Alec needs is more romance, a Big Gesture. “We could go to the park, feed the geese, then have a picnic. That sounds romantic, doesn't it?” Magnus suggests a little desperately.

“Eating on the ground and feeding birds?” Alec asks sounding doubtful.

“We could go for a walk afterward, hold hands, make out and scandalize the old ladies.” He waves his hand and a picnic basket appears, stocked with his favorite crudités from France and a bacon cheeseburger for Alec.

“You know I feel about PDA,” Alec says.

“You love it, wish desperately for more?”

“Yes, that exactly,” Alec agrees, “except just the opposite.”

Magnus laughs, following Alec out the door. Alec may not be ready to announce his big gay love to the world today or tomorrow, but soon. For the first time in a long while, Magnus has faith.

---

In Prospect Park, bracketed by towering skyscrapers, Alec tells Magnus that the reason he’s been working such long hours is because of the Clave, of course it is.

“They’re debating implementing a new tracking system for downworlders.”

“Jesus,” Magnus says, stunned. “Didn’t they learn anything from last time?”

“Some did,” Alec says. “It’s not going to pass, even my mother is against it. But just the fact that there are still small factions pressing for something like it is…kind of depressing.” He lets out a harsh breath. “I’ve wasted weeks arguing against something everyone knows is wrong, that won’t even go anywhere.”

“Then why do it?”

“Because I want Shadowhunters to see the Head of an Institute arguing for fairness, taking on the Clave when it’s wrong. It’s the only way we change,” Alec says, staring off into the distance. “I’m not even supposed to be telling you any of this.”

“Then why are you?” Magnus asks carefully, heart beating painfully. He’s worried for downworlders everywhere, but if Alec, cautious beyond reason, who worries about everything all the time, is confident this is the last dying breath of a small hateful pocket, he has no reason to doubt him.

“Because I trust you,” Alec says, meeting his eyes, “and you deserve to know. It's been bothering me and I wanted to talk to you about it.”

So they haven’t fucked in a couple of weeks. Relationships ebb and flow and they’ll get there again. There are many types of intimacy, but Magnus finds he much prefers this kind.

“Thank you for letting me know,” Magnus tells Alec, voice shaking slightly, and hopes Alec understands what he means. He means thank you for loving me, for trusting me, thank you for reshaping how I see the world, for being everything I thought you would be and more.

He hopes Alec gets it.

Alec may or may not, but on their walk home, Alec holds his hand the whole way.

 ---

The next morning, Magnus asks if Alec wants to go out for breakfast. Alec declines, says he'd rather have a lazy day in.

“You’re no fun."

“That’s not what you said last night,” Alec responds, leering at Magnus over the rim of his coffee cup.

Chapter Text

Magnus is working on a potion when there’s a knock on the door. “Come in,” he calls out and opens the door from where he’s sitting on the couch. Maryse Lightwood’s patent leather shoes click against the hardwood.

“Warlock Bane,” she says. There’s formality there, a pretense of respect, but it’s meant to keep him at a distance, too.

“Alec’s not home,” he tells her dismissively. If she ever bothered to call, she’d already know that.

Maryse pauses and Magnus looks up. “I know that,” she says quietly. “I waited until he was busy to come see you.”

Against his better judgment, Magnus is curious. “Then sit down,” he says, gesturing at a chair.

Maryse shakes her head. “This won’t take long. Robert is going to be in from Idris on Sunday and we wanted to invite you to dinner. With Alec, of course.” She‘s too disciplined to fidget, but Magnus gets the impression she’d very much like to. She makes a slow loop around the room. “But I came personally to make sure you’d be there.”

Magnus exhales, barely refraining from rolling his eyes. She even manages to make a dinner invitation sound condescending. The last time he had dinner with Shadowhunters, they broke all the tainted dishes after he left, and it doesn‘t hurt anymore, not really, but it aches sometimes like a broken bone reset improperly.

While Magnus truly loves Alec with all of his heart, that does not extend to every acquaintance of Alec’s, of which there seems to be an exhaustingly needy and endless supply. But there are very few people Alec genuinely loves, and Maryse is, unfortunately, one of them. Magnus doesn’t want Alec to be sorry for loving someone, ever.

Maryse seems to take his silence for the hesitation it is and says, “I know things haven’t been easy between us, but Alec seems happier, more relaxed.”

“Is he?” Magnus asks.

There are many words that could be used to describe Alexander - kind, protective, possessing a moral compass that is as much skewed as admirable - but relaxed has never been one of them. As blind as he can be to Alec’s faults, even Magnus has to admit his asscheeks are clenched so tightly, he’s surprised that even as a baby, Alec didn’t shit diamonds.

“I’d gotten used to him being angry and unhappy,” she says, blinking suddenly shiny eyes. “I thought that’s just how he was.” She runs her hand over Alec’s jacket, slung over the back of his godawful chair. “What kind of mother gets used to her son being unhappy and accepts it as a matter of fact?” she murmurs.

She’s not talking to him anymore, as she looks around their apartment, sees touches of Alec in the running shoes tucked under the couch, the cookbooks scattered across the table where he last thumbed through the pages. She picks one up at random, a Mediterranean cookbook, and Magnus’ stomach aches reflexively remembering Alec’s disastrous flirtation with what could only generously be deemed Shawarma-ish.

She turns it over in her hands carefully. “Did you know Alec and Izzy once made me breakfast in bed?”

Magnus winces in sympathy. “I can imagine it was really…something.”

She laughs, surreptitiously swipes at her eyes and looks up at Magnus, her dark eyes bright and shining, a gentle smile on her lips, and Magnus is struck by the fact she’s beautiful, radiant. He can see now what would have secured such devotion from Alec. What would a boy do to get his mother to look at him like that? With such uncomplicated love and pride? Magnus shudders to think what he might have done for his own mother.

“The eggs were crunchy and I didn’t know if it was because they were so badly burned or if it was all the shells. But I ate it all because they were sitting on the end of the bed watching me with their hearts in their eyes. And I told them it was wonderful.” She sighs and sets the book down. “I guess you can blame this on me, too,” she says, tapping the glossy cover lightly.

Now that he’s looking, he can see Jace in the occasionally amused twinkle in her eye, Izzy in the slightly too high to be practical heels, Alec in the proud, stubborn set of her chin. This is the woman who taught Alec how to hate, but she also told him about family and devotion. They’re teaching each other about love.

Magnus makes up his mind. “We’ll be there. Sunday.”

“Thank you,” she says and leaves quietly.

Magnus adds wormwood to the potion and it goes from muddy green to a soft, glowing blue, pulsating like a heartbeat. It’s almost done.

Is Maryse still a shit-weasel of the highest order? Of that, Magnus has no doubt, but she also raised some of the finest Shadowhunters he’s had the honor of knowing in his long life. Besides, it’s not like they’re about to start a knitting circle together or anything, though if they did, it would no doubt be both tense and hilarious.

They can get along. For Alec.

After all, it’s what you do for family.

Chapter Text

Through some miracle, someone decides they’re mature enough to raise a child and Magnus stupidly, fucking ridiculously, just goes along with it. He’s a man of a certain age, likes children, has raised tons of cats. He’s got this.

As soon as he figures out why the diaper just won’t fucking stay in place.

He takes the diaper off, turns it around and slides it under the baby’s butt, cursing himself and Alexander for not just using magic, God this could all have been over fifteen agnozing minutes ago, but Alec insisted Magnus has to learn to do it the regular way because what if Magnus is low on magic? What if, what if. Alexander’s usually appreciated thoroughness pales in comparison to Magnus’ current suffering.

He fastens the diaper, only to realize it’s too loose when Max squirms out of it and promptly pees in Magnus’ eye.

“Oh, you little bastard,” Magnus says, facing the baby away from him too late. Always too late, he thinks sadly. “Alexander!” he yells. “I could use some help here.”

Alec comes charging out of the hastily cobbled together nursery, baby powder in his hair, a onesie slung over his shoulder, looking hunted.

Together, they manage to change the squalling infant, get him fed and sleeping in his own crib and not on top of one of them, all while Magnus mutters, “Cats are not children, cats are not children.”

They sit on the floor as Magnus half-heartedly swipes his face with a baby wipe. He could use magic, but Magnus doesn’t think he’d have enough energy to levitate a feather at this point. He doesn’t remember what it feels like to be well-rested. The bags under his eyes could hold a dozen groceries each.

“This is harder than I thought it would be,” Alec says glumly. “I’ve always loved kids. You’re so great with children, everyone says. You should be a father, everyone says. Where the hell are they now?”

“I think you have to learn to be a parent like everything else,” Magnus says tiredly. He’s hungry, maybe even desperate enough to eat Alec’s cooking. He thinks there’s a casserole in the refrigerator that he’s been avoiding for the last few days.

“I’m descended from literal angels --I should be better at this.”

“Let me tell you,” Magnus says and crawls over the Alec, lays his head in his lap, “from all that I've gathered, angels are fucking assholes, as much as any demon ever was. You’re part human, too, the very best part of you.”

Alec leans down to kiss Magnus’ cheek. “Same to you,” he says and sniffs Magnus’ hair. “You still smell like pee.”

“I know,” Magnus groans.

----

The years pass, as they do.

----

Max decides he wants to be an intergalactic astronaut pirate. Last week, he wanted to sell fruit in Queens. Magnus applauds him on his increasing ambition.

Alec changes him into his brand new pajamas, dark blue with planets and grippy feet, as Max brushes his teeth at the sink.

“What story do you want tonight?”

“Adventure!” he says, sprays of toothpaste flying everywhere, and it reminds Magnus unerringly of Alec.

Alec, who still can’t brush his teeth without getting toothpaste on the mirror, who always has holes in all of his socks, who last week had one silvery hair at the nape of his neck - just one in the riotous mess of dark - but it had made something in Magnus go cold.

Magnus leaves them to it, goes into the living room and surveys their home, the mess of toys on the floor, the place that Max “decorated” with fingerpaints in the thirty seconds Alec had his back turned to answer the phone, the notches carefully carved into the doorframe to mark Max’s growth and the passage of time. Magnus could magic it all away, but he prefers to leave it.

All of these things are small, nothing at all really, but add up to something huge. Though most of their kind don’t believe it, Magnus has learned that there is great beauty in the mundane.

He picks up the toys slowly, takes them back to his son’s room and piles them in the toybox, where Alec is telling Max about a warrior and a warlock who fought demons together. He ends it with, “Then they moved in together, bickered a lot, and lived happily ever after.”

“Awwww,” Max says, scrunching up his nose, “I thought you said this wasn’t a love story."

Alec hugs him close, says in his ear, “Hey, little man, I'll let you in on a secret: all the best stories are.”

---

Magnus goes to the bathroom, removes his makeup and changes into loose pants and a t-shirt.

He once knew a warlock who specialized in time travel magic.

The warlock had tried to explain the nature of time to Magnus, how it was difficult to measure because it's not linear like most assume. Everything’s happening at once, and if that’s true and the warlock isn’t totally full of shit, then Alec will always be 23 and walking towards Magnus on his own wedding day, dressed in gold and black; 24 and standing at Magnus’ doorway with a duffle bag and two sad boxes; 25 and lying in the grass next to Magnus at the park, grinning softly as the sun sets; 27 and holding an orphaned warlock child, meeting Magnus’ gaze with pleading eyes across the Institute.

All of these things are happening indefinitely, simultaneously, never beginning and never-ending. Though there will eventually be a time when Magnus won’t wake up next to him, Alec is immortal in the only way that really matters.

Magnus leans against the bathroom door and shudders.

Their son is sleeping in his room, dreaming about outer space and cowboys.

Alec is sitting on their dumpy green couch waiting for him to start some dopey movie that Alec likes and Magnus pretends to hate, but secretly kind of enjoys. They’ll cuddle, watch the movie, argue about what the ending really means, eat some of Alec’s lousy food, go to bed, kiss, make love, wake up, and do it all over again.

And it is beautiful.

Through hitching breaths, Magnus slides down the wall, covers his eyes, and whispers out loud, “Ragnor, don’t worry about me anymore. I’m okay, really. I’m finally home.”