#polyamori

“So, you’re dating Meliorn now,” Magnus says, casually, as he adds criminal amounts of sugar to the leaves for his morning tea. Usually, he conjures it up, but there’s a secret little pleasure in making his own tea sometimes, one that he finds himself wanting to indulge in when Raphael comes over for breakfast. Maybe because it feels like a normal routine with his family, and he knows it’s important for the both of them to be able to touch and make their food sometimes. Maybe because Raphael always looks at him like he’s committing murder as he does it. It’s anyone’s guess, really.

“That’s disgusting,” Raphael says, almost automatically at this point, as he also pours sugar and cinnamon into his coffee water. It’s not sugar, it’s piloncillo, Raphael’s voice answers automatically into Magnus’ head, even as neither of them say anything. And I don’t leave it at the bottom of the cup, I just put it in the water. What’s even the point of leaving sugar at the bottom?

It changes the taste, Magnus would say. Bullshit, Raphael would answer, before going on a rant about how he needed to make his coffee in a clay pot or else it would be pointless.

Family traditions. They did them both good.

“If you find that disgusting, I’d suggest that you don’t date them, then,” Magnus jokes.

Raphael rolls his eyes. “I’m talking about your weird sugar leaf thing.”

“It’s called tea.”

“Is it, though?”

“So judgy,” Magnus mumbles, “One would think you’re the black coffee, no sugar type. Instead you’re pouring entire blocks of sugar into your coffee water.”

“It’s piloncillo.”

“That’s a block of sugar.”

“No.”

“It literally is.”

“Besides, this coffee is way stronger than black coffee.” Raphael continues, like Magnus hasn’t just made a great point. “But it actually tastes good. It’s the best thing to lift you up in the morning. Tea doesn’t do anything.”

“That’s black tea,” Magnus argues. “It has caffeine.”

“As in, the substance that comes from coffee?” Raphael asks, utterly unable to stop a smile from breaking out.

Magnus huffs and resists the urge to throw something at him. It’s hard to be mad when Raphael’s smiling so wide, big and carefree like Magnus barely got to witness before. When he got to Magnus’ loft today, he practically had a skip on his step, visibly straining not to move around the house at superspeed like a fledgeling struggling to control themself. He burst all the windows open, as he always did, basking in the sunlight as he brewed his morning coffee. For three years he had been a daylighter, and it still seemed to be just as exhilarating to feel the sunlight.

Magnus can’t blame him.

Besides, he’s only recently become able to drink again - thanks to Madzie and a potion she had designed for that specific purpose. It isn’t perfect; it only allows him to drink, and a limited amount per day, and the addition of solid foods like piloncillo could make him sick if he wasn’t really, really careful about dissolving them. Still, the first time he managed to make himself café de olla, he cried to the point of shaking in Magnus’ arms.

I used to be a morning person, he had told Magnus once. The early sunlight and café de olla used to be what got Raphael to start his day, made him feel alive. He had lost both of them.

And now he had them back.

He watches Raphael as he laughs to himself a little longer, sunlight covering his frame and making it look as if it's Raphael himself who shines. “I’m glad you’re happy,” he says.

Raphael’s laugh turns into a smile, soft on every edge like he can’t get enough of it. “Yeah,” he says.

“Does Meliorn have anything to do with that?” Magnus asks teasingly as he takes the first sip of his tea.

“Maybe,” Raphael hums. “Yeah. Yeah.”

Magnus sits on his chair, takes another sip of his tea, pretends his smile is just because it tastes good. “Tell me about it,” he says.

Raphael looks unsure, in the way he always does when he has to put feelings into words, even when it’s just him and Magnus. Magnus has a sneaking suspicion he doesn’t know how to do it when he’s alone, either. He signals towards the chair, and Raphael smiles gratefully, taking a sip of his coffee and sighing in content.

“I trust them,” he says after a few moments of uncertainty. “I know it doesn’t sound like much, but… I haven’t trusted someone like that in a long time.”

Magnus hums. “You can’t have a relationship without trust.”

“I know,” Raphael says. “It’s, it’s almost weird. In a good way, I suppose. With me, they’re always so- honest. I know they can’t lie, and I also know that they can deceive, and trick, and that they’re good at that. But with me, they’ve always been. Straightforward. But open. You know what I mean?”

Magnus nods. “It’s the seelie way. Once they trust, they don’t see any reason to hide their meaning.”

Raphael smiles again, looking warm in a way that has nothing to do with the coffee, or the sunlight. “I suppose.”

“Trust me. I’ve been in relationships with them before. The wordplay, the twisting… It’s a way to protect yourself. Truth can make you vulnerable, and seelies are tied to that vulnerability. If they choose to let go of those… It means a lot to them.” He pauses, “it’s not really that different from the rest of us.”

“It isn't,” Raphael says.

“So do you trust them to see your truth, then?”

Raphael pauses. “I’m trying. Words aren’t- I’m not good with them.”

Magnus hums again, understanding in a way that’s almost too real for Raphael to handle. “Words aren’t the only thing you can use to speak, my boy. I’d say they might be the least important one.”

“I know,” he agrees. “I’ve tried- flowers. I know that they mean a lot to seelies. I picked them by meaning, but I tried to make a pretty arrangement, I kept them all healthy. Meliorn liked them.”

Magnus thinks it would be a shame to hide his smile behind the teacup again, so he doesn’t. Raphael looks a little sheepish, but not really embarrassed; more like he can’t believe that he’s enjoying all of this. “And what flowers did you choose?” Magnus asks.

Raphael bites his lip and looks away, and Magnus is sure that he would be blushing if he could. But he answers without any more prompting. “Peony. Happy life. Fern; sincerity, magic, and bonds of love. Hydrangea - gratitude for being understood. Cornflower…” the next words leave him in almost a whisper, “be gentle with me.”

Magnus whistles involuntarily, reaching out to grab Raphael’s hand on the counter. Raphael lets him, opens his palm and lets Magnus’ thumb draw circles over it, even if he’s still not looking at him. “That’s a powerful combination. I’m proud of you.”

Raphael scoffs, and that won’t do, so Magnus continues. “I mean it. It’s very honest. Very vulnerable. I don’t know if I’d have the courage to hand someone a bouquet like that.”

“I know,” Raphael says, “but I wanted to.”

“And for that, I’m proud.”

Raphael smiles again, but once his eyes meet Magnus’ again, it’s morphed into a serious expression. “Thank you,” he says.

“Did Meliorn answer?”

“Not immediately,” Raphael admits, “said they wanted time to make something worthy in response. But they took them. Said, I’m touched. Kissed my hand.” He mumbles, “they do that a lot.”

“At the risk of squealing like a schoolgirl at your answer, what did they give you in return?”

Raphael smiles again. “Fennel. Flattery. Jonquil. Affection returned. White lily. My love is pure. Yellow tulip.”

“Sunshine in your smile,” Magnus can’t help but finish. It’s one of the deepest expressions of affection for seelies. It’s also secretly one of Magnus’ favorite flower meanings.

Raphael smiles, and so does Magnus. He can’t help it; Raphael glows. Meliorn is definitely not far off the mark with that flower.

“Stop looking so giddy,” Raphael says.

“How could I? My boy is living a romance!”

“Oh, stop it.”

“Some old-fashioned courtship, hand kissing, flower trading. The new generation isn’t completely lost after all.”

“Oh my God-”

“One could say you’re living a real life faerie tale.”

Raphael groans, and Magnus laughs, joyful and free. Raphael pulls his hand away and hides his face in his own arms, but it’s worth it for the way his eyes shine when he peeks back up at Magnus. Magnus will get him to admit that he likes his puns one day. He will.

Silence covers them once Magnus stops laughing, refreshing and comfortable like bed sheets on a summer night. He doesn’t mind it at all, and he knows that neither does Raphael, but once he puts his cup of tea down, he can’t help but sober up.

“And what about… Isabelle?” he asks, a little uncertain. It’s still a topic he’s unsure how to broach. He’s too close to it from too many sides, and he always feels like he’s running through a shooting when he approaches it. Even now, almost six years after it happened, after they both had time to heal, after it had been established that it wasn’t Raphael’s fault… It still felt way too sensitive to touch.

He knows it’s true too, from the way Raphael sighs. “It’s fine. I haven’t really seen her,” he admits. “We’ve been keeping our distance ever since. And Meliorn understands.” He sighs, “they have time to see us both separately.”

Magnus hums. “You know you won’t be able to avoid her forever, right?”

He expects Raphael to look mildly annoyed, but he just sighs. “I know. They built some kind of a net together, the whole dating group. They meet up every once in a while, this kind of super date. Meliorn invited me to come. They’re not pressuring me, but-” he pauses, rubbing his fingers together.

“You want to.”

Raphael nods. “It’s weird. I barely know Maia and Clary, and Isabelle and I should keep our distance, and it’s been so long since I’ve last seen Simon. But I feel like I could be part of this. Meliorn makes me think I could.”

“I thought Simon and Isabelle weren’t together anymore,” Magnus frowns.

“They aren’t. Simon and Maia are.”

“Ah. Awkward situation for Simon,” Magnus says, making a face. He feels a little guilty that he’s so out of touch with them. He’s been trying to keep in touch with New York - and being a warlock, it isn’t hard. His and Alec’s loft is both in New York and in Alicante, thanks to a little wormhole trick he did with his magic. But most of his professional life is in Alicante now, and as such, he ends up only seeing New York when he wants to be see his closest friends there - either visiting Catarina and Madzie, or having his breakfasts with Raphael - well, for him they are afternoon tea, but it doesn't matter. “Do you want to see her?” he asks after a pause.

Raphael stops, like he’s really thinking about it. “I don’t know,” he admits, “But I feel ready to see her, if that makes sense.”

Magnus isn’t sure if it does, so he gestures for him to continue. Raphael sighs, running a hand through his hair in the way he does when words fail him, like he's trying to scramble the inside of his head through the outside.

“When Izzy and I first met, I was in a more delicate state. I knew I was about to lose my sister. The world was at war. I had just started leading the NY clan, and there was so much pressure, and I was lost. Of course, shadowhunter blood is addictive on its own. But by that point… I craved anything that could bring me some relief.”

Magnus shudders like he’s been punched. “I’m sorry,” he says, almost automatically.

Raphael reaches for his hand, swiping his thumb over Magnus’ hand in a reedition of what Magnus had done to him just moments ago, and Magnus feels like a mortal father being hit with the realization that he’s old. The gesture is like Magnus’, but isn’t; it’s Raphael’s own, adapted by him. He feels a little humbled by his relationship with this boy, a boy he didn’t actually raise, but who still felt so much like Magnus himself. They were so similar and different, and Raphael had taken a lot from Magnus, but he had also made everything his. And right now, he was comforting Magnus, something that was unimaginable a few decades ago.

“It’s not your fault,” Raphael says, seriously. “It wasn’t easy for you, either.”

Magnus looks away. “I didn’t throw myself into addiction. I didn’t even notice-”

“That wasn’t your job,” Raphael cuts him off, his voice leaving no room for argument, dry and challenging and also similar to Magnus’ own. “You were there for me, Magnus. There was just - too much.”

They look at each other, Magnus feeling shattered and Raphael looking resolute. It’s a weird battle of wills, because Raphael can’t quite outstubborn Magnus’ sadness, but Magnus can’t really blame himself when Raphael leaves no room for argument like this.

Raphael draws back. “What I’m trying to say is that it’s different now. We’re relatively peaceful. Things are looking up. I’m more settled into being clan leader. They’re my family. The Dumort is a home, not a lair. I have you, and Catarina, and Madzie. And Meliorn too, now. I’m not about to risk anything, of course, but I don’t think I’d have that terrible call, that need for a hit, just from seeing Isabelle. I’m not saying it isn’t delicate, but I can manage. I have a good support network. And I know she does, too.”

Magnus snorts. “Three partners just in the romantic sphere, at this point she better.”

Raphael chuckles, then immediately freezes like he’s surprised at himself. Magnus frowns. He wasn’t expecting that reaction.

“What is it, my boy?” he asks, as comforting as he can.

“I. I guess I just thought this would be weird for you to talk about. You know, one soul at a time and all that.”

Magnus raises an eyebrow. “I’d never judge you over something like this, Raphael,” he says, sincerely. Or anyone, for that matter; but especially not Raphael, who felt almost as much a part of him as his own magic, and for whom the soft morning lit loft felt like home as much as it did to Magnus.

Raphael shakes his head, and takes another sip of his coffee, like he’s embarrassed at himself. Soon he’ll reach his intake limit at this rate, Magnus knows, and holds back a comment. Raphael can take care of himself. Besides, he’s too stubborn to listen to Magnus, when it comes to things like these.

He just has to trust he won’t go over his limit.

“I know that,” Raphael says, sincerely. “But this feels so new, even to me. I was just surprised that it came so naturally to you.”

Magnus holds back a smile at that comment. Just when he was telling himself that Raphael was an adult, now. “I keep forgetting how young you are,” he says, amused.

Raphael scowls so fast Magnus almost gets dizzy. “And what does that mean?” he says, in the threatening tone of someone who’s considering throwing a pea at you.

“Nothing bad,” he says with a dismissive hand gesture, “it’s just that, when you’ve lived long enough, you’ll see a little bit of everything. Know many cultures. See many times, and many paradigms,” he explains, “and you’ll see these paradigms get broken and die, and give place to new ones, and once the new ones emerge, people will say, well, it’s always been like this. When really, it feels like just last week it was the exact opposite,” he chuckles. “Where I was born, many people weren’t monogamous. As I grew up, I got to visit so many places, see so many different cultures. We call monogamy ‘traditional family’, but it really hasn’t been around for all that long. I couldn’t be unfamiliar with it if I tried,” he says sincerely.

Raphael’s smile is tentative, shy, like he’s simultaneously thinking himself an idiot and not daring to believe. “I guess. It just always seemed so… Set in stone, to you.”

“Well,” Magnus pauses, trying to gather his thoughts. “For me, yes. I’ve always been- dedicated, when it comes to love. It isn’t always a good thing,” his eyes run away from Raphael’s at these words, almost on instinct, and he makes the effort to look at him again, “But it is a choice, above all. I choose to keep one relationship at a time. I choose to follow this model. I think it’s what fits me the most, really. But I’m not everyone. And I’m definitely not you.”

Raphael might be a part of Magnus, but that doesn’t mean he belongs to him. It only means that Raphael’s happiness is as much of Magnus’ happiness as his own. And as similar as they are in every other aspect, Magnus knows that their relationship with love is very different - with Magnus giving it away almost unhealthily, and Raphael holding it so close to his chest it threatens to suffocate him, wanting to be let out, yet scared to.

“So, it doesn’t feel weird to me. Your partner could have a hundred others, I wouldn’t care. As long as it does you good, that’s all that matters, cariño.”

Raphael’s response to the term is immediate, and fills Magnus’ chest with warmth. A wide, happy smile, that he doesn’t try to hide, that crinkles the corners of his eyes and has his shaking his head slightly, happily.

“And it definitely is doing you good,” Magnus decides. It’s no secret to him that Raphael likes it when Magnus speaks spanish to him, even if it’s just the little “dear” - it’s what family feels like, Raphael had said, and Magnus had to pretend he wasn’t bursting from joy and flattery at the comment - but it’s definitely new to see him be so unguardedly appreciative of care.

“Yeah,” Raphael answers, and that’s news, too. “I think it is, kasih.”

Magnus smiles big and wide, and the rest of the morning passes by with them gossiping, happy and home.

*

It’s bordering on two years later when Raphael brings another update.

Well, that’s not exactly true; he’s heard a lot about his other dates with Meliorn, about the first few times he joined the ‘polycule’ game night, about how he slowly started to attend more and more, slowly making a new family for himself there. He’s been there to listen to Raphael talk about the hard conversations he’s had with Izzy, and see them slowly grow to support each other, although from a distance. He’s seen her apologize to him, and Alec, too, for assuming it was his fault, and seen him accept the world’s most awkward hug from Alexander for precisely ten seconds. They aren’t close, and Magnus doesn’t know if they’ll ever be, but they’re okay, and that’s enough. He’s recently become Maia’s right-hand at Taki’s, adding a bit of mexican cuisine and culture to the place, and using it to cook for the homeless at night. Him, Meliorn, and Izzy have been alternating with helping her with her studies when necessary, too (Clary and Simon are not a good combination for that). Him, Simon and Maia are also working on a specific vampires-werewolves alliance, which’s been blossoming. The NY clan is looking more beautiful than ever, with a real living room with games and couches and space, and a lot of colorful decoration to make up for the lack of sunlight, thanks to Raphael’s best efforts. He’s been building family out of everything he touches, he’s been planting their own ingredients for Taki’s, and there’s always a new flower whenever Magnus visits him.

Okay, so he’s had a lot of updates. And all of them are important, and special, and fill Magnus’ heart with joy and pride, that his wonderful boy is building such a happy life for himself.

But this one has him particularly excited. He’s a romantic. Sue him.

It’s Raphael who brings it up, a little dazed as he goes through the steps of making himself pan dulce. It feels familiar, but not; he’s made it many times over the last few years, but never here, in Magnus’ loft, much less for himself.

“So,” he swallows. “Madzie perfected her potion.”

Magnus ceases all movement. “I know,” he says carefully, relaxing his stance and leaning against the counter, close to him. He already knew it, of course, having helped the little girl make her present for her “big bro”. But he also knew what that meant for Raphael. He could eat solid foods now, of any type, as much as he wanted; as long as he took the potion beforehand. For the last year, Raphael had rejoiced in being able to drink, but he knows Raphael’s fondest memories are related to food: to the spices that he grew so carefully at Taki’s, that Maia had caught him smelling longingly more than once. To the crunchy texture of the chicharrones de harina he and his sister used to steal from each other’s plates; to pan dulce in the morning, and pozole in the cold nights. He knew it was overwhelming, and that he had spent the last two weeks - Magnus had missed their weekly breakfast the previous week due to an emergency in Alicante - cooking and eating everything that he could, like he was afraid it’d be torn from him again.

So, Magnus knows it means a lot, and wants to take it seriously.

He puts a hand on Raphael’s shoulder as soon as he puts the pan dulce in the oven. Raphael turns to him, his eyes full of so many things Magnus can’t think to describe them.

He knows it’s not bad, though. Tentative, and vulnerable, but lively.

“I tried it for the first time with Simon,” he says, “we cooked together. It was - nice.”

Magnus nods. “I imagine it was overwhelming.”

“It was,” Raphael answers almost immediately, fidgeting a little with his hands, not looking at him, “but good. Even… Fun.”

“I’m glad,” Magnus answers, honestly, waiting for whatever it is to come out.

It does. “Simon and I are dating now.”

“Ah,” Magnus says, smiling wide, “well, I’m not shocked.”

Raphael huffs. “I’m starting to get tired of this reaction.”

“I can pretend to be surprised, if you want,” Magnus offers, eyes way too innocent.

“No, you’re a bad actor.”

Magnus stares at him in open shock. Raphael snorts. “Well, then,” Magnus says, “I’ve always known. It was a matter of time, really. From the first time you laid eyes on each other-”

“Oh, stop it,” Raphael says, swatting a little in his direction like he’s trying to smother him. “There’s no way Simon and I could’ve been a thing with all the-” he makes a disgusted gesture, “shitstorm that was going on.”

Magnus smiles, but relents. “I know,” he admits. Times weren’t kind when the two of them met each other. “But I’m glad things are better, now.”

Raphael’s lips twitch. “Yeah,” then his eyes meet Magnus’ again. There’s joy there, and something that looks almost like pride. “He’s grown up a lot, you know.”

Magnus laughs. “He better have, if he wants to date an 80 year-old.”

“I thought I was young?”

“Oh, you’re a baby,” Magnus says, his voice just hinting slightly at a talking-to-dogs tone.

Raphael scowls, and Magnus can’t help his stupid giggles. Because he’s stubborn and also nowhere near as mean as he’d like to pretend to be, Raphael crosses his arms and waits until Magnus is done to continue.

All it takes is for Magnus to straighten up and do a little sign with his hand, and he’s back where they left off. “He annoyed me, because he was so - self-centered. He didn’t understand what was at stake, and he didn’t care to. He almost got me killed.”

Magnus hums, suddenly somber, urging him to go on.

“He’s apologized for that, and he’s - there’s this thing, about him,” Raphael confesses, “he’s observant, and he cares, and he worries way too much, but he also forces me to be honest with myself, and he’s there for me as I do it, and it’s- freeing. And he understands, and he likes all that stuff from when I was a kid, and he’s so-” he stops, pressing his fingers together.

Magnus takes Raphael’s hands in his, trying to give him some of the comforting pressure he needs. He seems to relax a little, and smiles at him, grateful. “I know,” Magnus says.

“I’m- really glad, to have him.”

Magnus smiles. “Me too,” he answers, and it’s one of the most truthful things he’s ever uttered. Their entire group has done wonders for Raphael. He’s nothing if not grateful for how they’ve welcomed his kid.

“Tell me how it happened,” Magnus says, when it becomes clear Raphael is struggling to find other things to say. He lets one of his hands go in favor of leaning a bit against the counter again, but otherwise keeps stroking his hand with his thumb, and Raphael lets him.

He still grimaces, though. "Can't we do that after we eat?"

"We both know the pan dulce is going to be in the oven for another half hour, so no." Magnus chuckles, "don't look at me like that, you played yourself here."

"Fine," Raphael grumbles, even as his eyes turn soft. “We had agreed that we would try the potion together, so I went to his apartment. I didn’t want to tell the clan before I had a chance to test it, and disappoint them. And I didn’t want to try it alone, and be disappointed. So I wanted to be with someone who understands,” Raphael exhales, “Besides, I know he misses food, too. We all do.”

Magnus just nods, letting Raphael tell the story at his own pace. They both know he knows that. He also knows that Raphael’s been making the potion all but by the bulk in the Dumort, making sure everyone in the clan gets to have some. In his first “feast,” he cooked for all of them. It also comes with every meal a vampire orders at Taki’s.

“I was so nervous,” Raphael continues, “Meliorn tried rubbing my shoulders before I went, which was nice, but stopped working the second I left.” He tries not to smile at the memory, now that the nervousness is gone and everything worked out. He had worried, in the past, that he’d never be able to love, to be loved, because he wasn’t interested in sex, or kisses, and because he had such a hard time with words. What form of love is left, he had asked himself.

He was reminded of the answer to that whenever Meliorn rubbed his shoulders, hugged him from behind and kissed the junction of his shoulder and neck. Nothing to it but it.

It was everything.

“Why didn’t they come with you?” Magnus asks, interrupting his musings and raising his eyebrows at him.

“It didn’t feel fair. Maia couldn’t be there for Simon, because she had a test, and Becky too,” Magnus makes no comment on Simon’s sister being Becky to Raphael, “And Meliorn- I don’t want to say they don’t understand, because of course they do. They’ve survived massacres, seen cultures die, species end, seen the Seelie realm become isolated as a result of it. But the food thing is so specific, and Simon gets it.”

Magnus nods, a little pained at Raphael’s words, knowing this is a pain he could never quite help Raphael with. “Of course. He’s been through it, too.”

“No. Well, yes,” Raphael shakes his head. “He knows what it’s like to lose food, but he also understands what it means to have it. He’s told me about the day his mother taught Becky how to bake Challah, how nervous she was. And he’s told me about the tradition of gifting food, and Purim, and all the foods that are associated with holidays, and I know that he knows. Food is family. Food is love,” then, almost in a whisper, but still meant for Magnus to hear, “it meant a lot to me to cook for him, too.”

Magnus keeps stroking his hand. “What did you make?” he asks.

“Is it weird that I chose pozole?” there’s an almost self deprecating smile on Raphael’s face, but it edges more on humor than on pain, and Magnus feels proud of him, “Simon made hamantaschen. It’s holiday food. I mean, he can eat when it’s not a holiday, but it’s,” he makes a vague hand gesture, “fancy. Pozole is just soup.”

“No, it’s not,” Magnus says, seriously.

“No, it’s not,” Raphael sighs. It was always his favorite dish. His mom used to make it to him when he was down, and once they came to the United States, he made it for her and Rosa whenever they were tired, or needed cheering up. He even made it for Magnus, a few times, when Magnus first brought him home. The first time he did it, Magnus knew that Raphael really, truly saw him as family. “But it’s still everyday food. Simon used to wait all year for Purim just so he could have hamantaschen. I ate pozole so much when I was a kid I got tired of it sometimes. But when Madzie told me about the potion, it was all that I wanted to eat.”

“There’s nothing wrong with missing the routine,” Magnus says. Raphael had always liked to follow tradition. Keep routine close to his heart. Let it ground him, and keep him close to what he wanted, and where he came from. “Simon missing the holiday food isn’t that different. Tradition is also in the extraordinary,” he points out.

“I know,” Raphael smiles.

A small silence envelops them, light and filled with understanding. Raphael looks glowing and tan under the sunlight, and Magnus relishes in watching him be so open. Call him biased, but to him his boy looks almost as warm as the sunlight. His happiness carries life.

That doesn't stop him from shattering the moment in favor of gossip. "Well then, go on," he rushes him, something akin to mischief in his smile.

Raphael doesn't snort, but it's dangerously close. "You won't let this go until I tell you every detail, will you?"

"My dear, I vow not to."

Raphael still doesn't snort. He doesn't. "Fine," he says, lips twisting up, eyes moving around like he's trying to replace the current scenario with the one he has in his head. "I don't know. I was so tense. It had been such a long time. I kept cooking after I was Turned, of course, but I couldn't taste it, and I was so scared I'd lost my touch. And that I wouldn't find it again," he confesses. "I couldn't breathe."

Magnus makes a wounded noise. Vampires don't have to breathe, of course, but almost all of them do it anyway, out of habit and muscle memory. Helps them keep themselves centered, too. And feel human.

"It's alright," Raphael assured him, squeezing his hand back in reassurance, and Magnus feels silly for being the one to be comforted here. "But at the time I was… tense. I wanted to do it right. And Simon had made most of the hamantaschen the day before, so it was already on the oven, and suddenly it was so hard. And Simon just pulled these weird jalapeño snacks, and told me we should have some."

Magnus laughs at the mental image, and Raphael smiles fondly at the memory.

Did you choose jalapeño because I'm mexican?, Raphael had asked, amused.

I chose it because I love it, amigo, Simon had answered, handing the bag in his direction and looking at him with that wide, unwavering stare of his, as if daring Raphael not to take one.

"It's nothing like chicharrones de harina, mind you," Raphael continued, "but he started eating them at superspeed, and we ended up competing over who could have the most snacks, and it felt like it did with Rosita. I felt home. And it wasn't so hard anymore." For all Simon's criticized for being tone deaf, he's actually very observant, and socially smart. Raphael's always known that, from the beginning when he managed to get Raphael tongue tied with his unnerving honesty and attention. But it was particularly obvious, and nice, now that they were on the same side. "He helped me make the pozole. Joked the whole time. Touched my shoulder when I tasted it, as I cooked, and it felt overwhelming. I don't know."

Magnus hums, and doesn't say that yes, he does. Raphael might struggle with verbalizing what he feels, but he's always been acutely in touch with it, to the point of being unable to hide away. But that's a talk for another time.

As if proving Magnus' mental point, Raphael continues, "I already knew that I cared for him. Like I said, food is love. Eating pozole with him, trying his hamantaschen… It was special to me."

"Did he like the pozole?" Magnus asks, curious.

Raphael practically glows with pride. "He had three servings." He's stupidly pleased with himself, and Magnus doesn't need to ask if he liked it, too. "It felt like it did with my family. It was perfect."

Raphael had told Simon about it, too, as he cooked, and as he served the both of them. How he made it for his family, for his sister, how it was calming, to him.

If café de olla was what gave him energy to start his day, pozole was what brought him peace at the end of it. It was filled with the kind of precious memories that soothed him at his darkest, the kind that he was reluctant to share.

It was a deeply emotional moment, way more than he cared to put into words.

"And the hamantaschen?", Magnus asks.

"I'd never had it. It was good. Very good." It was new, but felt like a tradition at its start, that instant familiarity and connection. Felt like Simon did.

Simon was the one who cried, and it hit Raphael with the sudden realization that he'd never seen it before. He'd seen Simon stressed, and terrified, and even begging, but he hadn't seen him cry. For all of Simon's vulnerability, he also struggled to share, to choose to share. Raphael understood that better than he wanted to.

I've spent the last 7 Purims alone, he'd said. Becky was always too caught up with the rest of the family and couldn't visit him. It was a tradition that was all about people, about sharing, and he'd been locked away from it. That, too, was something Raphael understood.

He had hugged Simon, and kissed his forehead, and cried a little too, in grief, wonder, and shock, at being able to revisit and rebuild their traditions together. He has no idea how long they stayed like that, hugging and feeling, until eventually they started talking about lighter topics, and sharing laughs.

By the time Raphael let him go and sat down next to him again, their hands had already found each other's, connected by the pinkies, the casual closeness Raphael had been hoping for for so long. It wasn't a promise, but it felt like one.

But Raphael's not going to tell any of that to Magnus. He knows a secret when he sees one, even if Simon, always trusting, didn't ask him to keep it.

Instead, he says, "I was there for a long time. I wasn't planning to tell him that day, not when I knew it was going to be so emotional for both of us. But once it was over, it felt so light."

"And?", Magnus prods, feeling just like Alec always described Izzy as when they were started their relationship.

"And I asked him out," Raphael answers, short, but amused, and definitely affectionate.

Don't feel pressured to say anything. If you want to, I'll leave, Raphael had said, but now that we can eat again, would you let me take you out on a date?

Yeah, Simon had answered, a little in awe, like he was expecting this to come, but not from Raphael. Don't feel pressured to say anything, either, but can I kiss your cheek?

Yeah, Raphael answered, and in that moment, everything felt simple.

"And did you take him yet?" Magnus asks, very composed, but also feeling like his magic is going to burst and break something at any minute.

"We went on a few."

He can't help but gasp. "You've been keeping your cards from me!"

"We didn't have a chance to talk before!"

"There's always a chance if you try hard enough."

"Quit being dramatic."

"And what would I do with my life, then?"

"Don't use your shallow persona on me, you know that I know you better than that," Raphael points a finger at him.

"Such a heavy accusation," Magnus counters.

"You know it's true, dad," Raphael rolls his eyes.

Magnus' heart flutters. "What did you just call me?"

"The pan dulce is ready."

"Oh, don't be like this!"

They bicker for the rest of the morning, and the pan dulce tastes just like it used to.

*

Raphael bursts into the room confidently, absolutely beaming, and says, “I am more bi than you.”

Magnus splutters indignantly before he even processes what he just said. “No, you’re not!”

“Yes, I am,” he says, with a little tilt of his head and eyebrow raise that’s absolutely infuriating, “I’m dating a boy, a girl, and a nonbinary person. I have the complete set. You’re only dating a boy.”

“I’m monogamous,” Magnus counters, and Raphael just shrugs in response.

“Not my problem,” Raphael answers easily as he opens Magnus’ fridge and starts taking out ingredients, like he can just burst into Magnus’ home, declare himself the winner in a competition Magnus wasn't even aware of, and then take his things. Magnus idly wonders if Raphael is going to kick him out once their breakfast is over. Maybe he’ll take Magnus’ shoes too. As a treat.

Magnus crosses his arms and glares at him, and says, “besides, there are several non-binary genders. You’ve only been with one. I’ve been with plenty over my life.”

Raphael stops halfway through his rummaging. “You had hundreds of years of a head start. It doesn’t count.”

“Of course it counts!,” Magnus answers, and Raphael has the nerve to laugh at him. “You can’t just disregard my whole life and history.”

Raphael rolls his eyes. “Fine. But I will win eventually. I have all eternity, and you will spend it on the same relationship.”

Magnus sighs, uncrossing his arms, and Raphael raises an eyebrow. “I won’t spend eternity on this relationship.” Then, in an even smaller voice, “Alexander’s a mortal.”

Raphael has to actively make himself keep moving to hide his surprise. That is decidedly not the status things were in, last time Raphael had been called to help Madzie and Catarina finish their potion. Alec was beaming over his notes and books like Raphael had never seen before, and looked like he could barely hold his excitement back long enough to talk to Magnus before downing it.

He briefly wonders why Alec hasn’t told Magnus about it yet, before deciding that, whatever reason Lightwood has, it’s disgusting and ridiculous and he doesn’t want to know about it. He also makes a quick mental note to tell him to stop being a coward if things haven’t changed by next week.

“Sorry,” Raphael says, reaching out for the tortillas and salsa he had pre-made the previous evening. He could just buy some, of course, if he had no respect for anything.

Magnus’ shakes his head, knowing that his smile is still a little tight. “It’s alright,” he says. He’s being ridiculous. Alexander is barely thirty, Magnus shouldn’t feel like he’s already mourning him every time the subject is brought up. Then, eyeing the tortillas, salsa, and eggs Raphael has put on the counter, “huevos rancheros?”. Not Raphael's usual choice.

“Chilaquiles,” Raphael answers, and Magnus raises an eyebrow. Even less of his usual choice.

He only made it at Taki's when there was a special event - the kind that would have all tables drawn together and last for the whole evening. This is the kind of food that you share, Magnus, he had told him once. That you eat from the same plate.

He knew for a fact there would be only the two of them this morning - wednesday breakfast was sacred in that sense. Besides, there was no more than enough for two people (well. by Raphael's admittedly loose standarts, at least). So Raphael was in a mood. A sharing mood. A party mood.

"A girl," Magnus says, only barely resisting the urge to slap his forehead. "You're dating someone new."

Raphael smiles at him. "Took you long enough."

"I was slightly sidetracked by your sudden accusation-"

"I wasn't accusing you of anything, just singing my victory."

"-That I had somehow lost my touch," Magnus finishes. "Can't blame a man for not focusing on the juicy gossip when he's being attacked."

Raphael rolls his eyes, but he also smiles, and it looks like it fits his face more and more the longer time passes. Magnus' chest sings. "I wanted to see how defensive you'd get," he shrugs.

Magnus' face twists in a grimace. "I don't like this new trickster side of you that Meliorn's been planting," he says, even if he knows it's not really new or planted at all. Awakened, maybe. But doesn't mean he has to like it. "So. Is it Maia?" he asks.

Raphael sighs, but it looks lively, not tired. "Just once I wanted to make an announcement that would actually be a surprise," he says, cutting the tortillas into triangles. Magnus would help, except Raphael refuses to let him and is also not deserving it right now.

"I wonder how you'll pull that off," Magnus all but sing-songs, deliberately playing with his ear, "considering you're an open book."

Even Alec had noticed the way they seemed to find comfort in each other, last time he had gone to meet with the downworld cabinet in New York, and Alexander isn't exactly known for his people-reading skills. They had spent the entire night gossiping about it in bed, Magnus asking for every detail and Alec looking all too happy to indulge him, even if he had no reason to be invested himself.

"Besides," he says, a little more softly now, the teasing tilt in his voice gone, "you were never the type to fall in love. You soar. It isn't fast and sudden, it's built, so I get to watch it unfold."

Raphael's eyes widen a little, and he pauses through his cutting for a second. But Magnus knows he's pleased. "You have a point," he admits quietly, "Maia and I didn't even ask each other out. We just… Realized we were dating," he admits.

Magnus raises his eyebrows and leans on the counter, silently signaling for him to continue. He does, “It’s weird. A few years ago, I barely knew her. Now I can’t picture my life without her.” Between co-running Taki’s, the Downworld Cabinet meetings, and the werewolves-vampires alliance meetings, Maia was definitely the person that Raphael saw the most in his life, even among the rest of the little cluster. And that’s saying something. “We’ve built so much together, it’s like half of my life is tied to hers.”

Magnus nods. He knows that’s new for Raphael. He’s always given so much, but he’s rarely ever shared, and Taki’s might be the first thing Raphael’s ever built for himself, for his love of cooking, of bringing people together. And Maia was an integral part of that happiness - it meant the same to her, after all.

“And she’s so passionate, Magnus,” Raphael says, pausing through his cutting. “It’s amazing to watch. She handles so much at once, and she does it with so much love, and fierceness.”

“Sounds like someone I know,” Magnus points out, and Raphael smiles at him as he pours the sauce on the pan. He shakes his head, as if in disbelief, awe. It’s not self deprecating, and Magnus likes it.

“She’s something else,” he says, smile still on his face.

“She is,” Magnus agrees, easily. “So, tell me how this happened.”

Raphael hums as he starts to fry the tortillas. “I don’t know,” he says, honestly, “we were closing up. She asked me how things were going with the Clan, and I told her that I’d be leaving Farha in charge next week.”

“Why?” Magnus asks, furrowing his brows just like Maia did upon being asked. Raphael had always liked to share his leadership with the rest of the Clan members, taking decisions together instead of on his own; it’s a matter of both principle and practicality, considering he has a lot on his plate. But he keeps the matters of the Clan very close to himself; he prides himself a lot in his position, and he wants to be there to help guide the clan through whatever problems they face. It’s not like him to hand over the position and leave someone else in charge, even if temporarily.

“She made that same face,” Raphael points out, amused. It’s not exactly true; Magnus tended to look a lot more serious than Maia, and she did that little nose wrinkle along with the brow furrow. But the sentiment was the same. “Because she has her exams next week, and I’m not going to be able to balance Taki’s, the clan, and helping her,” he says.

“Won’t Bat be there?”

“Yes.” He makes quick work of getting the tortillas out of the frying pan, and putting them to dry, “I’m leaving most of Taki’s up to him, too. But when her exams come up, Maia can forget to eat, or sleep, or get too stressed. I want to be there for her,” he shrugs, like the gesture is obvious, “besides, I’ve heard her talk about her subjects enough to help her a little with studying. And Meliorn knows a lot about sea animals, so they’ve been helping me a little, too.”

Magnus smiles, warm everywhere, like it’s him that Raphael is doing all of this for. “That’s very thoughtful of you,” he says.

Raphael shrugs, so Magnus puts his hand on his shoulder, delicately. “It is. That’s a great gesture, my boy.”

“It’s her passion. I want to help,” he answers, looking at Magnus with something almost like confusion in his eyes.

“I know,” he answers easily, letting go of his shoulder, and Raphael gets back in motion like the touch had but put him on pause, “That’s why it’s a great gesture.” He stops for a moment, watching Raphael carefully break the first egg, throw the shells away, sprinkle some oregano on it. He knows Raphael likes to focus on this part. “What did she say?” he asks quietly, as the egg sizzles.

“She asked me what we are,” Raphael answers, not taking his eyes off the frying pan. His gaze is steady, focused, but there’s something dancing in his features, like moving candlelight. Beautiful, controlled, amused.

He can remember her, sitting at the bar stool at Taki’s, head tilted like the question was born more out of curiosity than expectation. Like it was just a formality.

He had looked at her, halfway through drying one of their last cups, and knew exactly what she meant. Whatever you want us to be, he had answered. He had never given the question any thought; not because it didn’t matter, but because it was obvious. He knew that he loved her, and that he cared for her, but somehow, he didn’t really realize what that meant until she had asked him like that: like having to ask was weird, when the answer was right there, in the way that they looked at each other.

Magnus was right. He didn’t fall for her. Not like a person who jumps off a cliff. If he ever fell, it was like a plume; so gracefully and naturally there was only the faintest hint of surprise when he, oh-so-gently, hit the ground.

I think I could do with being your girlfriend, Maia had replied, something like laughter in her eyes, casual and joyful and absolutely everything.

He didn’t have to explain to her that that wouldn’t entail anything new for them. She already knew it. And he knew she wouldn’t mind, like Meliorn didn’t, like Simon didn’t.

He was so damn lucky.

“And?” Magnus had asked, impatient, joyful, like he was about to burst.

“And we agreed that it’s romantic,” he shrugs. “Like I said, it was more realizing than actually asking each other out.”

“I’m so proud of you.”

“For what?” Raphael asks, something like amusement decorating his features even as he takes a piece of tortilla and puts it in his mouth. Magnus hadn’t even realized that he was done.

“For allowing yourself.”

Raphael smiles at him, bright and beautiful.

“Come on, give me some chilaquiles.”

Raphael wordlessly hands Magnus the plate, smile still shining all over him, eyes soft and happy and bright.