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“So. You, uh, ever heard of D&D?”
Magnus pauses, cocktail in hand, and raises a brow. “Is that supposed to be, like, M&M’s? Or are you hitting on me? Why, Sherman-”
“Simon,” Simon corrects. “It’s always been Simon. Well.” He looks down at the transgender flag draped over his shoulders. “It’s always going to be Simon, anyways. In case you were wondering. Or hoping I’d change it. Or- Wait, okay. D&D.”
“M&M’s.” Magnus lets the grin on his face grow despite knowing how mischievous and sly he must look. Simon obviously knows he’s just messing with him, but that doesn’t stop Simon from sighing exasperatedly and rolling his eyes. “You know, the candy.”
“D&D. You know, the game.”
Unable to resist himself, Magnus laughs. “The game? I’m very familiar with the game. I guess I just lost.”
Simon repeats ‘the game’ silently, before he groans and slams the bottom of his fist against the mahogany counter. “You’ve got to be kidding me! You’re so old, you know that? My G--; I can’t believe you would do this to me.”
Whether it’s the fist against the counter or the mention of ‘the game’, a couple people - including the bartender - turn around to glare at Magnus and Simon both. Magnus, taking it in stride, drinks the rest of his cocktail in one swallow and then clinks the glass against the countertop. Beside it, he slaps down a twenty dollar bill. Then, he swiftly stands and links his and Simon’s arms together. Without asking, or listening to Simon’s sputtering, he leads Simon out of the bar and back onto the crowded streets.
Out here, he’s got to yell a little bit just to be heard, but Magnus makes do anyway. His chunky platform boots make enough noise for the both of them; Simon, regardless of the borrowed Doc Martens on his feet and the clumsiness of every single one of his steps, always manages to be silent when he moves.
The Doc Martens had been Magnus’ choice - as had most of Simon’s outfit, pretty much. When Simon had come to him a week ago about wanting to go to Pride, Magnus absolutely knew that he had to make Simon dress up; otherwise, Simon would have just gone in a hoodie and his ratty, falling-apart converse. No one needed to see those. Magnus still remembers the look on Simon’s face when he’d handed Simon the tight, leather pants he’s wearing now.
You can’t be serious, Simon had said.
What? Magnus had replied. They look hot. Besides, you need to learn to live a little.
Simon was normally very easy to persuade, especially when it came to fashion endeavors. As such, Magnus had managed to talk him into the tight leather pants, a sheer, baby-blue, see-through shirt rolled up to his elbows - through which you could see Simon’s white binder, but Simon said he felt comfortable enough wearing it just as a shirt that it barely mattered - and the pastel pink Docs.
The flag-cape was the very first part of the outfit to be chosen; the day Simon came to him, asking him if he’d be comfortable escorting Simon to his very first Pride, Magnus had simply replied by asking how he felt about capes. Capes, especially transgender flag capes, were so Simon.
Magnus himself had gone for the tall, buckle-up, knee-high platform boots. Every inch of him was covered in body glitter, his makeup was above and beyond, (and he’d even talked Simon into letting him do his makeup!), and the magenta jumper he was wearing showed off just enough chest and legs that Magnus figured it to be the perfect outfit for Pride.
(“We look like walking pride flags,” Simon had said this morning, before they met up with the rest of the group. “It’s… really cool, actually.”
“Obviously - I know what I’m doing.”)
All of it - from the over-the-top outfits to the extensive makeup - was all in an attempt to get Simon to blow past his comfort zone so hard that he forgot it even existed. Magnus wanted to make Simon’s first Pride just as memorable as Magnus’ had been.
Deep down, in a way, Magnus felt as if everything he was doing lately was to make up for something he’d done to Simon; throwing him into fabulous outfits Simon normally never dreamed of wearing, escorting him to social things like cons and parades…
They’d been going to a lot of cons frequently, actually, and not only because it gave Magnus a reason to go wild on his cosplays. Oddly enough, he found playing the ‘Black Widow’ to Simon’s ‘Hawkeye’ entertaining and, dare he say it, fun. The first time - when he’d dressed as Natasha and Simon as Clint - he’d only been stepping in to fill Clary’s vacant spot, but then when the next con came, Magnus found himself actually asking to go.
By the third one, Magnus was the one to invite Simon. And it was fun. Extremely so. So was Pride, even if they’d lost Jace and Clary five minutes in, and then Isabelle an hour later. Even Alec, the longest to stick with them, was dragged away by a group of gay men halfway into the event.
If Magnus was having this much fun, he could only imagine how much Simon was having. Magnus knew that Simon didn’t normally do things like this - cons, sure, but not in extravagant cosplays. Simon, as social as he could come off, was neurotic, awkward, and a downright mess at the best of times. Social situations weren’t his forte.
Given that social situations were Magnus’ forte, it sometimes came as a surprise to find how enjoyable Simon could make them. He let Magnus dress him up as he saw fit and then, by the end of the night, he’d depart after giving Magnus a sincere thank you. Was doing these things with him making Simon happier? Were they improving his quality of life?
Better question: why did Magnus care so much? It did feel like he was trying to make up for something by going along with the plans Simon laid out, but what? What was he apologizing for? Maybe he was wrong to think like that in the first place. After all, he got just as much out of their hang-outs as Simon did; he got to dress someone up to the extremes, have a good night out, and spend time with someone in the same shitty boat as he was in. (Immortality, that is.) Simon got all of the same things out of it: someone to hang out with, someone to push his boundaries and barriers, and someone to go with to the things he was too nervous to go to alone.
It was a good, easy relationship. They bantered, they had fun, and they made more plans. Friendship with Simon, despite Magnus having believed that something like that could never happen between the two just months earlier, was wonderful.
It was odd. Good, but odd.
Well, who’s Magnus to question something weird anyway?
By the time the two of them are a bit away from the bar, now unlinked, Magnus picks back up the ‘D&D’ subject that Simon had left behind. He cuts Simon off mid-ramble - he’s talking about where their other friends might be, but Magnus knows that if anything were wrong, they’d know, so he’s not worried - and pronounces D&D in the worst way he can think of, just to peeve Simon off.
“I’ll admit it, Silas - you’ve got me wondering. Just what is this ‘dee-en-dee’ thing you were talking about?”
Simon switches topics easily, ignoring the ‘Silas’ part as he maneuvers around a group of particularly rowdy teenage girls. “I know you did the finger quotes and all, but I could just hear them in your voice, too. It’s like finger quotes squared. Also, it’s ‘D&D’, not ‘dee-en-dee’. Dungeons and Dragons.”
“Dungeons and dragons?” Magnus asks, dryly. “I’m impressed.”
“Yep,” Simon replies, popping the ‘p’. “Dungeons and dragons. Though, there doesn’t always have to be both. Or either.”
“See, just like how you could hear the finger quotes in my voice, I can hear the eye roll in yours.” He laughs, following the comment up with a vague handwave signaling Simon to keep going. It’s easy to get lost in the banter with Simon - according to others when they talk about him, it’s the same way. Simon, despite being a stuttering, mumbling mess more often than not, was good at banter. Who knew? “So?”
“It’s like - have you heard of roleplay?” Simon makes a face. “Nevermind. Of course you’ve heard about roleplay. D&D is basically a tabletop, roleplaying game where you make up characters and go on epic quests. It’s like, uh, a ‘choose your own adventure’ story mode video game. You’ve got one main quest but you can go on all these little, side-ones; or, whatever the dungeon master sees fit, I guess.”
“‘Dungeon master’ is what they used to call me during the Medieval Ages.”
“Okay. Well, there’s a fun fact no one asked for.” Simon playfully elbows him. “The dungeon master, or DM, is the one telling the story. The whole game is just based on dice rolls, pretty much? But there’s a lot of roleplaying, uh, acting, and stuff like that. I don’t know. You like dressing up and cosplaying characters, so I thought that - well, I thought maybe-”
“You thought I’d like it?” Magnus offers. That’s… very sweet of him, actually. “Well, I do say to try everything at least once, don’t I? And I do like acting.”
Even though Magnus hasn’t explicitly said yes, Simon brightens. “Yeah! I thought that maybe we could get everyone to play with us. Clary’s played some games with me already, and I could DM - it’s all fantasy based; or, uh, I guess real life based, now that I think about it. There’s things like elves and faeries, and you can play as all these different races and classes.”
Magnus hums. “That does sound fun. And interesting. Why not?”
In a flash, Simon’s hands are on Magnus’ upper arm, holding him firm. “You’re serious? You’ll do it?” he asks. “See, I seriously thought this was going to be an uphill battle, but, wow-”
“Of course I’ll do it.” This time, Magnus is the one rolling his eyes. “We’ll discuss it with everyone later. Is this, like, a one time game, like Monopoly?”
“It can be,” Simon explains. They’ve stopped moving - even with all of the noise, the colors, and the setting sun, there’s no tearing his gaze away from the giddy smile on Simon’s face or the way his eyes light up with excitement. “Those are called ‘one-shots’. But we can also do a longer campaign, with multiple sessions. You know, a big story.”
Magnus returns the smile, tight-lipped, but just as honest. He reaches up to adjust Simon’s hold on him so they’re once again linked by the elbows, and urges him forward. Simon, taking the cue, starts walking, but he doesn’t stop talking. For twenty minutes straight, he rambles away about the game - he talks about things like ‘bards’ and ‘warlocks’, which piques Magnus’ interest enough to keep him genuinely listening, and works himself up to the point where he even starts waving his free hand erratically, like he’s trying to exert some of the energy he’s building.
Here and there, whenever it seems appropriate, Magnus adds in his own two cents - a quip or a joke, sometimes a question or a push to go further in depth. If Magnus is being honest, it's extremely interesting; he finds himself smiling a little bigger and knows there's really nowhere else he'd rather be than here in this moment. Simon, beyond happy to ramble about an interest; the crowds of people existing together, absolutely unashamed and proud to be who they are. It's perfect. It's a perfect moment.
Even when Simon eventually flushes red and backtracks, saying “Shit - sorry. I didn’t mean to go on for so long.”, Magnus thinks it’s perfect. That’s Simon, through and through, and Magnus wastes no time patting his shoulder and telling him not to worry about it.
“Don’t worry, Sidney. It was plenty informative.” He freezes, eyes catching against something on the crowd. “Well, I’ll be damned.”
“Again?” Simon asks. “Seriously, if I was boring you or you don’t want to do it - or, uh, anything, you know, you can just tell me.”
Magnus changes their direction with a gentle tug, eyes not leaving his target. A little distractedly, he asks, “What? No, you weren’t - hang on, look over there. You’ve got better eyesight than I do. Isn’t that-?”
Simon obliges him, leaning over to follow Magnus’ finger. “‘You’ve got better eyesight than I do,’” he echoes, mimicking Magnus’ voice rather poorly. He follows up in his regular voice, albeit self-deprecating tone-wise. “That’s the first time anyone’s ever said that. Wait, we’re talking about the short guy in the, uh, ace flag sweater?”
“Isn’t that Raphael?” Magnus questions, with a grin.
Quickly, Simon’s gaze shoots up to the sky, but it’s long since gotten dark enough for any non-Daylighter vampire to roam about freely. This is when all the Downworlder Pride parties will commence and Magnus plans to be at least a few. Tomorrow night, he’ll host his own party, but tonight, he’s leaving the fun up to the world.
Content in knowing that it very well could be Raphael, given the time, Simon goes back to staring. Magnus places his hand on Simon’s shoulder, squinting into the distance like it’ll make the person clearer. They’re Raphael’s height, surely, and they’ve got his short haircut. Plus, the flag matches.
“I really think it’s him.”
Magnus’ leaning forward, just the slightest bit, when Simon gives a sudden yelp and pulls back, averting his gaze. “Oh, G--; oh man, shit, crap!”
He doesn’t have any time to ask ‘what’ before he’s meeting the person’s eyes dead-on. It’s dark, surely, but the streets are lit up and the sun casts its last dredges of light over the earth, so Magnus has a clear enough look at what is, without a doubt, Raphael.
“He saw me,” Simon stresses with a squeak, moving so Magnus is blocking him from view. “Now he knows that I was staring at him.”
“Well, he definitely knows I am,” Magnus replies, cheerily. He waves to Raphael, who nails him with a glare that even the distance doesn’t diminish. Before Magnus can get in another word, Raphael is disappearing into the thick of the crowd, flag-patterned sweater and all. “No use in trying to run him down.”
Simon seconds it as he tugs at the collar of his shirt. “Good plan,” he says, nervously. “Speaking of, you know who we should go find?”
No matter how badly Magnus wants to press on the topic of Raphael, he chooses not to. His relationship with Raphael is different from Simon’s - they’ve got a different history and it’s not exactly Magnus’ place to push when he knows better. Either way, there’s no point in souring the night; not when it’s already going so well.
“You make a good point, Sherwin. How long have we been here anyway?” He eyes Simon’s binder critically, trying to remember what time they’d gotten ready to leave. Simon, a little self consciously, folds his arms over his chest. “Nothing hurts, does it?”
“Getting warmer in the name department,” Simon tells him, lightly. “I’m fine. It’s been barely over five hours. Why, you think it’s time to call it?”
“If we want time to grab dinner, then yes.” Magnus emphasizes his point with a sage nod. “Only, I have zero idea where any of them are.”
Simon pulls out his phone. “You call Alec, I’ll call Clary?”
Thus begins the numerous attempts to get into contact with one of their friends. Despite Simon being the only one to keep his phone on silent, it takes four tries before Clary texts Simon ‘WHAT’ in all caps and six before Jace designs to pick up the call. Alec, luckily enough, answers on the first ring, whispering a very quick, “Magnus, where are you? Clary’s spent forty dollars on tacos,” before greetings can be made.
After thirteen minutes of texting Clary while still on the phone with Jace, Simon gets the two to agree to meet him back at the car by the turn of the hour. In return, Clary tells him the best approximation she has to her and Alec’s location - they’d gone to find a taco truck together earlier and were no closer to getting away from it than they were before. Once that’s squared away and Simon and Magnus are on their way to them, both scanning the crowd for Isabelle, Jace begins bemoaning about the crowds and how he just ‘can’t get away from the group’ he’s with.
“What group?” Simon asks, at one point. “If you want to stay with them, you can just say it instead of pretending not to want to.”
“I don’t want to stay with them, that’s the whole problem,” Jace replies. Simon’s got him on speaker in an off-handed attempt to let Magnus in on the conversation, but even then, Magnus can barely hear him. Instead of saying anything, he just tries Isabelle’s number one more time. “But, see, they’ve got me up on this parade float and I’m really not too sure where I am.”
“That does sound like a problem.” Simon steals a glance at Magnus, who shrugs and cancels out the call to Isabelle before it can go to voicemail. “Well, let me know if you see any road signs. They’re on the corner of every road, you know.”
“Dick.”
Simon chokes out a quick laugh after that and Jace swiftly terminates the call, sending him two thumbs up emojis and a promise to keep in touch when he figures out where exactly he’s gone. “How do you think Jace managed to hitch a ride on a parade float?”
Magnus shrugs in response, bringing his hand up to his eyes like it’ll help him see any further. “At this point, I’ve learned better than to question what Jace gets up to. Nevermind that, though - seriously, where is that taco truck?”
“Gone,” Simon says, completely deadpan. “Alec did say Clary bought so many tacos - maybe she ate the entire truck.”
“Are we talking about the same Clary?” Magnus asks jovially, just to clarify. “You know - Clarissa Clary? The tiny, five-foot-nothing Clary?”
“You should try calling her ‘Adele’ next time. Wait-” Simon grabs Magnus’ wrist, tugging him along at a faster pace than they’d been walking before. Triumphantly, Simon gets them out of the crowd and lets go of Magnus in order to gesture at the line of trucks before them. “Violà! Food trucks! They should be somewhere around here.”
As they scour the food truck lines and as Magnus attempts, yet again, to get in contact with Isabelle, they keep up a line of banter regarding Clary and the singer, Adele. Eventually, Simon points out the back of Alec’s jacket - Magnus had helped him stitch on the mlm pride flag onto the back panel - and Magnus is quick to beeline over to him. He winds up leaving Simon behind in his rush, but the second he calls out Alec’s name, he no longer has a single care in the world.
Alec turns as soon as he hears him and Magnus knows he would give up eternity to keep the smile Alec nails him with on his face. As it were, once Alec embraces him, Magnus kisses it clean off - Alec’s arms wrap around his waist and Magnus holds his boyfriend’s face between the palms of his hands like he’s precious china.
“Hey,” Alec says, against his lips. Magnus grins, giving him one last chaste peck before he pulls away. “You look happy.”
“That’s because I am happy, Alexander,” Magnus replies. He leans in close, mouth brushing Alec’s ear, and lowers his voice. “And so is Simon, I’m thinking.”
“Don’t let him hear you say that.” Alec gives him one last squeeze before Magnus steps over to stand side-by-side with him. “The moment he knows that you know his actual name, it’s over for you.”
Magnus makes a show of shushing him. “It’s already over for me,” he complains, lightheartedly.
That’s more true than Alec knows. Even if he knows about the uptick in hang-outs between Magnus and Simon, Magnus hasn’t exactly been upfront about his feelings about them. He’s told Alec he enjoys them - and as far as he’s aware, that is the truth. It’s just - Magnus hasn’t told Alec about the part of him that’s doing this to pay back some unknown debt. He was still worried his motivations for the friendship were wrong. If he was driven to give Simon the most memorable first Pride just because he felt like he had to apologize, what did that say about him?
And, seriously - what was he apologizing for?
Taking Alec’s hand in his own, Magnus breathes out a long, heavy sigh. He leans his head onto Alec’s shoulder, watching Simon and Clary collide in a fit of giggles - the little lesbian flag she’d painted on her cheek before she left is smeared and the faintest purple lip mark sits right on top of it. There’s only one person who Magnus knows wore purple lipstick, today.
He hides a smile. Even if his thoughts are heavy - when aren’t they? - it is a perfect moment. He’s got Alec and Simon’s chattering away about a D&D campaign to Clary. Even without Jace and Isabelle, it’s good. The two of them will find their way back to the group. Magnus isn’t worried.
“You really like him,” Alec comments.
“Who, Simon?” Magnus breathes in. Breathes out. There’s still the beautiful chaos of Pride swarming around them, even as the temperature drops and night rises. “I guess I do. He’s - oddly enough, he’s a much better friend than I’d imagined him being, in the beginning.”
Alec hums.
Just like his relationship with Simon, loving Alec is easy - because Alec does things like this. He goes to Pride because Magnus asks him to and he wears the flag despite how uncomfortable he used to be with his own sexuality. He understands without needing explanation and he’s a constant, steady weight, regardless of what’s going through Magnus’ own mind. He supposes it’s only fair - he’s been there through thick and thin for Alec. That’s just what love is.
“I love you,” Magnus says, without preamble.
“I love you, too,” Alec says back.
See? It’s easy.
They stay embraced together until Isabelle returns, all different shades of lipstick staining her cheeks. She grins widely, breathlessly, and lays a big one on Clary and Simon’s cheeks when she gets close enough. Clary, in true Clary fashion, goes bright red and sputters; Simon, despite going rosy in his own right, just cocks his head back and laughs.
Having found everyone, sans Jace, they pile into the car Magnus had rented for the occasion; Simon takes the driver’s seat and Magnus slides into the passenger, with Alec and the girls clambering into the back. Isabelle starts loudly recounting her time at Pride, claiming that she’d ran into Raphael and Meliorn - albeit at different times - and that some girl had gifted her a ribbon in the pattern of the bisexual flag to weave through her hair. She turns her head to show Clary the ribbon, who promptly tugs it free from the bun she’d had it in and instructs her to turn around.
Somewhere between all of this, Simon’s phone chimes with a text from Jace: he’s five minutes away, but he’s willing to hang out at the corner until they swing by to pick him up. When they do pull up against the curb, Jace is standing there, decked out head-to-toe in rainbow flags. When he raises his hand, there’s a rubber bracelet around his wrist - pastel oranges fading to white before changing to green.
Unlabeled. Magnus can’t help but grin.
“Took you all long enough,” Jace exclaims. Instead of finding an actual seat in the car - they’d managed to squish Magnus, Clary, Isabelle, and Jace back there on the way up - Jace just drapes himself over everyone’s legs. “Hey, kids; everyone have fun?”
Everyone answers in a pleased chorus as Simon puts the car back into drive. Magnus, eager for the chaos, tells everyone in the back to choose a place to eat - something with options for vampires, obviously - before turning his attention back to the open road. As the four in the back start raising their voices, Simon reaches over and grabs Magnus’ hand.
“Thank you,” he says, so quietly Magnus almost misses it. For the briefest of seconds, Simon takes his eyes off the road and smiles at him. “I mean it. Sincerely.”
Magnus waves him off. “It can’t be any better than D&D,” he jokes.
Once both of his hands are back on the steering wheel, Simon steals a glance in the rearview mirror. “You really meant it? You’d play it?”
He swallows back the instinctive, oh, Simon, of course I would. We all would. Instead, he just leans back in his seat and closes his eyes. “Like I said, Shawn - it sounds like fun. Honestly.”
Simon beams. Even though Magnus has no idea what he’d felt he had to apologize for before, this feels like forgiveness. It also feels like a start to something good.
“Happy Pride, Simon,” Magnus whispers.
He falls asleep before they hit the parkway and it’s perfect.