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Chapter Text

Magnus Bane decided somewhere between shivering through his first cup of coffee and nearly slipping on black ice that he had made a terrible mistake.

New York was cold. Not the kind of cold that coaxed you into pulling on a soft sweater and sipping cocoa while pretending you were in a holiday commercial. No, this was the kind that clawed straight through wool and denim and right into your bones, whispering, You don’t belong here, California boy.

He tugged his scarf tighter around his neck and glared up at the gray sky, as if it were personally responsible for the lack of sun. It didn’t even have the decency to snow properly—just a mean, slushy drizzle that made the air thick and the sidewalks slick. The city smelled like coffee and exhaust and cold metal. Everyone moved fast, heads down, faces hidden in scarves. No one smiled. No one cared.

Magnus missed the light.

He missed the way the sun hit the windows of his old studio in Los Angeles, bouncing off trays of gemstones and half-finished rings. He missed the salty breeze from the coast, and the way he could wear sandals in December without feeling like a lunatic. He even missed the sound of the stupid wind chimes his neighbor insisted on hanging right outside his window.

Now, his apartment was quiet—too quiet. Half-empty and echoing in all the wrong ways. The only furniture he owned so far was a futon, a coffee table that looked like it had been rescued from the sidewalk (because it had), and a wobbly lamp that flickered like it was haunted.

Catarina had promised his things would arrive next week. "You’ll survive a few days of minimalist living," she’d said, voice teasing through the phone. "Think of it as an artistic retreat."

An artistic retreat didn’t involve freezing pipes and a radiator that groaned like a dying walrus.

Still, Magnus was trying to see the bright side—or at least pretending to. He’d landed a real job, a steady paycheck, benefits, and a title that sounded far fancier than it probably was: Jewelry Designer, Lightwood & Co. The company had an impressive reputation, high-end clients, and an address in the heart of Manhattan. It wasn’t owning his own jewelry shop in Venice Beach, but it was something.

It was different.

And after everything that had happened with Camille - he refused to think of the rest of that sentence - different was good.

He pushed open the glass door to the subway station, his breath fogging in front of him. The air inside was warmer, but it smelled faintly of damp concrete and roasted chestnuts from a vendor upstairs. Magnus found a spot against a tiled wall and checked his phone. No new messages.

He typed a quick text to Catarina anyway:

Magnus: Arrived in one piece. Already regret moving to the land of eternal frost.

Her reply came seconds later:

Caterina: Wear a coat, drama queen. You’ll be fine.

He snorted, pocketed the phone, and told himself she was right. He’d be fine.

-

By the time he emerged from the subway, the drizzle had turned into honest-to-god snowflakes. Big, wet ones that clung to his hair and melted on his lashes. The city looked different in the falling snow—less harsh, somehow. The glass buildings shimmered, the streets reflected gold light, and the people seemed to slow down just a fraction.

Magnus paused on the corner, watching the snow fall between the yellow glow of streetlights. For the first time since landing, he felt the faint stir of something that might have been hope. Or maybe it was frostbite. Hard to tell.

Lightwood Jewelry was tucked between a high-end tailor and a boutique florist. The storefront gleamed—clean, symmetrical, expensive-looking in that understated way that screamed money. Through the window, Magnus could see the display: elegant necklaces on velvet busts, rings glinting like drops of captured light. It was beautiful. It was intimidating.

He squared his shoulders and stepped inside.

Warm air rushed to meet him, carrying the faint scent of jasmine and polished wood. The lighting was soft, flattering, designed to make every diamond sparkle. A tall woman with a severe bun looked up from the counter.

“You must be Mr. Bane,” she said with a polite smile. “Welcome to Lightwood & Co. I’m Maryse Lightwood. We spoke on the phone.”

Her handshake was firm. Her nails were perfect. Magnus felt suddenly aware of the damp snow melting on his coat.

“Yes, hi—thank you for having me.” He tried to sound confident, though his voice wobbled somewhere between excitement and sheer panic.

“Come on in. I’ll show you around.”

The tour was brief but impressive—rows of workbenches gleaming with tools, magnifiers, trays of stones sorted by color and cut. There was a quiet hum in the air, the sound of creativity in motion. Other designers worked with intense focus, bending over sketches or soldering tiny pieces of gold.

Magnus felt the old thrill flicker in his chest—the one that always came when he saw beauty being made from raw materials. This was where he belonged, wasn’t it? Not in the wreckage of old plans or broken relationships, but here, with fire and metal and light.

“This will be your station,” Maryse said, stopping at a desk near the back. “You’ll find all the basic tools here. If you need anything special, speak to Simon in supplies.”

Magnus nodded, running his fingers over the clean surface. He imagined it cluttered with sketches and fragments of half-formed ideas.

Maryse gave him a small smile before moving on to greet another employee. Magnus sat down, exhaled slowly, and let himself look around.

The walls were lined with design sketches, each one precise and graceful. He felt both inspired and out of his depth. What if he wasn’t good enough? What if this had been a mistake—not just New York, but all of it?

Then he caught sight of a small workbench across the room where someone was laughing softly. A man—dark hair, sharp jawline, focused expression—was setting a sapphire into a ring. When he looked up, their eyes met briefly across the space. His smile was small but real.

Magnus blinked. And just like that, for the first time since arriving, he didn’t feel quite so cold.

-

By the time he left work that evening, the snow had thickened, covering the streets in a soft white hush. He trudged back to his apartment, scarf pulled up to his nose, cheeks burning from the wind. The city glittered around him—chaotic, loud, alive.

Inside, his apartment still looked empty, but it didn’t feel quite as hollow anymore. He made instant ramen on the stove, sitting cross-legged on the floor to eat it, watching snow drift past the window. His breath fogged against the glass.

It wasn’t California. It wasn’t warm, or comfortable, or easy.

But maybe—just maybe—it was a beginning.

He smiled faintly to himself, lifting his mug of tea in a silent toast to the city that might one day feel like home.

-

Magnus woke to the sound of the radiator making a noise that could only be described as “metallic despair.” He groaned, dragged himself from the cocoon of his blanket, and glared at the gray light seeping through the blinds.

“Good morning, New York,” he muttered. “You’re still awful.”

The coffee pot sputtered like it agreed.

Still, by the time he made it to the subway—armed with a scarf the size of a small blanket and a questionable-looking bagel—Magnus felt marginally more human. His first day at Lightwood Jewelry had gone surprisingly well. No one had yelled at him. He hadn’t set anything on fire. He’d even managed to finish a design sketch Maryse had called “promising.”

He decided that counted as a win.

When he walked into the studio that morning, the atmosphere was already buzzing. Hammers tapped softly, torches hissed, pencils scratched on paper. The place smelled faintly of metal dust and citrus polish.

And then, like a burst of sunlight in human form, Isabelle Lightwood appeared.

“Magnus, right?” she said, striding toward him in a swirl of black hair and red lipstick. Her outfit looked like it belonged on a runway—fitted blazer, gold hoops, and confidence for days. “You’re the new designer everyone’s been talking about.”

Magnus blinked. “They’ve been talking about me already? I haven’t even broken anything yet.”

“Oh, trust me, around here it doesn’t take much.” Isabelle perched on the edge of his workbench, sipping a latte that smelled expensive. “I’m Isabelle. Maryse’s daughter. I handle marketing, brand stuff, social media—you know, the glamorous things that make jewelry sell.”

“Ah, the illusion of effortless beauty,” Magnus said. “You’re the one making sure our art actually reaches the world.”

Her grin widened. “Exactly! Finally, someone gets it.”

She tilted her head, studying him. “So, California boy, how’s our freezing city treating you?”

Magnus groaned. “It’s cruel and joyless. I’ve been betrayed by the sun. I don’t think my blood’s ever going to thaw.”

Isabelle laughed, a bright, musical sound. “You’ll get used to it. Or you won’t, and you’ll just complain forever. Either way, it’s kind of endearing.”

He smiled despite himself. “Endearing isn’t usually what people call my complaining.”

“You haven’t met me yet,” she said cheerfully.

She leaned in a little. “So tell me everything. What brings a designer from sunny California to our humble frozen wasteland? Heartbreak? Career move? Secret spy mission?”

Magnus snorted. “All of the above, probably. Let’s just say a breakup, bad impulse control, and a very persuasive job posting.”

“Ah, heartbreak,” Isabelle said knowingly. “That explains the tragic yet fashionable scarf look.”

Magnus raised an eyebrow. “Tragic? I’ll have you know this scarf cost more than my dignity.”

She cackled. “See, you’ll fit right in here.”

-

By midmorning, Magnus was working on a pendant design—a simple silver shape that refused to be simple—while Isabelle leaned against the desk next to his, pretending to type emails but mostly talking.

“Okay, so, gossip,” she said, in the tone of someone about to bestow sacred knowledge.

“Do I get a choice in this?” Magnus asked, sketching a line that immediately went crooked.

“Absolutely not,” Isabelle said. “If you’re working here, you need to know the hierarchy. There’s Maryse—queen of diamonds and the occasional glare that can melt gold. Then there’s my brother Max—he’s off studying gemology or something in Paris. My other brother, Alec, is basically allergic to jewelry and spends his days working in non-profit stuff.”

Magnus looked up. “Alec, huh? I think I heard Maryse mention him.”

“Yeah, he’s the golden child,” Isabelle said fondly, then rolled her eyes. “He’s too good for this glittery nonsense. Doesn’t even own a proper watch. Tragic.”

Magnus chuckled. “And you?”

“Oh, I’m the glamorous disaster of the family. I talk too much, spend too much, and know everyone worth knowing.” She winked. “And I’m very good at my job, thank you very much.”

“I never doubted it,” Magnus said.

“Good. Because I also know where the best food is near here.” She leaned closer conspiratorially. “Forget those sad corporate sandwiches. There’s a place two blocks over that does dumplings so good they’ll make you believe in love again.”

Magnus pretended to swoon. “Love restored by dumplings? Lead the way.”

-

They went at lunch. The dumpling shop was tiny, loud, and smelled incredible. Magnus burned his tongue on the first bite, but it was worth it.

“I told you,” Isabelle said smugly, dipping another dumpling in chili oil. “You can’t stay sad around these.”

Magnus raised his chopsticks like a toast. “To dumplings—the true healers of the heart.”

She clinked hers against his. “Cheers.”

For a while, they ate in companionable silence, steam fogging the window beside them. Outside, the city moved in fast blurs—yellow taxis, flurries of snow, a man yelling into a phone.

“So,” Isabelle said finally, “you like it here so far?”

Magnus hesitated. “It’s…a lot. The pace, the noise. I feel like I’m always three steps behind.”

“That’s just the initiation,” she said. “New York tests you first. But once you survive the first few weeks, it starts to feel like it’s yours.”

He thought about that. “And if I don’t survive the test?”

“Then it eats you alive,” she said with a grin. “But you’ll survive. You’ve got flair.”

He laughed. “Flair is good against frostbite, I hear.”

“Only if you accessorize correctly.”

-

Back at the studio, Magnus settled into a rhythm. Isabelle flitted in and out of his space like a friendly hurricane—complimenting his color choices, critiquing his font options for a project proposal, and occasionally stealing his pencils.

By late afternoon, she perched on his desk again. “So, tell me something. What’s your thing, Magnus? What kind of jewelry do you like making?”

He paused, considering. “Pieces that feel like stories. Things that look ordinary at first, but when you look closer, you see the secret detail—the engraving, the hidden stone, the flaw that makes it beautiful.”

Isabelle looked impressed. “That’s…actually really poetic.”

Magnus smiled faintly. “Jewelry is emotional armor. You wear it to feel powerful, or remembered, or loved. That’s what I want to make.”

She nodded slowly, then said, “You’re going to do well here.”

“Because of my artistic philosophy?”

“No,” she said with a wicked grin. “Because I like you, and I have influence.”

Magnus laughed, the sound ringing bright across the studio. For the first time since moving, he felt that warmth again—the kind that didn’t come from heaters or coffee, but from connection.

-

That night, as he locked up his station, the world outside glowed with city lights reflected in snow. Isabelle waved at him from the door, calling, “Same time tomorrow, sunshine! Bring your tragic scarf!”

He shook his head, smiling as he stepped into the cold.

The air was sharp, the sky low and pale, but something inside him had shifted. The city still felt vast and strange, but now it wasn’t entirely lonely.

Magnus pulled his scarf higher, a laugh escaping him into the chill. Maybe New York wasn’t all bad—at least not when there were dumplings, bright-eyed friends, and just enough gossip to keep the frost away.

-

The bell above the café door chimed as Magnus stepped inside, shaking a light dusting of snow from his shoulders.

The place was small and warm, all steamed windows and dark wood. The smell hit him instantly—rich espresso, baked sugar, cinnamon. After hours of drafting necklace sketches and pretending he wasn’t freezing to death, Magnus had decided he deserved something sweet, something frothy, something that didn’t taste like burnt beans and disappointment.

He joined the line, tugging his gloves off finger by finger. The people ahead of him moved slowly, wrapped in scarves and exhaustion. New Yorkers, he’d noticed, weren’t morning people.

In front of him stood a man who looked like he’d been carved out of patience and precision. Tall, broad shoulders beneath a dark wool coat, posture so straight it was practically a statement. His hair was dark, a little mussed at the back like he’d run his hands through it one too many times.

When the barista asked for his order, the man said, “Black coffee. Large.”

Just that. No hesitation, no smile, no frills.

Magnus raised an eyebrow. Of course. One of those people. The “coffee as punishment” crowd.

The man stepped aside to wait, and Magnus moved forward.

“I’ll have a medium cappuccino,” he said cheerfully, “with cinnamon and oat milk. Oh, and can you make the foam extra light? Like a cloud that happens to taste like joy.”

The barista smiled faintly, used to this kind of customer. “Sure thing.”

Behind him, the man gave a soft, almost imperceptible snort.

Magnus turned slightly, a smirk tugging at his mouth. “Something funny about joy, Mr. Black Coffee?”

The man looked up, startled that he’d been caught. His eyes were hazel—sharp, clear, and maybe a little bit shy around the edges. “No,” he said after a beat, voice low. “Just… didn’t realize foam density was a matter of existential importance.”

Magnus pressed a hand to his chest in mock offense. “It’s absolutely crucial. The wrong foam can ruin your entire morning. Maybe even your week.”

That earned him a tiny, reluctant twitch of a smile. The kind that barely showed but changed the whole face. “That dramatic, huh?”

“Darling, I moved to New York in December. I’m allowed a little drama.”

The man’s mouth quirked again, and Magnus felt a flicker of something—warm curiosity, maybe. Or caffeine deprivation. Hard to tell.

Their drinks arrived almost at the same time. The man took his black coffee like a soldier accepting his rations. Magnus, meanwhile, received his cappuccino with both hands like it was a gift from the heavens.

“See,” Magnus said, eyeing the dark liquid in the man’s cup, “I just don’t understand the appeal. It looks like sorrow in a paper cup.”

The man took a sip, unbothered. “And yours looks like a dessert trying to disguise itself as breakfast.”

Magnus grinned. “Exactly. What better way to start the day than with dessert?”

“Some people prefer to actually wake up.”

“Oh, I wake up,” Magnus said, stirring his cup with deliberate flourish. “Just in style.”

He watched as the man tried not to laugh and failed, just barely. There was a crinkle at the corner of his eyes when he smiled—honest and quiet.

“Maybe I just like things simple,” the man said after a moment.

“Simple is fine,” Magnus said. “But boring? Never. Coffee should be an experience. An expression of self.”

“And what does your… ‘cloud of joy’ say about you?”

“That I have taste,” Magnus said without missing a beat. “And that life’s too short for bitterness.”

The man took another sip, considering. “Maybe bitterness keeps things interesting.”

Magnus tilted his head. “You sound like someone who’s defended black coffee before.”

“Maybe I have.”

They stood there for a moment, the sounds of milk steaming and quiet conversation filling the air. Magnus wasn’t sure what to make of him—this quiet, serious stranger with the kind eyes and the subtle smirk. There was a gravity about him, something steady that pulled at Magnus’s usual orbit of sarcasm and shine.

He found himself wanting to ask his name. To know why he drank coffee like it was a duty, not a joy. But before he could, the man glanced at his phone and straightened.

“Anyway,” he said, pulling on his gloves, “enjoy your… foam masterpiece.”

Magnus lifted his cup in a small toast. “And you, your cup of despair.”

That earned him a real smile this time—quick and genuine. The kind that hit harder than it should have.

Then the man was gone, stepping back into the swirl of snow and city noise.

Magnus lingered by the counter, sipping his cappuccino. The foam was perfect—light, warm, sweet—but it didn’t distract from the odd sense that he’d just missed something. A thread, a spark.

He told himself it was nothing. Just a random coffee-line encounter. New York was full of strangers and fleeting moments, wasn’t it? That was the charm of the city—everything burned fast and bright and vanished before you could name it.

Still, as he left the café, Magnus found his gaze wandering up and down the street, half-expecting to see the man again. But the sidewalk was a blur of people and breath and cold wind.

He took a sip, smiled to himself.

“Bitterness keeps things interesting,” he murmured under his breath. “We’ll see about that.”

Then he turned toward the jewelry shop across the street, scarf fluttering behind him, the taste of cinnamon and curiosity lingering on his tongue.

Chapter Text

The alarm went off at six-thirty, same as always.

Alec Lightwood blinked up at the ceiling, listened to the hum of the heater, and considered, briefly, ignoring it. But discipline was muscle memory by now—there was no winning against it.

He swung his legs out of bed, stretched until his shoulders popped, and went through his morning ritual: coffee, quick shower, running shoes, out the door before seven.

The streets were quiet, the air sharp with that early-winter bite that made every breath sting a little. Alec liked the city at this hour—empty, unhurried. Just him and the rhythm of his footsteps echoing against the pavement.

By the time he reached the gym, he’d already shaken off the sleep. The sign above the door read Herondale & Lightwood Fitness, the paint a little scuffed from the wind but still proud. Inside, the scent of disinfectant and rubber mats mixed with the low thrum of pop music.

“Morning, boss,” called Luke from the front desk.

“Morning,” Alec said, tossing his coat into the back office.

The place was already alive—treadmills humming, weights clinking, the early crowd grunting through their routines. Alec liked this part of the day best. No emails, no noise. Just effort.

Jace, his business partner and best friend since forever, was already there—upside down in a handstand push-up against the wall like gravity had personally offended him.

“Morning, old man,” Jace said when he flipped back onto his feet, blond hair sticking up wildly.

“You’re two years younger than me,” Alec said, picking up a towel. “Not a toddler.”

“Two years closer to decrepitude,” Jace said cheerfully. “How’s that shoulder?”

“Fine.”

“Liar.”

Alec didn’t bother answering. He wrapped his hands and headed for the free weights.

They trained together in companionable silence for a while. Jace was all movement and energy, talking between sets about new members, updates to the gym app, and the questionable music choices of whoever had the playlist privileges that morning. Alec listened, occasionally grunting in response.

Halfway through his last set of pull-ups, his phone buzzed from the bench. He ignored it once, twice—but the third time it buzzed again, insistently.

He dropped down, wiping his forehead with the towel, and checked the screen.

Isabelle: Hot guy alert.

Alec sighed.

Alec: No.

Isabelle:You didn’t even look at the photo!

Alec: Don’t need to. Still no.

Isabelle: You’re impossible.

He smiled faintly despite himself. He loved his sister, but she’d taken it upon herself to be his unofficial matchmaker after his last breakup two years ago. Isabelle firmly believed Alec’s life required “more romance, less routine.” Alec disagreed.

Alec: Some of us are fine being single.

Isabelle: No one is fine being single. They’re just bad at flirting.

He could almost hear her voice saying it—bright, exasperated, affectionate.

He locked the phone, shaking his head.

“You texting your sister again?” Jace asked, smirking as he racked his weights.

“She’s on a mission.”

“To fix your tragic love life?”

“Exactly.”

“Let her try. It’s good for her creativity.”

Alec rolled his eyes. “I’m not interested.”

“You never are,” Jace said lightly. “You’d rather be married to your gym.”

Alec shrugged. “It’s a good relationship. No drama.”

Jace laughed. “Boring.”

“Stable,” Alec corrected.

“Potato, po-tah-to.”

By nine, the morning rush had started. Alec moved through the gym like clockwork—spotting regulars, correcting forms, checking in on his personal training clients.

He worked best in motion. Physicality was simple; it made sense. You put in the work, you saw the results. Muscles didn’t lie.

He spent an hour with Mrs. Rosenberg, a retired art teacher who cursed creatively every time he made her do lunges. Then an hour with Brandon, a finance guy who treated burpees like they were personal attacks.

By noon, Alec’s arms were pleasantly sore, and his water bottle was empty.

He liked these people. They trusted him to push them, to keep them safe. He liked helping them find confidence in their own strength. It was quiet, satisfying work.

Between sessions, he checked his phone again. Three new messages from Isabelle.

Isabelle: Okay but LOOK.

There was, of course, a photo attached—some guy with sharp cheekbones and a too-perfect smile, posing with a glass of wine.

Alec: He looks like he calls himself a “digital nomad.”

Isabelle: He’s a chef.

Alec: Even worse. He’ll judge me for liking cereal.

Isabelle: You’re impossible.

Alec smiled and slipped the phone back into his pocket. She’d give up eventually. Or she wouldn’t. Either way, he was fine.

At lunchtime, he sat behind the front desk with a protein bar and a black coffee. Luke had brought in donuts from the bakery down the street, and Jace was halfway through his second.

“You could try sugar once in a while,” Jace said, eyeing Alec’s cup.

Alec raised a brow. “Coffee is sugar. In spirit.”

“That’s not how that works.”

He took a sip, savoring the bitter edge. He liked coffee simple—no fluff, no sweetness. Just strength in liquid form. People called it boring, but to Alec, it was honest. Straightforward.

Still, his mind flickered briefly—unbidden—to that morning a few days ago, in a different coffee shop, when some stranger had stood behind him in line and ordered a cappuccino like it was an art form.

Alec had scoffed, quietly. He hadn’t meant to. But the guy had caught him. And then—well, the conversation had happened.

He didn’t even know his name. But he remembered the spark in those eyes, gold-flecked and mischievous. The unapologetic flair in the way he said, “Life’s too short for bitterness.”

Alec smirked into his cup. He hadn’t been able to come up with a good comeback since.

He shook his head, pushing the thought away. Just a random encounter. One of those brief New York moments that made good stories and nothing else.

“Earth to Alec,” Jace said, snapping his fingers. “You planning tonight’s class or daydreaming?”

Alec blinked. “Planning. Obviously.”

Jace grinned. “Uh-huh.”

By late afternoon, the gym had thinned out. Alec lingered behind the counter, going over client notes, when Isabelle texted again.

Isabelle: Just saying, one of these days you’ll thank me.

Alec: For what?

Isabelle: For finding you someone who makes you smile for real.

Alec stared at the message for a moment. Then he typed back,

Alec: I already have people who make me smile.

Isabelle: Yeah, but Jace doesn’t count.

He chuckled, shaking his head.

The door chimed as another client came in, breaking the thought. Alec straightened, slipping back into trainer mode. Another session, another routine.

Life, steady as always. Simple.

But as he turned to greet the newcomer, his mind flickered—just for a second—to a laugh over steaming milk and cinnamon, and a pair of bright eyes that made bitterness sound almost beautiful.

He exhaled, steady and sure. It had been just coffee. Nothing more.

And yet, when he took another sip from his cup, the taste wasn’t quite as satisfying as it used to be.

-

Alec wasn’t entirely sure how he’d been talked into this.

Technically, it had started as “just one beer after work.” That was Jace’s favorite lie. One beer had turned into a night out at O’Malley’s, a loud pub with sticky floors, dartboards, and neon lights that flickered like they were on life support. Isabelle had joined them halfway through, claiming she “happened to be nearby,” which was another lie.

Now Alec sat at a corner table, nursing a beer he didn’t particularly like and staring down a burger the size of his fist.

“This is supposed to be fun,” Jace said, grinning as he bit into his own burger like it had personally offended him. “Try to look like you’re not at a parent-teacher conference.”

Alec sighed. “I’m having fun.”

“You’re frowning.”

“I always frown.”

“That’s the problem.”

Isabelle laughed, sliding into the booth beside Alec with a fresh drink in hand. Her lipstick matched the straw. “Oh, come on, big brother. You can’t glower your way through life. Even Batman goes out sometimes.”

“I’m not Batman.”

“Yeah,” Jace said. “He’s more of a Clark Kent. All serious and repressed.”

“Remind me why I agreed to this?” Alec muttered.

“Because you love us,” Isabelle said sweetly.

He didn’t deny it.

Across the room, someone hit the bullseye on the dartboard and cheered. The pub smelled of grilled onions and beer and something faintly metallic from the dart tips. Alec didn’t hate it, exactly—it was just loud. Too many people talking at once, too much movement.

Isabelle leaned forward on her elbows. “So, Alec. Funny story.”

“Uh-oh,” Jace said, already grinning. “This’ll be good.”

Alec groaned. “No.”

“You haven’t even heard it yet.”

“I can feel it’s a setup.”

She ignored him. “You remember that designer I told you about? The one who just started at Mom’s company? Magnus?”

Jace perked up. “Oh, the guy you said had ‘unreasonably good cheekbones’?”

“Exactly,” Isabelle said, unbothered. “Anyway, he’s great. Hilarious, talented, ridiculously stylish. You two would get along.”

Alec gave her a look. “You say that about everyone you want me to date.”

She waved a hand. “Because I have impeccable taste. And this time I’m serious! He’s smart and kind and—well—he’s got this energy. Like he’s allergic to boredom.”

“Then he’d hate me,” Alec said dryly.

Jace laughed. “Oh, come on. You’d balance each other out. He’s sunshine, you’re storm clouds. Classic opposites-attract material.”

“I’m not interested.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Isabelle said, taking a sip of her drink. “You never are.”

“I’m not,” Alec repeated, more firmly this time.

“You said that about the guy from the bookstore last month,” she pointed out.

“That’s because he followed me into the self-help section to tell me my ‘aura felt sad.’”

Jace nearly choked on his beer laughing. “That’s a bold move.”

“I don’t need dating advice,” Alec said, trying not to smile.

“You clearly do,” Isabelle said. “You’re thirty, handsome, successful, and tragically single. I refuse to let you wither away surrounded by protein bars and gym towels.”

“I’m fine.”

She sighed dramatically. “You keep saying that like it’s convincing anyone.”

Alec took another sip of beer and let her words roll past. Isabelle loved him, and meddling was her love language. He’d learned long ago that arguing only encouraged her.

Jace finished his food and stretched, looking at the dartboard. “Alright, enough talk. Loser buys the next round.”

“Count me in,” Isabelle said, already sliding out of the booth.

Alec followed reluctantly, because resistance was futile. The three of them ended up at the dartboard, laughing and half-yelling over the music. Isabelle’s throws were wild but enthusiastic. Jace, infuriatingly, was good at everything. Alec hit the target, but not the center—steady, precise, unflashy.

“See?” Isabelle said, pointing her dart at him. “That’s the problem. You’re too careful.”

“I’m accurate,” Alec corrected.

“You’re boring,” Jace said with a grin.

“I’m consistent.”

“Consistently boring,” Isabelle said under her breath.

He aimed, threw, and hit another solid ring near the bullseye. “You’re both insufferable.”

“Only because we love you,” Isabelle said.

Alec shook his head, smiling despite himself. They drove him crazy, but they were his people.

An hour later, the three of them sat outside on the sidewalk benches, the noise of the bar spilling out behind them. The night was cold, their breaths visible in the air. Isabelle leaned her head on Alec’s shoulder; Jace tapped idly at his phone.

“You should meet him,” Isabelle said softly, almost coaxing now instead of teasing.

Alec sighed. “You’re not giving up, are you?”

“Nope.”

“I don’t need—”

“I know,” she interrupted gently. “You don’t need anything. But maybe you want something, and you just don’t know it yet.”

He looked down at her, the streetlight catching the faint gold in her hair. Isabelle could be exhausting, but she wasn’t wrong about everything.

Still, he wasn’t ready for whatever she was implying. Not yet.

“Let’s just focus on getting Jace to stop flirting with the waitress,” Alec said.

“I’m not flirting,” Jace said automatically, not looking up from his phone.

“You’re always flirting,” Isabelle said.

Alec huffed a laugh. “Exactly.”

The conversation shifted to gossip—mutual friends, gym clients, some disastrous date Isabelle’s friend had been on. The easy rhythm of it soothed him.

Eventually, Jace stood, stretching. “Alright, I’m calling it. Some of us have early classes tomorrow.”

“You mean me,” Alec said.

“Exactly.”

Isabelle stood too, looping her arm through Alec’s. “So, you’ll think about it?”

“About what?”

“Magnus,” she said, like it was obvious. “Tall, charming, probably your type.”

“I don’t have a type.”

“Sure you do,” Jace said, grinning. “You like difficult people with good hair.”

Alec shot him a look, but he didn’t argue.

“Goodnight, Izzy,” he said, kissing her temple before heading toward the subway.

As he walked, the cold air bit at his cheeks, but the city felt alive in that late-hour way he liked—half asleep, half dreaming.

He didn’t know why the name Magnus lingered in his head on the train ride home. Maybe it was Isabelle’s insistence. Maybe it was curiosity.

Or maybe it was something else.

Still, by the time he reached his apartment, he’d decided it didn’t matter.

He had work in the morning, a gym to run, and a life that didn’t need rearranging.

If he happened to think, just briefly, about a man who ordered his coffee like it was an art form—well, that was no one’s business but his own.

-

Alec didn’t really believe in coincidences.

He believed in patterns—routine, habit, the kind of predictability that made life manageable. Wake early, run, work, coffee, train, eat, sleep. Simple, clean, structured.

But that morning, when he pushed open the door to his regular coffee shop, the sound of the bell overhead chiming against the cold December air, his belief took a hit.

Because there he was again.

The same man from last week—the one with the bright scarf, the unapologetic cappuccino, and the opinions about “coffee with personality.”

He stood at the counter now, leaning on one elbow, talking to the barista like they were old friends. His voice carried—smooth, confident, maybe too amused for that early hour.

Alec joined the end of the line, pretending to scroll through his phone but really watching the stranger through the reflection in the glass display. He didn’t know why. Maybe because the guy seemed… alive in a way Alec wasn’t used to seeing before sunrise.

“Extra cinnamon, please,” the stranger said, smiling at the barista. “Let’s be generous with the joy today.”

The barista laughed, promising to make it “extra joyful.”

Alec rolled his eyes, though the corner of his mouth twitched upward despite himself.

The man turned slightly, and their eyes met for a heartbeat. Recognition flashed—followed quickly by the faintest smirk.

“Well, well,” the stranger said lightly. “Black coffee, right?”

Alec blinked. “You remember that?”

“Of course I do. You looked offended by the concept of flavor.”

“I just don’t need sugar and foam pretending to be coffee.”

“Pretending?” The stranger’s eyes gleamed with mock outrage. “This—” he gestured to the barista’s hands, currently sculpting foam like art—“is creation. It’s texture, balance, emotion!”

“It’s milk,” Alec said flatly.

The man laughed. “You’re hopeless.”

“You’re dramatic.”

“I’m passionate.”

“About foam?”

“About life,” the stranger corrected smoothly, taking his drink as the barista slid it over. The cup had a perfect little swirl of cinnamon on top, heart-shaped. Of course it did.

Alec stepped up to order. “Medium black.”

The barista gave him a look like she was rooting for him to order something more adventurous. He didn’t.

When he turned, the stranger was still there, sipping his cappuccino with the kind of appreciation most people reserved for fine wine.

“Do you always drink that?” the man asked.

Alec raised an eyebrow. “Do you always interrogate strangers about their caffeine habits?”

“Only the ones who seem in dire need of intervention.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re drinking liquid misery, darling.”

“Still fine.”

The stranger tilted his head, studying him with open curiosity. “Do you enjoy being contrary, or does it come naturally?”

“I don’t know,” Alec said dryly. “Do you always flirt with people you insult?”

The man laughed softly—low and genuine this time. “Touché.”

They stood side by side as the morning rush ebbed and flowed around them. For a few seconds, it almost felt like they existed in their own pocket of quiet, surrounded by the scent of coffee and faint Christmas music playing from a tired speaker.

The stranger stirred his drink with one finger, then glanced sideways. “You really never branch out? No lattes? No mochas? Not even an oat milk experiment?”

“Oat milk,” Alec repeated, unimpressed.

“You say that like it’s an insult.”

“It sounds like one.”

“You’d be surprised,” the man said. “The world has more flavor than you give it credit for.”

“I like simple things.”

“You mean predictable things.”

Alec’s lips twitched. “Maybe both.”

The stranger smiled like he’d just solved a small riddle. “That tracks.”

The barista slid Alec’s cup toward him. He nodded a thanks, the heat seeping pleasantly into his palm. He should leave. He had a full day ahead. This was supposed to be a quick stop, not a conversation that felt like a verbal tennis match with someone who apparently thought he was an unfinished art project.

But instead, he lingered a moment longer.

“So,” Alec said, “do you talk to everyone in line, or am I just lucky?”

“Depends,” the stranger replied easily. “Are you feeling lucky?”

Alec looked at him—really looked this time. Bright eyes, sharp cheekbones, a mouth that smiled like it was used to winning. Confident in a way that wasn’t arrogance, but close.

He didn’t answer. Just took a sip of his coffee.

The stranger chuckled under his breath. “Well, this has been delightful.”

“That’s one word for it.”

“Someday,” he said, gathering his scarf, “you’ll discover the joy of a proper cappuccino. And when you do, you’ll think of me.”

Alec raised an eyebrow. “You’re assuming I’d want to.”

“Oh, I think you will.”

The door chimed as he stepped out, the swirl of cold air following him.

Alec stood there for a moment, watching the spot where he’d been. He felt ridiculous. They hadn’t even exchanged names. Just traded words, smiles, half-teasing glances. And yet…

Something about it lingered.

He left the shop and started down the sidewalk, his coffee cooling in his hand, the city moving in that familiar, restless rhythm. He told himself it didn’t matter. Just a stranger. Just caffeine and coincidence.

But as he crossed the street, the faint scent of cinnamon still hung in the air, stubborn and sweet, and Alec found himself smiling again—quietly, to no one.

Maybe he didn’t believe in coincidences. But this one didn’t feel like nothing.

Chapter Text

Magnus had finally stopped getting lost on his way to work.

That, he decided, was progress.

New York in December was a peculiar kind of magic: part snow globe, part chaos. It was cold enough that he could see his breath in the morning and curse his past self for ever leaving California, yet alive enough that he couldn’t bring himself to regret it. Lights draped every window. Street vendors sold chestnuts and coffee that steamed in the frosty air. The city felt like it was permanently teetering between exhaustion and celebration, which suited Magnus just fine.

Two weeks ago, he’d arrived with three suitcases, a bad haircut courtesy of an emotional breakdown, and the quiet determination to start over.

Now, he had a job he actually liked, a small apartment with a view of other people’s apartments, and a rhythm to his days that made sense. He designed jewelry for a living — delicate things that glittered under bright lights, that made people feel beautiful. There was something deeply satisfying about turning sketches into something tangible, something someone would wear close to their skin.

And, of course, there was Isabelle Lightwood.

She’d been his first real friend in New York, mostly because she refused to take no for an answer. Isabelle was a storm in high heels — confident, charming, and with a tendency to talk at the speed of light. She had an opinion about everything and the charisma to get away with it.

Magnus admired her immediately.

He also realized within a week that she was possibly the most incurably nosy person he had ever met.

“Morning, Magnus!” Isabelle’s voice sang out the moment he entered the design studio that day. She was perched on the edge of a desk, cross-legged in a red coat that could have been stolen straight off a runway. “You’re late.”

“It’s ten-oh-six,” Magnus said, setting down his coffee and adjusting his scarf. “That’s not late. That’s fashionably on time.”

“It’s late for mortals,” she said with mock solemnity. “But you get a pass because you bring color to this place.”

He looked around at the room’s sleek, muted palette — polished wood, soft gray walls, display cases sparkling with diamonds. She wasn’t wrong.

“You say that like you’ve seen me colorless,” Magnus said.

“I’ve seen your shoes,” she countered. “They speak for you.”

He grinned. “They have excellent taste.”

“You’re impossible.”

“And yet, you adore me.”

“Tragically.” Isabelle slid off the desk and handed him a folder. “Here. Holiday collection ideas. The marketing team wants something that ‘feels like snow but looks like champagne.’”

Magnus blinked. “That’s either poetry or nonsense.”

“Both,” she said cheerfully.

He flipped through the sketches. The winter line was shaping up nicely — white golds, frosted crystal settings, pale sapphires that caught the light like ice. He’d been pouring himself into the work, letting the precision of it steady him when the city felt too big.

“Any chance they’ll want something actually inspired by winter?” he asked.

Isabelle smirked. “Like what? Snowmen earrings?”

“Frost patterns,” Magnus said. “Shapes that change depending on the light. Something that feels alive.”

She tilted her head, interested. “I like that. See, that’s why we keep you around.”

“I thought it was for my charm.”

“That too,” she said, and winked.

By lunchtime, the studio was buzzing with pre-holiday energy. Isabelle had turned on Christmas music—loudly—and was trying to convince Simon from supplies to dance with her in the break room.

“Come on,” she insisted, tugging his arm. “You can’t just stand there being cute and quiet. It’s practically against company policy.”

Simon, a sweet and perpetually flustered guy who seemed allergic to confrontation, laughed awkwardly. “I’m not dancing at work.”

“It’s not work,” Isabelle said. “It’s morale.”

Magnus watched the exchange over the rim of his coffee cup, amused. “Careful, Simon,” he called. “She’s persuasive when she wants something.”

“Persuasive?” Isabelle said, pretending to look offended. “I prefer inspiring.”

“Terrifying,” Simon muttered, but he was smiling.

Magnus chuckled and went back to reviewing a gemstone list. Isabelle eventually let Simon escape, but not without promising he owed her a dance at the office Christmas party.

A few minutes later, she perched on the edge of Magnus’s desk like a cat that had spotted something shiny.

“So,” she said, eyes glinting. “How’s life, Mr. California?”

“Cold,” Magnus said, scribbling notes.

“You’ll adjust.”

“I miss the sun.”

“You have radiant personality energy. You’ll survive.”

Magnus snorted. “You sound like an inspirational poster.”

“Thank you.”

“I wasn’t complimenting you.”

“Still thank you.”

He set his pen down, eyeing her suspiciously. “You’re buttering me up for something.”

“Am I that transparent?”

“Painfully.”

Isabelle sighed dramatically, like he’d spoiled her fun. “Fine. I might have a personal question.”

“Shocking,” Magnus said. “You? Personal questions?”

She grinned, unabashed. “Don’t be mean. I’m curious by nature.”

“You’re intrusive by nature.”

“Same thing.”

He laughed. “Alright, fine. Ask.”

“So,” she said, lowering her voice as if it were state secrets, “I was talking to Simon the other day—”

“God help him.”

“—and we were discussing your impeccable taste, and I realized something tragic.”

“Tragic?”

“You’re single.”

Magnus blinked. “That’s not tragic.”

“It’s a crime, then.”

“I’ll alert the authorities.”

“I’m serious!” Isabelle said, leaning forward, eyes wide with mischief. “You’re handsome, stylish, successful, emotionally available—”

“That last one’s debatable.”

“—and you’re wasting all that potential by being alone.”

“I’m focusing on work,” Magnus said, amused but trying not to encourage her.

“Work will still be there when you’re old and gray. Hot people don’t wait forever.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Are you volunteering?”

She laughed. “I’m flattered, but no. I like my relationships without accessory-sharing competition.”

“How considerate of you.”

“Don’t deflect,” she said, wagging a finger. “I just think you deserve someone who gets you.”

Magnus smiled faintly. “You don’t even know what that means.”

“I do,” she said, softening slightly. “Someone who sees you, you know? All the glitter and the heart underneath.”

That gave him pause. Isabelle could be loud, nosy, exasperating—but sometimes, she cut through things with surprising precision.

“Well,” Magnus said lightly, trying to ease the weight in his chest, “I’ll put it on my to-do list. Right after ‘conquer New York’ and ‘buy gloves that actually work.’”

She grinned. “Good priorities. But for what it’s worth… my brother’s single.”

Magnus nearly choked on his coffee. “Oh no.”

“Oh yes.”

“Isabelle.”

“Hear me out!”

“I am not,” Magnus said, half laughing, half horrified, “going to date your brother.”

“Why not?” she demanded. “You haven’t even met him!”

“That’s reason number one.”

“He’s great! He’s grounded, sweet, loyal—”

“He sounds like a Labrador.”

“Rude,” she said, but she was smiling. “He’s actually a trainer. Works with his friend Jace.”

“Trains what?”

“People. Like, at a gym.”

Magnus leaned back, trying to imagine it. “A gym trainer and a jewelry designer. Sounds like a punchline.”

“Opposites attract,” Isabelle sing-songed.

Magnus pinched the bridge of his nose. “Do you ever stop matchmaking?”

“Never,” she said proudly. “It’s my love language.”

He sighed. “Your brother deserves better than being used as your project.”

“He deserves someone who’ll make him smile again.”

The teasing lilt in her voice softened there, and Magnus glanced at her, sensing the shift. Isabelle was quiet for a moment, fiddling with one of the rings on her hand.

“Has he been through something?” Magnus asked gently.

She shrugged. “Nothing dramatic. Just… he works too hard. Doesn’t believe in fun. Or dating. Or anything spontaneous. He’s all logic and quiet and… walls.”

“Maybe he likes it that way,” Magnus said.

“Maybe. But everyone needs a little chaos.”

“And you think I’m chaos.”

“Absolutely.”

He laughed. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“It was.” She nudged his arm. “You’d like him. I’m telling you.”

“Isabelle—”

“I’m just saying,” she said innocently, “if you ever meet him, keep an open mind.”

Magnus gave her a look. “Do you plan on orchestrating this meeting?”

“Me? I would never.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“Okay,” she said, grinning, “I would absolutely. But only because I think you both need to get out of your own way.”

Magnus shook his head, smiling. “You’re impossible.”

“I’m effective,” she said. “Don’t thank me yet, but you will.”

He returned to his sketches, letting her chatter fill the room. Despite himself, her words lingered.

He didn’t believe in fate or destiny or whatever romantic nonsense people used to justify bad decisions. But the thought of someone quiet, grounded, the kind of person who could steady his chaos rather than be drowned by it—it wasn’t unpleasant.

He brushed it off, focusing on the curve of a pendant design. Isabelle was just being Isabelle.

Still, later that night, when he walked home under strings of white lights and watched the snow beginning to fall, he caught himself thinking about her words. About balance. About laughter.

And, inexplicably, about a certain stranger from the coffee shop who had called his drink “pretentious” and made him laugh harder than he’d meant to.

Magnus shook the thought away, smiling faintly to himself as he stepped inside his apartment.

New York was full of strangers. But some of them, he thought, didn’t feel quite so strange anymore.

-

Magnus had never been much of a “beer and burgers” person.

He was a cocktail person. A wine-glass-and-dim-lighting person. The kind of man who liked his evenings curated, not dripping with ketchup. But Isabelle had been relentless, and Magnus, despite knowing better, had let himself be persuaded.

Which was how he found himself one Thursday evening sitting in a noisy pub somewhere downtown, wrapped in the smell of fried food and malt, surrounded by Isabelle and her friends.

“See?” Isabelle said triumphantly, leaning across the table. “You’re having fun already.”

Magnus raised an eyebrow. “Am I?”

She ignored him, grinning. “Trust me, you needed this. You can’t just keep working all the time.”

“I work, I go home, I design things. It’s a healthy cycle.”

“It’s a boring cycle,” Isabelle corrected. “Tonight, you’re breaking it.”

Magnus sighed, glancing around the table. Jace, Isabelle’s golden-haired friend, was deep in conversation with his girlfriend—Clary, a sweet redhead with sharp wit and paint on her fingers. They made a striking pair, glowing with the ease of people who genuinely liked each other.

Across from them, Isabelle flagged down a waiter for another round, looking like she owned the place. Magnus didn’t know how she convinced him into these things. Maybe it was her confidence, maybe her persistence, or maybe—if he was being honest—because she reminded him of home. Loud, chaotic, full of heart.

“So,” Clary said, turning to him once Isabelle and Jace got distracted by the dartboard. “Izzy says you’re the creative genius behind the new winter line.”

Magnus gave a theatrical little bow. “Guilty.”

“I saw the designs—those frost-inspired pendants? Gorgeous.”

“Thank you,” he said with genuine warmth. “I’m glad someone appreciates art in this crowd.”

“Hey,” Jace protested, not looking away from lining up his dart throw. “I appreciate art.”

“You once said art was ‘anything that made abs look good,’” Isabelle said.

“Exactly,” Jace replied, releasing the dart. It hit the board with an unnervingly precise thud. “Form and function.”

Magnus laughed. “Charming. Remind me never to take creative advice from you.”

“You’d be missing out,” Jace said, flashing a grin that was entirely too confident for a man with ketchup on his sleeve.

Magnus took a sip of his drink and decided that, as far as friends went, Jace and Isabelle were… uniquely chaotic. He liked them, though. There was an easy warmth about the way they teased each other, an affection threaded through the nonsense.

“So,” Isabelle said, pointing at Magnus. “Tell Jace what you said about gyms.”

Magnus blinked. “What I said about—?”

“You know,” she said, eyes glinting. “About how you think they’re basically torture chambers disguised as wellness.”

Jace’s head snapped up, feigning horror. “Excuse me?”

Magnus chuckled. “I just don’t see the appeal. People paying to suffer seems counterintuitive.”

“It’s not suffering,” Jace said. “It’s discipline. It’s focus. It’s—”

“Loud and sweaty,” Magnus interrupted. “All that clanking metal and grunting. Very… primal.”

“Primal’s good for you!” Jace insisted. “Gets the blood moving.”

“I prefer yoga,” Magnus said airily. “Quiet. Controlled. Focused breathing and balance. You know—civilized exercise.”

Clary laughed. “You’d last five minutes in one of Jace’s workouts.”

“I’d last exactly one minute,” Magnus said. “And that’s including the time it takes to roll out the mat and pretend to stretch.”

Isabelle smirked. “He’s not wrong.”

Jace narrowed his eyes, mock-offended. “You’re all underestimating the joy of a proper workout.”

Magnus tilted his head. “Is that what we’re calling it now?”

Clary put a hand on Jace’s arm before he could launch into a passionate speech about resistance training. “Don’t scare the poor man off.”

“I’m not scared,” Magnus said. “Merely uninterested.”

That seemed to amuse Jace more than anything. “You ever actually tried it? Or are you judging from the safety of your yoga mat?”

“I’ve tried gyms,” Magnus said. “Once. For a week. I think I’m still emotionally recovering.”

Jace laughed. “What’d they do, make you touch a dumbbell?”

“They made me run,” Magnus said gravely. “In place. For half an hour. Without going anywhere. I could’ve taken a walk and seen a view. Instead, I stared at a mirror questioning my life choices.”

Clary snorted into her drink. Isabelle laughed so hard she nearly spilled hers.

Jace leaned back, still smiling. “You’re hopeless.”

“I prefer enlightened.”

“Okay, fine, I’ll make you a deal,” Jace said, leaning forward on his elbows. “No treadmills. No weights. Try one of our yoga classes instead. You’ll like it.”

Magnus raised a brow. “Your yoga classes?”

“I own a gym,” Jace said casually. “My best friend, Alec, Izzy’s brother, and I run it together. Great place. Clean, good atmosphere, no judgment.”

“Except from you, apparently.”

“I only judge people who skip leg day,” Jace shot back.

Magnus considered him. “You’re trying to recruit me.”

“Absolutely,” Jace said without hesitation. “I like you. You’d liven the place up.”

“I’m not livening up a gym.”

“It’s not just a gym,” Jace said. “It’s a community.”

Magnus groaned. “You sound like a brochure.”

“Don’t knock it ‘til you try it,” Jace said, undeterred. “We’ve got a great instructor—Lydia. She teaches morning and evening classes. Come once. If you hate it, I’ll buy you a drink.”

Magnus raised his glass. “I already have a drink.”

“Then two drinks.”

Magnus sighed dramatically. “You’re persistent.”

“Runs in the family,” Isabelle said.

He looked between the two—Jace’s bright grin, Isabelle’s expectant smirk—and realized resistance was futile.

“Fine,” Magnus said, setting down his glass. “One class. But if it smells like sweat and despair, I’m blaming you.”

“Deal,” Jace said, looking far too pleased with himself. “I’ll even comp your first two sessions. Call it a holiday promotion.”

“I feel like I’ve just been tricked into something,” Magnus muttered.

“Probably,” Isabelle said.

Clary leaned over. “It’ll be fun. You’ll meet new people.”

“Ah yes,” Magnus said dryly. “That’s exactly what I need. More people who can touch their toes without crying.”

Isabelle elbowed him. “Come on, you’ll love it. And maybe you’ll even meet someone.”

Magnus gave her a look. “If this is another attempt to set me up with your brother, I will leave.”

She blinked innocently. “Who, Alec? I didn’t even mention him.”

“You were thinking it,” Magnus said.

She grinned. “Maybe.”

Magnus sighed into his drink. “You’re incorrigible.”

“Admit it,” Isabelle said, “you’d be bored without me.”

He smiled. “Possibly. But don’t let that go to your head.”

“Too late.”

The night wore on in laughter and easy conversation. Jace told stories about ridiculous clients at the gym, Clary teased him mercilessly, Isabelle flirted shamelessly with the waiter, and Magnus—despite himself—found the whole thing enjoyable.

He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed this kind of noise: people talking over each other, the warmth of company, the unplanned messiness of being around others.

When they finally stepped out into the cold, the streets glowed with Christmas lights and the faint scent of roasted chestnuts.

“Alright,” Jace said, clapping Magnus on the shoulder. “Tomorrow’s class. Evening. Six o’clock. I’ll tell Lydia to expect you.”

Magnus groaned. “I regret everything.”

“You’ll thank me after your chakras are aligned.”

“I highly doubt that.”

Isabelle looped her arm through his. “You’ll be great. Just bring your fabulous self and a yoga mat.”

“I’m surrounded by sadists.”

“Optimists,” Clary corrected with a grin.

They said their goodbyes, and Magnus headed home through the crisp winter air, the city humming around him.

He still didn’t know why he’d agreed. Maybe because Isabelle had that relentless kind of charm. Maybe because Jace’s enthusiasm was infectious.

Or maybe—if he was honest—because lately, New York was starting to feel less like an experiment and more like the beginning of something real.

He smiled faintly, pulling his coat tighter as snow started to fall again.

Yoga, he decided, couldn’t possibly kill him.

Probably.

-

Magnus wasn’t sure what he expected from Jace’s gym. Probably neon lights, loud music, and too many people flexing in mirrors. He was only partially wrong.

The next evening, he stood in front of a sleek glass building glowing faintly gold in the early winter dusk. The name on the front—Herondale & Lightwood Fitness—was etched in minimalist silver letters. It looked… tasteful. Almost suspiciously so.

“Alright,” Magnus muttered under his breath. “Let’s get this over with.”

Inside, warmth hit him like a sigh. The air smelled faintly of cedar and citrus—someone’s idea of “fresh motivation,” he supposed. The reception desk gleamed. People moved around in various stages of fitness—stretching, laughing, talking. No one looked like they were in pain. Not visibly, anyway.

He checked in, clutching the yoga mat Isabelle had bullied him into buying that morning (“It’s eco-friendly!” she’d said. “And it matches your soul!”).

The receptionist—bright, friendly—pointed him toward Studio B for the evening yoga class. Magnus followed the signs, the echo of soft music drifting from down the hall.

And that was when he saw him.

The man from the coffee shop.

It took Magnus a heartbeat to register him—standing near the weights section, black shirt clinging a little too well to his shoulders, focus locked on the person he was helping adjust a lift. His movements were calm, measured, precise. The kind of confidence that came from control, not arrogance.

Magnus almost tripped over his own mat.

Of course. The universe had a sense of humor.

He should’ve known. That quiet intensity, that clipped way of speaking—it fit perfectly here. Mr. Black Coffee wasn’t just fit; he belonged in this space, like gravity itself bent politely out of his way.

Magnus slowed his steps, pretending to admire the layout of the gym while very pointedly not staring at the man’s back. Or shoulders. Or, saints preserve him, arms.

The man—still nameless, still infuriatingly attractive—adjusted someone’s stance, then gave a small nod of approval. His voice carried low, steady. “Good. Keep breathing. Control it.”

Magnus’s stomach did an entirely unnecessary flip.

He shook himself. Focus, Bane. You’re here for yoga, not ogling.

But then the man turned, catching sight of him—just for a second—and something flickered in his expression. Surprise. Recognition. That small, slow almost-smile Magnus remembered from the coffee shop.

Magnus arched one brow in return, pretending not to care that his pulse had just sped up.

He gave a little half-salute with his cup-less hand—no cappuccino armor this time—and kept walking toward the yoga studio.

Inside, soft light filled the room, and the instructor, a blonde woman named Lydia, greeted everyone with a calm warmth that Magnus immediately appreciated. He set up near the back, not too close to anyone else, giving himself a view of the door—purely for defensive purposes, of course.

People began filtering in, chatting quietly, unrolling mats. The class started slow—breathing, posture, gentle stretches—and Magnus felt himself ease into the rhythm. Lydia’s voice flowed like water, and the city’s noise outside melted away.

Halfway through the class, as they moved from Warrior II into triangle pose, Magnus realized two things.

One: yoga really was magic. His body felt stretched and alive, his mind calm in a way he hadn’t felt in weeks. Two: his peripheral vision was a curse.

Because through the open door, in the main gym area, he could see him. Mr. Black Coffee.

Lifting weights. Spotting someone. Laughing at something Jace said. And Magnus—much to his own annoyance—couldn’t look away.

He told himself he was just observing the contrast between body mechanics and design symmetry. A study of form and balance, surely. Very professional. Entirely artistic.
And maybe his brain was lying through its perfectly aligned teeth.

The man moved with a kind of quiet precision that was… magnetic. Not showy. Just there. Present. Grounded in every movement. The exact opposite of Magnus—who thrived on color, flourish, and motion.

When Lydia instructed them to close their eyes and breathe, Magnus tried. He really did.
But curiosity won. His eyes flicked open again.

The man was talking to Jace now, towel slung over his shoulder. Jace said something that made him shake his head and smile, small but genuine.

Magnus exhaled softly. So he does smile.

“Relax your shoulders,” Lydia murmured nearby.

Magnus startled slightly, realizing he was tense. “Right. Yes. Relaxed. Incredibly relaxed.”

The woman beside him gave him a funny look.

By the end of class, Magnus felt both rejuvenated and entirely undone. His body thanked him; his mind was a mess.

Lydia dismissed them with a warm “Namaste,” and Magnus lingered, rolling up his mat slowly. He wasn’t sure why he was hesitating—maybe because he wanted to see if the man was still outside.

When he finally stepped into the hallway, there he was—leaning against the counter near the water dispenser, scrolling through his phone.

The black shirt was gone; now he wore a fitted hoodie, sleeves pushed up. He looked… normal. Calm. Still a little too good-looking for a Tuesday.

Magnus hesitated, then decided there was no harm in being polite.

“Fancy seeing you here,” he said, tone light.

The man looked up. That small smile appeared again. “You’re following me.”

Magnus gasped dramatically. “Excuse you, I was here first. Spiritually.”

The man’s mouth twitched. “Right. Spiritually.”

“I didn’t peg you for a yoga enthusiast.”

“I’m not,” the man said simply. “You?”

Magnus smirked. “Very much so. Enlightenment, inner peace, fabulous flexibility.”

“Sounds useful.”

“Oh, it is,” Magnus said, letting his tone purr just enough to be teasing.

The man huffed a quiet laugh and shook his head. “So you do this often?”

“First class here,” Magnus admitted. “But not my first yoga rodeo. You could say I’m an experienced pretzel.”

“Is that a title or a warning?”

“Depends on the day.”

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward, exactly—it was full of awareness. That same strange familiarity from the coffee shop, amplified now by proximity and the faint scent of clean sweat and winter air.

Magnus tilted his head. “So, do you frequent this establishment? Or are you just everywhere I go now?”

“I work here,” the man said simply.

“Ah,” Magnus said, letting his tone feign casualness while his brain clicked rapidly. Works here.
He didn’t say what role. Trainer, maybe? Instructor? He certainly had the body for it.

Isabelle’s words echoed in his mind — “My brother runs that place with Jace.”

Magnus studied him for a beat longer. He wasn’t sure… but there was something about the quiet authority in the man’s posture, the easy way others nodded at him as they passed.

No. Surely not. That would be too neat a coincidence.

“I must say,” Magnus said, glancing around the sleek gym. “This place is much less terrifying than expected. I was bracing for fluorescent lights and endless mirrors.”

“Jace likes to keep things clean,” the man said.

Magnus’s brows arched. “You know Jace?”

He gave a noncommittal shrug. “We work together sometimes.”

“Well,” Magnus said, “compliments to your… shared workspace. The lighting is flattering. The atmosphere is civilized. And the view—” His eyes flicked meaningfully over the man. “—isn’t bad either.”

The man’s mouth curved, slow and restrained, but his eyes gave him away — amused, maybe a little pleased. “Glad you approve.”

“Oh, I more than approve,” Magnus said. “I might even come back.”

“You should,” the man said simply.

Magnus hummed. “Careful. I might take that as encouragement.”

“That was the idea.”

That caught him off guard — brief, disarming honesty from a man who otherwise seemed to speak only in understatement.

Magnus smiled, a little softer this time. “Then maybe I will.”

A call from across the gym pulled the man’s attention — someone waving him over. He nodded, setting his bottle down, turning slightly away.

Magnus caught himself watching again, the way he moved — calm, measured, efficient.

He shouldn’t have found that so compelling. And yet.

When the man glanced back once before walking away, Magnus pretended to be utterly absorbed in tightening the strap on his mat. But he couldn’t stop the small smile curving his lips.

Outside, the air was sharp with December cold, snow flurries catching in the glow of the streetlights. Magnus wrapped his scarf tighter, his breath fogging the air.

He should’ve been thinking about work — the new winter collection, the final tweaks to a pendant design due tomorrow. Instead, his mind kept circling back to the coffee shop stranger, now turned yoga-adjacent enigma.

He didn’t even know his name.

And yet, Magnus thought as he walked home through the falling snow, he had the strangest feeling this wasn’t the last time their paths would cross.

Chapter Text

Christmas morning started like any other day.

Alec woke at six, just as the gray light began to stretch across the skyline outside his window. New York was quieter than usual — the kind of muffled calm that only came with snow. The city had slowed, wrapped itself in cold and calm, but Alec’s routine didn’t know holidays.

He made coffee, black as always, and stood by the window with the cup warming his hands. Across the street, the bakery had its lights on already — someone frosting pastries in cheerful oblivion. He could almost smell the sugar from here.

He should’ve felt something festive. But his apartment looked the same as it had every other morning that month: sparse, orderly, with not a single hint of holiday spirit. No garlands, no tree, no lights. Just him, the faint hum of the heater, and the half-read book on the kitchen counter.

He wasn’t exactly the Grinch; he just didn’t see the point in decorating a place no one else would see.

By seven, he was at the gym.

Even on Christmas, a handful of regulars showed up — the loyal, the lonely, or the ones escaping their families for an hour before the day officially began. Alec greeted them quietly, not surprised to see the same faces. He worked through his usual warm-up, then a steady hour of weights, finishing with stretches on the mat.

The place was silent except for faint holiday music someone had forgotten to turn off. A slow, jazzy version of “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” drifted through the speakers.

He didn’t hate it. But it sounded like it belonged in someone else’s life.

By ten, he was home again. Showered, dressed, checking the time. His mother’s text had arrived early: Lunch at one. Don’t forget the cake.

He looked at the cake box sitting on the counter — a store-bought chocolate sponge with icing that had slid slightly to one side during transport. He’d meant to bake something this year. He’d even bought the ingredients. But work had stretched late every night that week, and the idea of baking at midnight had felt… exhausting.

He’d gone with the bakery option instead.

It looked fine. Not great. Not Lightwood-family-great, which was a category of its own. Isabelle would notice immediately. She’d probably make a dramatic comment about it, too.

He smiled faintly at the thought.

By twelve-thirty, he was bundling into his coat, cake in hand, and heading out into the snow. The city streets were quiet, most shops closed, the sky pale and heavy. His boots crunched through a thin layer of ice as he walked toward the subway.

He didn’t mind the cold, really. It was predictable. It kept him awake, present.

Still, he found himself glancing at the café across from the gym as he passed — the same one he’d been stopping at most mornings for coffee. He wondered, absurdly, if the cappuccino man was there today. The one with the scarves and the attitude.

Probably not. Someone that flamboyant likely had a dozen holiday parties lined up.

Alec shook the thought off and kept walking.

The Lightwood house was already warm and bright when he arrived.

Isabelle had gone overboard, as usual — garlands wrapped around the banister, candles glowing in every corner, and a scent of cinnamon and roasting meat that hit the moment he opened the door.

“Alec!” Isabelle called, appearing in the hall in a red sweater that probably cost more than his rent. “You’re late.”

“It’s twelve fifty-eight.”

“Exactly. Late.”

He handed her the cake box. She peeked inside, raised an eyebrow, and grinned. “Did you buy this?”

“Yes.”

“Wow,” she said, closing it carefully. “Bold choice, brother dearest. Mom’s going to make that face.”

“I can handle it.”

“I’ll protect you,” she said solemnly, patting his shoulder.

He smiled, faint but real. “Thanks.”

In the living room, Jace was helping their father set up the table while Maryse adjusted the centerpiece for the third time. Jace spent most holidays with them since his parents died when he was younger. The house felt alive — noisy, full of movement, the kind of organized chaos that always came with family.

“Alexander,” his mother said warmly, coming over to hug him. “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas,” he said, returning the embrace.

“You look tired,” she observed, pulling back to study him.

“Work,” he said.

She nodded, her expression soft but knowing. “Well, today you don’t have to think about work. Sit, relax. Eat too much.”

“I’ll do my best.”

He moved toward the dining table, where Jace was already seated, joking with Clary. His father gave him a nod from the head of the table — approval, affection, and restraint all in one look.

Lunch began like every Lightwood meal: too much food, too many voices. Isabelle and Jace bickered lovingly over who’d wrapped whose gifts better, Clary teased them both, and Alec found himself smiling quietly more than he expected.

He wasn’t much of a talker, but he liked listening. Watching them. The noise filled the spaces in him that he didn’t always realize were empty.

Between courses, Isabelle leaned toward him. “So,” she said in a stage whisper, “did you go to yoga class this week?”

He gave her a look. “You mean your friend’s class?”

“Yes! Lydia’s amazing, right?”

“She’s fine.”

“Fine?” she said, appalled. “She’s practically a goddess of core strength!”

“She teaches well,” he said evenly.

“Did you meet anyone?” she asked, eyes glinting.

He sighed. “You mean, did I meet the guy you keep talking about?”

“Magnus,” she said brightly. “Yes!”

“No,” Alec said.

“Pity,” she said. “You’d like him.”

Jace, overhearing, grinned. “Oh, I’m sure they’ll meet eventually. New York’s small.”

“Eight million people small,” Alec muttered.

“Fate works in mysterious ways,” Isabelle said dramatically.

Alec rolled his eyes, but his sister’s words lingered a little longer than he wanted to admit.

By evening, dinner had turned to dessert, then to presents, then to lazy conversation by the fire. The cake — slightly lopsided though it was — had been declared “surprisingly decent,” which Alec counted as a win.

He stood by the window for a while, watching the snow start up again outside. The world beyond the glass was quiet, still, almost unreal.

For all the warmth and noise of the house, something in him felt distant from it — not unhappy, just… separate. Like he was watching life through a window instead of standing in it.

He told himself he liked it that way. Simpler. Easier.

But later, when he left — hugs exchanged, leftovers packed — and stepped back into the silent streets, that feeling followed him.

He walked slowly through the snow, the cold biting at his cheeks, his breath fogging the air. The streets were mostly empty now, lit by the warm gold of holiday lights in windows. Families gathered inside. Laughter behind glass.

Alec shoved his hands deeper into his pockets and kept walking.

When he passed the café again, its windows were dark — closed for the night. But he still glanced in, as if half-expecting to see a familiar face inside.

Of course, there was no one.

He exhaled a quiet laugh at himself. “Get a grip,” he muttered.

Still, as he made his way home, he caught himself thinking about the man with the scarves and the cappuccinos — that teasing tone, the flash of humor behind his eyes. The yoga mat under his arm.

Ridiculous coincidence, he told himself. Nothing more.

But when Alec finally got home, hanging up his coat in the silent apartment, the quiet felt sharper somehow. Too quiet.

He poured himself another cup of black coffee — still warm from the pot he’d left on that morning — and leaned against the counter.

Outside, the snow fell softly.

He didn’t bother turning on the Christmas lights he didn’t have.

But for some reason, as he stood there, he found himself smiling — small and unguarded — before taking the first sip.

-

The day after Christmas felt like any other.

For most people, it was probably still holiday time — lazy mornings, leftovers, family visits. But for Alec, routine didn’t take days off. His alarm went off at six, the same as always. He dressed in black joggers and a sweatshirt, tied his laces, and headed out into the pale morning light.

The city had a quiet hangover from all its festivities. Wrapping paper clung to trash cans, snow had gone slushy at the edges, and the air smelled faintly of pine and cold coffee.

He liked it that way. A little emptier. A little slower.

His breath fogged in the chill as he crossed the street toward the café. He’d almost stayed home and made his own coffee, but habit pulled him here anyway — the comfort of the familiar bell over the door, the scent of espresso and baked sugar, the low hum of conversation.

He didn’t expect to see him there.

But of course he was — the stranger with the scarves, the cappuccino, and the kind of presence that somehow made the room brighter.

He stood at the counter, chatting easily with the barista, a festive cup in hand. His scarf today was emerald green, dotted with silver thread that caught the light when he moved.

Alec froze for a second in the doorway before stepping in. Ridiculous. It wasn’t like he’d been avoiding him — he didn’t even know his name. Still, there was something about seeing him again that made Alec’s pulse jump just slightly.

The man turned, as if sensing eyes on him. When his gaze met Alec’s, a smile bloomed instantly, warm and familiar.

“Well, well,” he said, his tone like laughter wrapped in silk. “The black coffee man returns.”

Alec stepped into line, tugging his gloves off. “You again.”

“Is that a complaint or an observation?”

“Depends how this goes.”

The stranger grinned. “I’ll take that as cautious optimism.”

Alec found himself smiling back before he could stop it. “You’re up early for someone who drinks dessert for breakfast.”

“Excuse me,” the man said, mock-offended, “this is an art form. Cappuccino, almond milk, cinnamon, just a touch of nutmeg. The spirit of the holidays in a cup.”

“It’s the twenty-sixth.”

“Then I’m clinging to the spirit.”

He took a sip of his drink with reverent pleasure, humming quietly. Alec’s fingers tightened around the strap of his gym bag.

“Still black coffee for you?” the stranger asked, glancing at him sideways.

“Always.”

The man tsked softly. “You’re missing out.”

“Not really.”

“Do you ever indulge in anything, or are you permanently… austere?”

Alec raised a brow. “You always interrogate people before eight a.m.?”

“Only interesting ones.”

Alec huffed a quiet laugh. “You’re unbelievable.”

“I’ve been told,” the man said with a flourish, scarf tails flicking as he moved toward the end of the counter.

When Alec joined him, coffee in hand, the stranger tilted his head, studying him with open curiosity. “So. Day after Christmas. Shouldn’t you be home in a food coma, or surrounded by wrapping paper and regrets?”

“Gym,” Alec said simply.

“Of course. You look like you enjoy lifting heavy things for fun.”

“I do.”

The stranger smirked, leaning closer as if sharing a secret. “I prefer activities where I don’t end up sweating unattractively.”

“That’s one way to describe yoga.”

His eyes widened, amused. “You remembered.”

“Hard to forget someone lecturing me about inner peace over protein shakes.”

The man laughed, the sound bright and genuine. “Touché. You’ve got a sharp memory, Mr. Black Coffee.”

Alec shrugged, hiding the faint warmth creeping up his neck with another sip of coffee. “So. You working today?”

The stranger sighed dramatically. “No, thank the heavens. I’m officially free until next year.”

“Vacation?”

“More like recovery,” he said, rolling his shoulders. “December has been a whirlwind. I plan to do absolutely nothing productive for at least three days.”

“Sounds dangerous,” Alec said dryly.

“Why? Do you break out in hives if you’re not working out?”

He almost smiled. “Something like that.”

There was a pause — not uncomfortable, but suspended. The city noise outside muffled through the frosted glass, the faint hum of the coffee grinder filling the silence between them.

And then Alec said it. He didn’t even think it through first.

“You could come by the gym.”

The man blinked. “Pardon?”

“If you’re bored,” Alec clarified quickly, suddenly aware of how impulsive that sounded. “You mentioned yoga before. There’s no class today, but… I could show you around. You know. If you wanted.”

The stranger tilted his head, eyes lighting with interest. “Are you asking me out or recruiting me for cardio?”

“Neither,” Alec said, though the corner of his mouth twitched. “Just a tour. Something to do.”

“Hmm,” the man said, tapping his finger against the cup, pretending to deliberate. “I don’t usually spend my free time willingly walking into gyms.”

“You might like it.”

“I doubt it.”

“Try me.”

He studied Alec for a long moment — a little too long — and then smiled, slow and deliberate. “All right, Mr. Black Coffee. Surprise me.”

Alec nodded once, ignoring the flutter of something ridiculous in his chest. “Finish your foam first.”

“Oh, I never waste foam,” the man said seriously, taking another sip before following him toward the door.

The gym was quiet when they arrived. Most people were still recovering from the holiday, which made the space feel larger, softer somehow. The smell of fresh rubber mats and faint eucalyptus hung in the air.

Mister Foam, as Alec calls him sometimes in his mind, looked around with open curiosity, hands stuffed into the pockets of his long, dark coat. His eyes traced the mirrored walls, the neat rows of weights, the faint hum of distant treadmills.

“Well,” he said at last, “it’s… very industrial chic.”

“It’s a gym.”

“I noticed.”

“Not your thing?” Alec asked.

“Let’s say my hobbies usually involve fewer dumbbells and more daylight.”

Alec snorted. “There’s daylight in here.”

“Fluorescent light doesn’t count.”

He wandered toward the yoga area, where mats were stacked neatly against the wall. “This I recognize. I might even be convinced to step onto one of these if the planets align correctly.”

“No instructor today,” Alec said. “Just me.”

“Are you qualified?”

He hesitated for half a beat. “I manage fine.”

The man’s mouth curved into a smirk. “That’s not exactly a confidence-boosting statement, but all right.”

Alec rolled his eyes but grabbed two mats anyway, laying them side by side. “Come on.”

The man sighed dramatically but toed off his boots, coat pooling onto a bench nearby. Beneath it, his clothes were casual but elegant — dark trousers, a soft gray sweater that clung just right, bracelets glittering faintly when he moved.

They started slow — a few easy stretches, simple poses. Alec guided him wordlessly, only correcting when necessary. The man followed surprisingly well, even if he grumbled through downward dog like it was a personal insult.

At one point, he said, “Do people actually enjoy this?”

“Some do.”

“Sadists.”

Alec couldn’t help laughing then — a quiet, rare sound that made the man’s eyes soften.

When they finished, they sat side by side on the mats, the gym quiet around them. The stranger leaned back on his hands, breathing a little harder but smiling faintly.

“I’ll admit,” he said, “this wasn’t as torturous as I expected.”

“I’ll take that as a win.”

“You should. It’s the closest thing to praise you’ll get from me.”

“I’ll survive.”

Their eyes met again, that familiar spark catching between them. Alec didn’t look away this time.

After a long moment, the man stood, brushing imaginary dust from his sweater. “Well, Mr. Black Coffee, this has been unexpectedly pleasant.”

“Pleasant’s fine.”

“Don’t undersell yourself.”

Alec smiled, small but real. “You heading home?”

“Eventually. I might wander first. Take in the city before I vanish into hibernation.”

He slipped his coat back on, scarf trailing over his shoulder. “You know,” he added casually, “you’re not half bad for someone who drinks misery in a cup.”

“And you’re tolerable for someone who names spices in your coffee.”

“Careful,” he said, eyes bright. “That almost sounded like affection.”

Alec just shook his head, following him toward the door. “Merry late Christmas.”

“And to you,” the man said, opening the door to the sharp winter air. “Maybe next time, you’ll let me buy your coffee.”

“Not likely.”

He laughed, that warm, golden sound that always seemed to follow him like a wake, then disappeared into the crowd.

Alec watched him go, the scarf flashing once before he turned the corner.

He didn’t even know his name. But as he stood there, the gym silent around him, Alec realized he already knew how his coffee tasted — and that, somehow, felt like enough for now.

Next time he would ask his name.

Chapter Text

Magnus Bane, acclaimed jewelry designer and occasional bringer of sparkle, had officially reached the tragic stage of winter where he was talking to his plants.

It wasn’t his fault.

They were the only living things in the apartment.

“Well, Chairman Meow the Second,” Magnus said solemnly, crouching to water the nearest fern, “it’s you, me, and an empty fridge.”

The fern, naturally, said nothing.

He sighed dramatically, straightened, and took in the quiet of his apartment. It was, admittedly, starting to look more like a home. The boxes had finally disappeared, his books found their shelves, and his throw pillows — after three catastrophic online shopping mistakes — now actually matched.

But it was still quiet. Too quiet.

Christmas had come and gone with minimal fanfare. He’d cooked himself dinner, watched a movie, and video-called his friends back in California — Catarina, Ragnor, Tessa. They’d teased him about becoming a “serious professional in the big city,” and he’d played along, smiling through the screen while the distance felt sharp.

He’d never been particularly sentimental, but something about the holidays had a way of digging under the sequins.

He’d always imagined Christmas meant noise — people and warmth and light. Instead, his had been tasteful solitude, with leftovers and a bottle of wine that had no one to share it with.

He was fine, of course. Completely fine. Utterly, hopelessly fine.

Except for the small, ridiculous detail that he couldn’t stop thinking about him.

The stranger. Mr. Black Coffee.

Magnus still couldn’t believe he’d actually gone to the gym because the man had asked him to. Him — Magnus Bane, allergic to sweat and fluorescent lighting — had willingly stepped into a temple of athleticism just because a stranger with good arms and a worse sense of humor had looked at him a certain way.

“Tragic,” Magnus muttered, stirring sugar into his tea. “Absolutely tragic.”

He’d even… enjoyed it.

The memory of the quiet morning came back too easily: the cold air outside, the smell of coffee, the way that deep voice had softened when he said, Try me.

He’d followed him to the gym. He’d been too busy pretending not to notice how the man’s shirt fit or how his voice dropped when he gave instructions.

He’d moved through poses, stretching and grumbling, while Mr. Black Coffee — all calm precision and focus — guided him without ever overstepping. No condescension, no ego. Just quiet strength and the kind of patience Magnus didn’t usually associate with people who spent their mornings lifting weights for fun.

And then afterward — that soft laugh, the teasing, the way they’d stood too close for a beat too long before saying goodbye.

Magnus groaned into his mug. “You didn’t even ask his name, you idiot.”

He’d meant to. Truly. But something about their banter — that push and pull — had made it feel unnecessary. They were coffee shop strangers, a running joke he hadn’t realized he was starting to take seriously.

Now it was the 28th, and Magnus found himself missing that stupid smirk.

So, naturally, he was sitting in the coffee shop again.

The same one. His usual corner seat by the window, a cappuccino in front of him topped with the perfect swirl of cinnamon — his attempt to pretend everything was normal.

Except it wasn’t. Because every time the bell above the door chimed, Magnus looked up. And every time, it wasn’t him.

Ridiculous. He was ridiculous.

He’d known the man for, what, three conversations? Four, if you counted the morning at the gym? He didn’t even know what he did for a living, even though he mentioned about working at the gym. Or if he lived nearby. Or if he was seeing anyone.

(He was probably seeing someone. People who looked like that usually were.)

Magnus took a sip of his cappuccino, the foam brushing his lip. He should’ve gone for a walk, or worked on sketches for the new spring line. He had ideas swirling in his head — delicate ring sets, gemstone constellations, an entire design concept inspired by frost. He had work to do.

But he wasn’t working. He was sitting here, staring at the door, waiting for a man whose name he didn’t know.

Hopeless.

The barista, Emily, passed by and smiled. “You waiting for someone, Mr. Bane?”

Magnus blinked. “No, darling. Just caffeine and existential regret.”

She laughed. “Rough day?”

“Merely introspective.” He smiled, because Magnus Bane didn’t mope. He sparkled, even in emotional disarray.

Still, his eyes flicked toward the door again as the bell chimed.

Not him.

Of course not.

He pulled out his phone instead, scrolling through messages from Catarina. She’d sent him a photo of a ginger cat wearing a bowtie. The caption read: You need this. He looks like trouble.

Magnus smiled despite himself. “I could use trouble,” he murmured, zooming in on the photo.

He’d been thinking about adopting a cat for weeks. It wasn’t loneliness — he told himself — just practicality. Company. An excuse to talk out loud without people judging.

“Maybe I’ll do it,” he said under his breath, half to the imaginary cat, half to the universe. “A rescue. We can suffer through the New York cold together.”

He glanced at the door one last time, just as someone entered — tall, dark-haired, wrapped in a navy coat that looked painfully familiar.

Magnus’s heart skipped. But then the man turned slightly, and Magnus saw his face: not him. Someone else.

The flicker of disappointment that followed was almost embarrassing.

He sat back in his chair, forcing a sigh through a smile. “Pathetic, Bane,” he whispered. “Utterly pathetic.”

His cappuccino was half-empty now, the foam long gone. He traced the rim of the cup absently with his finger, thinking about how absurd it was — wanting to see someone you barely knew. But the memory lingered, tangible and warm in a way the winter air couldn’t touch.

He wasn’t in love, obviously. Please. Magnus Bane did not fall for nameless men who lifted weights and drank unadulterated bitterness.

Still…

There had been something about the way the stranger watched him. Not like a man admiring him, but like someone listening. Really seeing him.

That, Magnus thought, was dangerous.

He gathered his coat and scarf, left a generous tip, and stepped back into the crisp air. The cold bit at his cheeks, snow starting to fall again in delicate flakes. The city was caught between winter and exhaustion, post-holiday blues draped over every streetlight.

He started walking, no real destination in mind. His boots clicked against the pavement, his breath fogging in front of him.

Maybe tomorrow he’d work. Maybe tomorrow he’d visit the animal shelter. Maybe tomorrow…

The thought trailed off. He didn’t finish it.

Because as he turned the corner past the coffee shop window, the memory of that low voice echoed in his mind — Maybe next time, you’ll let me buy your coffee.

And Magnus smiled, despite everything.

“Maybe,” he said to the empty street.

Then, pulling his scarf tighter, he kept walking — the city lights reflecting in his eyes like promises he wasn’t sure he wanted to keep.

-

Magnus should have known better than to answer Isabelle Lightwood’s call before coffee.

“Magnus! Tell me you’re not busy,” her voice had come through the phone like a sunbeam on caffeine.

He’d been lounging on the couch, nursing his cappuccino and contemplating a lazy day. “Define busy.”

“Doing something boring like work, sleep, or anything that doesn’t involve me.”

“Then yes, I’m busy,” Magnus said, but she steamrolled over the sarcasm like it was air.

“Perfect! I’m picking you up in twenty. We’re going shopping.”

And that was that.

Twenty minutes later, he found himself in Isabelle’s car — a red convertible that looked wildly out of place in New York winter — as she sped through the streets like a woman on a mission.

“You’re lucky I like you,” Magnus muttered, tugging his scarf tighter against the cold wind sneaking through the cracked window.

“You love me,” Isabelle said cheerfully. “I’m your only friend in this city.”

“That’s a dangerous amount of power for one person to have.”

She grinned. “Then use it wisely, darling. You’re about to witness the post-Christmas sales of the century.”

Magnus gave her a side glance. “I’d rather witness the end of civilization.”

“Same energy,” she said, parking with impressive precision before practically dragging him toward the first store.

Shopping with Isabelle was like being swept into a glitter hurricane.

She moved through stores with the confidence of a general leading troops, pointing at clothes and accessories like she was curating her personal museum. Magnus admired it — not just her taste, but her unapologetic joy in it. She flirted with salespeople, tried on shoes she didn’t need, and insisted Magnus model three different jackets “because you have the bone structure for drama.”

He let her.

There was something comforting about her noise, her warmth. She reminded him a little of home — of Catarina’s teasing, of Ragnor’s dramatic sighs. Isabelle filled space effortlessly.

Between boutiques and coffee stops, they fell into easy conversation. Work. Food. The upcoming New Year’s weekend.

And, inevitably, her brother.

“So,” Isabelle said casually, sipping from her iced latte as they walked down a glittering street of shopfronts, “my brother’s still single.”

Magnus groaned softly. “Darling, we’ve been over this.”

“I’m just saying,” she said innocently, which was exactly what people said when they were absolutely not saying it innocently. “You’re single. He’s single. You’re both tall, devastatingly good-looking—”

“I’m sure he appreciates the compliment by proxy.”

“—and you both have the whole broody-under-the-surface thing going on. You’d make sense.”

Magnus stopped in his tracks, turning to give her his best unimpressed look. “Isabelle, darling, as fond as I am of you, I have a strict rule about not dating my friends’ relatives. It’s messy. Complicated. Tricky.”

She blinked. “Tricky?”

“Picture this,” Magnus said dramatically, gesturing with his gloved hands. “We date. It goes badly—inevitably, because all great romances do—and suddenly you have to choose between your brother and your favorite coworker-slash-friend. Then there’s gossip, alliances, dramatic exits at family dinners—terribly exhausting.”

Isabelle’s lips twitched. “You’re assuming I’d pick him.”

Magnus laughed. “You are such a delight.”

“I’m serious,” she said, looping her arm through his as they started walking again. “You’d like him. He’s… quiet, but not in a boring way. He just sees people, you know? When he actually talks, it’s because he’s thought about what he’s going to say. None of that small talk crap.”

Magnus smirked. “He sounds almost too good to be real.”

“Trust me, he’s real. Tragically single. And stubborn as a rock.”

Magnus arched an eyebrow. “He sounds exactly like someone I should not be dating.”

“Which means you totally should.”

He sighed dramatically, tugging her toward a jewelry stall to distract her. “Look! Shiny things. Let’s focus on our shared love of sparkles instead of matchmaking.”

Isabelle laughed but let the topic drop — for now.

By lunchtime, they’d worked up an appetite and settled into a cozy restaurant near Madison Square Park. It was warm and humming with conversation, the windows fogged from the cold outside. Magnus peeled off his gloves and scarf, settling in across from Isabelle.

She ordered a burger and fries. Magnus went for a pasta he couldn’t pronounce.

Halfway through the meal, Isabelle leaned forward, chin propped on her hand. “You doing anything for New Year’s?”

“Absolutely nothing,” Magnus said. “I plan to spend the evening with champagne, fireworks, and possibly a cat.”

“A cat?”

“I’m considering adoption,” he said primly. “I need someone to talk to who doesn’t sass me back.”

“Tragic. And here I was hoping you’d say you were coming to Jace’s party.”

Magnus groaned. “Please tell me that’s not an invite.”

“Oh, it is,” she said brightly. “And you’re coming. No excuses.”

“Isabelle—”

“No,” she said firmly, cutting him off with the authority of someone who got her way far too often. “You can’t start a new year alone. It’s bad luck. Jace’s place is amazing — there’s a heated pool, music, people, food. It’s practically a movie scene.”

“I don’t do movie scenes,” Magnus said. “I do mood lighting and existential reflection.”

“You’ll do both,” Isabelle said. “Come on. You might even meet someone.”

“Subtle.”

She grinned. “Always.”

Magnus sighed, twirling his fork through his pasta. “Jace that I met the other day?”

“My brother’s best friend, yes, that one.” Isabelle said, matter-of-fact.

“I see.”

She nodded. “Yeah. Jace’s family was… complicated. His parents aren’t in the picture, but his grandfather left him a ridiculous amount of money. So, naturally, he used it to buy a giant villa and a fitness business.”

Magnus smirked. “A gym and a villa. Sounds like the beginning of an awful dating show.”

“Then you’ll fit right in.”

He laughed despite himself. “You’re relentless.”

“I’m charming,” she corrected.

“Menace.”

“Compliment accepted.”

They lingered over lunch longer than planned, the easy rhythm of conversation stretching comfortably between them. Isabelle told stories about her family — her brothers, her parents, her best friend Clary — all with the kind of affection that Magnus couldn’t help but envy a little.

When they finally left the restaurant, the afternoon light had started to fade. Snow threatened again, swirling faintly in the air. Isabelle linked her arm through his once more.

“So, you’ll come to the party?” she asked sweetly, as though the question were still open.

Magnus sighed in defeat. “Fine. But only because I like pools. And champagne.”

“And?”

“And I suppose I like you, too.”

“Victory!” she declared, spinning them dramatically in the street before he could protest.

Magnus laughed, shaking his head. “You are entirely too much.”

“And you adore me for it.”

“Tragically true.”

They walked together for a while longer, their laughter trailing behind them in the cold air.

Magnus couldn’t help thinking, as he glanced at her — so bright, so confident — how easily she’d made herself at home in his life. Maybe that was what he’d needed all along. Someone who didn’t let him vanish behind his work and his sarcasm.

Still, as they said their goodbyes and he started toward his apartment, he couldn’t shake the faint feeling of irony.

Because Isabelle Lightwood had just spent an entire afternoon trying to set him up with her mysterious brother — and Magnus, if he was being perfectly honest with himself, was already half in trouble over a man he didn’t know his name.

Life, it seemed, had a twisted sense of humor.

He smiled to himself, the cold nipping at his cheeks. “A villa with a heated pool,” he murmured. “What could possibly go wrong?”

The city didn’t answer. But somewhere in the distance, fireworks were being tested — faint pops of color against the gray sky — and Magnus had the strange, certain feeling that the universe was laughing quietly to itself.

-

Magnus spent two hours deciding what to wear.

Two full hours of chaos, glitter, and indecision — his bedroom looked like a boutique after a tornado. Sequined shirts were tossed across the bed, silk scarves draped over a chair, and at least three jackets had been tried, rejected, and tried again.

It wasn’t vanity. Not entirely.

It was armor.

If he looked put-together — polished, magnetic, dazzling — then no one could tell how he still felt a little misplaced in this new city, or how the quiet parts of the holidays had echoed a bit too loudly in his apartment.

By the time he stood before his mirror, smoothing the lapels of a deep emerald blazer that caught the light just right, he finally nodded to his reflection. “You look magnificent, darling. Try not to outshine the fireworks.”

His catless apartment didn’t respond.

He grabbed his phone, his keys, and the bottle of expensive champagne he’d promised to bring, and descended into the night.

Isabelle arrived in her usual style — ten minutes late and dazzling.

“Good,” she said the moment Magnus stepped out of his building, her eyes sweeping over his outfit. “You understood the assignment.”

“Glitter is my natural state,” Magnus said, sliding into the passenger seat. “And you look criminally good. I almost hate you.”

“I’d hate me too,” she said cheerfully, revving the engine. “Ready for the night of your life?”

“I’m expecting nothing less than mild chaos and a few decent hors d'oeuvres.”

“Good,” she said. “You’ll get both.”

-

Magnus had always believed in the power of a good outfit.

It wasn’t vanity — not entirely. It was about presentation, the illusion of control when everything else in life refused to cooperate. And tonight, on the cusp of a new year, control felt like a precious thing.

So yes, he’d spent two hours deciding what to wear.

There had been sequins. Silk. At least one velvet jacket that had promised brilliance but made him look like he belonged in a stage play. Eventually, he’d settled on a deep emerald blazer that caught the light like crushed glass, black dress pants, and a silver ring that shimmered every time he moved his hand.

“Perfect,” he told his reflection, smoothing the lapels. “You look like new beginnings and poor decisions.”

He smiled, grabbed the champagne bottle chilling on the counter, and braced himself for the cold New York night.

Isabelle arrived exactly when she said she would — which for Isabelle meant fifteen minutes late, unapologetically dazzling, hair perfectly curled and smile wide.

“Look at you!” she exclaimed as Magnus slid into her car. “You’re going to steal everyone’s attention.”

“Darling, if I don’t, I’ll consider the night a failure.”

She laughed, revving the engine. “Jace and Clary are already there. You’ll like it — the party’s not stuffy, it’s just friends, music, drinks. You need some fun.”

Magnus arched an eyebrow. “What are you implying?”

“That you work too much.”

“I thrive on work.”

“You survive on work,” she corrected. “Tonight, you’ll thrive on champagne.”

-

Jace’s villa looked like something out of a winter magazine spread — warm light spilling through frosted windows, a pool in the back steaming under the snow, music floating from inside. The place buzzed with that specific kind of holiday energy: people balancing plates and glasses, laughter bouncing off every wall, a thousand tiny conversations blending into something electric.

Magnus followed Isabelle in, the cold fading as warmth enveloped him.

He already knew Jace — golden-haired, charming, and perpetually amused — and Clary, whose quick wit and easy smile had made their previous night out far more enjoyable than Magnus had expected.

“Magnus!” Jace called when he saw him, weaving through the crowd with a beer in hand. “Glad you made it!”

“Of course,” Magnus said, accepting a friendly half-hug. “I couldn’t pass up the chance to witness whatever chaos you’ve planned for the last hours of the year.”

Clary joined them, bright-eyed and beaming. “There’s champagne, food, and at midnight, fireworks by the pool. We’re going all out.”

“My three favorite things,” Magnus said.

They chatted a while — easy, familiar, and comfortable — before Jace got pulled away by someone calling his name. Clary followed after, leaving Magnus to drift toward the back patio.

It wasn’t loneliness, exactly. He just liked people best from a small distance — the way they moved, the way they filled space. Being an observer had always been his comfort zone.

He lingered near the glass doors, sipping champagne, eyes scanning the crowd.

And that’s when he saw him.

At first, Magnus thought he was imagining it.

The man stood a little apart from the others, near the edge of the pool where mist rose into the cold night air. He wore dark clothes — simple but sharp — and his posture was easy, confident in that quiet way that didn’t demand attention but drew it anyway.

Mr. Black Coffee.

The shock hit him in waves — disbelief, then amusement, then something warmer and far more dangerous.

He hadn’t seen him since that gym day, hadn’t even expected to. And now, of all places — here?

Magnus’s fingers tightened slightly on his glass. He should have walked away, ignored it, spared himself the chaos that followed curiosity. But he couldn’t.

He crossed the patio before his brain could interfere, heart doing something entirely undignified in his chest. The stranger turned slightly at the sound of footsteps, his eyes catching the soft golden light spilling through the windows.

They both froze.

The same flicker of recognition passed between them.

“You again,” Magnus said, his voice lighter than he felt.

“You could say that,” the man replied, that familiar low tone calm as ever.

Magnus smiled faintly. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Same,” the man admitted. “You crash random parties often?”

“I was invited, thank you very much,” Magnus said with mock offense. “And you?”

“Same.”

They stood there for a moment, silence settling between them like something fragile. Behind them, laughter and music continued, oblivious.

Finally, Magnus tilted his head, studying him — the strong jawline, the faint crease between his brows, the careful restraint in every movement. He was beautiful in that maddening, unintentional way.

“I don’t think we were ever officially introduced,” Magnus said, offering a hand. “Seems we keep running into each other. It’s starting to feel like fate.”

The man hesitated just a fraction before taking his hand. “Alec.”

And just like that, Magnus’s world tilted.

He heard the name like a bell, clear and impossible.

Alec.

It hit him instantly — Isabelle’s brother. The one she’d described, the one she’d tried to set him up with more times than he could count. The one Magnus had sworn he would not meet, for the sake of his own peace.

And now here he was — the man who ordered bitter coffee, who’d coaxed Magnus into the gym, who’d quietly occupied too much space in his head for someone nameless.

Of course it was him.

Magnus’s breath caught for a heartbeat. He managed a practiced smile, but it felt thinner now. “Alec,” he repeated softly, like the sound might steady him. “I’ve heard that name before.”

Alec gave a curious look, brow furrowing slightly. “Have you?”

Magnus hesitated. The truth hovered dangerously close, but he sidestepped it with a sip of champagne. “Common enough name,” he said breezily.

Alec didn’t press. He just watched Magnus for a moment — that same calm scrutiny that made Magnus feel seen in ways he didn’t expect.

“You’re not drinking your usual,” Alec said finally, nodding toward the glass.

Magnus smiled. “You remembered?”

“You’re hard to forget.”

The words hit sharper than they should have. Magnus covered it with a small, self-deprecating laugh. “Careful, that almost sounded like a compliment.”

“Maybe it was.”

For a second, their eyes held — long enough for Magnus to forget the cold, forget the crowd, forget the fact that this man was absolutely off-limits.

He needed to move, to breathe, to find some grounding before he did something foolish.

“Well,” Magnus said lightly, straightening. “Since fate clearly has a sense of humor, maybe it’s best I don’t tempt it further. Enjoy your evening, Alec.”

Alec’s expression softened, just slightly. “You too, Cappuccino.”

Magnus’s heart tripped over itself. He turned before Alec could see it, slipping back inside among the warmth and noise.

He spent the rest of the night trying — and failing — to forget.

He talked to Clary and Jace, smiled for photos, even laughed when Isabelle pulled him onto the dance floor. But his mind kept circling back to the patio, to that quiet voice saying Alec, to the look in his eyes that made Magnus feel both unsteady and completely seen.

And when the countdown to midnight began — voices shouting ten, nine, eight — Magnus found himself glancing through the glass doors again.

Alec was still outside, leaning against the railing, looking up at the sky as fireworks bloomed in bursts of gold and blue.

Magnus watched him, the champagne glass cold against his palm.

He had sworn he wouldn’t get involved with Isabelle’s brother. He had also sworn, once upon a time, that he’d stop believing in coincidences.

And yet here he was — breaking both in a single night.

As the first minute of the new year sparkled across the skyline, Magnus whispered into the noise and laughter, “Happy New Year, Alec.”

He didn’t expect an answer. But when Alec turned his head — as if he’d heard something — and looked back through the window, Magnus felt the smallest, dangerous spark of hope.

Chapter Text

The gym was closed.

Officially.

The lights at the front were off, the doors locked, the reception desk empty except for a small “See you next year!” sign Isabelle had taped up two days ago with excessive glitter pen.

But Alec was there anyway, unlocking the side door with his own key, the echo of the empty space greeting him like an old friend.

He didn’t like breaks. Breaks left room for thinking.

The air was still faintly scented with rubber mats, cleaning spray, and something citrus from the air diffusers Jace insisted on using. The heating hummed quietly. Alec dropped his duffel by the wall, slipped on his wraps, and started his warm-up routine.

His body moved on autopilot — stretches, push-ups, pull-ups — a rhythm built from years of repetition. It was the one language that never failed him: movement, precision, breath.

But his thoughts refused to fall in line.

Because every time he exhaled, he saw the flicker of green and silver in his mind — the stranger from the coffee shop, standing under Jace’s patio lights, champagne glass glinting like a spark in the dark.

Alec had spent the better part of the night trying to pretend it hadn’t rattled him.

He’d expected to see old friends, to survive a round of Isabelle’s matchmaking, to drink politely until the fireworks started. He hadn’t expected him.

Foam Art. Cappuccino Guy. Whatever nickname his brain had come up with to avoid admitting he’d been thinking about him since that first morning at the café.

Alec groaned softly, dragging a hand through his hair and moving to the punching bag. He didn’t put on gloves — just started with slow, controlled hits.

Thud. Breathe. Thud. Breathe.

The sound echoed in the empty space, grounding him.

He’d thought maybe he was imagining the connection. A few casual conversations, some banter — it didn’t mean anything. He wasn’t looking for anything, anyway. His life was fine. Simple. Ordered.

But seeing him again — unplanned, impossible — it had felt like the universe nudging him in the ribs and whispering look closer.

Alec hadn’t even realized how badly he’d wanted to know the man’s name until he realized he still didn’t have it.

When they’d shaken hands, Alec had introduced himself without thinking, instinct more than intention. And the stranger — he’d just smiled that small, knowing smile and repeated it back, Alec, like the word itself amused him.

And then… nothing.

No name in return.

It wasn’t rude — it had felt deliberate. Measured. Like he was holding something back on purpose.

Alec threw another punch, harder this time. The bag swung slightly.

Maybe there was a reason. Maybe he was private. Or shy. (Though nothing about him seemed shy.)

Or maybe it was something else entirely.

Alec wasn’t the type to pry. He wasn’t his sister; curiosity didn’t burn in him the same way. He didn’t need to know people’s business to care about them. But there was something about that man — the way he’d looked at Alec like he already knew something about him, like he saw through the quiet — that had rooted itself under Alec’s skin.

He wasn’t supposed to want to know more.

He hit the bag again, steady rhythm returning.

He told himself it didn’t matter.

That it was coincidence — a nice moment, a stranger he’d probably never see again after the holidays. The city was big. People crossed paths, then disappeared. That was life.

Except… this was New York. And several times now, fate had refused to play by the odds.

When the workout was done, Alec sat on the edge of the mat, towel draped around his shoulders. Sweat cooled quickly in the winter air that seeped through the walls.

He leaned forward, elbows on knees, and let his head fall into his hands.

He wasn’t frustrated, not really. Just… unsettled.

He liked things he could name, define, categorize. He liked clarity — knowing where he stood. But this? This nameless maybe-something gnawed quietly at the back of his mind, refusing to fit anywhere.

The stranger had been easy to talk to. Too easy. He remembered the warmth of his voice, the way his laugh had lingered just a second longer than necessary. The way his eyes caught light — not brown, not gold, but somewhere between. And the confidence, the unashamed ease in every gesture.

Alec had noticed all of it, though he’d tried not to.

And then, when they’d said goodbye — Enjoy your evening, Alec — it had felt like more than polite small talk. It had sounded like a promise he didn’t quite understand.

He rubbed the towel over his hair, breathing out a soft laugh at himself. “You’re losing it.”

His voice echoed faintly in the gym. No answer, of course. Just the quiet hum of the heating and the soft tap of snow against the high windows.

He finished his stretches, rolled his shoulders, and finally forced himself to leave.

Outside, the city was muted — streets mostly empty, wrapped in the hush that only comes after too much celebration. Storefronts were closed, the sidewalks dusted with snow.

Alec zipped his jacket and started walking. His breath puffed white in the cold air.

He passed the coffee shop out of habit. It was closed, the chairs stacked inside, the window reflecting his shape as he paused briefly outside.

He thought of cappuccino foam and cinnamon hearts.

He shook his head, smiled faintly, and kept walking.

-

Alec had learned, over years of being a Lightwood, that visiting his mother’s company always came with one unavoidable truth: Isabelle would find him before he found the office he needed.

It didn’t matter if he came in quietly, used the side elevator, or pretended to be a courier — she always appeared like she had a built-in radar for sibling activity.

And today was no exception.

The moment he stepped through the glossy glass doors of Lightwood & Co., portfolio folder tucked neatly under his arm, the familiar click of heels echoed across the marble floor.

“Alec!”

He turned just in time to see Isabelle sweep through the reception area, wearing a winter-white coat that probably cost more than most people’s rent. Her hair was flawless, her lipstick perfectly red, and her grin — bright, mischievous, and slightly predatory — told him she was already up to something.

He sighed. “Izzy.”

“Look at you, the responsible big brother, visiting Mother’s empire on official business. I’m so proud.”

He gave her a look. “You’re acting like I never come here.”

“You never come here voluntarily,” she countered, linking her arm through his before he could protest. “So what’s the occasion? Don’t tell me you’re finally letting Mother handle your finances.”

“I’m organizing a charity sports event,” Alec said, trying to keep pace as Isabelle practically dragged him toward the elevators. “Some of our gym sponsors are contributing, but I wanted to see if the company would match part of the funding.”

“That’s so sweet,” Isabelle cooed. “Giving back to the community and all that. So noble. So you.”

He rolled his eyes, though his lips twitched. “It’s for kids’ athletic programs.”

“Of course it is. And—” she stopped abruptly as the elevator doors slid open, then leaned closer, her voice dropping into a conspiratorial tone, “—speaking of noble and heroic, I have to ask…”

Alec braced himself. “What?”

“Magnus.”

He frowned. “Who?”

Her eyes widened. “Magnus. Tall, stylish, sparkly—he was at Jace’s New Year’s party? The one you were talking to for, like, half the night?”

Alec blinked. “I talked to people all night, Izzy.”

She swatted his arm. “No, Magnus! The gorgeous one! He designs jewelry—he’s one of our new hires. Oh my God, you don’t even remember, do you?”

Alec tilted his head slightly. “Was he the one with the—uh—bright blue jacket?”

“Yes!” Isabelle threw her hands up. “Finally! So you do remember him!”

“I remember the jacket,” Alec said dryly, probably. He doesn’t remember any blue jacket or Magnus, but he remembered the emerald blazer the Cappuccino Guy had on.

“You’re impossible,” she muttered. “Anyway, I saw you two talking. And smiling. You never smile like that unless you like someone. So spill—what’s the story?”

“There’s no story,” Alec said simply as the elevator started moving. “We talked for a bit. That’s all.”

Probably.

He didn’t concentrate at people making small talk with him. All he focused on was the stranger.

Isabelle narrowed her eyes, clearly unconvinced. “You’re lying.”

“I’m not.”

“You so are.”

“I’m not!”

Isabelle huffed, crossing her arms dramatically. “Fine. Don’t tell me. But you know, he’s single.”

“Izzy—”

“And bi,” she added pointedly.

“Izzy.”

“Mother loves him, by the way. Says he’s one of the most creative designers they’ve hired this year.”

“That’s great,” Alec said, tone deliberately neutral.

“You’d love him.”

Alec exhaled through his nose. “I barely remember him.”

“Then I’ll remind you.”

Before he could stop her, the elevator dinged and she was already halfway down the hall, calling over her shoulder, “He’s in the design department today! Come on, big brother, just say hi!”

Alec groaned quietly but followed. He could have ignored her — should have — but Isabelle in matchmaker mode was impossible to fight. The fastest way out was usually to let her tire herself out.

The design floor was bright and filled with the soft hum of creativity — the rhythmic tapping of keyboards, the gleam of gold under work lamps, the faint scent of polish and metal.

Alec stood awkwardly near the door, arms folded, while Isabelle scanned the room.

“Magnus!” she called brightly.

A few heads turned. Someone looked up from a desk in the back — a man with dark hair and a tailored vest that sparkled subtly under the light.

Alec froze.

It was him.

The coffee shop stranger. The yoga class observer. The man from Jace’s party.

Oh.

Oh.

The world tilted for a heartbeat.

Magnus’s expression flickered from polite interest to sheer, wide-eyed panic.

“Magnus,” Isabelle said again, smiling like a cat with cream, “someone’s here to see you!”

Alec blinked as Magnus’s response was to—without warning—drop out of sight behind his desk.

Literally duck. Out of view.

Isabelle frowned, leaning forward. “Magnus?”

A muffled voice came from somewhere under the desk. “Busy!”

Isabelle tilted her head. “Busy doing what?”

“Creative things!” Magnus replied quickly, his tone pitched higher than normal. “You wouldn’t understand!”

Alec bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. It was ridiculous. And… weirdly endearing.

Isabelle glanced between them, brow furrowing. “Did he just—hide?”

“Looks like it,” Alec said, his voice perfectly calm.

“Why would he—?”

“No idea,” Alec said, though he did have a few theories.

Maybe Magnus had recognized him — realized Alec was Isabelle’s brother — and panicked. Maybe the mystery name thing wasn’t accidental after all.

And somehow, that didn’t bother Alec as much as he thought it should.

If anything, it made him… curious.

Isabelle sighed, exasperated. “Magnus, stop being dramatic! It’s just my brother!”

“Exactly!” came the muffled reply. “That’s the problem!”

“Excuse me?” she demanded.

“Nothing!” Magnus said quickly. “Just—ah—lost something under the desk! Important! Very delicate!”

Alec cleared his throat, stepping back. “You know what, Izzy, I should go talk to Mom before her meeting starts.”

She turned to him, half-annoyed, half-confused. “You’re not even going to say hi?”

“I think he’s… busy,” Alec said diplomatically.

From under the desk: “Extremely!”

Isabelle groaned. “You two are hopeless.”

“Apparently,” Alec said, managing not to smile.

He gave the desk one last glance — or rather, the pair of expensive shoes barely visible from behind it — and then turned, heading for the door.

His mother’s office was at the far end of the corridor, pristine and elegant, overlooking the city. She looked up from her computer as he entered, expression softening in rare affection.

“Alec,” she said, standing to greet him. “I wasn’t expecting you today.”

“I need to talk to you about a sponsorship proposal,” he said, holding up the folder. “For the gym’s charity event next month.”

They settled into business mode easily. She listened, asked precise questions, reviewed the numbers. Her approval was quiet but genuine.

“I think we can fund a portion,” she said at last. “It’s a worthy cause.”

“Thanks,” Alec said, meaning it.

When he finally left her office an hour later, Isabelle was nowhere in sight. The design floor was quieter now. He passed by without stopping.

But he couldn’t help glancing toward that same desk.

Magnus was back in his chair, pretending to sketch, but when their eyes met for a fraction of a second, his hand froze on the page.

Alec gave him a small nod — a silent acknowledgment, no questions asked — before walking on.

He didn’t understand what exactly was going on, or why Magnus had hidden, but he found he didn’t feel annoyed.

If anything, he was amused. And oddly… intrigued.

Because for all Magnus’s flair and mystery, one thing was now certain — the man was terrible at hiding.

And Alec, unfortunately, wasn’t sure he wanted him to.

-

Three days had passed.

Three quiet, ordinary, frustratingly uneventful days.

The kind of days that usually slipped by Alec unnoticed — workouts, clients, emails, protein shakes, the steady hum of the gym. Normally, that rhythm was comforting. Predictable.

Now it just felt hollow.

He hadn’t seen Magnus. Not at the coffee shop. Not at yoga. Not anywhere.

And he told himself it didn’t matter.

Really, he did.

He told himself it made sense — people got busy, lives didn’t intersect on command. He barely knew the man. Just a few conversations, a party, a strange sort of coincidence. That was all.

But still, every morning, when he pushed open the door to the café, he caught himself glancing at the counter — at that empty space where Magnus usually stood, laughing with the barista, gesturing animatedly about foam and cinnamon.

And every morning, disappointment settled in a little deeper when the line moved forward and it was just… someone else.

The barista even noticed. “Your cappuccino friend hasn’t been around lately,” she said casually one morning as she handed him his black coffee.

Alec had only shrugged. “Guess not.”

He didn’t ask why. Didn’t want to sound like he cared.

But he did.

-

“Okay, I give up,” Jace said one afternoon, watching Alec take his frustration out on the punching bag. “Who hurt you?”

“No one,” Alec said between hits.

“You’ve been demolishing that thing for twenty minutes straight.”

“I’m training.”

“You’re grinding your teeth while training.”

Alec ignored him, focusing on form — footwork, angle, precision.

Jace leaned against the wall, smirking. “Let me guess. This has something to do with a certain designer you found hiding under a desk?”

Alec froze just long enough for Jace to notice.

“Ha! I knew it!” Jace crowed. “Izzy told me the whole story. Man, you must have made quite an impression if he’s diving for cover.”

Alec gave him a look. “It’s not funny.”

“Oh, it’s hilarious,” Jace said. “You finally find someone you like, and he responds by turning into a piece of office furniture.”

“I don’t like him,” Alec said automatically.

Jace laughed. “Sure. And I don’t like Clary, I just spend all my free time with her because I enjoy art critiques and chaos.”

Alec exhaled sharply, pulling off his gloves. “I barely know him.”

“Yet you know his name now,” Jace pointed out.

Alec frowned. “You make that sound like a crime.”

“It’s not a crime. It’s progress.”

“It’s nothing,” Alec said, reaching for his water bottle. “He’s just someone I ran into a few times.”

“And someone you clearly wish you’d run into again.”

Alec didn’t answer. Which, unfortunately, Jace took as confirmation.

“Man, you’re brooding so hard it’s practically visible,” Jace said. “You’ve got that tragic ‘I miss someone I barely know’ face going.”

“I do not.”

“You do. It’s almost poetic.”

Alec gave him a flat look. “You’re insufferable.”

“And you’re clearly hung up on Magnus.”

Alec groaned. “Can you not say his name like that?”

“What, Magnus?” Jace grinned. “The man, the myth, the mystery? Honestly, I’m kind of rooting for him. Anyone who can make you lose focus deserves a medal.”

“Jace.”

“Fine, fine,” he said, holding up his hands. “I’ll drop it. For now.”

But the smirk said otherwise.

-

Later, when Jace had left to meet Clary and the gym was empty again, Alec stayed behind.

He worked through his sets methodically — weights, stretches, core. He wasn’t angry anymore, just restless. Every repetition felt mechanical, the rhythm too clean, too quiet.

He tried not to think about how easily Magnus had filled silence — the effortless banter, the laughter that always seemed to carry light with it.

It wasn’t that Alec was lonely. He liked quiet. Preferred it, most days.

But now the quiet just reminded him of everything that wasn’t there.

He’d almost gone back to his mother’s office once or twice that week, under the pretense of following up about sponsorship numbers. But he hadn’t. He couldn’t justify showing up just to maybe catch a glimpse of Magnus again.

It wasn’t right.

If Magnus was avoiding him, then he’d respect that.

Still, when he passed the Lightwood & Co. building on his evening run, he couldn’t help glancing up. The windows were dark except for a single office light still burning on the top floor. He wondered, absurdly, if it was Magnus staying late — hunched over some intricate design, humming to himself, oblivious to the world outside.

Alec shook the thought off.

He wasn’t a teenager.

He wasn’t going to stand in the snow thinking about someone who clearly didn’t want to talk to him.

But knowing didn’t stop him from wanting.

-

The next morning, Jace found him early, already halfway through a punishing set of pull-ups.

“You know,” Jace said, dropping his bag, “normal people take days off.”

Alec didn’t reply.

“Still no word from your jewelry guy?”

Alec glared. “You promised to drop it.”

“I lied.”

“Great.”

Jace grinned. “I’m just saying, if the guy’s ghosting you, maybe it’s his loss. You’re a catch.”

“I’m not being ghosted,” Alec muttered. “We’re not even—whatever.”

“Exactly my point,” Jace said, stretching lazily. “You two didn’t even get to the stage of exchanging numbers. That’s not ghosting, that’s fate being lazy.”

Alec huffed a small laugh despite himself. “Fate doesn’t care.”

“Maybe not,” Jace said with a shrug. “But sometimes people do. You’ll see him again. New York’s big, but the universe loves a dramatic reunion.”

Alec rolled his eyes, but the thought stayed with him.

He didn’t know if he believed in dramatic reunions. He wasn’t built for that kind of chaos. But he did believe in patterns — in the quiet logic of things that kept looping back.

And somehow, Magnus Bane felt like one of those patterns.

Unpredictable, sure. Complicated, probably. But persistent.

So Alec decided he’d wait. Not actively — not standing around hoping — but quietly.

He’d keep showing up. Living. Training.

If their paths were meant to cross again, they would.

And when they did, he’d be ready.

Maybe next time, Magnus wouldn’t hide.

And maybe — just maybe — Alec wouldn’t let him disappear so easily.

Chapter Text

Magnus had decided, after much pacing and several cups of tea, that he was a fool.

A dramatic one, at that.

He had panicked — actually panicked — at the sight of Alec Lightwood standing in the doorway of his office. And then, in a display of unfiltered brilliance, he’d promptly hidden under his desk like a startled raccoon.

The memory alone was enough to make him groan out loud.

He dropped his head against the back of his couch and muttered, “What the hell is wrong with me?”

Chair legs. Coffee cups. A desk that definitely wasn’t meant to be a shield. That was his grand moment of composure. He could still picture Alec’s expression — that quiet confusion, the slight tilt of his head as if he was trying to figure out what exactly had just happened.

Magnus cringed again and threw an arm over his eyes.

It wasn’t that he didn’t like Alec. That was, unfortunately, the problem. He liked him too much.

When Alec was just Mr. Black Coffee, things had been simple. There had been no reason to overthink anything — just the pleasant rhythm of morning banter, the warmth of a shared smile, the subtle interest that didn’t need to mean anything.

But the second his name entered the equation, everything got complicated.

Alec Lightwood.

Isabelle’s brother.

His friend’s brother.

Which meant that Magnus’s unhelpfully fluttery heart had impeccable timing and no common sense.

He’d spent years building small rules to keep his life neat and tidy — no dating coworkers, no flirting with clients, no entangling himself in situations that could lead to messy friendship fallout. Those rules had served him well.

And now, somehow, he’d broken half of them in the span of five minutes without even realizing it.

He took another sip of tea, then called Catarina before he could talk himself out of it.

She answered after the third ring, her voice sleepy but sharp. “Magnus Bane, if you’re calling me before noon, it better involve a fire or a ghost.”

“It’s neither,” Magnus said. “It’s a crisis.”

“Oh, wonderful. Is it at least an interesting crisis?”

“I hid under a desk.”

A pause. “...Come again?”

“I panicked,” Magnus confessed. “And I hid under my desk.”

“You’re going to have to give me context before I start laughing.”

Magnus sighed. “You remember that man from the coffee shop? Tall, broody, drinks coffee like it personally offended him?”

“The one you described as having shoulders you could hang a painting on?”

“That would be the one, yes.”

Catarina snorted. “What about him?”

“Well,” Magnus said, dragging out the word. “He turned out to be Isabelle’s brother.”

There was a beat of silence. Then, as expected, laughter. Loud, genuine, and merciless.

“I’m glad my humiliation amuses you,” Magnus muttered.

“Oh, it absolutely does,” she said between giggles. “You’ve been in New York five minutes and you’ve already fallen for your coworker’s brother. That’s impressive even for you.”

Magnus groaned. “I didn’t fall for him. I just—liked him. A little.”

“You hid under a desk, Magnus. That’s not ‘a little.’ That’s ‘heart doing backflips.’”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I just didn’t know what to do. It was… unexpected.”

“Unexpected that he had a name?”

“Unexpected that his name came with strings attached,” Magnus said quietly. “Isabelle’s been kind to me. She’s my first real friend here. I can’t just—complicate that.”

Catarina hummed in understanding. “So, you’re doing the mature thing and hiding from both of them?”

“Precisely,” he said. “I’m taking a strategic retreat.”

“Strategic retreat,” she repeated flatly. “You’re sulking.”

Magnus gasped. “I am not sulking.”

“You’re absolutely sulking.”

He sighed, conceding the point. “Fine. Maybe a little.”

Catarina’s laughter softened. “You know, you always do this,” she said. “You meet someone, you get that look — the one where you’re half fascinated, half terrified — and then you convince yourself it’s doomed before it even starts.”

“Because it is doomed,” Magnus said, half-joking, half-serious. “You don’t date your friend’s brother. It’s messy. It leads to sides and awkward brunches and—”

“—and happiness, occasionally,” she interrupted. “If you let it.”

Magnus toyed with the rim of his mug. “You sound far too reasonable for this hour.”

“I sound like someone who’s known you too long.”

“That’s your punishment for loyalty.”

“Uh-huh,” she said dryly. “So what’s the plan, then? You’re just going to avoid him forever? Change coffee shops? Fake your death?”

“I was considering adopting a cat instead,” Magnus said. “Less emotional risk.”

“Cats are a good choice,” Catarina said. “But they won’t stop you from thinking about him.”

Magnus didn’t answer right away.

He didn’t want to admit how often Alec had crossed his mind these past few days — in quiet, inconvenient moments. The way his brow furrowed when he was listening. The faint smile he tried to hide when Magnus teased him about his tragic taste in coffee.

The way his name — Alec — had sounded when he said it himself, low and steady, as if it was both an introduction and a confession.

Magnus sighed. “He’s probably already forgotten about me.”

“Oh, absolutely,” Catarina said. “Men always forget the people who dive under furniture to avoid them.”

Magnus gave a helpless laugh. “You’re the worst.”

“I’m the best, and you know it,” she replied. “Listen, Magnus. You’re not an idiot for panicking. You’re human. But maybe don’t let fear make your choices for you.”

He hesitated. “You think I should talk to him?”

“I think,” Catarina said, “that if you’re still thinking about him three days later, maybe you already know the answer.”

After they hung up, Magnus sat there for a long while, the apartment quiet except for the hum of the radiator.

He looked around — at the scattered papers on his coffee table, the half-finished sketches of jewelry designs, the faint string lights he’d hung up just to make the space feel less empty.

New York had started to feel almost like home. Work was good, life was steady. He was building something again.

And yet…

He missed the spark. The one he’d felt when Alec was around — that strange, grounding pull of calm that made the city noise fade.

He didn’t know what to do about it. He wasn’t ready to break his rules. But he also wasn’t ready to pretend it hadn’t happened.

So maybe Catarina was right. Maybe fear had made his choices for him.

He didn’t like that thought.

Magnus Bane was many things — dramatic, colorful, occasionally reckless — but he was not a coward.

And hiding under a desk had felt suspiciously close to cowardice.

He stood, drained his mug, and crossed to his desk. There, pinned between sketches and notes, was the business card Isabelle had given him weeks ago — the gym’s name printed neatly at the bottom.

He traced the embossed lettering with his thumb, smiling faintly.

Maybe he’d stop by again soon.

Not to chase. Not to confess.

Just to stop running from something that wasn’t even a disaster yet.

-

Two days later, Magnus found himself cornered.

Literally.

He’d made the fatal mistake of thinking he could slip past Isabelle Lightwood unnoticed. It was lunchtime, he’d only meant to grab coffee and a sandwich before heading back to his desk — but Isabelle had the radar of a hawk and the persistence of a hurricane.

“Magnus Bane!” she called the moment she spotted him.

There went his quiet lunch.

He turned with a smile that felt slightly forced. “Isabelle. You look radiant, as always.”

“Flattery won’t save you,” she said, planting herself squarely in front of him, arms crossed. “We need to talk.”

He blinked. “Should I be concerned? You sound like my accountant before tax season.”

“Don’t even try to charm your way out of this,” she said, narrowing her eyes. “You’re avoiding my brother.”

Magnus froze. His mind, usually quick on its feet, went alarmingly blank.

“Oh?” he said, because apparently that was the only sound his brain could produce.

“Don’t ‘oh’ me,” Isabelle continued. “I saw you at the office when Alec came by. You ducked under your desk like it was an Olympic sport.”

Magnus winced. “Ah. You saw that.”

“Everyone saw that,” Isabelle said. “Even Simon, and he was downstairs delivering supplies.”

Magnus sighed and pressed a hand to his forehead. “I may have overreacted slightly.”

“‘Slightly’? You acted like he was the IRS.”

He couldn’t even argue with that.

Isabelle tilted her head, studying him like a puzzle she intended to solve. “So? What gives? Alec mentioned he saw you at Jace’s New Year’s party. Said you two had talked. And then suddenly you’re hiding from him like he’s contagious. Did he do something wrong?”

“No!” Magnus said quickly — too quickly. “No, absolutely not. Alec is perfectly lovely.”

“So it’s you,” Isabelle said, crossing her arms tighter. “What happened? Did you change your mind about him?”

Magnus’s mouth opened, but no sound came out.

Because he couldn’t exactly say I panicked because I like him too much and he’s your brother and I have an entire list of rules about not dating friends’ siblings and I broke half of them before I even realized who he was.

So instead, he did what any self-respecting adult with poor impulse control would do.

He lied.

“Well,” Magnus said, forcing a little shrug, “it’s a bit complicated.”

Isabelle’s gaze sharpened. “Complicated how?”

“I—uh—might have… met someone.”

There was a long pause. Isabelle blinked. “You what?”

Magnus smiled weakly. “It’s very new. Hardly anything, really. But it wouldn’t be fair to Alec if I—well, you know.”

Isabelle’s expression faltered, the fire dimming to confusion. “You met someone? Since when?”

Magnus’s brain scrambled to fill in the blanks. “A few weeks ago. Maybe.”

“Maybe?”

He laughed nervously. “Time is an illusion, Isabelle.”

She stared at him for a beat too long. Magnus had the distinct impression that she wasn’t quite buying it — but to his immense relief, she didn’t press.

“Wow,” she said finally, and there was genuine disappointment in her voice. “I really thought you and Alec might hit it off.”

Magnus’s stomach twisted. “Oh, darling, I—”

“No, it’s fine,” she said, holding up a hand. “You can’t help who you meet. I just wish you’d met that other guy a little later.”

The guilt hit him square in the chest.

He wanted to say something — to explain, to undo the lie before it settled into place — but the words wouldn’t come.

Because what could he even say? Sorry, I panicked and made this up because the truth is that I like your brother so much it short-circuits my brain and I can’t handle it like a normal person?

No. That wasn’t going to help anyone.

So Magnus smiled instead, soft and apologetic. “You’re very understanding.”

“I try,” Isabelle said, though she still looked faintly upset. “Alec’s not really the dating type, but he seemed… interested. More than usual. It’s a shame.”

Magnus swallowed hard.

Interested.

The word ached a little.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I didn’t mean to disappoint anyone.”

“You didn’t,” Isabelle said with a sigh. “It’s just—he’s my brother, you know? I want him to meet someone good. And you’re… well, you.”

Magnus blinked. “That sounds suspiciously like a compliment.”

“It is,” she said, smiling faintly. “But I get it. If you’ve met someone else, I won’t push. Just—don’t disappear again, okay? You’re my friend too.”

Magnus nodded, throat tight. “Of course.”

When Isabelle finally left, Magnus stood alone in the hallway, the lie still hanging in the air like smoke.

He felt terrible.

Not because the lie had been particularly cruel — it was small, harmless even, as lies went. But because Isabelle had believed him. Because she’d looked disappointed on her brother’s behalf, and he’d let her.

He leaned against the wall and exhaled slowly.

Well done, Magnus, he thought. You’ve successfully made things worse for everyone involved.

-

That evening, he vented to Catarina again.

“You lied to her?” she said, sounding half-amused, half-horrified.

“I panicked!” Magnus said, pacing across his apartment. “She cornered me in the hallway like a particularly fashionable interrogator. What was I supposed to do? Tell her the truth?”

“Which is?”

“That I like her brother,” Magnus muttered.

“Exactly,” Catarina said over the phone. “You could have said that.”

“I could not.”

“Why not?”

“Because then she’d know, and he’d know, and then I’d have to deal with feelings, and I am tragically out of practice.”

Catarina snorted. “You’re such a disaster.”

“I’m an artist,” Magnus said dramatically. “Disaster comes with the territory.”

“Magnus, she’s going to find out eventually.”

“Not if I move to France.”

“Don’t tempt me to buy you a plane ticket.”

Magnus flopped onto his couch, burying his face in a cushion. “I just… didn’t want to mess things up with her. Isabelle’s been kind to me. The first friend I made here. I couldn’t stand it if I made things weird.”

Catarina’s tone softened. “You know, it’s possible to tell the truth without making things weird. You don’t have to do it today, but you also don’t have to lie your way into a corner.”

He peeked over the cushion. “You make it sound so easy.”

“It’s not easy,” she said. “But it’s better than hating yourself for a story you made up.”

Magnus groaned. “Ugh, fine. I’ll fix it. Eventually.”

“Good.”

“Later.”

“Magnus.”

“I promise,” he said. “I just need to figure out how to do it without imploding my life first.”

After they hung up, Magnus sat in the quiet again, staring at the ceiling.

He knew Catarina was right. He’d tangled himself in a web of his own making.

And yet… when he closed his eyes, all he could see was Alec’s face. That steady calm. That quiet kindness that made Magnus’s chest tighten.

He was a mess. A glittering, emotional mess.

But at least he could admit it now.

He sighed and reached for his tea, muttering to himself, “Maybe I should have gone with the cat.”

-

Magnus should have known better.

He should have seen the trap coming.

When Isabelle Lightwood appeared beside his desk that morning, all bright smiles and chirpy enthusiasm, he should have recognized the glint in her eye for what it was — danger.

“Magnus,” she said sweetly, leaning on the edge of his desk. “Do you have plans after work?”

Magnus blinked suspiciously. “Define ‘plans.’”

“Good,” Isabelle said, ignoring the question entirely. “Because you’re coming with me to yoga.”

Magnus narrowed his eyes. “Yoga?”

“Yep,” she said, grinning. “Jace’s gym has a new instructor for the evening sessions. Thought you might like it. You’ve been working too hard.”

“Darling, you say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“Come on,” she said, clasping her hands dramatically. “You’ll love it. Stretching, calm music, inner peace, cute people in flexible pants—what’s not to love?”

Magnus hesitated. The last time Isabelle had cornered him, he’d walked away with a lie so large it was practically its own living creature. Maybe this was her peace offering.

And truthfully, Isabelle had been warmer lately — friendly, even. Whatever disappointment she’d felt over his fabricated “someone new” seemed to have faded into genuine support. She’d even said, “You deserve to be happy, Magnus, whoever it’s with.”

He didn’t deserve her kindness.

So, against his better judgment, he said, “Fine. I’ll come.”

Isabelle beamed. “Perfect! It’ll be fun. Trust me.”

He did not trust her.

-

By the time they reached the gym that evening, Magnus’s instincts were screaming retreat.

The moment they stepped inside, the familiar scent of clean sweat and disinfectant hit him — and along with it, the unmistakable sound of Alec’s voice.

Magnus froze mid-step.

He turned slowly toward the source, heart dropping straight to his shoes.

There he was.

Alec Lightwood, in a simple black T-shirt and joggers, towel slung around his neck, looking so effortlessly composed it was infuriating. He was speaking to another trainer near the front desk, tone low and steady, one hand gesturing as he explained something.

Magnus’s first instinct was to bolt.

But Isabelle was already waving. “Alec! Hey!”

Alec looked up — and his eyes landed directly on Magnus.

For one second, neither of them moved.

Magnus thought he might melt straight into the gym floor.

Then Alec smiled, faintly. “Hey, Izzy.” His gaze flicked to Magnus. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Magnus said, voice a little too bright. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“I could say the same,” Alec replied. There was amusement tugging at the corner of his mouth, but his eyes — those steady, unreadable eyes — lingered on Magnus like they weren’t quite sure what to do with him.

Magnus tried for levity. “Well, I was told there would be enlightenment and spandex. I couldn’t resist.”

Alec huffed a quiet laugh. “That sounds about right.”

The yoga room was already half full, the lights dimmed, soft music humming through hidden speakers. Magnus took his spot near Isabelle, rolling out a mat and trying not to think too hard about the fact that Alec was now standing just a few feet away.

He looked good. Too good. The kind of good that made Magnus forget basic motor skills.

He took a slow breath and focused on his mat. You’re here for yoga, not emotional collapse, he told himself.

Still, when Alec came over before the class started, Magnus’s pulse spiked.

“I didn’t get a chance to say this before,” Magnus blurted, before Alec could speak. “About the whole—” He gestured vaguely. “Desk situation.”

Alec raised an eyebrow. “The one where you vanished under it?”

Magnus winced. “That would be the one. I owe you an apology. It was… deeply unprofessional. And dramatic. Though in my defense, I excel at both.”

Alec smiled — small, genuine. “You don’t have to apologize.”

“Oh, I think I do,” Magnus said. “It was rude. I didn’t mean to make things awkward.”

“It’s fine,” Alec said, shaking his head. “Really. It was kind of funny, honestly.”

Magnus blinked. “Funny?”

Alec’s mouth twitched. “Yeah. You surprised me. People don’t usually dive under desks when I walk into a room.”

“Well,” Magnus said with a nervous laugh, “you’re rather intimidating. All that height and quiet intensity. It’s a lot before coffee.”

Alec looked faintly amused. “I’ll try to tone down the intensity next time.”

“Don’t,” Magnus said before he could stop himself. “It suits you.”

Alec blinked, something unreadable flickering in his expression.

Before either of them could say more, Isabelle returned from talking to Jace, sliding onto her mat with a grin. “Okay, everyone ready? Magnus, try not to pull a muscle. Alec, be nice.”

“I’m always nice,” Alec said dryly.

Magnus hummed. “Define ‘always.’”

Isabelle shot him a grin, delighted that they were speaking again. “See? You two are already getting along again. I told you this would be good!”

Magnus forced a smile. He could do this. A bit of yoga, a bit of polite conversation, a lot of pretending he wasn’t mentally screaming.

The class started, and for a while, Magnus managed to focus on his breathing.

Inhale. Exhale. Stretch.

Do not look at Alec.

Do not notice how his voice sounded when he helped correct someone’s pose.

Do not notice that when he moved past Magnus to grab an extra block, he smelled faintly of soap and clean cotton.

Magnus was doomed.

Halfway through the session, Isabelle leaned toward him and whispered, “See? This wasn’t so bad.”

Magnus smiled weakly. “Remind me to thank you later.”

He meant it, too — right up until Isabelle’s voice carried, just a little too loudly, over the music.

“By the way, how’s your mystery guy?”

Magnus’s heart stopped.

Alec, who had been adjusting someone’s posture a few feet away, froze almost imperceptibly.

Magnus swallowed hard. “My what now?”

“You know,” Isabelle said cheerfully. “That guy you met. The one you didn’t want to tell Alec about because you didn’t want to give him false hope.”

Magnus wanted the floor to open up and swallow him whole.

Alec straightened slowly, expression unreadable. He didn’t look at Magnus — not directly. He just nodded to someone else, then turned his attention deliberately toward another student.

The change was small but sharp, like a shift in temperature.

Magnus felt it immediately — the withdrawal, the sudden distance.

He tried to laugh it off. “Oh, that. It’s… complicated.”

Isabelle grinned. “Well, as long as you’re happy. I told you I support you no matter what.”

Magnus forced a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “You’re very kind.”

Inside, he wanted to scream.

The class moved on, but Magnus barely noticed the poses anymore. His chest felt tight, his balance off. Every time he risked a glance at Alec, Alec was busy — too busy. Helping others, adjusting weights, doing anything except meeting Magnus’s gaze.

And that hurt more than Magnus wanted to admit.

When the class ended, Magnus packed up slowly, hoping for a moment alone. But Alec was gone — vanished into the back office before Magnus could think of what to say.

Isabelle looped her arm through his. “See? Not so bad, right?”

Magnus managed a smile. “You’re right. Absolutely painless.”

“Good,” she said brightly. “I’m proud of you. And don’t worry, Alec’s fine. He’s just a little quiet sometimes.”

Magnus nodded, though his stomach twisted.

Quiet, yes. But this wasn’t Alec’s usual quiet. This was distance — polite, deliberate distance.

He could still feel it, like static in the air.

He wasn’t Mr. Black Coffee.

And all because of a stupid lie.

-

Later that night, Magnus lay on his couch staring at the ceiling.

He could still hear Isabelle’s cheerful voice, still see the flicker of something wounded in Alec’s eyes before he’d turned away.

He hated that look.

He hated that he’d caused it.

For all his rules and charm and carefully built defenses, Magnus realized he was still terrible at this — at people, at honesty, at navigating the delicate space between friendship and longing.

He closed his eyes and whispered to the empty room, “You’ve really done it this time, Bane.”

And for once, there was no one there to argue.

He has to fix it. He would come clean. He would be friends with Alec. He would stop lying.

Chapter Text

The rhythm of his punches was off.

Alec knew it the moment his fist hit the bag. His timing was wrong, his balance was too aggressive, his shoulders were too tight.

He was usually precise. Measured. Every strike clean, focused, controlled.

Today, control was a distant memory.

He drove his fist into the boxing bag again, harder this time, the dull thud echoing through the empty gym.

It was early — too early for most members. The fluorescent lights hummed overhead, the smell of chalk and rubber and faint detergent filling the air. His gloves were already slick with sweat, the muscles in his arms burning.

Still, he didn’t stop.

He didn’t know what else to do with himself.

“Dude,” came Jace’s voice behind him, dry and half amused. “You’re going to punch a hole through that thing.”

Alec ignored him and hit the bag again.

Jace strolled over, towel slung around his neck, gym bag on his shoulder. “Okay, what did the bag do this time?”

Alec muttered, “Nothing.”

“That’s the problem,” Jace said cheerfully. “It can’t fight back.”

Alec shot him a look. “You done?”

“Not even close,” Jace said, dropping his bag onto the floor. “You’ve been at this for half an hour. What gives? You only go full Terminator when something’s eating you.”

Alec gritted his teeth, slammed another punch into the bag. The chain rattled overhead.

Jace crossed his arms. “So, you gonna tell me, or do I have to start guessing?”

Alec huffed a breath, then stepped back, chest rising and falling. He pulled his gloves off and tossed them aside.

“It’s nothing,” he said, though his voice lacked conviction.

“Uh-huh.” Jace leaned against the wall, eyebrows raised. “Let me guess. Has this nothing got dark hair, great fashion sense, and a caffeine addiction?”

Alec froze.

Jace grinned. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

“Don’t start.”

“Hey, man, I’m not starting anything,” Jace said easily. “You’re the one looking like you lost a fight to your own emotions.”

Alec sighed and sat down on the nearest bench, dragging a towel over his face. “It’s… complicated.”

“It’s always complicated with you,” Jace said, dropping down beside him. “Start from the top.”

Alec hesitated. He wasn’t great at talking about things — especially not feelings. But if there was one person he could be honest with, it was Jace. They’d been through too much together to bother pretending.

He stared at the floor. “It’s Magnus.”

“The jewelry guy?”

Alec gave him a look. “He’s a designer.”

“Right, sorry — the designer,” Jace corrected with mock seriousness. “Go on.”

“I thought…” Alec exhaled slowly. “I thought we had a connection. You know? At the coffee shop. Then at the party. And then…”

Jace waited, quiet for once.

“And then Isabelle happened,” Alec said flatly.

Jace blinked. “What did she do this time?”

“She dragged him here. To yoga.”

“Oh, that’s not so bad. He had been here a couple of times.”

“She also implied that he was dating someone.”

Jace winced. “Ah. That’s… yeah, that’s bad.”

Alec rubbed his hands over his face. “He apologized for hiding from me — at my mom’s company, remember that mess? — and I thought maybe we were good. Then Izzy blurts out that he’s seeing someone and I just—” He gestured helplessly. “I shut down. I didn’t want to, but I did.”

Jace tilted his head. “You sure he’s actually dating someone? I mean, maybe Izzy just misunderstood.”

“Maybe,” Alec said, though his tone said he didn’t believe it. “Doesn’t matter either way.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s not my business,” Alec said, more sharply than he meant to. He sighed. “We barely know each other. I don’t even know why I’m this—” He waved a hand. “—bothered.”

Jace’s expression softened. “Maybe because you liked him.”

Alec frowned. “I don’t even know him.”

“You wanted to,” Jace countered. “That’s kind of the point.”

Alec was silent for a moment, staring at the scuffed floor.

Yeah. He had wanted to.

Something about Magnus had been… easy. Unexpected. He’d met plenty of people through Isabelle, through the gym, through charity events — and most of them blurred together. But Magnus?

He stood out.

Sharp wit. Brighter than everyone else in the room. And yet, under the humor, there was something genuine — something Alec had recognized in a heartbeat.

It had been a long time since someone made him curious.

“I thought maybe,” Alec said quietly, “if we kept running into each other, it could turn into something. But that’s on me. I should’ve known better.”

Jace leaned back on his elbows. “Better than what?”

“Than thinking things like that work out for me.”

“Hey,” Jace said, frowning now. “That’s not true.”

Alec’s jaw tightened. “After last time? Yeah, it kind of is.”

The memory hit harder than the punches had — that breakup two years ago that had gutted him more than he liked to admit. Too much compromise, too much trying to be what the other person wanted until he’d lost sight of himself completely.

He’d promised himself never again.

No more hoping. No more wondering. No more getting tangled in something that could hurt.

“Since when did you turn into such a pessimist?” Jace asked softly.

“Since experience,” Alec muttered.

Jace snorted. “You know what I think? You’re scared.”

Alec gave him a look. “Thanks, Dr. Freud.”

“Seriously,” Jace said. “You meet one guy who actually gets under your skin, and instead of seeing where it goes, you’re already writing the tragic ending.”

“Because there is an ending,” Alec said. “He’s with someone. And even if he wasn’t—” He shook his head. “He’s Izzy’s friend. That’s messy. And I don’t do messy anymore.”

“Since when?”

“Since it stopped being worth it.”

Jace studied him for a long moment. Then, with a grin that was only half teasing, said, “You know, for someone who hates drama, you sure attract a lot of it.”

Alec huffed out a breath — half laugh, half exasperation. “Don’t start.”

Jace shrugged. “Hey, I’m not judging. Just saying, maybe the universe keeps throwing Magnus in your path for a reason.”

“Or maybe it’s just bad luck,” Alec muttered.

“Could be,” Jace said easily. “But you don’t usually get this worked up over bad luck.”

Alec didn’t answer.

He just stared at the boxing bag again, the fabric worn and slightly frayed near the top. It had taken the brunt of his frustration this morning — but the truth was, the real target wasn’t the bag.

It was himself.

He’d let something slip past his guard again — just a spark, a flicker of interest — and now he was standing here, annoyed at his own heart for being so damn foolish.

He reached for his gloves again, fingers curling tight around the worn leather.

“You’re not gonna talk me out of this one, are you?” Jace asked.

“Nope.”

“Didn’t think so.” Jace stood and clapped him on the shoulder. “Alright, then. Try not to destroy the bag. It’s new.”

Alec gave a small nod.

As Jace walked away, Alec squared his stance again and hit the bag — once, twice, rhythm sharper now, more controlled.

Each strike steadied him, helped him breathe.

He didn’t need answers. He didn’t need closure.

He just needed to work it out of his system.

At least, that’s what he told himself.

If things had gone differently… maybe he really could’ve started to like Magnus Bane.

-

Alec didn’t mind meetings. Usually.

He could sit through sponsorship discussions, plan logistics, or negotiate vendor contracts without complaint. Paperwork, scheduling, even budget projections — all fine. Organized. Predictable.

What he did mind was being summoned across town (exaggeration of course) for a “simple discussion” at his mother’s jewelry company when he’d offered — offered! — to host the conversation at the gym.

He had tried.

“Mom,” he’d said over the phone that morning, “I can clear the conference room at the gym. It’s quiet in the mornings, and—”

“Alec,” Maryse interrupted, her voice brisk but not unkind, “I am not stepping foot in that sweaty den of testosterone. You’ll come here.”

He sighed. “It’s not a den—”

“I’ll see you at one o’clock,” she said, and hung up.

Alec had stared at his phone for a full five seconds before muttering, “Of course.”

Jace, overhearing, had laughed so hard he nearly dropped a dumbbell. “Tell her I said hi, and that the gym only smells half as bad today.”

“Helpful,” Alec said flatly.

Now, standing in the gleaming marble lobby of Lightwood and Co., Alec felt acutely out of place.

Everything was polished — white walls, glass panels, artfully arranged displays of diamond-studded necklaces. Even the air smelled expensive.

He tugged at the cuff of his long-sleeved shirt, resisting the urge to check if he’d left chalk dust on himself. He’d come straight from the gym, after all — showered, yes, but still feeling like a sore thumb in a place where even the janitor probably wore silk.

He signed in at the reception desk and made his way toward the elevators, mentally rehearsing what he’d say about the charity event: sponsorship tiers, brand visibility, athlete partnerships. Straightforward. Easy.

Until, of course, he saw him.

Magnus Bane.

Standing at the far end of the lobby, tablet in hand, in a storm-blue coat that looked like it had been conjured from starlight and mischief.

Alec froze mid-step.

Magnus didn’t see him at first. He was talking to someone from shipping, gesturing animatedly, eyes bright. Then, as he turned — quick, expressive — his elbow clipped the corner of a display table.

The result was instant chaos.

The display wobbled. A cascade of velvet boxes slid toward the floor.

“Oh, for the love of—” Magnus dove after them, managing to catch two in midair while another hit the marble with a delicate ping.

Alec was moving before he could stop himself.

He reached the table just as Magnus knelt to scoop up a stray bracelet that had rolled under a chair.

“You’ve got good reflexes,” Alec said, crouching to help.

Magnus looked up — and froze.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Magnus blinked, then said with forced brightness, “Well, Mr. Black Coffee, fancy seeing you here.”

Alec smiled faintly. “Hi, Magnus.”

Magnus winced. “Ah. Right. You know my name now.”

“I do,” Alec said. “Still haven’t forgotten yours.”

Magnus straightened, brushing imaginary dust off his coat. “In my defense, these tables are far too close to the walkway. A workplace hazard, really. I should file a complaint.”

“I’ll make sure to bring it up with management,” Alec said dryly.

Magnus tilted his head, eyes glinting. “You planning on joining the jewelry business?”

“Just visiting,” Alec said. “I’m here to talk to your boss. My mom.”

Magnus blinked. “Your mother?”

“Maryse Lightwood,” Alec confirmed. “Owner, CEO. You might have heard of her and met her on your first day.”

Alec knows that his mother likes to be present when a new employee starts.

Magnus groaned softly and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Of course. Of course.”

Alec tried — and failed — to hide his smile. “It’s a small city.”

“Apparently microscopic.” Magnus sighed, gathering the last of the scattered jewelry. “Remind me to stop underestimating fate’s sense of humor.”

“You alright?” Alec asked quietly.

Magnus looked at him — really looked — and for a heartbeat, all the usual brightness softened. “Yeah,” he said finally. “Just a bruised ego. And possibly a dented bracelet. But I’ll survive.”

Alec smiled. “Good.”

Their eyes lingered a second too long, both of them aware of the hum in the air — that small, charged something that always seemed to happen when they stood too close.

Magnus cleared his throat. “You here for a meeting?”

“Charity event,” Alec said. “Trying to get a few sponsors. My mom said she’d consider it.”

“Ah, yes,” Magnus said, regaining his usual flair. “Corporate generosity dressed in gemstones. I’m familiar.”

Alec chuckled softly. “I’ll take whatever I can get.”

“Hmm,” Magnus said, eyes flicking over him, tone lighter but with an undercurrent Alec couldn’t quite name. “You look far too serious for someone organizing a charity event. Shouldn’t there be more… cheer?”

“I’m not really the cheer type.”

Magnus smiled faintly. “No, I suppose you’re not. More… quiet competence and smolder.”

Alec blinked. “Smolder?”

Magnus waved a hand. “Don’t worry, it’s a compliment. I think.”

Alec huffed out a laugh — small, surprised, genuine. “I’ll take it.”

“Good,” Magnus said, lips curving. “You should.”

Then a voice called from across the lobby. “Magnus! We need you in conference room two!”

Magnus turned, then back to Alec. “Duty calls.”

Alec nodded. “I should head to my mom’s office anyway.”

Magnus hesitated, then offered a small smile — less flamboyant, more human. “It was nice running into you again. Even if I nearly destroyed company property in the process.”

“I’ve seen worse,” Alec said. “And I’m glad you didn’t break anything.”

Magnus’s eyes softened. “Me too.”

He turned to go, coat flaring slightly as he walked toward the corridor, but not before glancing back — just once. Their eyes met again for the briefest second before Magnus disappeared through a door.

Alec stood there for a moment, still half smiling, half aching.

He should have been annoyed — another chaotic encounter, another reminder of how easily Magnus could throw his equilibrium off. But instead, he felt that same quiet pull in his chest, the one he kept trying to ignore.

It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t even obvious.

Just a steady, unrelenting ache — like the echo of a song he couldn’t get out of his head.

He rubbed the back of his neck, shook his head once, and headed for the elevators.

Maryse was waiting, of course, efficient and poised, already outlining potential sponsorship terms before Alec had even sat down. He focused as best he could, taking notes, asking the right questions.

But part of him wasn’t really there.

Part of him was still in the lobby, watching a certain designer in a blue coat catch falling jewels with the same grace and chaos that had somehow caught him, too.

-

Alec should’ve known better.

When Jace texted “Burgers and beer tonight. Izzy and Clary are in. You’re coming. No excuses,” Alec should’ve smelled the setup right away.

He didn’t.

Mostly because Jace had promised greasy food, and Alec hadn’t eaten a real meal all day. And because despite everything, nights out with his siblings were rare, easy distractions from the chaos of their schedules.

So, against his better judgment, he said yes.

Big mistake.

The bar was the usual kind Jace favored — loud but not unbearable, half industrial, half hipster, with neon signs, exposed brick, and burgers so large they defied physics. The smell of grilled meat and beer hit Alec the second he stepped inside.

Jace spotted him immediately, waving from a booth near the back. Clary was next to him, already sipping from a pint glass. Isabelle was across from them, looking like she owned the entire establishment.

And next to Isabelle — wearing a silver jacket and a nervous smile — was Magnus Bane.

Alec stopped short.

“Oh, for God’s sake,” he muttered.

Jace’s grin was far too innocent. “Hey, man! You made it.”

Alec shot him a look that could have peeled paint. “You could’ve mentioned who was coming.”

“What, Magnus?” Jace said, tone all wide-eyed innocence. “He’s Izzy’s friend. You like Izzy’s friends.”

Alec groaned. “Unbelievable.”

Clary bit back a laugh. “You walked right into that one.”

“I hate all of you,” Alec muttered, sliding into the booth beside Jace.

Across from him, Magnus looked equal parts amused and uncomfortable. “Well, this isn’t awkward at all,” he said lightly.

“Oh, we passed awkward about two minutes ago,” Alec replied before he could stop himself.

Magnus’s lips twitched. “Good to know we’re efficient.”

Isabelle clapped her hands. “Now that everyone’s here, let’s order. I’m starving.”

“Shock,” Alec said dryly.

She ignored him, flipping open the menu.

Jace leaned toward Alec and murmured, “You okay?”

“Fine,” Alec said, eyes fixed on the drink list. “Totally fine.”

“You sure? Because your voice did that thing.”

“What thing?”

“The tight, repressed, I’m fine but I want to jump out a window thing.”

Alec glared. “Eat your fries.”

Dinner was… fine.

Mostly.

They talked about work — or rather, Isabelle and Jace talked, while Alec listened and nursed his beer. Magnus joined in occasionally, his humor sharp and charming, his laugh catching Alec off guard every time.

He looked good tonight. Of course he did. His hair was perfectly styled, his eyeliner subtle but devastating, and his rings caught the light whenever he gestured.

Alec hated that he noticed.

He hated even more that every time Magnus smiled, something in his chest tightened.

He shouldn’t care. Magnus was his sister’s friend. Magnus was apparently seeing someone. Magnus had every right to live his life, and Alec had every obligation to stay out of it.

He repeated that to himself between bites of his burger.

But then Isabelle — bless her tactless soul — decided to speak.

“So, Magnus,” she said, mouth full of fries, “you should totally bring your new guy next time. I bet everyone would love to meet him.”

The table went silent.

Magnus froze, hand halfway to his glass.

Alec felt the words like a physical hit, though he kept his expression neutral.

Magnus laughed — a bit too high, a bit too quick. “Ah. Right. My… guy.”

Jace raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t mention you were seeing someone.”

Magnus shrugged, eyes fixed on his drink. “It’s… new.”

Alec took a slow sip of beer to keep from saying anything stupid.

Isabelle beamed, oblivious. “That’s so cute! You have to tell me everything. What’s he like?”

Magnus’s shoulders stiffened. “He’s… complicated.”

“Good complicated or bad complicated?”

“The kind that doesn’t like labels,” Magnus said smoothly, then changed the subject before anyone could press further. “Anyway, Jace, how’s the gym expansion?”

Jace, sensing the tension, jumped in eagerly. “Oh, man, don’t get me started. The new equipment order is taking forever—”

The conversation moved on, but Alec barely heard it.

He watched Magnus out of the corner of his eye — the way he fiddled with his glass, the tiny crease between his brows, the carefully casual tone that didn’t quite hide the discomfort.

Alec knew that look. He’d worn it himself before.

It wasn’t the look of someone in love. It was the look of someone hiding behind a story.

Still, he didn’t ask.

If Magnus wanted to keep secrets, that was his right. And if Alec was foolish enough to still feel that little twist in his chest, that was his problem.

He’d learned his lesson before.

Don’t chase something that isn’t yours.

-

After dinner, they migrated to the bar for another round. Clary and Jace got caught up in a dart game, Isabelle was halfway through convincing the bartender to let her try a cocktail “off the menu,” and Magnus… stayed beside Alec.

They sat in silence for a while.

Then Magnus said quietly, “You’re unusually quiet tonight.”

Alec huffed a small laugh. “You’ve met my family.”

Magnus smiled faintly. “Fair point. Still, you seem… distracted.”

Alec looked at him. “Do I?”

“Yes. You’re brooding.”

“I don’t brood.”

“You absolutely brood,” Magnus said, smirking. “It’s part of your charm.”

Alec shook his head. “You have a strange definition of charm.”

Magnus tilted his head, studying him. “Maybe I do.”

Their eyes met, and for a moment, the noise of the bar faded. Just that charged, unspoken something again — the same electricity that had buzzed between them since the coffee shop.

And then Isabelle shouted from across the room, “Magnus! You have to try this drink! It’s called a Flaming Heartbreak!”

Magnus groaned. “Of course it is.”

Alec smiled despite himself.

Magnus stood, muttering, “I’m going to regret this,” and went to join her.

Alec watched him go, watched the way Magnus laughed at whatever Isabelle said next, head thrown back, eyes crinkling.

The ache in his chest returned, quiet but certain.

Jace appeared beside him, leaning an elbow on the counter. “You okay?”

“Yeah.”

Jace gave him a look. “You’re lying.”

Alec sighed. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Sure looks like it matters.”

Alec stared into his beer. “If Isabelle’s friends with him, I’ll see him around. I’ll deal.”

“‘Deal,’ huh?” Jace said. “That your new word for suffering silently?”

Alec shot him a flat look. “You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“A little,” Jace admitted. “You make it easy.”

Alec snorted. “You’re an ass.”

“True,” Jace said, clinking his bottle against Alec’s. “But I’m right.”

Alec didn’t answer. He just drank, gaze drifting toward Magnus again — laughing, dazzling, impossible to ignore.

If Isabelle was going to be friends with Magnus, fine. Alec could handle that.

He’d handled worse.

He’d just have to get used to seeing Magnus Bane across crowded rooms, pretending not to feel that spark, pretending not to care when Magnus smiled at someone else.

Easy.

He’d keep his distance, stay polite, stay calm.

He’d tolerate it.

He’d survive it.

At least, that’s what he told himself as Magnus turned, caught his eye from across the bar, and smiled — soft, hesitant, like maybe he wasn’t as fine as he pretended either.

The ache in Alec’s chest deepened, sharp and familiar.

He took another drink, pretending not to notice the way his heart gave him away.

He is fucked.

Chapter Text

Magnus Bane had told a lot of lies in his life.

Most of them were harmless. A little exaggeration here, a touch of self-mythology there. It was part of the charm, part of the armor he’d built to make people underestimate just how easily he broke.

But this one?

This one was eating him alive.

Every time Isabelle Lightwood asked how things were going with his new boyfriend — a boyfriend who didn’t exist — Magnus’s stomach tied itself into a sailor’s knot.

At first, it had seemed harmless enough. A quick save, a stupid white lie told in a moment of panic when Isabelle had cornered him at work, eyes bright with curiosity, asking why he’d hidden from her brother.

He hadn’t wanted to explain the coffee shop, or the gym, or the way Alec looked when he smiled — that quiet, rare thing that made Magnus forget his own name.

So he panicked. He invented someone. A “new man.”

A scapegoat. A shield.

Now, two weeks later, he was paying for it.

Because Isabelle Lightwood didn’t do casual friendship questions. She did full interrogations — complete with emotional support and unsolicited life advice.

“How’s your guy?” she’d asked at least four times that week, casual as a cat preparing to pounce.

Magnus had learned to deflect with an artful sigh. “Complicated,” he’d say. Or, “We’re… figuring things out.”

Or, when particularly cornered, “It’s not working, darling. He doesn’t appreciate the finer things.”

Each time, Isabelle would make an appropriately sympathetic noise, and Magnus would smile like the lie wasn’t clawing its way up his throat.

But today, he was running out of rope.

Friday afternoon, the jewelry studio was mercifully quiet. The hum of polishing machines had faded; the last of the designers had already left for the weekend.

Magnus sat at his workbench, staring at a half-finished pendant. A swirl of silver and sapphires that should have been beautiful, but all he could see was the reflection of his own tired eyes in the metal.

He’d barely slept. His head was full of Alec — or rather, of not thinking about Alec, which was somehow worse.

He hadn’t seen him since the night at the bar. Two weeks of silence and avoiding the coffee shop like it was cursed. Two weeks of wondering if Alec thought he was just another shallow liar who strung people along.

Which, at this point, wasn’t entirely wrong.

“Hey, you still in there?” Isabelle’s voice broke through his thoughts.

Magnus jumped. “Good lord, woman, you move like a ghost.”

She laughed, leaning against his workstation. “If I were a ghost, I’d haunt somewhere with better lighting.”

Magnus smirked, but his heart wasn’t in it. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“Spa day,” Isabelle announced.

Magnus blinked. “Spa day?”

“Yes. You, me, and an afternoon of relaxation. Facials, massages, the whole thing. You need it.”

“I do?”

She nodded firmly. “You’ve been mopey lately. And if your relationship really fell apart like you said, you deserve some pampering.”

Ah. There it was.

The word — relationship — hit like a punch.

Magnus swallowed hard. “Oh, that.”

“Yeah, that,” Isabelle said gently, misreading his pause for heartbreak. “I’m sorry, Magnus. I really thought it might work out for you.”

Magnus let out a brittle laugh. “Me too.”

“You want to talk about it?”

“No.”

“You sure? Sometimes it helps—”

“It’s a lie,” Magnus blurted.

The words fell out before he could catch them. Isabelle blinked, startled. “What?”

Magnus stood abruptly, nearly knocking over his stool. “The relationship. It’s a lie. There is no guy.”

“Wait—what?” Isabelle said again, stepping forward. “Magnus, what are you talking about?”

“I panicked,” Magnus said, waving his hands wildly, the words tumbling out like marbles. “You were asking about Alec, and I didn’t want to explain, and I— I made something up, and it got out of hand, and now—”

He stopped, breathless, eyes wide.

Isabelle looked at him like she was processing a foreign language. “You… lied? About dating someone?”

Magnus winced. “Yes.”

“Why?”

He opened his mouth. Closed it again. He didn’t know how to say it — because your brother makes me feel things I’m not ready for, or because I didn’t want to be another person who ruined your family dinners.

So instead, he said weakly, “Because I’m a coward.”

“Magnus—”

“I’m sorry,” he said, already grabbing his coat. “I just— I can’t right now. I need to— think. Or drink. Or move to Iceland.”

“Magnus, wait—”

But he was already halfway to the door, the sound of her voice chasing him down the hall.

He didn’t stop until he was outside, cold air biting his cheeks, heart hammering against his ribs.

By the time he got home, it was dark.

He dropped his bag on the couch, collapsed beside it, and groaned into a throw pillow.

“Brilliant, Bane. Just brilliant,” he muttered.

He’d officially lost his mind.

He could face demanding clients, design six-figure necklaces on deadline, and survive heartbreaks with grace and eyeliner intact — but put him in front of one sincere, hazel-eyed man and a meddling best friend, and he unraveled like cheap thread.

The worst part was that Isabelle didn’t deserve that.

She’d been nothing but kind — funny, protective, genuinely warm. She’d been his first real friend in New York.

And he’d lied to her.

Because of Alec.

Because somewhere along the way, the coffee shop stranger had become more than just an interesting morning routine.

Magnus had told himself that he wasn’t ready for anything serious. That he was content with work and solitude and a glass of wine with dinner.

But Alec had ruined that.

With quiet steadiness, with dry humor, with the way he looked at Magnus — like he saw right through all the glitter and bravado and didn’t mind what he found.

And Magnus, in return, had done the one thing he promised himself he’d never do again.

He’d run.

Now, he was sitting in an empty apartment on a Friday night, feeling like a teenager who’d been caught in his own drama.

He laughed to himself — sharp, self-deprecating.

“Congratulations,” he told the ceiling. “You’ve officially become the chaos you used to date.”

He thought about texting Isabelle. About apologizing. About trying to fix things before she told Alec, because oh God, Alec was going to find out eventually.

But his hands wouldn’t move.

Instead, he buried his face in his pillow and let the silence stretch.

Tomorrow, he’d have to fix it.

He’d have to face Isabelle, maybe even Alec. He’d have to explain that the lie wasn’t meant to hurt anyone, that it was just a stupid attempt to protect himself from something that already felt inevitable.

But not tonight.

Tonight, he’d sit here, feeling equal parts humiliated and heartbroken, and wonder when exactly Magnus Bane — self-proclaimed master of composure — had turned into such a spectacular mess.

“What the hell am I going to do now?”

-

Magnus Bane woke up with a headache — not from wine or tears, but from sheer emotional stupidity.

He’d replayed yesterday at least twenty times in his mind: Isabelle’s confused face, the shock in her voice when he’d blurted “It’s a lie”, and his utterly undignified sprint out of the jewelry studio.

He’d texted her an apology draft six times. He’d deleted it six times.

By morning, the guilt had hardened into exhaustion.

“Talking to Isabelle can wait,” Magnus told the empty apartment, tugging on his coat. “What I need is a distraction.”

He wasn’t sure where he was going until he found himself standing in front of a small, slightly run-down animal shelter three blocks away.

Inside, the air smelled faintly of sawdust and sanitizer, and the sound of soft mews filled the room.

Magnus had never planned on adopting a cat so soon — he’d thought about it, sure, but mostly in the abstract. A creature for company. Something small and alive that didn’t ask too many questions.

He hadn’t expected her.

A tiny black kitten with one white paw and the loudest purr Magnus had ever heard. She blinked up at him with round golden eyes, climbed unsteadily onto his sleeve, and meowed like she’d already made the decision for both of them.

Magnus exhaled. “Oh, you’re dangerous.”

The volunteer smiled. “That’s Salem. She likes attention.”

“She has excellent taste,” Magnus said, already cradling her against his chest. “I’ll take her.

Forty-five minutes later, Magnus stepped out into the crisp winter air, a cardboard carrier in one hand and a kitten determined to escape it in the other.

It was one of those rare New York mornings when the snow hadn’t turned to slush yet — pale sunlight glinting off the wet pavement, air cold enough to sting, but not cruel.

Magnus tucked Chairman Mew (he revoked the pot plant name and gave it to the kitten) closer to his chest and smiled faintly. “You and me, darling. New city, new start, no lies. Deal?”

The kitten meowed like she was holding him to it.

Sue him for giving a girl the name Chairman Mew.

He was halfway down the street when something caught his eye — a flash of black leather and gleaming chrome.

Alec Lightwood, standing beside a motorcycle, helmet under his arm, sunlight catching in his dark hair.

Magnus stopped dead.

“Since when does he drive that thing?” he muttered to Chairman Mew, who offered no opinion besides trying to chew his sleeve.

Alec swung one leg over the bike, all quiet efficiency, the kind of effortless cool Magnus had only ever seen in movies. He looked — there was no other word — magnificent.

And, of course, Magnus’s feet decided to move before his brain did.

He called out, “Well, this is a surprise. I didn’t have you pegged as the ‘motorcycle in winter’ type, darling.”

Alec turned, startled — and then smiled, that small, devastatingly shy curve of his mouth that made Magnus forget how to breathe.

“Magnus,” he said. His voice was warm against the cold air. “Hey.”

Magnus pretended not to notice the way his heart jumped at hearing his name. “Out for a joyride? Or are you auditioning for an action movie?”

Alec chuckled. “Neither. I have to drop off some paperwork for one of the sponsors for the charity event next month. It’s on the other side of town. The roads are clear, so I figured I’d take the bike.”

Magnus tilted his head, intrigued. “You have sponsors now? Impressive.”

Alec shrugged modestly. “Trying to raise enough to cover equipment and the kids’ training programs. It’s a lot of paperwork, though.”

Magnus smiled. “And you deliver it personally. How very… hands-on of you.”

“I like making sure things get where they’re supposed to,” Alec said simply.

Magnus looked at him — really looked at him. The way his gloved hand rested on the bike’s handlebar, the steady calm of him even when surrounded by noise and motion. There was something grounding about Alec, like he carried a little pocket of quiet everywhere he went.

And Magnus, who had spent most of his life glittering and spinning and never standing still, found that oddly magnetic.

“You know,” Magnus said, adjusting the squirming kitten in his arms, “I’m starting to think you might actually be cooler than you look.”

Alec arched an eyebrow. “I’m not sure if that’s a compliment.”

“Oh, it is,” Magnus assured him, eyes glinting. “You just have to get used to my delivery.”

Alec’s gaze dropped to the bundle in Magnus’s arms. “Is that… a cat?”

Magnus grinned, holding up the kitten. “Meet Chairman Mew. My newest roommate. She’s already judging me, so I think we’ll get along splendidly.”

Alec leaned closer, eyes softening. “She’s cute, but what’s with the name?”

“She’s a menace,” Magnus said fondly. “But I’m told that’s part of the charm and her name is a work of art, thank you very much.”

“She looks like she’d fit right in with you.”

Magnus blinked. “Was that… a joke?”

Alec smirked. “Maybe.”

Magnus stared at him, momentarily speechless — because that smirk should not have been allowed to exist in daylight.

“Well,” Magnus said finally, recovering his usual flair, “I stand corrected. You are much cooler than I gave you credit for.”

Alec shook his head, amused. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I try.”

They stood there for a beat, the winter morning stretching quiet around them — the sound of passing cars, the faint mew of the kitten, their breath misting in the cold air.

Magnus wanted to say something more, something light or clever or maybe honest — but he didn’t trust himself not to ruin it.

So he said, “If you’re ever looking for someone to admire your dangerous life choices, I live just three blocks that way.”

Alec laughed softly. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Magnus smiled, warmth blooming in his chest despite the chill. “Drive safely, darling. I don’t think New York is ready to lose its most responsible man.”

“I’ll try not to ruin your morning.”

“Too late,” Magnus said, but his tone was teasing. “Now I’ll spend the rest of the day wondering how you look in motion.”

Alec shook his head again, trying — and failing — to hide a grin as he pulled his helmet on.

Magnus stepped back, clutching the kitten, and watched as Alec swung onto the motorcycle, started the engine, and pulled out into the street.

For a moment, the world felt cinematic — snow melting into sunlight, a hum of possibility under the air.

The cat meowed in protest, pawing at Magnus’s scarf.

He sighed, smiling down at her. “Don’t give me that look. I know what you’re thinking.”

The kitten blinked.

“Yes, I’m a disaster. No, I don’t know what I’m doing. But look at him, Chairman Mew. How could anyone be expected to function properly around that?”

She yawned.

Magnus huffed a laugh. “Fine. No sympathy from you either.”

He turned toward home, the city buzzing softly around him. For the first time in days, the weight of the lie, the guilt, the confusion — it all felt lighter.

Because even if he didn’t know what to do next, even if everything between him and Alec was a mess of timing and silence and unspoken things — at least for a few stolen minutes, Magnus had remembered how to smile again.

And maybe that was enough for now.

-

By Monday morning, Magnus felt… better.

Not great, not fixed, but better — like someone had finally opened a window in his head and let in some fresh air.

The weekend had been quiet. Chairman had decided that Magnus’s hair was a playground, that his plants were enemies, and that sleep was optional. Between rescuing his curtains and prying tiny claws off his wrist, Magnus hadn’t had much time to wallow.

Which, perhaps, was the point.

It was remarkable how a small, chaotic creature could make heartbreak seem almost manageable.

But now it was Monday. Which meant returning to the Jewelry offices. Which meant facing Isabelle.

Magnus sighed into his pillow. “You think she’ll forgive me?”

Chairman, curled at his side, opened one eye and sneezed.

“I’ll take that as a maybe,” Magnus muttered.

He left early, partly because he didn’t want to bump into Isabelle in the lobby, and partly because he needed a coffee strong enough to fortify his courage.

The coffee shop was exactly the same as always — warm, fragrant, the steady hum of espresso machines and soft chatter. The barista even smiled when she saw him.

“Morning, Mr. Fancy Foam,” she said.

Magnus grinned. “I’ll have you know, I am very loyal to my foam.”

“Cappuccino with cinnamon dusting?”

“You know me so well.”

She winked and started on his order.

Magnus stood by the window, watching people hurry past outside, his thoughts drifting — as they always seemed to lately — to Alec.

He hadn’t seen him since the motorcycle encounter (fine, that was Saturday but who counts). That moment replayed in his head more often than he cared to admit. The way Alec’s laugh had sounded, warm and quiet. The way sunlight had caught in his hair. The way Magnus had wanted, against all reason, to stay standing there all day just talking about nothing.

Ridiculous, really. One man, and he’d gone completely soft.

Still, he couldn’t help smiling into his cup when the coffee arrived.

By the time he reached the studio, he’d rehearsed his apology a dozen ways in his head — some dramatic, some sincere, all equally unsatisfying.

He didn’t have to wait long. Isabelle appeared in his doorway barely ten minutes after he sat down.

Her arms were crossed. Her expression was sharp.

“Magnus Bane,” she said. “Do you know how many times I called you?”

Magnus winced. “Twenty-three?”

“Twenty-eight.”

“Oh. Well. Points for persistence.”

“Magnus.”

He sighed, set down his tools, and turned to face her fully. “I owe you an apology.”

“Yeah,” she said, but her voice softened. “You kinda do.”

Magnus gestured to the chair across from him. “Sit. Please. I promise not to flee this time.”

Isabelle sat, eyebrows raised. “That would be a nice change.”

He took a breath. “I shouldn’t have lied to you.”

“No kidding.”

“I panicked,” he said. “And when I panic, I talk. And when I talk, I improvise. And somehow, that ended with me inventing a fictional boyfriend like a complete idiot.”

Isabelle studied him for a moment, then sighed. “You’re lucky you’re charming, you know that?”

“I try to be,” Magnus said with a faint smile. Then, quieter, “But I really am sorry.”

Her expression softened further. “Okay. I forgive you. But you still owe me an explanation.”

Magnus hesitated. “About Alec.”

“Yeah,” she said.

He looked down at his hands, twisting a ring around his finger. “I like him.”

“I figured,” Isabelle said gently.

“I like him,” Magnus repeated, “and that’s exactly the problem. Because I ruin things. Every time something starts to matter, I find a way to make a mess of it. And I like you, Isabelle. You’ve been the first real friend I’ve had in this city, and I don’t want to risk that because I—” He broke off, exhaling shakily. “Because I don’t trust myself not to ruin it.”

Isabelle was silent for a moment. Then she said softly, “You think if something happened between you and Alec, and it went wrong, I’d take sides?”

Magnus looked at her helplessly. “Wouldn’t you?”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “Magnus, my brother’s a grown man. He can handle himself. And so can you.”

“I don’t know about that last part,” Magnus muttered.

She smiled a little. “You’re more capable than you think. You’re just… scared.”

Magnus blinked at her. “Excuse me?”

She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “You like Alec. He likes you. But instead of seeing where that goes, you’re already writing the ending in your head. You’re protecting yourself from something that hasn’t even happened.”

Magnus stared at her, mouth half open. “You’re annoyingly perceptive, has anyone ever told you that?”

“Every day,” Isabelle said proudly.

He huffed a laugh. “You sound like my therapist.”

“Your therapist is probably less fashionable.”

“True,” Magnus admitted. Then, quieter, “I just don’t want to lose what we have. I don’t want things to get awkward between us if it all falls apart.”

Isabelle’s expression softened again. “Magnus, I get it. I really do. But you don’t have to worry about that. I like you too much to let something like that ruin our friendship.”

Magnus blinked. “You do?”

“Obviously,” she said, rolling her eyes. “You’re dramatic, glittery, and you make the best coffee runs. You’re stuck with me.”

He laughed, the tension breaking. “I suppose there are worse fates.”

“Much worse.”

A comfortable silence settled for a moment. Magnus fiddled with his mug, thinking.

“Just… promise me something,” he said finally.

“Anything.”

“Don’t meddle.”

“Me?” Isabelle said, all wide-eyed innocence.

“Yes, you,” Magnus said, pointing at her. “No matchmaking, no secret setups, no sly invitations where I turn a corner and suddenly Alec is there with a salad.”

She held up her hands in surrender. “Okay, okay. I promise. No meddling. Swear on my favorite heels.”

Magnus smiled. “Good. Because I need time. To think. To— figure out what this is, or if I’m just imagining things.”

She nodded. “Take your time. And for what it’s worth… I think Alec’s worth figuring out.”

Magnus looked away, heart giving a small, traitorous flutter. “We’ll see.”

Isabelle stood, brushing invisible dust from her jacket. “So we’re good?”

“We’re good,” Magnus said. Then, softer, “Thank you.”

She gave him one of those bright, confident smiles that could light up the entire studio. “Anytime, Magnus. Just don’t run away next time, okay?”

He laughed. “I’ll do my best.”

As she left, Magnus leaned back in his chair, exhaling deeply.

The weight on his chest had lifted — not completely, but enough to breathe again.

Outside the window, snow had started falling again, soft flakes catching in the city light. Magnus watched them for a long time, the faintest smile tugging at his lips.

He wasn’t sure where things stood with Alec, or if they ever would. But for now, he’d told the truth.

And for the first time in weeks, that felt like enough.

Chapter Text

Alec had gotten used to the idea that Magnus was seeing someone else.

At least, that’s what he kept telling himself.

It wasn’t like he and Magnus had ever really been anything. There had been no promises, no late-night confessions, no shared plans. Just a few mornings with coffee and conversation that had felt… different. Easier. A little too easy, maybe.

But those moments had lingered longer than they should have.

So when Isabelle mentioned, weeks ago, that Magnus was dating, Alec had done what he always did when something hurt — he folded it neatly, tucked it into a box somewhere deep, and moved on.

Or tried to.

He told himself it was for the best. Better to know now, before things got messy. Before he started to imagine things that weren’t there.

He poured himself into the gym instead. Into training clients, into organizing the charity event that had been his side project for months. It helped — the movement, the structure, the focus. The gym was his sanctuary. Predictable. Familiar.

There were worse ways to heal.

-

The morning was cold, sharp with end of January air, when Alec ducked into the coffee shop across from the gym. He wasn’t even much of a coffee person — never had been — but the warmth, the smell of roasted beans, and the faint buzz of morning chatter had become part of his routine.

And, if he was being honest, the place reminded him of those easy mornings that had once included Magnus.

He stepped into line, checked his phone — messages from Jace about equipment orders, one from his mother reminding him about the board meeting for the charity, another from Isabelle with about four emojis and a reminder that he “needed to relax sometimes.”

He smiled faintly. Relax. Right.

When it was his turn, he ordered his usual black coffee.

And then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw him.

Magnus.

Same dark hair, same impossible poise — like he’d stepped straight out of a magazine instead of a cold winter morning. He was standing by the counter, waiting for his drink, scarf bright against the neutral tones of the shop.

Alec felt something twist in his chest. Reflexive. Familiar.

He hadn’t seen Magnus since Saturday. Magnus and the little kitten, so soft and cute.

Now, Magnus turned slightly, and their eyes met.

It was quick — just a flicker of surprise, recognition, and something else Alec couldn’t quite name.

Magnus smiled, polite but hesitant.

“Morning,” Magnus said softly.

“Morning,” Alec replied, equally quiet.

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward, exactly. Just… cautious. Like both of them were aware of the words they weren’t saying.

“How’ve you been?” Magnus asked.

“Busy,” Alec said. “Charity event’s coming up soon.”

“That’s good.” Magnus nodded. “Keeping busy helps.”

Alec tilted his head slightly. “Yeah. It does.”

Magnus’s drink was called, and he reached for it. For a second, Alec thought he might say more — something small, casual, maybe even genuine. But instead, Magnus offered a faint smile and said, “Well. See you around.”

Alec nodded. “Yeah. See you.”

And that was it.

Magnus walked out, scarf fluttering behind him, and Alec stood there for a second too long, his coffee cooling in his hands.

He told himself it was fine. That it didn’t mean anything.

Just two people who used to talk, now making polite small talk over caffeine.

That was how it was supposed to be.

-

The gym was quiet when he arrived, early enough that only a few regulars were there. Jace was at the front desk, sprawled in a chair and scrolling through something on his phone.

“You look like someone stole your protein bar,” Jace said without looking up.

Alec snorted. “Good morning to you too.”

“Seriously, man. You okay?”

“Fine.”

Jace finally looked up, skeptical. “You only say ‘fine’ when you’re not fine.”

“I ran into Magnus,” Alec admitted, grabbing a towel and heading for the mats.

“Oh.” Jace raised his eyebrows. “That fine.”

Alec ignored him and started stretching. “It was just… weird.”

“Weird how?”

“He looked good,” Alec muttered, like that explained anything.

Jace grinned. “So, ‘weird’ means ‘you still like him.’ Got it.”

“Jace.”

“Hey, I’m just saying. If the guy’s dating someone, that sucks, but it’s not the end of the world.”

“I know,” Alec said. “That’s why I’m moving on.”

“By punching bags and running five miles every morning?”

“It’s productive.”

“It’s denial.”

Alec shot him a look, but Jace just shrugged. “Fine, fine. I’ll shut up. Just… don’t let it eat you up, man. You’re allowed to want things.”

Alec didn’t respond. He focused on his form instead — measured, precise, every motion deliberate.

Wanting things was dangerous.

Wanting someone like Magnus? That was asking for trouble.

So he threw himself into work. Into muscle and focus and the small, steady rhythm of routine.

It was better this way — to keep things simple.

To keep his world clean, controlled, unmessy.

Magnus was sunlight — bright, chaotic, unpredictable. Alec had always lived in steady tones, the quiet shadows of order and purpose.

Some things just didn’t mix.

And yet… as he finished his set and caught his breath, he realized he still couldn’t shake the image of Magnus that morning — the easy grace, the soft “morning,” the way his smile had flickered like maybe he wanted to say more.

Alec took a long sip of his water, closing his eyes for a moment.

It didn’t matter.

He’d seen Magnus. He’d been polite. He’d moved on.

That was enough.

At least, that’s what he kept telling himself.

-

Time had a strange way of moving faster when you had too much to do. Between finalizing the charity event details, scheduling training sessions, and managing the endless emails his mother sent about sponsors, Alec hadn’t noticed how quickly February had crept in.

Until now.

He stepped into the gym late one Thursday evening and stopped dead in his tracks.

Everywhere he looked — red.

Hearts on the front desk. Pink streamers hanging from the ceiling. A glittery “LOVE YOUR WORKOUT” banner stretched across the far wall.

For a moment, Alec genuinely thought he’d walked into the wrong building.

Then he heard Jace laughing.

“Oh, come on,” Alec said flatly, dropping his gym bag by the door. “Tell me this isn’t what I think it is.”

Jace popped his head up from behind the desk, holding a roll of red ribbon and a tape dispenser. “It’s festive, man! You’ve got to get into the Valentine’s Day spirit.”

“I’d rather get into a coma.”

Clary, perched on the counter with a pair of scissors, tried to hide her grin. “It’s for marketing, Alec. You know—romance month, couples training deals, cute gym selfies. It’s good PR.”

“It’s tacky.”

“It’s strategic tacky,” Jace said, stepping back to admire his handiwork. “People love this stuff.”

“People love good form and proper weights.”

“They also love glitter hearts.”

Alec stared at the paper garland strung over the treadmills. “You’re fired.”

“You can’t fire me,” Jace said cheerfully. “I own half this place.”

“Then you can fire yourself.”

Jace grinned wider. “Come on, don’t be such a grump. It’s one week of decorations.”

“Exactly,” Alec muttered. “One week too long.”

He turned toward the weights, hoping to ignore it all, but there was no escaping the assault of pink and red. Someone — probably Clary — had even placed tiny paper hearts on the mirrors, like motivational stickers.

He groaned under his breath. His gym — their gym — looked like Cupid had thrown up in it.

Jace leaned against a bench, watching him with that amused glint that always spelled trouble. “You know, man, maybe you’d like Valentine’s more if you actually celebrated it.”

“I do celebrate it.”

“By doing what? Ignoring it?”

“Exactly.”

Clary chuckled. “You could at least pretend to enjoy it. Half the clients are couples. It might be good optics if you smiled once in a while.”

“I smile.”

Jace raised an eyebrow. “Do you?”

Alec shot him a look. “I’m leaving now.”

“Workout first!” Jace called after him. “Then you can brood in peace.”

He tried to ignore the decorations. He really did. But every machine seemed cursed — red ribbons tied to dumbbells, pink mats laid out in the yoga studio, a heart-shaped bowl of protein bars on the counter.

He lasted fifteen minutes before giving up.

The door chime rang behind him, and Alec looked up automatically — habit, reflex.

And froze.

Because, of course, it had to be that kind of night.

Magnus walked in, a splash of color against the dim winter evening, scarf draped elegantly around his neck. Isabelle followed at his side, equally bright, equally smug.

Alec blinked, heart doing that annoying thing where it skipped for no logical reason. He hadn’t seen Magnus in over a week or two — not since that awkward morning in the coffee shop.

He’d told himself he was fine with it.

Apparently, his pulse disagreed.

“Hey!” Isabelle called, waving when she spotted him. “Alec! We’re here for Lydia’s class.”

Alec nodded stiffly, forcing his voice to sound normal. “Yeah. She’s in Studio B.”

“Perfect,” Isabelle said, then grinned. “Nice decorations, by the way. Didn’t know you were so into the Valentine’s thing.”

“I’m not.”

“That’s Jace’s doing,” Clary called from the counter.

“Figures,” Isabelle said. “Jace and glitter — a match made in marketing heaven.”

Magnus’s eyes swept the room, amusement flickering across his features. “Well, I have to admit, it’s… festive.”

“Don’t encourage them,” Alec muttered.

Magnus smiled, and Alec felt that stupid twist in his chest again. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

He really should have walked away then — gone back to his weights, his routine, anything. But Isabelle was still talking, and Magnus was standing there, and suddenly the gym felt smaller than it ever had before.

“So,” Isabelle said, turning mischievous, “Valentine’s Day is coming up. Got any plans, big brother?”

“No.”

She rolled her eyes. “You can’t keep spending every Valentine’s alone.”

“I’m fine.”

“You should give someone flowers or chocolates or, I don’t know, your heart?”

Alec groaned. “Izzy.”

“What?” she said, all innocence. “It’s romantic!”

“Romantic is exhausting.”

Magnus chuckled quietly beside her. “You meddling again?”

“Always,” Isabelle said proudly.

Alec glanced between them, confused but also — if he was honest — a little caught off guard by Magnus’s tone. Playful. Familiar.

When Magnus looked at him next, there was a hint of warmth in his gaze — and something else Alec couldn’t quite name.

“Don’t worry,” Magnus said lightly. “I think your gym’s safe from Isabelle’s matchmaking attempts. For now.”

“Thanks,” Alec said, though his voice came out rougher than intended.

They stood there a beat longer, the air awkwardly comfortable — or comfortably awkward, Alec couldn’t tell which. Then Isabelle tugged on Magnus’s sleeve. “Come on, yoga class starts in five.”

Magnus inclined his head, that smooth, effortless grace back in place. “See you around, Alexander.”

Alec blinked. He hadn’t realized Magnus even remembered his full name.

He nodded. “Yeah. See you.”

When they disappeared down the hallway toward the studio, Jace’s voice came from behind him.

“Man,” Jace said, smirking, “you’ve got it bad.”

Alec turned. “Don’t start.”

“I’m just saying — every time he walks in here, you look like someone hit pause on your brain.”

“Jace.”

“Fine, fine,” Jace said, hands raised. “But I’m right.”

Alec grabbed his water bottle and muttered, “You’re insufferable.”

“You love me,” Jace called after him.

“Unfortunately.”

He spent the next hour pretending to focus on paperwork — training schedules, supply orders, new membership signups — but every so often, his eyes flicked toward the studio door.

He could hear faint music through the glass wall, soft and rhythmic. The kind used for yoga sessions. And over it, Lydia’s calm voice leading the group.

Alec tried not to think about Magnus inside there, barefoot, stretching with quiet precision, that slight concentration wrinkle between his brows.

He failed.

When the class ended, Alec busied himself behind the front desk, reorganizing paperwork that didn’t need reorganizing. Isabelle emerged first, radiant as always.

“That was great!” she said, tossing her ponytail over her shoulder. “You should join next time.”

“I’ll pass.”

“Why? Afraid of a little flexibility?”

“Afraid of glitter hearts and matchmaking,” he said dryly.

Isabelle smirked. “You’re no fun.”

Then Magnus appeared, looking composed, though there was a faint flush to his cheeks from the workout.

If Alec were the kind of person who noticed things like that, he might’ve thought Magnus looked annoyingly good when slightly out of breath.

He wasn’t that kind of person, of course.

“Nice class?” Alec asked, too casually.

Magnus smiled faintly. “Better than expected. Lydia’s quite good.”

“She is,” Alec said, and then, because standing there doing nothing felt ridiculous, he added, “Hope the decorations didn’t scare you off.”

“They’re charming,” Magnus said with a hint of amusement. “In a Jace way.”

Alec snorted. “That’s one way to describe it.”

Their eyes met again — that quiet, unspoken moment suspended between them, heavy with things neither of them would ever say out loud.

And then Isabelle called Magnus over to grab her water bottle, breaking the spell.

Magnus offered Alec a small nod before turning away, scarf once again perfectly in place.

Alec watched him go, pretending not to.

By the time they left, the gym was quieter. Jace and Clary were at the counter again, adding yet another heart garland to the wall.

Alec leaned against the doorway, crossing his arms. “You know, you two might’ve actually succeeded. The place doesn’t even look like a gym anymore.”

“Thank you,” Jace said brightly.

“That wasn’t a compliment.”

Clary smiled. “It’s cute. Admit it.”

Alec sighed. “It’s something.”

Jace grinned. “See? You’re getting into the spirit.”

“I’m getting a headache.”

But as Alec turned off the lights that night, the faint shimmer of red and pink caught the glow of the exit signs. And despite himself — despite his protests and sarcasm — he couldn’t help thinking that maybe, just maybe, there were worse things than a little color.

Even if it reminded him of someone he couldn’t stop thinking about.

-

The morning after Valentine’s Day was quiet in a way that Alec liked. The city still wore the remnants of the holiday — stray heart-shaped balloons tangled in streetlights, wilted roses in trash bins, and the faint smell of cinnamon and sugar that seemed to linger in the air — but the rush was gone.

Alec didn’t usually mind holidays. He just didn’t celebrate them. They had never been his thing — too many expectations, too much color, too much noise. He preferred routine. Stability. The quiet hum of normal mornings, where he could get his coffee, head to the gym, and focus on things that made sense.

This morning was supposed to be one of those.

He walked into the coffee shop, the bell over the door chiming softly. The air was warm, filled with the smell of espresso and baked bread. There was a small line, and Alec fell into it, scrolling half-mindedly through emails on his phone, waiting for his turn.

Then he looked up.

And there, sitting at the counter, was Magnus Bane.

He wasn’t hard to spot — Alec could have picked him out of a crowd twice this size. Magnus was draped in a deep emerald coat, a silk scarf wound around his neck, his fingers adorned with glinting rings that caught the light every time he moved. In front of him sat a drink so aggressively pink that it looked like it had been designed for a romantic comedy. And next to it — two perfectly iced, heart-shaped cookies on a napkin.

Alec blinked once. Then again.

Of course.

He told himself to look away. He told himself to order his coffee, leave, and not get caught up in whatever this was. But Magnus looked up just then, his golden-brown eyes lighting up as their gazes met, and all of Alec’s logic dissolved.

“Morning,” Magnus greeted, his voice smooth and familiar, carrying that hint of playfulness that always made Alec’s pulse skip a little.

Alec nodded. “Morning.”

Magnus smiled — the kind of smile that seemed to know it could get away with anything — and gestured to the empty stool beside him. “Join me?”

“I’m just grabbing my coffee,” Alec said automatically, but even as he spoke, he found himself sitting down.

Magnus leaned forward slightly, elbows on the counter, studying him like he was trying to decide what kind of day Alec was having. “You’re predictable,” he said.

Alec frowned. “What?”

“Black coffee, no sugar, no milk, no joy,” Magnus said, mock-serious. “You’re a walking espresso shot. Efficient but tragically unadventurous.”

Alec huffed. “I like what I like.”

“And yet,” Magnus said, tilting his head, “you still end up in places full of color and chaos. Coincidence?”

“Probably.”

“Hmm.” Magnus didn’t sound convinced.

The barista set down Alec’s drink, and he reached for it — grateful for something to do with his hands. His fingers brushed the warm cardboard, grounding him a little.

Magnus, meanwhile, took a delicate sip of his pink latte, leaving the faintest mark of lipstick on the rim. “You should try this,” he said. “It’s raspberry white chocolate. It’s divine.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

“You won’t even taste it?” Magnus asked, feigning scandal.

“No.”

“You’re impossible.”

“I get that a lot,” Alec muttered.

Magnus laughed, soft and warm. “At least you’re consistent.”

For a while, they sat in companionable silence. Magnus tapped at his phone. Alec sipped his coffee. The noise of the café filled the space between them — chatter, clinking cups, the low whirr of the espresso machine.

Then Magnus reached out and, without a word, slid one of the heart-shaped cookies across the counter toward Alec.

Alec blinked down at it. “What’s this?”

“A peace offering,” Magnus said.

“For what?”

“For you being so serious all the time. I’m trying to restore balance to the universe.”

Alec raised an eyebrow. “By giving me a cookie?”

“It’s a very good cookie.”

“I don’t eat hearts.”

Magnus smiled, a tiny, knowing curl of his lips. “Not even metaphorical ones?”

Alec stared at him, and for a split second, everything in the café — the noise, the movement, the background chatter — faded into a blur. It was just Magnus, leaning slightly toward him, eyes glinting with amusement and something else Alec didn’t quite dare name.

He swallowed, his voice lower than before. “I don’t think hearts are good for me.”

Magnus tilted his head, expression unreadable. “Maybe you’ve been trying the wrong kind.”

Before Alec could come up with a response, Magnus was standing, slipping his gloves on, his movements precise and elegant. “Well,” he said lightly, “I should go before you accuse me of corrupting your morning routine.”

Alec frowned. “You’re leaving already?”

“I have a busy schedule,” Magnus said with a dramatic sigh. “World to dazzle, people to enchant. You know how it is.”

“Right.”

Magnus smiled again — softer this time, less showy, more real. “Enjoy the cookie, Alexander.”

And with that, he was gone.

Alec watched him leave, the doorbell chiming in his wake, and the café suddenly felt too quiet.

He looked down at the counter.

The cookie sat there — perfectly shaped, lightly dusted with sugar, absurdly pink. It was ridiculous. Completely, utterly ridiculous.

He didn’t touch it. Not right away.

Instead, he pulled out his phone, mostly to distract himself, and opened a message thread he really shouldn’t have.

Alec: hey. how’s magnus?

It took Isabelle less than a minute to respond.

Izzy: …fine? why?

Alec: just curious. is he still seeing that guy?

There was a pause. Then:

Izzy: what guy??

Alec: you said he was dating someone.

Izzy: ohhh. no, that ended like weeks ago. magnus is single. why, you interested? 👀

Alec rolled his eyes even though no one could see him.

Alec: you’re impossible.

Izzy: you’re deflecting.

He put the phone down before she could send more teasing emojis. But his heartbeat was doing something strange — steady but faster than it should have been.

Magnus was single.

That shouldn’t matter. It didn’t matter.

Except maybe it did.

He looked at the cookie again. Its surface caught the light, sugar crystals glinting faintly. Without really thinking, he picked it up.

It was softer than he expected.

He didn’t eat it. He just stared at it for a long moment before slipping it into the side pocket of his jacket.

For later, he told himself. Whatever later meant.

-

Later that day, Jace caught him pacing in front of the treadmills, his brow furrowed and his posture tense.

“You’re doing that thing again,” Jace said.

“What thing?” Alec asked.

“The brooding statue thing,” Jace said, gesturing at him. “You’ve been walking in circles for ten minutes. Either you’re about to fire someone or you’re overthinking something stupid.”

Alec ignored him.

Jace leaned against the counter. “Is this about Magnus?”

Alec’s jaw tightened. “Why would you say that?”

“Because you get that look whenever his name comes up. Kind of like someone told you Christmas was canceled.”

Alec sighed. “You’re insufferable.”

“And you’re transparent,” Jace said cheerfully. “So? What happened?”

“Nothing happened.”

Jace smirked. “Right. Nothing. Which explains why you’re standing here like you lost a fight with your own thoughts.”

Alec gave him a long, flat look, but Jace didn’t back down. He never did.

“It’s not a big deal,” Alec said finally. “We just… ran into each other this morning.”

“At the coffee shop again?”

“Yes.”

“Did he give you a cookie?”

Alec blinked. “How do you—”

“Izzy posted a picture of him there,” Jace said. “Two cookies, one pink latte. You’re not as mysterious as you think.”

Alec muttered something under his breath and turned toward the punching bag, throwing a measured punch that echoed through the gym.

Jace watched, arms crossed. “You like him.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

Alec exhaled through his nose, landing another punch. “He’s… complicated.”

“Everyone worth liking is complicated,” Jace said simply. “You’re just terrified because he’s not predictable.”

“That’s not—”

“It is,” Jace interrupted. “And for the record, I think you should eat the damn cookie.”

Alec froze mid-punch. “What?”

“Metaphorically or literally. Doesn’t matter.” Jace grinned. “Either way, it’ll do you some good.”

Alec groaned. “You’ve been talking to Clary again.”

“Maybe.”

Alec turned back to the bag, hitting it harder this time. The rhythm steadied him. But later, when the gym emptied out and the lights dimmed for closing, he found himself reaching into his jacket pocket.

The cookie was still there.

He set it on his kitchen counter that night, still wrapped in its napkin. He told himself it was just a cookie — a harmless gesture. Nothing more.

But as he turned off the lights and caught the faint pink shimmer in the dark, he realized he was smiling.

Just a little.

Chapter Text

Magnus Bane was not the kind of man who got flustered easily. He’d built a reputation — a carefully curated one — on confidence, flair, and perfectly tailored composure. He liked to think he could glide through life’s little awkward moments with a flick of eyeliner and a well-placed quip.

But that morning in the coffee shop? That cookie? That pink latte? Oh, he had outdone himself in the realm of chaos.

Now, twenty-some hours later, Magnus sat cross-legged on his living room floor, still thinking about it.

The small apartment was warm, filled with the faint smell of cinnamon and the purring of Chairman Meow — the kitten he’d impulsively adopted the week before. The little furball had made herself comfortable on Magnus’s lap, batting lazily at one of the charms on his bracelet.

Magnus absently scratched behind the kitten’s ears, staring into space. He should have been working — there were design drafts to finalize for the Lightwood Jewelry Spring showcase — but instead, his mind was stuck on one infuriatingly calm, hazel-eyed man and a cookie that might as well have been a declaration of war on his peace of mind.

He’d given Alec Lightwood a heart. Literally.

“Brilliant, Magnus,” he muttered under his breath. “Utterly inspired. Next time, why not propose marriage while you’re at it?”

The kitten meowed in response, as if agreeing.

Magnus sighed, flopping backward onto the rug. “It’s not my fault,” he told the ceiling. “He looked so serious. Like the concept of joy offended him personally. Someone had to intervene.”

But even as he said it, he knew that wasn’t the real reason.

It wasn’t about making Alec smile — though, truthfully, Magnus would have paid good money to see that. It was about the way Alec made him feel.

It was ridiculous, really. They barely knew each other. A handful of coffee shop encounters, a few accidental run-ins, some conversations that lingered longer than they should have. And yet Magnus couldn’t stop replaying them — Alec’s dry humor, the quiet steadiness in his voice, the faint smirk that appeared when he was secretly amused.

There was something grounding about him. Something honest. Something that drew Magnus in without fanfare or effort.

And maybe that was the problem.

Magnus Bane liked control. He liked knowing where he stood, what game he was playing, and how to win it. But around Alec, he never knew the rules — and worse, he didn’t even want to play by them.

He just wanted to… be near him.

The thought made Magnus groan and throw an arm over his face. “Oh, this is pathetic.”

As if on cue, his phone buzzed. The name on the screen made him groan again — Catarina Loss.

He debated ignoring it. But if he didn’t answer, she’d just call again, and Magnus didn’t have the strength for a lecture. He swiped the screen.

“Darling Catarina,” he greeted, trying for his usual dramatics. “How are you this fine morning?”

“Judging by that tone,” Catarina said dryly, “you’ve done something stupid again.”

Magnus gasped in mock offense. “How dare you assume—”

“Spit it out.”

He sighed, defeated. “Fine. I might have… done something slightly ridiculous.”

“Slightly ridiculous,” she repeated. “That could mean anything from buying a three-hundred-dollar scarf to adopting a tiger. Scale it for me.”

“Somewhere in the middle,” Magnus said. “There was a man involved.”

“Of course there was,” Catarina said. “Start from the beginning.”

Magnus rolled onto his side, facing the kitten. “Do you remember that guy I told you about? Mr. Black Coffee? Quiet, devastatingly handsome, perpetually brooding?”

“The one you ran away from like a teenager?”

“Yes, that one,” Magnus muttered.

Catarina made a noise halfway between a laugh and a sigh. “What about him?”

“I… might have given him a cookie shaped like a heart.”

Silence. Then: “That’s it?”

Magnus frowned. “You’re supposed to gasp or something.”

“Oh, believe me, I’m gasping internally,” Catarina said. “But let me get this straight. You gave the guy a cookie, and now you’re spiraling?”

“It’s not just a cookie,” Magnus said. “It’s symbolic.”

“Of what? Your inability to communicate like a normal person?”

Magnus scowled at his phone. “You’re cruel to me.”

“I’m realistic,” Catarina said. “Magnus, it’s a cookie, not a confession of love. If he likes you, he’ll get the message. If he doesn’t—”

“That’s just it,” Magnus interrupted, sitting up. “I don’t know if he likes me.”

Catarina was quiet for a beat. “Did he give you any reason to think he doesn’t?”

Magnus hesitated. “No. But he hasn’t exactly said anything that makes me think he does, either.”

“Not everyone flirts like you do, Magnus.”

“I know that,” Magnus said softly. “But when we talk, there’s something there. Or at least I thought there was. Maybe it’s just in my head. Maybe he’s just being… polite.”

Catarina’s voice softened. “You like him.”

Magnus let out a humorless laugh. “Unfortunately, yes. Against all reason and better judgment.”

“Well,” she said, “it’s not a crime.”

“It feels like one,” Magnus muttered.

The kitten climbed onto his shoulder, purring, and Magnus absently stroked its back, grounding himself.

“I think what’s bothering me,” he admitted after a long pause, “is that he never said anything. Not even a hint. I keep replaying every conversation — every look, every word — and wondering if I made it all up.”

“Maybe you’re overthinking,” Catarina said. “Maybe he’s just shy. Or slow to show his cards.”

“Or maybe,” Magnus said quietly, “he’s just not interested.”

That thought stung more than he wanted to admit.

He’d had crushes before — plenty of them. He’d been in relationships that burned bright and ended loudly. But this was different. There was something quieter about his feelings for Alec, something that had crept up on him without permission. It wasn’t about grand gestures or declarations. It was about wanting to sit next to him in silence and feel understood.

And if Alec didn’t feel the same… well, Magnus wasn’t sure what to do with that.

“Do you want my advice?” Catarina asked finally.

Magnus sighed. “Do I have a choice?”

“Stop trying to read his mind,” she said. “You’ll only make yourself miserable. If you really want to know how he feels, you’ll have to talk to him.”

Magnus winced. “You say that like it’s easy.”

“It’s not. But it’s honest.”

He stayed quiet, fingers tracing absent circles on the kitten’s fur. “And if it turns out he doesn’t like me?”

“Then you move on,” Catarina said simply. “You’ve done it before.”

Magnus smiled faintly. “You make it sound so simple.”

“It never is,” she said gently. “But it’s better than torturing yourself with what-ifs.”

Magnus exhaled slowly. “You’re right. As usual.”

“I always am.”

They said their goodbyes, and Magnus ended the call, letting the quiet settle around him again.

Chairman Meow had fallen asleep against his chest, her tiny paws curled in contentment. Magnus smiled faintly, brushing a finger along the kitten’s fur.

He knew Catarina was right. He knew that the only way to stop spinning in circles was to face the thing he was avoiding. But the idea of walking up to Alec — of looking into those clear hazel eyes and risking rejection — made something in his chest tighten painfully.

What if the connection he felt wasn’t real? What if all those glances and half-smiles had meant nothing?

Magnus didn’t fall easily, but when he did, he fell hard. And if he’d misread Alec… well, he wasn’t sure his ego could survive the crash.

-

Magnus Bane was not, by nature, a coward.

He had moved across the country on a whim, started a new job in a new city, built a life from the ground up — all without flinching. But somehow, none of that compared to the quiet terror of what he was about to do.

He was going to ask Isabelle Lightwood how to win over her brother.

The thought alone made him want to melt into the floor.

But he had made a decision — and Magnus Bane, once decided, rarely backed down.

He had spent the entire night turning it over in his mind. Catarina’s words had echoed in his head: Stop trying to read his mind. Talk to him. And, infuriatingly, she was right. He could sit around dissecting every look and line of conversation with Alec forever, or he could take a step forward and risk his pride.

And really, what was life without a little risk?

Still, as Magnus stood outside the Lightwood and Co. offices the next morning, his courage began to falter. The glass doors gleamed, the gold lettering on the sign catching the weak winter light. He looked down at himself — gold-threaded blazer, artfully tousled hair, a scarf that probably screamed trying too hard — and considered turning around.

But no. He was Magnus Bane. He had faced worse than this.

“Okay,” he muttered to himself, straightening his posture. “You’re not here to confess your undying love. You’re here for… professional gossip. Casual curiosity. Maybe mild emotional disaster.”

He pushed through the doors before he could change his mind.

The front office smelled faintly of vanilla and metal polish. Isabelle sat at her desk, tapping away on her phone, a half-eaten croissant balanced precariously beside her coffee. She looked up as soon as Magnus entered, her eyes lighting up.

“Magnus! You’re early today.”

He smiled, sweeping dramatically into the room. “Darling Isabelle, you look radiant as ever. Have you done something new with your hair?”

Isabelle arched a brow. “Don’t try to butter me up. What do you want?”

Magnus laughed, caught. “You wound me.”

“Magnus,” she said dryly. “Last time you used that tone, you convinced me to cover for you so you could sneak into the workshop after hours.”

“That was a matter of artistic necessity,” Magnus protested. “And this—” he gestured vaguely at the air “—is a matter of the heart.”

Isabelle blinked. Then her lips parted in a knowing grin. “Oh. Oh.”

Magnus sighed. “You’re insufferably perceptive.”

“I knew it!” Isabelle leaned forward, eyes glinting with delight. “You want to talk about Alec.”

Magnus tried for nonchalance. “Perhaps.”

“Oh, this is fantastic,” she said, practically bouncing in her seat. “I’ve been waiting for this day.”

Magnus narrowed his eyes. “You’ve been waiting for it?”

“I told you he liked you!” she said, pointing at him triumphantly. “Didn’t I say it? I said it weeks ago, Magnus. You didn’t believe me.”

Magnus raised a hand. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. I’m merely considering the possibility of exploring a… potential interest.”

Isabelle snorted. “That’s the most complicated way of saying you have a crush.”

Magnus put a hand dramatically to his chest. “I do not crush. I am not fifteen.”

“You’re crushing,” Isabelle teased mercilessly. “Look at you. You’ve got that nervous energy, the faintly disheveled look, the over-accessorizing—”

“This is intentional style chaos,” Magnus interrupted.

“Sure it is,” she said, grinning.

Magnus sighed, defeated. “Fine. Perhaps I’m mildly fond of your brother.”

“Mildly fond,” Isabelle repeated, leaning back with a smirk. “Right. And I mildly enjoy breathing.”

Magnus couldn’t help laughing. Isabelle had that effect — she could disarm him even in moments of utter panic.

After a moment, though, his smile faded slightly. “I don’t know if he feels the same,” he admitted. “He’s… hard to read.”

Isabelle tilted her head. “Alec’s always been that way. He doesn’t say much, but it doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel things deeply.”

Magnus hesitated. “He never said anything that would suggest… interest.”

“Of course not,” Isabelle said. “He’d rather die than flirt directly. That’s not how he works.”

“Then how does he work?” Magnus asked, genuinely curious.

Isabelle leaned forward, elbows on her desk, her expression suddenly serious. “Alec’s quiet, but when he cares, it’s obvious — if you know what to look for. He’ll do small things. Remember what you like. Ask about your day. Make time for you, even when he doesn’t have it. He’s not the grand gesture type — he’s the steady, show-up-every-day type.”

Magnus absorbed that silently. It made sense — it sounded like Alec. But it also made his stomach twist. Because he wasn’t sure if Alec had shown up for him at all.

“Maybe I imagined it,” Magnus murmured. “Maybe I mistook kindness for something else.”

Isabelle frowned. “You didn’t imagine it.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because I know my brother,” she said firmly. “He doesn’t look at people the way he looks at you.”

Magnus blinked. “He looks at me?”

“Magnus,” Isabelle said, exasperated, “you could set yourself on fire and Alec would be the only one pretending not to notice while secretly panicking about how to save you without making it obvious.”

Magnus laughed — loud and genuine. “That’s oddly specific.”

“It’s experience,” Isabelle said proudly. “I’ve been watching him since birth.”

Magnus smiled, but it faded quickly into something softer. “Do you really think I have a chance?”

Isabelle’s gaze gentled. “I think Alec needs someone who challenges him a little. Someone who makes him laugh, reminds him that life isn’t all work and rules.” She smiled. “And you, Magnus, are basically the human embodiment of chaos. You’re perfect for him.”

Magnus was quiet for a moment, touched. Then he shook his head with a faint, nervous laugh. “You make it sound so simple.”

“It’s not,” Isabelle said honestly. “Alec doesn’t trust easily, and he’s been burned before. But if you’re patient, if you show him you mean it… he’ll come around.”

Magnus nodded slowly. “Patience I can manage. I’ve survived New York winters; surely I can survive Alexander Lightwood.”

“That’s the spirit,” Isabelle said, grinning. “Now, do you want my tips or not?”

Magnus straightened. “By all means, enlighten me.”

“Okay,” Isabelle said, counting off on her fingers. “First: subtle, not overwhelming. Compliments work, but don’t overdo it — he’ll think you’re mocking him. Second: find excuses to talk to him about things he cares about — the gym, the charity event, his team. He loves when people take an interest, even if he pretends not to. Third: no pressure. He needs to feel safe.”

Magnus listened intently, storing each word like gospel. “Subtle, genuine, patient. Understood.”

“And fourth,” Isabelle added with a mischievous grin, “you should definitely show up at his gym more often. Preferably in tight yoga pants.”

Magnus choked on air. “Isabelle!”

“What? It works. Trust me.”

Magnus was laughing now, shaking his head. “You’re incorrigible.”

“And you’re welcome,” she said sweetly.

He leaned back, smiling despite himself. “You really want this to happen, don’t you?”

Isabelle shrugged, but her eyes softened. “You make him smile, Magnus. He doesn’t do that a lot.”

Magnus felt something in his chest loosen — a tiny flicker of warmth, cautious but undeniable. Maybe Isabelle was right. Maybe Alec did feel something. Maybe the connection wasn’t all in his head after all.

He stood, smoothing the lapels of his blazer. “Well, my dear Isabelle, thank you for your invaluable counsel. You’ve armed me with hope and questionable advice — a dangerous combination.”

Isabelle grinned. “Go get him, Magnus.”

Magnus turned toward the door, his pulse steady but his mind racing. This was madness — pure, unfiltered madness. But for the first time in weeks, it didn’t feel hopeless.

Maybe he would stop by the gym again. Maybe he’d ask Alec about the charity event or offer to help. Maybe he’d let his guard down — just a little.

He felt like a man about to do something brave.

And if he fell — well, at least this time, it would be worth the fall.

-

Magnus Bane prided himself on being many things — stylish, confident, delightfully unpredictable — but subtle was not one of them.

He’d spent the last two days pretending not to think about Alec Lightwood, which, of course, meant he was thinking about Alec Lightwood constantly. Isabelle’s advice replayed in his head like a catchy tune — be patient, be genuine, be subtle.

And Magnus had tried. Really, he had. But subtlety was a delicate art that he simply wasn’t built for.

So instead, he bought a present.

It wasn’t extravagant — not really. Just a small, carefully wrapped box tied with a deep green ribbon that remembered him about Alec’s eyes. Inside was a sleek leather wristband, understated but elegant, engraved with a faint constellation pattern. It was simple, meaningful, and completely reasonable for a “friend” to give another “friend.”

At least, that’s what Magnus told himself.

He spent a full ten minutes staring at the gift on his kitchen counter that morning, debating whether this was madness. Maybe Alec would think it was too much. Maybe it would make things awkward.

Or maybe — just maybe — it would make Alec smile.

And Magnus lived for a good smile. Especially Alec’s.

So he grabbed the box, tossed it into his bag, and decided that today’s yoga class was as good an excuse as any to see him. He was, after all, a man with purpose. A yoga enthusiast. A bringer of peace, balance, and, apparently, heart-throbbing chaos.

When he walked into the gym, the front desk area was quiet. Alec stood behind the counter, clipboard in hand, head bent slightly as he scribbled something down. His dark hair caught the overhead light, and Magnus’s brain short-circuited for a solid three seconds.

He looked unfairly good in black — the kind of good that made Magnus’s lungs forget their basic function.

Okay, deep breath, he told himself. You’re fine. Totally fine. You’re not a teenager with a crush; you’re a man with refined taste and impeccable timing.

He approached casually — or what he hoped looked casual — and Alec looked up. That small, polite smile appeared, the one that always seemed to melt Magnus’s insides.

“Magnus,” Alec said, and Magnus decided that his name had never sounded so good.

“Alexander,” Magnus greeted, voice smooth but a touch too bright. “You’re looking particularly sharp today. New shirt?”

Alec blinked, glanced down at his plain black T-shirt, then back up with a faintly amused expression. “Uh… no. Same as usual.”

“Ah, well. It’s working for you,” Magnus said, ignoring the small voice in his head screaming too much, too much.

Alec huffed a small laugh, shaking his head. “You’re here for yoga again?”

“Yes, indeed,” Magnus said breezily. “Lydia’s class is a delight. My chakras are practically begging for realignment.”

Alec’s lips twitched. “Good to know.”

And that was it. That was his chance.

Magnus’s heart thudded as he slipped a hand into his bag, fingers brushing against the small box. He could feel his pulse in his fingertips. This was ridiculous. He’d charmed celebrities and business tycoons before, but one quietly intense gym owner made him forget how human interaction worked.

He pulled the box out and set it on the counter, careful but deliberate.

“I, um—” Magnus cleared his throat. “I got you something.”

Alec froze. His eyes flicked from the box to Magnus, confused. “What?”

Magnus immediately regretted everything.

“It’s nothing,” he said quickly, already backpedaling. “Just a little… trinket. A token of appreciation for your hospitality, perhaps.”

Alec’s brows furrowed slightly. “You didn’t have to get me anything.”

“Of course I didn’t,” Magnus said, forcing a grin. “But I wanted to. Think of it as… a thank-you for letting me invade your gym with my questionable yoga poses.”

Alec looked at him for a moment — that steady, unreadable gaze that made Magnus’s confidence waver. Then, slowly, Alec reached out and took the box. His fingers brushed Magnus’s — warm, calloused, brief.

Magnus’s pulse went haywire.

“Thanks,” Alec said, quiet but sincere.

Magnus smiled, suddenly desperate to escape before he did something mortifying, like faint. “You’re welcome. Well! Time for my class. Mustn’t keep Lydia waiting, you know how instructors get about punctuality!”

And before Alec could say another word, Magnus turned and practically bolted toward the yoga studio.

So smooth. So dignified. So completely not obvious at all.

Inside the studio, Magnus tried to breathe. Tried being the operative word. He unrolled his mat, joined the group, and forced his brain to focus on something — anything — other than the fact that he had just gifted a man jewelry and fled.

Lydia’s calm voice echoed through the room, instructing them to inhale, exhale, release tension. Magnus tried. He truly did. But all he could picture was Alec at the front desk, opening the box, seeing what was inside.

Would he think it was too personal? Too much? Too Magnus?

Halfway through downward dog, Magnus realized he hadn’t heard a word Lydia said for the last ten minutes. His mind was a riot of thoughts: He’s probably confused. Maybe amused. Maybe horrified. Oh, God, what if he thinks I’m flirting?

…Which, of course, he was.

By the end of class, Magnus had sweated out roughly half his dignity.

As he rolled up his mat, he told himself he’d just walk out, wave politely, and pretend nothing happened. Simple. Elegant. Nonchalant.

Except Alec was waiting outside the studio door.

Magnus froze mid-step, heart leaping into his throat. Alec stood there, leaning casually against the wall, the little gift box — now open — in his hand. His expression was unreadable, but there was a faint curve to his lips that made Magnus’s stomach somersault.

“Oh,” Magnus said eloquently. “Hello again.”

“Hey,” Alec said. His tone was calm, but his eyes were soft. “You didn’t have to run earlier.”

“I didn’t run,” Magnus said automatically, clutching his yoga mat like a shield.

Alec tilted his head. “You definitely ran.”

Magnus’s mouth twitched. “It was a brisk exit.”

“Uh-huh.” Alec’s lips twitched, the hint of a smile playing there. He lifted the wristband slightly. “This is… really nice.”

Magnus felt heat creep up his neck. “Well, I do have impeccable taste.”

“I can see that.” Alec turned the band in his fingers, thumb tracing the constellation pattern. “It’s thoughtful.”

“Is it?” Magnus asked, trying to sound casual and failing spectacularly.

“Yeah.” Alec looked up, meeting his gaze. “I like it.”

Magnus’s heart tripped over itself. He swallowed. “I’m glad. It suits you.”

Something about the way Alec smiled then — small, almost shy — made Magnus’s chest ache. For a moment, neither of them said anything. The sounds of the gym faded — the hum of treadmills, the faint clang of weights — until all Magnus could hear was the rush of his own heartbeat.

Alec cleared his throat. “You didn’t have to get me anything, Magnus. Really.”

“I know,” Magnus said softly. “But I wanted to.”

Their eyes met again, and for one dizzying heartbeat, Magnus could’ve sworn something flickered there — something real, something dangerous.

Then Alec looked away, slipping the band onto his wrist. “Thank you.”

Magnus smiled faintly. “You’re welcome, Alexander.”

Alec’s lips curved just slightly. “See you around, Magnus.”

And with that, he turned toward the front desk, leaving Magnus standing there, trying to remember how to breathe.

When he finally stumbled out into the cold afternoon air, Magnus let out a long breath and groaned. “Cool, Magnus,” he muttered. “You’re so cool. Really nailed the mysterious-yet-suave approach.”

Still, he couldn’t stop the smile creeping across his face.

Because Alec had liked the gift.

And for the first time, Magnus thought maybe — just maybe — Isabelle was right.

Maybe this wasn’t one-sided after all.

Chapter Text

Alec wasn’t sure what exactly had gotten into him.

Maybe it was the wristband — the one still sitting comfortably around his wrist, the constellation design catching the light every time he moved his hand. Maybe it was Magnus’s face when he’d bolted to yoga class, like a man fleeing the scene of his own emotions. Or maybe it was that Alec had finally given up pretending he didn’t want to see him again.

Whatever the reason, by Friday evening Alec Lightwood was standing in front of Lightwood & Co., his motorcycle parked neatly by the curb, pretending he wasn’t freezing while waiting for Magnus Bane to finish work.

He’d texted Isabelle earlier, which was a mistake he was probably going to regret for the rest of his life.

Alec: Don’t make a big deal out of this, but what time does Magnus usually get off work?
Izzy: Ooooh. WHY? 👀
Alec: Izzy.
Izzy: 4:30. Why?
Alec: No reason.
Izzy: You’re waiting for him, aren’t you?!
Alec: Goodbye, Isabelle.

He sighed, tugging his scarf tighter around his neck. The end of February air bit through his coat, sharp and damp. New York winters weren’t kind, but for once, he didn’t mind the cold.

When Magnus finally appeared at the door, the world seemed to tilt just slightly. His long coat was buttoned up against the chill, a flash of red scarf at his neck, hair perfectly styled despite the wind. Magnus Bane was impossible to miss — the kind of person the world noticed, even when he wasn’t trying.

He stopped dead when he spotted Alec standing by his bike.

“Oh,” Magnus said, eyes wide. “Mr. Black Coffee himself. What a surprise.”

Alec grinned faintly. “You have a knack for giving people nicknames, don’t you?”

“It’s part of my charm,” Magnus said smoothly, recovering almost instantly. “What brings you to this side of the city? A sudden craving for overpriced jewelry?”

“Actually,” Alec said, shifting slightly, “I came to see you.”

Magnus blinked, just once, but Alec caught the flicker of surprise behind his carefully composed face. “Me?”

“You.” Alec nodded toward his bike. “Thought I could take you somewhere.”

Magnus raised an eyebrow. “Somewhere? You’re aware it’s about ten degrees out, right?”

“I noticed,” Alec said dryly. “That’s why I brought an extra helmet.”

Magnus crossed his arms, the faintest smile tugging at his lips. “You’re seriously suggesting I get on that death trap in this weather?”

“It’s not a death trap,” Alec said, deadpan. “It’s transportation.”

Magnus looked unconvinced — though there was a spark of amusement in his eyes that Alec found disarmingly warm.

“I’ll even buy you a coffee after,” Alec offered.

“Bribery?” Magnus gasped. “Alexander, I’m scandalized.”

Alec smiled — a real, unguarded smile. “Is it working?”

Magnus paused, tapping a finger against his lips as if giving the idea deep consideration. “It might be,” he said finally. “But if I freeze to death, I’m haunting you.”

“Deal,” Alec said, already handing him the spare helmet.

Magnus looked at it like it was a live grenade. “Do I at least look good in this?”

“You look good in everything,” Alec said before he could stop himself.

Magnus’s eyes widened slightly, a flicker of color touching his cheeks. For a heartbeat, neither of them moved — the air suddenly feeling warmer despite the chill.

Then Magnus coughed lightly, slipping on the helmet with exaggerated flair. “Flattery will get you everywhere, darling. Let’s go before I change my mind.”

Alec started the bike, the low rumble breaking the stillness. Magnus climbed on behind him, hesitating just a moment before wrapping his arms around Alec’s waist. The contact was brief, tentative — and then steady.

Alec could feel the warmth of him through the layers of fabric, the weight of Magnus’s head leaning just slightly as they pulled into traffic.

The city blurred past them — lights, wind, the faint smell of exhaust and cold metal. Alec didn’t go far; just a few blocks away to the park.

He parked near the entrance, cutting the engine. Magnus climbed off, pulling the helmet free and shaking out his hair. Alec didn’t think it was possible, but somehow he looked even better windswept.

“So,” Magnus said, arching an eyebrow. “This is your big adventure? A walk in the park?”

“It’s better than freezing on a bike,” Alec said, unbothered. “Come on. I know a spot.”

They started down one of the quieter paths, boots crunching against the thin layer of snow. The trees were bare, their branches etched dark against the pale sky. The air was cold enough that Magnus’s breath came in faint clouds, but he didn’t complain. Not much, anyway.

“So,” Magnus said after a moment, “do you always ambush people outside their workplaces, or am I just special?”

Alec gave him a sideways look. “You’re special.”

Magnus smiled, that small, genuine curve of lips that always hit Alec harder than it should. “You keep saying things like that, Alexander, and I’ll start thinking you like me.”

Alec didn’t answer right away. His hands were tucked into his pockets, his gaze fixed on the path ahead. “Maybe I do.”

Magnus slowed, caught off guard by the simple honesty of it. He stared at Alec, trying to read his face — but Alec’s expression was calm, steady, sincere.

“I see,” Magnus said after a beat, voice softer now. “That’s… unexpected.”

“Good unexpected or bad unexpected?”

Magnus tilted his head. “Ask me again when I can feel my toes.”

Alec huffed a quiet laugh. “Come on. There’s a coffee cart near the fountain.”

When they reached it, Alec ordered two drinks — black for him, of course, and something warm and sweet for Magnus. He handed Magnus the cup without asking what he wanted, but somehow it was exactly right: a caramel latte with cinnamon on top.

Magnus looked down at it, then at Alec. “How did you know?”

“I pay attention,” Alec said simply.

That earned him a faint, almost shy smile. “Dangerous habit, paying attention.”

They walked in comfortable silence for a while, sipping their drinks. The park was mostly empty, just a few couples scattered across the benches, the world hushed in that quiet way winter evenings always were.

Magnus glanced at Alec’s wrist, where the leather band peeked from under his sleeve. “You’re still wearing it.”

“Of course I am,” Alec said. “It’s a good fit.”

“I wasn’t sure you would.”

Alec looked at him then, his gaze steady and kind. “I told you I liked it, Magnus. I meant it.”

Magnus’s throat tightened a little. He looked away, focusing on the steam curling from his cup. “You’re full of surprises, Alexander.”

“Guess we’re both bad at subtlety,” Alec said, lips twitching.

Magnus chuckled quietly. “Speak for yourself. I’m wonderfully subtle.”

“You literally ran away from me last time we talked.”

Magnus pretended to gasp. “That was an elegant retreat, thank you very much.”

Alec’s laugh came out before he could stop it — low, genuine, warm. Magnus turned toward him, smiling. And for the first time, Alec didn’t look away.

The city lights flickered on in the distance, casting a golden glow across the snow. Magnus looked radiant against it — all color and life and energy in a world that was otherwise gray. Alec wanted to reach out, to brush his fingers against that bright scarf, to anchor himself in the warmth Magnus carried so effortlessly.

Instead, he said quietly, “I’m glad I came to get you.”

Magnus’s breath caught. “So am I.”

They lingered until the cold finally became too much. On the ride back, Magnus’s arms around him felt less tentative this time — steady, sure, comfortable.

When they stopped in front of his building, Magnus hesitated before taking off the helmet. “You know,” he said lightly, “you’re dangerously charming when you try.”

Alec smiled faintly. “That so?”

“Mmm.” Magnus leaned back against the bike, studying him. “I might have to start worrying about you, Alexander.”

“Maybe you should.”

For a long moment, neither of them moved. The city hummed around them — traffic, laughter, the faint glow of streetlights — but it all felt distant.

Then Magnus smiled, that slow, genuine smile that had undone Alec from the very beginning. “Goodnight, Alexander.”

“Goodnight, Magnus.”

As Magnus disappeared through the door, Alec stayed where he was, his breath visible in the cold air, the faintest grin tugging at his lips.

He’d taken a risk, and for once, it felt right.

The wristband caught the light as he flexed his hand — constellations gleaming softly against his skin.

-

Alec had learned long ago that Isabelle Lightwood was relentless when she wanted to know something.

He’d survived years of it — her curiosity, her meddling, her uncanny ability to sniff out secrets like a bloodhound — but somehow, when it came to Magnus Bane, his sister had elevated her interrogation tactics to an art form.

It started that morning. Alec had barely stepped into the gym when Isabelle appeared at his side like she’d teleported. Her eyes were too bright, her smile too sharp. That was never a good sign.

“So,” she said, her tone deceptively casual. “How was your evening walk?”

Alec froze mid-step, hand still on the strap of his gym bag. “What?”

“Your walk,” Isabelle repeated, drawing out the word. “With Magnus.”

Alec sighed, already regretting his life choices. “Izzy—”

“Don’t ‘Izzy’ me.” She crossed her arms, nails gleaming red against her black jacket. “You showed up at his work, whisked him away on that death machine you call a bike, and then took him on a romantic stroll through the park. Don’t think I don’t know.”

Alec blinked. “How do you—”

“Magnus told me,” she said simply. “You think he wouldn’t tell me?”

Alec shut his eyes for a second, exhaling slowly. Of course Magnus told her. Of course Isabelle knew. There were no secrets in this family — at least, not when Isabelle decided to pry.

“It wasn’t romantic,” he said finally.

“Oh, please.” Isabelle rolled her eyes. “You showed up outside his office like something out of a movie. You even brought the motorcycle. Classic romance move.”

Alec’s ears burned. “It was just a walk.”

“With coffee.”

“Yes.”

“And meaningful conversation?”

Alec hesitated. “…Maybe.”

“Uh-huh.” Isabelle’s smirk was pure satisfaction. “Who knew my big brother was such a romantic?”

“I’m not,” Alec muttered, tugging at the wristband on his arm — the one Magnus had given him. The leather was warm against his skin, familiar now. “It wasn’t like that.”

“Sure,” Isabelle said, clearly not believing him. “You’re just out here taking friends for motorcycle rides in February. Totally normal behavior.”

Alec sighed, giving up. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re obviously smitten.”

He didn’t answer that. Mostly because Isabelle wasn’t wrong.

Magnus had been in his head all day — the way his laughter sounded in the cold air, the way his eyes softened when he smiled. There was something about him that felt like sunlight in the middle of winter: rare, warm, impossible to ignore.

But Alec wasn’t about to admit that to Isabelle.

“Fine,” Isabelle said at last, dramatically flipping her hair over her shoulder. “You don’t want to talk about it. I’ll respect that.”

“Thank you,” Alec said, relieved.

She grinned. “So instead, let’s go get burgers tonight. You, me, Jace, Clary, and Magnus.”

Alec froze again. “Magnus?”

“Obviously Magnus.” Isabelle looked far too pleased with herself. “You’re both my favorite people; you should spend more time together.”

“Isabelle—”

“Oh, relax. It’s not a date. Just friends. Burgers and beer. Totally innocent.”

Which, coming from Isabelle, meant it was absolutely not innocent.

Still, Alec found himself at their usual spot that evening — the small bar a few blocks from the gym, with flickering neon lights and the smell of fried food clinging to everything.

Jace and Clary were already there, Clary half in Jace’s lap as usual. Isabelle slid into the booth beside Alec, practically vibrating with energy.

Magnus arrived a few minutes later, looking effortlessly put together despite the casual setting. His long coat was gone, replaced by a deep emerald sweater that made his skin glow in the dim light. He spotted their table, and when his eyes landed on Alec, his smile faltered just slightly — just enough for Alec to notice.

Then he recovered, striding over with his usual confidence.

“Well,” Magnus said, sliding into the booth across from Alec. “What a charming surprise. Miss Lightwood, did you plan this ambush?”

“Ambush is such a harsh word,” Isabelle said sweetly. “I prefer to think of it as a friendly gathering.”

Magnus gave her a look that said he didn’t believe her for a second but went along anyway. “Then consider me honored to be part of this friendly gathering.”

Alec didn’t say much at first — he didn’t have to. Between Isabelle’s chatter and Jace’s antics, the table was loud enough for both of them. Magnus seemed to fit into the chaos easily, laughing at Jace’s ridiculous stories and teasing Clary about her ketchup obsession.

Every so often, his gaze drifted back to Alec — fleeting, curious, thoughtful.

And every time, Alec felt that same quiet pull in his chest.

“So, Magnus,” Isabelle said suddenly, leaning forward with a mischievous glint in her eye. “I heard you’re the one who’s been keeping my brother busy lately.”

Magnus blinked, caught off guard. “Busy? Oh, darling, if you mean I’m responsible for that permanent frown, I’m flattered.”

Jace snorted into his drink. “Permanent frown’s been there since birth.”

“Hey,” Alec said mildly.

Magnus grinned. “Then perhaps I’ll consider it a challenge.”

Isabelle practically bounced in her seat. “See? He is a romantic.”

“I’m right here,” Alec muttered.

Magnus chuckled softly, and Alec felt the corner of his own mouth twitch in response. There was something so easy about Magnus — even when he was teasing, there was warmth underneath it, never cruelty.

They talked for hours — about work, the gym, random bits of nonsense. Alec found himself relaxing, even laughing, which was rare for him in crowded places.

Halfway through the night, Magnus leaned across the table, voice lower. “You know, I’m starting to believe your sister is secretly plotting our entire social calendar.”

Alec smirked. “She doesn’t know how to mind her own business.”

“I find it endearing,” Magnus said. “In an utterly exasperating way.”

“Try being related to her,” Alec said dryly.

Magnus laughed, and Alec couldn’t help but stare — the sound was genuine, bright. For a moment, he let himself imagine what it would be like if nights like this weren’t rare. If seeing Magnus, hearing him laugh, wasn’t something he had to keep telling himself not to want.

Later, when the plates were cleared and the conversation had mellowed into comfortable quiet, Magnus excused himself to grab another drink. Isabelle immediately turned to Alec, eyes gleaming.

“So?” she whispered. “How’s your heart, big brother?”

Alec gave her a flat look. “Izzy.”

“Come on. He’s right there. He obviously likes you.”

“Or he’s just being polite,” Alec said, keeping his tone even. “You ever think of that?”

“No one that polite buys a man a constellation bracelet,” she countered.

Alec opened his mouth to argue — then shut it again.

Isabelle grinned triumphantly. “That’s what I thought.”

When Magnus came back, the look Isabelle sent Alec was nothing short of smug.

They stayed until the bar began to empty, the buzz of conversation fading into music and clinking glasses. When they finally stepped outside, the air was cool again — not bitterly cold, just enough to make Magnus pull his coat tighter.

Jace and Clary walked ahead, fingers intertwined. Isabelle waved before hopping into a cab, leaving Alec and Magnus standing by the curb.

“Well,” Magnus said lightly, “this was surprisingly fun. I usually avoid places where napkins double as coasters.”

Alec smiled faintly. “Glad you came anyway.”

Magnus’s expression softened. “Me too.”

For a moment, neither of them moved. Magnus’s eyes met his — open, searching, that usual spark dimmed by something gentler.

Then Magnus cleared his throat, stepping back. “Goodnight, Alexander.”

“Goodnight, Magnus.”

He watched Magnus disappear down the street, his green scarf bright against the dark.

When Alec finally got on his bike, Isabelle’s words echoed in his head — Who knew my brother was such a romantic?

He’d never thought of himself as one. But maybe, for the right person, he could be.

And if that person happened to have golden eyes and a laugh that felt like sunlight — well, maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing.

-

The two weeks that followed were a blur.

Alec’s life turned into a carousel of meetings, deadlines, logistics, and far too many early mornings. The charity event he’d spent months organizing — a week-long sports program to raise funds for youth centers — was finally reaching its end.

He barely remembered what sleeping in felt like.

Between coordinating volunteers, managing sponsors, and ensuring every match, every game, every single event went off without a hitch, Alec hardly had time to breathe — let alone think about Magnus Bane.

But somehow, Magnus still managed to slip into his days.

A familiar face at the coffee shop in the morning, waiting by the counter with something colorful in hand. Sometimes it was a pink latte, sometimes something sprinkled with cinnamon or lavender. Magnus always looked effortlessly put together, even at ungodly hours.

Alec, in contrast, usually stumbled in half-awake, wearing a hoodie and that exhausted, near-feral look of someone running on caffeine and stubbornness alone.

Their conversations were short — a few words exchanged between sips of coffee, a soft smile, a teasing comment about Alec’s schedule.

And yet, those few minutes grounded him in a way nothing else did.

It became their quiet ritual.

Magnus would greet him with that easy grin, say something light like, “Don’t tell me you’re running on pure espresso again, darling,” and Alec would roll his eyes, muttering something about dedication and deadlines.

Then Magnus would laugh — warm and rich — and Alec’s morning would feel a little less heavy.

Some days, when the weight of responsibility felt too much, Alec caught himself checking his phone, half hoping for a text. Magnus wasn’t much of a texter — his messages were sporadic, often random bursts of humor or charm — but each one somehow managed to make Alec’s day better.

Magnus: Try not to let Jace rope you into another “team spirit” speech. No one recovers from those.
Alec: He already did. Twice.
Magnus: Tragic. I’ll light a candle for your suffering.
Alec: Thanks. I’ll take all the spiritual support I can get.
Magnus: My support also includes good coffee. And maybe something stronger when this charity madness ends.

That one made Alec pause.

Something stronger.

He didn’t reply right away, but the thought lingered — the idea of Magnus, of a drink shared somewhere quiet, of laughter without the clock ticking over his head.

He wanted that. He hadn’t realized how much until now.

The charity event finally wrapped up on a Friday evening, the last crowd dispersing under the soft gold of an early spring sunset. Alec stood by the edge of the field, exhaustion settling into his bones like lead.

The banners fluttered in the wind — LIGHTWOOD FOUNDATION: PLAY FOR A CAUSE — and the laughter of volunteers echoed in the distance.

It was over.

Weeks of planning, months of work. Done.

And yet, instead of the rush of satisfaction he expected, Alec just felt… empty.

He’d poured everything into this — like he always did — and now that it was done, there was this strange quiet inside him. The kind that made him notice things he’d been ignoring.

Like how much he missed Magnus’s company beyond those five-minute coffee breaks.

Alec packed up the last of the paperwork and handed it off to one of the coordinators, promising to check in on Monday. Then he drove back to his apartment, parked his bike, and stood in his living room for a long time.

The place was quiet — too quiet.

He hadn’t had time to do much besides sleep and eat the bare minimum over the past few weeks. The stack of unopened mail sat on the counter. His plants looked vaguely offended at being neglected.

Even the air felt stale.

Alec dropped onto the couch and exhaled, leaning his head back. The stillness felt strange, almost foreign.

He pulled out his phone without thinking.

Alec: The event’s over. Finally.

It took only a minute for the reply to pop up.

Magnus: And the crowd goes wild 🎉
Magnus: How does it feel to be New York’s most eligible philanthropist-slash-gym-god again?

Alec snorted softly.

Alec: Exhausting.
Magnus: Then you deserve a reward.
Alec: Like what?
Magnus: Surprise me, Alexander. But if it involves coffee, I’ll allow it.

Alec smiled. It was ridiculous — how a few words from Magnus could ease something tight in his chest.

He texted back before he could overthink it.

Alec: Tomorrow morning? Same place.
Magnus: Wouldn’t miss it for the world.

The next morning dawned gray and soft, the kind of spring day that hinted at rain. Alec woke later than usual, the first real sleep he’d had in weeks, and felt human for the first time in a while.

When he got to the coffee shop, Magnus was already there — sitting by the window, a small pastry on a plate and two cups steaming between them.

He looked up when Alec walked in, smiling. “Well, well. The city’s busiest man finally found time for coffee.”

Alec huffed a quiet laugh, sliding into the seat across from him. “I said I’d make it.”

“And I’m honored,” Magnus said, voice teasing but soft around the edges. “You look less like death today. Progress.”

“Thanks,” Alec said dryly, but his lips twitched.

They fell into conversation easily. Magnus asked about the event, and Alec told him — not the polished press version, but the real one. The chaos, the last-minute panic, the kid who scored the winning goal and then promptly burst into tears.

Magnus listened, chin propped on his hand, eyes bright.

“I’d say you deserve a vacation,” Magnus said when Alec finished.

“I’m not really the vacation type,” Alec admitted.

“Everyone’s the vacation type when they’re tired enough,” Magnus said lightly. Then, after a pause: “But maybe you just need… the right company.”

Alec looked up, and for a moment, neither of them said anything.

There it was again — that flicker of something quiet and unspoken, hovering between them like the space between heartbeats.

Then Magnus smiled, breaking the tension with a soft laugh. “Don’t look so serious, Alexander. It’s just coffee.”

Alec smiled back. “Right. Just coffee.”

When Magnus left, he touched Alec’s arm lightly — a brief, casual gesture — but it lingered long after Magnus walked away.

Alec sat there for a while, sipping the last of his drink, watching the rain start to fall against the window.

He should’ve felt relief now that his workload had finally eased. He should’ve felt proud of what he’d done.

Instead, all he could think about was the way Magnus had looked at him across the table — like maybe, just maybe, Alec wasn’t the only one trying not to fall so fast.

Chapter Text

Magnus Bane had faced many interrogations in his life.

He’d charmed investors, survived client meetings where million-dollar deals dangled by a thread, and even endured a dinner with his ex’s mother who’d asked him if his eyeliner was “part of a phase.”

But nothing — nothing — could prepare him for Isabelle Lightwood’s version of a friendly check-in.

“Magnus,” Isabelle said sweetly, sliding into the chair across from him at the café near their work. Her eyes sparkled with that particular gleam that meant trouble. “What are your intentions with my brother?”

Magnus nearly choked on his coffee. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” Isabelle propped her chin on her hand, the picture of casual curiosity. “Alec. My brother. Tall, broody, allergic to emotions but has a secret heart of gold? What are your intentions with him?”

Magnus blinked. “You make it sound like I’m proposing.”

“I just need to know if I should start planning the wedding or start sharpening knives.”

Magnus let out a long, dramatic sigh, leaning back in his chair. “Darling, you’re giving me heart palpitations before lunch.”

Isabelle’s smile turned smug. “Good. You deserve it for trying to sneak around.”

“I wasn’t sneaking—” Magnus started, then stopped. “Okay, maybe a little sneaking. But only out of self-preservation.”

“Self-preservation?”

“Yes. You’re terrifying when you get ideas.”

Isabelle grinned. “Flattery won’t save you.”

Magnus stirred his coffee, buying time. The truth was, Isabelle’s question hit a nerve. He wasn’t sure what his intentions were, not in the traditional sense. He liked Alec — more than he wanted to admit out loud. It had started as a fascination, a curiosity, but somewhere between the coffee shop mornings, the awkward yoga sessions, and Alec’s rare, quiet smiles… something had shifted.

But this wasn’t just anyone. This was Isabelle’s brother.

Magnus set his spoon down with a soft clink. “I like him,” he said finally. “He’s—” He paused, searching for the right word. “Steady. Honest. Kind, in that quiet, devastating way. And he listens.”

Isabelle’s grin softened into something warmer. “That sounds dangerously close to actual feelings, Magnus.”

“Oh, heavens, don’t expose me like that,” Magnus said dryly. “I have a reputation.”

“Of being hopelessly dramatic?”

“Exactly.”

Isabelle laughed, but then her gaze sharpened. “So what’s stopping you?”

Magnus hesitated. “What if it goes wrong?”

Her expression softened. “Magnus—”

“No, listen.” He leaned forward, elbows on the table. “You’re the first real friend I’ve made in New York. You’ve been wonderful — loud, but wonderful. And if I mess things up with Alec, that changes everything. People always take sides when things fall apart.”

Isabelle tilted her head. “You think I’d take sides?”

She had asked him this before, but Magnus heart still is doubtful.

Magnus gave her a wry smile. “You’d try not to. But hearts have their loyalties.”

For a long moment, Isabelle was quiet. Then she reached across the table and tapped her manicured finger against his hand. “You know what I think?”

“Enlighten me, darling.”

“I think you’re scared,” she said simply. “Which, fine, fair. Alec’s… a lot. He’s been through things. He’s cautious. But so are you, Magnus. You cover it better with sparkles and sass, but you’re just as careful as he is.”

Magnus arched an eyebrow. “Are you psychoanalyzing me over espresso?”

“Yes,” Isabelle said proudly. “And I’m good at it.”

He laughed, but the sound came out softer than usual. “You might be right. Maybe I am scared.”

“Then stop being scared,” Isabelle said. “Alec likes you. He really likes you. You should see his face when your name comes up. He tries to act all stoic and unaffected, but the man’s about as subtle as a sunrise.”

Magnus blinked, his heart tripping over itself. “He… what?”

“Magnus,” Isabelle said, grinning. “He texts me to ask about you. He even made me tell him when you got off work once, so he could ‘run into you.’ He’s terrible at pretending.”

Magnus’s mind whirled. Alec — serious, steady, too-good-to-be-true Alec — had done that?

He remembered their last walk, the quiet between them that had felt like more than silence. The way Alec looked at him sometimes, like Magnus was something he didn’t know how to handle but didn’t want to let go of, either.

Maybe Isabelle wasn’t imagining things.

Magnus straightened in his chair, the flicker of something daring taking root in his chest. “So what you’re saying is, I have a chance.”

“Absolutely,” Isabelle said, smirking. “You just have to go for it.”

“Go for it,” Magnus repeated, tasting the words. “Isabelle, dear, I don’t go for it. I scheme, I charm, I seduce with finesse.”

“Fine. Scheme, then,” Isabelle said. “But do it soon. He’s a bit dense when it comes to romance. You might need flashing lights and a sign that says I like you, Alexander.”

Magnus laughed, the sound bright and genuine. “I’ll consider fireworks.”

“Good. And for the record—” Isabelle’s expression softened again, that rare sincerity flickering through. “If things go south, I won’t take sides. You’re both idiots, and I love you both equally. Well, mostly equally. Alec has seniority.”

Magnus smiled, warmth spreading through him. “You’re a terrible liar, Isabelle Lightwood.”

“Maybe,” she said, grinning. “But I mean it.”

Magnus sat back, finishing his coffee. The knot in his chest — the one that had tightened every time he thought about Alec and what could go wrong — loosened, just a little.

He’d been afraid for weeks now, stuck between wanting and worrying. But Isabelle was right.

He’d been careful for too long.

Maybe it was time to risk something.

Even if his heart got bruised again. Even if it all ended messily.

Because Alec Lightwood was worth the chance.

-

Later that evening, Magnus stood in front of his mirror, adjusting the cuffs of his shirt. His reflection looked back — composed, confident, maybe a little nervous if he squinted.

“Alright,” he muttered to his own reflection. “Operation ‘Romance the Brooding Gym Owner’ begins now.”

Chairman Meow — his newly adopted kitten — blinked at him from the armrest, unimpressed.

“Don’t give me that look,” Magnus said, pointing. “Your father is about to commit a grand romantic gesture. You should be proud.”

The kitten yawned and stretched, clearly unconvinced.

Magnus sighed, rolling his shoulders. “Fine. No faith in me. But mark my words, furball — by the end of the month, Alexander Lightwood will know exactly how I feel.”

He grabbed his coat, phone, and a hint of courage.

Because Isabelle was right — Alec wasn’t the type to read between the lines. He needed clarity. Honesty. Effort.

And Magnus, dramatic as he was, could do all three — with flair.

He stepped out into the cool March evening, the city glowing around him. Somewhere between the laughter of people on the sidewalks and the hum of passing cars, Magnus felt lighter.

Hopeful, even.

He didn’t know what would happen — whether Alec would want him the same way, whether this fragile, quiet connection between them could grow into something real.

But for the first time, he was ready to find out.

-

Magnus Bane had many talents.

He could charm his way into exclusive events, talk down furious clients, and make a sequined jacket look like casual wear. He could design jewelry that made people sigh and flirt without trying.

But apparently, when it came to flirting with Alexander Lightwood, his powers abandoned him completely.

Because today — today — his master plan was simple: show up an hour early to yoga class, “accidentally” run into Alec, and maybe share one of those quiet, lingering conversations that always seemed to happen when the two of them were alone.

It was, in theory, foolproof.

In practice… well.

The moment Magnus walked into the gym, he realized two things.

First, there was no Alec in sight.

Second, there was a full spin class happening in the room next door, and someone had decided the volume should rival a rock concert.

So instead of the calm, candle-scented ambience he’d hoped for, Magnus was greeted with pounding bass, sweating athletes, and the faint smell of protein powder.

“Perfect,” he muttered, straightening his scarf. “Just the atmosphere for romance.”

He glanced around, hoping Alec might appear at any moment — clipboard in hand, looking unfairly good in gym clothes. But the front desk was manned by Clary today, who gave him a bright smile.

“Magnus! You’re early for yoga.”

“Just making sure I’m… centered,” Magnus said smoothly.

Clary raised an eyebrow. “Uh-huh. You know Lydia’s class doesn’t start for another hour, right?”

“I do now,” Magnus said with a sigh.

“Well, you can wait in the lounge if you want. Alec’s around somewhere — probably checking equipment.”

Magnus perked up. “Alec’s here?”

“Mm-hm. You could go say hi,” Clary said, all too innocently.

Magnus gave her a look. “You wouldn’t happen to know where, exactly, my favorite brooding gym owner is, would you?”

“Try the back,” Clary said, biting back a smile. “But maybe give him a warning before you startle him. He’s not used to sparkles before noon.”

Magnus smirked. “Darling, no one’s ever ready for sparkles before noon.”

He made his way down the hallway, heels clicking faintly on the polished floor. The gym was quieter back here, save for the low hum of equipment and the rhythmic thud of someone working the punching bag.

And there he was.

Alec.

Sweat-damp hair, focused expression, gloves on as he jabbed at the bag with perfect precision. Every movement was measured, deliberate. His muscles moved like poetry — sharp and fluid all at once.

Magnus, despite himself, paused in the doorway for a beat too long.

“Well,” he murmured under his breath, “this was worth the trip.”

Alec noticed him a second later, stopping mid-swing. “Magnus?”

Magnus smiled, stepping inside. “Alexander. Don’t let me interrupt.”

“You’re early,” Alec said, surprised but not unkind. He tugged off his gloves and grabbed a towel. “Yoga’s not for another hour.”

“I thought I’d… get a head start.”

Alec blinked. “On yoga?”

Magnus winced. That sounded ridiculous even to him. “Well, on… stretching.”

Alec’s lips twitched, like he was holding back a smile. “You came an hour early to stretch?”

“Some of us take flexibility seriously.”

Alec raised an eyebrow. “Right.”

There was a pause — not uncomfortable, but charged in that way their silences often were. Magnus could feel his carefully rehearsed charm slipping, replaced by something less polished.

“So,” Magnus said lightly, “how’s post-charity life treating you? Saving the city one rep at a time?”

Alec shrugged, wiping his face with the towel. “Back to normal, I guess. Less chaos. More training.”

“You thrive in chaos, don’t you?” Magnus asked.

“Not exactly,” Alec said. “I just deal with it.”

“Hmm.” Magnus tilted his head, smiling. “You deal with it quite attractively.”

Alec looked up, startled — and blushed. Actually blushed.

Magnus’s heart skipped. Oh, this was dangerous.

“Uh,” Alec said, clearing his throat. “Thanks?”

“You’re welcome.”

There was another beat of silence, broken only by the faint hum of a treadmill in the next room. Magnus shifted, suddenly unsure of what to do with his hands. Usually, flirting was effortless — a game he’d long since mastered. But with Alec, it wasn’t a game. It felt like balancing on a tightrope between wanting too much and saying too little.

Alec, mercifully, broke the silence. “You really don’t have to wait an hour, you know. You could go grab a drink or something.”

Magnus smiled faintly. “What if I told you I enjoy the view?”

Alec froze mid-motion, then exhaled through a laugh that sounded suspiciously like disbelief. “You’re impossible.”

“Thank you.”

“I didn’t mean it as a compliment.”

“I took it as one anyway.”

Alec shook his head, clearly fighting a smile. “Fine. Stay if you want. But don’t say I didn’t warn you — it’s going to get loud. Spin class is wrapping up, and Jace said he’s testing the new speakers.”

Magnus groaned dramatically. “Darling, if I wanted to experience that kind of chaos, I’d attend a preschool birthday party.”

“Too late,” Alec said, already walking toward the main floor.

Magnus followed — partly because he wasn’t ready to leave, and partly because watching Alec in motion was an event in itself.

Unfortunately, Jace’s “speaker test” was less of a test and more of a concert. Within minutes, the gym was vibrating with bass, the lights dimmed to a ridiculous pulsing rhythm, and Magnus found himself standing amidst what looked like an impromptu dance rave.

“This is exercise?” Magnus shouted over the music.

Alec, yelling back, said, “Technically!”

“Technically,” Magnus repeated, horrified. “I feel my soul leaving my body.”

Alec laughed — actually laughed — and Magnus swore it was the best sound he’d ever heard.

So maybe his plan hadn’t exactly gone the way he imagined. He wasn’t having a quiet, romantic moment with Alec; he was in a disco-themed gym surrounded by sweaty strangers. But Alec was smiling, and that was enough.

Eventually, the chaos died down, and Alec gave Jace a look that could have leveled a city block. Jace just grinned and ducked out, muttering something about “atmosphere.”

Magnus and Alec stood side by side near the mats, catching their breath from laughing.

“That was…” Magnus said, “…an experience.”

“Welcome to my life,” Alec replied dryly.

Magnus chuckled. “Well, if your life includes spontaneous nightclubs, I’m both intrigued and terrified.”

“You’ll get used to it.”

“Will I?” Magnus asked, smiling up at him.

Alec looked down at him for a moment, expression softening. “Maybe.”

And just like that, the air shifted.

Magnus felt the warmth of Alec’s gaze, steady and uncertain all at once. He wanted to reach out, to close the distance, to say something clever or brave. But before he could, Lydia’s voice echoed from across the room — cheerful, oblivious, calling for the yoga group to gather.

The moment broke.

Magnus cleared his throat, gesturing toward the studio. “Duty calls.”

Alec nodded, lips twitching. “You’re not going to ‘accidentally’ skip this one, are you?”

“Not this time,” Magnus said with a wink. “I’m a man of discipline.”

“That’s one word for it.”

Magnus laughed, waving him off as he made his way toward the studio. But once he was out of sight, he leaned against the wall for a second, exhaling hard.

So much for cool and collected.

He’d walked in planning to charm Alec Lightwood off his feet. Instead, he’d nearly been deafened by techno music, awkwardly flirted mid-spin class, and somehow ended up laughing his way through it all.

And yet… as he stepped onto his yoga mat and stole a glance toward the door, where Alec stood talking to Jace, he couldn’t stop smiling.

Maybe chaos wasn’t such a bad look on him.

Maybe Alec liked it, too.

-

There were days Magnus Bane regretted ever taking commissions from clients who used words like bespoke and heirloom aesthetic.

Today was one of those days.

He was sitting at his workbench, half a dozen sketches spread out in front of him, trying to turn the vague instructions of a particularly chaotic client into something wearable. Apparently, the woman wanted a necklace that “looked like Cleopatra met a disco ball and decided to get married in space.”

Magnus had been at it since morning, his patience hanging by a thread thinner than the chain he was sketching.

He was just beginning to question his life choices when the office went suddenly, suspiciously quiet.

That was never a good sign.

He looked up — and froze.

Standing by the glass door, holding a takeout bag and two coffee cups, was Alexander Lightwood.

In daylight, in a button-down and leather jacket, looking infuriatingly handsome.

Magnus blinked. Once. Twice. Then he remembered how to breathe.

Alec, oblivious to the tension radiating through the entire design studio, lifted a small wave. “Hey.”

Magnus could feel every pair of eyes in the room swivel between them. His assistants, his interns, even the client coordinator — all pretending to be busy while clearly eavesdropping.

“Alexander,” Magnus said slowly, standing from his chair. “What a surprise.”

“I brought lunch,” Alec said, lifting the takeout bag as proof. “Isabelle said you were concentrating on work, and I figured you probably forgot to eat.”

Magnus opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. “You—brought me lunch.”

Alec frowned, like he wasn’t sure if that was the wrong thing to do. “Yeah. Is that weird?”

Across the room, someone dropped a pen. Another whispered something that sounded suspiciously like oh my God, it’s him.

Magnus cleared his throat, painfully aware of his entire staff trying to burn holes through his back with curiosity. “Not weird,” he said finally, forcing a smile. “Just… unexpected.”

“You’re busy,” Alec said, glancing at the chaos of sketches. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“Oh, no interruption at all,” Magnus said quickly, already ushering him toward the hallway. “We were due for a break, anyway.”

He could practically hear the collective sigh of disappointment as he guided Alec toward the small lunch room. The door closed behind them with a blessed click of privacy.

Thank God Isabelle was not here. Yet.

Magnus exhaled, leaning against the counter. “Well. That was… dramatic.”

Alec looked genuinely confused. “What was?”

“The part where you walk into my studio like a scene from a romance movie,” Magnus said, trying for humor. “You’ve just made my assistants’ entire week, you know.”

Alec’s brow furrowed. “They looked like they were scared of me.”

“Oh, darling,” Magnus said with a soft laugh, “that was awe, not fear.”

“I wasn’t trying to—” Alec started, then sighed. “Never mind. I just thought you might be hungry.”

Magnus blinked, the teasing fading just a little. “You brought me lunch. Without a reason.”

Alec shrugged, setting the bag on the table. “You’ve been busy. I figured you wouldn’t stop to eat.”

For a man who could command a room with his quiet intensity, Alec Lightwood could also render Magnus Bane completely speechless with one simple act of thoughtfulness.

Magnus smiled, a little softer this time. “You figured right. I was about to start nibbling on gemstones out of frustration.”

Alec’s lips quirked. “Please don’t. I don’t think they’re part of any food group.”

Magnus chuckled, moving to sit across from him as Alec unpacked the food. “You really didn’t have to do this.”

“I wanted to,” Alec said simply, handing him a container. “Chicken satay, right? No peanuts.”

Magnus blinked again. “You remember my lunch order.”

Alec shrugged again, like it was nothing, though a faint blush crept up his neck. “You talk a lot about food.”

“I do not.”

“You definitely do.”

Magnus narrowed his eyes but smiled, accepting the chopsticks. “Well, then, Mr. Observant, what does your meal say about you?”

“Efficient,” Alec said, lifting his plain grilled sandwich with mock solemnity. “Minimalist. No nonsense.”

Magnus arched an eyebrow. “Boring.”

“Practical.”

Magnus grinned. “Adorable.”

Alec nearly choked on his coffee. “You can’t just—say stuff like that.”

“I can, and I did,” Magnus said with a smirk, taking a bite of his food.

They ate in relative silence for a few minutes, the soft hum of the air conditioner filling the space. But beneath that calm, there was an undercurrent — something tender, uncertain, and real.

Alec looked around the small break room, eyes lingering on the framed sketches pinned to the corkboard. “So this is where you work.”

Magnus followed his gaze, amused. “Glamorous, isn’t it? The glittering world of jewelry design — featuring bad lighting and suspicious coffee, like you don’t know your mother work place.”

Alec smiled faintly. “It suits you.”

That shouldn’t have hit as hard as it did, but it did. Magnus set his chopsticks down, looking at Alec more closely.

“You know,” Magnus said quietly, “you have a habit of saying things that sound simple but aren’t.”

Alec looked startled. “What do you mean?”

Magnus leaned back, watching him. “You don’t flatter. You don’t play games. You just… say things, and somehow they mean more than anyone else’s compliments.”

Alec’s ears went pink. “I don’t know if that’s true.”

“Oh, it’s very true,” Magnus said softly.

For a moment, the air between them felt charged again — the same tension that always sparked when they were close, unspoken but unmistakable. Alec shifted slightly, clearing his throat, and Magnus decided to save him the mercy of a topic change.

“So,” Magnus said lightly, “does your sister know you’re here, feeding her friend like a lost kitten?”

Alec chuckled, running a hand through his hair. “If she did, I’d never hear the end of it. She’d probably start planning a double date before I finished my sandwich.”

Magnus laughed, leaning on his palm. “You say that like it’s a terrible thing.”

“It is when it’s Isabelle,” Alec said. “She doesn’t do subtle.”

“That’s what I like about her.”

“I know,” Alec said, and there was warmth in his tone — not jealousy, just quiet understanding.

Magnus smiled, a little wistful. “She told me once that you’re the practical one in the family.”

Alec rolled his eyes. “Translation: boring.”

“I wouldn’t say boring,” Magnus murmured, gaze softening. “I’d say… steady.”

Alec looked at him then, really looked, and Magnus felt the world narrow down to that moment — the quiet hum of the room, the faint smell of takeout, the flicker of something fragile between them.

He hadn’t planned this — hadn’t expected it to feel so easy.

Alec broke the gaze first, glancing at his watch. “I should let you get back to work.”

Magnus smiled, though part of him wished he’d stay. “Thank you for the rescue mission, Alexander.”

Alec gave him that small, hesitant smile that always made Magnus’s chest ache. “Anytime.”

He stood, tossing the containers in the trash, and Magnus followed him to the door. Alec paused, hand on the handle, then turned back.

“I’ll… see you at yoga tomorrow?”

Magnus tilted his head. “You planning to join?”

Alec hesitated, lips twitching. “Maybe.”

“Then I’ll have to wear something worth showing off.”

Alec huffed a laugh, shaking his head as he left.

The door closed, and the studio’s noise filtered back in — the click of keyboards, the whisper of gossip trying very hard not to be overheard.

Magnus stood there for a moment, the faintest smile curling his lips.

Alexander Lightwood had walked into his chaotic workday carrying lunch like it was the most natural thing in the world. No grand gestures, no declarations. Just quiet care.

And somehow, that meant more than any bouquet or love letter ever could.

He sighed, glancing at the sketches still waiting on his desk. The necklace design didn’t seem quite so impossible anymore.

Chapter Text

The gym was quiet that afternoon, the kind of steady hum that came after the morning rush but before the evening crowd rolled in. Alec liked it that way — the clank of weights, the muted thump of sneakers on mats, the faint smell of chalk and disinfectant. Predictable. Simple.

Safe.

He wrapped his hands, flexing his fingers until the fabric felt snug. The rhythm helped him think — or, more accurately, not think.

Which was exactly what he needed.

“Still pretending you’re not in a good mood?” Jace’s voice drifted across the mats, teasing as always.

Alec didn’t look up. “I’m not pretending anything.”

“Right,” Jace said, dropping his duffel bag with a dramatic thud. “Because you’re totally the type to bring lunch to a guy’s workplace and smile about it all day afterward.”

Alec froze mid-wrap.

“I don’t smile all day,” he said, without conviction.

Jace grinned, circling him like a shark. “No? You’ve been walking around here like someone slipped sunshine into your protein shake.”

Alec sighed, finishing the wrap on his other hand. “Do you have to make everything sound ridiculous?”

“Yes,” Jace said cheerfully. “That’s literally my job as your best friend and business partner.”

He picked up a pair of gloves, tossing one to Alec. “Come on, Saint Alexander. Let’s spar. Maybe if I hit you hard enough, you’ll stop pretending you’re not completely whipped.”

“I’m not—” Alec started, but Jace had already thrown the first punch.

Alec dodged easily, muscle memory taking over. They fell into rhythm — jab, block, hook, pivot — the kind of flow they’d built over years of training together. But Jace never stayed silent long.

“So,” Jace said between hits, “how’s Magnus?”

Alec glared. “You don’t even know him.”

“Oh, I know enough,” Jace said with a smirk, feinting left. “Isabelle’s been talking nonstop. Something about ‘the most stylish man in New York’ and ‘how Alec finally found someone who can out-sass him.’”

Alec groaned. “I’m going to change my name and move to Canada.”

Jace laughed, circling him again. “You can’t hide from the truth forever, man. You like him.”

Alec didn’t answer, but the silence spoke louder than words.

Jace threw another jab, light enough to make Alec deflect without thinking. “You took a walk in the park with him,” he continued. “Who even does that anymore? That’s peak rom-com energy.”

“It was just a walk,” Alec said evenly.

“Uh-huh. In February. In New York. When it was freezing. Yeah, totally something people do when they’re not into each other.”

Alec aimed a clean punch at Jace’s ribs, which Jace barely dodged. “You done?”

“Not even close,” Jace grinned. “You also wear that wristband now. Don’t think I haven’t noticed.”

Alec looked down at the leather band on his wrist — the one Magnus had given him a few days ago, tucked inside a tiny box with a half-flustered “It suits you.”

He’d started wearing it without really thinking about it. It felt right — solid, comfortable.

“It’s a bracelet,” Alec muttered.

“It’s his bracelet,” Jace said, smug as ever. “You, my friend, are deep in it.”

Alec rolled his eyes, stepping back. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re smiling,” Jace pointed out.

“I’m not.”

“You so are.”

Alec turned away, unwrapping his hands, but Jace wasn’t done. He tossed his gloves onto the mat and leaned against the ropes, studying Alec with the faint, knowing look that only years of friendship could perfect.

“You like him,” Jace said softly this time. “And you’re terrified.”

Alec paused, the unwrapping stopping mid-motion.

Jace didn’t press, not right away. He just waited, the playful tone gone.

Alec exhaled slowly, dropping the wraps onto the bench. “You remember Mark?”

“Yeah,” Jace said. “Two years ago.”

“Exactly.” Alec’s voice was quieter now, almost distant. “I thought that was it, you know? I thought I’d figured it out. Someone steady, someone who understood the schedule, the work, the… walls.”

Jace nodded, eyes thoughtful.

“He left,” Alec continued, not bitter but still raw. “Said I was too closed off. Too guarded. That I made him feel like he was dating a stone wall.” He gave a humorless laugh. “He wasn’t wrong.”

“Alec—”

“I don’t blame him,” he said, cutting Jace off gently. “But it… hurt. And it stuck.”

Silence stretched for a moment, broken only by the faint buzz of the lights above them.

“So now,” Alec said, voice low, “there’s Magnus. And he’s—” He stopped, trying to find words big enough to hold the thought. “He’s light, you know? He walks into a room and suddenly everything feels… brighter.”

Jace smiled faintly. “Yeah. I got that impression.”

“He talks too much,” Alec went on, though the words came with the ghost of a smile. “He’s dramatic. He’s stubborn. And somehow he still gets under my skin faster than anyone I’ve ever met.”

“You sound miserable,” Jace deadpanned.

Alec huffed a laugh. “I might be.”

“Then why not just tell him?”

Alec shook his head. “Because if I let him in, and it goes wrong, I’ll lose him. And Isabelle. And the small piece of peace I’ve finally managed to build.”

Jace studied him for a long moment. “You really think you get to control that?”

“I can try,” Alec said quietly.

Jace sighed, pushing off the ropes. “You know, for a guy who can bench press twice his body weight, you’re absolute trash at lifting emotional baggage.”

Alec gave him a flat look. “That’s deep. Did Clary teach you that?”

“She did,” Jace said proudly. “She also said you need to stop letting fear make decisions for you.”

Alec blinked. “You two talk about me?”

“Obviously,” Jace said. “You’re our favorite topic.”

Alec groaned, rubbing the back of his neck. “I hate you sometimes.”

“No, you don’t,” Jace said with a grin. “You love me, and you’re just mad because I’m right.”

Alec didn’t answer that. He just sat down on the bench, letting the adrenaline fade from his limbs. The gym was quiet again, the kind of quiet that made thoughts louder.

He thought of Magnus laughing — the way his hands moved when he spoke, the faint sparkle in his eyes when he was passionate about something. He thought of that lunch in the studio, how Magnus had looked surprised but pleased, how easy it had felt once the initial chaos settled.

And then he thought of what it would mean if it all fell apart.

He’d seen what heartbreak could do — how easily warmth turned cold, how quickly love became something you couldn’t bear to touch.

He wasn’t sure he could survive that again.

But then again, wasn’t that what made it worth it?

Jace tossed him a towel. “You overthink everything, you know that?”

“I like to plan,” Alec muttered.

“Yeah, well, life doesn’t care about your plans. You either take the chance or spend the rest of your life wondering what if.”

Alec looked up at him, faintly amused. “You’ve been reading fortune cookies again, haven’t you?”

“Shut up,” Jace said, grinning. “I’m serious.”

Alec sighed, dragging the towel across his neck. “I know you are.”

“So?” Jace said, leaning forward. “What are you gonna do?”

Alec hesitated — then smiled, just a little. “I don’t know yet.”

Jace smirked. “Well, whatever it is, try not to scare the poor guy. He’s probably already designing matching jewelry or something.”

Alec laughed, shaking his head. “You’re insufferable.”

“And you’re in love,” Jace shot back. “Face it.”

Alec didn’t answer, but the smile that tugged at his mouth was impossible to hide.

When Jace finally left him alone to close up, Alec lingered, staring at the empty ring in the center of the gym. His reflection in the glass looked calm, controlled — the perfect picture of someone who had it all together.

But inside, everything was shifting.

He’d spent so long keeping his heart locked away that the idea of handing it to someone again felt terrifying. And yet, when he thought of Magnus — of his laugh, his chaos, his kindness — that fear didn’t seem quite so big.

Maybe, just maybe, Magnus Bane was worth the risk.

Alec reached up, thumb brushing the leather wristband still snug against his skin. It was simple, understated — nothing like Magnus himself — and yet it anchored him somehow.

He smiled to himself, just a little, and whispered into the quiet gym,

“Maybe it’s time to stop running.”

-

New York felt different that morning.

The air still had a bite to it, but it wasn’t the cruel cold of January anymore — it was softer, hesitant, like winter had started loosening its grip on the city. For once, Alec didn’t need to bury himself under three layers of sweaters. He walked to the gym with his jacket unzipped, hands in his pockets, feeling almost light.

Spring, he thought, finally. Maybe it wasn’t so bad.

The morning rush at the gym came and went. Alec helped a few clients through their training sessions, corrected someone’s form, and then spent half an hour doing his own laps on the treadmill. He was mid-way through cooling down when his phone buzzed.

It was a text from Isabelle.

Izzy: magnus is sick 🤒
Izzy: like really sick
Izzy: you should totally bring him soup 😏

Alec blinked at the screen, already feeling the headache forming.

Alec: You live closer to him. You bring soup.
Izzy: I’m busy.
Alec: You’re never busy before noon.
Izzy: correction: I’m busy shopping.
Izzy: don’t make that face. I can feel you making that face.
Izzy: magnus likes chicken soup. you can handle that.

Alec sighed, pressing his fingers to the bridge of his nose. Isabelle Lightwood — relentless matchmaker, chronic meddler, and still somehow his favorite person in the world.

He told himself he wasn’t going to do it. He told himself Magnus Bane was a grown man who probably had an entire shelf of vitamin supplements and enough glitter to scare off a fever.

And yet, an hour later, Alec found himself standing in line at the corner deli, holding a bag with chicken soup, herbal tea, and a couple of cold medicines the pharmacist swore by.

He muttered under his breath, “I’m not whipped.”

The cashier smiled. “Sorry?”

“Nothing,” Alec said quickly, paying for the food.

By the time he reached Magnus’s apartment building, the afternoon light had turned a soft gold. He hesitated in the lobby, balancing the bag in one hand, wondering if this was crossing a line. He’d never actually been inside Magnus’s home before — their friendship, if that’s what it was, had lived mostly in coffee shops, yoga rooms, and stolen moments between their chaotic lives.

But then he remembered Isabelle’s text — he’s really sick — and sighed.

If Magnus was miserable and alone, the least Alec could do was make sure he had soup.

He climbed the stairs, found the apartment number Isabelle had texted, and knocked lightly.

A muffled sound came from inside — something between a groan and a sneeze. Then, a pause.

The door opened.

Magnus looked… terrible.

His usually immaculate hair was a disheveled mess, his robe was the color of regret, and there was a box of tissues clutched in one elegant hand. His eyes widened when he saw Alec standing there.

“Alexander?” Magnus croaked, voice an octave lower than usual.

“Hi,” Alec said, awkwardly lifting the bag. “Isabelle said you’re sick.”

Magnus blinked. “She what?”

Alec sighed. “She texted me. Told me to bring soup.”

“Oh, of course she did,” Magnus muttered, sniffling. “The woman can’t keep a secret to save her life.”

Alec shifted on his feet. “Should I… go?”

Magnus’s eyes softened immediately. “No, no. Don’t you dare. You brought soup. Come in before I start crying.”

Alec stepped inside, closing the door behind him. The apartment was exactly what he’d imagined — bold colors, velvet furniture, twinkling lights that definitely weren’t Christmas-related, and an almost absurd amount of personality. It smelled faintly of incense and peppermint tea.

Magnus shuffled toward the couch, wrapping his robe tighter. “Forgive the tragic state of affairs. I’m afraid the flu has rendered me dramatically helpless.”

“You seem fine,” Alec said, setting the bag on the coffee table.

Magnus gave him a flat look. “I sneezed five times in the last minute.”

“That’s… unfortunate,” Alec said, deadpan.

Magnus glared, then sank onto the couch with a sigh. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“Maybe a little.” Alec pulled out the soup container, opening it carefully. “Here. Eat this.”

Magnus took the bowl, frowning. “Did you actually make this, or did you just buy it from a deli?”

Alec hesitated. “Does it matter?”

Magnus sniffed it suspiciously. “The fact that you didn’t immediately claim to have made it tells me everything.”

Alec rolled his eyes. “Just eat.”

Magnus chuckled, spooning up a bit of broth. “Bossy.”

“Efficient,” Alec corrected.

“Bossy and efficient,” Magnus teased, smiling weakly before taking a bite. “Mmm. Not bad, actually. Maybe I should get sick more often if it means you show up with soup.”

Alec sat down on the opposite end of the couch, trying not to notice the ridiculous flutter in his chest. “Let’s not make that a habit.”

Magnus leaned back, sipping slowly. “So, is this a mercy visit? Or did Isabelle bribe you with something?”

Alec smirked. “She tried. Said she’d tell Clary embarrassing childhood stories if I didn’t come.”

Magnus laughed, immediately dissolving into a coughing fit. Alec moved without thinking, handing him a tissue and a glass of water.

“Easy,” Alec said softly.

When Magnus looked up again, there was a faint blush on his cheeks that had nothing to do with the fever. “You’re dangerously good at this whole caretaker thing, Alexander.”

Alec shrugged. “Hazard of having siblings.”

“Ah yes,” Magnus murmured. “You’ve been trained by fire.”

“Something like that.”

Magnus finished the soup slowly, the color returning to his face. Alec busied himself by tidying the coffee table — tissues, tea boxes, half-read magazines — anything to avoid staring too long.

“Thank you,” Magnus said suddenly, voice quieter.

Alec looked up. “For what?”

“For coming,” Magnus said, eyes warm despite the exhaustion. “For bringing soup. For not running away when you saw me in my tragic flu ensemble.”

Alec smiled faintly. “I’ve seen worse.”

“Liar.”

“Fine,” Alec admitted, “I’ve seen different.”

Magnus laughed softly, his usual spark flickering through the fatigue. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re dramatic.”

Magnus grinned, leaning his head back against the couch cushion. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

They sat in silence for a moment — not awkward, but comfortable. Alec glanced around, noticing a half-finished sketchbook on the coffee table. The designs were beautiful, intricate, unmistakably Magnus.

“You’ve been working even while sick?” Alec asked.

Magnus groaned. “Unfortunately. Deadlines wait for no man, not even one on the brink of death.”

“You’re not dying,” Alec said, lips twitching.

“Says the man who’s not currently suffering,” Magnus muttered, curling up with his blanket.

Alec chuckled quietly. “You’ll live.”

Magnus peeked at him from under the blanket. “You’re sure?”

“Yeah,” Alec said softly. “I’m sure.”

For a moment, their eyes met — Magnus’s tired but bright, Alec’s steady and calm — and something unspoken hummed between them. It wasn’t new, that pull; it had been there since the first coffee shop encounter, growing quietly, waiting.

Magnus broke the gaze first, yawning. “If I fall asleep, pretend you didn’t see me drool.”

Alec stood, gathering the empty soup bowl. “I’ll manage.”

Magnus’s voice was already fading into drowsiness. “You’re a good man, Alexander.”

Alec froze halfway to the kitchen, that simple sentence catching him completely off guard.

He didn’t reply. He just cleaned up quietly, setting things back in order before returning to the couch. Magnus had already dozed off, curled beneath a mountain of blankets, his breathing even.

Alec stood there for a long moment, just watching him — this vibrant, ridiculous, impossible man who somehow made his heart ache and his world brighter at the same time.

He brushed a stray lock of hair from Magnus’s forehead, careful not to wake him.

“Feel better, Magnus,” he murmured, barely above a whisper.

Then he slipped out quietly, closing the door behind him.

Outside, the afternoon sun was warmer still, the first real hint of spring painting the streets in gold. Alec took a deep breath, the faint scent of city rain mixing with the smell of takeout still clinging to his hands.

He smiled — just a little — and muttered to himself, “Maybe Izzy was right for once.”

-

Alec wasn’t sure when “checking in on Magnus” had turned into a full-fledged routine.

He told himself it was just common decency — Magnus was sick, he lived alone, and Isabelle would absolutely chew Alec out if she found out he hadn’t followed up. That was all.

Definitely not because he wanted to see Magnus again. Definitely not because he couldn’t stop thinking about the way Magnus had smiled, half-asleep under a blanket, murmuring You’re a good man, Alexander.

Nope. Just decency.

That was the story Alec told himself as he stood outside Magnus’s apartment the next morning, holding a small container of rice he’d actually cooked this time. He was proud of it, too — simple, clean, easy to digest. Isabelle had once said his chicken rice was “too plain to exist,” but Magnus was sick, not entering a cooking contest.

He balanced the container in one hand and knocked.

There was a shuffling sound inside, followed by Magnus’s voice — still scratchy but slightly stronger than yesterday. “If this is another delivery of tissues, I swear I’ll hex someone.”

Alec chuckled quietly. “It’s not tissues.”

The door swung open. Magnus blinked, clearly surprised, then smiled — a small, tired thing that still managed to knock the breath out of Alec.

“Alexander,” Magnus said, voice soft but amused. “Back again so soon? You’ll spoil me.”

Alec shrugged, trying to look casual. “You said you liked the soup. Figured you might want rice today.”

Magnus raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “You cooked?”

“Don’t sound so shocked,” Alec said dryly.

“I’m not shocked,” Magnus said, stepping aside to let him in. “I’m impressed. That’s rare.”

Alec followed him into the apartment — still colorful, still too much, but less chaotic than yesterday. A few tissues littered the coffee table, but there was also a vase of new flowers on the counter. Magnus, apparently, refused to let illness dull his aesthetic.

Magnus gestured toward the couch. “Make yourself comfortable. I promise I’m not contagious anymore — well, probably.”

Alec set the food down on the coffee table. “That’s reassuring.”

Magnus chuckled, sitting across from him. “So, is this another mercy mission ordered by my dearest meddlesome friend?”

Alec smirked. “She didn’t have to order me this time.”

Magnus paused, caught off guard for just a second. His eyes softened, something unspoken flickering there. “Well,” he said finally, “then I’m honored.”

Alec busied himself with the container lid, avoiding the intensity in Magnus’s gaze. “Eat before it gets cold.”

Magnus took a bite, humming thoughtfully. “Hmm. Plain, but comforting. Very… you.”

Alec shot him a look. “You’re mocking me again.”

Magnus grinned, still chewing. “Just a little. It’s a sign of affection.”

Alec opened his mouth to respond — and froze when something moved behind the couch.

There was a low rustling, followed by a suspicious mew.

“What was that?” Alec asked immediately, tensing.

Magnus blinked, then looked sheepish. “Oh. Right. You haven’t met her yet.”

“Her?” Alec repeated, wary.

Magnus turned toward the noise. “Chairman Meow!” he called, in the same tone one might use to summon royalty.

Oh, the kitten Magnus was holding weeks ago.

A moment later, a sleek black cat strutted into view — tail high, eyes bright, moving with the kind of regal arrogance that suggested the apartment belonged entirely to her.

Alec blinked. “Oh, the cat?”

“Of course,” Magnus said, smiling fondly as the feline sauntered over. “She’s been my companion for weeks days now.”

The cat stopped two feet from Alec, stared at him with cold suspicion, and hissed.

Magnus sighed. “Chairman, be nice. He brought food.”

The cat hissed again, fluffing her tail.

Alec frowned. “Does she… do that often?”

“Only with people she doesn’t like,” Magnus said casually, then added with a grin, “or people she secretly likes but won’t admit to.”

“Great,” Alec muttered. “So she’s like you, then.”

Magnus laughed — a proper, full sound that made Alec forget the cat’s glare for a moment. “Touché, Alexander. Touché.”

The Chairman, unimpressed, jumped onto the arm of the couch and continued her glaring campaign from a higher vantage point.

Magnus patted her gently. “She’ll warm up to you eventually. Or she won’t. Either way, you’ll survive.”

Alec eyed the cat warily. “You’re sure about that?”

“Mostly,” Magnus said with a sly smile. “She doesn’t get along with anyone, really. You’re in good company.”

“Comforting,” Alec deadpanned, leaning back cautiously as the cat swished her tail too close to his arm.

Magnus tried — and failed — to hide his amusement. “I didn’t think I’d ever see you intimidated by something under ten pounds.”

“I’m not intimidated,” Alec said firmly. “I just respect her boundaries.”

“Ah, healthy communication. She’ll appreciate that.”

Alec sighed. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

Magnus smiled, taking another bite of rice. “Absolutely.”

They fell into easy conversation after that — about nothing and everything. Magnus complained about work, about a client who wanted a necklace shaped like a flamingo (“I’m a designer, not a magician,” he’d said, though Alec suspected he was both). Alec told him about the gym’s new renovation plans and how Jace had somehow convinced him to allow “motivational murals.”

Magnus teased him relentlessly about it.

By the time Magnus finished eating, his color looked better — the fever gone, the spark back in his eyes. Alec could see it, the gradual return of his usual charm, his confidence.

Magnus set the empty container down and stretched, cat-like. “You make a decent nurse, Alexander.”

“I’m not your nurse,” Alec said automatically.

Magnus tilted his head. “Then what are you?”

Alec hesitated — too long. Magnus’s smile softened, something gentle flickering in his gaze.

“Friend,” Alec said finally, the word tasting inadequate.

Magnus nodded slowly. “Friend,” he echoed, but there was a flicker of something wistful in his voice.

Alec didn’t know what to say to that, so he reached down to grab his jacket — and immediately regretted it.

The cat had silently crept closer and was now perched beside his jacket, glaring up at him like a tiny, furry guardian of doom.

“Uh,” Alec said, freezing mid-reach. “Can I…?”

Magnus chuckled. “Chairman, darling, let the man leave with his dignity.”

The cat blinked. Then, with deliberate slowness, she sat down on Alec’s sleeve.

Magnus tried and failed to stifle his laughter. “She has chosen.”

“Chosen to ruin my jacket,” Alec muttered.

Magnus got up, gently scooping the cat into his arms. She meowed in protest but didn’t scratch him — which Alec noticed.

“She likes you more than she pretends,” Magnus said, smiling down at the cat.

“Lucky me.” Alec took the jacket, brushing off fur. “She’s got an attitude.”

Magnus grinned. “She’s just discerning. Much like her owner.”

Alec met his eyes, and for a moment the teasing faded. The space between them shifted — warmer, quieter.

“I’m glad you’re feeling better,” Alec said softly.

Magnus smiled, a little shy, a little earnest. “Thanks to you — and your rice, of course.”

“Yeah,” Alec said, clearing his throat. “Guess it wasn’t too plain after all.”

Magnus’s eyes lingered on him, thoughtful, searching. “No. Not plain at all.”

Alec wasn’t sure what to do with the way that made his heart stutter, so he nodded awkwardly. “I should let you rest.”

Magnus tilted his head, amusement returning. “You really are terrible at goodbyes.”

“Yeah, I know.”

Magnus chuckled, opening the door for him. “Thank you, Alexander.”

“Anytime,” Alec said before he could stop himself — and meant it.

As he stepped into the hallway, Magnus called after him, “Next time, bring dessert. The Chairman has high standards.”

Alec glanced back just in time to see the cat swat at Magnus’s sleeve, as if in agreement.

He shook his head, smiling despite himself. “Noted.”

And as he walked down the stairs, jacket slightly fur-covered, Alec realized he didn’t mind. Not the meddling sister, not the cat, not the ridiculousness of it all.

Because Magnus Bane, chaos and all, was absolutely worth it.

Chapter Text

Magnus felt human again.

For the first time in a week, he woke without a pounding head or the sense that a small elephant had decided to nap on his chest. The flu had been cruel, but the worst part hadn’t been the fever — it had been the stillness. Magnus wasn’t built for being still. He thrived on movement, on creation, on color and conversation. Being stuck inside for days had made him itch.

So when he strolled back into Lightwood & Co. on Monday morning, wearing a deep emerald suit and his favorite gold rings, it felt like stepping back into his natural habitat.

“Look who rose from the dead,” Isabelle announced the moment he walked through the door.

Magnus laughed, flipping his scarf dramatically. “A little death never kept a Bane down.”

Isabelle grinned, throwing her arms around him. “I was starting to miss your glitter, you know. The office was almost tasteful last week.”

Magnus gasped. “Perish the thought.”

Their laughter filled the design floor, and even some of the jewelers peeked up from their workbenches to smile. It was nice — being back among people, back among warmth. Still, as he settled at his desk, pulling out sketches for a commission he’d left half-finished, his thoughts wandered somewhere else entirely.

To a certain tall, quiet man who cooked him rice and looked criminally good in a dark hoodie.

Alec.

Magnus hadn’t expected him to show up the first time — let alone twice. There had been something almost… domestic about the way Alec had stood in his kitchen, awkwardly holding a container of food like it was an offering. Magnus had tried to tease him, because teasing was what Magnus did best, but the truth was, Alec’s kindness had gone straight to his chest and stayed there.

And then there was the cat incident. Chairman Meow had hissed at him — twice — but Alec hadn’t flinched or snapped. He’d just sat there, calm and patient, like the man had endless reserves of quiet strength. Magnus found that infuriatingly attractive.

He was in trouble.

The day passed in a blur of gemstones and sketches, but every so often Magnus found himself glancing at the clock. He told himself it was because he had a deadline. He didn’t. What he did have was a stupid idea forming in the back of his mind — an idea that started with drinks and ended with dinner and terrible self-control.

By four o’clock, he couldn’t resist anymore.

He closed his sketchbook, smoothed his sleeves, and grabbed his coat.

“Heading out early?” Isabelle asked, raising an eyebrow.

Magnus smirked. “For once, yes. I’ve decided to embrace spontaneity.”

“Spontaneity or trouble?” she asked sweetly.

Magnus winked. “Darling, with me, they’re the same thing.”

He left before she could pry.

Outside, the air still carried that late-winter chill, but the sun was soft and golden — one of those deceptive New York afternoons that whispered promises of spring. Magnus walked the familiar gym, his heart doing ridiculous things with every step.

He wasn’t entirely sure what he was doing. He could have texted, but showing up in person felt bolder — riskier. Magnus liked risk. Usually.

The gym smelled faintly of chalk and energy. The front desk was quieter than usual, a few people trickling out after their workouts. Lydia, the yoga instructor, smiled when she spotted him.

“Well, if it isn’t our favorite stylish yogi,” she said. “You’re early. Class doesn’t start for another hour.”

Magnus smiled, brushing a strand of hair behind his ear. “I’m actually not here for yoga today.”

“Oh?”

“I’m here for someone else.”

Her knowing grin said she didn’t need more explanation. “He’s in the back. Weight room.”

Magnus thanked her and walked toward the back, where the rhythmic clink of metal and soft thud of footsteps echoed.

Alec was there — of course he was — focused, sweat-damp, and devastatingly handsome. He was spotting one of the gym regulars, his hands steady, his tone calm but firm. When the set ended, Alec said something that made the guy grin, and then turned — noticing Magnus.

The change was instant. His eyes lit up just a little, and his lips curved into that small, almost shy smile that made Magnus’s stomach flip.

“Hey,” Alec said, towel slung over his shoulder. “You’re out of bed.”

“Alive and mostly functional,” Magnus replied with a grin. “I came to test that theory.”

Alec nodded toward the yoga room. “You joining a class?”

Magnus hesitated, then shook his head. “Not today. I, um—” He cleared his throat. “Actually, I came to see you.”

Alec blinked, surprise flickering across his face. “Me?”

Magnus smirked to hide the nerves fluttering under his ribs. “Unless you know another Alexander Lightwood lurking around here.”

“I hope not,” Alec said, dry but smiling now.

Magnus took a breath. This was the part where he could still back out — make a joke, say something about gym membership plans or coffee beans. But no. He’d run from enough things already.

“I wanted to ask if you’d like to grab a drink,” Magnus said finally. “Or dinner. Or both.”

Alec tilted his head slightly. “Tonight?”

“Tonight,” Magnus confirmed, forcing his voice to stay steady. “Unless you’re busy saving the world again.”

That earned him a quiet laugh — a small, genuine sound that warmed him more than he wanted to admit.

“I’m not busy,” Alec said after a beat. “Where were you thinking?”

Magnus blinked. He said yes. His brain momentarily forgot all its languages. “There’s a little place downtown — good cocktails, dim lights, absolutely overpriced food.”

Alec’s mouth curved in amusement. “So basically your natural habitat.”

Magnus grinned. “Exactly.”

“Alright,” Alec said simply. “What time?”

Magnus’s heart did a dangerous little leap. “Seven?”

“Seven works.”

Magnus had expected more resistance, some hesitation, maybe even a polite no. Alec had always been the calm one, the cautious one. But instead, there was quiet certainty in his voice — a steadiness that matched the faint thrill pulsing through Magnus’s chest.

He couldn’t help but tease. “Careful, Alexander. You’re saying yes too easily. People might think you’re falling for my charms.”

Alec gave him a look that was half amusement, half challenge. “Maybe I already did.”

Magnus’s breath caught — just for a second. Then Alec grabbed his water bottle, utterly unfazed, and walked past him toward the locker room, leaving Magnus standing there with his pulse racing and his carefully controlled composure threatening to combust.

He exhaled slowly. “Well,” he muttered to himself, “there goes my equilibrium.”

When Alec came back out, hair damp and dressed in a dark jacket, Magnus was waiting by the door. The sight of him — clean lines, quiet confidence — made Magnus’s chest ache in the best possible way.

“Ready?” Magnus asked lightly.

“Ready,” Alec said.

They stepped out together into the fading afternoon light. The city buzzed softly around them — traffic, laughter, the hum of life that New York carried even in its quieter moments.

They didn’t call it a date. Neither of them dared to use the word. But as they walked side by side, Magnus could feel the edges of the world shift — that slow, electric awareness that something was changing.

Halfway down the block, Alec glanced at him. “You’re really feeling better?”

Magnus smiled. “I am now.”

Alec’s lips twitched, the ghost of a smile playing there before he looked away.

And Magnus, for once, didn’t need words.

Because sometimes, it wasn’t about declarations or confessions. Sometimes it was just about showing up — two people finding their way toward each other, one small, terrifying, wonderful step at a time.

-

The restaurant glowed with soft amber light, the kind that smoothed edges and made everyone look a little softer, a little more human. Magnus liked it immediately.

He’d chosen the place on purpose — elegant but not too formal, with good cocktails, dim lighting, and just enough background music to make silences feel natural. Still, now that he sat across from Alec, watching him study the menu with quiet concentration, Magnus wondered if he’d made a mistake.

It felt like a date. It was a date. And yet neither of them had said the word aloud.

Alec looked unfairly good in the warm light — hair slightly tousled, wearing a dark green button-down that made his eyes look impossibly bright. He wasn’t trying to be charming; he simply was.

Magnus, who usually had words for everything, found himself quietly entranced.

“So,” Alec said, glancing up from his menu. “Do you always pick restaurants that look like movie sets?”

Magnus smiled, swirling the water in his glass. “Only for special occasions.”

“Is this one?”

Magnus met his gaze, the corners of his mouth curving. “It might be.”

Alec’s ears went faintly pink, but he didn’t look away — a small victory that made Magnus’s pulse hum.

They ordered — something fancy for Magnus, something simple for Alec — and by the time their drinks arrived, the initial awkwardness had melted into something easier. They talked about trivial things first: work, the weather, New York’s unpredictable subways. Magnus teased Alec about being the kind of person who voluntarily gets up before sunrise, and Alec countered by calling Magnus “dramatic” for needing three alarms to wake up.

It was light, easy. But Magnus could feel the weight of everything unsaid tugging at the edges.

And maybe it was the soft light or the bourbon warming his chest, but Magnus suddenly found himself wanting to say those things — to let Alec see a little more than the surface.

He took a slow sip, gathering courage. “You know, I wasn’t always here,” he began quietly. “In New York, I mean. I used to live in California.”

Alec leaned in slightly, listening the way he always did — fully, attentively, like every word mattered. It was disarming.

“I had… a life there,” Magnus continued. “Friends, a little apartment with awful sunlight, dreams of starting my own jewelry line. It wasn’t perfect, but it was mine.”

Alec nodded. “What made you leave?”

Magnus let out a soft laugh, though there was no real humor in it. “A break-up. The kind that makes you question whether you were the villain or just blind.”

Alec’s expression softened — not pity, just understanding. Magnus appreciated that.

“She was—” Magnus hesitated. “She was good at first. Kind, funny. She made me feel seen, which is dangerous when you’re used to hiding behind color and noise. But little by little, I realized I was becoming smaller just to keep her comfortable.”

Alec’s brow furrowed. “That doesn’t sound like you.”

Magnus smiled faintly. “It wasn’t. Not for long. I stayed longer than I should have, trying to fix things that didn’t want to be fixed. And when it finally ended, it felt like standing in the middle of an earthquake and watching everything fall apart.”

He toyed with the rim of his glass, eyes distant. “So I left. California, the job, the sun — all of it. I saw an opening here in New York and applied on a whim. I thought maybe a change of scenery could change me.”

Alec was silent for a moment. “Did it?”

Magnus met his gaze. “Maybe not change me, but it made me remember who I was.”

Something in Alec’s expression flickered — pride, maybe, or admiration. “I’m glad you did,” he said softly.

Magnus felt a quiet warmth bloom in his chest. “Thank you.”

He should have stopped there. But the truth pressed against his ribs, restless.

“There’s something else,” he said before he could stop himself. “Something I should probably tell you.”

Alec straightened slightly, curious but patient. “Okay.”

Magnus hesitated — heart hammering, words catching somewhere between confession and cowardice. “When I first met Isabelle… she tried to set me up. With someone. I didn’t know it was you at first.”

Alec blinked, then gave a small, incredulous laugh. “Of course she did.”

Magnus smiled ruefully. “Of course. And I— well, I panicked. When things started getting… complicated, I might have said something that wasn’t true.”

Alec’s expression shifted — not hurt, not quite, but puzzled. “What do you mean?”

Magnus swirled the ice in his glass, eyes fixed on it. “I told her I was seeing someone. I wasn’t. It was easier than explaining that I didn’t want to cross that line with her brother. I thought… if things ever went wrong, I didn’t want her caught in the middle.”

He risked a glance up. Alec was quiet, expression unreadable.

Magnus swallowed. “I know it was stupid. I hate lying. But I didn’t know what to do. You’re—” He broke off, shaking his head. “You’re easy to care about, Alexander. That’s terrifying.”

For a moment, silence hung between them — not heavy, but fragile.

Then Alec exhaled, his shoulders easing. “You didn’t have to protect Isabelle from me,” he said quietly. “But… I get it.”

Magnus blinked, surprised. “You do?”

Alec nodded. “She can be… a lot. I probably would’ve done the same thing if the roles were reversed.”

Relief unfurled in Magnus’s chest, chased quickly by something warmer. “You’re very forgiving.”

Alec’s mouth curved faintly. “You’re very dramatic.”

Magnus laughed softly. “Guilty.”

Their food arrived then, breaking the tension — steak for Alec, something artfully plated and colorful for Magnus. They ate, the conversation settling into a softer rhythm again.

At one point, Alec asked about Magnus’s friend Caterina, and Magnus’s expression brightened. “She’s the best of us,” he said. “A nurse, which means she’s legally allowed to scold me whenever I forget to eat. She’s been my anchor since college — the only one who could make me listen when I start spiraling.”

“She sounds like Isabelle,” Alec said with a smile.

“Possibly even more terrifying,” Magnus replied, grinning. “Though slightly better at hiding bodies.”

Alec laughed — and the sound was rare enough that Magnus’s heart flipped over itself.

When the laughter faded, Magnus leaned back, studying him. “You’ve told me plenty about your sister. What about the rest of your family?”

Alec hesitated a moment, then sighed. “My parents are… complicated. My mom runs the company — you already know that. She’s strict but fair. My dad’s more hands-off. And Jace…” His expression softened. “He’s not technically my brother, but he might as well be. We run the gym together. He drives me crazy most days.”

Magnus smiled. “He seems like the type.”

Alec nodded, smirking. “Yeah. But he’s also the reason I haven’t burned the place down yet.”

They talked like that for a while — sharing stories, trading little pieces of themselves across the table. The restaurant’s noise faded into a pleasant hum, and Magnus realized that hours had passed without him noticing.

He hadn’t meant for this night to be serious. He’d wanted laughter, maybe a bit of flirting, something light. But sitting here, with Alec’s calm voice and quiet eyes, Magnus felt something deeper settle beneath his ribs — something that scared him, because it felt real.

As the waiter cleared their plates, Magnus reached for his glass again but didn’t drink. “You know,” he said softly, “I didn’t expect New York to feel like home.”

Alec tilted his head. “Does it now?”

Magnus smiled — small, sincere. “Sometimes. Especially when I’m not alone.”

Alec didn’t answer right away, but there was something in his gaze — steady, unspoken — that said enough.

Magnus felt warmth crawl up his neck, and he quickly deflected with a grin. “And look at us. Dinner, laughter, shared trauma. If this isn’t a perfect evening, I don’t know what is.”

Alec chuckled. “You forgot the part where your cat hates me.”

Magnus gasped in mock horror. “Chairman Meow only hates most people. You’re special.”

“Somehow that doesn’t sound comforting.”

“Oh, trust me,” Magnus said, eyes glinting. “It is.”

They lingered over dessert, neither quite ready to leave. Outside, the city hummed quietly — the kind of New York night that made everything feel possible.

When they finally stood, Alec offered to walk Magnus home. He didn’t take his hand — not yet — but their shoulders brushed as they moved through the cool air, and that simple touch felt like more than enough.

For the first time in a long while, Magnus didn’t feel the need to perform, or to fill every silence. He could just be.

And as they reached his building and stopped by the door, Magnus found himself smiling — genuinely, quietly.

“Thank you for tonight,” he said. “For listening.”

Alec’s voice was low. “Anytime.”

Magnus wanted to say something else — something about second chances, or maybe about how terrifying it was to feel hopeful again. But instead, he smiled and said, “Next time, drinks are on me.”

Alec’s lips curved. “Next time?”

Magnus’s heart stuttered. “If you want there to be.”

Alec looked at him for a long moment — eyes steady, mouth soft — and then nodded. “I do.”

Magnus exhaled, warmth spreading all the way to his fingertips.

Maybe it wasn’t just a date. Maybe it was the start of something real.

-

Magnus Bane had made it through heartbreaks, transcontinental moves, and client tantrums over the shade of gold on a necklace clasp — yet nothing, nothing, compared to the agony of waiting twenty-four hours after what might have been the best non-date of his life.

He hadn’t stopped thinking about Alec. About the soft light catching in his hair. About the way he’d listened — really listened — as Magnus talked. And, unfortunately for his productivity, about how Alec’s mouth had looked when he smiled.

So of course he called Caterina.

“Let me get this straight,” Caterina said over the phone, voice dry as ever. “You went to dinner with the guy, opened up about your tragic ex, he walked you home, and you didn’t kiss him?”

Magnus flopped dramatically onto his couch, arm over his eyes. “It wasn’t a date, Cat.”

“You dressed up for it, didn’t you?”

“I always dress up. I’m not a savage.”

She snorted. “And did he look at you like he wanted to devour you?”

Magnus peeked through his fingers, a reluctant smile tugging at his lips. “Maybe a little.”

“So it was a date,” Caterina declared. “And you didn’t kiss him because…?”

Magnus groaned. “Because I didn’t want to ruin it! It felt— I don’t know— important. Like one wrong move and the spell would break.”

“Uh-huh,” Caterina said. “So now you’re calling me because you’re planning the next move?”

Magnus hesitated, then sighed. “I just… want to know how he kisses. That’s all.”

“You want to know if he’s good at it.”

Magnus hummed. “Yes.”

“Then find out,” she said simply. “You’re Magnus Bane. When have you ever hesitated to kiss someone you wanted?”

Magnus opened his mouth to argue — but she was right, and that was irritating. “He’s different, Cat. He’s not just anyone.”

“Then stop overthinking and just be yourself. You always find the moment, don’t you?”

Magnus smiled faintly. “Usually.”

“Then go. Find your moment.”

Which was how Magnus, several hours later, found himself standing outside the gym in a perfectly chosen outfit that whispered effortless yet devastatingly attractive.

He’d told himself he was there for yoga. Technically true — Lydia’s class was good for his posture. But as he stepped inside, scanning for Alec, Magnus admitted he was lying to himself.

He wasn’t there for inner peace. He was there for Alec Lightwood.

And there he was, behind the counter, typing something into the computer, brow furrowed in focus. The sight hit Magnus with the same quiet intensity as always — tall, dark-haired, sleeves rolled up, the kind of presence that made fluorescent gym lighting seem like candlelight.

“Evening, Alexander,” Magnus said smoothly, striding over.

Alec looked up, surprise flickering into a small smile. “Magnus. Back for another class?”

“Something like that,” Magnus replied. “I couldn’t stay away.”

Alec’s mouth quirked. “Yoga’s addictive, huh?”

“Oh, terribly,” Magnus said. “Though some would argue it’s the company that keeps me returning.”

Alec’s eyes flickered, just briefly, before he coughed and looked down at the register. “Right. Well, Lydia’s starting in ten minutes.”

Magnus leaned casually on the counter, watching him. “You know, you’re adorable when you try to change the subject.”

Alec’s ears went red. “I’m not— I wasn’t—”

Magnus laughed softly. “Relax, darling. I’m teasing.”

Except he wasn’t entirely. There was something delicious about making Alec flustered. He didn’t get that reaction often — Alec was composed, grounded — but when he did, Magnus felt like he’d won a prize.

The problem was, the more time he spent around Alec, the less composed he became.

He spent the entire yoga class alternating between stretching and overthinking. Every time Alec walked by — helping someone adjust a pose or checking equipment — Magnus’s concentration vanished like incense smoke.

When class ended, Magnus took his time rolling up his mat. Alec was at the front desk again, sorting through paperwork. The gym had mostly emptied out, the hum of conversation fading into soft background music.

Perfect, Magnus thought. This is the moment.

He walked over, heart annoyingly loud in his chest. “You work too much, Alexander.”

Alec looked up, amused. “Says the man who spends half his day sketching jewelry designs at two in the morning.”

Magnus tilted his head. “Touché.”

For a few seconds, they just looked at each other. The kind of moment that stretched and shimmered with possibility. Magnus could almost see it — the way Alec’s mouth would taste, the way he might lean in, hesitant but sure once he decided.

And then Jace’s voice cut through the air.

“Hey, lover boy! Did you order new gloves or what?”

Magnus froze. Alec groaned, shooting his friend a murderous look. “Now’s not the time, Jace.”

“Sorry!” Jace called cheerfully. “Didn’t mean to interrupt your flirting session!”

Magnus pressed a hand to his face, trying not to laugh. “Charming man, that Jace.”

Alec looked like he wanted the floor to open up and swallow him. “I swear he’s not usually—”

“Oh, I believe you,” Magnus said smoothly. “You, on the other hand, might need to work on your timing.”

Alec’s lips twitched. “You were the one standing suspiciously close to the counter.”

Magnus arched a brow. “Suspiciously? I’d call it invitingly.”

“Magnus.” Alec’s voice was low, but there was warmth in it. A warning and a promise.

Magnus’s pulse skipped. Maybe it was now or never. “Alexander—”

But before he could finish, a client approached the counter, asking about membership renewal. Alec turned automatically, professional mode kicking in, and Magnus could only step aside, watching helplessly as his perfect moment evaporated.

He waited — patient, poised — but by the time Alec finished, another trainer came over, and then Jace reappeared, babbling about gym statistics and protein shakes.

By the time Magnus realized it was hopeless, it was nearly closing time.

Alec walked him to the door, smiling softly. “You sure you don’t want to stay and train?”

Magnus laughed. “If I do, I’ll have to start wearing one of those unflattering tank tops. I’m not ready to lose my dignity yet.”

Alec chuckled. “Fair enough.”

Magnus hesitated, then said quietly, “I had a wonderful time the other night. Dinner.”

Alec nodded, looking at him, really looking. “Me too.”

Magnus’s breath caught — there it was again, that unspoken something between them.

He wanted to reach out, to close the distance, to find out if Alec kissed the way he smiled — slow and sure, the kind of kiss that anchored rather than burned.

But Magnus Bane, self-proclaimed master of timing, found himself frozen.

So instead, he smiled, soft and almost shy. “Goodnight, Alexander.”

“Goodnight, Magnus.”

And that was that.

Magnus walked home, hands deep in his pockets, trying not to curse at himself. He’d had two perfect opportunities in two days and hadn’t managed so much as a brush of lips.

When he got home, Chairman Meow greeted him with a judgmental meow that sounded suspiciously like, You blew it.

Magnus sighed dramatically, collapsing onto the couch. “Don’t look at me like that, Chairman. You don’t understand the complexities of human interaction.”

The cat blinked.

Magnus threw an arm over his face, groaning. “He probably thinks I’m ridiculous. I flirt, he blushes, I panic — what is this, high school?”

The cat yawned.

Magnus peeked out from under his arm, sighing. “Fine. Tomorrow. I’ll try again tomorrow. One can only resist charm and cheekbones like his for so long.”

Chairman Meow licked his paw.

“Exactly,” Magnus muttered. “He doesn’t stand a chance.”

Still, as he drifted to sleep that night, Magnus couldn’t help replaying every look, every smile, every almost that had filled the air between them.

And though he hadn’t kissed Alec Lightwood yet, Magnus knew one thing with absolute certainty — when he finally did, it would be worth every missed moment.

Chapter Text

It was ridiculous, really. Alec Lightwood was a grown man — responsible, competent, capable of running a business, managing employees, and organizing a citywide charity event — and yet he had somehow forgotten to do the most basic thing imaginable.

He didn’t have Magnus’s phone number.

The realization hit him around lunchtime, when he’d been halfway through typing out a message that began, Want to go for a ride tonight? Weather’s good for it.

And then, as he’d stared at the blank recipient field, he’d frowned. Because there was no Magnus Bane in his contacts.

He’d scrolled. Checked again. No “Magnus.” No “M.” Not even a single glitter emoji or dramatic alias that might have given the man away.

Alec leaned back in his chair at the office upstairs in the gym, rubbing his temples. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

The absurdity of it almost made him laugh. They’d had dinner. He’d brought Magnus soup. Rice. Talked about their lives. Walked through the park. They’d texted occasionally — except, no, they hadn’t. They’d just run into each other, called through Isabelle, or bumped into each other by pure chance.

How had he let that happen?

The answer, of course, was simple: Magnus made him forget logic existed.

Still, Alec needed that number now, because the day was too perfect for wasting. The air had that rare crisp-but-not-freezing quality that made a motorcycle ride feel like freedom rather than frostbite, and he wanted— no, needed— to see Magnus again.

Which left him with one option.

Isabelle.

Alec sighed and grabbed his phone, opening his messages. If there was anyone in his life who would weaponize this information, it was his sister.

He typed:

Alec: Izzy. Do you have Magnus’s number?

The reply came instantly.

Isabelle: …excuse me, WHAT? 😏
Isabelle: You’ve been hanging out with him for MONTHS and you don’t have his number??
Isabelle: And you call ME chaotic?

Alec groaned. He could already picture her, grinning like the cat that had just cornered the canary.

Alec: I just never needed it before.
Isabelle: You brought him soup when he was sick, but didn’t think to ask for his number?
Alec: Izzy. Please.
Isabelle: You’re lucky you’re cute when you’re hopeless.

There was a pause. Then, finally:

Isabelle: Fine. Here. But if you mess this up, I’m telling Clary you asked for dating help.

Alec smiled despite himself as she sent the number.

Alec: Thanks.
Isabelle: Tell him it’s from ME so he doesn’t think you’re a stalker.
Alec: I’ll be fine.
Isabelle: Famous last words.

He ignored that last text — mostly because she was probably right.

Alec stared at the blank message field for several minutes. What exactly was he supposed to say?

Hey, it’s Alec. Want to go for a ride after work? No. Too formal.

Weather’s good tonight. Feel like getting some air? Too vague.

I’ll pick you up outside Lightwood & Co. at six. Bring a jacket. Too presumptive.

He exhaled sharply. Why was texting suddenly harder than leading a team meeting?

He finally typed something simple.

Want to go for a ride after work?

Clean. Direct. No unnecessary words. Magnus would understand.

He hit send before he could overthink it again.

Five minutes later, his phone buzzed.

Magnus: I’m flattered, mysterious stranger, but I must confess I don’t make a habit of accepting motorcycle rides from men who won’t even give me their names.

Alec froze. Then he blinked. Then — despite himself — he laughed.

Out loud.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d done that alone in his office, but the image of Magnus, reading his anonymous text with a raised eyebrow and a smirk, was too much.

He texted back quickly.

Alec: Sorry. Forgot to say who it was. It’s Alec.

The reply was instantaneous.

Magnus: Ohhh, well in that case, you’re forgiven, Alexander.
Magnus: Though I admit, it was very exciting to be courted by a man of mystery.

Alec shook his head, smiling at the screen.

Alec: No mystery. Just bad texting habits.
Magnus: Tragic. And here I was, ready to fall for the enigmatic biker with no name.
Alec: You might still.

He didn’t know what possessed him to send that last message, but when Magnus replied with:

Magnus: Careful, darling. I might hold you to that.

Alec had to stop himself from grinning like an idiot.

By the time evening rolled around, Alec was waiting outside Lightwood & Co., the sky streaked with soft pinks and purples as the sun dipped behind the city skyline. He leaned casually against his bike, helmet in hand, trying not to look like he’d been there for fifteen minutes already.

He told himself he wasn’t nervous.

He’d done this before — gone on rides with friends, taken Clary and Jace out for city loops, even offered Isabelle a ride once before she declared that she preferred convertibles and drama.

But this was Magnus. And Magnus had a way of making ordinary things feel like events.

When the doors to the company opened, Alec’s breath caught before he could help it.

Magnus stepped out, wrapped in a dark coat, a flash of deep red scarf at his throat, looking — as always — like he’d just stepped out of a fashion spread.

“Alexander,” Magnus greeted with a smile that made the air around him feel warmer. “So the mysterious texter reveals himself after all.”

Alec chuckled. “Still think it was a good idea to give you my number?”

“Terrible idea,” Magnus said with mock seriousness. “I’m going to abuse it horribly.”

“Can’t wait.”

Magnus tilted his head, amusement glinting in his eyes. “Are you flirting with me, Mr. Lightwood?”

“Maybe,” Alec said.

Magnus’s smile softened, and Alec thought he saw something in his gaze — that spark of surprise and quiet delight that came when someone realized they were being seen.

“So,” Magnus said after a beat, shifting the conversation lightly. “Where are we going?”

“Wherever you want,” Alec replied, handing him the spare helmet. “As long as you hold on.”

Magnus smirked. “I think I can manage that.”

Alec climbed on, waiting until Magnus settled behind him, his arms looping around Alec’s waist.

For a man who spent his life controlling his breathing, his movements, his composure — Alec found himself momentarily undone by the simple warmth pressed against his back.

Magnus leaned in, voice low. “You drive. I’ll admire the view.”

Alec smiled, started the engine, and pulled onto the street.

The city unfolded around them in lights and hum and wind — Magnus’s laughter echoing behind him, the kind of sound that loosened something tight in Alec’s chest.

For once, Alec didn’t think about what it meant, or what might happen next. He didn’t think about how long he’d liked Magnus, or what might go wrong.

He just drove.

And for a while, that was enough.

Later that night, after dropping Magnus off and hearing him say, “You really should text me again, Alexander. Next time, start with your name,” Alec found himself grinning into the night air all over again.

He texted Isabelle as soon as he got home:

Alec: Thanks for Magnus’s number.

Her reply was instant.

Isabelle: Took you long enough. 😏
Isabelle: Did you at least tell him who you were this time?
Alec: Eventually.
Isabelle: You’re hopeless.

Alec smiled down at his phone, shaking his head.

Maybe. But somehow, hopeless didn’t feel so bad when Magnus Bane was at the other end of the line.

-

Alec hadn’t realized how addictive texting could be until Magnus Bane started replying.

At first, it was innocent — a few quick exchanges about coffee or the weather or something Isabelle had said that day. But now? Now his phone seemed to light up every few minutes with a new message, and somehow, Alec always found time to answer.

It wasn’t just that Magnus texted often. It was that Magnus texted like Magnus: dramatic, witty, and entirely too charming for Alec’s peace of mind.

Sometimes, Magnus would send a photo of his morning coffee, complete with glittering foam art, followed by a message like:

Your usual drink could use a little sparkle, Alexander.

Other times, he’d share a snippet of his day — a sketch of a necklace design, a cat photo captioned “Chairman Meow disapproves of my life choices,” or a random observation about people in line at his favorite café.

And Alec, against every expectation, found himself replying — not out of obligation, but because he wanted to.

He wanted to make Magnus laugh. He wanted to hear that soft, amused tone that lived between every word Magnus typed.

It had been a long time since he’d wanted anything that much.

Jace noticed, of course.

Alec didn’t know how he always managed it — how his best friend had a radar that went off every time Alec was even slightly off balance — but one morning, while they were training together at the gym, Jace caught him smiling down at his phone.

Big mistake.

“Oh no,” Jace said, grinning as he threw a towel over his shoulder. “That’s the face. That’s the Magnus face.”

Alec didn’t even look up. “What face?”

“The one you make when you’re texting him,” Jace said easily. “All soft and smirky. It’s disturbing.”

Alec rolled his eyes, setting his phone down. “You’re imagining things.”

“Am I?” Jace leaned against the wall, smirk growing. “You’ve been glued to that phone for days. You even smiled at your screen during a meeting yesterday. Isabelle nearly fainted.”

“I did not.”

“You did,” Jace said cheerfully. “Clary has photographic evidence. We’re considering framing it.”

Alec sighed. “You’re impossible.”

Jace tilted his head, studying him. “You like him.”

Alec’s hand stilled mid-motion.

Jace didn’t mean it cruelly — he never did — but the words landed heavier than Alec expected.

He liked Magnus. Of course he did.

But how much?

Alec grabbed a water bottle, trying for casual. “He’s… he’s a good guy.”

Jace barked out a laugh. “A good guy? That’s all you’ve got?”

“He is.”

“Sure. And I’m the Queen of Idris.”

Alec glared. “Drop it.”

“Not a chance,” Jace said, grin widening. “You’re helpless, man. Absolutely whipped. You text him constantly, and I’m ninety percent sure you’re planning your next move like a war strategy.”

Alec didn’t reply — because Jace wasn’t wrong.

When Jace left to help Clary set up a new class schedule, Alec stayed behind in the empty gym, phone in hand.

Magnus had texted him three times since their last exchange that morning.

Magnus: Tell Jace he’s wrong about the glitter yoga mats. They’d sell.
Magnus: Chairman Meow says good morning. She’s being a menace.
Magnus: Do you think black cats actually bring bad luck, or is that superstition propaganda?

Alec smiled, typing back:

Alec: Probably propaganda. Cats are all trouble, though.

The reply came seconds later.

Magnus: Even me?

Alec paused, fingers hovering over the screen, pulse quickening before he could stop it. Especially you, he typed.

The typing bubble appeared again — then disappeared. Then reappeared. Then vanished once more.

Magnus was thinking.

Finally, a single message appeared.

Magnus: Careful, Alexander. You keep saying things like that, and I might start believing you like me.

Alec stared at the words, his chest tightening in a way that was both exhilarating and terrifying.

He wanted to reply. He wanted to tell Magnus that maybe he did like him — more than he should, more than he planned to — but the words didn’t come easily.

So he sent something safer.

Alec: Would that be so bad?

No reply came right away. Minutes passed.

Alec set his phone down, ran a hand through his hair, and let out a slow breath.

Maybe it was bad. Maybe Jace was right — he was too far gone.

Because it wasn’t just about Magnus being charming or attractive or funny. It was the way Magnus looked at him like Alec was seen — fully, completely — and that terrified him.

He hadn’t let anyone that close since before everything fell apart two years ago. The memory of that last relationship — the one that ended with him questioning his own worth — still lingered like a bruise under the skin.

Was he really ready to do this again?

To risk something that could actually hurt?

And yet… when he thought of Magnus — his laughter, his kindness, the way he made even the dullest days brighter — the fear didn’t seem so sharp.

Maybe this time would be different.

Maybe this time, it was worth the risk.

By the time Magnus finally replied, Alec’s heart had already done three rounds of overthinking.

Magnus: Not bad at all, darling. In fact, I was just wondering when you’d finally do something about it.

Alec read the message twice before exhaling a laugh.

Magnus Bane was many things — subtle wasn’t one of them.

He stared at the words, debating what to say next, and then, without letting himself think too much, he typed:

Alec: How about dinner tomorrow? My treat.

There was a pause. Then—

Magnus: Is this a date, Alexander?

Alec smiled.

Alec: Yes.

The reply came instantly.

Magnus: Then I’ll wear something worth remembering.

Alec’s pulse skipped.

Magnus: You always do.

-

“Okay,” Jace said as Alec tied his shoes in the locker room. “You have that look again.”

“What look?”

“The I-finally-asked-him-out look.”

Alec froze. “I didn’t—”

Jace arched an eyebrow.

Alec sighed. “Fine. I did.”

Jace grinned, slapping him on the shoulder. “About damn time.”

Alec rolled his eyes. “Don’t start.”

“I’m not starting,” Jace said, hands up in mock surrender. “I’m proud. You’re finally admitting you’ve got it bad.”

“I don’t—”

“—love him?” Jace finished, smirking. “Sure. But give it a week.”

Alec didn’t answer, but his silence was telling.

Because maybe Jace wasn’t entirely wrong.

It wasn’t love — not yet. But it was something. Something that made his chest feel lighter and heavier all at once.

He didn’t know where it would lead. He didn’t know if Magnus would even let it lead anywhere.

But for the first time in a long while, Alec wanted to find out.

He wanted to finish that almost-kiss they’d started twice before — once after dinner, when they’d stood too close outside Magnus’s building, both waiting for the other to move; and once at the gym, when Alec had leaned in without thinking before Magnus’s phone rang and shattered the moment.

Maybe tomorrow, he thought, he’d stop hesitating.

Maybe this time, he’d close the distance.

And if Magnus kissed him back — if that spark they’d both been dancing around finally caught fire — then maybe Alec would stop pretending this wasn’t love beginning to take shape.

Quiet. Steady. Certain.

The kind of love that didn’t crash in all at once, but built itself piece by piece, text by text, until suddenly it was too strong to ignore.

And maybe, just maybe, Alec was ready for that again.

-

Alec wasn’t nervous.

That’s what he kept telling himself, anyway, as he stared into his closet like it might magically offer advice.

He wasn’t nervous. He was just… overthinking. Which wasn’t the same thing.

This was a real date. He’d asked Magnus to dinner. Magnus had said yes. There’d been emojis involved. And flirting. And Magnus had promised to “wear something worth remembering.”

So yeah. It was a date.

And Alec Lightwood had no idea what to wear.

“Absolutely not,” Isabelle said from behind him.

Alec turned, halfway through pulling on a dark blue sweater. “What?”

His sister stood in the doorway like a cat who had just discovered chaos to be made. Arms crossed, expression appalled.

“You’re not wearing that.”

“It’s a sweater.”

“It’s a funeral sweater.” She pushed past him and started rifling through his clothes like a stylist in crisis. “You’re going on a date, Alec. With Magnus Bane. The Magnus Bane who makes coffee shop windows brighter just by existing. You cannot wear something that says, ‘I got lost on my way to a staff meeting.’”

Alec sighed. “It’s comfortable.”

“So are pajamas,” Isabelle said sweetly. “You’re not wearing those either.”

He groaned as she pulled out a shirt with tiny silver threads woven through it. “Izzy, no.”

“Just try it.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Try it or I’ll tell Jace you practiced smiling in the mirror.”

Alec froze. “You wouldn’t.”

Her grin was pure mischief. “Oh, I would.”

Ten minutes later, he was standing in front of the mirror wearing a shirt that sparkled faintly every time he moved. Isabelle beamed like she’d just reinvented fashion.

“See? Gorgeous.”

Alec looked like he’d lost a fight with a disco ball. “I look ridiculous.”

“You look amazing.”

He folded his arms. “I’m not wearing this.”

“Alec—”

“No.” He peeled it off and tossed it on the bed. “I’m not trying to be someone I’m not. Magnus agreed to dinner with me. Not some glittery mannequin you styled.”

Isabelle tilted her head, studying him for a moment — then smiled softly. “Fine. You win. But at least promise me you’ll wear something that fits and doesn’t look like it came from Dad’s closet.”

He smirked. “Deal.”

In the end, Alec settled on black jeans, a bleached-gray shirt that clung just right, and his worn leather jacket.

Simple. Comfortable. Him.

When Isabelle saw the final result, she let out an approving whistle. “Okay, I’ll allow it. The leather jacket saves everything. You look… dangerous.”

“Dangerous?”

“In a brooding-hero way,” she said with a grin. “You’re welcome.”

Alec rolled his eyes but smiled all the same.

Maybe he was nervous — but at least he looked like himself.

-

Magnus was already waiting when Alec arrived at the restaurant.

Of course he was. Magnus always seemed to exist slightly ahead of everyone else — like the world moved just a bit slower to make room for him.

He was leaning against the bar when Alec spotted him, dressed in a dark suit that shimmered faintly in the warm light, gold rings glinting as he gestured at the bartender.

When he turned and saw Alec, something in his expression softened.

“Alec,” Magnus said, smiling in that way that made Alec’s heart forget how to beat properly. “You made it.”

“Of course,” Alec said, stepping closer. “You look…” He trailed off, words failing him.

Magnus’s smile widened. “You don’t look so bad yourself, darling. I see you ignored your sister’s advice.”

Alec blinked. “How—?”

“She texted me,” Magnus said, tone amused. “Something about saving you from yourself.”

Alec groaned. “Of course she did.”

“Well,” Magnus said, eyes tracing over him with unmistakable approval, “for what it’s worth, I think you made the right choice. I happen to be very fond of leather jackets.”

Alec couldn’t help the smile tugging at his mouth. “Good to know.”

Dinner was… easy.

Surprisingly easy.

Alec had expected awkwardness — a few hesitant silences, maybe some fumbling small talk — but instead, conversation flowed as naturally as breathing.

They talked about everything and nothing.

Magnus told him about growing up in California, about the breakup that had led him to New York, about how jewelry design had once been just a hobby before it turned into a career. He spoke with his hands, eyes lighting up when he described his work or his cat or the city’s late-night chaos.

Alec listened, fascinated. He’d always known Magnus was interesting — how could he not be? — but hearing him open up like this, unguarded and real, was something else entirely.

In return, Alec found himself sharing things he rarely talked about: stories about his family, about Isabelle’s relentless matchmaking, about Jace and Clary and the gym. About how hard it had been after his last relationship ended — the way he’d stopped letting people close, afraid of getting burned again.

Magnus didn’t interrupt or pity him. He just listened.

And when Alec’s voice faltered, Magnus reached across the table and brushed his fingers against Alec’s hand. Just once. Just long enough.

It wasn’t much — but it was enough to make Alec forget how to breathe for a second.

After dinner, they walked out into the cool night.

The city hummed softly around them — cars in the distance, laughter spilling from nearby bars, the faint buzz of streetlights.

Alec offered to drive Magnus home, and Magnus accepted with a teasing, “Trying to impress me with your gentlemanly manners, Alexander?”

“Maybe,” Alec admitted, smiling.

They didn’t talk much during the drive, but it wasn’t an awkward silence. It was the kind that felt full — comfortable, somehow, like the quiet between two songs.

When Alec stopped in front of Magnus’s building, Magnus unbuckled his seatbelt slowly, turning toward him.

“Well,” he said softly. “That was… unexpectedly lovely.”

Alec’s lips curved. “Unexpectedly?”

Magnus’s eyes sparkled. “I wasn’t sure what to expect. But this…” He tilted his head, studying Alec. “This was good.”

Alec’s pulse picked up. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “It was.”

Magnus smiled, fingers playing with one of his rings. “I should go before I say something terribly sentimental.”

“Too late,” Alec murmured, before he could stop himself.

Magnus laughed, low and warm. “You might be right.”

For a moment, they just looked at each other — the air between them thick with something neither could quite name.

Then Magnus leaned closer.

It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t planned. It just happened — natural, inevitable.

Alec met him halfway.

The kiss was soft at first — a gentle brush of lips, testing, almost hesitant. Then Magnus’s hand came up to rest lightly against Alec’s jaw, thumb tracing his cheekbone, and the world seemed to tilt.

Alec’s heart thundered in his chest.

When they finally pulled apart, Magnus’s eyes were warm and bright and a little unsteady.

“Well,” Magnus whispered, voice barely above a breath. “That answers that question.”

Alec swallowed. “What question?”

Magnus smiled faintly. “Whether you were a good kisser.”

Alec’s mouth twitched. “And?”

Magnus leaned in, just enough that Alec could feel his breath against his lips. “You’ll have to let me conduct a few more tests before I can give a definitive answer.”

Alec laughed — soft, genuine, the kind of laugh Magnus hadn’t heard from him before — and Magnus smiled like he’d won something priceless.

“Goodnight, Alexander,” Magnus murmured, fingers brushing lightly over Alec’s as he opened the car door.

“Goodnight, Magnus,” Alec said, voice low.

Magnus stepped out into the night, turning back once with a grin. “Text me when you get home.”

Alec watched him disappear into the building, heart still racing, then leaned back against the seat, a small, helpless smile tugging at his lips.

He wasn’t sure what this was yet — what they were becoming — but for the first time in a long while, he wasn’t afraid of finding out.

Chapter Text

Magnus Bane was happy.

There. He admitted it. He was unapologetically, ridiculously happy. The sort of happiness that made him feel lighter in the morning, made his hair shine a little brighter in the sunlight, and made coffee taste just slightly sweeter than usual.

And he had every reason to be.

Last night’s date had been… magical. Not in the sparkly, cinematic way his life usually involved, but in the slow, deliberate, warm way that made his chest swell when he remembered Alec’s hands, the brush of lips, the quiet laugh that had escaped him mid-kiss.

He’d gone to bed with a grin that refused to leave his face and, somehow, slept better than he had in months. Even Chairman Meow had noticed — the cat had purred loudly against the bedspread as if approving his joy.

Now, Magnus was stepping out of his apartment, scarf wrapped snugly around his neck, his heart performing little acrobatics as he made his way to his morning ritual: the coffee shop.

The streets of New York were still a little sleepy at this hour. Cars hummed faintly in the distance, and the air had that crisp end-of-winter sharpness, even if is spring, that made him tuck his chin further into his scarf. He didn’t mind. He had a reason to be cheerful today.

And the moment he spotted Alec up ahead, walking toward the same shop, his pulse did a little dance of its own.

Alec was casually dressed, as usual, black jeans, bleach-gray shirt, leather jacket perfectly slung over his shoulders. But somehow — somehow — the man always looked like he’d stepped out of a magazine, even while walking quickly to escape the morning cold.

Magnus’s chest thumped.

Alec’s eyes met his, and that small, almost shy grin appeared, the one that had caught Magnus off guard months ago in the coffee shop when he was still a stranger with a charming smile.

Magnus couldn’t help it. He quickened his pace, feeling like a teenager with a secret, which was ridiculous, because he was Magnus Bane. He was thirty years old. He should be immune to being flustered.

And yet…

He was not.

“Good morning,” Alec said as they reached the small café, voice low, casual, and somehow utterly disarming.

Magnus opened his mouth to reply — and Alec didn’t give him the chance.

With a fluid, confident movement, Alec looped an arm around Magnus’s waist and pressed him against the brick wall just outside the shop.

Magnus froze.

Then Alec kissed him.

And oh. My. God.

It wasn’t a brief peck. It wasn’t polite or restrained. It was all the passion they’d teased with before, all the nearly-kisses they’d stolen in passing, all the unspoken desire finally finding its voice.

Magnus gasped — or at least, he tried not to, but the cold air mixed with the intensity of Alec’s mouth on his and made it impossible. He felt warm, breathless, slightly dizzy, and very, very alive.

Alec pulled back just enough to glance at him, dark eyes twinkling, lips still trembling with the remnants of the kiss. “Morning,” he said, voice low, teasing, somehow shy. A faint of pink dusting his face.

Magnus’s legs almost gave out. He blinked, struggling to find words, but all that came out was a soft, “Alec…”

Alec chuckled, pressing a quick peck to Magnus’s lips before releasing him fully. “Coffee?” he asked innocently, as though nothing catastrophic had just occurred against the brick wall in full view of the city morning.

Magnus’s brain short-circuited. What happened to brooding Alec?

Coffee. Yes. Yes, coffee was what they should do. Not collapse into a puddle of emotions right there on the sidewalk.

Inside the café, the morning was bright but not crowded, the smell of espresso and pastry comforting. Magnus, trying to regain his composure, settled on a stool, tugging his scarf just slightly higher to hide what he suspected was a very faint blush.

The blush, he realized with horror, was not faint at all. Alec, of course, had that knowing tilt of his head, eyes glinting with amusement.

“Are you… red?” Alec asked, voice careful, teasing just enough to make Magnus want to melt further.

“I am not red,” Magnus said, a little too quickly, tugging at his scarf. “It’s the cold.”

Alec didn’t reply, just smirked, taking a seat across from him and idly drumming his fingers on the counter. “Right,” he said. “Cold.”

Magnus let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

-

Magnus was sitting at his desk at Lightwood & Co., and he was trying — and failing — to focus on a necklace design for a particularly demanding client. His thoughts kept drifting to the kiss, to Alec’s hands, to the soft teasing smile he’d given afterward.

And then the door to his office burst open.

“Magnus Bane!”

Magnus jumped, nearly sending his pencil rolling across the desk.

Isabelle Lightwood leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, her trademark smirk in place. Behind her, Simon — the ever-curious, ever-slightly-annoying colleague — peeked in, grinning like he had some inside joke only he knew.

“What is it?” Magnus asked, already wary.

“You,” Isabelle said, pointing an accusing finger at him. “You look… strange.”

Magnus blinked. “Strange? How so?”

Simon leaned forward, hands on the edge of the desk. “You’re… flustered. Disheveled. Gasping at air. And what’s that blush? Magnus, you never blush.”

Magnus froze.

He had never blushed like this before. Alec, apparently, had that effect on him. He cursed internally.

“I-I’m fine,” Magnus stammered, tugging at his scarf to cover the faint pink rising across his cheeks. “Really. Completely fine.”

Isabelle didn’t buy it. Not for a second.

“Oh, come on,” she said, strolling into the room, smirking. “Something happened. You’re glowing, and not just because of that necklace you’re designing. Spill.”

“I’m… designing,” Magnus muttered, waving vaguely at the half-finished sketch of gold and diamonds in front of him.

Simon leaned over Magnus’ shoulder to peer at it. “Uh-huh. Sure. Very professional. And the blush? I’m guessing that’s not part of the design.”

Magnus groaned inwardly. “Simon…”

“Come on, Magnus. We know something happened,” Isabelle said, leaning against his desk, arms folded in the classic interrogation stance. “You walked in here looking like you’d just survived a tornado of emotions. What happened?”

Magnus pinched the bridge of his nose. He should’ve known better. Isabelle’s curiosity was relentless, Simon’s enthusiasm equally so. “Nothing happened,” he said, though the words sounded hollow even to him.

“Nothing?” Isabelle repeated, raising a skeptical eyebrow. “Come on, you can tell us. Was it… romantic?”

Magnus nearly choked. “It’s none of your business!” he blurted, then immediately regretted it. His voice cracked slightly — something he hated — and both Isabelle and Simon grinned, victorious.

“Oh, it’s totally our business,” Isabelle said, clearly delighted. “I mean, you never blush like that. What kind of magic did this person work on you?”

Magnus groaned again. “No magic. Nothing. I’m fine. I… had a good night, that’s all.”

Simon’s eyes twinkled. “A ‘good night,’ huh? Do tell. What’s a good night for Magnus Bane? Reading the dictionary under moonlight?”

Magnus waved a hand. “It’s… complicated. Not that it matters to either of you.”

“Oh, it matters,” Isabelle said firmly. “Magnus Bane, you’re glowing. We demand answers, so I can go bug Alec next.”

Magnus pinched his lips together, wishing he could melt into his chair. He’d survived years of ridiculous situations, clients turning violent over jewelry disputes, but Isabelle’s relentless curiosity was somehow worse.

“All right,” he admitted reluctantly, leaning back and trying to look casual, though his heart was racing. “Fine. Something… personal happened. Happy, personal. Can we leave it at that?”

Isabelle smirked. “Happy, personal. Ooooh, sounds suspicious. Simon, I think he’s dating someone!” Cough. “Alec.”

Simon whooped. “Yes! Finally! Magnus Bane has a love life!”

Magnus groaned, hiding his face behind his hands. “I do not blush this easily!”

“You just did,” Isabelle said cheerfully, crossing her arms. “Several times.”

Magnus peeked through his fingers, glaring at her. “This is not evidence. You’re exaggerating.”

Magnus groaned again, realizing there was no escaping it. Not Isabelle. Not Simon. Not the fact that Alec had kissed him, stolen his composure, and left him completely undone.

And somehow, despite the embarrassment, despite the blush, despite being utterly interrogated by two humans who thrived on gossip, Magnus felt lighter than he had in months.

He was happy. Ridiculously, unapologetically, ridiculously happy.

And maybe, just maybe… that was worth a little blushing.

-

Magnus wasn’t one to deny himself a plan once it lodged itself into his head — especially one that involved Alexander Lightwood and a possible kiss.

It was ridiculous, of course. Entirely foolish. But Magnus had decided that if the universe was willing to hand him a sliver of happiness, he’d take it with open arms and a generous dash of eyeliner.

So, on a Wednesday evening that smelled faintly of spring and gym disinfectant, Magnus found himself walking through the glass doors of Alec’s gym— yoga mat in one hand, water bottle in the other, determination in his stride.

He told himself it was just another yoga class.

He didn’t believe himself.

Because there, behind the reception counter, was Alec.

Magnus’ breath hitched in a way that made him silently curse the human body’s lack of subtlety. Alec was wearing a dark t-shirt, one that clung to him in ways Magnus tried very hard not to notice. His hair was a bit messy — like he’d run a hand through it one too many times — and there was that faint crease between his brows that Magnus had grown oddly fond of.

And, of course, the moment Magnus stepped in, Alec looked up. Their eyes met — just a flicker, just a heartbeat — and Alec’s lips curved into that small, soft, devastatingly sincere smile that made Magnus’ insides twist.

He was so doomed.

“Hey,” Alec said as Magnus approached the counter. His voice was calm, a touch shy, but his eyes betrayed him — that quiet warmth shining just beneath the surface.

“Hello, darling,” Magnus replied smoothly, leaning an elbow on the counter like he wasn’t about to combust. “You look very managerial today. Is that a new shirt or are you just trying to impress me?”

Alec chuckled, shaking his head. “It’s just a shirt.”

“Mm,” Magnus hummed, eyes glinting. “Pity. I was going to compliment your fashion sense.”

Alec’s blush was faint but there — that endearing hint of pink that crept up his neck every time Magnus teased him. It made Magnus’ heart squeeze.

Thank God Magnus is not the only one blushing.

Before either of them could say more, Jace walked in from one of the back rooms, a towel slung over his shoulder and a grin that spelled trouble.

“Well, well,” Jace said, looking between the two of them. “If it isn’t my favorite almost-couple. Alec, are you flirting at the front desk again?”

Alec groaned, glaring at his best friend. “Jace, go stretch or something.”

“I already did,” Jace said cheerfully. “And I’m just saying — you’re glowing, man. Both of you. What is this, a rom-com?”

Magnus smirked, unbothered. “Don’t be jealous, blondie. Some of us are blessed with natural charm.”

“Oh, I’m not jealous,” Jace said with a wink. “Just taking notes.”

“Notes you’ll never use, no doubt,” Magnus replied smoothly, watching with amusement as Alec threw Jace a murderous look.

“Jace, I swear—”

“Relax,” Jace said, laughing. “It’s nice seeing you like this, man. You haven’t smiled this much in, like… ever.”

That made Alec pause. His glare softened, and something tender flickered behind his eyes. He didn’t reply, just glanced at Magnus — quick, shy, genuine. Magnus’ breath caught again.

Jace, satisfied with the chaos he’d created, clapped Alec on the back and sauntered off toward the weight room. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” he called over his shoulder.

Magnus sighed theatrically. “Does that mean we have permission or…?”

Alec snorted, shaking his head. “Ignore him.”

“Oh, I try,” Magnus said, his lips curving into a smile. “He’s charming in a loud, golden retriever kind of way.”

Alec laughed, and it was such a lovely sound — soft, unguarded, the kind that made Magnus’ chest feel light.

“So, yoga?” Alec asked once the laughter faded.

Magnus nodded. “Indeed. Though I must confess, I came for more than just inner peace.”

“Oh?” Alec asked, arching a brow.

Magnus leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. “I was hoping for a certain tall, dark, brooding instructor to notice me.”

Alec’s ears went red this time. “I’m… not teaching yoga.”

Magnus feigned disappointment, sighing dramatically. “Tragic. I’ll have to make do with downward dog and emotional yearning, then.”

Alec smiled, shaking his head. “You’ll survive.”

“Barely.”

The door to the studio opened then, and Isabelle appeared, all confidence and poise in her yoga gear. She spotted Magnus immediately and grinned. “Magnus! There you are!”

“Here I am,” Magnus replied, smiling back.

Isabelle walked over, tossing her braid behind her shoulder. “Good to see you, big brother,” she said to Alec, then looked between him and Magnus with a glint in her eyes that Magnus did not like.

“You know,” Isabelle said casually, “I haven’t seen Alec this easygoing with someone in a long time.”

“Isabelle,” Alec warned.

“What? It’s true!” she said innocently. “Usually he’s all serious and stoic. But now? Look at him — smiling. Laughing. Making jokes. You’re basically a miracle worker, Magnus.”

Magnus raised an eyebrow, feigning nonchalance even as his heart stuttered. “Oh, darling, I’ve been called many things. Miracle worker is a new one, though.”

Isabelle smirked, clearly enjoying herself. “Well, whatever you’re doing, keep doing it.”

Alec sighed, running a hand through his hair, but Magnus caught the faintest hint of a smile on his lips — like he didn’t actually mind.

“Well,” Isabelle said, clapping her hands. “I’ll see you both inside. Don’t flirt too much, we’re here to stretch, not to traumatize the instructors.”

Magnus smirked as she walked off. “You have a very nosy sister.”

Alec chuckled. “Tell me about it.”

“Remind me to thank her someday,” Magnus said lightly, picking up his mat. “Without her, I might have missed my chance to meet you properly.”

Alec’s eyes softened at that. He didn’t reply right away — just looked at Magnus like he was memorizing something important. And for a moment, everything felt still.

“Have a good class,” Alec said finally, his voice a little quieter than before.

Magnus’ smile turned gentle. “Thank you, darling. Try not to miss me too much.”

With that, he turned toward the studio, feeling the weight of Alec’s gaze follow him.

-

The yoga class itself was a blur. Magnus tried, truly, to focus on his breathing, on Lydia calm voice, on the rhythm of movement and balance. But his mind kept drifting — to Alec’s smile at the front desk, to Isabelle’s teasing words, to the warmth that lingered in his chest every time Alec laughed.

He caught himself smiling mid-pose more than once.

“Relax your shoulders, Magnus,” the instructor said at one point, gently adjusting his posture.

“Apologies,” Magnus murmured. “I’m… distracted.”

“By something pleasant, I hope,” she said with a small smile.

Magnus smiled back. “You could say that.”

When the class ended, Magnus rolled up his mat slowly, trying to gather himself before facing the front desk again. His plan — to flirt, maybe steal a kiss — suddenly felt reckless. Because somewhere between the teasing and the glances, something had shifted. He wasn’t just playing anymore. He was… falling.

And that terrified him more than he cared to admit.

When he stepped out into the main area, Alec was waiting by the counter again, leaning casually against it. His hair was slightly mussed, a few strands falling across his forehead, and Magnus’ heart did that treacherous skip again.

“Hey,” Alec said softly.

“Hey yourself,” Magnus replied, trying to sound composed and failing spectacularly.

“How was class?”

“Invigorating,” Magnus said. “Though I suspect I’ll be sore in the morning.”

Alec smirked. “Good kind of sore?”

Magnus tilted his head. “That depends. Are you volunteering to make it worse?”

Alec chuckled — a low, warm sound that made Magnus’ skin prickle in the best way. “You never stop, do you?”

“Not when it comes to you,” Magnus admitted, his voice softer now, the teasing edge fading into something real.

Alec’s eyes darkened just a little — not with annoyance, but with understanding. With something that felt like shared gravity.

For a heartbeat, neither of them moved. The world outside might as well have disappeared — the clatter of weights, the hum of treadmills, Jace’s distant laugh — all of it faded until there was only the quiet tension between them.

And then Jace’s voice echoed from across the room.

“Hey, lovebirds! The gym’s closing soon. Take your flirting outside!”

Magnus groaned under his breath. “I am going to hex that man.”

Alec laughed, shaking his head. “Don’t. He’d probably enjoy it.”

“True,” Magnus said with a grin. “Still… I was having a moment.”

Alec’s smile softened. “Me too.”

Magnus’ chest fluttered. “Then we’ll just have to finish it later, won’t we?”

Alec’s lips curved, that quiet, devastating smile returning. “Yeah. Later.”

As Magnus walked out of the gym that night, the city air cool and crisp against his skin, he realized that whatever this was — the flirting, the laughter, the warmth — it wasn’t just infatuation anymore.

He was falling. Softly, inevitably, terrifyingly.

And for once, he wasn’t sure he wanted to stop.

-

Magnus Bane had never been good at moderation.

He’d tried, of course — tried to tell himself that balance and restraint were virtues, that emotions should be carefully portioned like fine wine or truffle oil. But then Alexander Lightwood had walked into his life and suddenly all that philosophy about moderation had gone straight out the window.

Now, there was only this constant pull. This need to see Alec, talk to him, be near him.

Maybe it was unhealthy. Or maybe, just maybe, it was what happiness felt like.

By the time his workday ended, Magnus couldn’t shake the thought of Alec from his head. He’d spent most of the afternoon sketching designs and replying to client emails, but his focus kept drifting — to the way Alec smiled, the warmth in his voice, the way he’d leaned closer last night when Magnus had flirted shamelessly across the gym counter.

When the clock hit six, Magnus gave up pretending he could wait another day. He grabbed his phone and typed out a message before he could overthink it.

Magnus: Are you free tonight?
Magnus: I owe you a drink for being so patient with my antics.

He hovered over the screen, wondering if he should delete the second text — it sounded a bit too eager — but before he could, the phone buzzed.

Alec: I could be convinced. Where?

Magnus grinned.

Magnus: That little bar near the park — the one with the pretentious name and the good lighting.
Alec: You mean Ember & Oak?
Magnus: The very one. 8 PM?
Alec: See you there.

That was all it took to make Magnus’ mood lift tenfold. He practically floated home, humming under his breath as he changed into something effortlessly stylish — a dark emerald shirt, fitted black pants, rings glinting in the low apartment light. Chairman Meow eyed him from the couch, unimpressed.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that,” Magnus told the cat. “I’m not abandoning you, I’m pursuing happiness. Surely you can understand that.”

Chairman Meow blinked slowly, unimpressed.

Magnus sighed, grabbed his coat, and left anyway.

The evening air was cool but soft, the kind of early-spring chill that made the city smell faintly of rain and promise. Ember & Oak was busy when Magnus arrived — warm golden lights spilling onto the sidewalk, chatter and laughter rising like music.

And then he saw Alec.

He was sitting at a table near the window, hair slightly messy from the breeze, dressed in jeans and a dark jacket that somehow managed to make him look both casual and devastating. He glanced up when Magnus walked in, and his smile — small, almost shy — hit Magnus like sunlight after a storm.

“Hey,” Alec said when Magnus slid into the seat across from him.

“Hello, darling,” Magnus replied, voice warm. “You look unfairly good in low lighting.”

Alec chuckled. “You always say things like that.”

“Only when they’re true.”

Their drinks arrived quickly — Magnus with his usual cocktail, something citrusy and sparkling, Alec with a dark beer. They clinked glasses lightly.

“To…” Magnus started, pausing thoughtfully. “New beginnings?”

Alec tilted his head. “To new beginnings.”

They drank, and conversation flowed easily after that — the way it always did when they were together. They talked about everything and nothing at once: movies, travel, terrible clients, Jace’s latest gym antics, Isabelle’s inability to mind her own business.

At one point, Magnus confessed that one yoga class from months ago had been mostly an excuse to see Alec again. Oh, how time flies.

Alec grinned, cheeks faintly pink. “I knew it.”

“Oh, please,” Magnus said with mock offense. “You’re assuming I lack all interest in spiritual balance.”

“Do you?”

Magnus smirked over the rim of his glass. “Only when there’s something more interesting to balance on.”

Alec laughed, that rare, quiet laugh that Magnus had come to crave.

As the night wore on, the conversation deepened — less teasing, more real.

Alec talked about his charity event, how much planning it took, how proud he was of the turnout. Magnus listened, genuinely fascinated, admiring the way Alec’s eyes lit up when he spoke about helping people.

And when Alec turned the conversation back to him, Magnus hesitated for a moment before answering honestly.

“I left California because I needed to start over,” he said softly, swirling the last of his drink. “I’d… gotten a little lost there. Bad breakup, bad decisions. I thought I could fix it all by running away.” He told Alec this before, but sometimes Magnus needs to repeat that, just to remind himself that now everything is better.

Alec’s expression softened. “And did you?”

Magnus smiled faintly. “Maybe. Or maybe I just stumbled into something better.”

Alec looked at him for a long moment, something unspoken flickering in his eyes. “I think we both did.”

It wasn’t a grand declaration. It wasn’t even romantic on the surface. But Magnus felt it — the weight, the truth in those simple words — and for a heartbeat, he couldn’t breathe.

The music shifted to something slow and soft, and Magnus could feel the world narrowing down to the space between them. He wanted to reach across the table, to brush his fingers against Alec’s hand, to close the small distance that felt suddenly unbearable.

But Alec was the one who moved first.

He reached out, hesitantly at first, then with quiet confidence, his hand covering Magnus’. His thumb brushed gently across Magnus’ knuckles, and Magnus swore he felt the earth tilt slightly.

“Magnus,” Alec said, his voice low and sure.

“Yes?” Magnus breathed.

Alec didn’t answer. He just leaned forward, closing the distance — and then his lips were on Magnus’.

The kiss was soft, careful at first, like both of them were afraid of breaking something fragile. But then Magnus tilted his head, pressed closer, and Alec’s hand came up to his jaw, steady and warm. The world around them blurred into light and warmth and heartbeat.

When they finally broke apart, Magnus couldn’t help but smile.

“Well,” he murmured, voice a little breathless. “That settles it. I was definitely right about you.”

Alec chuckled, still close enough that Magnus could feel the vibration of it. “About what?”

“You being trouble.”

Alec’s lips quirked. “You’re one to talk.”

Magnus grinned, resting his chin in his hand. “I like to think of myself as a delightful inconvenience.”

“You’re definitely something,” Alec said quietly, eyes soft.

Magnus’ heart stuttered.

They left the bar sometime past midnight, the streets quieter now, lamps casting halos of gold on wet pavement. Magnus didn’t remember much of the walk — just the rhythm of Alec’s footsteps beside him, the easy silence that hung between them.

When they reached Magnus’ building, he turned to Alec, reluctant to end the night. “Would you like to come up for a drink? Or a cat-related judgmental stare?”

Alec smiled. “Tempting. But if I go up, I might not want to leave.”

Magnus felt his heart twist — not painfully, but in that way that happens when something good feels suddenly, achingly real. “Then maybe you shouldn’t.”

Alec hesitated, then leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to Magnus’ forehead. “Goodnight, Magnus.”

Magnus stood there for a long moment after Alec left, the cool air brushing against his skin, his lips still tingling.

When he finally went upstairs, Chairman Meow greeted him with a meow that was more accusation than welcome.

“Yes, yes,” Magnus said, scooping the cat up. “I know. I’m a fool.”

The cat blinked.

“A happy fool,” Magnus corrected, smiling faintly.

He looked out the window, at the city glittering below — this strange, chaotic, wonderful city that had somehow given him a second chance.

A few months ago, he’d been heartbroken and lost, running from a life that had stopped fitting him. Now, standing there with his cat in his arms and a smile he couldn’t quite contain, Magnus realized something:

He hadn’t just run away.

He’d run toward something.

And that something had a name — Alec.

Chapter Text

Alec woke up smiling.

It was ridiculous — he was a grown man, not a teenager with a crush — but he couldn’t stop. He lay there for a while, staring at the ceiling, thinking about the way Magnus had laughed last night, the way he’d leaned in closer when they talked, the taste of citrus and warmth when they’d kissed.

Alec had kissed before, plenty of times. But this—this had been different. It felt easy, real. The kind of thing that could actually go somewhere.

He rolled out of bed, grabbed his phone, and saw a text waiting for him.

Magnus: Good morning, gorgeous. Hope your day is as unfairly attractive as you are.

Alec groaned and laughed at the same time. Magnus. Of course.

He typed back, Morning. You’re impossible.

Magnus replied almost instantly: And yet you like me anyway.

Alec didn’t answer right away. Because, yeah — he did. More than liked.

He wasn’t sure when it had happened — maybe during that disastrous first yoga class, or when Magnus had shown up at the gym with that ridiculous gift and run away before Alec could react. But somewhere along the way, Magnus had slipped past all Alec’s defenses.

And now, Alec didn’t even want to rebuild them.

By the time he reached the gym, Jace was already there, leaning lazily against the counter, scrolling through his phone. The place was quiet — early morning, just a few regulars training.

“Hey,” Jace greeted without looking up. “You look weirdly happy. Did someone die?”

Alec rolled his eyes. “Good morning to you too.”

“Oh, come on,” Jace said, finally glancing up. “You’ve got that look.”

“What look?”

“The I got kissed by someone really hot and I’m pretending to be chill about it look.”

Alec groaned. “You’re impossible.”

“Don’t deflect, lover boy.”

“I’m not—” Alec stopped himself. “We’re just… seeing each other.”

Jace grinned, sharklike. “So Magnus is your boyfriend now?”

Alec blinked. “What?”

“Magnus Bane. Jewelry guy. Likes glitter and yoga. You know, your boyfriend.”

“He’s not— we didn’t—” Alec stammered, then sighed, rubbing the back of his neck.

Jace leaned back against the counter, arms crossed, clearly enjoying himself. “Oh my God, you didn’t talk about it.”

“Not… exactly,” Alec admitted. “We just went out. Had a good time. Kissed.”

Jace made a dramatic gasp. “Kissed? You? Alexander ‘Commitment Issues’ Lightwood? Wow, miracles really do happen.”

“Jace,” Alec warned, but the amusement in his voice betrayed him.

“Okay, okay.” Jace held up his hands. “But seriously — you should probably figure out where you two stand. Before Magnus starts introducing you as his husband at brunch.”

Alec gave him a look. “He wouldn’t.”

Jace arched an eyebrow. “You sure about that? The man once showed up at your gym in sequins. I’m not ruling out grand gestures.”

Alec couldn’t argue with that. He groaned again, sinking onto the bench. “I just… don’t want to mess it up, you know?”

“Hey,” Jace said, his tone softening slightly. “You won’t. You’re good at this — even if you don’t think you are. And Magnus? He clearly adores you. Just talk to him. Be honest.”

Alec nodded, though his stomach twisted a little. He wasn’t used to this part — the uncertainty, the vulnerability. The last time he’d let someone in, it hadn’t ended well. Two years later, the ghost of that heartbreak still lingered in quiet corners of his mind.

But Magnus wasn’t that person. Magnus was different.

He was all warmth and color and laughter — the kind of person who made the world feel brighter just by standing in it.

Alec didn’t want to lose that because of his own fear.

-

The day went on in a blur of clients and workouts, but Magnus lingered in Alec’s thoughts like a melody he couldn’t stop humming. Around noon, Alec found himself scrolling through his phone again, rereading their messages.

He considered texting Magnus something — anything — but stopped himself. He didn’t want to seem clingy.

Then his phone buzzed.

Magnus: If I said I was thinking about you, would that be too forward for a Wednesday?

Alec smiled despite himself.

Alec: Probably. But I’ll allow it.
Magnus: I’m honored.
Alec: How’s work?
Magnus: Busy. My assistant just threatened to quit if one more client asks for a “diamond that sparkles with emotional depth.”
Alec: Sounds serious.
Magnus: Oh, terribly. Save me?

Alec hesitated for half a second before typing: Dinner tonight?

Magnus’ reply came quickly: Thought you’d never ask.

-

Later that evening, as Alec closed up the gym, Jace caught him near the door, smirking like the devil himself.

“Going somewhere?”

“Dinner,” Alec said casually, though his pulse quickened just saying it.

“With your boyfriend?”

Alec shot him a look. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

“Just saying,” Jace replied, shrugging. “You’re glowing. It’s cute.”

Alec sighed but couldn’t quite wipe the smile from his face. “Goodnight, Jace.”

“Have fun, lover boy!” Jace called after him. “And define the relationship before you freak out again!”

Alec didn’t bother replying, but his face was warm as he stepped outside.

He met Magnus at a cozy little restaurant tucked away on a quiet street. Magnus was already there, sitting by the window with a cocktail in hand, gold light pooling over his features.

When he saw Alec, he smiled — not his usual smirk, but something softer, genuine.

“Hey,” Magnus said, standing to greet him. “You look devastating, as usual.”

Alec shook his head, amused. “You really don’t have an off switch, do you?”

“Why would I need one?” Magnus teased lightly. “It works on you.”

Alec couldn’t argue with that.

Dinner was easy — laughter, good food, the kind of conversation that made time blur. Every time Magnus reached across the table to touch his hand or brush his wrist, Alec felt a spark that settled somewhere deep inside him.

He didn’t bring up labels. He wanted to — the thought nagged at him all through dessert — but every time he looked into Magnus’ bright, open eyes, the words died on his tongue.

Later, when Magnus kissed him goodnight outside the restaurant, all Alec could think was: If this isn’t love yet, it’s getting damn close.

-

The next morning, Jace found him in the office again, sipping coffee and pretending to review paperwork.

“So?” Jace asked, dropping onto the chair across from him. “How’d it go?”

Alec didn’t even look up. “It was nice.”

“Nice?” Jace scoffed. “That’s the word you’re going with? You look like someone replaced your coffee with liquid sunshine.”

Alec sighed. “It went great, okay? He’s… amazing.”

Jace grinned. “So, boyfriend?”

Alec froze mid-sip. “We… didn’t talk about that.”

“Seriously?” Jace leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Dude, you’re practically dating. You text all the time, go out, kiss—”

Alec groaned. “Don’t say it like that.”

“I’m just saying,” Jace continued, smirking, “Magnus probably thinks you’re official. And you’re here having an existential crisis over labels.”

“I just don’t want to assume,” Alec muttered. “I don’t want to ruin it.”

Jace clapped him on the shoulder. “Then don’t assume. Just ask. You’ll survive it.”

Alec gave him a flat look. “You’re enjoying this.”

“Like you wouldn’t believe,” Jace said cheerfully. “You’ve been brooding for two years. It’s nice to see you acting like a human again.”

Alec couldn’t argue with that. He set his coffee down and leaned back, staring at the ceiling.

Yeah, maybe he was falling — fast, and maybe even foolishly — but for the first time in a long while, the idea didn’t terrify him.

Because if he was falling, at least it was toward Magnus.

And somehow, that felt like the safest place to land.

-

Two days.

It had been two whole days since that dinner — two days since Magnus had kissed him on the sidewalk under that flickering streetlight and made his brain short-circuit in the most humiliatingly pleasant way possible.

And for two days, Alec had done nothing but think.

Overthink, to be exact.

He’d worked, trained, texted Magnus, smiled when his phone pinged, and then — in the quiet moments — his mind would spiral into the same ridiculous loop: Are we actually together? Or are we just dating? Are we exclusive? Does Magnus think we are? Should I ask? How do you even ask that?

It felt stupid. Alec Lightwood, thirty years old, co-owner of a gym, organizer of citywide charity events — unable to have a normal conversation about relationship labels without combusting.

He tried to reason with himself. Maybe it didn’t matter. They saw each other almost every day. They texted constantly. They’d gone out multiple times. Magnus kissed him whenever he felt like it, and Alec definitely wasn’t kissing anyone else. It all pointed to something.

Still, the uncertainty nagged.

Because Alec wasn’t casual about things like this. Not anymore.

He’d done casual before — the kind that ended with unanswered messages, confusion, and that quiet, heavy ache that lingered long after things fell apart. He didn’t want that again. Not with Magnus.

So, sometime between his third cup of coffee and Jace’s fifth terrible joke of the morning, Alec decided that enough was enough.

He was going to ask.

Officially.

Oh, God.

-

By the time evening rolled around, Alec had run through at least ten versions of how the conversation could go — all of them ending in mild humiliation.

He paced in front of the mirror, muttering under his breath.

“Hey, Magnus. So, are we… together?”

“No, that sounds like I’m twelve.”

“Do you want to be my boyfriend?”

“Too high school.”

“What are we?”

“Way too desperate.”

He groaned and ran a hand through his hair. Why was this so hard?

He’d faced angry investors, critical journalists, even Isabelle in one of her terrifying moods — but this? This was torture.

When his phone buzzed, he almost jumped.

Magnus: Are you free tonight? I was thinking drinks, unless you’re planning to run away again after yoga.

Alec: I’m free. Where?
Magnus: Surprise. Wear something that makes you look devastatingly handsome.

Alec smiled despite the panic gnawing at his stomach. Great, he thought. Perfect time to embarrass myself in public.

-

They met at a small rooftop bar overlooking the city. The air was cool, the sky fading into dusky shades of violet and gold. Magnus was already there, perched elegantly at the bar with a glass of something bright and expensive-looking.

When he turned and smiled at Alec, the rest of the world dimmed a little.

“Alexander,” Magnus greeted, voice smooth as silk. “You look criminally good in that jacket.”

Alec blushed. He couldn’t help it. “Hi, Magnus.”

Magnus tilted his head, amused. “Nervous, darling?”

Alec froze. “What? No. Why would I be nervous?”

“Because your shoulders are tense enough to bench press a small car.”

Alec exhaled, trying to unclench. “Okay, maybe a little.”

Magnus smiled knowingly but didn’t push. They talked, ordered drinks, and soon the conversation flowed easily — the way it always did with Magnus. They talked about Magnus’s latest jewelry commission (“a billionaire who wanted a necklace for his Pomeranian, can you imagine?”) and about Jace’s obsession with putting protein powder in everything.

By the time their plates were cleared, Alec’s nerves had settled. Almost.

Magnus leaned back in his chair, eyes glinting. “You’re quiet tonight. What’s going on in that beautiful head of yours?”

Alec took a deep breath. This was it. He could do this.

“Magnus,” he started, staring at his glass. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

Alec looked up, meeting those gold-flecked eyes. “What… are we?”

Magnus blinked, surprised — then his lips curved in a slow, teasing smile. “Well, currently we’re two men sitting in a bar having a perfectly nice evening—”

Alec groaned. “You know what I mean.”

Magnus’ grin softened. “I do.”

Alec fidgeted with his napkin. “It’s just — I wasn’t sure if we’re, you know… together. Officially. I mean, I know we’ve been seeing each other, and I like you — a lot — but I didn’t want to assume, and—”

“Alexander,” Magnus interrupted gently, reaching across the table to take his hand.

Alec went quiet.

Magnus’ thumb brushed over his knuckles. “Are you asking me to be your boyfriend?”

Alec flushed scarlet. “Oh my God,” he muttered. “Yes. I mean, yes, that’s what I’m asking. I know it sounds stupid, but I just—”

Magnus’ laugh was soft, warm, and utterly delighted. “It doesn’t sound stupid at all. It sounds… honest.”

Alec risked a glance at him, and the fondness in Magnus’s eyes made his chest tighten.

“I thought we already were,” Magnus said lightly. “But hearing you say it out loud is unexpectedly charming.”

Alec groaned again, half mortified, half relieved. “You could’ve told me that before I panicked for two days straight.”

“I could have,” Magnus agreed, “but then I’d have missed this adorable confession.”

“Adorable,” Alec repeated flatly. “I’m never living this down, am I?”

“Not a chance.” Magnus’ grin was radiant.

But then he squeezed Alec’s hand, the teasing fading into something gentler. “For what it’s worth, I’m glad you asked. And yes, Alexander — I’d be very happy to be your boyfriend.”

The word boyfriend hit Alec like sunlight.

He tried to play it cool — he really did — but the smile that broke over his face was impossible to hide. Magnus noticed, of course. Magnus noticed everything.

“Well,” Magnus said, leaning forward, “now that we’re official, I suppose I should celebrate properly.”

Alec raised an eyebrow. “Celebrate how?”

Magnus’ answer was to lean across the table and kiss him. Slow, deliberate, and utterly intoxicating. Alec forgot about the people around them, the city noise, everything.

When they pulled apart, Magnus smirked. “There. A proper declaration.”

Alec, slightly dazed, muttered, “You really like making scenes, don’t you?”

Magnus’ grin widened. “Only memorable ones.”

Later, when they walked down the quiet street toward the subway, Alec couldn’t stop smiling. The air was crisp, the city lights reflecting off puddles from an earlier drizzle.

Magnus slipped his hand into Alec’s without hesitation, and it felt… right. Simple.

“Still embarrassed?” Magnus asked, his tone teasing.

“Mortified,” Alec said honestly.

Magnus laughed. “Don’t be. It was very endearing. I quite like flustered Alexander.”

“I liked confident Alec better,” he muttered.

“Oh, I like both,” Magnus said, leaning close. “But this one? The one who asked me out loud, even though it scared him? That’s my favorite.”

Alec’s chest felt impossibly warm. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

Magnus smiled. “And yet you’re officially dating me. Tragic.”

Alec shook his head, but he couldn’t stop grinning. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “Tragic.”

They stopped at the corner where they’d part ways. For a moment, neither moved — just stood there, city lights flickering against the faint blush on Alec’s cheeks.

Magnus tugged him forward, their lips meeting again, and this time Alec kissed back without hesitation.

When they broke apart, Magnus whispered, “Goodnight, boyfriend.”

Alec was fairly certain his brain shorted out again.

“Goodnight, Magnus,” he managed.

And as he walked away, trying and failing to hide his smile, he thought maybe — just maybe — this was the best decision he’d made in a long time.

-

Alec had fought one memorable PR disaster involving Jace, a camera, and too much tequila. He’d faced all that with composure, professionalism, and grace.

But nothing — nothing — had prepared him for this.

“Come on, man,” Jace said, grinning across the gym’s front desk like a predator who’d just spotted his favorite prey. “You can’t just drop that you’re dating Magnus Bane and then refuse to give details. That’s cruel.”

Alec sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I didn’t drop anything. You already knew.”

“Yeah, but now you’re official,” Jace said, dragging out the word with exaggerated air quotes. “It’s different. This calls for, you know, brotherly interrogation.”

“There’s nothing to interrogate.”

“Bullshit.”

Alec looked heavenward. “I regret ever telling you anything.”

“You’d regret it more if you didn’t,” Jace shot back. “Because then I’d just ask Isabelle.”

Alec froze. “You wouldn’t.”

Jace’s grin widened. “Try me.”

Sometimes, Alec wondered how he hadn’t smothered Jace in his sleep when they were teenagers.

They were supposed to be sorting invoices that morning — simple, brainless work that required minimal emotional energy. But Jace, of course, couldn’t focus on anything that wasn’t Alec’s personal life.

“So,” Jace started again after five minutes of silence that clearly hurt him on a spiritual level, “how’s the boyfriend?”

“Fine.”

“Fine?” Jace repeated, sounding personally offended. “Alec, you say fine when you’re bleeding internally.”

“He’s good,” Alec corrected.

“Good.” Jace leaned back in his chair. “Good how?”

Alec narrowed his eyes. “Don’t.”

Jace raised his hands, feigning innocence. “What? I just want to know how things are going.”

“They’re… going well.”

“Uh-huh. Define well.”

“Jace.”

“Fine, fine,” Jace said, pretending to focus on his laptop. The silence lasted exactly three seconds. “So, how good is Magnus in bed?”

Alec choked on his coffee. “What the hell, Jace?!”

“What? It’s a valid question!”

“No, it’s not!”

Jace looked entirely too pleased with himself. “Come on, man. You can’t just withhold that kind of information. It’s Magnus Bane. The guy looks like he stepped out of a perfume ad. The world needs to know if the reality matches the aesthetic.”

Alec was red — actually, physically red. His ears burned. His entire face felt like it was on fire.

“Stop talking.”

“I’m just curious!”

“Stop being curious.”

“I can’t help it. You’re being so cagey, it’s suspicious!”

“I’m not cagey!”

“Then answer the question!”

“JACE!” Alec’s voice cracked halfway between a shout and a plea. “That’s private!”

Jace tilted his head, smirking. “Ah. So you’re not telling me.”

“I’m never telling you.”

“Which means…”

“Don’t.”

“You haven’t slept together yet, have you?”

Alec froze, eyes narrowing. “I’m not answering that.”

“That’s a yes.”

“Jace—”

“Adorable,” Jace said, grinning like the cat who’d found the world’s biggest bowl of cream. “My big, brooding best friend is taking it slow. I love this for you.”

Alec groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Please stop talking.”

“No, seriously,” Jace continued, undeterred. “It’s cute. Old-school romance vibes. Chivalry’s not dead, it just lives in your repressed heart.”

“I hate you.”

“Sure you do.”

“Deeply.”

Jace laughed, slapping the desk. “God, you’re the worst liar. You’re practically glowing. You like him so much it’s making me sick.”

Alec dropped his head onto the desk with a dull thunk. “Can the earth please open up and swallow me now?”

“Not before you tell me if he stays over—”

“Jace!”

“Okay, okay, fine!” Jace said, still laughing. “I’m done. For now.”

Alec lifted his head slowly, glaring at him. “You’re insufferable.”

“Part of my charm.”

-

For the rest of the day, Alec avoided Jace like the plague. He went out of his way to train clients on the opposite side of the gym, answered calls in the hallway, and even ate lunch in the storage room just to get a break.

Every time Jace passed by, he’d wink and say something like, “Say hi to your boyfriend for me,” or “Tell Magnus I said thanks for making you tolerable.”

By the time closing rolled around, Alec was about ready to fake his own death.

He was cleaning up the weights when Jace sauntered over again, still wearing that infuriating smirk.

“You know,” Jace said, leaning on the rack, “I’m proud of you.”

Alec blinked. “That’s… new.”

“I’m serious,” Jace said, his tone softening slightly. “You’re happy, Alec. It’s good to see.”

Alec hesitated, lowering the barbell. “Yeah,” he said after a moment. “I am.”

Jace smiled — an actual, genuine smile. “See? That wasn’t so hard to admit.”

“Still doesn’t excuse your earlier behavior,” Alec muttered.

“Oh, come on, you love me.”

“Barely.”

Jace chuckled. “Just wait until Isabelle finds out you haven’t—”

Alec shot him a look so sharp it could’ve decapitated him on the spot.

“Not another word,” Alec warned.

Jace held up his hands, grinning. “Fine. But seriously, man, you’re doing great. Magnus seems like a good guy.”

“He is,” Alec said quietly, and the sincerity in his voice surprised even him.

Jace nodded. “Then don’t overthink it. You’ll get there when you get there.”

Alec sighed, half exasperated, half grateful. “Why do you have to ruin decent advice by acting like a gremlin first?”

“It’s part of my process.”

Alec rolled his eyes but smiled. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously charming.”

“Try ‘ridiculously annoying.’”

“Still counts.”

-

Later that night, Alec was lying in bed when his phone buzzed.

Magnus: Long day?
Alec: You could say that.
Magnus: Jace being himself again?
Alec: Unfortunately.
Magnus: Should I start charging him a fee for the emotional labor of dating you?
Alec: You’d be rich.
Magnus: I’ll take payment in kisses.

Alec’s heart did an entirely undignified little flip.

Alec: Deal.
Magnus: Goodnight, Alexander.
Alec: Goodnight, Magnus.

Alec set his phone down, smiling into the darkness.

Sure, Jace was an insufferable menace. But somewhere between all the teasing and embarrassment, Alec realized something:

He didn’t actually care about what Jace thought.

Because for the first time in years, Alec Lightwood was genuinely, stupidly happy.

And if that meant enduring endless teasing from his best friend — well, it was a small price to pay.

Chapter Text

Magnus Bane was happy.

It still startled him, that simple truth — happiness, calm and genuine, not gilded or forced. It had been so long since it felt natural. The days seemed brighter now, as if even the sharp edges of New York had softened. His coffee tasted sweeter, his mornings lighter.

And yes, Alec Lightwood might have had something to do with that.

It was one of those rare mornings when Magnus wasn’t rushing out the door. Chairman Meow was perched on the windowsill, tail flicking lazily, as Magnus sipped his espresso and scrolled through sketches for a new line of jewelry. The sunlight poured through the wide apartment windows, painting gold along the walls. Everything felt still, safe — his own little bubble of peace.

He’d just started considering whether to text Alec a good morning, handsome, when his phone buzzed.

Caterina: Are you alive, or did your new boyfriend swallow you whole?

Magnus smiled. Barely alive. He’s a very good distraction.

Caterina: I knew it! You’ve got that “in love and annoying” tone again.

He rolled his eyes fondly and hit call. “Good morning, darling,” he said when she picked up. “You caught me in a moment of domestic bliss.”

“Domestic bliss,” Caterina repeated, laughter in her voice. “So the rumors are true — Magnus Bane has been tamed.”

“Tamed?” Magnus arched a brow even though she couldn’t see it. “I prefer the term emotionally invested.”

“Please,” she said. “You sound disgustingly happy. I’m proud of you.”

Magnus smiled, swirling his coffee mug. “He’s… wonderful,” he admitted softly. “Alec’s steady, and kind, and infuriatingly grounded. I didn’t think I could meet someone like him.”

“That’s how you know it’s real,” Caterina said. “The good ones surprise you.”

For a few moments, they talked — about her hospital work, his new clients, a cat Magnus had nearly adopted because it “looked lonely.” It was easy, natural. Until Caterina’s voice changed.

“Oh — speaking of surprises,” she said cautiously. “I ran into someone the other day.”

Magnus froze halfway through setting down his mug. “Someone?”

“Yes. Camille.”

The name landed like a stone dropped into still water.

Magnus exhaled slowly, the sound soft but tight. “I see.”

“She was at that new art gallery,” Caterina continued carefully. “Asked about you.”

“Of course she did.” Magnus’s tone was airy, but his pulse quickened.

“She said she heard you left L.A.,” Caterina went on, “and wondered if you were in New York. I may or may not have told her you were.”

Magnus shut his eyes for a second. “Caterina.”

“I know, I know,” she said quickly. “But she asked nicely. And honestly, it didn’t sound like she was plotting a grand gesture or anything. Just curious.”

“Camille’s version of curious once involved bribing a journalist to follow me for three weeks,” Magnus said dryly.

Caterina winced audibly. “Fair point. Still… I thought you should know.”

Magnus nodded to himself, fingers drumming on the counter. “Thank you.”

Silence hummed between them for a moment.

“Are you okay?” she asked softly.

“Yes.”

It was mostly true.

Magnus looked around his apartment — the clean lines, the color, the faint smell of espresso and bergamot. His life here was nothing like the one he’d built in California. That one had been all flash and fire, built on passion and chaos, ending in ashes.

He wasn’t that man anymore.

“I’m fine,” he repeated, quieter this time. “Truly. Camille is… the past. A closed book.”

“Good,” Caterina said, though her tone stayed cautious. “Because you sound happy, and I don’t want that woman’s shadow crawling back into your sunlight.”

Magnus smiled faintly. “Neither do I.”

After they hung up, he stood by the window, mug cooling in his hand. New York’s noise pulsed faintly below — car horns, footsteps, the heartbeat of the city.

Camille.

It was strange, hearing her name again. Once upon a time, she’d been everything: intoxicating, wild, a mirror of his worst impulses. Together, they’d burned bright and loud — too bright. He’d mistaken the flames for warmth until they consumed him.

The end had been ugly. Words sharp enough to draw blood, trust shattered, love twisted into something unrecognizable. He’d left L.A. not just to escape her, but to escape himself — the version of Magnus who thought he had to shine constantly to be seen.

And now… now, there was Alec.

Alec, with his quiet smiles and unshakable steadiness. Alec, who didn’t need glitter to see Magnus, who looked at him like he was already enough.

Magnus set the mug down and exhaled, slow and deliberate. The past didn’t deserve his peace. Not anymore.

Still, he couldn’t help the flicker of unease. If Camille knew he was in New York, it was only a matter of time before she reached out. She always did.

But no — not this time.

He wasn’t the man she used to know.

By the time he got to work, the restless thoughts had faded into the background.

Magnus stepped into the controlled chaos with practiced ease, letting the rhythm of design pull him back into focus. When he was working, nothing else existed — only lines, color, and motion.

Halfway through sketching a necklace design, his phone buzzed again.

Alec: Good morning. Hope your coffee’s as dramatic as you are.
Magnus: Always. And good morning to you too, my serious boy.
Alec: You sound in a good mood.
Magnus: I am. Thinking about you tends to do that.
Alec: Careful, you’re going to make me blush at work.
Magnus: Excellent. Mission accomplished.

Magnus smiled down at the screen, warmth flooding through him. Whatever ghosts the morning had stirred, Alec’s messages swept them away.

This — this was his reality now. Flirting over text, meeting for coffee before yoga, sharing quiet laughter in between chaos.

He wouldn’t let the past poison it.

-

That evening, he met Alec at their usual café. Alec was already there, sitting by the window, black leather jacket draped over the chair. When he looked up and smiled, the whole world seemed to still for a second.

Magnus crossed the room, heart light, and pressed a soft kiss to Alec’s cheek before sitting down.

“Hey,” Alec said softly.

“Hey yourself,” Magnus murmured.

They talked — about Alec’s day, about Magnus’s clients, about everything and nothing. It was easy, comfortable, the kind of peace Magnus had once believed he wasn’t meant for.

For the first time in a long time, he didn’t feel like he was performing. He was just… him.

Later, when Alec walked him home, Magnus caught himself glancing at the skyline, feeling the night air settle cool against his skin. He thought about California, about the mess he’d left behind, about Camille’s name echoing faintly from the morning.

And then he looked at Alec — solid, steady, beautiful Alec — and the noise in his head quieted.

He didn’t need to run from the past anymore. He’d simply outgrown it.

Back in his apartment, Chairman Meow greeted him with a disdainful flick of the tail. Magnus laughed, feeding her and setting his phone on the counter.

A message blinked on the screen.

Caterina: You okay?
Magnus: Better than okay. I’m exactly where I need to be.

He paused, smiling faintly.

Magnus: And if Camille does reach out — I’ll handle it. The past doesn’t get to write my story anymore.

He sent the message, turned off the lights, and let himself breathe.

Tomorrow, he’d see Alec again. And that was all that mattered.

-

Magnus Bane wasn’t sure what he’d done to deserve a day like this.

He woke up with the city still half asleep outside his window, a pale wash of light creeping through the curtains. The first text of the morning was from Alec.

Alec: You up?
Magnus: Barely. It’s a crime to text this early.
Alec: Coffee in twenty minutes? I’ll make it worth your while.
Magnus: You already do, Alexander.

Magnus smiled at the screen before rolling out of bed, hair mussed and heart light. He didn’t even bother with his usual dramatic morning routine — a hint of eyeliner, yes, but no elaborate wardrobe choices. Just a simple dark shirt, fitted jeans, a jacket that looked casual but wasn’t.

He wanted today to be easy.

When he reached the little coffee shop, Alec was already waiting outside, hands shoved into the pockets of his leather jacket, head tilted toward the morning sun. There was something so effortlessly grounding about him — like the city buzzed around them, but Alec never moved faster than his own quiet rhythm.

Magnus stopped for a moment just to look at him. Then Alec turned and smiled that small, devastating smile that Magnus was pretty sure could ruin entire civilizations.

“Morning,” Alec said and kissed Magnus softly on the lips.

“Morning, indeed,” Magnus murmured, stepping close enough for their shoulders to brush. “You look far too good for someone who texted me before eight.”

Alec chuckled, opening the door for him. “Come on, drama queen. Coffee first, insults later.”

Inside, they claimed their usual corner table. Magnus ordered his customary pink latte — Alec’s eyes still twinkled every time he saw it — and Alec went with his black coffee, the same as always.

Breakfast was simple: toasted bagels, shared between conversation and soft laughter.

They talked about everything and nothing. Magnus told a story about a client who wanted a diamond choker for her cat (“Chairman Meow would revolt,” he’d said), and Alec tried to hide a smile behind his mug. Alec spoke about new gym equipment arriving late, about Jace breaking yet another punching bag.

And Magnus — Magnus just listened. He could have listened to Alec talk forever.

By noon, the city had warmed. Alec led him outside, helmet in hand, the gleam of his motorcycle catching the sunlight.

Magnus grinned. “So that’s the plan? You’re kidnapping me?”

“Technically, yes,” Alec said, deadpan. “But I brought an extra helmet, so it’s consensual.”

Magnus laughed, taking the offered helmet. “How could I refuse such romance?”

Once they were both on the bike, Magnus wrapped his arms around Alec’s waist, feeling the hum of the engine vibrate through his chest. The city blurred as they rode — streets, bridges, flashes of color and movement. Magnus leaned closer, chin brushing Alec’s shoulder, and let himself breathe in the moment.

There was something utterly intoxicating about it: the wind against his face, the roar of the engine, the steady weight of Alec between his arms. It felt like freedom — wild and safe all at once.

They drove without much of a destination, following instinct more than direction. Eventually, Alec slowed near the Hudson, pulling over at a small lookout point where the skyline stretched endlessly against the horizon.

Magnus climbed off, pulling the helmet free, his hair a complete disaster. Alec smirked when he saw it.

“Not a word,” Magnus warned, pointing a finger at him.

“I didn’t say anything,” Alec said, still smiling.

Magnus rolled his eyes but couldn’t fight the grin tugging at his lips. “You were thinking it loudly.”

They sat on a low stone wall overlooking the river, sharing a sandwich and a bottle of water Alec had packed in his backpack. It was simple, unglamorous — and somehow, perfect.

Magnus watched as Alec leaned back, wind brushing through his dark hair, sunlight turning his hazel eyes to green.

“What?” Alec asked when he caught Magnus staring.

“Nothing,” Magnus said softly. “Just appreciating the view.”

Alec blushed, the faintest hint of color rising to his cheeks. “You’re impossible.”

“And you,” Magnus said, nudging his shoulder lightly, “are adorable when you blush.”

Alec shook his head, but the smile stayed.

They sat in silence for a while, the world around them humming softly — the gentle rush of the water, distant horns from across the city, the quiet rhythm of being near someone who made everything feel lighter.

-

In the evening, they made their way back into the city. Alec had one more surprise.

“Beer and burgers?” Magnus guessed when Alec parked in front of their usual bar.

Alec smiled. “With the gang.”

Inside, Jace and Clary were already at a table, Isabelle waving from across the room. The place smelled of grilled meat, fries, and cheap beer — chaotic, loud, completely alive.

Magnus loved it.

Isabelle immediately started teasing them the moment they sat down. “You two look disgustingly happy. Was this a date day?”

Magnus raised an eyebrow. “And if it was?”

Isabelle grinned. “Then I approve. My brother needs all the happiness he can get. Especially someone who can handle his broody moods.”

Alec groaned. “Can we not do this right now?”

Clary leaned in, whispering loudly, “He’s blushing.”

Jace clinked his glass with Alec’s. “You can’t hide it, man. You’re whipped.”

Magnus sipped his beer, eyes glittering with amusement. “Whipped, Alexander?”

Alec glared at Jace but couldn’t stop the faint smile. “Ignore him. He’s an idiot.”

“Hey,” Jace said, mock offended. “An idiot who appreciates romance when he sees it.”

“Romance?” Magnus teased. “You make it sound like we’re starring in a Hallmark movie.”

“Please,” Isabelle said. “You two are way too pretty for Hallmark.”

The table erupted in laughter.

Magnus watched Alec through it all — the way he smiled, the way he relaxed when surrounded by people who loved him. There was a softness in his eyes, a warmth that melted every defense Magnus had ever built.

At some point, Alec’s hand brushed against his under the table — light, tentative, deliberate. Magnus turned his palm upward, fingers curling to meet his.

Just that small touch, and the noise of the bar seemed to fade away.

Later, when they left the bar, the night air was cool, the street buzzing with faint traffic and laughter spilling from doorways. Alec’s bike gleamed under the streetlight.

Magnus stood beside him, hands shoved into his pockets, eyes soft. “Thank you for today.”

Alec tilted his head. “For what?”

“For… all of it,” Magnus said. “Coffee, the ride, the skyline, the chaos of burgers and your sister embarrassing us. It was perfect.”

Alec’s mouth curved into a slow, fond smile. “I’m glad.”

Magnus stepped closer, voice dropping. “You’re really good at this, you know. Making me forget the world exists.”

“I’m not sure I’m doing anything special,” Alec murmured.

“You are,” Magnus said, and then, without thinking too much, leaned in to kiss him.

It was a slow, lingering kiss — sweet, steady, the kind that tasted like the promise of more. When they pulled apart, Magnus’s heart was a riot in his chest.

Alec’s eyes were warm when he whispered, “You make me forget it too.”

Magnus smiled. “Good. Then we’re even.”

When Magnus got home later that night, Chairman Meow meowed indignantly from the couch, as if demanding an explanation for his late return.

Magnus scooped her up, laughing softly. “Don’t look at me like that. I was out with someone very special.”

The cat yawned in response.

Magnus carried her to the window, looking out at the city lights stretching endlessly below.

Today had been simple. Just coffee, a ride, laughter, friends. But in the simplicity, there was something precious — something Magnus hadn’t felt in years.

He set the cat down and whispered to himself, “I’m happy.”

And for once, the words didn’t scare him. They felt true.

-

It was already May.

Magnus couldn’t quite believe it.

Four months — four months since he’d arrived in New York, shivering under too many layers, cursing the snow and questioning all his life choices. Four months since that morning in the coffee shop when a quiet man with black coffee and lovely eyes had changed the rhythm of his days without even trying.

And now… now it was warm enough that the air carried the scent of blooming trees and hot pavement. The city felt alive again — lighter, buzzing, golden in the late afternoon sun.

Magnus stretched as he stepped out of Lightwood & Co., rolling his shoulders. He’d spent most of the day hunched over a design table working on a complicated necklace for a client who wanted “a statement piece that screamed money.” Magnus had delivered something elegant, naturally, but his brain felt fried.

Yoga sounded like a good way to reset.

He made his way to the gym, the familiar scent of metal and detergent greeting him as soon as he stepped inside. The place was lively — the hum of treadmills, the rhythmic clang of weights, music pulsing faintly under it all. Magnus spotted Jace leaning against the front desk, smirking in that way that usually meant trouble.

Alec stood beside him, arms crossed, expression halfway between annoyance and fondness.

Magnus slowed, just in time to catch Jace’s voice.

“You need a vacation, man,” Jace was saying, tossing a stress ball from one hand to the other. “You’ve been running on fumes for months. You barely took a day off after the charity event.”

Alec rolled his eyes. “Jace, I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine. You’re grim. You’re one spreadsheet away from burnout.”

“I don’t use spreadsheets,” Alec muttered.

“Whatever. My point stands.”

Magnus smiled faintly, stepping closer. “Now, this sounds like an intervention.”

Alec turned, and that tiny flicker of light always appeared in his eyes whenever he saw Magnus. “Hey. You’re early.”

“I know. I was trying to get in some bonus stretching before class,” Magnus said lightly. “But it looks like the entertainment is already here.”

Jace grinned. “Perfect timing, Bane. Help me talk some sense into your boyfriend.”

Alec groaned. “Please don’t involve him.”

Magnus raised an elegant brow. “Oh, you mean the boyfriend who has a taste for travel, cocktails, and sun? The one who believes that too much work and not enough rest is a crime against humanity?”

Jace pointed dramatically at Magnus. “Exactly that boyfriend!”

Alec gave them both a look that could have melted steel. “You’re both ridiculous.”

Magnus smirked. “Ridiculous but right.” He moved a little closer, voice softening. “Jace is onto something, Alexander. You could use a break.”

“I’m fine,” Alec said again, but it was the kind of “fine” that only convinced people who didn’t know him. Magnus knew better.

He tilted his head. “What if we planned something simple? A few days somewhere nice, warm, with actual food that doesn’t involve protein powder.”

“Nice try,” Alec said, amused but stubborn. “I can’t just disappear for a week. The gym—”

“—will survive,” Jace cut in. “It’s not like it’s gonna collapse without you.”

Alec’s expression was pure exasperation. “You broke two punching bags last week.”

“Occupational hazard,” Jace said, shrugging. “But seriously, man, you deserve some time off.”

Magnus leaned his hip against the counter, pretending to consider something. “I’m thinking… Venice.”

Both men turned to him.

“Venice?” Alec echoed.

Magnus smiled dreamily. “Yes. Imagine it. Canals, gondolas, golden light reflecting off the water. Art, music, wine—lots of wine. It’s romantic.”

Jace whistled. “Damn, Bane, you don’t aim small.”

“I never do,” Magnus said smoothly, then glanced at Alec. “What do you say, Alexander? A little European getaway?”

Alec blinked, clearly caught between amusement and alarm. “You’re serious.”

“Always,” Magnus said. “Well, about things that matter.”

Alec rubbed the back of his neck. “I’d love to, but… I can’t. Not right now.”

Jace groaned. “You sound like a sixty-year-old CEO.”

“I have responsibilities,” Alec said patiently.

Magnus studied him for a moment. Alec’s shoulders were tight, his jaw set — he really meant it. And Magnus wasn’t going to push. He’d learned the hard way that Alec needed time, space, and the quiet steadiness of trust.

So he just shrugged, forcing a light smile. “Then we’ll save Venice for later. Maybe next time I’ll tempt you with Paris.”

Alec’s mouth softened. “You never stop, do you?”

“Not when it comes to beautiful things,” Magnus said.

Jace snorted. “Okay, you two are nauseating. I’m going to go re-wrap some hands before I lose my lunch.”

He left, grinning to himself, and Magnus watched Alec watching him go — that patient, slightly long-suffering look he always wore around Jace.

When they were alone, Magnus reached out, brushing his fingers against Alec’s wrist. “He’s right, you know. You do too much.”

“I like keeping busy,” Alec said, but there was a note in his voice — weary, quiet.

Magnus smiled gently. “Just promise me you’ll consider it. Even if it’s not Venice. A weekend somewhere. Or, I don’t know, the Hamptons. We can pretend we’re glamorous.”

Alec’s eyes softened, the corners of his lips twitching. “You’re already glamorous.”

Magnus tilted his head, pretending to think. “True. But you could use a little practice.”

Alec chuckled, shaking his head. “I’ll think about it.”

“I’ll take that as a victory,” Magnus said.

Yoga class went as it usually did — Magnus arriving in full style and stretching like he was auditioning for an interpretive dance performance, Alec pretending not to stare too long, and Jace popping in at random intervals to make jokes.

But Magnus’s mind kept drifting back to that brief flicker in Alec’s eyes when he’d mentioned Venice — not rejection, not exactly. Just hesitation.

Magnus understood it. Alec’s world was one of structure, of dedication and responsibility. Magnus’s was more fluid, spontaneous, ruled by creativity and whim. They met somewhere in the middle — in quiet coffees and late-night talks, in the unspoken language they were slowly learning together.

Still, as he held his final pose, Magnus couldn’t help imagining it — the two of them in Venice, wandering along narrow streets, laughing over wine, Alec trying not to look too charmed by the gondolier singing off-key. It was such a clear picture that it almost hurt.

By the end of the class, he decided to let it go. For now.

When they were leaving, Magnus nudged Alec’s arm lightly. “You know, if we were in Venice, this would be the part where we stroll by the water, share a bottle of wine, and make out under a bridge.”

Alec raised an eyebrow. “That sounds unsanitary.”

Magnus laughed, bright and delighted. “You ruin all my fantasies.”

“I’m practical.”

“Boring,” Magnus teased.

Alec leaned close, voice low. “Maybe you’ll find I’m not.”

Magnus blinked — and then, before he could respond, Alec brushed a quick kiss against his cheek.

It was brief, but enough to make Magnus’s stomach twist pleasantly.

He stood there for a moment after Alec walked away, heart doing ridiculous acrobatics.

Venice could wait, he thought. For now, this — this quiet, slow, unexpected thing they were building — was enough.

And maybe, when the time was right, they’d stand on a bridge somewhere, and Alec would kiss him like the city was theirs.

Chapter Text

Alec didn’t know why it bothered him so much.

The idea of a vacation — of leaving the city, leaving the gym — shouldn’t have made his chest tighten. He trusted Jace. Hell, Jace had been running the gym beside him for years now. They’d built it together from a worn-down warehouse and turned it into a place people loved. Jace knew what to do, how to keep it running, how to handle the regulars, the staff, the paperwork.

And yet.

The thought of walking away from it, even for a few days, made Alec feel like he was abandoning something important. It wasn’t just work; it was order, structure, something he could control. He’d always been that way — the steady one, the responsible one.

He didn’t know how not to be.

But maybe that wasn’t the only reason his stomach twisted when Magnus had said Venice.

He could still see the way Magnus’s eyes had lit up, full of color and excitement, as if he could already picture them gliding down a canal, laughing, drinking wine. Alec hadn’t wanted to say no. He’d wanted to say yes — to everything, to Magnus’s warmth, his spark, his endless way of making the world look brighter.

He’d wanted to say yes, but the word had gotten stuck somewhere between his ribs.

So he said no instead.

Now, the word sat there like a stone in his chest.

-

The next day was slow at the gym — a few clients, a few regulars, the hum of treadmills and the clank of weights like background music. Jace was in his usual form, teasing and bright and loud, and Alec went through the motions, correcting form, giving advice, pretending everything was normal.

But Magnus’s hopeful expression kept replaying in his mind.

It wasn’t even disappointment that hurt; it was the quiet acceptance Magnus had shown when Alec said he couldn’t go. Magnus had just smiled that soft, understanding smile — the one that always made Alec feel both safe and guilty at once — and said, “Then maybe another time.”

Magnus never pushed.

And somehow, that made it worse.

Later, that evening, Alec sat in his office at the back of the gym, staring at the spreadsheet open on his laptop. He wasn’t really reading it. He was thinking about Magnus — about how easy it had been, somehow, to let him in.

Alec hadn’t planned for any of this. He’d told himself he was fine on his own, that he didn’t need the complication of someone else in his life. Then Magnus had appeared — loud, colorful, impossible to ignore — and all of Alec’s walls had started to crack without him realizing it.

Maybe it was time he did something to prove that he wasn’t stuck. That he could make space for someone.

He didn’t have to go to Venice. He didn’t have to fly halfway across the world.

But maybe… something smaller.

Something that still felt like a step forward.

-

He found Magnus at the coffee shop the next morning, just like always.

The smell of espresso filled the air, and Magnus was at the counter, talking animatedly to the barista about oat milk ratios and latte art. Alec watched him for a second before approaching — the way he leaned slightly forward, his laughter warm and real, his hands moving as he talked.

Magnus noticed him instantly, eyes lighting up the way they always did. “Alexander! You look unusually awake for this hour. Did the gym finally start serving coffee strong enough to rival mine?”

Alec smiled faintly and leaned in to kiss Magnus on the lips. “Something like that.”

They got their drinks and found their usual small table by the window. Sunlight spilled across the wooden surface, catching the edge of Magnus’s rings, scattering little prisms of color across his skin.

Magnus stirred his drink lazily, raising an eyebrow. “You look thoughtful. Should I be worried?”

Alec hesitated, then took a breath. “About what you said yesterday. About taking a break.”

Magnus’s expression softened, curiosity flickering in his eyes. “Oh?”

“I can’t really… go away for long,” Alec admitted. “Venice sounds amazing, but I don’t think I could handle leaving the gym for that long. Not right now.”

Magnus smiled — not disappointed, just listening. Waiting.

“But,” Alec continued, “I was thinking… maybe we could go somewhere closer. For a weekend. Just the two of us.”

Magnus’s eyes brightened immediately, a slow, almost cautious smile curving his lips. “Closer, as in…?”

“There’s this cabin a few hours north,” Alec said, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s near a lake. Quiet, good hiking trails, fresh air. I used to go there with Jace and Izzy when we were kids. It’s… peaceful.”

Magnus blinked, the idea sinking in. “A cabin?”

“Yeah,” Alec said. “I figured maybe we could go for a weekend. Get away from the city, just… breathe.”

For a moment, Magnus just looked at him — really looked at him, eyes soft and searching. Then, slowly, a smile bloomed, bright and genuine. “You know, Alexander, I never thought I’d hear you say the words ‘weekend getaway.’ I might faint.”

Alec rolled his eyes, but his lips twitched. “Don’t get used to it.”

“Oh, I fully intend to,” Magnus teased, then leaned forward, his hand brushing Alec’s across the table. “I’d love that. Really.”

Alec exhaled, the tension in his shoulders easing. “Good.”

“Though I must admit,” Magnus said thoughtfully, “I’m already picturing you chopping wood in a flannel shirt, which might be worth the trip alone.”

Alec gave him a flat look. “We’re not going for that.”

Magnus smirked. “Of course not. Totally coincidental fantasy.”

Alec laughed, shaking his head. “You’re impossible.”

“I try.” Magnus’s grin softened into something warmer. “Thank you, Alexander. I know it’s not easy for you to step away from your world, even for a little while. So… thank you.”

Alec looked down, embarrassed by how much that simple gratitude affected him. “You don’t have to thank me.”

“I do,” Magnus said gently. “Because this — the fact that you even thought of it — it means something.”

Alec didn’t know what to say to that, so he just nodded. But something loosened in his chest, something he hadn’t realized had been tight.

Maybe he didn’t have to be perfect. Maybe it was enough to try.

When they left the coffee shop, Magnus slipped his hand into Alec’s for a brief moment, just long enough to make Alec’s heart stutter.

“You know,” Magnus said as they stepped into the warm morning air, “I could handle a cabin. I might even look good in hiking boots.”

“You’d complain about the bugs,” Alec said.

“Obviously. I’m not a saint.”

“You’ll be fine,” Alec said, amused.

Magnus grinned up at him. “And you’ll be relaxed, for once. I’ll make sure of it.”

Alec didn’t doubt that for a second.

-

That night, as Alec was closing up the gym, he caught himself smiling for no reason.

He could already imagine it: the quiet woods, the cool air, Magnus sitting by the fire wrapped in one of those oversized scarves, talking about everything and nothing.

It wasn’t Venice, with its grandeur and romance. But it was something real — something grounded, simple, theirs.

A step forward.

And maybe that was enough for now.

Alec locked the door behind him, slipping his keys into his pocket. The city hummed softly outside, the lights of New York glinting against the dark.

For the first time in a long time, the thought of getting away — even for a weekend — didn’t feel terrifying.

It felt right.

-

Alec appreciated routine. It had a rhythm he could trust: the early clients, the clatter of weights, the way the gym breathed at different hours. Routine meant predictability, and predictability meant control — something Alec had learned to value after the last few years of his life had taught him otherwise.

So the idea of a weekend away, however small and sensible — a cabin, a lake, two days without his phone lighting up with scheduling emergencies — ought to have felt like a gift. A quiet, unthreatening break.

Instead, it had lodged itself in his chest and refused to leave.

He didn’t know exactly when the panic had started. Maybe it was the moment Magnus’s hand had slipped into his on that coffee shop step; maybe it had been when he’d watched Magnus’s eyes go full-hopeful at the thought of Venice. Now, a cabin felt simultaneously like an enormous concession and the smallest, most reasonable act he could imagine. The part of him that ran the gym — the part that assumed responsibility for everything under his roof — bristled at leaving it in other hands, even his best friend’s hands. The other part, the part that had let Magnus in and remembered what it felt like to be seen, wanted to go and not think at all.

Which, to put it mildly, was not Alec Lightwood’s usual operating mode.

“Man, you look like someone’s asking you to hand over your lungs for inspection,” Jace said, clapping him on the shoulder as he found Alec in the back office, staring a little too long at a list of contractors and a spreadsheet.

Alec glared. “I don’t need—”

“You do need a vacation,” Jace interrupted brightly. “And you need to go somewhere that has trees and no Wi-Fi. That place will fix you.”

“It’s a weekend,” Alec said, trying to make his voice sound steady. “It’s not some exotic sabbatical.”

“Exactly,” Jace said. “Short, manageable, no chance for existential crises.” He grinned. “Also, cabins are hot. You can pretend to be rugged. I can’t wait for photos.”

Alec’s only response was a flat look that, in his experience, usually stopped Jace for at least twelve seconds. It lasted six.

“You’re panicking,” Jace announced proudly after the silence. “And it’s adorable. Tell me you’re not panicking.”

Alec put his hands on the desk and leaned forward. “I’m not panicking.”

“You literally just said last night that you couldn’t leave the gym — and then immediately followed it up by booking a cabin for the two of you. Which is… progress. And terrifying.” Jace’s eyebrows went up. “Also, don’t forget the condoms.”

The words landed like a thrown dumbbell.

Alec’s first instinct was to reach for something to hurl. His second instinct was to remind himself, in a calm, management-style tone, that Jace was the one person who could not be allowed to poison his head with visions of catastrophe and humiliation. Management would not be rattled by crude jokes. Management would be rational.

“What?” Alec asked, keeping his voice dangerously even.

“Condoms,” Jace repeated, as if elucidating the concept of oxygen. “You know, for the weekend. In case you plan on—” He made a very unhelpful hand gesture.

Alec felt the heat blossom from his chest to his face. The office felt suddenly small, the air too warm, and the clock too loud.

“Jace,” he said slowly. “Do not be that man in front of the staff.”

“Oh, come on,” Jace crowed. “This is exactly the kind of milestone we celebrate! Boyfriend trip! Cabin! Hot chocolate by the fire! Condoms! I mean, think of the content—”

Alec put his head in his hands and wished the floor would open and swallow him. The thought of explaining anything — to anyone, ever — about what he and Magnus might or might not do in a bed sprang visions in his head he was not mentally prepared to field in front of his friend and the rest of the early-shift crew.

“Are you actually trying to die of embarrassment in front of your colleagues?” Jace asked gleefully.

“Yes,” Alec muttered. “Basically.”

“And also,” Jace added, conspiratorial and relentless, “you need to give me a checklist. I want to know who takes over Saturday classes, who restocks towels, and if Clary can handle the front desk alone. Also, what are the fire protocols if you’re gone? You can’t leave me with the responsibility of making final decisions. It’s terrifying.”

Alec blinked. “I will draw up a schedule.”

“Brilliant.” Jace clapped his hands. “Next item on the honeymoon list — I mean, weekend list — is: who’s feeding the plants. A dead ficus is a tragedy.”

Alec groaned into his palms. “You’re insufferable.”

“Proudly so.”

Alec had no idea whether he was more exasperated at Jace’s merciless teasing or relieved that Jace had actually started helping. The man could be an absolute menace, but he was also the only person Alec trusted implicitly to keep the gym upright while he was away. Maybe that knowledge should have been enough to calm him, but the truth was more complicated. The idea of time away with Magnus meant more than a few days without checks and balances; it implied that Alec was making room in his life for something else, an acceptance he hadn’t quite permitted himself.

He stood, smoothing his shirt automatically. “Fine. I’ll make the schedule. I’ll show you which clients not to kill with enthusiasm. I’ll demonstrate towel folding.”

Jace gave a theatrical bow. “Your humility is inspiring.”

“Also, for the record,” Alec added in a quieter voice, “please do not talk about condoms when Clary’s within earshot.”

“That is the most specific and boring boundary I’ve ever heard,” Jace said, grin widening. “Noted.”

Alec left the office with a list of logistics occupying his head — classes to reschedule, keys to hand off, a note about the leak in the shower in Studio B (call the plumber before they mold the wall). The practicalities were tangible and doable; he liked that. He liked that he could make a plan and check boxes and hand it off to competent people. Panic, he told himself, was just adrenaline. He could manage adrenaline.

Still, when he came into the front area later and found Clary at the desk, she gave him a knowing smile. “You’re really going,” she said lightly, as if this were confirmation of some universal truth.

Alec’s throat tightened. “Yeah.”

She reached out and squeezed his shoulder. “You’ll be fine. And if not, Jace will likely ritualistically over-manage things until everyone’s exhausted.”

Alec smiled despite himself. “Thanks. Please yell at anyone who tries to use more than one towel per person.”

Clary tilted her head. “You’re adorable.”

“Not adorable,” he said. “Competent.”

She rolled her eyes, but there was warmth in it. “Bring Magnus back with clean boots.”

He laughed, and for a second the tightness loosened — enough that he could actually picture their weekend: no Venice canals, no grandeur — just a small cabin with a wood stove, cheap wine, too many blankets, and – if they were inclined – a single weekend of physical closeness and slow mornings.

He pictured Magnus laughing at how inept he looked with a map, Magnus complaining about bugs while unabashedly loving the quiet, Magnus’s hand sliding into his. He tried on the thought like a sweater, gauging comfort. It was oddly, wonderfully comforting.

When Jace caught sight of him by the racks of protein tubs, he nudged Alec with an elbow. “Hey, let me help. I’ll do the gym plan. Also, I’ll be in charge of emergency protocol, which mostly involves me being loud and pointing fingers.”

Alec shot him a look. “You mean you’ll make a list and then make noises.”

“That’s how I manage stress,” Jace said solemnly.

Alec had to laugh. “Fine. But no condom talk. Ever. Not here.”

Jace’s eyes shone with mischief. “Never say never.”

Alec tried a glare that, in other circumstances, might have been fearsome. Instead, it only made Jace’s grin worse. Alec clenched his jaw — which, by the time he left for the night, felt like its own workout.

He walked out into the evening air thinking of routines and departures, of structure and the small betrayals of letting someone else take up space in your life. He also thought of Magnus’s laugh and the quiet way he filled rooms. The thought of being beside him in a cabin, with nothing but the sound of a wood stove and the rustle of leaves, took some of the edge off that old reflex to hold everything tight.

He unlocked his bike by the curb and imagined the quiet trees, the smell of pine, the two of them making coffee from a French press with hands that remembered how to fit together. He thought of Magnus’s hopeful eyes when Venice had been mentioned and the way his voice had softened.

He didn’t know exactly how to be vulnerable without fumbling. But he knew this: he had said yes to a weekend. He’d taken the step he hadn’t expected to take. He’d arranged the gym’s schedule and written the notes because Jace insisted and because he trusted Jace’s loud competence. He’d told Clary to supervise the towels. He’d sworn at least once more than was necessary.

And, as he swung his leg over his bike, keys warm in his jacket pocket, he admitted, silently, that he was glad he’d done it. Even if panic still fluttered in his chest, it seemed smaller now, manageable. There was a plan. There were boxes that could be checked. And on the other side — waiting at a cabin, perhaps clumsy with a map or complaining about the bugs — there was Magnus.

Alec started the engine, feeling, for the first time in a long while, that he might be steering toward something worth being a little scared for.

-

Alec wasn’t nervous.

He wasn’t.

Not technically.

Sure, his hands might have gripped the steering wheel a little tighter than usual, and yes, he had double-checked the route three times that morning and texted Jace to confirm the gym’s weekend schedule twice, but that was just responsible management, not nerves.

At least, that’s what he told himself as Magnus stepped out of his apartment building with what appeared to be… four bags.

Four.

Alec blinked. “We’re gone for two nights, not an expedition to Everest.”

Magnus tilted his head, sunglasses perched on his nose despite the gray afternoon light, a dramatic scarf fluttering in the breeze. “You say that now, but if I forget something vital—like proper moisturizer or an extra sweater—you’ll be the one listening to me complain all weekend.”

Alec stared, deadpan. “I think I’d survive.”

“I think you underestimate the power of a man denied his skincare routine,” Magnus said, somehow managing to look entirely unbothered while juggling his luggage like a traveling aristocrat.

Alec’s mouth twitched. “Fine, but you’re carrying your own bags back on Sunday.”

“I’ll consider it,” Magnus said lightly, settling into the passenger seat with far too much grace for someone who had just packed half his apartment. “Oh, you brought the car. I’m impressed, Alexander. I was half-expecting the motorcycle again. You didn’t trust me on the back of it?”

Alec gave him a sidelong glance as he started the engine. “I don’t trust anyone on the back of it for that long. It’s a two-hour drive, and it’s freezing out there in May. You’d complain before we hit the bridge.”

“Accurate,” Magnus admitted, grinning. “But I do look good on a motorcycle.”

Alec shook his head, smiling despite himself as they pulled onto the road. Magnus hummed softly along to the radio, occasionally commenting on the view, the skyline fading behind them as city turned to highway. The easy chatter between them filled the car, natural and warm.

He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed this kind of quiet ease — the kind where conversation wasn’t a performance but a rhythm, like breathing.

“So,” Magnus said after a few minutes of silence, tilting his head toward him. “Tell me, what does the great Alexander Lightwood have planned for this mysterious weekend getaway?”

“Nothing fancy,” Alec said, eyes fixed on the road. “Cabin by the lake. Fire pit. Hiking trails if we want. No Wi-Fi.”

Magnus gasped dramatically. “No Wi-Fi? How will I survive?”

“You’ll talk to me,” Alec said, smirking.

Magnus clutched his chest in mock shock. “Conversation? With an actual human? How dreadful for you.”

Alec laughed, the sound spilling out before he could stop it. “I’ll manage.”

Magnus turned to look at him, and for a brief second, the joking faded from his eyes. “I think you will.”

Something warm bloomed in Alec’s chest. He glanced away quickly, pretending to focus on the stretch of highway ahead, but he could feel Magnus’s gaze lingering.

They drove in comfortable silence for a while. The winter-bare trees blurred past, a faint mist rising from the river alongside the road. Magnus fiddled with the radio, landing on a soft jazz station that fit the mood perfectly.

“You know,” Magnus said eventually, voice casual but curious, “you’re surprisingly good at this.”

“At what?”

“This. The whole boyfriend taking you on a weekend getaway thing. I was expecting awkward silences, mild grunting, maybe a PowerPoint presentation about the itinerary.”

Alec chuckled. “Do you really think I’d make a PowerPoint?”

Magnus arched a brow. “You’re a planner. I can feel it.”

“Fine,” Alec admitted. “I may have… outlined a few ideas. You know. Just to make sure we don’t end up bored.”

Magnus’s grin softened into something warmer. “You’re cute when you try to be chill.”

“I’m not trying to be cute.”

“That’s what makes it worse,” Magnus teased.

Alec rolled his eyes but couldn’t help smiling. “You’re impossible.”

“I’ve been told.”

Magnus leaned back in his seat, eyes drifting to the passing landscape. “You know,” he said quietly after a moment, “I’m glad we’re doing this. I didn’t realize how much I needed a break until you suggested it.”

“I wasn’t sure you’d say yes,” Alec admitted. “You’ve been busy with work and the whole Venice thing.”

Magnus hummed. “True. But some things are worth making time for.”

Alec’s fingers tightened briefly on the steering wheel. He didn’t trust himself to respond to that without saying something that might sound too much, too soon.

Magnus must have noticed, because he smiled gently and changed the subject. “So, hiking, you said? How rugged are we talking here? Will there be mud involved? Because if you’re expecting me to climb a mountain—”

“No mountain,” Alec said quickly. “Just a trail by the lake. Easy walk. You’ll be fine.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” Magnus said. “If I ruin these boots, I’m billing you.”

“You brought suede boots to a cabin?”

“I brought options,” Magnus said with dignity. “You never know when inspiration will strike. Maybe I’ll design a whole new line of outdoorsy jewelry.”

Alec shook his head, amused. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And yet,” Magnus said, voice lilting, “you adore me.”

Alec shot him a sidelong look, half a smile curling his lips. “I’m… getting there.”

Magnus’s breath caught just slightly, but he masked it with a grin. “Good answer, darling.”

They stopped for coffee halfway there — Magnus insisted on finding a “real café, not a gas station with burnt beans pretending to be espresso.” Alec let him pick the place, amused by the way Magnus charmed the barista into giving them extra whipped cream.

By the time they got back in the car, Magnus had taken off his sunglasses, eyes gleaming as the low afternoon light hit his face.

“You know,” he said softly, “I think you’re starting to rub off on me.”

“Oh?” Alec asked, sipping his coffee.

“I just spent fifteen minutes talking about hiking boots. Me. Magnus Bane. Discussing hiking boots.”

Alec chuckled. “That’s character growth.”

Magnus smirked. “You’re lucky you’re cute, Alexander.”

Alec’s heart skipped. “I’ll take it.”

They spent the rest of the drive trading stories — Magnus talking about his early design projects, Alec about the chaos of running the gym with Jace. Somewhere along the way, laughter became easy and the distance between them smaller.

When the car finally turned onto the gravel road leading to the cabin, the sun was sinking low, painting the sky with pale gold and rose. Magnus leaned forward, peering through the windshield.

“Oh,” he said softly. “That’s… actually beautiful.”

Alec smiled, a quiet kind of pride blooming in his chest. “Yeah. Thought you’d like it.”

They unloaded Magnus’s absurd number of bags (Alec was never letting him live this down), and by the time they stepped inside, the cabin smelled faintly of cedar and pine.

Magnus turned slowly, taking it all in — the fireplace, the soft lamplight, the quiet outside. He looked at Alec with a smile that made something in Alec’s chest unclench.

“This,” Magnus said, “might actually be perfect.”

Alec exhaled a laugh. “Don’t jinx it.”

Magnus stepped closer, his voice low and teasing. “I never jinx things. I just make them… interesting.”

“Yeah,” Alec said, eyes flicking to Magnus’s. “You do that.”

For a heartbeat, they just stood there — two people who had stumbled, against their own plans, into something that felt terrifyingly right. Magnus smiled, softer now, and Alec felt himself falling a little more, helplessly and willingly.

He didn’t need Venice. He just needed this — Magnus’s laughter echoing through the car, the warmth of his gaze in the fading light, the quiet truth that they were building something neither had quite expected.

And as Magnus flopped dramatically onto the couch, declaring he was exhausted from emotional labor, Alec laughed and thought, maybe for the first time in years, that falling didn’t have to be frightening at all.

It could just be this simple.

It could just be Magnus.

Chapter Text

Magnus Bane had never in his life been awkward about a bed.

He’d stayed in penthouses and hotels and guest rooms, in stranger places and stranger situations — always composed, always in control. And yet, somehow, standing in the cozy wooden cabin bedroom beside Alec Lightwood, watching him fumble with his phone charger like it was a tactical operation, Magnus felt… seventeen again.

Seventeen, awkward, and terribly aware of every heartbeat.

They’d unpacked everything — Magnus’s embarrassingly large amount of luggage tucked neatly in a corner, the food stacked in the kitchen, the fireplace softly crackling after Alec had coaxed it to life. The evening had been easy: quiet dinner, gentle teasing, a shared glass of wine while they watched the firelight dance across the walls.

But now… now came bedtime.

And Magnus wasn’t sure if the flutter in his chest was nerves or excitement. Probably both.

“So,” Alec said, standing by the bed, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck. “There’s, uh… one bed.”

Like Alec didn’t know.

Magnus arched an eyebrow, feigning calm. “Yes, Alexander, I noticed. Very observant of you.”

Alec gave a sheepish little smile that made Magnus’s stomach flip. “I thought maybe it’d have two. Or at least a couch.”

Liar.

“There is a couch,” Magnus pointed out, then immediately regretted it when Alec glanced toward it. “But if you think for a second I’m letting you sleep there, you’re out of your mind.”

“I wasn’t going to—” Alec began, but Magnus cut in, smirking now, “You were absolutely going to. You’re too polite for your own good.”

Alec sighed, rubbing the back of his neck again. “I just didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“Oh, Alexander,” Magnus said softly, something tender creeping into his voice despite his teasing tone, “you stopped making me uncomfortable a long time ago.”

That earned him a faint smile, one that lingered even as they both moved to get ready for bed. Magnus changed into a soft black T-shirt and silk pajama pants — casual by his standards, though judging by the way Alec looked at him for a second too long, it still had an effect. Alec, on the other hand, wore simple cotton sleep pants and an old gray shirt, the sleeves pushed up enough to show the lines of his arms.

Unfair, Magnus thought. Utterly unfair.

They both hovered near opposite sides of the bed for a moment, the air thick with hesitation. Finally, Magnus broke the silence with a sigh and a self-deprecating laugh. “This is ridiculous. We’re acting like teenagers at a sleepover.”

Alec chuckled, his whole face softening. “Yeah, a little.”

Magnus slipped under the covers, lying on his side to face Alec. “See? Not so terrifying.”

Alec climbed in after him, careful and deliberate, as though worried he might startle Magnus. The mattress dipped under his weight, and for a long moment they just lay there, the faint hum of the fireplace and the sound of the wind outside filling the room.

Then Alec turned, meeting Magnus’s eyes across the small space between them. “You okay?”

Magnus smiled faintly. “Better than okay.”

Alec hesitated, then reached out — a simple touch, his fingers brushing against Magnus’s hand under the blanket. Magnus twined their fingers together without thinking, and the nervous tension that had filled the room earlier melted into something softer.

“This is nice,” Alec murmured.

“It is,” Magnus agreed quietly.

There was another pause — not uncomfortable, but charged in the best way — and then Alec leaned in, kissing him.

It wasn’t their first kiss, but it was different this time: slower, unhurried, the kind of kiss that said we’re here, right now, and that’s enough. Magnus melted into it, his hand sliding to rest against Alec’s jaw, feeling the faint scrape of stubble under his fingertips.

When they finally broke apart, Magnus was smiling. “We’re incredibly stupid, you know.”

Alec huffed a laugh, brushing his thumb along Magnus’s cheek. “Yeah. But at least we’re stupid together.”

That earned a soft laugh from Magnus, one that turned into a sigh as Alec shifted closer, pulling him into his arms. Magnus tucked his head under Alec’s chin, his hand resting over Alec’s heart.

“Goodnight, Alexander,” he murmured.

“Night, Magnus,” Alec whispered back.

For a while, Magnus lay awake, listening to the steady rhythm of Alec’s breathing, feeling the warmth of his body pressed against his back. It had been so long since he’d let himself relax like this — since he’d felt safe enough to. Every time he thought about the last few months, the chaos of starting over in New York, of falling for someone when he hadn’t meant to, his chest filled with quiet wonder.

He hadn’t planned this. But maybe the best things weren’t meant to be planned.

Eventually, sleep came easily — the kind that felt deep and dreamless, the kind that came only when he was truly at peace.

-

When morning light filtered through the thin curtains, Magnus stirred, eyes still half-closed. It took him a second to realize why he felt so… warm.

Alec’s arm was draped over his waist, his chest pressed against Magnus’s back, his breath slow and even against the curve of Magnus’s neck.

He could feel Alec hard cock pressed to his ass.

Magnus froze for half a second — not from discomfort, but from the overwhelming tenderness of Alec arm around him, from the feeling of Alec’s dick for the first time.

Alec Lightwood, who sometimes couldn’t even say how he felt without tripping over the words, was holding him like he was something precious.

Magnus’s heart fluttered and his own erection sprint to life.

He turned slightly, just enough to see Alec’s face — relaxed, his lips parted slightly in sleep, hair mussed and falling into his eyes. There was something so real about this — no pretense, no sparkle, just quiet closeness.

Magnus smiled. He felt… content and… horny.

Not ecstatic, not breathless — just deeply, quietly happy.

He reached up, brushing a strand of hair off Alec’s forehead before pressing a soft kiss there, ignoring the problem in his pants, Alec murmured something unintelligible in his sleep and tightened his hold instinctively, pulling Magnus a little closer.

Magnus chuckled under his breath. “You’re a cuddler, aren’t you?” he whispered, amused.

No answer, just another sleepy murmur that sounded suspiciously like Magnus’s name.

And just like that, Magnus’s chest ached — in the best possible way.

He lay there for a few more minutes, savoring the moment — the feel of Alec’s heartbeat against his back, the warmth of the morning light creeping across the room, the faint scent of pine.

He hadn’t realized how badly he’d needed this — not the trip, not the cabin, but this small, simple thing.

Being held.

Being known.

When Alec finally stirred awake, blinking groggily, Magnus turned his head to smile at him. “Good morning, darling.”

Alec blinked, then smiled back — a little sleepy, a little shy. “Morning. You slept okay?”

“Perfectly,” Magnus said, stretching a little before snuggling back into his arms. “I could get used to this.”

Alec chuckled softly, pressing his face into Magnus’s shoulder. “Yeah. Me too.”

He smiled into the morning light, feeling Alec’s arm tighten around him again, and thought, yes — this is exactly where I want to be, so Magnus being Magnus pressed his ass to Alec’s cock. Alec in return let a grunt and placed a kiss on Magnus neck.

Alec’s lips were warm against his skin, sending a tremor through Magnus that made him draw closer instinctively. The nearness and the hardness felt unreal — after so many nights spent imagining this moment, to actually have Alec here, pressed against him, was almost too much to take in. Every breath between them was charged, every heartbeat tangled in something that felt both tender and consuming.

Magnus’s voice was a whisper, velvet and trembling. “Touch me,” he murmured, taking Alec’s hand and guiding it gently into his sleeping pants. When Alec’s fingers brushed against him, Magnus exhaled a quiet, shuddering sigh, the sound heavy with longing.

Alec’s touch was slow—achingly so—each movement filled with care and wonder. Magnus ached for more, for the heat of urgency, but he held himself back, letting the moment unfold, wanting to feel every bit of what Alec offered him.

When the longing became too much to bear, Magnus drew in a shaky breath. “Wait—just a second,” he whispered with a teasing smile. He slipped out of bed, searching through his things with restless energy for the lube he packed, the air thick with need and laughter. When he finally found what he was looking for, he turned back—and froze.

Alec lay there, naked, eyes dark with desire, every line of his body an invitation as he stroked his cock. The sight stole Magnus’s breath; for a heartbeat, it felt like the world had narrowed to just that single, perfect moment between them.

Magnus slowly slipped out of his clothes and settled astride Alec’s legs, his gaze never leaving Alec’s eyes. He poured lube into his fingers and started to stoke both of them. He let a soft warmth bloom between them as his fingers found their way to touch and explore. Alec drew him into a kiss that deepened with every breath — tender at first, then full of longing. Soon, their lips simply lingered together, sharing the same air, the same heartbeat, while Magnus’s touch guided them in quiet harmony.

Magnus’s soft sounds drew Alec closer, his hands finding their way around Magnus’s ass as the space between them dissolved. Magnus could feel the edge of something rising — a rush of need, a yearning for more. He met Alec’s eyes, breath unsteady, and reached for his hand, guiding it with quiet trust toward his hole. “Can you?” he whispered, the question filled with both longing and love.

Alec understood without any other words, his movements gentle but full of urgency as he lubed his fingers and pressed one into Magnus. The moment their bodies found their rhythm, Magnus let out a deep sound that came from somewhere between pleasure and surrender.

Every brush of Alec’s skin, every kiss against his throat, every shared breath drew Magnus further into the moment until there was nothing else — only them.

Time blurred, thought faded, and all that remained was the pulse of their hearts and the warmth between them. In Alec’s arms, Magnus felt undone, lost, and completely alive.

With a loud moan Magnus came, covering his fist and Alec’s stomach with his release.

Alec took the lead, his breath coming in short, uneven waves as Magnus watched him with a tender, knowing smile. Their eyes met — a silent exchange of everything they felt but couldn’t say. Within moments, Alec gave in to the rush of it all, his world narrowing to Magnus’s touch, Magnus’s warmth, Magnus’s name on his lips.

-

The cabin smelled faintly of pine and lingering firewood, a warm, cozy scent that seemed to wrap around Magnus like a hug. He’d taken a quick shower earlier, the hot water washing away the last threads of sleep and come, and Alec had followed after him, leaving the bathroom with damp hair and a faint look of satisfaction.

Now they stood side by side in the small, sunlit kitchen, the morning stretching lazy and golden before them. Alec had insisted on making breakfast, though Magnus had protested he could manage eggs himself. Alec’s stubborn streak won, of course.

Magnus leaned against the counter, watching Alec carefully crack eggs into a bowl, a brow raised as if he were simultaneously judging and admiring Alec’s precision. “You’re taking this very seriously,” Magnus teased, “like you’re running a breakfast boot camp.”

Alec shot him a half-smile without looking up. “Breakfast is serious business. There are layers of taste to consider, presentation, timing…” He gestured vaguely with a whisk. “…and coffee. Always coffee.”

Magnus laughed, leaning a bit closer. “Layers of taste. You do realize this is just eggs, bacon, and toast, right?”

“Not just eggs,” Alec said, eyes gleaming. “Perfect eggs. And—” He paused, dramatically lifting a small espresso machine. “—coffee, elevated.”

Magnus raised a brow. “Elevated coffee?”

Alec nodded solemnly. “I’m experimenting. Today, you’re my willing participant.”

Magnus couldn’t help smiling at him. Alec was the kind of man who could make simple things feel like events — and Magnus, who often walked through life with a little edge of skepticism, found it impossible not to get caught up in Alec’s enthusiasm.

Minutes later, Alec presented him with a cup of coffee that was more foam, chocolate, and artful drizzle than actual coffee. Magnus inhaled the rich scent and tried not to laugh. “You made… a dessert in a mug.”

“I call it sophisticated,” Alec said defensively, though the corners of his mouth twitched with amusement. “You drink it; you experience it.”

Magnus took a sip, and to his surprise, it was surprisingly delicious — rich, sweet, with just enough bitterness to balance the sugar. He raised the cup in mock solemnity. “I experience. Very sophisticated indeed.”

Alec’s grin widened. “Glad you approve. It’s part of the weekend package: breakfast, coffee, and my dazzling company.”

Magnus rolled his eyes but laughed, letting himself enjoy the moment. He’d come to New York carrying old baggage and uncertainty, leaving California behind after heartbreak and a sudden whim. Yet here he was, in a small cabin, sharing eggs and coffee with a man who made him feel like the world was simple, warm, and safe.

They ate together at the tiny table by the window, sunlight glinting off the wooden surfaces. Conversation flowed effortlessly, drifting from work projects to stories about childhood summers to the small, ridiculous arguments that couples inevitably had about whether the coffee should be stronger or the eggs slightly softer. Magnus found himself relaxing in a way he hadn’t in months.

“You know,” he said, sipping his second cup of the frothy concoction Alec had made, “I could get used to this.”

Alec looked up from stirring his eggs, eyes soft and warm. “This being?”

Magnus smirked. “This. Morning coffee, breakfast together, no deadlines, no chaos — just… you and me.”

Alec’s lips curved into that easy, unselfconscious smile that made Magnus’s chest flutter. “I could get used to it too.”

They lapsed into another comfortable silence, the kind where no one felt the need to fill the space with words. Magnus caught himself watching Alec, the sunlight catching in his hair, the way his hands moved confidently, the subtle concentration in his expression. And he felt a flutter of something bright and certain in his chest.

“I have a confession,” Alec said suddenly, breaking the quiet. Magnus looked up, intrigued. “I may have added a little too much chocolate drizzle.”

Magnus laughed, setting down his cup. “I don’t care. It’s actually… perfect. You know, your version of perfect.”

Alec’s eyes met his, and Magnus felt heat spread through him. “I like perfect,” he said simply.

“You do, do you?” Alec teased, tilting his head. “Careful, that sounds dangerously close to a compliment I might misinterpret.”

Magnus leaned back in his chair, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. “Interpret it however you like, Mr. Barista Extraordinaire.”

They lingered over breakfast longer than necessary, talking and laughing, savoring the simple joy of the morning. The world outside the cabin — the city, the work, the chaos — felt impossibly far away. All that existed was the small table, the warm sunlight, the smell of coffee, and Alec’s easy presence beside him.

By the time they cleared the dishes, Magnus felt a profound sense of contentment. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed these quiet, ordinary moments — moments that suddenly felt extraordinary simply because of the company.

“Ready for the day?” Alec asked, leaning against the counter, a teasing glint in his eyes.

Magnus smiled, brushing a stray strand of hair from his forehead. “I am. As long as it’s with you.”

Alec’s grin widened, and Magnus thought — not for the first time — that he had never been happier.

It was May, it was spring, and the world felt impossibly bright and new. And for the first time in a long time, Magnus felt like he was exactly where he was meant to be.

-

The sun was warm on Magnus’s face, filtering through the fresh green leaves of early spring. The cabin’s small path meandered beside the lake, sparkling with tiny ripples that caught the light. Alec had suggested a walk, and Magnus had eagerly agreed — though he suspected Alec’s patience might be tested by how often he stopped.

“I need to get this,” Magnus said for the fourth time, crouching slightly to snap a photo of a particularly gnarly tree root jutting out of the soft earth. “The way the light hits it — it’s perfect.”

Alec chuckled, hands shoved in his jacket pockets. “You say that about everything.”

Magnus didn’t look up. “Because everything is perfect.”

Alec raised a brow, a teasing glint in his dark eyes. “Everything, huh? Including me?”

Magnus’s head snapped up. “Especially you,” he said, loud enough that a pair of birds in the nearby trees scattered in protest.

Alec shook his head, laughing, and Magnus seized the opportunity, tugging him closer for a quick kiss. Just a kiss, he told himself. A sweet, teasing press of lips. But Alec’s arms went around him instinctively, fingers sliding into the small of Magnus’s back, and the kiss deepened.

Magnus grinned against Alec’s mouth when they pulled apart. “You make this too easy,” he murmured, pressing another quick kiss to Alec’s jaw.

“I… am not complaining,” Alec said, a smile tugging at his lips as he continued walking, though Magnus grabbed his hand, tugging him slightly off the path.

“Wait, wait! The flowers! Look!” Magnus crouched near a cluster of wild blooms, waving Alec over. Alec laughed, crouching beside him, and Magnus seized the moment — a hand on Alec’s cheek, a lingering kiss that made Alec shake his head in amusement when they finally parted.

“You’re relentless,” Alec said, standing again.

Magnus only grinned, slipping his hand into Alec’s. “I like being relentless.”

The walk continued, Magnus snapping picture after picture, stopping constantly to capture the way the sunlight dappled through the trees, the reflections on the water, or just Alec laughing at his antics. Every time he stopped, Alec would bend down to him, and Magnus would make him pause — not just for photos, but for kisses.

Alec laughed more than Magnus had ever heard him laugh, the sound echoing through the quiet of the woods. Magnus felt his chest tighten, a warmth spreading through him that went beyond the spring sun. He couldn’t help it — he leaned into Alec whenever he could, pressing little touches wherever he could, hands brushing against Alec’s arm or shoulders, fingers occasionally trailing down Alec’s side.

“You’re… kind of handsy today,” Alec said, though his tone was light and teasing, a little breathless from walking and laughing.

“I can’t help it,” Magnus said, grinning. “You’re just… very kissable. And very easy to fall for.”

Alec stopped mid-step, eyes widening slightly. “Easy to fall for, huh? Is that…?”

Magnus shrugged, pretending casualness. “Could be. Maybe.”

They walked in silence for a moment, Magnus stealing quick glances at Alec, at the curve of his jaw, the set of his shoulders, the way he moved. Every laugh, every playful comment, every touch — it all made Magnus’s chest tighten and his thoughts spin.

Could this be… love?

He blinked, startled by the thought. Love. The word felt impossibly huge, impossibly real. It hadn’t been part of his plan when he left California, hadn’t been part of his carefully constructed New York life. But standing here, fingers intertwined with Alec’s, lips tingling from their constant little kisses, heart thrumming with every glance and touch — it seemed undeniable.

Alec, of course, had no idea. He was too caught up in Magnus’s antics, laughing as Magnus stopped mid-path yet again to capture a particularly photogenic patch of moss. Magnus grinned at him, leaned in, and kissed him again — longer this time, pressing against Alec’s chest, feeling Alec’s arms tighten around him.

“You’re… dangerous,” Alec murmured when they finally parted.

Magnus laughed softly, the sound light and filled with happiness. “I like to think I’m adventurous.”

Alec shook his head, amusement and something softer mixed in his dark eyes. “You’re both. Dangerous and adventurous.”

Magnus felt his chest flutter. Every touch, every laugh, every smile from Alec made it clearer — this wasn’t just attraction, wasn’t just fun. It was something more. Something deep, something that made him want to stay here, in this moment, in this person’s presence, forever.

They continued walking, and Magnus, cheek pressed to Alec’s shoulder as they navigated a narrow path by the lake, thought with a little thrill in his chest: Yes. This could very well be love.

And he wasn’t afraid to admit it — not to Alec, not to himself. Not anymore.

Because every kiss, every laugh, every hand pressed just so — it made him fall harder and harder, and he had no intention of stopping.

He just hoped Alec felt the same.

For now, though, he let himself enjoy it — the warmth, the laughter, the gentle thrill of something new and undeniable, something that could only be described as falling.

And maybe, just maybe, it felt like flying.

Chapter Text

The warmth of the afternoon still clung to Alec’s skin when they got back to the cabin. The soft light of early evening filtered through the trees, and everything outside was quiet — birds settling, the lake turning to silver. Inside, Magnus hummed faintly under his breath while unpacking groceries from the cooler, sleeves rolled up, a picture of casual ease.

Alec wished he felt half as calm.

His mind kept circling back to that morning — to waking tangled in Magnus’s arms, to the soft sounds and half-breathed words that had filled the space between them. They hadn’t talked about it yet. About what it meant, or about what either of them needed. And for all his steadiness on the outside, Alec could feel the knots of uncertainty tightening inside him.

Magnus had a way of making him forget the world, but Alec knew better than to leave things unsaid. He’d been burned before — by silence, by assuming, by not being clear enough about what he wanted or could give.

So while Magnus stirred something in a skillet and chatted about a new jewelry design, Alec tried to focus on chopping vegetables and not overthink every breath he took.

Dinner was simple: pasta with something Magnus called “a sauce born of chaos and genius.” They ate at the little wooden table, Magnus barefoot, hair falling loose, grinning at Alec’s skeptical first bite until Alec admitted it was really good.

The conversation drifted — about the walk, about Magnus’s camera roll that was now 90% trees and Alec’s annoyed face, about plans for the next day. It was easy. It always was, with Magnus. But when the plates were cleared, and Magnus leaned back in his chair with that lazy, contented smile, Alec felt his pulse skip.

This was the moment.

He could back out. Let it slide. Pretend everything was fine and hope it sorted itself out later.
But that wasn’t who he wanted to be — not with Magnus.

“Magnus,” he said quietly.

Magnus looked up instantly, eyes curious. “You look serious. Should I worry?”

Alec hesitated, then shook his head. “No. Not worry. Just… talk.”

Magnus straightened a little, his expression softening. “Talk, then.”

Alec rubbed a hand at the back of his neck, suddenly aware of how small the cabin felt. “This morning. And… us.”

Magnus’s brows arched, but there was no teasing in his gaze, just a patient attentiveness that made it both easier and harder to speak.

“I’m not—” Alec began, then stopped, took a breath, and tried again. “I’m not great at talking about this kind of thing. But I don’t want there to be any confusion between us. I want to know what you want, what you need. What makes you feel comfortable. I don’t want to rush anything.”

For a long second, Magnus just watched him. Then, gently, he reached across the table, his fingers brushing over Alec’s. “That’s the most considerate thing anyone’s said to me in a long time,” he murmured.

Alec looked up, meeting his eyes. “I just… want to do this right.”

Magnus smiled faintly. “I know. And that’s why I trust you.”

The conversation unfolded slowly from there — careful, honest, unhurried. They talked about boundaries, about what they liked and what they didn’t, about what meant intimacy for them beyond the physical. Magnus, for all his flamboyance, was remarkably open and patient; Alec, for all his reserve, found that speaking out loud wasn’t nearly as terrifying as he’d imagined once Magnus started listening like every word mattered.

By the time the last of the candles had burned low, Alec felt the tightness in his chest loosen. It wasn’t just about physical closeness — it was about safety, about knowing they were both on the same page, about trust building slowly, solidly, between them.

Magnus squeezed his hand once more. “You’re a good man, Alexander Lightwood,” he said softly. “And I don’t say that lightly.”

Alec looked at him, the flicker of candlelight reflected in Magnus’s dark eyes, and something warm settled deep in his chest.

“Thanks,” he said, voice quiet. “I just… want this to be real.”

Magnus’s smile turned tender. “It already is.”

And in that still moment — the soft hum of the night outside, the faint scent of dinner and candles lingering in the air — Alec finally believed him.

He felt lighter. Grounded. Certain.

Whatever came next, they’d figure it out together.

-

The candles had burned low by the time their conversation wound down, little pools of wax softening in the half-light. Magnus had leaned back in his chair, fingers still loosely tangled with Alec’s across the table, and neither of them seemed eager to move. The quiet around them had changed — not heavy, not awkward, but soft. The kind of quiet that followed truth spoken aloud.

Alec could feel his heart settling. The tension that had followed him all afternoon — the nerves, the what-ifs, the worry that he’d ruin something by saying the wrong thing — had eased into something gentler.

Magnus yawned, graceful even in that. “Well,” he said, smiling faintly, “I believe that was our first serious conversation about serious things. How does it feel, Alexander?”

Alec huffed a quiet laugh. “Honestly? Better than I expected.”

“Of course it does. I’m delightful to talk to.”

Alec rolled his eyes, but the corners of his mouth lifted. “Yeah. That too.”

Magnus gave him a look that was all fond amusement, then stood, stretching his arms overhead. His jewelry caught the dim light — small flashes of gold and silver against his skin. “Come on,” he said softly. “Let’s go outside. The sky’s clear tonight.”

Outside, the air was cool, almost cold, and smelled faintly of pine. The cabin’s little porch overlooked a slope of dark trees and a ribbon of lake that gleamed faintly in the moonlight. Crickets chirped somewhere out of sight. The world felt wide and still.

Magnus grabbed a blanket from inside and wrapped it around both of them as they sat on the steps. Alec leaned into the warmth without thinking, his arm brushing Magnus’s shoulder.

For a while, they didn’t speak. Magnus rested his head lightly against Alec’s arm, and Alec stared out at the stars — there were so many, endless points of light scattered across the black. It reminded him of being young, of nights spent on his childhood home’s roof when the world had felt too loud, when silence was a refuge. Only now, he didn’t need silence to feel calm. Magnus’s quiet breathing beside him did the trick.

“I forget how peaceful this can be,” Magnus said after a long while. “Just… being. No noise. No deadlines. No people asking for last-minute design changes because their friend’s cousin thinks the color of gold is ‘too gold.’”

Alec chuckled. “That’s oddly specific.”

“Oh, it is. The memory is still fresh.” Magnus tilted his head back, looking at the stars. “You know, I wasn’t sure what to expect this weekend. I thought maybe it would be awkward, or that we’d both be thinking too much. But this—” He gestured vaguely around them. “—this is nice.”

Alec nodded, the motion small. “Yeah. It is.”

Silence again, but this one was comfortable. Magnus’s hand found Alec’s under the blanket, and Alec didn’t even have to think before lacing their fingers together.

For someone who’d spent years hiding behind walls, behind the safety of structure and routine, Alec was surprised by how easily Magnus slipped through all that. Maybe it wasn’t about slipping through, though. Maybe Magnus just stood there, patient, until Alec opened the door.

He felt Magnus’s thumb tracing lazy circles over his skin, and the motion sent a shiver up his arm — not nerves, just warmth. Familiar now.

“You think too much,” Magnus murmured suddenly.

Alec glanced over, startled. “What?”

“You’re quiet. Which usually means your brain is overworking itself. Care to share with the class?”

Alec hesitated. “I was just… thinking. About us. About how easy this feels, even though it shouldn’t.”

Magnus smiled, soft and knowing. “Good things rarely make sense. They just feel right.”

Alec wanted to argue — logic was a comfortable thing, structure made sense — but he couldn’t, not with Magnus looking at him like that. So instead, he said quietly, “I like it. This. You.”

Magnus’s smile widened, slow and genuine. “I like you too, Alexander.”

They sat there until the night grew colder and Magnus started shivering dramatically on purpose, insisting that Alec’s “enormous warmth” was clearly insufficient insulation. Alec laughed and dragged him inside, muttering something about “drama queens” while Magnus declared himself “simply underappreciated for his delicate constitution.”

Inside, they found themselves back in the soft light of the cabin. Alec tossed another log into the fireplace, and Magnus stood beside him, rubbing his hands together. The fire caught quickly, the crackle and pop of burning wood filling the small space.

Magnus sank onto the rug in front of the fire and patted the spot next to him. “Come on, soldier boy. You can’t just stand there glowering at the flames.”

“I wasn’t glowering,” Alec said, but he joined him anyway.

“You always look slightly like you’re plotting to arrest the fire for arson.”

“That’s not a thing,” Alec muttered, but the laughter in Magnus’s voice made his lips twitch.

For a while, they sat in silence again, watching the flames dance. Magnus leaned against him, head on Alec’s shoulder. Alec wrapped an arm around him almost instinctively, his fingers brushing through the soft fabric of Magnus’s sweater.

“You know,” Magnus said softly, “if you’d told me six months ago I’d be sitting in a cabin in the woods with someone who makes me feel this calm, I would’ve laughed.”

Alec turned slightly to look at him. “Yeah?”

“Oh, absolutely. I was a mess, Alexander. A glittering, well-dressed, emotionally exhausted mess.” Magnus’s tone was light, but Alec could hear the honesty beneath it. “And then you came along with your quiet voice and your terrible coffee order and your stupidly kind eyes, and suddenly the world didn’t feel so heavy anymore.”

Alec’s chest tightened, and he looked down, unsure what to say to that. Compliments always left him awkward, unbalanced. But Magnus tilted his chin up gently until their eyes met.

“Don’t look away,” Magnus whispered. “You’re allowed to be someone’s peace, you know.”

Alec’s breath caught. “You make it sound easy.”

Magnus smiled faintly. “It’s not. But it’s worth it.”

They stayed like that — close, quiet, the firelight painting gold across Magnus’s skin. Every once in a while, Magnus would hum softly, and Alec thought maybe this was what happiness actually felt like. Not the loud kind. Not fireworks or dramatic confessions. Just warmth. Trust. Someone leaning against you because they know they can.

Magnus eventually dozed off, head resting against Alec’s chest, breathing steady. Alec didn’t move. He just sat there, staring at the flames and feeling the weight of Magnus’s trust in every heartbeat.

He thought of how far they’d come — from coffee shop encounters and awkward first conversations to this — and his chest ached in the best way.

When Magnus stirred again, blinking up at him with sleepy eyes, Alec smiled. “You fell asleep.”

Magnus yawned. “I was testing your patience. You passed.”

“Barely.”

They both laughed softly, and Magnus tilted his head, studying him for a moment. “You’re different tonight,” he said.

Alec frowned slightly. “Different how?”

“Lighter.” Magnus’s hand came up, brushing a stray lock of hair from Alec’s forehead. “Like you stopped holding your breath.”

Alec thought about that — about the talk they’d had, about how honest it had felt to speak freely, to let Magnus see him. “Maybe I did.”

Magnus smiled. “Good. You deserve to breathe, Alexander.”

The words hit somewhere deep. Alec didn’t say anything, but he leaned forward and kissed him — a slow, quiet thing that wasn’t about passion or urgency, but gratitude. Magnus melted into it, sighing softly against his lips, fingers curling into Alec’s shirt.

When they pulled apart, Magnus rested his forehead against Alec’s. “If every night could end like this,” he whispered, “I think I could get used to it.”

Alec’s lips curved. “I think we already are.”

The fire crackled again, sparks dancing upward, and outside, the wind shifted through the trees. They didn’t need more words. They just sat there, wrapped in the warmth of the fire and each other, letting the quiet fill the spaces between heartbeats.

For the first time in a long time, Alec felt completely at peace — no doubts, no fears, just the simple certainty that he was exactly where he wanted to be.

And Magnus, resting against him, eyes half-closed and content, seemed to feel the same.

-

Alec woke to quiet sunlight spilling through the curtains and the faint sound of birds outside. For a long moment, he stayed still, eyes half-closed, letting the warmth of the morning sink into him. The world felt unhurried here — the steady rise and fall of Magnus’s breathing beside him, the soft brush of Magnus’s arm across his chest, the smell of coffee faintly lingering from last night.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this rested. This… content.

Magnus shifted slightly, murmuring something unintelligible against his shoulder. His hair tickled Alec’s skin, and Alec smiled despite himself. It still amazed him — how natural this felt, sharing a bed, sharing space, sharing everything.

It wasn’t perfect. They were still learning each other — how to talk, how to be quiet together, how to exist in the same rhythm. But waking up like this, Magnus warm and close, felt like the kind of right that didn’t need explaining.

Magnus’s eyes blinked open, dark and sleepy. “Good morning,” he whispered, voice rough from sleep.

“Morning,” Alec replied softly, brushing a thumb across Magnus’s jaw.

Magnus stretched like a cat, sheets sliding off his shoulder, and sighed in a way that made Alec’s chest tighten. “If I never had to leave this bed again, I think I’d be perfectly content.”

Alec chuckled quietly. “You’d get bored.”

“Unlikely. I’d simply redecorate.” Magnus smiled, leaning up to press a lazy kiss to Alec’s lips. “Though I suppose we should face reality. Our little escape is ending.”

Alec exhaled slowly. “Yeah. Last day.”

The words felt heavy, not in a sad way, but in that soft ache that comes from knowing something beautiful is winding down.

They lingered a while longer — Magnus tracing slow, aimless patterns across Alec’s skin, Alec just memorizing the moment — before finally pulling themselves from the cocoon of warmth.

Magnus was the first to move, padding barefoot across the wooden floor to start coffee, humming under his breath. Alec watched him, taking in the little domestic details — Magnus’s messy hair, the oversized shirt he’d thrown on, the way he squinted at the coffee maker like it personally offended him.

He loved that sight more than he wanted to admit.

When Alec finally joined him in the kitchen, Magnus handed him a mug and gestured toward the counter. “Breakfast?”

“Yeah,” Alec said, pulling out a few eggs and bread. “Simple works?”

“Darling, I’d eat burnt toast if you made it.”

“I’ve actually never burned toast,” Alec said, half-grinning.

“Of course you haven’t.” Magnus’s eyes twinkled. “You probably follow toaster instructions like they’re sacred scripture.”

Alec rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. The banter was easy, familiar now, and they moved around the small kitchen like they’d done it a hundred times before — Magnus talking about redecorating ideas for his office, Alec countering with stories from the gym, both laughing at how uncoordinated they got when they tried to cook together.

When the food was finally ready — scrambled eggs, toast, a few slices of fruit Magnus had dramatically arranged to “elevate the aesthetic” — they sat at the small table by the window. Outside, the forest was still, sunlight flickering through the branches.

Magnus stirred his coffee slowly. “I can’t believe it’s already Sunday,” he said.

Alec nodded. “Time went fast.”

“Too fast.” Magnus looked out the window, his expression soft. “You’d think two days wouldn’t be enough to feel like… this.”

“Like what?”

Magnus turned to him, eyes thoughtful. “Like peace.”

Alec didn’t know what to say to that — not because he disagreed, but because he knew exactly what Magnus meant. For both of them, peace wasn’t something that came easily. It was earned, sometimes clawed out of chaos. But here, in the quiet, with Magnus sitting across from him, peace felt simple.

After breakfast, they cleaned up together, falling into the same rhythm as before — Magnus talking a mile a minute about how “next time” they should stay longer, Alec teasing that he wasn’t sure he could survive a full week without Magnus turning the cabin into a glitter-filled studio.

When everything was packed, Magnus declared that they should go for one last walk before leaving. Alec didn’t protest.

They walked the same path they’d taken the day before, hand in hand, sunlight warm on their backs. The air smelled like pine and damp earth, and every now and then Magnus would stop to take a picture or make Alec pose with him, insisting that “aesthetics must be preserved.”

Alec didn’t even complain this time. Watching Magnus smile, watching the way light caught in his hair — it was worth it.

At one point, Magnus stopped entirely, pulling Alec close until their foreheads touched. “You know,” he murmured, “if someone had told me at the start of this year that I’d be walking through a forest holding your hand, I would’ve laughed.”

Alec smiled faintly. “You keep saying that.”

“Because it keeps being true.” Magnus looked up at him, eyes soft. “You surprised me, Alexander Lightwood.”

Alec swallowed. “Good surprise or bad?”

“The best kind.” Magnus kissed him lightly, the kind of kiss that tasted like sunlight and something he didn’t have a name for yet. “You make me want things again. The kind that last.”

Alec’s chest ached in that warm, terrifying way it always did when Magnus said things like that — when he made Alec feel seen, wanted, steady.

“I want them too,” Alec said quietly.

Magnus smiled, and they walked on, their fingers brushing, hearts beating in time.

By the time they got back to the cabin, the afternoon had stretched into gold. They loaded the car slowly, neither in a hurry to leave. Magnus fussed over his bags, making sure his scarves weren’t crushed, while Alec double-checked that the stove was off, lights out, everything in place.

When they finally stood outside, looking at the cabin one last time, Magnus sighed. “I’ll miss this.”

Alec nodded. “Me too.”

Magnus glanced up at him, eyes glinting. “Promise me something?”

“Anything.”

“When life gets loud again — when work is chaos, and you’re stressed, and I’m dramatic — promise we’ll come back here. Just us.”

Alec smiled, small but sincere. “Yeah. I promise.”

The drive back was quiet, but not silent. Magnus had put on some soft music — something jazzy and calm — and leaned his head against the window, occasionally humming along. Alec kept one hand on the wheel, the other resting palm-up between them on the center console. Magnus’s fingers found his halfway through the drive, curling gently around them.

Every once in a while, Alec glanced sideways — at the way the light touched Magnus’s face, at the faint smile playing on his lips — and his heart did that stupid thing again, the one where it sped up and settled all at once.

By the time they reached the city, the sky had turned dusky pink. The skyline rose ahead, familiar and loud and alive. It was strange — only two days away, and yet it felt like they were returning from somewhere further, somewhere deeper.

Magnus sighed dramatically as they hit traffic. “Back to civilization. And emails. And clients who think leopard print is a neutral.”

Alec chuckled. “You missed it.”

“I missed my bed,” Magnus corrected, though the smile tugging at his mouth betrayed him. “But… I’ll miss this weekend more.”

Alec’s throat tightened a little. “Me too.”

When they finally pulled up in front of Magnus’s building, Magnus didn’t move right away. He just looked at Alec, eyes soft and unreadable. “You know,” he said quietly, “I don’t think I’ve ever felt this… safe with someone.”

Alec’s breath caught. “Magnus—”

But Magnus just leaned forward, brushing his lips against Alec’s cheek. “You don’t have to say anything. I just wanted you to know.”

Alec turned his head, caught Magnus’s gaze, and kissed him — slow, sure, everything words couldn’t cover.

When they finally parted, Magnus smiled that dazzling, heart-shattering smile. “Drive safe, darling.”

Alec watched him go, watched the door close behind him, and sat there for a moment, the hum of the city slowly creeping back into his ears. He should’ve felt the usual pull of routine — the list of things to do, the responsibilities waiting — but instead, all he could think about was the warmth of Magnus’s hand in his, the promise of coming back to that cabin someday.

He started the car, still smiling.

And for the first time in a long time, Alec Lightwood didn’t dread what came next.

Chapter Text

The first thing Magnus noticed when he stepped into the office Monday morning was the look on Isabelle Lightwood’s face.

It wasn’t subtle. Isabelle never was.

She was perched on the edge of his desk, black boots crossed at the ankles, eyes gleaming with a predatory sort of curiosity that made Magnus’s stomach dip in both dread and amusement. The grin she wore could only mean one thing: she wants to know every detail.

“Well, well,” she began the moment he set his coffee down. “If it isn’t my favorite world traveler.”

Magnus sighed dramatically and set his coat on the chair. “Good morning to you too, Isabelle.”

She tilted her head, unrelenting. “So? How was your little getaway?”

Magnus blinked innocently. “Getaway?”

“Don’t play coy with me,” she said, sliding off his desk. “I know my brother took you to some romantic cabin in the woods for the weekend. He texted Mom that he’d be out of town but refused to say with whom. Which obviously means you.”

“Obviously,” Magnus murmured, lips twitching.

“So? Tell me everything.” Isabelle leaned forward, eyes wide. “Was it good? Did he finally relax? Did he—”

“Stop right there,” Magnus interrupted, raising a finger. “If this line of questioning ends where I think it does, I might faint.”

Isabelle laughed, unbothered. “Fine, fine. I’ll behave. Just tell me if you had fun.”

Magnus hesitated, the memory of Alec’s arm draped over his waist, the soft morning light spilling across the bed, and that quiet contentment filling his chest. “I did,” he admitted, softer than he meant to. “It was… lovely.”

Isabelle grinned. “He looked different this morning when I saw him. Happier.”

Magnus tried to school his features, but the warmth creeping into his face betrayed him. “Did he?”

“Mhm.” Isabelle folded her arms, satisfied. “So, my brother smiles more, you look like you’re hiding a secret, and I’m supposed to believe it was just a relaxing weekend?”

Magnus sighed. “You are a menace.”

“I take that as a compliment.” She winked. “You like him, don’t you?”

Magnus busied himself rearranging the jewelry sketches scattered on his desk. “Define ‘like.’”

“Magnus.”

He looked up and found Isabelle watching him with that rare softness she reserved for moments like this — when teasing gave way to genuine care.

“I like him,” Magnus said finally, the words quiet but true. “More than I probably should.”

Isabelle’s smile brightened, warm and proud. “Good. He deserves someone who looks at him like that.”

Magnus blinked. “Like what?”

“Like he hung the moon.”

He laughed lightly to deflect the sudden flutter in his chest. “You’re dramatic, you know that?”

“Runs in the family.”

The rest of the morning passed in a blur of gemstones, sketches, and customers. But Magnus’s mind drifted — back to Alec’s quiet laughter, to the way the early light hit his skin, to the small promise they’d made to return someday.

Every so often, Isabelle would glance his way with that knowing smirk, and Magnus would pretend to glare, though he couldn’t truly mind.

By the time the afternoon rolled around, Isabelle appeared beside his desk again, bouncing slightly on her heels. “Yoga tonight?” she asked.

Magnus looked up from his sketches. “You and your endless energy. Didn’t we just get back from a long weekend?”

“Yes,” she said, unbothered, “and you need to stretch all that relaxation out before it turns into stiffness. Come on.”

Magnus chuckled. “You just want to drag me to your brother’s gym again so you can spy.”

“Please,” Isabelle said with mock offense. “I have better things to do than spy on Alec. But if you happen to be there, and my brother happens to appear at the same time, well…”

Magnus arched a brow. “Coincidence?”

“Exactly.”

He gave a long-suffering sigh, though truthfully, he didn’t need much convincing. He wanted to see Alec. Wanted to catch the small, quiet smile Alec always gave him when he walked into the gym. Wanted to bask in the feeling that hadn’t quite left him since that weekend — that lightness, that sense of rightness.

“Fine,” Magnus said, gathering his things. “But if I fall asleep during class, it’s your fault.”

-

The gym buzzed softly that evening — the hum of treadmills, the rhythmic clang of weights, the low thrum of music in the background. Magnus walked in beside Isabelle, and immediately spotted Alec across the room, talking to Jace near the front desk.

He looked tired, in that end-of-the-day way, but when his gaze caught Magnus’s, something in his expression softened instantly.

Magnus’s chest fluttered.

Alec excused himself from Jace and made his way over, hands in his pockets, smile small but warm. “Hey,” he said.

“Hey yourself,” Magnus replied, trying not to sound too pleased.

“Did you just get off work?” Alec asked, his gaze flicking briefly to the sparkle of gold dust clinging to Magnus’s cuffs.

Magnus hummed. “Straight from the battlefield of jewels and drama. Isabelle insisted I needed yoga to ‘reset my aura.’”

Alec’s mouth quirked. “Sounds like her.”

Isabelle, entirely unbothered, had already wandered off to greet Lydia, their yoga instructor, leaving the two of them standing near the mirrors.

“So,” Magnus said lightly, “miss me yet?”

Alec chuckled under his breath. “You were gone for… what, one night?”

Magnus tilted his head, eyes glinting. “That wasn’t an answer.”

“I missed you,” Alec admitted quietly, almost too softly for Magnus to catch.

The words hit him harder than expected — simple, unembellished honesty. Magnus’s throat tightened with the urge to say something equally bare, something that didn’t hide behind charm or cleverness. But before he could, Lydia clapped her hands to signal the start of class, and the moment passed.

Yoga was always supposed to be calming. Tonight, Magnus found it anything but.

Every time he stretched, his mind drifted — to Alec somewhere behind him, to the way he might be watching, to the memory of Alec’s hands around his waist just two nights ago. When Lydia instructed them to focus on their breathing, Magnus’s heartbeat was the only thing he could hear.

After class, Isabelle practically floated toward them, glowing from exercise and self-satisfaction. “See?” she said, slinging her mat over her shoulder. “Didn’t I tell you this was a good idea?”

Magnus, still trying to collect himself, smiled wryly. “You may have been right — but don’t let it go to your head.”

Alec smirked at the exchange, clearly amused. “You two always like this?”

“Always,” Isabelle said proudly. “Magnus brings out my best side.”

“Terrifying,” Alec deadpanned, earning a shove from his sister.

Magnus laughed, the sound warm and genuine. It felt good — standing there, teasing, laughing, feeling like he belonged. For someone who’d arrived in New York alone and uncertain, this — this found rhythm of people who cared — meant more than he could say.

When Isabelle was called away to talk to Lydia, Magnus lingered by the water cooler with Alec.

“So,” Magnus said, his tone softer now, “how’s the start of the week treating you?”

“Busy,” Alec admitted. “But good. Better, actually.” He hesitated, then smiled. “You make it better.”

Magnus blinked, heart stumbling over itself. “That’s dangerous talk, Mr. Lightwood.”

Alec’s eyes softened. “I can handle danger.”

Magnus laughed quietly, warmth pooling in his chest.

For a second, it felt like time stalled — the hum of the gym fading into the background, just the two of them standing there, close enough for Magnus to notice the tiny freckle under Alec’s jaw, the way his lashes caught the light.

It would’ve been so easy to reach out, to steal a kiss like they had the night before. But Magnus wasn’t sure if the gym — or his heart — could handle that much boldness right now.

Instead, he just smiled and said, “You should be careful saying things like that. I might hold you to it.”

Alec’s smile widened just a touch. “Good.”

On the subway home later, Magnus couldn’t stop thinking about that word. Good.

It echoed in his mind, simple but steady.

For so long, “good” had felt like something temporary — something that existed until it fell apart. But now, sitting on the train, phone buzzing with a new text from Alec (“Got home safe. Sleep well.”), Magnus wondered if “good” could finally be something lasting.

He looked out the window as the city blurred past — lights, faces, stories. Somewhere between all of it, Magnus Bane realized he might actually be falling in love.

And for the first time in years, he didn’t feel afraid.

-

Magnus Bane prided himself on being a man of patience. He could sit through a five-hour design consultation with an indecisive client without flinching, charm a room full of difficult personalities, and negotiate jewelry deals that would make seasoned brokers sweat. But apparently, patience deserted him the moment Alexander Lightwood got stubborn.

Alec had dropped by the studio after work, still in his gym hoodie, hair a little messy, smile a little tired but beautiful all the same. Magnus had been in the middle of rearranging a gemstone display that refused to cooperate, so the visit had been a welcome surprise.

“Hey,” Alec greeted softly, leaning against the doorway. “Didn’t want to interrupt.”

“You’re never an interruption,” Magnus said automatically, glancing up from the tray of crystals. “You’re a distraction. A dangerously handsome one.”

Alec rolled his eyes, but the small grin betrayed him. “You always say that.”

“Because it’s true,” Magnus replied, grinning as he returned to his task. “What brings you here? Missing me already?”

“Maybe.” Alec’s voice held that shy, quiet note that made Magnus’s chest warm. “I was around the block, thought I’d stop by and maybe grab dinner with you.”

“Perfect,” Magnus said. “Give me ten minutes and I’ll—”

He reached for a display box on the top shelf, misjudged the angle, and sent a cascade of beads clattering to the floor.

“—finish destroying my livelihood, apparently,” Magnus muttered, watching a dozen aquamarine stones roll under his desk.

Alec chuckled. “You want some help?”

Magnus opened his mouth to say no, but Alec was already kneeling, big hands collecting the tiny beads one by one. He looked so focused, brow furrowed, tongue peeking slightly from the corner of his mouth. Magnus felt an absurd, fond ache watching him — until Alec dropped one of the beads into the wrong tray.

“Alexander,” Magnus said, voice sharp enough to make Alec pause. “Those go in the blue topaz section, not aquamarine.”

Alec looked up, confused. “They look the same.”

“They don’t look the same.” Magnus’s tone came out sharper than he intended. “Topaz has a warmer hue; aquamarine is softer, more translucent—”

Alec straightened slightly, holding the small bead between his fingers. “They’re both blue, Magnus.”

Magnus blinked, affronted. “That’s like saying caviar and canned tuna are both fish.”

Alec gave him that patient, amused look that always made Magnus want to both kiss and shake him. “Okay,” he said slowly, “I’ll put the fish in the right bowl, then.”

Magnus crossed his arms. “You’re mocking me.”

“Only a little.”

The moment hung, absurdly tense for something so trivial. Magnus could feel irritation prickling under his skin — not at Alec, really, but at himself for snapping. He didn’t like when his temper slipped out. He didn’t like when the calm between them wobbled.

He sighed, brushing a hand through his hair. “Sorry. Long day.”

Alec, bless him, didn’t take offense. “No worries.” He smiled faintly, but there was something in his eyes — that quiet reserve that appeared whenever Magnus got defensive.

And somehow, that tiny flicker of distance made Magnus double down instead of letting it go.

“Well,” he said too lightly, “if you’re going to help me, at least let me show you how.”

“I can figure it out,” Alec replied.

Magnus’s brow arched. “You just said they look the same.”

Alec straightened fully now, a challenge in his voice. “Yeah, but I can still tell one shiny thing from another.”

“Excuse me?”

Magnus wasn’t sure how they’d gotten there — one second they were teasing, the next he was bristling like some offended cat.

“I’m just saying,” Alec said, defensive now, “you don’t have to micromanage me. It’s a few beads, not nuclear physics.”

Magnus blinked. “Well, forgive me for caring about my art.”

“I didn’t say you shouldn’t.”

“But you implied it.”

“I didn’t!”

They stared at each other, words tumbling into the silence that followed. Somewhere behind them, one of Magnus’s assistants looked up from her workstation, clearly trying to look busy while listening.

Magnus felt his irritation dissolve almost instantly into something else — amusement, affection, and the overwhelming realization that they were literally arguing about beads.

Beads.

He pressed a hand to his mouth to stop the laugh bubbling up. Alec, seeing that, frowned. “What?”

Magnus lost it. The laugh burst out of him, helpless and bright. “We’re— we’re fighting about gemstones!”

Alec blinked, the tension cracking at last. “Yeah,” he admitted slowly, lips twitching. “We kind of are.”

Magnus grinned, unable to stop himself. “Do you realize how ridiculous we sound? You’re acting like I’ve insulted your honor over mineral classification.”

Alec chuckled. “You basically accused me of gemstone blasphemy.”

“That’s a serious offense in my world.”

“Clearly.”

They stood there for a moment, laughter spilling between them, the last traces of tension melting away. Alec reached out and touched Magnus’s arm, his thumb brushing lightly over the fabric of his sleeve — a silent apology, a quiet connection.

Magnus exhaled, leaning into the touch. “Sorry I snapped,” he said softly. “I shouldn’t have been… prickly.”

Alec shook his head. “No, I shouldn’t have pushed back like that. I know you’re particular about your work. I just…” He shrugged, sheepish. “Didn’t want to feel like I was doing everything wrong.”

Magnus’s heart softened instantly. He stepped closer, resting a hand against Alec’s chest. “You weren’t wrong. You just didn’t appreciate the subtle difference between topaz and aquamarine.”

Alec smiled, looking down at him. “You’re never gonna let that go, are you?”

“Not in this lifetime.”

Alec laughed again, low and warm, before leaning in to press a soft kiss to Magnus’s forehead. “You’re impossible.”

“And you love it.”

“Yeah,” Alec murmured. “I do.”

Magnus stilled at the words — not because they were new (they’d said “love” in half-jokes, in looks, in touches before), but because of how casual, how natural it sounded now. Like it had been there all along.

He smiled, letting the warmth settle. “Dinner?” he asked finally, his voice lighter.

Alec nodded. “If it’s not made of gemstones.”

Magnus rolled his eyes, swatting his arm. “You’ll pay for that one.”

-

Later, over takeout containers and wine at Magnus’s apartment, the bead-gate debacle turned into a running joke.

Magnus had poured himself onto the couch, laughing so hard his sides hurt as Alec told the story of “the Great Gemstone Crisis of Monday Afternoon” in a dramatic retelling worthy of Jace.

“So there I was,” Alec said, gesturing with his chopsticks, “trying to help my boyfriend, and he nearly exiled me for confusing turquoise with cerulean.”

Magnus gasped in mock offense. “Don’t you dare slander me in my own home.”

“Oh, I’m telling the truth,” Alec teased. “You take your color palette very seriously.”

“As any respectable artist should.”

Alec chuckled, shaking his head, then leaned closer. “You’re ridiculous, you know that?”

Magnus smiled lazily, tilting his head. “And yet, you’re still here.”

“I guess I like ridiculous.”

Magnus hummed, his grin softening as he looked at him — the faint flush in Alec’s cheeks, the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled, the quiet comfort of just being together after the smallest storm.

“Then you’re in the right place,” Magnus murmured. “Because I have enough ridiculousness to last us both a lifetime.”

Alec’s response was a gentle kiss, one that started soft and ended with laughter against Magnus’s lips.

And just like that, the day — the spilled beads, the snapped words, the momentary awkwardness — melted into something warm, something that made Magnus’s chest ache in the best way.

Because this was what real love looked like, he realized. Not perfection. Not endless ease. But two people who could stumble, snap, laugh, and still choose to reach across the small gap that opened between them.

He shook his head, chuckling under his breath. “You win this round, Alexander,” he whispered to the quiet room.

Then, because he couldn’t resist, he picked up his phone and texted:

Magnus: Next time you touch my gemstones, wear gloves.
Alec: Next time I’ll bring color swatches.
Magnus: I knew I was falling for a smart man.
Alec: You’re impossible.
Magnus: And you love it.

Magnus smiled at the screen, heart light. Yes. He really did.

-

If happiness had a color, Magnus thought, it would be the gold of early morning sunlight glinting off Alec’s dark hair, the warm amber of coffee swirling in his cup, the silver laugh that escaped Alec when Magnus said something ridiculous just to make him smile.

The days since their little gemstone spat had been nothing short of bliss. Everything between them felt lighter, smoother — like something had quietly shifted into place.

He hadn’t realized how much he’d needed that easy, steady rhythm until now: Alec dropping by the studio with coffee, Magnus appearing at the gym to “inspect” the yoga classes (read: flirt shamelessly), evening walks that turned into long bike rides under the city lights, lazy dinners that ended in laughter and soft kisses.

It was domestic in a way Magnus had never imagined himself wanting. And yet, with Alec, the ordinary became almost magical.

That morning, they’d met as usual at the little corner coffee shop — Magnus’s current favorite, the one with the pink lattes and heart-shaped cookies he’d once shared with Alec months ago. It was funny, really, how small things became milestones without him noticing.

Alec was already waiting by the counter, his broad frame leaned against the counter, sleeves rolled up, a small smile tugging at his lips when he saw Magnus walk in.

“Morning,” Alec greeted, voice soft but steady.

“Good morning, Alexander.” Magnus let his fingers brush Alec’s wrist as he passed, a light, familiar touch. “You’re early.”

“You’re late,” Alec teased.

“I prefer fashionably delayed.”

Alec’s lips twitched — that almost-smile that Magnus had grown addicted to.

They stood side by side waiting for their order, exchanging quiet words that blended into the hum of the café — the kind of easy, everyday conversation that felt intimate simply because it was theirs.

Magnus found himself staring a little too long, catching the way sunlight filtered through the window, outlining Alec’s lashes, the faint smile lines near his mouth. He looked impossibly soft like this — and Magnus’s chest ached, a little too full.

Say it, a voice inside him whispered. Say it now.

But the moment passed as quickly as it came when Alec handed him his cup, fingers brushing his.

“Careful,” Alec murmured. “It’s hot.”

“So are you,” Magnus said before his brain could stop his mouth.

Alec laughed, shaking his head, that faint blush rising on his cheeks. Magnus loved that blush — the way Alec still reacted, even after months of dating.

They left the café walking side by side, fingers brushing but not quite holding hands — Magnus wanted to, but Alec was still careful about PDA in public spaces. Magnus respected that, even if a small, selfish part of him wished otherwise.

When they reached Alec’s motorcycle, Magnus leaned against the seat, sipping his latte, eyes sparkling. “And where are you off to, my heroic gym owner?”

“Charity meeting downtown,” Alec said, adjusting his helmet. “Then I’ll swing by the gym, check on Jace before I head home.”

Magnus tilted his head. “Busy man. Should I pencil myself into your schedule for tonight?”

Alec looked up at him, eyes warm. “You don’t need to ask.”

Magnus smiled. “I like hearing you say yes.”

Alec’s grin deepened. “Then yes.”

Magnus wanted to kiss him right there on the street, but he settled for a hand brushing Alec’s arm. “Drive safe, darling.”

Always, Magnus thought as he watched Alec drive away — always, it was this effortless mix of comfort and ache, of wanting more but not wanting to push.

-

That evening, Magnus stopped by Alec’s apartment with Thai takeout and a bottle of wine. Alec opened the door barefoot, wearing sweatpants and a faded band tee, hair still damp from a shower.

Magnus nearly forgot how to breathe.

“Wow,” Magnus said, stepping inside and placed a kiss on Alec’s lips. “You clean up so well for dinner at home.”

They ate on the couch, Magnus curled sideways against the cushions, Alec sitting close, their knees touching. The food was warm, the conversation easy — a bit of work talk, some gossip from Isabelle, laughter when Magnus dramatically described a client who wanted a diamond necklace “to look like the Milky Way.”

“You know,” Alec said after a while, his tone softer, “you really love what you do.”

Magnus tilted his head. “You sound surprised.”

“Not surprised,” Alec said. “Just… I don’t know. It’s nice, seeing how your whole face lights up when you talk about it.”

Magnus smiled, a touch shy. “Design saved me once. After… everything in California.”

Alec looked at him then, quiet but attentive, the same way he always did when Magnus spoke about his past.

“Some things fell apart,” Magnus continued, his voice gentler. “And I needed something to build back up. Gemstones, metals, art — it gave me control again. Creation over destruction.”

Alec nodded, eyes soft. “I get that.”

Magnus reached for his hand. “And now… now I have you.”

Alec’s lips curved faintly. “You have me.”

And just like that, the words I love you burned in Magnus’s throat, desperate to spill out. He could feel it — the pull, the warmth, the way his pulse raced just looking at him.

But something in Alec’s steady, quiet expression stopped him. Alec wasn’t ready for words that big, not yet. And Magnus didn’t want to scare him off.

So instead, Magnus smiled and leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to Alec’s lips. “That’s all I need.”

Alec kissed him back, slower, deeper — the kind of kiss that made Magnus’s world tilt.

When they finally broke apart, Magnus laughed softly, forehead resting against Alec’s. “If I keep kissing you like this, I’ll forget dinner entirely.”

“I thought dinner was over,” Alec murmured.

Magnus’s grin turned wicked. “Then I suppose dessert’s next.”

Alec chuckled, low and warm, and Magnus felt it vibrate against his skin.

They forgot about dessert — how could they think of anything else when Alec’s lips moved slowly, tenderly, against his? Each kiss carried warmth and certainty, a quiet rhythm that drew Magnus closer until the world beyond them faded away. Alec’s fingers explored him with reverence, tracing every curve as though memorizing the story written in skin and breath.

Their soft sounds mingled with the hush of the night, dissolving into something wordless yet full — a language only they could understand. In that moment, time stood still. Magnus felt the weight of love in every touch, every sigh, every heartbeat pressed between them. It was a night he cherished — not for its passion alone, but for the gentle truth of it: that they belonged, utterly and without doubt, to one another.

-

The next few days blurred together in a rhythm Magnus never wanted to end.

There were early morning coffees, Magnus sneaking in with pastries; Alec dropping by the studio in between classes; lazy evenings cooking together or ordering takeout; and those glorious, aimless bike rides through the city, the wind whipping through Magnus’s hair as he clung to Alec’s back, laughing into the night.

They didn’t talk about the future — not yet. But Magnus could feel it humming between them, something steady and real growing stronger with every shared glance and quiet moment.

Once, during a late dinner, Alec had reached across the table and brushed a bit of sauce from Magnus’s lip with his thumb, completely unaware of how intimate the gesture felt.

Magnus had smiled, caught off guard by how natural it all felt. How safe.

He’d loved before — fiercely, disastrously. But this was different. Alec made him want to love without the fear of breaking apart again.

And yet… he hadn’t said it.

He’d come close once, the words on the tip of his tongue as they’d watched a movie on Alec’s couch, Magnus curled against him, Alec’s fingers tracing idle circles on his arm. But Alec had turned his head at that exact moment, said something quiet — “You’re comfortable?” — and the moment slipped away.

Magnus wasn’t sure what he was waiting for. A sign? The perfect timing? Maybe he just needed a little more courage.

Caterina would say he was overthinking again. She’d tell him love wasn’t about perfect timing, that it was messy and raw and worth the risk.

But still, Magnus waited. Because for the first time in a long time, things felt right. And he didn’t want to rush it.

He’d say it when the moment felt real — not out of impulse, but truth.

Until then, he’d hold onto this: Alec’s sleepy smile when Magnus kissed his forehead in the mornings, the warmth of his laughter in the evenings, the quiet certainty that whatever this was, it was theirs.

And maybe, Magnus thought as he sat in his workshop that night sketching a new bracelet — something elegant, understated, maybe when the time came, he’d give it to Alec.

A token of the words he hadn’t said yet but already felt burning in every touch, every kiss, every heartbeat.

I love you.

Not yet spoken.

But already true.

Chapter Text

The day felt unreal.

Alec woke up with that rare, unshakable kind of peace that settled deep into his bones — the kind that came after a night spent tangled in Magnus’s arms. He could still feel it in his skin: the warmth of Magnus’s hands, the press of his lips, the soft laughter against his neck.

He didn’t think happiness could feel so… easy.

Usually, mornings came with lists — training schedules, class plans, calls to sponsors — his mind always buzzing. But today, everything felt quieter, simpler. The only thing that existed between one breath and the next was the memory of Magnus’s sleepy smile as Alec left his apartment.

He was smiling — actually smiling — as he walked into the gym, which of course, Jace immediately noticed.

“Oh, look who’s glowing,” Jace said from behind the counter, voice dripping with amusement. “Someone had a very good night.”

Alec shot him a glare. “Morning to you too.”

“Morning?” Jace grinned, leaning over the counter. “It’s practically noon. I’ve been here since eight, and you stroll in looking like a man who’s seen heaven.”

Alec tried, and failed, not to smile. “You’re insufferable.”

Jace raised an eyebrow. “And yet, not wrong.”

Clary, who was leaning on the desk beside Jace, tried to smother her laugh. “You really shouldn’t tease him this much.”

“Oh, I should,” Jace said. “It’s my sacred duty as best friend slash business partner. Look at him, Clary — I haven’t seen that face since he PR’d his deadlift record.”

Alec groaned, heading toward the back office. “You two have too much time on your hands.”

“Tell Magnus I said thank you for whatever miracle he performed!” Jace called after him.

Alec didn’t respond — mostly because his face was now on fire.

He didn’t mind the teasing. Jace meant well, and honestly, Alec couldn’t even deny it — Magnus had somehow become the best part of his day. He’d grounded Alec’s chaos and lit it up at the same time. There was something intoxicating about the way Magnus existed — full color and sound, unapologetically himself, and somehow Alec couldn’t get enough.

And maybe that was exactly what terrified him a little.

He’d spent years building a wall of control around himself. But Magnus had come in, bright and unstoppable, and Alec had let him — willingly.

By late afternoon, the gym was alive with music and chatter. Alec moved through his usual rhythm — correcting postures, adjusting forms, encouraging regulars. His voice carried calmly over the hum of treadmills and weights, his focus steady.

That’s when it happened.

He was kneeling beside one of the regulars, James — a sweet, shy guy in his early twenties who was working on improving his flexibility. Alec was guiding him gently through a hamstring stretch, careful not to push too far.

“Good,” Alec said, his voice low but reassuring. “You should feel the tension, not pain. Just breathe through it.”

He demonstrated, leaning forward slightly, showing the correct alignment. James nodded, smiling nervously.

That’s when Magnus’s voice, smooth but sharp, sliced through the air like a blade.

“Oh,” Magnus said from the doorway, dramatic and unmistakable. “This is what you meant by late-night stretches, Alexander?”

Alec froze mid-explanation. Slowly, he looked up — and there was Magnus, dressed to kill even in gym-appropriate clothes, gold-threaded jacket hanging off his shoulders, eyes glinting with mock offense.

“Magnus,” Alec said carefully. “You’re early.”

Magnus crossed his arms, eyes scanning the scene — Alec kneeling, the other guy mid-stretch, and about ten curious gym-goers now pretending not to eavesdrop.

“Early? Or perfectly on time to witness the betrayal?” Magnus deadpanned.

“Betrayal?” James squeaked.

“Relax,” Alec murmured to him, standing up quickly. He turned to Magnus, amusement tugging at his mouth. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously in love, maybe,” Magnus said, stepping closer, dramatic as ever. “I come bearing affection, and I find my boyfriend cozying up to another man. How am I supposed to cope?”

There was a beat of silence. Then Jace — of course Jace — snorted loudly from across the room. “Oh my God. Boyfriend?”

Magnus turned his head toward Jace, chin raised proudly. “Yes, boyfriend. As in taken. As in hands off.”

Jace was practically wheezing with laughter now. Clary smacked his arm, muttering something about boundaries.

Alec sighed, running a hand over his face, though the corners of his lips were fighting a losing battle. “Magnus…”

Magnus placed a hand on his chest, scandalized. “What? I’m simply clarifying ownership.”

Alec arched an eyebrow. “Ownership?”

Magnus’s eyes softened immediately, the teasing dropping just a touch. “Fine,” he said, voice lowering. “Clarifying affection, then.”

Alec shook his head, half exasperated, half charmed. “You know, most people just say hello.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Magnus countered smoothly, stepping close enough for Alec to feel the warmth radiating off him.

“You are impossible,” Alec said — but he couldn’t hide the smile tugging at his mouth.

Magnus smiled, satisfied, then glanced around, realizing everyone was still watching — James included. The confidence faltered slightly as color bloomed high on his cheeks.

“Right,” Magnus said, clearing his throat. “You may… continue your stretching.”

Alec chuckled, low and warm. “I think James is traumatized enough for today.”

Magnus’s eyes darted toward the poor guy, who looked both horrified and fascinated. “Sorry, darling,” Magnus said to him, tone suddenly polite. “Territorial instincts. Unrefined impulse. You understand.”

James nodded wordlessly.

Jace, meanwhile, leaned on the counter and called out, “Magnus, you’re my favorite person. Ever.”

“I’m aware,” Magnus said dryly, tossing his hair back. “Tell my boyfriend to bring me better coffee next time and we’ll be even.”

Alec crossed his arms, shaking his head, though his chest felt full — full of laughter, affection, and that bright, chaotic energy that Magnus brought into every room.

When the chaos died down and Magnus joined him near the water cooler, Alec leaned closer and murmured, “You know you just announced to half my gym that we’re dating, right?”

Magnus tilted his chin, defiant. “Good. Let there be no confusion.”

Alec chuckled, voice soft. “You’re unbelievable.”

“I prefer unforgettable,” Magnus said, eyes glinting.

Alec leaned in, brushing a kiss against his cheek — subtle, quick, but enough to make Magnus still. “You’re definitely that.”

For a moment, Alec felt that Magnus forgot to breathe.

It was ridiculous how Alec — this stoic, calm, stubborn gym owner — could so easily undo Magnus with something so simple.

“Fine,” Magnus muttered, his lips twitching. “I might have overreacted.”

“Maybe a little,” Alec said, his smile gentle.

Magnus sighed dramatically. “I’m a passionate man, Alexander.”

“I know,” Alec said. “That’s what I like about you.”

Magnus smiled, letting his hand brush Alec’s wrist before stepping back. “I’ll be waiting after your class. Try not to flirt with anyone else while I’m gone.”

Alec laughed under his breath. “No promises.”

Magnus gasped theatrically and disappeared toward the yoga studio, leaving Alec still smiling as the door swung shut behind him.

Later that night, when the gym was quiet and Alec was locking up, Jace leaned against the wall, smirking.

“Boyfriend, in love, huh?” he said, voice teasing but not unkind.

Alec rolled his eyes, pocketing the keys. “Don’t start.”

“Oh, I’m not starting,” Jace said. “I’m celebrating.”

Alec shot him a look.

Jace grinned. “You’re happy, man. Like… genuinely happy. It’s nice to see.”

Alec hesitated, caught off guard by the sincerity beneath the teasing. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “Yeah, I am.”

“Good.” Jace clapped him on the shoulder. “Even if your boyfriend might murder your clients.”

Alec huffed a laugh. “He’s… passionate.”

Jace’s grin widened. “That’s one word for it.”

Alec shook his head, smiling as he walked out into the cool night air.

Because truth be told, he didn’t mind Magnus’s dramatics. Not one bit. They were part of him — brilliant, bold, and full of life.

And maybe, Alec thought as he started his bike, maybe he loved that about him most of all.

-

It had been three days since Magnus’s dramatic declaration at the gym, and Alec still couldn’t stop thinking about it.

“Ridiculously in love, maybe.”

Magnus had said it with that typical flair — chin tilted, eyes gleaming, voice dripping in mischief. The whole scene had been absurd and charming and utterly Magnus. Alec had laughed, rolled his eyes, even teased him later for being so dramatic.

But the words lingered.

He hadn’t realized, at the time, how they would keep echoing in his head — between sets, during training, in the quiet moments before sleep when everything slowed down enough for the truth to surface.

Ridiculously in love.

He could still hear it.

And maybe it shouldn’t mean much — Magnus said things like that all the time, half-teasing, half-true. But Alec had learned something about Magnus over the last few months: his jokes always carried a spark of truth underneath. He used humor like armor sometimes, but if you listened closely enough, the honesty was there.

So now Alec couldn’t help but wonder.

Was Magnus in love with him?

And — terrifyingly — did it even matter, when Alec knew the answer on his end?

The thought came to him late one night, when he was sitting on the couch, paperwork forgotten beside him, and Magnus’s name flashed on his phone screen. A simple text:

Magnus: Are you still awake, Alexander?

Alec smiled.

Alec: Yeah. You?
Magnus: Barely. Chairman Mew decided the top shelf was her kingdom and I am now her servant.
Alec: Sounds right.
Magnus: Come rescue me.

Alec had laughed softly — it was so Magnus. Half dramatic, half genuine. And in that quiet moment, with his phone screen glowing in the dark, Alec felt it hit him fully.

He loved him.

Not the dizzy, infatuated kind of love that burned too bright and fast — the kind that had hurt him before. This was steadier, deeper. The kind that made him want to show up — not with grand gestures, but in small ways. Bringing soup when Magnus was sick. Fixing the cabinet door that wouldn’t close properly. Listening when Magnus rambled about jewelry designs or a particularly stubborn client.

He loved all of it.

Magnus’s humor, his confidence, his warmth. The way he made space for people — even when pretending not to care. The way he looked at Alec like he was something rare and good.

It wasn’t a sudden realization — more like noticing that the sun had risen while you weren’t paying attention. It had been there for a while, slowly brightening everything.

The next morning at the gym, Jace took one look at Alec’s distracted face and smirked.

“Oh no,” he said, sipping his smoothie. “That’s the look.”

“What look?” Alec asked, stretching his shoulders.

“The ‘I realized I’m in love and I don’t know what to do with it’ look,” Jace said, far too smug for his own good.

Alec shot him a glare. “You’re projecting.”

“Am I? Because your face is doing that soft, distant thing. You only do that when Magnus is involved.”

“Drop it, Jace.”

“Sure,” Jace said, still grinning. “Just don’t forget to breathe when you tell him you love him.”

Alec froze. “I didn’t say I was going to—”

“Oh, please,” Jace cut in. “You’re already planning when. I can see the gears turning.”

Alec didn’t answer, because — annoyingly — Jace wasn’t wrong.

He had been thinking about it. About the how and the when.

Because Alec wasn’t impulsive. He didn’t just say things like that without meaning them. When he said it, it had to be real — quiet and certain, something Magnus could believe in. Magnus had been hurt before; Alec knew that much. He could see it sometimes, in the small hesitations between jokes.

He wanted Magnus to know that this — they — weren’t temporary.

That night, Magnus showed up at the gym again, this time with iced coffees and an unapologetically bright smile.

“You work too hard,” Magnus said, handing him the cup. “And I refuse to date a man who forgets what sleep is.”

Alec huffed a laugh. “You’re very demanding.”

“Only when I care.”

That made Alec look up, and Magnus’s smile faltered just slightly — as if he hadn’t meant to say it aloud.

Something tightened in Alec’s chest.

He wanted to say it then — wanted to tell Magnus that he cared too, that he loved him, that he hadn’t felt like this in years. But the moment wasn’t right; there were people around, laughter and chatter echoing across the gym floor.

So instead, Alec reached out, brushing his fingers against Magnus’s wrist in a quiet gesture that said what words couldn’t. Magnus smiled back, soft and knowing.

Later that evening, after Magnus left, Alec sat on the gym floor long after closing, phone in hand, rereading their texts from the past few weeks.

Every sarcastic quip. Every small “good morning.” Every “be safe” before a late drive home.

It wasn’t just flirtation anymore. It was something real.

He typed out a dozen versions of “I love you” in a message box and deleted every one of them. It didn’t feel right to say it over text. Magnus deserved better than that — he deserved to hear it, to feel it.

But when?

Alec thought about their weekends — about Magnus at the cabin, laughing over burnt pancakes; about bike rides where Magnus held on too tightly and then pretended he hadn’t; about quiet mornings when Alec would find Magnus watching him with that faint, fond smile.

There had been so many perfect moments — and he’d let them all slip by.

He wanted the timing to be perfect, but maybe perfection wasn’t the point. Maybe love wasn’t supposed to be planned like that.

Still, he wasn’t ready yet.

The next few days passed in a blur of routine — yoga classes, evening walks, shared dinners. Magnus came by the gym often, sometimes just to see him, sometimes under the pretense of checking if Alec was “overworking his biceps again.”

Every time Magnus walked in, Alec’s pulse steadied and raced all at once.

It was ridiculous.

But then again — maybe that’s what Magnus meant.

Ridiculously in love.

Alec caught himself smiling during a family dinner, which earned him a suspicious look from Isabelle later.

“What’s with the smile, big brother?” she asked, folding her arms.

“Nothing.”

“Nothing my ass. That’s the Magnus smile.”

“There’s no such thing as a Magnus smile.”

“There absolutely is. You’re smirking like someone who just got kissed senseless or complimented within an inch of his life.”

Alec groaned. “Do you ever mind your own business?”

“No,” Isabelle said cheerfully. “You’re happy. I like happy Alec.”

And he was happy. Happier than he remembered being in a long, long time.

That night, as he lay in bed with Magnus’s head resting on his shoulder, Alec ran his fingers through dark hair and thought, This is what it feels like to be home.

He wanted to say it then. It was right there, sitting on his tongue, burning quietly in his chest. But Magnus was half-asleep, soft breaths against his skin, and Alec didn’t want to ruin the peace of that moment.

So instead, he whispered a quiet “goodnight,” and Magnus smiled in his sleep, curling closer.

Alec closed his eyes, heart full and steady.

The words would come — he knew that now. There would be a moment when it would feel natural, unforced. When Magnus’s eyes would meet his, and Alec would simply know.

Until then, he would hold the truth quietly, tucked safe between heartbeats.

Because even if he hadn’t said it yet — even if the words hadn’t left his lips — Magnus already felt like love.

-

Saturday mornings had become Alec’s favorite part of the week. The gym didn’t open until late, Magnus usually didn’t have any appointments, and the world always seemed to slow down enough to breathe.

This morning, though, felt different.

Maybe it was because of the night before — the soft sighs, the quiet laughter, the closeness that had lingered long after the lights went out. Or maybe it was simply because Magnus was still half-asleep beside him, hair mussed, a faint smile curving his lips.

Alec watched him for a moment, his heart doing that ridiculous flutter it always did when Magnus was relaxed like this — no walls, no sparkle, just him.

He slipped out of bed quietly, pulling on a pair of sweats and heading to the kitchen. The early light poured in through the window, painting everything in gold. He wanted to do something small, something simple — coffee, maybe pancakes. Magnus had cooked for him before, elaborate things that somehow tasted as good as they looked. Alec wasn’t going to compete with that, but he could try.

Something without protein powder.

He started the coffee maker, whisked eggs, and tried not to think too much about how domestic this felt — about how right it felt.

He was flipping pancakes when Magnus appeared in the doorway, wearing one of Alec’s shirts, the hem brushing his thighs.

“Well,” Magnus said, voice still rough with sleep, “I could get used to waking up to this sight.”

Alec turned, spatula in hand. “Coffee or tea?”

“Coffee, always,” Magnus said, padding closer and leaning against the counter. “But only if it comes with a kiss.”

Alec grinned despite himself and leaned in. The kiss was slow and lazy, morning-soft. Magnus tasted like sleep and warmth and something Alec couldn’t name but wanted more of.

When they finally pulled apart, Magnus murmured, “Mmm. You’re dangerous like this, Alexander.”

“I’m just making breakfast.”

“Exactly my point.”

Alec shook his head, smiling as he turned back to the stove. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, here I am,” Magnus said, sliding onto a stool at the counter. “Completely captivated by a man making pancakes in sweatpants. What has my life become?”

“Tragic,” Alec said dryly, plating the food.

Magnus laughed, the sound filling the kitchen. “Utterly tragic.”

They ate together, knees brushing under the table. Magnus complained that the pancakes were too good, demanded to know if Alec had been secretly trained by French chefs, and Alec rolled his eyes while hiding a grin behind his coffee mug.

It was easy — the kind of morning that felt like it had always existed.

At some point, Magnus reached over and brushed his fingers over Alec’s wrist, a small, absent gesture that made Alec’s heart stutter.

He looked up — and that was it. The moment just… slipped out of him.

“I love you.”

The words were quiet, instinctive, unplanned. They hung there in the air between them, soft and raw.

Alec froze. He hadn’t meant to say it — not like that, not now, not while Magnus still had syrup on his lip.

Magnus blinked. For a second, he didn’t move, didn’t breathe. And then his eyes softened, that slow, brilliant warmth spreading across his face.

“Oh,” Magnus whispered. Then, with a little laugh, “I wanted to say it first.”

Alec’s chest loosened, the tension breaking into laughter. “Of course you did.”

“Well, yes,” Magnus said, regaining his usual dramatic tone. “I had a plan. Music. Candles. Possibly a skywriter.”

“Skywriter?” Alec chuckled. “You were going to rent a plane?”

“Darling, if you’re going to say something as monumental as I love you, one must do it with appropriate flair.” Magnus leaned forward, eyes gleaming. “But you—you had to go and say it while flipping pancakes.”

“Sorry,” Alec said, still smiling. “It just came out.”

Magnus tilted his head, that fond amusement melting into something softer. “Don’t be sorry.”

He reached across the table, curling his fingers around Alec’s hand. “Say it again.”

Alec met his gaze. There was no fear now, just certainty. “I love you.”

Magnus inhaled, his hand tightening around Alec’s. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to hear that.”

“I think I do.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The world outside felt distant — all there was, was the quiet hum of the city, the smell of coffee, and Magnus’s thumb tracing slow circles on Alec’s skin.

Then Magnus smiled again, brighter this time. “You know, since you ruined my grand plan, I suppose I’ll have to improvise.”

Alec arched an eyebrow. “Improvise?”

Magnus stood, stepping around the table until he was close enough that Alec could feel the heat of him. “Yes, improvise.”

And then Magnus leaned down and kissed him — slow at first, then deeper, all warmth and sweetness and the faint taste of coffee.

When they pulled back, Magnus murmured against his lips, “I love you too, Alexander.”

Alec’s heart stuttered. It didn’t matter that he’d already known — he felt it in every kiss, every laugh, every quiet glance. But hearing it… that was something else entirely.

Magnus rested his forehead against his, whispering, “You should see your face right now.”

Alec laughed softly. “You’re one to talk.”

“True,” Magnus admitted, smiling. “I’m radiant with joy. It’s very on-brand.”

Alec rolled his eyes but couldn’t stop the grin spreading across his face.

They stayed like that for a long while, hands tangled, laughter spilling easily. Eventually, Magnus insisted on cleaning up the kitchen — claiming it was “symbolic restitution” for Alec stealing his big romantic reveal.

Alec leaned against the counter, watching him move around the kitchen with effortless grace, humming to himself. His shirt still hung loose on Magnus’s frame, collar slipping to reveal skin that Alec’s hands had traced the night before.

He didn’t think he’d ever get used to moments like this — not because they were rare, but because they felt real.

When Magnus turned and caught him staring, he grinned. “Admiring the view, darling?”

“Always.”

Magnus laughed and threw a dish towel at him. “Hopeless.”

Alec caught it easily. “Ridiculously in love, maybe.”

Magnus stilled for a heartbeat, then smiled, slow and bright. “You remembered.”

“Hard to forget when you said it.”

“It’s true, though,” Magnus said softly. “I am.”

Alec stepped closer, sliding his arms around Magnus’s waist. “Good. Because I’m not planning on going anywhere.”

Magnus melted into him, resting his head against Alec’s shoulder. “You better not,” he murmured. “I’ve invested far too much in your emotional development to start over.”

Alec snorted, pressing a kiss to his temple. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, you love me.”

“Yeah,” Alec said quietly, smiling against Magnus’s hair. “I do.”

They spent the rest of the morning tangled between laughter and quiet touches, the sun shifting higher through the curtains. There was no grand music or skywriting, no perfectly orchestrated confession — just pancakes, coffee, and the steady rhythm of something real.

And for both of them, it was perfect.

Chapter Text

Magnus was in a ridiculously good mood.

He blamed the sunshine. Or the iced latte Alec had insisted on buying him even though Magnus always paid his own coffee. Or maybe it was simply the fact that early June in New York was finally behaving — warm but not humid, bright but not oppressive, the kind of morning that made the entire city feel like it was saying go on, have a perfect day.

Mostly, though… it was Alec.

They’d met for their usual before-work coffee, all easy smiles and lazy touches. Alec had kissed his cheek when Magnus walked in, the soft, instinctive kind of kiss that still made Magnus’s stomach flip. They’d sat side by side instead of across from each other, trading sips and teasing comments. Alec had stolen half his croissant. Magnus had pretended to be offended. Alec had kissed him again. The usual.

He was still smiling about it as he stepped into his apartment, sunlight spilling over the floorboards, the air warm and bright. He hummed some tune he didn’t know the words to, draping his jacket over a chair and heading toward the kitchen.

Life was good.

Better than good.

Beautiful, even.

He was halfway through making himself another coffee — because one with Alec was never enough — when his phone buzzed on the counter. Unknown number. Magnus frowned, drying his hands before tapping the screen.

“Hello?” he answered, still distracted by the coffee machine.

A beat. A breath. And then—

“Magnus. Darling. It’s been a long time.”

His blood went cold.

That voice. He’d know it anywhere.

Camille.

The sunshine didn’t just dim — it vanished. His spine stiffened, every muscle tightening as if he’d been doused in ice water. For a moment, Magnus couldn’t speak. Couldn’t move.

“Camille,” he said at last, careful, controlled. “How did you get this number?”

“Oh please,” she said lightly, like they were old lovers sharing a joke, “you know I always find things out.”

No. He refused to let his hands shake. He exhaled, slow, even.

“What do you want?”

“I heard,” she drawled, “that you’re in New York.”

Magnus’s teeth clicked together. Caterina, you absolute menace, he thought — not angrily, just resigned. Clearly that conversation hadn’t gone the way he hoped.

“And?” Magnus asked.

“And,” Camille said, tone softening into the coaxing sweetness he’d once mistaken for affection, “I’m in the city too. I thought we should catch up. Dinner, perhaps? I know a place you’d adore.”

His skin crawled.

Months ago, he’d left California to get away from her — from the toxic cycle, the manipulations, the carefully crafted charm that always came with hooks buried beneath. He’d rebuilt himself here. Found work. Found peace.

Found Alec.

And now Camille was trying to pull him backward.

“No,” Magnus said, sharp and firm.

A pause. Camille never liked being told no.

“Magnus,” she said with a brittle laugh, “don’t be dramatic. We were together for a long time—”

“And we’re not together anymore.” His voice hardened. “I don’t want dinner. I don’t want to ‘catch up.’ I don’t owe you that.”

Silence — tight, crackling.

Then:

“I see,” she said coolly. “You’ve… moved on.”

Magnus swallowed. He hated that she said it like an accusation.

“Yes,” he said simply.

“With whom?”

“That,” Magnus replied, “is none of your business.”

Another pause — longer this time, simmering undercurrents he wanted no part of.

“Well,” Camille said at last, voice silkier than before, but not in a pleasant way. “Enjoy your stay in New York, Magnus.”

He didn’t answer.

She hung up first.

Magnus let out a slow breath and set the phone down, palms braced against the counter. The coffee machine hissed softly, steam curling into the quiet.

For a long moment, he just stood there, letting the sunlight try — unsuccessfully — to warm the cold coil of discomfort in his stomach.

He shouldn’t care. He didn’t want her. He didn’t miss her. He didn’t need anything from that relationship except for it to stay in the past.

But hearing her voice again… it tugged at old wounds he thought had finally closed.

Magnus straightened, rolling his shoulders back. No. He wasn’t going to let Camille drag him back into old shadows. He had rebuilt his life from the ground up. He had friends here. Work. Peace.

And Alec.

Alec, who bought him iced lattes and stole pastries and kissed him like Magnus was something precious. Alec, who slept curled against him, who said “I love you” over pancakes with the kind of sincerity Magnus had never believed he’d get to have.

Alec was present. Real. Steady.

Camille was just a ghost of a version of himself he no longer recognized.

He picked up his phone again, ignoring the notification from the unknown number. Instead he opened his messages — the last one from Alec was a blurry photo of Magnus’s hand holding their coffees, with the caption: this is the best part of my morning.

Magnus exhaled, some of the tension easing.

He typed back: Mine too. ❤️

He hesitated a moment — then added: Also, I have a very annoying reason to need another coffee later. Please be prepared to kiss it away.

Alec replied within twenty seconds: always. where & when?

Magnus smiled, warmth finally slipping back beneath his skin.

Camille belonged in the past. Alec was his present — and his future, too, if Magnus had any say in it.

And he definitely did.

-

Magnus walked through the rest of the morning in a daze.

The sun was still shining. The streets were still warm. People still smiled as they passed him. Nothing in the world had changed — except the way his chest felt like it was slowly caving in.

He had no business feeling rattled. Absolutely none. Camille was part of a life he had outgrown. A life he had escaped. Her voice shouldn’t have reached him anymore, shouldn’t have hooked into old fears the way it used to. He’d moved on. He was building something new, something real, something safe.

And yet…

His mind wouldn’t stop whispering. What if it all falls apart again?

What if the happiness he’d found with Alec was fragile, temporary, something that would crumble the second he relaxed his grip? What if he was being foolish again — letting himself fall without checking if the ground beneath him could hold?

Because last time he loved someone deeply, he’d ended up packing his entire life into four suitcases and crossing the country like a man running from a fire.

Was he going to do that again?

The thought made his stomach twist.

Magnus walked into the office, greeted his team with a bright smile — too bright, too sharp — and hid himself behind his work. His hands were steady, but his thoughts were a mess, flickering from memory to fear to Alec’s face that morning.

Alec, kissing him softly, like Magnus was something irreplaceable.

Magnus swallowed hard. Don’t ruin this, he scolded himself. Don’t overthink yourself into a disaster.

But his brain didn’t listen.

Every time he paused, even for a second, the questions returned like whispers under his skin.

What if Alec woke up one day and realized Magnus was too much?

What if Magnus’s past seeped into this new relationship and stained it?

What if Magnus loved Alec more than Alec loved him — what if he already did?

He spent the rest of the day drifting between tasks like a ghost.

At lunch, he picked at a salad and barely tasted it. At meetings, he smiled and nodded but couldn’t recall half the decisions afterward. When Isabelle dropped by his desk to ask about fabric samples, he answered, but she frowned at him the entire time, eyes narrowing in suspicion.

Isabelle Lightwood could detect emotional nonsense like a hound dog, and Magnus was extremely not in the mood to be sniffed out.

“Are you okay?” she finally asked.

“Absolutely radiant,” Magnus lied breezily.

She didn’t believe him. Magnus didn’t care.

He powered through the afternoon, pretended he wasn’t unraveling, pretended Camille’s voice wasn’t echoing in the back of his skull. By the end of the workday, he felt stretched thin — like if anyone touched him too directly, he’d crack.

Which was exactly when Alec showed up.

He appeared at the office doors with that soft, lopsided smile that Magnus never got tired of seeing, hair slightly wind-tousled, jacket unzipped. He walked in like he belonged there — like he belonged with Magnus — and the entire office practically stopped breathing.

Magnus’s heart did something inconvenient and painful in his chest.

Alec reached him in a few long strides. “Hey,” he greeted, gentle. Too gentle.

Magnus swallowed. “Hello, handsome.”

Alec didn’t smile. Not fully. Instead his brows pinched just slightly, eyes drifting over Magnus’s face in that way he always did when he was checking whether Magnus was actually fine or pretending. And Magnus hated that Alec could already read him that well.

“You okay?” Alec asked softly.

Magnus forced a smile. “Of course.”

Alec didn’t push. Alec never pushed — not unless something was urgent or emotional safety was at stake. He simply nodded, but the concern didn’t leave his eyes.

“Walk you out?” Alec offered.

Magnus exhaled, relieved. “Please.”

They left the office, stepping into the warm early-June air. The city hummed around them, cabs passing, people laughing, storefronts buzzing. But Magnus felt oddly disconnected, as if watching through glass.

Alec walked beside him quietly, hands in his pockets, giving Magnus space he didn’t ask for but desperately needed.

Normally Magnus filled every silence effortlessly. Today he had nothing to give.

“So,” Alec said eventually, tone light but careful, “you seem… off.”

Magnus’s spine tightened. “Just tired.”

“Tired,” Alec repeated, unconvinced but not pushing. “Long day?”

You have no idea, Magnus thought.

Reality pressed at him, heavy and suffocating. He thought of Camille’s voice saying I heard you’re in New York. Thought of the years he’d spent tangled in her toxicity. Thought of the fear curling through him like smoke — the fear that he hadn’t actually escaped that part of himself, the part that kept choosing people who hurt him.

The fear that maybe, one day, Alec would look at him with the same coldness Camille had perfected.

His throat closed.

“Something happen?” Alec asked quietly.

Magnus’s instinct was immediate and fierce: Don’t tell him. Don’t bring your baggage into this. Don’t give him reasons to worry or doubt.

He shook his head. “Nothing important.”

Alec stepped in front of him gently, stopping their walk. “Magnus.”

Magnus forced a laugh. “Truly, darling, I’m fine.”

“You’re lying,” Alec said softly but firmly. “And you don’t have to tell me anything before you’re ready. I just want you to know I’m here. And I’m not going anywhere.”

The words hit Magnus like a physical thing.

Not going anywhere.

He wanted to believe that. God, he wanted to believe that so badly it hurt.

But belief had always been dangerous for him.

He nodded, unable to say anything else without breaking open. Alec didn’t press—of course he didn’t. Instead he reached forward slowly, giving Magnus every chance to pull away, and brushed their fingers together.

Magnus exhaled — a shaky, grateful breath.

They walked again, hand in hand, the city warm around them. Alec didn’t wait for Magnus to talk. Didn’t ask again. He simply stayed close, steady, present.

And Magnus felt simultaneously grateful and guilty.

He wished he could snap out of this, stop thinking about the past, stop letting one phone call unravel the fragile peace he’d fought to reclaim.

He wished he could be whole already — healed already — so that Alec never had to see him like this.

But as they walked, fingers brushing, Alec radiating calm beside him, Magnus felt a tiny piece of the fear loosen.

Alec wasn’t pushing. He wasn’t demanding answers. He wasn’t frustrated or confused or distant.

He was just… there.

Steady. Warm. Patient.

And Magnus, who had spent so many years running — from people, from pain, from himself — felt something inside him settle.

They reached Magnus’s building. Alec paused at the entrance and turned to him.

“If you need space,” he said, “I’ll give it. If you need company, I’ll stay. Whatever you need tonight, just tell me.”

Magnus’s throat tightened again. “I… I think I need to be alone,” he admitted.

Alec nodded, no disappointment in his eyes, only understanding. “Okay.”

He stepped closer, cupped Magnus’s cheek gently, and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead.

It broke Magnus a little.

“Text me if you need anything,” Alec murmured.

Magnus nodded, unable to speak.

Alec gave his hand a final squeeze, then turned and walked away, glancing back once to make sure Magnus went inside safely.

Magnus watched him go, heart aching with something complicated — fear, yes, but love too. So much love he didn’t know where to put it.

He went inside, shut the door, and leaned against it, exhaling shakily into the quiet apartment.

He didn’t understand why Camille’s call had rattled him so much. Didn’t understand why the old fears clawed up like ghosts. Didn’t understand how he could be so happy with Alec and yet so terrified of losing him.

His mind was playing tricks. Old tricks. Cruel ones.

But Alec noticed. Alec cared. Alec didn’t push.

And maybe — maybe — Magnus could learn to trust that.

Eventually.

For now, he simply pressed a hand to his heart, closed his eyes, and breathed.

Alec wasn’t going anywhere. Magnus hoped, with everything in him, that he wouldn’t either.

-

Magnus woke up feeling… not perfect, but better.

Sleep helped. Not entirely — the call from Camille still sat like a thorn under his ribs — but the sharpness had dulled. The fear wasn’t choking him anymore. It was just… lingering. Sulking. Waiting for the right moment to strike again if he wasn’t careful.

But Magnus was determined not to let it control him.

He dressed slowly, choosing a gold-threaded shirt simply because it made him feel beautiful, and spent too long coaxing his hair into something charming enough to hide how raw he’d felt yesterday. He even put on a bit more eyeliner than usual to draw attention away from the lack of sleep.

Fake it till you make it — his oldest survival trick.

He made his way to work, answered emails, reviewed designs, drank his coffee, and kept himself busy. Busy was good. Busy left no room for spiraling.

By late afternoon, he even managed to laugh at one of Simon’s terrible jokes.

And then Alec texted.

Alec: Can I steal you tonight?
Alec: I’m taking you somewhere. Wear something warm. Helmet optional (I’m bringing one).

Magnus’s heart did something embarrassing — a little leap, a little flutter, a little tremble.

Magnus: Darling, if you’re kidnapping me at least let me pack lip gloss.

Alec: That’s not a no.

Magnus: Of course it isn’t a no.

He spent the rest of the day trying — and failing — to wipe the smile off his face.

When he stepped outside the building that evening, Alec was already waiting beside his motorcycle, leaning against it with casual confidence that should be illegal. The sunset cast gold around him, catching the edges of his leather.

Magnus’s heart squeezed painfully. Stay in the present, he reminded himself. Don’t ruin tonight.

Alec turned at the sound of his footsteps, and his entire face softened. “Hey.”

Magnus felt warmth flood his chest. “Hello, handsome.”

“You good?” Alec asked gently placing a kiss in his lips.

He said it like he meant more than just today. Like he was checking on yesterday. On the fear Magnus hadn’t dared to share.

Magnus nodded — and for once, didn’t lie. “Better.”

Alec’s shoulders relaxed. “Good. Then come on. I have plans.”

With a grin, Alec held out the helmet. Magnus rolled his eyes but took it, feeling that familiar thrill as he climbed onto the motorcycle behind his boyfriend, arms sliding around Alec’s waist.

The world blurred as they drove out of the city.

Magnus pressed his cheek lightly against Alec’s back, letting the wind steal some of his lingering heaviness. The farther they rode, the more the city noises faded until all that remained was fresh air, the hum of the engine, and Alec’s steady warmth beneath Magnus’s palms.

By the time they reached the small fairgrounds outside the city, dusk had fallen.

The lights of the rides blinked like stars against the twilight. Music drifted through the air. The smell of fried dough, grilled corn, spices, and sugar filled the space with nostalgia and warmth.

Magnus’s eyes widened. “You brought me to a fair.”

Alec shrugged, a small, shy smile on his lips. “You said you never really got the chance to do things like this growing up. I thought maybe… we could fix that.”

Magnus’s chest tightened in a way that was almost painful.

“You’re going to ruin me,” he murmured.

Alec smirked. “That’s the plan.”

They walked hand-in-hand through the fair, stopping for every ridiculous snack Magnus pointed at — fried pickles, funnel cake, a suspiciously colorful snow cone that stained Magnus’s lips blue, which made Alec laugh so hard Magnus vowed revenge.

They talked about everything and nothing — about food, about childhood memories, about the last ridiculous customer Magnus had, about Jace nearly breaking a treadmill yesterday because he refused to read instructions.

Alec listened to Magnus with full attention, laughing at the right moments, nudging their arms together. And each time their fingers brushed, Magnus felt something inside him unravel gently.

Then Alec stopped at one booth — a ring toss. Cheap prizes hung behind it, including an outrageously large blue bear.

Magnus eyed it. “You are not winning me a plushie.”

Alec raised an eyebrow. “I absolutely am.”

“You’ll miss.”

“Wow,” Alec deadpanned. “Thanks for the confidence.”

“I’m preparing you for disappointment.”

Alec smirked. “Watch me.”

He paid the attendant, took three rings, and flicked them with casual precision. First one — clink. Second one — clink. Third — clink.

The guy at the booth stared. “Uh. That… almost never happens.”

Magnus blinked. “You cheated.”

Alec handed him the plushie with a smug little smile. “Nope. I’m just good at this.”

“Infuriating,” Magnus whispered, taking the plush bear anyway.

Alec laughed, brushing a kiss against Magnus’s temple.

They found a quieter spot near the edge of the fairgrounds, sitting on a low wooden fence. Magnus hugged the plushie to his chest, watching lights shimmer across Alec’s face.

The moment should have been perfect.

And yet— Magnus’s thoughts flickered, unbidden: Camille’s voice. The past. Fear. Loss.

He stiffened.

Alec noticed instantly. “Magnus?”

Magnus closed his eyes. He could lie. He could smile and deflect and pretend nothing was clawing at him. He’d done it for years.

But he was tired.

And Alec was looking at him like he was safe. Like Magnus could hand him the truth and Alec wouldn’t drop it.

So Magnus took a breath. Then another.

“There’s something I should tell you,” he said finally.

Alec didn’t speak. Didn’t push. Just waited.

“Yesterday,” Magnus started slowly, “I got a phone call. From someone I haven’t talked to in… a long time.”

Alec’s hand slid gently over his, grounding him.

Magnus swallowed. “Camille.”

Alec’s expression didn’t change — no jealousy, no fear, no anger. Just calm, steady attention.

“She heard I was in New York,” Magnus continued, voice shaky. “She said she wanted to ‘catch up.’ And I—”

His throat closed.

“And I panicked,” he whispered.

Alec squeezed his hand gently. “Magnus…”

“I shouldn’t let her affect me,” Magnus forced out. “I shouldn’t let the past get into my head again. But it did. It pulled me right back into old fears. Old patterns. And for a moment I wondered if… if everything I’m building here, with you, is fragile. Or temporary. Or destined to end the way it always does.”

The words spilled, messy and raw.

“I know it’s foolish. I know it. But I— I got scared.”

Alec shifted closer until their knees touched. His voice was soft, steady, warm.

“You’re allowed to be scared.”

Magnus blinked fast.

Alec continued, “And I can’t promise you the future. No one can. I can’t promise nothing will ever hurt, or that we’ll never argue, or that life won’t throw things at us. But—”

He turned Magnus’s hand over and pressed a kiss to his palm.

“—I can promise that I love you.”

Magnus’s breath hitched.

“I love you,” Alec repeated, firmer now. “And I want this. I want us. I want you in my life — in all of it. And I’m going to do everything I can to make this relationship work. Because you matter to me. Because I’m happier with you than I’ve been in a very, very long time.”

The words hit Magnus like sunlight breaking through storm clouds.

“I’m here,” Alec whispered. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

Magnus stared at him, breath trembling, and finally — finally — the tight, cold knot inside his chest loosened. Warmth flooded in, startling and overwhelming.

He could breathe again.

Just breathe.

Magnus leaned forward and pressed his forehead to Alec’s, eyes closing.

“I love you too,” he whispered. “More than I know what to do with.”

Alec smiled — soft, relieved, full of affection. “Good. Then we’ll figure it out together.”

And Magnus kissed him — slow, lingering, grateful — tasting sugar on Alec’s lips from the funnel cake, tasting hope, tasting the beginning of something real and steady and theirs.

For the first time in years, the past didn’t feel like it was chasing him.

He had something better to chase now.

A future — and a man — worth staying for.

Chapter Text

Magnus arrived early.

He always did now. It had become a quiet ritual — choosing the corner table, ordering his oat-milk latte, scrolling through photos of Alec he pretended were for “creative inspiration,” and waiting for his boyfriend to walk through the door.

It grounded him. It made the morning feel like something warm and steady.

Us, Magnus thought fondly. We have routines now.

He smoothed a hand down his coat, shook out the tension from last night, and pushed open the door to the café.

The bell chimed softly.

The smell of fresh espresso and cinnamon drifted over him. Indie music hummed in the background. A couple laughed quietly near the window. Baristas moved in the soft morning bustle.

Normal. Comforting. Safe.

At least— It should have been safe.

Magnus took three steps inside before a voice — honeyed, cold, and painfully familiar — curled around him like smoke.

“Magnus Bane.”

His breath snapped in his lungs.

No. Not here. Not now.

He froze.

She stood by the counter as if she belonged there, as if she hadn’t detonated pieces of his heart years ago. Camille Belcourt — immaculate as always, dressed in expensive camel wool and glossy red lipstick, holding a coffee she clearly didn’t pay for.

Her eyes swept over him with the same assessing sharpness he remembered too well. Like she was measuring him. Like she was deciding if he was worth her time.

“Hello, Magnus,” she said, smiling a smile that never reached her eyes.

Magnus’s pulse roared in his ears.

Why is she here? How did she find me? How is she standing in my space?

He fought to swallow, his throat refusing to cooperate.

“Camille,” he managed, each syllable stiff. “I see you’ve developed a talent for invading places you’re not wanted.”

She laughed lightly, as though he’d just complimented her. “You’re as dramatic as ever.”

Magnus clenched his jaw. “Let’s cut to the point. Why are you here?”

“Oh, Magnus.” She stepped closer — too close — and the scent of her perfume hit him like a memory he’d tried very hard to bury. “I told you already. I wanted to see you. Catch up. You look well.”

“I didn’t respond for a reason.”

“Yes, yes, the block.” Camille waved her fingers dismissively. “But you know how easily one gets around those things. I’ve seen all your posts lately. Traveling. Eating well. That charming little bed-and-breakfast… and the motorcycle ride?”

Magnus’s stomach dropped.

She had been watching him.

Watching his stories. His posts. His life. His privacy felt suddenly violated, thin and fragile in her hands.

He glared. “You had no right—”

“Oh please,” she cut in. “You put your life online, Magnus. I simply… looked.”

Magnus wanted to scream. Or walk out. Or throw his latte, which he didn’t had yet, at her perfect face. He had blocked her. Years ago. He'd made sure. He knew he had— But Camille always found a way around barriers. It was her specialty. Her poison.

“Leave,” Magnus said, sharper. “Now.”

She tsked softly. “Is that any way to greet an old friend?”

“We are not friends.”

“But we were lovers—”

Magnus flinched.

Her eyes sparkled — she noticed.

“And rather passionate ones,” she added, stepping in again.

Enough.

The café felt too small. The air too thick. His heartbeat too loud. His chest tightened the way it had yesterday — cold, squeezing, suffocating.

He hated this. Hated the way she could still shake him. Hated that memories rose like dark, oily water — fights, manipulation, apologies with strings hidden beneath them. Hated that he ever let her touch his life.

Hated that she made him feel small.

Magnus lifted his chin. “Whatever you think this is, whatever you’re trying to do, it won’t work. I don’t owe you anything.”

“You owe me a conversation,” Camille insisted, her tone turning sharp beneath the sweetness. “After disappearing—”

“I left,” Magnus snapped. “Because you made my life hell.”

A hush fell over the nearby tables.

Magnus didn’t care.

Camille’s eyes narrowed. “You’re exaggerating.”

“I’m not.”

“And I suppose,” she said coolly, “you’re going to tell your new… boyfriend about me?”

Magnus stiffened. “That’s none of your business.”

Her smile turned thin. “He seems ordinary.”

The insult hit Magnus with a fury he didn’t expect.

Before he could speak — or explode — the bell over the café door chimed again.

Magnus turned, breath catching.

Alec strode in, scanning the room with mild curiosity until his eyes landed on Magnus. His expression lit up in that warm, private way that Magnus still didn’t know how to absorb without melting.

Then Alec saw Camille.

His smile vanished.

He crossed the room swiftly, placing himself at Magnus’s side, body firm and steady, a quiet shield.

“You okay?” Alec asked, voice low.

Magnus released a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “I am now.”

Camille looked Alec over — critically, condescendingly, her nose lifting a fraction. “So this is him.”

Alec turned to her, unimpressed. “And you are…?”

“Camille,” she purred.

“Alec,” he replied flatly, offering no handshake.

The tension crackled.

Magnus braced himself.

Camille tilted her head. “You’re very… simple, aren’t you?”

Alec blinked once. Slowly. It was the expression Magnus had seen him use at the gym when someone said something particularly stupid.

“I lift heavy weights,” Alec said calmly. “But I’m not the one standing in a coffee shop harassing my ex.”

Magnus almost choked.

Camille’s lips parted in affront. “Harassing— Excuse me?”

Alec stepped slightly closer to Magnus — a subtle gesture, protective without being possessive. “He asked you to leave. A few times.”

She scoffed. “This is between Magnus and me.”

“No,” Alec said, voice dropping. “This is Magnus’s space. And Magnus said no. Respect it.”

Magnus stared at Alec, struck speechless by how effortlessly he defended him — not with anger, not with bravado, just firm, calm boundaries that Magnus had never been able to set around Camille alone.

Camille’s eyes darted between them, irritation simmering. “I can see when I'm not wanted," she said coolly. “But Magnus — we’re not done.”

“Yes,” Magnus said quietly, surprising even himself. “We are.”

Alec’s hand brushed his back, grounding him. Camille’s eyes flicked to the gesture, her expression twisting. She scoffed again and swept past them, heels clicking sharply against the floor.

When the door closed behind her, Magnus finally exhaled — shaky, uneven, painful.

Alec turned to him, eyebrows raised. “That was Camille?”

Magnus let out a strangled sound. “Yes.”

Alec grimaced. “Wow. I hate her.”

Magnus barked out a sudden laugh — the kind born from relief and leftover panic tangling together. He pressed a hand over his eyes. “I can’t believe I dated her.”

“I can,” Alec said. “You have bad taste sometimes.”

Magnus looked at him, offended. “Excuse me?”

Alec slid an arm around his waist. “Because you didn’t have me yet.”

Magnus’s breath caught — warm, surprised, undone.

Alec’s thumb stroked his hip, gentle, careful. “Hey. You okay?”

Magnus hesitated, but then Alec’s eyes softened, and Magnus felt the truth rise without fear. “I am now,” Magnus whispered. “Thank you.”

Alec leaned closer, forehead brushing Magnus’s. “Anytime.”

Magnus melted, tension unwinding in his chest.

Outside, the city moved on. Camille was gone. Alec was here. And Magnus—

Magnus finally felt safe again.

-

Magnus needed yoga like most mortals needed oxygen those days.

After the morning he’d had—after Camille, after the shock of seeing the past materialize in a coffee shop doorway like some cursed jack-in-the-box—Magnus was, frankly, one inhale away from combusting.

He’d left Alec after the encounter pretending he was fine, pretending the confident Magnus Bane façade was fully intact, but the truth clung to him like static: he had been shaken. Deeply. More than he wanted to admit—even to himself.

And so, by the time evening rolled around, Magnus found himself marching toward Alec’s Fitness Center with the intensity of a man seeking sanctuary.

The moment he stepped inside, a soft wave of warmth wrapped around him—sweat, rubber mats, and that expensive eucalyptus spray Jace insisted on using despite Alec calling it “pretentious mist.” Normally Magnus would roll his eyes. Tonight, the familiarity soothed him.

Yoga. Yes. That’s what he needed.

And… maybe Alec. But yoga first. Maybe. Probably.

Magnus exhaled, shoulders dropping.

The lobby wasn’t busy, just a trickle of members checking in, a trainer carrying a stack of towels, Jace leaning against the front desk drinking something neon and probably toxic. Everything felt normal. Safe. Predictable.

Until a girl smiled at Alec.

Too sweetly. Entirely too sweetly.

Magnus stopped. Blinked. Narrowed his eyes.

A brunette in pastel leggings had drifted toward the counter where Alec stood, scrolling through the iPad schedule. She leaned in. She giggled. She touched her hair.

Magnus’ hair touched itself in outrage.

Alec, to his credit, looked politely confused in that way he often did when strangers flirted with him—a mix of not noticing and not knowing what to do with it if he did. His brows furrowed, and he said something Magnus couldn’t hear, probably something earnest like: “Do you need help with the Tuesday schedule?”

And she giggled again.

Magnus, who had been shaky all day, felt something sharp inside him finally snap into place.

Not anger. Not jealousy. No—something more primal:

Mine.

Before he even realized he was moving, he was already crossing the gym floor, dropping his gym bag at his feet with theatrical precision.

“Sweetheart, I’m going to have to stop you right there,” Magnus announced as he approached, voice honey-smooth—and loud enough for half the lobby to hear.

Alec jerked his head up. “Magnus?”

The girl blinked at him, startled.

Magnus rested a hand on Alec’s shoulder, leaning in as if they were posing for a Renaissance portrait titled This One Is Taken, Thank You Goodnight.

He flashed the girl a polite smile with razor edges.

“He’s my boyfriend.”

Alec made a soft choking sound—like a man swallowing both surprise and laughter at once.

The girl’s eyes widened. “Oh! I—I didn’t— I’m so sorry!”

“No harm done,” Magnus replied breezily, patting Alec’s chest. “He’s irresistible. Trust me, I know.”

Alec was absolutely turning red. It was adorable.

The girl scrambled away, apologizing three more times before disappearing entirely. Magnus watched her go, then sighed dramatically and looked up at Alec.

“You were being smiled at,” he said like it was a crime against humanity.

Alec blinked, still flushed. “That… happens? Sometimes? I guess?”

“It was a very sweet smile,” Magnus insisted, straightening Alec’s shirt even though it was perfectly fine. “Too sweet. Dessert-sweet. And I—well.” He gestured vaguely. “I wasn’t in the mood for dessert thievery today.”

Alec’s stunned amusement softened into something gentler. Warm. A look that always seemed to find Magnus even when Magnus was trying desperately to appear put-together.

“You okay?” Alec asked quietly.

Ah. There it was.

The question he both wanted and dreaded.

Magnus swallowed. For a moment, he considered lying. He was good at that. Practiced. He could throw sparkles over wounds so well people forgot they were bleeding. But Alec wasn’t people and Magnus was tired of bleeding.

He opened his mouth—then shut it.

Alec didn’t push. He never did. He just stood there, steady and solid, one hand on Magnus’ waist like a quiet anchor.

Magnus exhaled shakily.

“I had… a morning,” he finally murmured.

Alec’s hand pressed a little more firmly at his waist. “Because of Camille?”

Magnus flinched.

Alec saw everything. Too easily. Too compassionately.

“I don’t want to talk about it here,” Magnus said softly. “I came for yoga. And for—” He hesitated. “For you,” he finished, voice barely above a whisper.

Alec’s eyes warmed like sunlight hitting water. “Well,” Alec said, smiling faintly, “I’m here.”

God, he was. Solid. Grounding. Uncomplicated in a way Magnus never believed real people could be.

Magnus inhaled and felt the tightness in his chest loosen.

He needed yoga. Yes. But he needed Alec more.

“Walk me to Lydia’s studio?” Magnus asked.

Alec nodded and started leading him down the hallway. Their arms brushed. Magnus leaned slightly closer, like a plant instinctively reaching toward the sun.

As they passed the weight area, Jace called out from behind the counter: “Hey Magnus! Nice claim back there. Ten out of ten. Alec almost combusted.”

Alec groaned. “Jace.”

“What? I’m supportive,” Jace said with an innocent grin. “Publicly declaring ownership is very romantic.”

Magnus lifted his chin. “It was not ownership. It was… clarifying boundaries.”

“Sure,” Jace said. “Boundaries. Loud ones.”

Alec muttered, “He’s never letting this go…”

Magnus squeezed Alec’s hand discreetly. “We’ll survive.”

Jace called after them, “You two want the eucalyptus mist cranked up? Sets the mood!”

“NO,” both of them answered at once.

Magnus felt the first real laugh of the day bubble up. He let it out. Alec glanced sideways at him, his eyes softening as if hearing the sound brought him relief too. When they reached the yoga studio door, Alec hesitated.

“Do you need anything?” he asked quietly. “I can stay nearby. Or we can skip yoga. Or you can sit with me in my office and not talk at all. Whatever helps.”

And that— That was Alec Lightwood. Steady. Gentle. Never pushing. Never demanding. Just offering himself like a safe place.

Magnus’ throat tightened painfully. “I’m okay,” he whispered. “Better now.”

Alec didn’t question it. Just nodded.

Magnus stepped forward and kissed him—soft, brief, grounding.

“See you after class?” Magnus asked.

Alec’s smile reached his eyes. “Always.”

-

Yoga did help.

Halfway through class, Magnus finally felt his breath settle into something resembling peace. Moving through sun salutations, holding warrior pose, surrendering in deep folds—each motion peeled away another layer of tension.

By the time class ended, Magnus felt laden with sweat and relief. The world didn’t feel as sharp. The fear didn’t feel as suffocating.

He stepped into the hallway still breathing deeply—and nearly ran into Alec, who leaned against the wall waiting for him, arms crossed, hair slightly messy, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips.

Warmth blossomed in Magnus’ chest.

“You waited,” Magnus said, unable to hide the smile that crept onto his own lips.

“Of course I waited,” Alec replied, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. And maybe it was. With him.

Magnus stepped closer and murmured, “That girl earlier. She really did smile too sweetly.”

Alec chuckled. “You know I only have eyes for you, right?”

Magnus felt something inside him crack open—something fragile, fearful, hopeful.

“Yes,” he whispered. “I know. I just… needed to remind myself.”

“Anytime,” Alec said softly. “Remind yourself as much as you want.”

Magnus leaned forward and kissed him again—gentler this time, grateful, grounding.

The day that began with panic and ghosts ended with steady hands, warm lips, and the quiet certainty that Alec Lightwood was not his past.

He was his present.

And, Magnus hoped, his future too.

-

Magnus had rewritten the text three times.

It was nothing complicated—just a simple check-in, an Are you done at the gym? Want to grab a drink?—but his fingers hovered over the keyboard as if the message were a high-stakes diplomatic treaty.

It was ridiculous.

It was also entirely Alec Lightwood’s fault.

Magnus sighed and tossed his phone onto the couch cushion beside him. He leaned back, letting his head sink into the pillows. The apartment was dim, lit only by the orange glow of a lamp and the faint, distant hum of the city. Chairman Meow was curled at the edge of the sofa, paws tucked neatly under his chest like an ancient emperor contemplating tax policy.

Magnus tried again.

He reached for the phone—

And his door knocked.

A sharp, firm, unmistakable knock.

Magnus froze.

Visitors came rarely without warning. Isabelle had barged in two or three times, Jace twice, Simon once after mistaking Magnus’ door for who knows who’s. But this knock—it was too polite, too measured, too… Alec.

Magnus’ heart leaped into his throat.

He stood quickly, smoothing his shirt for absolutely no reason before he opened the door.

And then he stopped breathing.

Alec Lightwood stood in the hallway looking unfairly beautiful in a dark Henley and black jacket… holding the world’s biggest stuffed bear under one arm and a bouquet of flowers in the other.

Pink flowers.

Pink.

Magnus’ favorite color.

Magnus blinked at him once. Then twice. His brain rebooted like an old Windows computer.

“I—hello,” Magnus managed, sounding like someone who forgot how English worked. “Alec?”

“Hi,” Alec said softly, almost shyly. “I, um… brought you this.”

He held out the flowers first. Magnus stared at them like he’d never seen flowers before. Then Alec shifted the giant bear slightly forward.

It was absurd. Huge. Fluffy. Brown with a ridiculous plaid bow around its neck.

Magnus’ jaw dropped. “Alexander. What—why—?”

Alec’s ears went red. “I thought you might need… cheering up.”

Magnus’ heart—already tender—cracked open a little wider.

“You showed up at my door,” Magnus whispered, still stunned, “with flowers… and a bear that could qualify as a third roommate.”

Alec exhaled a nervous laugh. “Yeah. Well. Yesterday sucked for you. And you looked shaken this morning. And I just—wanted to make you smile.”

Magnus stared at him.

Really stared.

At Alec’s soft uncertainty. At the way his fingers gripped the bouquet stems too tightly. At the soft, worried crease between his brows. Alec wasn’t overthinking this—the way Magnus would have. He wasn’t calculating. He wasn’t dramatizing.

He was just… caring.

Purely. Earnestly.

Magnus’ chest ached.

He stepped aside silently. “Come in.”

Alec entered, careful with the bear, ducking slightly like the doorway wasn’t tall enough. Magnus couldn’t help the little smile that tugged at his lips.

As soon as the bear was inside the apartment, Chairman Meow slithered off the couch and stalked toward it with laser-focused suspicion.

Alec froze. “Oh no.”

Magnus laughed. “Chairman is just investigating.”

The cat sniffed the bear.

Sniffed Alec’s shoe.

Sniffed the bear again.

Then, in a shocking twist, Chairman Meow climbed directly onto the bear’s lap and kneaded its stomach like he’d found a new throne.

Alec’s brows shot up. “He likes it?”

Magnus crossed his arms. “Alexander, Chairman Meow doesn’t ‘like’ anything. He barely tolerates most living creatures. He has declared war on three different houseplants. But this—” he nodded at the cat now stretched luxuriously over the bear “—this is high honor.”

Alec’s face lit with something soft and warm.

Magnus felt his breath catch.

He stepped closer, lifting the flowers from Alec’s hands. “These are… beautiful,” he said quietly. “Thank you.”

Alec shrugged, trying so hard to look casual. “I wanted you to have something nice today.”

“You are something nice today,” Magnus murmured before his filter could activate.

Alec’s blush deepened.

Magnus cleared his throat quickly. “Um. Dinner. Would you like to order something? Thai? Pizza? Ethiopian?”

Alec smiled. “Dealer’s choice.”

Magnus inhaled. Centered himself. Took in the scene—Alec in his apartment, a giant bear, a smug cat, flowers on the counter—and felt something warm settle under his ribs.

He ordered Thai. Something spicy. Something comforting.

While they waited, Alec settled on the couch. Magnus sat beside him, close enough to feel his warmth but far enough not to crowd him.

And still, Alec looked at him like he was the only thing in the room worth noticing.

“How was work?” Alec asked.

Magnus shrugged. “Fine. Distracting. I kept… thinking.” He hesitated. “…about this last morning.”

Alec reached out, gently brushing his fingers over Magnus’ knee. “You don’t have to talk about it if you’re not ready.”

Magnus’ lips twitched. “You always say that.”

“Because it’s always true.”

And somehow, that made Magnus’ throat tighten.

He leaned his head against Alec’s shoulder. Alec shifted slightly, then rested his cheek lightly on Magnus’ hair.

They stayed like that until the food arrived.

Dinner was easy.

They sat cross-legged on the couch, containers spread out on the coffee table. Alec stole one of Magnus’ spring rolls; Magnus stole two of Alec’s dumplings in retaliation. They laughed, teased, ate until they were full.

Magnus forgot entirely what the inside of fear felt like.

After they finished, Alec reached for him without hesitation, pulling him close again. Magnus curled into him, letting Alec’s arms wrap around him securely.

“You okay now?” Alec murmured into his hair.

Magnus nodded slowly. “Better. Much better.”

“Good,” Alec whispered. “I want you to be okay.”

Magnus closed his eyes.

He wasn’t used to being held like this. Not without expectation, not without strings, not without someone waiting for an opportunity to twist vulnerability into control. Camille had done that so subtly and so effectively that Magnus hadn’t realized it until it was too late.

But Alec… Alec held him like Magnus wasn’t fragile at all—like he was treasured.

Magnus felt tears sting unexpectedly behind his eyes. He buried his face lightly against Alec’s neck. “Thank you,” Magnus whispered.

Alec pressed a kiss to his temple. “Anytime.”

Later—much later—after the food was put away and Chairman Meow had claimed the bear as his new kingdom, Magnus and Alec ended up tangled together in bed.

There was no tension. No expectation. Just slow kisses, soft touches, whispered laughter, and Alec’s steady heartbeat under Magnus’ ear.

They didn’t rush anything.

They didn’t need to.

Alec held him like sleep wasn’t something he fought against but something he welcomed. Magnus held Alec like grounding himself to something real.

When Magnus drifted into sleep, Alec’s arm curled around his waist, their legs tangled messily, their breaths syncing like a quiet promise.

Chapter Text

Alec had always been good at sensing when someone didn’t want to talk—but needed to.

That was Magnus.

Magnus, who dazzled everyone with glitter and charm and sharp-witted humor, who filled every room with color and life… but who sometimes went quiet around the edges. Who held onto joy bravely but held onto fear silently. Who had looked shaken and brittle the morning Camille showed up, even though he’d tried to pretend otherwise.

Alec wasn’t going to push. He never would.

But he also wasn’t going to leave Magnus alone with shadows that ate away at him.

So on Sunday morning, he texted Magnus:

Wear something warm. I’m picking you up.
You’re coming with me today.
—A

Magnus replied with:

If this is a kidnapping, please note I’m high maintenance.

Alec smirked at his phone.

Good thing I like a challenge.

Two hours later, Magnus stepped out of his building wearing a black coat, a bright teal scarf, and sunglasses far too stylish for nine in the morning.

His hair was made up casually, loose strands brushing his temple. He looked like the kind of man magazines hired to stand on yachts with wind blowing dramatically behind him.

Alec’s heart actually stuttered.

But when Magnus spotted Alec waiting by the motorcycle, Magnus smiled just a little too forced—just a little too small.

Alec noticed.

He didn’t say anything about it.

Not yet.

“Ready?” Alec asked softly, holding out the spare helmet.

Magnus stepped forward. “For you?” he said, voice warming. “Always.”

His smile wasn’t fully back, but it was a start.

Alec tucked that into his chest like something worth protecting.

They rode for nearly an hour outside the city, into quieter roads fringed with early-summer green. Magnus held tightly to Alec’s waist the entire time, solid and warm against his back. Sometimes Alec felt Magnus rest his forehead between his shoulder blades—just a gentle touch, but full of something unspoken.

Alec didn’t rush it.

Wherever they were going, emotionally or physically, he’d go at Magnus’ pace.

He pulled into a little lakeside town—small cafés, a boardwalk, a few boats drifting lazily in the sun. He parked the bike and turned to Magnus.

Magnus pulled off his helmet, hair mussed, cheeks faintly pink from wind.

He looked beautiful.

“You brought me to a Nicholas Sparks town,” Magnus announced dramatically.

Alec huffed a laugh. “You like quiet places.”

Magnus raised an eyebrow. “Do I?”

“You always relax more when we get out of the city,” Alec said honestly. “I thought today should be… easy.”

Something flickered in Magnus’ eyes. Surprise. Gratitude. A crack of vulnerability he usually hid behind sarcasm and glitter.

Alec didn’t comment.

He simply held out his hand.

Magnus took it.

Lunch was at a small café overlooking the water. Magnus made fun of the rustic chairs, Alec teased Magnus for ordering something with edible flowers, Magnus stole Alec’s fries, Alec pretended not to notice.

They laughed. They touched. They breathed a little easier together.

But Alec could still feel it. That undercurrent. That quiet ache.

Late into lunch, when Magnus fell silent staring out at the water, Alec spoke—the gentlest he’d ever been.

“Magnus,” he said softly. “You don’t have to tell me what you’re feeling. But I want you to know… whatever it is? I get it.”

Magnus looked at him slowly, eyes caught between uncertainty and hope. “…You do?”

Alec nodded. He leaned forward, elbows on the table. “If my ex showed up out of nowhere after years? It would mess with me. Not because I want them back. But because they belong to a part of myself I’m not proud of anymore.”

Magnus sucked in a breath.

Alec continued, voice calm, steady. “I don’t know what Camille did or didn’t do to you. I don’t need details unless you want to give them. But I do understand the feeling of… old versions of yourself trying to drag you backwards.”

Magnus swallowed hard.

Alec reached across the table and placed his hand over Magnus’. Warm. Certain.

“You’re allowed to be upset,” he whispered. “You’re allowed to feel shaken. You’re allowed to need time.”

Magnus’s throat worked. He blinked fast, lashes trembling.

“Alec…”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Alec said simply. “Not today. Not tomorrow. Not because someone from your past shows up. That’s not how this works.”

The sunlight glinted off the water behind him. The summer breeze rustled Magnus’ scarf. Somewhere down the boardwalk, kids were laughing, gulls crying.

Magnus stared at him like Alec had spoken magic.

“Alec,” Magnus whispered again, voice cracking at the edges. “I… love you.”

Alec’s heart clenched, swelling so full it almost hurt.

“I love you too,” he said back, without hesitation. “More every day.”

Magnus inhaled like the world had just been handed back to him.

Alec squeezed his hand.

“Come on,” he murmured. “Let’s walk.”

They wandered along the waterfront, Magnus snapping photos of the lake, the sky, a dog wearing sunglasses, and—most secretly—Alec leaning against a railing.

“Did you just take a picture of my back?” Alec asked, suspicious.

Magnus looked at his phone with an exaggerated gasp. “Oh my. So I did.”

Alec snorted and tugged him closer by his coat sleeve. “You’re ridiculous.”

Magnus leaned into him. “You love that about me.”

“I do,” Alec admitted.

They sat on a bench for a while, Alec’s arm draped behind Magnus, Magnus leaning into him like it was the most natural thing in the world. Every so often Magnus rested his head on Alec’s shoulder, eyes soft, breaths deeper.

The tension slowly left his body.

That was what Alec wanted.

Not to erase Camille.

Not to fix Magnus.

Just… to give him space to breathe again.

Later in the afternoon, they walked through a small park nearby, Magnus humming some tune from the 80s, Alec listening like it was a private concert.

Magnus paused suddenly, looking up at Alec with an unreadable expression.

“What is it?” Alec asked.

Magnus stepped closer. “I just… I don’t know what I did to deserve you.”

Alec shook his head immediately. “Magnus—stop. You don’t earn love. You don’t earn care. You just receive it. I love you because you’re you.”

Magnus’ breath hitched.

Alec cupped his cheek gently. “I’m not your past. I don’t want to be. But I want to be your present. And hopefully… your future.”

Magnus looked like he might cry again—but this time from something warm, not fear.

He leaned in and kissed Alec softly.

A slow, grateful kiss.

A kiss that said thank you far more clearly than words ever could.

By the time they rode back into the city, Magnus was holding Alec a little tighter, his face pressed against Alec’s back like he wanted to memorize the shape of him.

They parked near Magnus’ building.

Magnus pulled off his helmet and didn’t step away. Instead, he rested his forehead against Alec’s chest. “Thank you for today,” he whispered. “It… helped more than you know.”

Alec wrapped his arms around him. “Good. That’s all I wanted.”

Magnus looked up, eyes shining. “I’m lucky,” he said softly.

Alec brushed his fingers through Magnus’ hair. “So am I.”

They kissed again—slow, sweet, lingering. The kind of kiss that tasted like healing.

And for the first time since Camille’s shadow touched his life again…Magnus felt light. Held. Loved. Safe.

And Alec? Alec just held him tighter.

-

The next few days slipped into place as if the universe had finally remembered how things were supposed to feel for them.

Magnus woke up smiling again.

Alec woke up grateful.

And the city—loud, restless, relentless—felt just a little easier to live in.

Magnus was genuinely happy.

Not just “putting on the sparkle” happy, not the curated brightness he sometimes used like armor. No—this was softer. Quieter. A kind of happiness that lived in the corners of his smile and the relaxed slope of his shoulders. It hummed in the easy way he answered Alec’s texts, in the way he leaned into Alec’s touch without hesitation, in the way he laughed—head thrown back, carefree, all warmth.

Alec lived for it.

He’d never realized how much someone else’s happiness could matter to him. But Magnus’ did. Magnus’ joy felt like sunlight that Alec held cupped in his hands, trying to protect it from the world.

They spent their days wrapped around each other’s schedules and lives with an ease that surprised them both.

Morning coffees turned into long conversations at small café tables, Magnus with something sweet and overly complicated, Alec with something black and predictable. Sometimes Magnus stole a sip of Alec’s drink and made a dramatic face. Sometimes Alec pretended not to like Magnus’ sugary concoctions but ended up drinking half.

They walked everywhere.

To the gym. From Magnus’ apartment to the bookstore he insisted on exploring. From the little shop where Magnus found a ridiculous cat-shaped mug to the park where they sat in the shade and talked about everything and nothing.

They talked about dreams. About work. About fears. About stupid shows Magnus binge-watched and Alec pretended not to like until he got hooked.

They talked—and somehow, it always felt like there was more to say.

Nights blended into shared dinners, into tangled limbs on Magnus’ couch, into soft kisses against collarbones and laughter pressed into skin. They fell asleep tangled up more often than not, Magnus curled against Alec’s chest, Alec holding him like Magnus was something precious.

He was.

Alec never said it out loud every day—but he felt it every morning when he woke up next to Magnus. Every evening when Magnus opened the door with that soft, warm smile just for him. Every moment Magnus reached out, casually brushing their fingers together like touching Alec had become second nature.

He was grateful.

For Magnus’ presence. For Magnus’ trust. For Magnus’ love. For the simple miracle of getting to love him back.

Slowly, the city warmed under the blaze of late summer.

June became July, then August came in golden and heavy, long evenings stretching into even longer nights. Magnus’ wardrobe got even more dramatic—flowy shirts, loose linen pants, jewelry that glittered against tanned skin. Alec tried not to stare. Magnus absolutely stared at Alec.

They spent August like it was theirs.

Rooftop dinners. Ice cream at midnight. Magnus dragging Alec into thrift stores and insisting he try on things Alec absolutely did not need. Alec taking Magnus on motorcycle rides along the river at sunset. Weekend mornings spent in bed, lazily kissing, refusing to move.

Every day, Alec felt himself sinking deeper, slipping further into something that felt frightening in its intensity but natural in every breath.

Love.

He was in love with Magnus. Fully. Deeply.

And Magnus? Magnus looked at Alec as if loving him was the best decision he’d ever made.

Then August softened into September.

The nights grew cooler. The air shifted. Leaves began to think about changing, not quite ready yet but considering it. The city buzzed with fall energy—new beginnings tucked inside familiar routines.

Alec and Magnus fell into that rhythm without effort.

Magnus wore more layers, rich fabrics in autumn colors that made Alec think of warm nights and old books and the softness of Magnus’ smile first thing in the morning. Alec started bringing Magnus extra pastries with his coffee. Magnus started stealing Alec’s hoodies.

They were… good.

So good it scared Alec sometimes. So good Magnus sometimes had to stop and breathe it in like he wasn’t used to things staying good.

But they were building something real. Something steady. Something honest. A relationship made not just of passion, but of trust.

Alec lived for Magnus’ happiness—quiet, real, glowing from the inside out.

Magnus lived for the peace Alec gave him—constant, grounding, the kind he never thought he’d get to have.

And together, they lived through the days that slipped into weeks, that melted into months, that turned into the beginning of autumn… still holding each other’s hands, still laughing, still choosing each other every day.

-

Alec didn’t expect the evening to shift the way it did. It had started perfectly normal—quiet, familiar, warm.

He’d finished training a client early, so he wandered over to the front desk just as Isabelle and Magnus arrived for their yoga class. Magnus looked incredible, as always—loose black pants, a deep green shirt that brought out his eyes, hair swept up with careless elegance that Alec adored far too much.

Alec leaned against the counter, arms crossed, pretending he wasn’t watching Magnus’ every move while his boyfriend pretended not to notice.

They only had ten minutes until class started, but every minute sitting between Magnus and Isabelle felt like a small luxury. Alec loved these little pockets of their relationship—the unremarkable but intimate ordinary moments.

And Magnus loved to tease him in them.

He nudged Alec’s hip with his knee. “You’re hovering.”

“I work here,” Alec said dryly.

“You’re hovering,” Magnus repeated with a grin.

Isabelle snorted. “He just wants to stare at you for ten more minutes. Let him live.”

Alec shot her a look. Magnus smirked. The world was right.

For a few seconds.

Then Isabelle—always Isabelle—had to open her mouth and drop a grenade disguised as a joke.

“You know,” she said, scrolling through her phone, “you two basically live together at this point. Half the week you’re at Magnus’, half the week Magnus is at your place. Why not just move in together and make it official?”

Alec’s heart jolted. Not painfully—just… suddenly awake. Because he liked that idea. He liked it too much.

The thought of Magnus in his space, Magnus’ laughter in his kitchen at ungodly hours, Magnus’ jewelry on the nightstand beside Alec’s books, Magnus waking up tangled with him every morning…

Alec wanted that. He wasn’t ashamed of it. He glanced at Magnus, hopeful in a quiet, private kind of way.

But Magnus didn’t catch that look. Didn’t see the softness Alec couldn’t quite hide. Magnus just waved a hand and said lightly:

“Oh, please. Move in together? Of course not. I like my space.”

And he laughed.

Just a small, dramatic Magnus laugh. A toss-away comment. Casual. Unthinking.

But Alec felt the floor tilt under him.

Isabelle didn’t notice. She was already talking about yoga mats or Lydia’s new playlist. Magnus was rummaging in his bag for a hair tie.

Alec stood still, the words echoing in his mind:

Of course not. I like my space.

He told himself it was fine. Reasonable. Logical. Normal.

Magnus had lived alone for years. He was independent. He liked privacy. He liked a certain order to his home. He liked solitude when he needed it. Alec knew all of these things.

But still— He had thought… someday… maybe…

The idea of living together had quietly nestled in the back of his mind these past few months, growing roots before he noticed. Not because he needed it or expected it immediately. Just because Magnus felt like home, and sharing one felt natural.

But Magnus didn’t feel that way. Apparently. Magnus didn’t even hesitate.

Alec forced a faint smile, nodding at something Isabelle said. His chest felt too tight, too full of something he didn’t want to examine. Disappointment? Embarrassment? The sting of wanting something Magnus obviously didn’t want?

He hated that it hurt at all.

“Everything okay?” Magnus asked suddenly, turning to him.

Alec blinked. “What? Yeah. Fine.”

“Are you sure?” Magnus’ eyes narrowed a little—he always caught the smallest shifts, except the one he’d just accidentally caused.

Alec swallowed. “Yeah. Just thinking about something.”

Magnus searched his face for a second longer, then seemed satisfied enough—not fully convinced, but class was starting, and Magnus never liked being late.

He reached out and squeezed Alec’s forearm before following Isabelle toward the studio.

Alec watched him go with a strange heaviness in his chest.

He knew Magnus hadn’t meant it in a cruel way. He knew it wasn’t a rejection. He knew their relationship was good—steady, loving, real.

And yet—

The words clung to him.

I like my space.

Alec leaned back against the counter and exhaled slowly.

Maybe he was thinking too far ahead. Maybe he was letting hope get ahead of reality. Maybe he wanted too much.

Or maybe he just needed to talk to Magnus about it someday. Not today. Not now. But someday.

For now, he breathed in, breathed out, blinked away the ache, and reminded himself: Magnus loved him. He knew Magnus loved him.

One careless comment didn’t change that.

Still, as the yoga room door closed behind his boyfriend, Alec couldn’t help replaying it in his mind—

And wishing it hadn’t mattered as much as it did.

Chapter Text

Magnus wasn’t a paranoid man. He wasn’t the type to spiral over nothing. He had lived through enough drama—in life, in love, in California—to know when a worry was real and when it was a ghost wearing familiar clothes.

But this… this was something in between.

It started quietly. A small thing. A sentence here, a hesitation there. A shift in Alec’s tone he couldn’t quite pin down.

And Magnus didn’t immediately panic, because Alec was Alec—steady, calm, thoughtful to a fault. The man didn’t do sudden changes, not without a reason. So Magnus simply watched the way Alec started… retreating around the edges.

Not from affection—never that. Alec still kissed him breathless, still tangled their fingers together like it was instinct, still looked at Magnus like he’d hung the moon, pinned it to the sky, and named every star after him.

It was the staying that changed.

Before, they fell asleep in each other’s beds with ease. Occasionally Magnus’ place, often Alec’s. It was natural, seamless, comforting in a way Magnus hadn’t known he could still have with someone.

But now—

Alec kept finding reasons.

“Oh, I’ve got early training tomorrow.”, “I promised Jace I’d open the gym.”, “I need to pick up something from home.”, “You should get a real night’s sleep tonight.”

None of them sounded wrong. None of them were dramatic excuses. They were all plausible, all reasonable—

And all just slightly off.

The first night Magnus brushed it off. The second night he didn’t think much of it. The third night he felt a twinge. By the fifth night, Magnus found himself lying awake in his too-large bed, staring up at the ceiling and trying to convince himself that everything was fine.

Maybe he was imagining things. Maybe Alec was just tired from back-to-back training.
Maybe work was getting intense. Maybe Magnus was simply being sensitive, still a bit shaken after the Camille incident, still afraid of losing good things now that he finally had one.

He almost believed himself.

Except then came the sixth night.

They had dinner together, laughed over takeout, Magnus draped across Alec’s lap while Alec read something on his phone and absentmindedly stroked Magnus’ hair. It was warm, familiar, comforting in a way Magnus wanted to memorize.

But when the evening grew late and Magnus, without thinking, said gently, “You want to stay over?”—Alec froze. Just for a moment. A breath. A blink. Then a polite, soft, “I probably should go home.”

Magnus nodded, smiling like it didn’t sting. “Of course. Big day tomorrow?”

“Uh… yeah. Kinda.”

But Magnus already knew Alec didn’t actually have anything particularly demanding the next morning. He’d been listening to Alec talk about his week all night.

That was the moment Magnus felt something in his chest fold inward.

He didn’t show it. He never showed it—not right away. He was Magnus Bane; masking emotion was a survival skill.

But later, after Alec kissed him goodnight at the door, warm and lingering and tender, Magnus leaned against it the moment it closed, letting the weight of confusion press into him.

What did I do?

He hated that the question rose so quickly, so instinctively.

Old wounds, old doubts, old relationships—Camille’s shadow still tried to claw its way back into his mind, whispering poison he didn’t want to hear.

“You’re too much.”, “Too demanding.”, “Too intense.”, “Too quick to cling.”

He shook his head hard. No. Alec wasn’t Camille. Alec wasn’t that kind of person.

But still…

Something had changed.

And Magnus didn’t know why.

He’d replayed their recent conversations over and over again, trying to identify a moment, a misstep, a stupid comment that could have set this shift in motion.

Had he been too clingy? Too present? Too affectionate? Had he scared Alec by opening up about Camille? Had he done something wrong?

Or—

And this possibility was worse—

Was Alec realizing that their lives, tangled as they were now, were becoming too close, too intertwined? Too domestic? Too intimate?

The thought made Magnus nauseous.

The problem was… Magnus wanted closeness. Wanted intimacy. Wanted the mornings with Alec half-asleep against him, and the evenings with Alec reading on his couch, and the bike rides, and the laughter, and the small quiet moments.

Magnus loved his space, yes. He loved his independence, but he also loved Alec.

And he had thought and had hoped that the two things could coexist.

So he watched Alec carefully for the next two days. Not in a dramatic way—he simply paid attention.

Alec still touched him easily, still leaned in to kiss him first, still sent texts Magnus read twice because they were sweet and earnest in the ways Alec never realized.

Everything seemed normal, except for the staying over.

That part remained unchanged and Magnus didn’t know what to do with the growing ache in his chest. He didn’t want to be the partner who chased, who demanded, who clinged. He didn’t want to push Alec into a corner. He didn’t want to pry if Alec wasn’t ready.

And more than anything… he didn’t want to hear Alec say he needed space.

The irony wasn’t lost on Magnus.

He was the one who had thrown out the careless comment— “I like my space.”

He remembered saying it. He remembered the moment clearly.

Isabelle teasing. Alec blushing. Magnus joking.

Except now, in hindsight, Magnus wondered: Did Alec think I meant it? That I don’t want him in my space? That I don’t want us to move forward someday?

Had Magnus planted this distance himself without realizing?

The idea made him sit down abruptly at the edge of his bed, hands pressed to his mouth.

“God,” he whispered to the empty room. “What if this is my fault?”

The moment the thought formed, he wanted to take it back. He wanted to rewind time, grab himself by the shoulders, and shake those stupid words out of his mouth before they ever hit Alec’s ears.

He wanted to fix it—

But he didn’t know how. Not yet.

So he told himself something he’d repeated many times in his life, for many different reasons: Give him time. Give yourself time.

It didn’t stop the ache, but it kept him from unraveling completely.

Magnus crawled into bed that night alone, Chairman Mew settling onto his chest with a judgmental chirp. “Don’t look at me like that,” Magnus muttered.

The cat blinked slowly. Magnus sighed.

He missed Alec. God, he missed him so much.

And the worst part?

Alec had no idea Magnus was lying awake with that ache filling his ribs, because Magnus didn’t dare ask: Do you still want me this close?

Not yet.

Not until he understood what, exactly, had shifted—

And whether there was a way to shift it back.

-

Magnus Bane prided himself on many things, his style, his creativity, his ability to charm strangers and persuade difficult clients, his impressive collection of scarves, his talent for knowing exactly how much glitter an outfit needed, but above all—he prided himself on control.

Control of his emotions. Control of his impulses. Control of the way he presented himself to the world.

So the fact that he was currently failing—spectacularly, embarrassingly failing—at hiding the tight coil of anxiety lodged beneath his ribs was… well, it was mortifying.

Because he knew something was wrong. He felt it in every small hesitation Alec made when Magnus invited him to stay the night. He sensed it in the way Alec’s hand lingered in his own just a second less than usual. He caught it in the way Alec hesitated, just briefly, before leaning in for a kiss.

Nothing dramatic. Nothing overt. Nothing most people would notice.

But Magnus wasn’t “most people.” And the difference made his chest ache.

He tried not to show it.

He tried to be normal—cool, composed Magnus Bane who did not panic over relationships like a teenager with his first crush. He tried not to let Alec see how the distance, however subtle, was affecting him.

Except he was failing miserably.

Because Magnus, who had always sworn he was not clingy, not needy, not the type to grab someone by the shirt and beg for reassurance, suddenly found himself doing ridiculous things like…

Walking Alec to his bike even when Alec only had a few steps to take.

Sending Alec little heart emojis in the middle of the day, which he never did before not so regulary.

Asking Alec if he wanted to get coffee again later, even though they had literally just finished drinking coffee.

Magnetizing himself to Alec’s side at the gym like a sparkly, overdressed barnacle.

It wasn’t intentional, not fully conscious, just a terrified instinct whispering don’t drift away from me every time Alec looked a little tired, or distracted, or hesitant to stay over.

Magnus tried to mask it, really, he did. He tried to play it cool. It just…it wasn’t working, especially because Alec noticed.

Magnus saw the flicker in Alec’s eyes every time Magnus stepped just a little closer, touched him a little sooner, kissed him a little longer.

Not discomfort. No—Magnus knew what discomfort looked like on a person, and Alec was nowhere near that.

It was confusion. A little concern. A little softness.

Alec was starting to suspect something.

Magnus wanted to scream.

The worst part? Jace definitely knew.

The gym was unusually busy that evening, people buzzing around mats and weights, but Jace’s grin cut through the chaos like a neon sign announcing I Know Something You Don’t Want Me to Know.

Magnus had made the grave mistake of lingering around Alec’s desk while Alec filled out some forms. Just standing there, leaning casually—or trying to look casual—against the counter, sipping his iced latte like he hadn’t purposely come in thirty minutes earlier than his yoga class simply to be near Alec.

Alec looked up once or twice, brow creasing in a way Magnus couldn’t decipher. Not annoyed. Not upset. More puzzled, like he was solving a math equation that didn’t belong on the page.

“Hey, Magnus,” Jace called from across the gym, wiping down equipment with the kind of enthusiasm that meant trouble. “Your yoga class doesn’t start for another half hour.”

Magnus waved a hand, aiming for breezy. “Oh, I know. I was simply… in the neighborhood.”

Jace snorted so hard he almost dropped the disinfectant spray.

Alec looked at Magnus again, this time more intently, like he wanted to say something but wasn’t sure how.

Magnus forced a smile.

Jace sauntered over like a smug golden retriever who had just stolen an entire roast chicken off the counter.

“So,” he said, leaning an elbow on the desk between Magnus and Alec, his grin infuriatingly wide. “You two having a fight or something?”

Magnus choked on absolutely nothing.

Alec’s eyes widened. “What? No—why would you think that?”

“Well,” Jace continued lightly, “Magnus has been glued to your side for the past week like you’re his emotional support human, so I figured something happened.”

Magnus was going to kill him. Slowly. With glitter. In his sleep.

He crossed his arms, scowling. “I am not glued to his side.”

Alec coughed into his fist. It was not a convincing cough.

Magnus glared at him too. “Don’t look amused.”

“I’m not,” Alec said, lips twitching. “Really.”

Jace, who had no self-preservation instincts whatsoever, clapped Magnus on the shoulder. “Look, I’m happy for you two. You’re disgustingly cute. Magnus keeps staring at Alec like he’s the last slice of cheesecake on Earth, and Alec keeps looking at Magnus like he’s trying to remember how to breathe.”

Alec flushed crimson.

Magnus tried to smile, but something about the whole situation made him even more anxious. The last thing he needed was Alec trying to “fix” something that Magnus wasn’t even brave enough to talk about yet.

He pushed off the counter, straightening his shirt and trying to reclaim some dignity. “I should go stretch before class.”

“Sure,” Alec said softly, watching him with that same unreadable expression again. “I’ll walk you.”

Magnus nodded, his heart squeezing painfully.

They walked in comfortable silence toward the yoga studio, except to Magnus, it wasn’t comfortable at all. It was suffocating. Every step was a reminder that Alec felt just a little farther away than yesterday.

He hated it. He hated how scared he felt. He hated that he didn’t know how to fix something that maybe wasn’t broken, maybe was just miscommunicated, maybe was entirely in his head.

Is this because of what I said about liking my space? Did Alec think Magnus didn’t want a future with him? Did Alec think Magnus didn’t want to share a home someday?

And if that’s what Alec thought… Was he pulling away first to protect himself?

Magnus swallowed.

At the studio door, Alec touched his arm—a soft, grounding touch that still sent heat through Magnus’ chest. “You okay?” Alec asked, brows furrowed with worry.

Magnus smiled quickly. “Of course.”

It was a lie. A tiny one. A necessary one. Because Magnus couldn’t lose him. Couldn’t risk pushing him. Couldn’t risk bringing up a worry that might be nothing and accidentally turn it into something.

Alec didn’t look convinced.

“Magnus…” he started, voice low, almost gentle. “You know you can tell me if something’s wrong, right?”

Magnus’ heart clenched.

He wanted to tell him. God, he wanted to spill everything—the fears, the doubts, the stupid mistake of that offhand comment, the way he was terrified Alec was slipping away.

But fear choked the words in his throat.

“I’m fine,” Magnus said, softer this time. “Really.”

Alec’s thumb brushed his wrist. “Okay. If you’re sure.”

“I am,” Magnus lied again.

Then Alec leaned down and kissed him, soft and lingering and warm, and Magnus melted into it like he always did—like it was instinct, like Alec was home.

But when Alec pulled away, Magnus stayed leaning forward just a second longer, as if he could hold onto the moment and keep Alec close through sheer force of will.

Alec noticed. His eyes softened. His brow furrowed again. He opened his mouth as if to say something—

But the yoga instructor called out for class to begin, and Magnus practically sprinted inside to avoid the conversation he was too afraid to have.

Behind him, Alec watched him go, confusion and worry mixing in his expression and down the hall, Jace leaned against the wall and said, far too loudly, “You two are so in trouble.”

Magnus wanted to scream.

He settled for rolling out his yoga mat and trying—failing—to breathe through the growing ache in his chest.

-

Magnus Bane liked to believe he wasn’t a worrier.

He enjoyed dramatics, flair, exaggeration — yes. Worry? No, he left that to other people. People who bit their nails, who overthought texts, who lay awake at night wondering if they’d said the wrong thing.

Except now he was absolutely, undeniably one of those people.

Because for the past week, he’d been walking around with a knot in his stomach and a fluttering anxiety he couldn’t shake. Alec hadn’t changed drastically, no. There was no cold shoulder, no clipped tone, no late-night silences across a too-big bed.

But there were subtle things.

The way Alec hesitated before answering if Magnus asked him to stay over. The way he sometimes said he was “tired” or “had paperwork to finish,” even if Magnus suspected it wasn’t entirely the truth. The way he pulled Magnus close when they kissed — but didn’t always hold him as long afterward.

None of it was damning. None of it even counted as distance unless you were tuned specifically to Alec Lightwood’s heart like a radio frequency Magnus always kept on.

And Magnus had no one to blame but himself.

He still replayed the moment in the gym — that stupid, careless comment about liking his space. He’d meant it lightly, a flippant joke because Isabelle had caught them off guard about living together. He hadn’t meant it seriously. Hadn’t meant it personally.

Except Alec had reacted as if Magnus had said he wanted an entirely different future.

And rather than talk about it, Magnus had… panicked.

He was Magnus Bane — stylish, charming, unflappable. You’d think he could handle one grown-up conversation like a grown-up.

Apparently not.

So he let the silence stretch and stretch every day, until it felt like it was wrapping around the inside of his chest.

And now it was Wednesday evening, Isabelle at his side as they waited for yoga, Alec somewhere in the gym finishing a closing report, and Magnus doing his best impression of a calm person while his insides curled like burned paper.

Isabelle nudged him. “You’re quiet.”

“I’m serene,” Magnus corrected.

“You’re twitchy,” she countered.

He gave her an unimpressed look, but Isabelle Lightwood never backed down from the truth. Or from anything, actually. She opened her water bottle, took a sip, and said casually, “Alec asked me earlier if you were having problems at work.”

Magnus froze halfway through adjusting his yoga mat.

“He what?”

“He asked,” Isabelle repeated. “Said you’ve been… off. Not in a bad way, but like something’s on your mind.”

Magnus swallowed. Hard. His heartbeat did a very undignified leap. “Did you tell him anything?” he asked quietly.

“I told him if you were having problems, you’d tell him.” Isabelle gave him a pointed look. “Which you haven’t.”

Magnus looked away. “It’s not work.”

“Obviously.” She capped her bottle. “You’re a terrible liar when you care about someone.”

He scoffed. “I am an excellent liar. World class.”

“Not when it comes to Alec,” she said simply.

Magnus felt exposed. Seen. Horrifying.

He opened his mouth to deflect — but Alec appeared in the hallway, walking toward them with that tired, gentle smile Magnus loved more than he’d ever admit out loud.

Magnus’ stomach flipped.

“Hey,” Alec said, coming to stand beside them. “Class starting soon?”

“In a few minutes,” Isabelle said. “Try not to distract Magnus. He’s trying to find his inner peace.”

“I lost it somewhere between work emails and Jace’s training playlist,” Magnus muttered.

Alec’s smile softened, but his eyes held concern — real concern — and Magnus hated that he’d caused it.

“We can talk after?” Alec said gently.

Magnus’s lungs tightened. “After?”

“If you want,” Alec added quickly. “You just… seem like something’s on your mind. And I’m not trying to be nosy, I just— I worry.”

Something in Magnus cracked at that, because of course Alec would worry. Alec worried about everyone he loved and Magnus realized suddenly that he didn’t want Alec worrying alone.

“I’ll come find you after class,” Magnus said quietly.

Alec nodded — relief flickering in his eyes — and Magnus felt a strange mixture of dread and comfort settle in his chest.

Class passed in a blur.

Magnus flowed from pose to pose mechanically, nothing like the graceful precision he usually prided himself on. His thoughts were too loud, his chest too tight, his anxiety too sharp to let his mind settle in downward dog or warrior two.

By the time class ended, he felt jittery and off-balance — emotionally, not physically.

Alec was waiting by the door when Magnus emerged. He smiled. Soft. Worried. Patient.

Magnus wanted to run into his arms and hide there for the rest of the night. Instead, he cleared his throat. “Walk with me?”

Alec nodded immediately. “Of course.”

They walked down the quiet corridor together, turning into an empty staff seating nook near the back of the building. Magnus sat, fingers twisting together before he forced them apart.

Alec sat across from him, elbows on his knees, leaning forward in that gentle way he always did when he was trying to listen fully. “So,” Alec said softly. “What’s going on?”

Magnus exhaled slowly, letting his eyes fall to the floor for a moment before gathering the courage to meet Alec’s worried gaze.

“Isabelle said you asked her if I was having problems at work,” Magnus said.

Alec flushed lightly. “I didn’t mean to go around you. I was just… worried. You’ve seemed tense lately. A little distant and… I don’t know. I didn’t want to assume anything.”

Magnus almost laughed. The irony would’ve been funny if it weren’t so painful.

“Distant,” he repeated softly. “Alec, I’ve been practically attached to your hip.”

“That’s part of why I got concerned,” Alec admitted, cheeks pink. “Normally you give me room to come to you. Lately it feels like you’re— I don’t know — holding your breath.”

Magnus closed his eyes.

Alec was perceptive in ways Magnus never gave him enough credit for.

“I said something,” Magnus murmured, opening his eyes again. “Something stupid. Offhand. I didn’t mean it the way it sounded.”

Alec’s brows furrowed. “What was it?”

“The comment about… liking my space,” Magnus said quietly.

Alec blinked.

Magnus continued before his courage faltered. “Isabelle joked about us basically living together, and I panicked. Not because I don’t want that — I do, more than I expected, more than I know what to do with. But it felt sudden in the moment and I said something stupid and flippant and—”

Alec’s expression softened with realization.

“Oh,” he whispered.

Magnus nodded, throat tight. “And I thought maybe you took it seriously. So when you hesitated to stay over, I assumed I’d messed something up. And then I overcompensated by— well.” He gestured helplessly. “Being clingy. Which is not a good look for me.”

Alec stared at him for a long moment, then stood and moved around the small table to kneel in front of Magnus, taking his hands gently.

“Magnus,” he said softly, “I didn’t pull away because of what you said.”

Magnus’s heart thudded against his ribs.

“I hesitated a couple nights because I had early mornings,” Alec admitted. “And once because Jace needed help with scheduling. Not because I didn’t want to be with you. God, Magnus, I always want to be with you, but maybe what you said made me hesitate.”

Magnus felt tears sting the backs of his eyes, and he blinked them away.

“I didn’t realize…” Alec’s voice dropped. “I didn’t know you were worried.”

Magnus let out a shaky breath. “I didn’t want to push you. Or make you feel pressured. Or chase you away.”

Alec squeezed his hands. “You’re not chasing me away. You’re not even close. I thought you needed space.”

Magnus laughed — a cracked, relieved sound.

“Oh, Alexander,” he whispered. “The last thing I wanted was space from you.”

Alec leaned up and pressed a soft kiss to Magnus’s cheek, lingering there.

“Next time,” Alec murmured, “just tell me. Okay? I’m not a mind reader. I’m trying really hard, but I need you to let me in too.”

Magnus nodded, eyes closing. “I will. I promise.”

Alec smiled against his skin. “Good.”

Magnus pulled him into a tight hug — something desperate and grateful and warm — and Alec wrapped his arms around him without hesitation, holding him like he had no intention of letting go.

And for the first time in days, Magnus felt the knot in his chest unravel.

Not all at once.

But enough to breathe again.

Magnus hadn’t realized how tightly he’d been wound until the words finally left his mouth. The truth—messy, anxious, tangled—had spilled out in stuttered fragments, and Alec had simply stood there and listened. Not judged. Not mocked. Just listened, with those impossibly gentle eyes and that steady, grounding presence that Magnus had somehow, accidentally, fully fallen in love with.

But the moment the air cleared between them, the world rushed back in. The city noise outside. The soft hum of the gym. Isabelle’s shoes clicking down the hall. Everything kept moving—everything except Magnus, who stood there staring at Alec like he’d just finished breathing for the first time in days.

Alec rubbed the back of his neck. “Do you… want to go home?” he asked quietly. Not pushing. Not expecting. Just offering.

Magnus swallowed a lump so large he almost laughed at himself. “Yes. With you.”

Alec’s shoulders loosened, just a fraction. A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, the kind he saved only for Magnus. And just like that, they left the gym together—Magnus pretending he wasn’t shaking, Alec pretending he didn’t notice.

The drive to Magnus’s apartment was quiet, but not tense—warm. Comfortable. He hated how much he’d missed this kind of simple affection. Hated more how afraid he’d been to lose it.

When they reached his building, Magnus led the way up the stairs, trying to appear collected. Instead, he fumbled his keys like a teenager on his first date. Alec caught them mid-air before Magnus even registered dropping them.

“Here,” Alec said with that infuriating soft voice.

Magnus inhaled. “I’m usually much cooler than this.”

Alec smiled. “I like you like this.”

And that—God help him—turned Magnus’s bones into warm gelatin.

He opened the door, Chairman Meow immediately prancing over with the dramatic flair of royalty who had been cruelly abandoned for hours. Alec crouched to greet the cat, who sniffed, circled, then promptly ignored him. As usual.

“At least one of us is forgiven,” Magnus muttered.

Alec rose and stepped closer. “You don’t need forgiveness.”

Magnus wanted to cry. Or kiss him senseless. Possibly both.

They moved inside together, neither turning on the lights. The soft evening glow from the windows painted Alec gold. Magnus stared a moment too long. Alec noticed.

“What?” Alec asked, heat rising to his cheeks.

“You’re very… distracting.”

Alec’s blush deepened. “So are you.”

Magnus closed the door behind them, leaning on it briefly to catch his breath. “I didn’t mean what Isabelle thinks I meant,” he said quietly. “About space. I like my apartment, yes. My own things, yes. But it wasn’t about distance, Alec. Not from you.”

Alec’s expression shifted—relief first, then something else. Something deeper. “So what did you mean?”

Magnus stepped closer until they were a breath apart. “I meant I’m still figuring out how to… do this. How to be a partner without panicking, or messing everything up, or running at the first sign of vulnerability. I meant I’m still learning how to let someone into my life in ways I didn’t even let myself imagine after… California.”

The word tasted bitter. Alec’s hand found his.

“You’re doing fine,” Alec whispered. “Better than fine.”

Magnus laughed softly, exhausted. “Am I?”

“Yes.” Alec squeezed his hand. “And if something scares you, I want you to tell me. You don’t have to protect me from your thoughts.”

Magnus’s throat tightened. “I’m afraid I’ll smother you.”

“I’m afraid I’ll disappoint you,” Alec murmured. “Guess we’re both idiots.”

Magnus breathed out a shaky laugh. “Yes, love, complete idiots.”

And then Alec stepped forward, cupping Magnus’s face in both hands, and kissed him.

Magnus’s lungs immediately surrendered. His hands slid to Alec’s waist, his forehead resting briefly against Alec’s cheek as he breathed him in—clean skin, leather jacket, shampoo, home.

God, he’d missed this closeness. Missed Alec’s steadiness. Missed being held like someone was choosing him on purpose, not out of mistake or pity or habit.

He kissed Alec again—slow, languid, grateful.

Alec kissed back with quiet tenderness, thumbs stroking Magnus’s jaw as if memorizing the shape of him.

“You sure you’re okay?” Alec murmured between kisses.

Magnus shut his eyes. “I am now.”

They moved to the couch, collapsing together as if pulled by gravity. Alec pulled Magnus into his chest without hesitation, Magnus curling into him as though the past week of anxiety hadn’t put an ocean between them.

Alec held him warm and solid, his hand running gentle circles on Magnus’s arm. Every touch melted another piece of fear lodged beneath Magnus’s ribs.

“You can tell me anything,” Alec said softly into Magnus’s hair. “Even if you think it’s stupid.”

Magnus let out a breath that shook. “I thought you didn’t want me close anymore.”

Alec flinched. “Magnus. No.”

“You stopped staying the night.” Magnus forced himself to say it. “You made excuses. Work. Jace. Early mornings.” He swallowed. “I thought I’d said something that scared you away.”

Alec tightened his hold and Magnus felt his heart skip. “I didn’t pull away because of you. I pulled away because I thought I scared you.”

Magnus blinked. “Me?”

Alec nodded sheepishly. “That comment about space… I thought you meant it. I thought you needed distance and I didn’t want to push.”

Magnus stared at him, stunned. “We really are idiots.”

Alec huffed a soft laugh. “Maybe.”

Magnus buried his face in Alec’s neck, inhaling the scent of him, the warmth of him, the familiarity that had grown between them so naturally it terrifies him. “I want you here. With me. As much as you want to be.”

Alec pulled back slightly, eyes searching his. “I like waking up next to you.”

Magnus’s breath caught. “Good. Because I like waking up next to you too.”

Alec leaned forward and kissed him again—slow, sure, meaningful.

It wasn’t a hungry kiss, not rushed or desperate. It was the kind of kiss that steadied Magnus’s heart, that cleared the noise from his mind, that melted the fear coiled under his skin. It was a kiss that said I’m here. With you. Not leaving.

When they finally parted, Magnus pressed their foreheads together and whispered, “Stay tonight?”

Alec smiled. “I was hoping you’d ask.”

The rest of the night unfolded like something soft and gentle—like a healing breeze, like quiet music.

They ordered takeout. Magnus stole bites from Alec’s bowl. Alec pretended not to notice.

They curled up in bed early, Magnus tucked against Alec’s chest, Alec’s arm loosely around his waist, both listening to the quiet pulse of the city outside the window.

It felt right. It felt like something worth protecting, worth working for. Worth risking.

Magnus closed his eyes, heart finally still. “Alec?”

“Hm?”

“Thank you.”

Alec kissed the top of his head. “For what?”

“For staying. For listening. For being patient with me.” Magnus exhaled, allowing himself to be vulnerable just a little more. “For making me feel safe.”

Alec held him tighter. “Always.”

Magnus drifted to sleep with Alec’s warmth around him, heartbeat steady against his back, the fear that once clawed at him dissolving into something softer—something hopeful.

He wasn’t alone in this.

He wasn’t too much.

He wasn’t hard to love.

Alec was here. Alec had chosen him.

And Magnus, for the first time in a long time, let himself choose back.

Chapter Text

Alec closed the gym door behind his last client of the evening and immediately checked the time. Forty minutes until Magnus wanted him ready. Maybe forty-five, if Magnus decided to be dramatic about punctuality again. Alec grinned to himself as he headed into his office, grabbing his bag and keys in one sweep before running up and leaving Jace to lock up.

He practically sprinted home.

The whole way, he held onto that quiet, buzzing feeling inside his chest—the one that had settled there ever since he and Magnus finally talked, really talked, about the “space” misunderstanding. Things felt easy again. Clear. Soft. And Magnus… Magnus seemed lighter. More himself. Brighter in that gentle, private way Alec adored.

Alec got inside his apartment and tossed his bag on the couch. Shirt—off. Water—running. He showered fast, the kind of rushed scrub that was half practicality, half excitement. He even used the expensive shampoo Magnus loved on him. The one Magnus buried his nose into whenever they hugged.

He pulled on dark jeans and a simple, fitted navy sweater before thinking better of it and swapping the sweater for a button-down—deep forest green. Magnus liked that color on him.

He checked his phone. A text from Magnus: I’ll pick you up in twenty. Dress warm. Wear something I might want to peel off later. ❤️

Alec choked on air. “Jesus, Magnus.”

Still, he smiled—big and stupid—and put on the leather jacket Magnus loved.

Magnus arrived exactly when he said he would, knocking on Alec’s door with a flourish that only Magnus Bane could make elegant.

Alec didn’t understand why Magnus took a cab to come to him and then use Alec’s car to go to the restaurant, but Alec loved this about him

Alec opened the door and froze for a beat. Magnus was stunning.

Dark jacket, deep plum turtleneck, subtle eyeliner smudge that made his eyes ridiculously golden in the hallway light. His hair was pulled back—softly, loosely—like he couldn’t decide between polished or casual. The result? Devastating.

“You look…” Alec tried for words and failed. “…really good.”

Magnus smiled like Alec had hung the moon. “So do you. Now let’s go—driver.”

Alec rolled his eyes fondly and followed Magnus out. “You’re the one who said I’m driving.”

“Yes,” Magnus said, sweeping ahead, “but I can still pretend I’m being chauffeured.”

They drove toward the West Side with Magnus giving directions like a monarch giving royal decrees.

“Left here, Alexander—no, the other left. Honestly, you have a fifty percent chance and you still chose wrong.”

“Magnus, there was a truck in the lane—”

“I am never trusting you to drive us in Venice.”

“We’re not even going to Venice and there are no cars in Venice!”

Magnus only hummed, smug and delighted, as though Venice were still up for negotiation.

Alec felt warm the whole time—safe, steady, more himself than he had been in days.

Magnus reached over the console at one point and threaded their fingers together without looking. Alec squeezed back. Hard.

-

Dinner was… perfect.

Magnus had chosen a tiny Italian restaurant tucked into a quiet block—candles on the tables, soft piano music, waitstaff who clearly adored Magnus on sight. The owner hugged him. Twice.

Alec tried not to be jealous of a sixty-year-old man named Luigi.

They laughed. They ate too much. Magnus told a story about Catarina buying a haunted vase because she wanted “a challenge.” Alec snorted wine out of his nose. Magnus cackled so loudly the entire restaurant stared.

And Alec couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so happy.

When they stepped outside, the temperature had dropped sharply. Late September bit with crisp air, the kind that whispered about incoming autumn storms.

Magnus shivered before he even finished exhaling.

Alec immediately shrugged off his jacket. “Here.”

Magnus protested in principle—but not in action—slipping into the jacket and sighing dramatically. “It smells like you.”

Alec’s ears turned pink.

Magnus noticed. He always noticed.

They started walking, no destination in mind. Alec kept Magnus close, arm around his shoulders, Magnus tucked into his side like they were puzzle pieces designed for this exact moment on this exact street.

The city was quieter now, lights glowing warm against the wind. People passed in clusters, laughing, rushing home, saying goodnight. And in all of it, Magnus and Alec felt like their own tiny universe.

“You’re warm,” Magnus murmured.

“You’re freezing.”

“Alexander, I am elegantly chilly.”

Alec kissed the top of his head. “Sure you are.”

Magnus leaned into him more. “You’re in a disgustingly good mood.”

Alec didn’t fight the smile rising on his face. “Yeah. I am.”

“Care to share with the class?” Magnus teased.

Alec thought for a moment. Then—quietly, sincerely—he answered, “Because we’re good. You and me. Really good.”

Magnus stopped walking. Just stopped. Alec turned, worried for a second—until he saw Magnus’s expression soften so beautifully Alec forgot how to breathe.

“We are,” Magnus whispered. “Aren’t we?”

Alec nodded. “Yeah. We are.”

Magnus kissed him then—not dramatic, not fiery, but slow, grateful, full of something deep and warm that lit Alec from the inside out.

-

Alec parked the car and eventually reached Alec’s building. They could’ve turned the corner and ended up in New Jersey for all Alec cared; Magnus was pressed against his side the whole time, and nothing else mattered.

Inside Alec’s apartment, things moved slower—careful, intimate, familiar.

Magnus slipped out of Alec’s jacket and handed it back. “Thank you.”

Alec took it and stepped closer. “Anytime.”

Their foreheads touched. Fingers intertwined. The silence felt full, not empty.

Alec whispered, “Stay?”

Magnus didn’t hesitate. “Always.”

And they ended up tangled in Alec’s bed, warm under the blankets, Magnus curled into Alec’s chest like he had been made to fit there.

Alec pressed a kiss into Magnus’s hair.

Magnus, already drifting, murmured half-asleep, “I love our life, Alexander.”

Alec felt his whole chest tighten with joy.

“Me too,” he whispered into the darkness. “More than you know.”

Magnus hummed, soft and content, and Alec held him a little tighter as the autumn night settled around them—steady, quiet, safe, and entirely theirs.Top of Form

-

Alec should’ve seen it coming.

He really should have. Jace had been in one of his moods since morning—loud, restless, the kind of chaotic energy that only meant trouble—and Alec, for some incomprehensible reason, still chose to demonstrate footwork drills for a group of new trainees with Jace standing right next to him. That alone should’ve been a warning sign.

But no. Alec had been having a good week. A great week, actually. Magnus had been bright, affectionate, and back to teasing him in all the ways that made Alec’s face heat. Things were soft again, warm again. They were good. So Alec was distracted, which was apparently enough for the universe to trip him—literally.

“Show them how to land after the pivot,” Jace said, grinning like the devil incarnate.

Alec narrowed his eyes. “I swear, if you push me mid—”

“I won’t! Scout’s honor.”

“You were never a scout.”

“Technicalities.”

Alec turned to the group. “So the key is—”

His foot came down on a small weight plate that someone had left too close to the mats. A stupid two-pound disk. Practically invisible.

It rolled.

Alec’s ankle went sideways.

Pain shot up his leg like fire.

“—shit!”

He hit the mat hard.

The room went silent for two seconds.

Then Jace’s horrified gasp filled the gym. “Alec? Oh shit—Alec, are you dead?”

Alec clenched his jaw. “No. But I’m going to kill whoever left equipment on the floor.”

Jace winced like a kicked puppy. “That was, uh… me.”

“You absolute menace.”

The ankle throbbed viciously as he tried to sit up. Isabelle rushed over, her braid swinging behind her.

“What did you do?” she demanded at Jace.

“NOTHING!” Jace defended. “Gravity did this!”

Alec groaned. “Both of you, shut up. And someone get ice.”

Chaos ensued—Jace sprinting away, Isabelle inspecting the swelling with medical precision, the trainees hovering in sheer fear that their instructor had spontaneously self-destructed.

Great. Just great.

The sprain wasn't serious—he could tell by the pain level, the mobility, the lack of sickening pop—but still bad enough that when he tried to stand, his ankle buckled and Isabelle yelled at him to sit his stubborn ass down or she would personally glue him to the mat.

And that was how Alec Lightwood ended up benched. And grumpy. And humiliated.

Worst of all? Magnus was going to find out. And Magnus was going to fuss.

Alec was not emotionally prepared for Magnus Bane fussing.

Magnus found out thirty minutes later.

Of course he did. Isabelle had a very creative definition of “need-to-know information,” and apparently Alec spraining his ankle in the dumbest way known to mankind fell under that category.

Alec was icing his foot in his office, trying not to sulk, when his phone buzzed.

Magnus: Isabelle tells me you’ve been horribly maimed.

Alec groaned.

Alec: I sprained my ankle. It’s fine.

Magnus: She said you fell dramatically.

Alec glared at the wall.

Alec: I did NOT fall dramatically.

Magnus: You could never be anything except dramatic, Alexander.

Alec threw his head back and groaned.

He loved this man. He was doomed.

Magnus showed up thirty minutes later anyway.

Alec didn’t even hear the door open—just sensed the familiar warmth and scent of Magnus sweeping into the room before he turned his head.

Magnus stood in the doorway holding a paper bag, already wearing his “I’m not mad, just extremely concerned” expression.

Alec hated how fast his chest softened.

“Hi,” Alec said, which was embarrassingly soft.

Magnus crossed the room immediately. “Let me see.”

“It’s nothing,” Alec muttered, but Magnus was already kneeling, gently moving the ice pack aside.

“Hmm,” Magnus hummed, assessing with careful eyes. “Nothing, he says. Meanwhile this is swollen like a tragic balloon.”

“I’m fine.”

“You can barely walk.”

“I can walk,” Alec insisted stubbornly. “Just… slower. And with more pain.”

Magnus raised a brow. “How reassuring.”

Jace chose that moment to walk by the open office door. “Hey, Magnus! Want to hear how he fell—”

Alec threw a pen at him.

Jace ducked, cackling down the hall.

Magnus smirked. “I’m sensing there’s a story here.”

“No,” Alec said immediately.

Magnus laughed softly—warm, fond, devastating. He leaned forward and kissed Alec’s forehead, and Alec went absolutely still.

Oh.

Well, that wasn’t fair.

Magnus pulled back only slightly, eyes soft. “Let me take you home.”

Alec swallowed. Something tender lodged in his throat. “I can get home myself.”

“I know,” Magnus said. “But I want to.”

That was it. Alec's heart simply melted into a puddle on the floor.

-

At home, Magnus settled him on the couch with pillows, water, pain meds, and the level of nurturing energy Alec wasn’t sure he deserved.

The embarrassing part? Alec didn’t hate it.

In fact— He liked it. Maybe a little too much.

Magnus put on one of those low-volume jazz playlists he liked in the evenings, then sat beside Alec, draping a blanket over both their legs like it was second nature.

“You’re very quiet,” Magnus said softly.

Alec stared at his hands. “It’s dumb.”

“Alexander,” Magnus said, exasperated but gentle. “Everything you think is dumb is usually very important.”

Alec snorted. “I just… I don’t like being taken care of.”

Magnus tilted his head.

Alec corrected himself quietly, cheeks warm. “I’m… not used to it.”

Magnus looked at him for a long moment—soft, warm, almost knowing.

“Well,” Magnus said finally, brushing Alec’s hair back with careful fingers, “you’re allowed to be taken care of. Especially when you’re hurt.”

Alec swallowed again. “Yeah. I’m noticing that.”

“And?” Magnus prompted.

“And,” Alec muttered, eyes dropping to Magnus’s hand, “I don’t hate it.”

Magnus smiled—slow, pleased, victorious in the gentlest way. “Good.”

Alec shifted a little, leaning into Magnus’s shoulder without meaning to. “Just don’t fuss too much.”

Magnus scoffed. “My fussing is selective and dignified.”

“That’s a lie.”

Magnus laughed, head tipping back, the sound bright and warm. “Fine. It’s a complete lie.”

They sat like that for a long while, Magnus’s shoulder pressed warm against his, Magnus occasionally checking his ankle despite Alec’s protests, Magnus telling him he needed at least three days of rest which Alec immediately argued down to one because he was not being babied for three days.

Somewhere between Magnus explaining the benefits of elevation and Alec explaining how he was absolutely going to be back at work tomorrow even if Magnus physically tied him to the couch, Alec felt something settle in his chest.

He liked this. Not just the closeness. Not just the care.

He liked that Magnus wanted to take care of him. He liked that he let Magnus. He liked that it felt… safe. He wasn’t used to safe.

And Magnus—Magnus was everything safe wasn’t supposed to feel like. He was glitter and danger and joy and fire. He was color in Alec’s grayscale life. He was warmth Alec had never expected to find.

But Magnus taking care of him? That was soft. That was… love.

And Alec felt it like a quiet realization blooming under his ribs. Not loud. Not dramatic. Just true.

Magnus glanced over at him then, sensing something shift. “What?” he asked.

Alec shook his head. “Nothing.”

“Alexander.”

Alec sighed. “I’m just… glad you’re here.”

Magnus paused.

Then took Alec’s hand, entwining their fingers carefully above the blanket. “I’m always here,” Magnus said simply.

And Alec believed him.

He let his head rest against Magnus’s shoulder again, closing his eyes as Magnus brushed his thumb over the back of his hand in small, soothing arcs.

Maybe being benched for a week wouldn’t be so terrible after all.

At least he had Magnus.

And, Alec realized with a soft, stunned exhale— He really, really liked being loved like this.

-

Alec Lightwood, as it turned out, was not graceful on crutches.

He had used bows, motorcycles—he could move through a crowded gym while correcting twelve trainees at once without bumping into anyone. But crutches? Crutches were an enemy. A personal attack. A humiliation device.

And of course, the universe wouldn’t dream of letting him endure this quietly.

“LOOK OUT, EVERYONE,” Jace shouted across the gym floor the second Alec limped in. “DISABLED PRINCE COMING THROUGH.”

Alec wanted to throw his crutch at him.

Isabelle snorted. Simon tried to hide his laughter behind a protein shake. Half the room turned to look, which made Alec’s ears burn in ways he despised.

“Jace,” Alec gritted out, “I swear—”

“Oh no,” Jace said dramatically, clasping his hands to his chest. “Don’t hurt me, Alexander. I’m fragile.”

“You’re unbelievable,” Alec muttered, wobbling as his good foot hit a slick spot on the floor. Jace was instantly at his side, steadying him—with far too much glee.

“I’m helping you walk,” Jace pointed out. “Like the devoted best friend I am.”

“You stopped being devoted when you announced my presence like a circus act.”

“Correction: a beloved circus act.” Jace tapped the end of Alec’s crutch with his foot. “Hey, can you do tricks with these?”

Alec stared at him. “Get out.”

Jace grinned. “No. I’m invested. You’re like a baby deer learning to stand.”

“I hate you.”

“Understandable, but you can’t get rid of me. I’m your emotional support idiot.”

Alec smacked him with the crutch.

Jace yelped dramatically for the crowd.

“Abuse! ABUSE! My injured friend is ATTACKING me!”

“Jace—” Alec warned.

“No, no, go ahead. Hit me. At least you’re getting your upper-body workout in.”

Alec seriously contemplated homicide.

-

By early afternoon, Alec’s patience was dust. His ankle throbbed. His dignity was injured more than his body. Isabelle kept offering advice. She should just leave at her jewelry thing. Jace kept offering commentary. Simon kept offering ibuprofen like the world’s most nervous pharmacist. Simon should leave too.

Alec wanted to be at home. More specifically, he wanted to be on his couch with Magnus beside him, smelling like sandalwood and laughing at him instead of everyone else laughing at him.

Not that Magnus wouldn’t laugh—he would. But Magnus did it with fondness, not mockery.

Alec finally texted Magnus during a break:

Alec: I’m coming home early. I’m done with Jace.

Magnus: Is that because he tripped you again?

Alec: …He didn’t trip me.

Magnus: Did he emotionally trip you?

Alec sighed.

Alec: Can you come over tonight?

The reply was instant.

Magnus: Say no more. I’ll bring supplies.

Supplies.

Plural.

Alec wasn’t sure what that meant, but knowing Magnus, it would be dramatic, unnecessary, and entirely too endearing.

-

Magnus arrived three hours later.

Alec had barely made it to the couch when a knock sounded. When he opened the door (awkwardly hopping on one foot), he came face-to-face with Magnus standing there dressed in soft autumn colors, holding—

“Oh my god,” Alec breathed. “What is all that?”

Magnus lifted a huge canvas tote bag that looked like it weighed half as much as he did.

“Essentials,” Magnus declared.

Alec blinked. “Essentials?”

“Yes, Alexander. Essentials.”

Magnus breezed inside like a glamorous hurricane, heading straight for the couch. Alec limped behind him, baffled. Magnus set the bag down and began pulling things out:

• three types of tea
  • a heating pad
  • something that looked like a massage roller
  • a new ice pack
  • a small bag of Epsom salt
  • a candle
  • two skincare masks
  • a miniature succulent
  • a box of cookies
  • pain-relief cream
  • and… was that glittery bath soak?

Alec pointed weakly. “Magnus… it’s just my ankle. Not a terminal illness.”

Magnus tossed him a look. “You’re injured. You require care.”

“Not this much care.”

Magnus gasped dramatically. “Alexander Lightwood, I am offended. Deeply. My care is immaculate.”

Alec’s mouth twitched. “Overbearing.”

“Thoughtful.”

“Ridiculous,” Alec corrected.

Magnus stepped closer, eyes narrowing playfully. “Say it again.”

Alec swallowed, suddenly warm all over. “Ridiculous.”

Magnus kissed him—slow, smug, confident. “And yet you adore me.”

Alec blushed. “I do.”

Magnus paused, smile softening. “Good.”

They settled in easily—Magnus propping Alec’s foot up on pillows, Alec pretending not to enjoy it, Magnus lighting the candle (“for ambiance”), Alec insisting he didn’t need pain cream but letting Magnus rub it gently into his ankle anyway.

“This is unnecessary,” Alec muttered.

“I’m having fun,” Magnus said simply.

Alec froze.

Something in the tone—gentle, honest—made him look up.

Magnus’s eyes were warm. “Let me take care of you.”

Alec felt something tighten in his chest. The good kind. The scary kind. The kind that meant this man—this dramatic, glitter-covered miracle—mattered more than Alec knew how to express.

So he nodded. “Okay.”

Magnus looked pleased. And smug. And unbearably beautiful.

Later, when Alec tried to stand and walk to the kitchen, Magnus snapped upright. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Getting water.”

Magnus gestured at the crutches. “On those? Absolutely not. You’ll fall and die. Or worse—re-injure yourself.”

Alec snorted. “You’re being dramatic.”

Magnus narrowed his eyes. “Sit.”

Alec opened his mouth.

Magnus pointed. “Sit, Alexander.”

Alec sat.

Magnus hummed. “Good.”

“How are you controlling me with one syllable?”

“I have many talents.”

Alec crossed his arms. “Bossy ones.”

Magnus turned over his shoulder with a grin. “You like when I’m bossy.”

Alec sputtered, blushing red to the ears. “That’s—irrelevant.”

Magnus cackled. “Of course it is.”

Alec covered his face with both hands.

He was never going to survive this relationship.

Magnus made tea, brought Alec water, arranged the blankets, turned on low music. Alec watched him move around the apartment and felt his heart do something stupid and warm.

When Magnus returned to the couch and sat close—very close—they fell into easy conversation. Soft, late-evening conversation that tasted like comfort.

Magnus nudged him halfway through a story about a difficult client. “You’re staring.”

“I’m not,” Alec lied.

“You are.”

Alec shrugged. “You’re kind of… hard not to look at.”

Magnus’s smile flickered—surprised, pleased, touched. “Careful. I might get used to you saying things like that.”

Alec looked away, ears warm. “Not my fault you’re—well. You.”

Silence stretched, soft and safe.

Then Alec spoke without thinking. “You know… if you’re going to bring a bag that size every time I get hurt, you might as well just move in.”

He felt Magnus inhale sharply.

Alec froze.

Magnus froze.

Silence.

Alec’s brain rebooted, panic rising in his chest. “I—I didn’t mean—well, I did, but not like—unless you—”

Magnus cut in quietly. “Maybe I should.”

Alec’s heart stopped.

He looked up slowly, terrified, hopeful, stunned.

Magnus’s expression was unreadable—soft eyes, steady voice, no joke hiding behind the words. “Maybe I should,” he repeated.

Alec swallowed. “Magnus…”

Magnus raised a hand gently. “We don’t have to decide tonight. Or tomorrow. Or next month. But just so you know—your home doesn’t feel unfamiliar to me.”

Alec’s throat tightened.

“I feel… at ease here,” Magnus said softly. “Like I belong.”

Alec felt something ache in the best way possible. “You do.”

Magnus’s eyes softened even further. “And you belong in mine.”

Alec’s breath shook.

They sat there, staring at each other, the weight of the moment settling not heavy but warm. Steady. A future. Not rushed. Not forced. But real.

Magnus shifted closer, pressing their foreheads together. “We can talk about it when you’re not hopped up on painkillers.”

“I took ibuprofen,” Alec whispered.

Magnus laughed softly. “Still.”

Alec exhaled. “Okay.”

Magnus’s thumb brushed Alec’s cheek. “But for tonight… let me stay.”

Alec nodded immediately. “Yeah. Please.”

Magnus kissed him then—slow, deep, sure. The kind of kiss that made heat gather behind Alec’s ribs, that made his hand grip Magnus’s shirt, that made him forget everything except the man in front of him.

When they finally broke apart, Magnus murmured, “Scoot. We’re watching a movie.”

Alec smiled. “Bossy again.”

Magnus smirked. “You’re injured. I’m in charge.”

Alec rolled his eyes but leaned into him, heart full.

His ankle hurt. His pride was bruised. His dignity was dead.

But Magnus? Magnus was here.

And suddenly, the idea of Magnus moving in felt right.

Chapter Text

New York looked different in December.

It always had—holiday lights braided through fire escapes, store windows dripping with glitter, the sharp bite of cold air softened by the smell of roasted chestnuts from street carts. Magnus hadn’t spent many Decembers here, but this one—this December—felt unlike any that had come before.

Maybe because it was his first December waking up beside Alec Lightwood as something steady. Something certain.

A full year ago, he’d moved to New York on a whim. A real whim, the sort that had always amused him because people assumed he planned everything. But whims had shaped his life just as much as deliberate choices. He had arrived here with two suitcases, seven coats and three hundred years of emotional baggage.

He hadn’t known he would meet the love of his life.

He hadn’t known that within twelve months, he would pack another set of bags—this time for an entirely different reason—and move them into Alec’s apartment, which was now, quite undeniably, their apartment.

Magnus breathed out softly as he wandered through the living room. The late-morning light angled through the windows, catching on gold flecks in the ornaments hanging from their newly decorated Christmas tree. Alec had insisted on getting one real tree and one small artificial one for the hallway because “it seemed fun." Magnus had teased him, but truthfully, he adored it.

A soft rustling behind him made him glance back.

Chairman Meow stretched luxuriously on Alec’s favorite armchair, blinking at Magnus as if assessing whether she was worth the pause in afternoon napping. It had taken time, so much time, for the cat to truly warm to Alec—not that Magnus was surprised. Chairman Meow had never been fond of change.

“He’s in the kitchen,” Magnus murmured to the cat. “And yes, he’s probably about to over-season the eggs again.”

Chairman Meow made a noise of slight disdain.

Magnus smirked. “I know.”

He took the mug of tea he’d prepared earlier and moved toward the sound of quiet humming. Alec hummed when he cooked, Magnus had learned. And not in key. Never in key.

He leaned against the doorway.

Alec stood in sweatpants and one of Magnus’s shirts—one he’d absolutely stolen, though Magnus had never objected. Alec at home was Magnus’s favorite version of him. Relaxed shoulders, soft hair, warm eyes. He sprinkled pepper onto scrambled eggs like he was conducting a delicate ritual.

Magnus’s heart felt too full.

He still wasn’t used to this: mornings shared, routines blended, toothbrushes next to each other, shoes piled by the door, a future that felt both grounded and expansive.

“Good morning,” Magnus finally said.

Alec spun slightly, a little sheepish, as if caught doing something embarrassing. “You’re awake.”

“I’ve been awake,” Magnus corrected, taking a slow sip of tea. “Just admiring the… performance.”

Alec frowned. “Performance?”

“Your cooking ballet.”

“That wasn’t a ballet. That was me trying not to burn breakfast.”

Magnus shrugged. “Same thing.”

Alec laughed under his breath—quiet, fond, genuine. The kind of laugh that Magnus wanted to bottle and keep somewhere safe.

Alec tapped the pan gently. “Want some?”

“I’d like anything you cook,” Magnus said.

Alec raised a brow skeptically. “Even the time I burned toast so bad the smoke detector went off?”

Magnus smiled. “Especially that time.”

Alec’s cheeks flushed a faint pink, the same warm color that always rose when Magnus said something sincere and unfiltered.

It made Magnus want to cross the room immediately, grab him by the waist, and kiss the breath out of him. But the eggs would burn, and Alec would pout, and Magnus had learned that Alec’s pout—while adorable—was a deadly weapon.

So he stayed where he was.

For a moment.

Breakfast was simple. Quiet. Perfect.

Alec talked about the gym—membership had stabilized, holiday discounts weren’t stealing all his profits, and his trainees were finally starting to “get it” when it came to form. He glowed when he talked about it, Magnus noticed. Not bragging, not trying to impress—just living in the pride of doing something he loved.

Magnus updated him on his client work. A gallery opening next month, a designer begging him to consult on a winter fashion line, an old client threatening to send him a bouquet of succulents if he didn’t return her calls.

Alec had snorted. “A succulent? That seems… intense.”

“You’ve never met Poppy.”

“I can live with not meeting Poppy.”

Magnus laughed.

Chairman Meow watched them from hher armchair throne like a benevolent dictator who had finally accepted Alec as part of her kingdom—even if grudgingly.

Alec caught Magnus staring somewhere around the moment he described a trainee almost dropping a dumbbell on his own foot.

“What?” Alec asked, smiling.

“Nothing,” Magnus said. “Just… enjoying.”

Alec tilted his head. “Enjoying what?”

“Us.” The word slipped out before Magnus could filter it.

Alec’s expression softened, eyes warming like sunlight breaking over snow. “Me too.”

Magnus felt it again—that dangerous, wonderful sense of safety. Of home.

And it frightened him.

Just a little.

-

Later that afternoon, Magnus stood by the window, hot chocolate in hand, watching flurries begin to fall. The first real snow of the season.

He wasn’t thinking about anything in particular, but his chest felt heavy with memory. Last December he’d stood in the very same weather, coat whipping around him, hoping New York would offer something new. Something different.

He had no idea that “different” would arrive with a shy smile, awful first-aid skills, questionable fashion sense, and the gentlest hands Magnus had ever known.

“You’re quiet,” Alec said gently as he came up behind him.

Magnus blinked. “Am I?”

“Yes.” Alec came closer, brushing a hand down Magnus’s arm before curling it around his waist. “What’s going on in there?” His fingers tapped lightly on Magnus’s temple.

Magnus hesitated. Then he spoke honestly—because Alec deserved honest.

“December,” Magnus said.

Alec pressed his chin lightly to Magnus’s shoulder. “What about it?”

“A year ago,” Magnus murmured, “I came here on instinct. And now—” He exhaled, watching a pedestrian below make fresh footprints in the snow. “Now I find myself feeling… grateful. In ways I didn’t expect.”

Alec was quiet, listening.

“I didn’t plan any of this,” Magnus continued. “Moving here. Meeting you. Falling for you so deeply it feels like the ground shifts beneath me.” He shook his head. “I rarely make decisions without intention, but this was different. The best different.”

Alec tightened his hold. “Magnus.”

Magnus almost stopped. Almost waved it away with a joke or a flourish or something bright and distracting.

But not anymore.

“I wasn’t looking for a future,” Magnus said softly. “But you… you made one appear anyway.”

Alec’s breath hitched quietly against Magnus’s back.

“And I like our life. Our space. Our routines. I like waking up beside you. I like your terrible humming. I like Chairman tolerating you—occasionally.”

A faint laugh from Alec.

“And I like making plans with you,” Magnus finished. “For once, it doesn’t feel like pressure. It feels like… warmth.”

Alec finally spoke, voice low and steady.

“I didn’t plan any of this either,” he said. “I just knew that I didn’t want to imagine a life without you.” He paused. “Still don’t.”

Magnus closed his eyes.

It was a simple sentence. But it struck him like truth always did—quiet, sharp, undeniable.

Alec’s arms shifted, turning Magnus gently until they were face-to-face. The snow outside made the world glow blue-white, soft around the edges.

Alec cupped Magnus’s cheek. “I love you,” he said. “Every day more.”

Magnus felt something melt inside him. “I love you, too.”

Alec leaned in and kissed him—slow, sure, steady. The kind of kiss that felt like an answer.

-

They spent the evening decorating the last of the apartment. Alec stood on a chair attempting to put a star on the hallway tree while Magnus insisted he was doing it wrong. They argued playfully. They laughed harder. At one point Alec almost fell and Magnus caught him with unnecessary flair, dipping him dramatically until Alec nearly snorted.

By the time they finished, the apartment glowed with soft lights and cozy warmth.

“You like it?” Alec asked, glancing around.

Magnus looked at the trees, the garlands, the candles, the cat curled on the couch.

Then at Alec.

“I love it.”

Alec smiled, stepping closer until their shoulders brushed. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “Me too.”

Later, when they climbed into bed—Alec sliding under the blankets first, Magnus following after switching off the last lamp—Alec reached out without thinking and intertwined their fingers.

Magnus felt the familiar tug in his chest.

“I was thinking,” Alec said softly in the dark.

“Oh dear,” Magnus teased lightly. “Should I be concerned?”

Alec squeezed his hand. “Serious thought. Good serious.”

Magnus shifted to face him. “I’m listening.”

Alec’s voice grew shy around the edges. “I want next December to look like this too.”

Magnus’s heart stuttered.

“And the one after that,” Alec continued. “And… all the ones after that, if you want.”

Magnus stared at him in the dim glow of the streetlights filtering through the blinds.

A future. Offered so gently Magnus could almost pretend it wasn’t terrifying.

But it wasn’t.

Not with Alec.

Magnus leaned in and kissed him softly, lingeringly, letting the answer fall between them with the warmth of shared breath.

“I want all of them,” Magnus whispered. “Every December. With you.”

Alec exhaled shakily and pulled Magnus closer, their foreheads touching, their legs tangling.

And Magnus let himself believe it fully—this life, this love, this future built not on whims, but on something steadier.

Something real.

As snow drifted softly outside their window, Magnus closed his eyes and rested against the man who had become home.

December, again.

And for the first time in centuries, Magnus Bane felt exactly where he was meant to be.

-

Magnus had lived through more Christmases than he could reasonably count—some glittering, some quiet, some unbearably lonely, some extravagantly indulgent. But this one… this one settled into his bones differently.

This one felt like a beginning.

It started with Alec’s palm on the small of his back as they stepped onto the Lightwood porch, snowflakes caught in his curls, cheeks flushed from cold and nerves. Magnus pretended not to notice Alec’s anxious little inhale right before he knocked. He squeezed his hand once—calm, reassurance, warmth.

Alec looked at him with that tiny smile that Magnus knew meant thank you.

The door swung open, and Maryse immediately tugged Alec into a hug. Then she turned to Magnus—not stiff, not wary, but smiling warmly and pulling him in, too. A full embrace.

Magnus blinked for half a second, then returned it.

Well. That was new.

Inside, the Lightwood living room was a curated chaos of Christmas. A tall tree strung with mismatched ornaments—childhood macaroni stars, glittery keepsakes, delicate glass globes that likely belonged to Maryse. The air smelled like cinnamon and pine. Jace sat cross-legged on the rug trying to get the cats (plural—there were three Lightwood cats) to wear tiny Santa hats. Clary was rolling her eyes fondly, already holding her phone up to capture the disaster.

And Isabelle—Isabelle surged forward, sparkly eyeliner and enthusiasm in full force, wrapping Magnus in an embrace that was half greeting, half victory lap.

“You came,” she said brightly.

“I was invited, wasn’t I?” Magnus teased.

“You were,” she said. Then shot Alec a look. “Repeatedly.”

Alec groaned. “Iz—”

Isabelle waved him off and grabbed Magnus’s arm. “Come on, you’re next to me on the couch.”

Magnus threw a glance over his shoulder at Alec, who gave him a helpless, affectionate shrug. Magnus winked, which earned him a blinding grin in return.

He could do this.

He could absolutely do this.

He could have a family Christmas.

Dinner was loud. Messy. Real.

It was nothing like the polished holiday parties Magnus once hosted, where he curated outfits and playlists and table settings with obsessive flair. This was different—warmth over elegance, laughter over perfection.

Maryse made a point of serving Magnus a second helping of everything. Isabelle asked him three times if he needed more wine. Jace tried (and failed) to discreetly interrogate Magnus about their sex life until Maryse threatened to disown him.

Magnus laughed so hard his side hurt.

At one point he glanced at Alec, who was watching Magnus with something soft and overflowing in his eyes. Something that made Magnus’s chest feel too small.

And too full.

Alec mouthed, You okay?

Magnus nodded.

More than okay.

After dinner came presents.

Magnus sat cross-legged on the floor, leaning into the couch, while Alec sat behind him, warm thigh pressed against his shoulder. Jace passed out gifts with unnecessary dramatic flair, commentating every name like a game show host. Alec rolled his eyes but smiled the entire time.

Isabelle handed Magnus a neatly wrapped box. “This is from all of us,” she said.

Magnus arched a brow. “All?”

“Except Jace,” Isabelle added. “He forgot to contribute.”

“I did not forget,” Jace argued. “I chose not to.”

Alec threw a pillow at his head.

Magnus opened the gift. Inside was a gorgeously bound recipe book—blank inside, meant to be filled. The cover was embossed in gold: “Family Recipes.”

His throat tightened.

Isabelle leaned forward. “I know you probably have a thousand fancy cookbooks—”

“I don’t,” Magnus whispered.

She blinked. “Oh. Well. This is so… this one is different. You can put your own things in it. Or we can write things together. Whatever you want.”

Alec’s hand slid onto Magnus’s shoulder, squeezing gently.

Magnus swallowed past the sudden warmth in his chest. “I love it,” he said honestly. “I truly do.”

Then Jace shoved a small gift bag toward him. “Here.”

Magnus opened it warily.

Inside was a mug with obnoxiously bold lettering:

“I’m dating the Hot Trainer.”

Jace beamed.

Iz groaned.

Alec covered his face with both hands. “Jace—why?”

“It’s important Magnus stays hydrated.”

Magnus laughed so loudly the cats scattered.

He held up the mug proudly. “This might be the best gift I’ve ever received.”

Alec gave him the look of a man deeply in love and deeply resigned.

Magnus’s gift to Alec was smaller. Simple. But it made Alec freeze—with that stunned, breath-caught look Magnus adored.

A hand-stitched leather gym journal.

With Alec’s initials quietly embossed on the corner.

Inside the cover Magnus had written: “For all the things you’re building. And all the things we will.”

Alec read it twice. Then again. Then looked up at Magnus like he had just been handed something sacred. “Magnus…” His voice broke a little.

Magnus leaned in, brushed their foreheads together. “Merry Christmas, Alexander.”

Alec kissed him.

Soft. Slow. Reverent.

Isabelle made a dramatic “aww,” Jace gagged loudly, Maryse smiled quietly behind her wine glass.

Magnus didn’t care.

Nothing could touch this.

Later that night, after dessert and games and Clary almost setting a napkin on fire with a candle, Alec walked Magnus to the balcony. The snow had stalled, leaving clean glittering blankets over the neighboring rooftops.

Alec slid his arms around Magnus’s waist from behind, chin tucked on Magnus’s shoulder. “Thank you for coming,” he said softly. “It means a lot.”

Magnus covered Alec’s forearms with his hands. “I wouldn’t have wanted to be anywhere else.”

Alec hesitated, then said, voice careful, “My family loves you.”

Magnus blinked. “Do they?”

“Yes.” Alec’s lips brushed his cheek. “And I love that they love you.”

Magnus turned his head just enough to meet Alec’s eyes. They reflected the string lights from inside—soft gold.

“Alexander?”

“Mm?”

“Does it ever scare you?”

“What?”

“What we’re building. How fast it feels.”

Alec thought. Then shook his head slowly. “No. It doesn’t scare me. It—” He exhaled. “It makes me want more.”

Magnus’s heart skipped.

“More?” he echoed.

Alec nodded. “Later. Not now. Not tomorrow. But… I see a future. With you.” His voice dropped. “Years. A home. Traditions. Maybe something bigger.”

Magnus’s pulse thundered. “Marriage?” he whispered before he could stop himself.

Alec’s breath stopped.

And then—

“Yes,” Alec said quietly. “Someday. If you want that too.”

Magnus felt his entire world tilt. Steady and bright and terrifyingly hopeful. “I—” he whispered, unable to form anything elegant. “Yes. Someday.”

Alec smiled against his cheek. “Good.”

Magnus closed his eyes. It was too much. It was perfect. It was terrifying. It was everything he didn’t know he wanted until Alec offered it like a promise whispered into winter air.

-

The next morning—actual Christmas Day—Magnus slipped quietly into the guest room to video call Catarina. She picked up with her usual unimpressed squint.

“You’re glowing,” she said immediately. “Stop it. It’s weird.”

Magnus laughed. “Merry Christmas to you too, darling.”

Catarina smirked. “Did the Lightwoods survive your presence?”

“Shockingly, yes. Maryse even hugged me.”

Catarina’s eyebrows shot up. “And you lived?”

“Barely.”

She softened then, the way only she ever could without Magnus pretending not to notice. “I’m glad you’re happy,” she said gently. “You deserve this.”

Magnus swallowed. “It feels different, Cat.”

“Because it is.”

“I’m scared,” Magnus admitted quietly.

“Good,” Catarina said. “Means it’s real.”