Alecâs not sure what about. Heâs in something of a frenzy, hands waving with violent abandon and dark eyes glinting fiercely under the light streaming in from outside. Heâs complaining about the High Warlock of Bangkok whoâd been haranguing him about moving to Alicante â or something like that, Alec canât be sure. Magnus just keeps talking faster and faster, alternating between English and Thai, and Alec unfortunately only knows one of those languages.
He shrugs, and continues scrubbing the dishes with a cloth, half listening to the silvery sound of Magnusâ voice, half thinking as his hands go through his nightly dishwashing routine. No matter his day job, this is a chore he finds satisfaction in, a calming thing his mind can settle into. His thoughts meander quietly toward the trials he has scheduled this week, then Izzyâs suggestion that New York host a global weapons conference, then the steak heâs going to try and make for dinner tomorrow. He thinks of how Magnus will lie and say itâs delicious even if itâs terrible, and then he remembers that time they let the crepes burn because Alec was too busy kissing Magnus in the pantry. Thoughts of kisses take him back to their first kiss, that singular moment at the wedding after the absolute mess of everything that happened when Clary arrived.
His mind meanders, further, then, wandering in a million wayward directions. He thinks further of Clary, and her slow return to the shadow world. It doesnât surprise him now that heâs happy sheâs regained her memories. Heâs grateful for her, grateful for what she means to Jace, but he didnât used to, and so he wonders what would have happened if his old dreams had been fulfilled, and their party had never met her at all. What would have happened if â
If Clary hadnât shown up that day with her bright smile and her angel blood and her penchant for making Alecâs blood boil. If she hadnât needed to find the warlock whoâd taken her memories. If they hadnât gone to Pandemonium that night, if he hadnât killed that Circle member, if he hadnât felt that unfurling heat under his skin as he stared at Magnus Bane for the first time.
Would Alec be lying alone on the cardboard mattress in his room at the Institute, staring at the ceiling? Would he be standing on the sidelines, watching the Clave play to its own advantage at the expense of innocent lives? Would he see men pass by and bite his lip to stifle the ache in his chest?
Except⌠except he thinks none of that matters.
Maybe it wouldnât have happened that month, or that year, or even that decade. But the Alec of today knows himself with a clarity heâs worked hard to cultivate, which means that when he looks back, he is certain that even without Clary barging into his life, he would have worked his way up the ladder by sheer will of force. He is sure that no matter what, the Downworld Council would have formed, his own sense of right and wrong too strong to bow to the Clave. Maybe he would have done so with Lydia at his side, but Alec is also sure that that would have been temporary, because the act of living a lie would have weighed too heavily on his shoulders to last for long.
And he is sure that, one day, Magnus Bane would have arrived at the Institute for some job â a summoning, or wards, or anything â and greeted Alec with that mellifluous voice and teasing stare. He wouldâve shaken Alecâs hand, a rush flowing through both of them when they touched for the first time.
And after that? Magnus would have asked Alec out, and Alec would have stuttered an eager yes from his lips. Alec â age twenty-five, or thirty-three, or forty-one â would have been awkward and excited and hopeful, hopeful enough to let his heart tumble without hesitation into golden eyes and gentle smiles. He would have spent their entire first date wanting to hold Magnusâ hand, draw out the music of his laughter, press their mouths together until they shared the same breath. Maybe he would have dared. Maybe he wouldnât have.
In that timeline, some things might have been different⌠but not everything.
Which is to say that Alec believes he would have ended up here anyway, at the end of the day â standing above a sink, up to his elbows in bubbles while his gaze follows Magnus around the kitchen in the home they share.
Chuckling faintly, Alec takes the last dish and lays it on the drying rack before wiping his hands off. Water clings to his knuckles, even as he picks up his ring from the counter and slips it back on his hand. He turns, then, to see Magnus, rambling still, heels clicking against the hardwood as he walks back and forth, cheeks tinted pick with the effort. Heâs the High Warlock of Alicante, but also a man, Alecâs best friend, gorgeous and odd and adorable as he speaks without pause.
ââ so she told me I had abandoned Brooklyn. Please! Itâs not my problem that she hasnât even left her country since Sukhothai was abandoned. What kind of warlock stays put like that? I invented the portal for a reason, I sent her the spell, and still she holes herself up â why are you looking at me like that?â
Alec shakes his head. âNothing really,â he says, and itâs true. Blunt as he is, itâs hard to put into words the level of contentment in his body right now, swirling in his veins and nerves, manifesting as half a smile on his face, the gratitude he feels that this is how his life played out. He shrugs. âJust thinking.â
