Inspired by me finally getting off my ass and watching “Bohemian Rhapsody.”
Or, the one where Magnus talks about knowing, and loving, the man who owned the guitar pick in his box.
Magnus traces the graceful, looping swirls of the letters on the paper. It’s fraying at the edges, and discoloured with the passage of time. The blue ink stands out amid wine stains, words spelling out a song that hadn’t ever made it to the world. A song only he had heard, on quiet mornings by the piano.
He had woken this morning with a sense of melancholy weighing down on his chest. Perhaps it was because it was close to the anniversary of the day Magnus had found out that he had died. His feet had taken him straight from bed to the room where the gilded box lay on the shelves, and he’d taken it down and sifted through it to find the deep red guitar pick that had belonged to him. Nestled in one corner, on top of the single piece of paper.
For you, Magnus, my darling. Just for you, he’d written on the bottom of the page, underneath the lyrics. Before signing his name with a flourish that matched everything else about him.
Magnus runs his finger over the name. The man it belonged to exists in his memory in small ways, blurred at the edges from age, but effervescent still, carrying every part of his essence.
A smile sent his way from across a smoke-filled, noisy bar. A hand gently sweeping away strands of hair from his forehead. A voice, deeper than it sounded on stage, but just as magical and timeless, whispering sweet nothings in his ear.
“You’re up early.”
Alexander’s voice, soft and still traced with sleep, sounds from behind him. Magnus turn to see him. His fingers are still pulling down the hem of his shirt. Magnus watches with an endless reverence as Alec runs his fingers through the wild mess of dark strands on his head, futile attempts to try and tame them resulting in them becoming messier. He’s so beautiful like this.
Alec steps closer to him. The curve of sleep still pulls at his eyes, eyes that bleed honey now in the light that comes in through the windows.
He smiles as Magnus reaches out and takes his face in his hand, before leaning forward and pressing his lips against his. Alec’s arm comes up to snake around his waist, pulling him impossibly closer.
When they part, Alec’s eyes fall on the box open behind Magnus, and on the guitar pick in between his fingers.
“Whose is this?” Alec asks.
It’s a simple question, perhaps inconsequential to the outside observer. But to the two of them, it speaks of the acceptance Alec has for Magnus’ past. And, it speaks of how far they’ve come, from that first day when Alec first learned about the box.
“His name was Freddie.” Magnus says, allowing a hint of mystery to remain in the words he doesn’t say.
“Freddie…” Alec trails off, brows furrowed. He looks at the pick again. Then, Magnus sees the moment it dawns on him, in the way his eyes widen and his mouth falls open as his head snaps back up to look at Magnus again. “Wait –”
“Oh. Oh.” His voice is filled with wonder. He lifts his hand to touch the pick. “Wow.”
“Yeah.” Magnus lets out a laugh at Alec’s awestruck expression.
“No way.”
“Yes way.”
“What was he like?” Alec breathes.
“Enigmatic.” Magnus says quietly, after a pause. A smile spreads across his lips. “I’ve… never quite met anyone like him.”
When Magnus looks up at Alec, he smiles, a gentle nudge for Magnus to continue.
“He was a hard man to get to know at first. A lot like me in that sense, I guess.” Magnus lets out a laugh. He turns the pick over in his hand, and again. “He was quieter in person, more reserved. But still, endlessly flirtatious.”
“So exactly like you, then.” Alec says, grinning.
Magnus laughs. “Yeah, I guess you could say that. He was quite the charmer.”
“He never ceased to amaze me.” He continues, as Alec listens intently, “I could never contemplate half of what went on in his mind. And that voice.” Magnus shakes his head in amazement, still, after all these years. “God, that voice. It carried the same gravitas in person as it did on stage.”
“Did he know about you?” Alec asks, “I mean, did he know you were a warlock?”
Magnus bites his lip. “He figured out that there was something different about me soon enough. I told him, eventually, and he loved every bit of it. Said that my ‘inexplicable, magical allure’ finally made sense.”
Alec lets out a laugh, shaking his head, as Magnus joins in as well.
“And his parties rivalled mine, if you can believe it.”
“Now I highly doubt that. Nothing could ever possibly rival last year’s Halloween party. I mean, I’m still recovering.”
Magnus winks, offering Alec a cheeky grin. “Where do you think I got half the ideas for that party from?”
His grin widens as Alec’s mouth falls open in disbelief for a moment, before he laughs and shakes his head.
Then, Magnus lets his gaze fall to the pick, and almost instantly, that deep-seated melancholy returns, and he feels his chest tighten. He clenches his fist around it.
Alec notices, because of course he does, and asks, concerned, “You okay?”
It’s strange to feel such a connection to an inanimate, tiny object, Magnus supposes. But as he tightens his grip and feels the pick pressing into his skin, the pain of his loss sweeps through him. Pain dotted intermittently with the happy memories Magnus has of him.
“I loved him.” Magnus says simply, because that’s his truth. “And he loved me. And I lost him, so it hurts.”
Alec reaches forward and takes Magnus’ free hand, intertwining his fingers with his and squeezing. And Magnus is so eternally grateful for him, because in Alec, in the love of his life, he found someone willing to understand the complexity of Magnus, something he himself found difficult to do at times. To accept the centuries of his nature, a nature that was somehow impossibly human despite being timeless, with an understanding that was so… Alec. So utterly guileless and so willing to know Magnus’ loves and his losses.
“He meant so much to you.” Alec says gently. His thumb runs slowly over Magnus’ hand.
“He did.” Magnus nods, unclenching his fist to reveal the red lines the pick has pressed into his skin. “He meant a lot to the world. To them, he was this untouchable god. But to me he was just… Freddie. And I miss him terribly, sometimes.”
Alec nods before pulling Magnus closer to kiss the side of his forehead. He doesn’t say anything. He just stands there, holding Magnus. The feel of his body against Magnus’ is so grounding, a solid tether to the world of here and now. Magnus presses closer, grateful for the silent, fervent support Alec provides, in the face of everything.
“Thank you.” He whispers.
“For what?” Alec ducks his head to catch his gaze.
“For listening.”
Alec raises a chastising eyebrow at him. “You never have to thank me for that.” His expression softens, and then he lifts his other hand to rest his palm against Magnus’ cheek. He smiles at him the way he only does when it’s directed towards him.
It’s a smile that makes Magnus fall in love with him all over again. A smile that tells Magnus that he will continue to fall in love with him all over again, every single day, for the rest of his life.
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There’s a word for the way that Magnus feels. Infatuated. Every inch of ink black runed skin, each callus from over a decade of wielding a bow, the crinkles that appear around Alec’s nose when he’s confused, the way the light shines in his hazel eyes, has Magnus utterly infatuated.
Magnus is supposed to be researching a spell for a client, but finds himself studying Alec instead. Hunched over his laptop, one hand typing while the other is knotted in his own hair, wearing a stretched out gray shirt and the boxers he slept in the night before. At least a week old shadow of stubble has grown in on his face, making him look older. Somewhat more relaxed. Giving Magnus a peek into their future, of a million glistening mornings spent just like this.
“What?” Alec asks, looking up from his work and finding Magnus staring.
Magnus smiles. “Just looking at you,” he says simply and Alec grins sheepishly, tugging on his own hair.
“I need a haircut,” he says, as if apologizing for giving Magnus something new to look at. It’s been a busy month or so at the Institute, and Alec hasn’t cut his hair in weeks. It’s soft and fluffy, curling around his ears and nap, untouched save for Alec’s grumpy hands trying to convince it to all lay in one direction before meetings.
“I disagree,” Magnus says, putting his book aside and sitting beside Alec, running his fingers through the unbrushed strands. It hasn’t gotten longer as much as it has gotten puffier, downy fluff of black hair clouding about Alec’s head and making everything about him seem softer. “I like it.”
“It’s messy,” Alec insists.
“Hair brushes aren’t expensive, Alexander. Get you a brush and some sulfate-free shampoo, it would settle,” Magnus says peaceably, laughing as Alec’s entire body slumps into Magnus’ hand scritching against his scalp. He banishes his laptop to the coffee table and slides sideways, laying across Magnus’ lap and closing his eyes.
“You think so?” Alec asks, running a hand over his scruffy face.
Magnus continues petting Alec’s hair and smiles at him, though Alec can’t see. “I do. You don’t have to keep it, of course, but don’t cut it on my account. I like seeing you this way.”
“What way?” Alec squints one eye open, crossing his arms self consciously.
“Unbuttoned. Let a little loose, maybe,” Magnus explains, gesturing down Alec’s pajama clad body. Perhaps the novelty will wear off eventually, in about a hundred years or so, but for now having his sleepy boyfriend laying across his lap on a Tuesday morning, all soft hair and coffee breath, makes something incredibly warm settle flush against the inside of Magnus’ ribcage.
Love shines out of him like sunshine. Just the two of them in their own little private universe.
“Yeah. Yeah, I like it, too,” Alec says softly, stretching with a loud groan before reclining back and closing his eyes again.
“Want to go back to bed?” Magnus offers.
Alec shakes his head. “I’m very comfortable where I am, thank you,” he replies, tapping Magnus’ arm to indicate that he wants Magnus to continue rubbing his hair. Magnus chuckles softly but complies, running his fingers through the dark strands, which are getting progressively fluffier from the continued mussing.
“Are you going in today?” Magnus asks and Alec takes a little while to reply, his breathing low and even.
“No,” he eventually drawls, speech heavy on his sleepy tongue, “Underhill said he could handle it. We’re hosting a Clave seminar next week, so I’m taking all the off time I can get before then.”
“That sounds terrible,” Magnus tisks sympathetically.
“I’m trying not to think about it. This is good. Helpful,” Alec opens his eyes to give Magnus the full wattage of his sweet, drowsy smile.
“I’m glad I can be of service. Though my legs are falling asleep,” Magnus admits.
Alec laughs. “Sacrifices must be made in the course of true love,” he says sagely, though the effect is somewhat diminished when he goes cross-eyed looking at Magnus’ finger when he prods the tip of Alec’s nose.
“And what sacrifices have you made today, Alexander?” Magnus asks wryly.
At that, Alec leans up on his elbows, looking at Magnus firmly. “I’d sacrifice anything for you,” he says and Magnus’ heart stutters. Once again, Alec has managed to bowl him over with the earnest weight of his adoration.
Magnus can think of no response other than craning his neck down and kissing Alec, tasting too sweet coffee, feeling the overgrown scruff of Alec’s face against his cheek. He digs his fingers into the roots of Alec’s hair at the nape of his neck and holds him close.
There may be a day in the far future where this no longer takes his breath away, but for now, Magnus can’t imagine any life better than a life of kissing Alec whenever he wants. Years full of late mornings and early evenings, his entire world wrapped around Alec like vines.
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