#twi!alec

Isabelle had warned him, when he showed her the words the day after his eleventh birthday. She’d looked so sad when he first told her about the career he’s chosen. Alec never understood why, until he heard those words for the first time at the first ever event he planned, a small, intimate birthday party for a Manhattan socialite.

Check it again, I’m on the list.

It had felt like he’d been electrocuted, and Alec had dashed outside to the door as fast as he could, pulling down a tablecloth with him as he went, the groans and yells of the restaurant staff unheeded by his heart. But it had been the grandfather of the birthday girl, and a voice in Alec’s heart told him to wait a little bit longer for his soulmate.

That voice had died down entirely after his eighteenth event.

Until this evening at the party at the Institute. Until he felt compelled to let that man in. Until Magnus.

And now, standing here, helping his crew clean up after the party, Alec feels his guts twist in a flurry of emotions he is too tired to process.

Fuck this . He’s just put on the most unique and successful party the business world of New York has ever seen. He deserves a break.

Alec grabs a bottle of whiskey on his way out.

-------------------

The first time the words appeared into his hands, Magnus didn’t understand them.

It had been in a strange script, the letters so different from the ones he’d only started to get acquainted with. But by then he’d been part of something stranger, and started to live with a green-skinned man with horns and white hair who called himself a ‘warlock’, and had told Magnus that he was one too. So knowing his soulmate might be from a strange distant land didn’t seem as jarring as it would have been.

Then he’d lived through times that would have seemed as dreams in his childhood. He’d lived through his travels in the wonderful country of Peru, then had fallen in love with Imasu knowing he wasn’t the one, and had gotten his heart broken. Axel hadn’t even given him a chance, and from what Magnus saw peeking out of the cuffs of his shirt, he’d already found his soulmate in the French court.

The words didn’t lose their effect through the centuries however. Every time he heard someone say ‘ what seems to be the problem? ’, Magnus could feel his pulse racing, his heart swelling, his mind going berserk at the possibility of being united with the one he’d been destined to be with.

It wasn’t the case any of the times. Often it was a Shadowhunter, trying to maintain their precious Law so that no so-called troublemaker Downworlders wouldn't disrupt the precious ‘peace’ they insisted on withholding. Sometimes it was a particularly demanding client, and Magnus delayed more just to piss them off.

One time though, it was a Mundane who came to his rescue to smooth things over when the guard at a bar took offense at Magnus’s general existence. Etta had been a beauty both inside and out, and Magnus had been genuinely happy for her when she left once she found her actual soulmate.

It didn’t make him sad to lose her. She was a friend more than anything else, and her story gave him hope to hold on longer.

After that there was Camille. A force to be reckoned with. Camille, with her sharp edges and sharper fangs. Camille, who made him believe in a love through the ages, only to be betrayed brutally. Camille, who he was ready to beg to so she’d come back to him. Camille, who never told him that her soulmate died the day she was turned, which Magnus found out on his own the day after she cheated on him. Magnus had felt hollow, and empty, and felt like a fool for holding on to hope.

The day he finally closed hell off permanently, he’d lost more than just his magic. Magnus had given up on hope entirely.

Then there was that one boy at a party Magnus wasn’t even invited to. Alec had said those words, looking at Magnus with eyes devouring every single aspect of him. Magnus had half expected himself to turn around and leave. But then Alec had surprised him, and made him come inside.

But then there was a demon attacking Clarissa and the blond boy, the first demon in almost a century. And Magnus had almost forgotten about the boy with those hazel eyes by the time he rushed home, magic singeing the inside of his coat pocket.

It must’ve not been meant to be, Magnus thinks as he nurses the same glass of Rosé for almost an hour, the once warm bathwater now running cold. He pauses for a moment, thinking carefully about what he’s about to do.

Magnus waves a finger, the movement graceless, halted. But the sparks come out anyway, the bathwater warming, turning light pink as Magnus focuses on summoning a bath bomb from his collection in the cabinet near the sink.

Magnus smiles. His soulmate doesn’t want to find him. But that’s okay. He’s got his magic.

Everything’s going to be just fine.

--------------

Alec is, most definitely, not doing fine.

“I need this banner yesterday.” Alec rubs his temple letting out a tired sigh, “I literally needed that last night so my team can finish setting up, and now you’re telling me it’s still not ready?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what else to tell you. Our primary printer caught on fire and we had to unplug all of them to manage the fire before it went out of hand, and all our orders were cancelled from the queue.”

Alec scrubs his face with the back of his hand, and groans, “My assistant put in the request almost two weeks ago. This is for a dinner party at a multinational company, Andrew. And as we both know, the one of the only things those people spend ridiculous amounts of money on is the banner. I can’t throw a party without one.”

“I’m sorry, Mr Lightwood.” Andrew’s smile is genuinely apologetic. “There’s really not much we can do. If it helps, there’s another customer in booth number three whose banner we were printing when it caught on fire, and he’s been on the list for almost over a month.”

“Eesh, poor guy.” Alec winces.

“Tell me about it.” Andrew tsks. “And he’s a really sweet guy too. Some customers throw a hissy fit if we’re ten minutes late in delivering a order they’ve put in maybe an hour ago, and he’s really understanding and patient. But it’s for his psychic shop and he’s checking in maybe the tenth time now. Kaelie was just telling me that we might lose that account for good. I wouldn’t be surprised.”

Alec nods, then looks down as his phone pings with notifications from his team about going over swatch cards. “Andrew, is there nothing you can do? Is there no back alley super shady banner maker somewhere?”

“They make something vastly different than banners, Mr Lightwood.” Andrew chuckles good-naturedly, used to the antics of his long time customer. “Well, I could run to the place near 34th and Wilshire. My cousin works as a temp there. The price is way higher, but they can do a quick job.” Andrew taps away on his phone for a second. “Oh good, Artie says they’re open for another five hours at least.”

“Money’s not an issue.” Alec lets out a relieved sigh, and brings out his credit card. “You’re a lifesaver.”

“I know.” Andrew offers him a bright smile. “I’ll inform you as soon as it’s done.”

“Thank you.” Alec nods, before a thought flashes. “Oh, and, Andrew?”

“Yes, anything else, Mr Lightwood?”

“Yeah. I was thinking you could take the other guy’s order there too?” Alec jerks his head in the direction of the other booths in the shop, the silhouette of another customer visible through the blurry divider between the counters.

“That’s a good idea. I’ll ask him.” Andrew gets up to approach the man, but Alec stops him.

“Don’t tell him anything, just put the extra fee on my card.”

“But-”

“It’s okay,” Alec smiles.

Andrew shakes his head, his golden curls shaking with the motion. “You’re a good egg, Mr Lightwood.”

“Just paying it forward.”

---------------

The fire alarm goes off after the second time. Magnus groans as the noise threatens to invoke a migraine. At least he can use his magic to soothe it this time.

The same magic that caused the fire he’s been scrambling to put out for the past thirty seconds. For a small cauldron fire, the sparks are notoriously hard to douse. Being dormant for almost a century, and then suddenly trying to make a magical banner for his kinda-sorta psychic business would do that to a warlock’s magic, he supposes.

Maybe he should consult a spellbook or something. Only there’s no precedent for a banner making spell because graphic designed banners didn’t exist by the time magic was last used.

Well, first time for everything.

The doorbell rings, and Magnus sighs, trying his best to smooth down the no doubt wild hair he’s got from running his hand over and over through it. Pardon him, it’s been a very stressful day.

“Mr Bane? This is Sananda from the Banner Emporium. I have a delivery for you.”

The girl with a neon green streak in her braid hands him a large roll of paper, which Magnus holds up with more than a little difficulty.

“Sign here please.” The girl says, chewing gum disinterestedly. Magnus puts the banner down before taking the signing sheet.

“I thought the shop printer broke.” Magnus returns the sheet. “Did you guys fix it already?”

“No clue, I just work as delivery.” The girl shrugs. “My boss told me to make two deliveries only today, one to you and another to some party planner office. Guess they did some fixing, huh?”

Magnus smiles, tipping the girl a twenty. The girl offers a mock salute, and walks away humming the tune of a pop song. Magnus closes the door behind her, a smile slowly spreading on his face as he uncoils the banner.

Bane: Psychic and tarot card readings

It looks perfect. But Magnus doesn’t get long to marvel at it, because the phone rings. His old landline, which means only one person could be calling.

“Hello Ragnor.” Magnus answers, happy to talk to one of his oldest and closest friends after such a long time.

“Magnus, why didn’t you call me? I had to hear from Catarina that you might have met your soulmate?” Ragnor goes right to the point, tone accusatory.

Magnus takes comfort in the fact that while the whole world might change, Ragnor Fell, ever the a wonderful friend, never will. “I’m not even sure myself, how was I supposed to tell you? I’ve heard a thousand of those Ragnor, you know that better than anyone.”

“Still, Magnus.” Ragnor’s voice comes out tinny, “You don’t have to have the perfect relationship, because there is nothing like that in the world. All we can do is take a leap of faith, and hope that it’s not an abyss. But you have to keep taking that leap.”

“Why are you giving me relationship advice at what is supposed to be early morning at yours?” Magnus asks, eager to change the subject.

“Because I never needed mine, and I’m happy that way, yet I know how much you’ve waited for yours. One of these days, you’re going to have to seize the opportunity no matter what, and take a chance upon love.”

By the time Magnus hangs up, it’s been almost hours. Ragnor’s phones are a rare commodity, the warlock ever so averse of technology, and they do have almost three years worth of conversations to catch up on. Magnus is exhausted, and even though he hates admitting it, Ragnor is right. He could’ve stayed at that party, checked up on Clarissa and her boyfriend, made sure their memories didn’t resurface.

He could have stayed and danced with Alec too.

But he’s been so freaked out, he tells himself. He’s been out of his mind with worry for the demon attack and his magic and different worlds and his probably shoddy memory spellwork.

And maybe he’s also been afraid. Afraid that if he went after Alec, he’d risk everything, his life, his secrets, his meticulously prepared facade that he’s totally fine, especially with the explicit probability that he might not be Alec’s soulmate, even if Alec is his.

Ugh. Magnus scrubs his face with the back of his hand. What a mess this is.

Chairman struts his way into the drawing room, fresh up from a nap, and rubs his face into Magnus’s calf demanding pets. Magnus picks him up, scratching him under his chin. The cat purrs happily, and Magnus makes a decision.

---------------

“One honey macchiato with extra whipped cream please.”

Jace turns to see the man on the other side of the counter, a small frown on his face as he tries to place the face somewhere in his memory. Magnus shuffles from toe to toe, lips pinched together tensely. Jace regards him closely, and doubt rises in the back of Magnus’s mind.

Did he do a sloppy job?

It’s not an exact science, to be frank. Memory magic hardly ever is. It’s not quantifiable like potions, and definitely not by the book like a summoning. Memory magic is, at its root, intuitive. Blindly stumbling about in another person’s mind and hoping as hell that you didn’t erase some developmental memories.

And if anyone knows anything about Magnus, it is that he really isn’t a coffee man. Not anymore anyway. He used to be, once upon a bygone era, when waking up after a night of partying and starting the day with another bout of partying had to be connected with the help of a magically summoned cup of coffee. But those days are far gone, and Magnus mostly prefers his jasmine tea with a touch of honey. Which is why he came to Java Jace to check up on the blond. He’s no more his old self than his magic is controllable.

Still, he’d hoped that it would’ve come back like riding a bicycle.

That hope seems pretty bleak now, as Jace crosses his arms, narrowing his eyes at the man in a white cardigan in front of him. “Is this his way of apologizing to me after he criticized my barista skill yesterday?”

“Uh….what?” Magnus asks confusedly.

“I told him that honey macchiato is my least ordered item and literally he’s the only one who orders it and that’s why I have to keep an entire thing on the menu, and get honey from the supermarket too.”

“Sorry, I have no clue what you’re talking about.” Magnus winces.

“Wait, you don’t know the Lightwoods, do you?” Jace nods gravely, “And I just accused a customer for no reason at all, what a dumbass I am.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Magnus waves it off.

“No, no, seriously. Sorry man.” Jace goes to make the drink with a practiced hand. “But I have to say, you seem awfully familiar. Did I see you somewhere before? Maybe in college?”

“Uhh….” Magnus chuckles nervously, panic rising steadily in his heart, “I don’t think so. Unless you went to school in Indonesia.”

“That’s a no. Born in London but grew up here.” Jace nods. “Sorry, I can just really picture you and Clary inside a basement, I was there too.”

“Um-”

“Oh god that sounded so creepy. I swear it wasn’t something weird or anything, I can just remember feeling really scared all of a sudden. Maybe I should stop drinking from my own shop, huh?”

Jace’s casual grin does nothing to soothe Magnus’s nerves, and he smiles along politely, and sends wisps of magic through the minute contact between them as the barista hands over his order. Jace jolts immediately, looks down, curling and uncurling his fingers over and over.

“Everything okay?” Magnus asks tentatively. Jace throws an unsure smile his way.

“Yeah, just, almost burnt my fingers I guess. Hazards of working in the food industry, right?” Magnus doesn’t answer, instead brings out his card to pay, till Jace claps his hands loudly. “I knew it! I knew I remembered you from somewhere.”

Magnus’s heart sinks faster than lead in water, and he racks his brain for any spell that could come in handy for a quick memory erasure. Except it’s been over two centuries, and his memory is definitely not what it used to be when he used magic regularly.

“You’re that psychic right? The one Luke went to? You know, Luke Greymark? He owns a bookshop on the crossing of 22nd and Richardson.”

A breath of relief punches its way out of Magnus, shoulders sagging visibly. “Yes, I remember him. He’s a very good man.”

“He is.” Jace nods. “He’s my girlfriend’s godfather, actually.”

“Oh.” That’s all Magnus says, afraid to shake the still brittle effects of his spell. “Thanks for the coffee.”

“You’re welcome.”

---------------

“Dude, I almost lost a customer because of you today.”

“What?” Alec asks, half of his attention on his phone where his assistant’s been sending him swatches for their latest event. “No no no, pink’s all wrong.” Alec mumbles as he types, “Go for lilac, much more elegant.”

“Here you go, one honey macchiato with chocolate drizzle.” Alec reaches for the cup bindly, but is met with blank space. He looks up finally, only to meet with Jace’s unimpressed glare. “What? I’m arranging a gala for a very, very, very moody client. I mean ‘changes the guest list every three minutes’ kind of moody.”

“Ugh, whatever.” Jace hands him his coffee finally, wincing as Alec takes a sip of the still hot drink. “Seriously, how does that not burn your throat?”

“I’ve had a lot of practice.” Alec throws a lewd wink his way, making Jace throw a bunch of stirrers at him. Alec finally puts the phone down after a bout of rigorous texting, and looks up at Jace. “Now, what is this customer you were telling me about?”

“Just some psychic dude, came in and ordered that godforsaken drink you make me make you every morning. I half thought he was joking and you sent him.”

“I didn’t.” Alec shakes his head.

“Yeah, he told me. It’s all cool,” Jace shrugs. “Funny thing too, he seemed really sweet, and with a sweet tooth like yours. You would’ve liked him.”

“Uh huh.” Alec says off-handedly, already busy texting back to his team.

-----------------

The last gala Magnus went to was in 1903.

It’s been a hell of a time. Quite literally too, since a hellmouth opened in the middle of the dance floor. It had taken all the warlocks present to close it, and even then they couldn’t have done it without the Shadowhunters pouring in with weapons drawn.

It had also been the last time Magnus ever used magic in battle.

It seems that way now, bringing out the outfits that found their way in the back of Magnus’s closet, unused and unneeded for decades after decades. Magnus had lost touch with his magic, all warlocks did, but for someone like Magnus, someone breathing and living in magic day after day, needing it like air in his lungs, it had been drastic.

Magnus had cut ties with almost all of his old friends. It hadn’t been intentional, for most of the cases. Just seeing those warlocks ready and accepting eternity without magic made him despair far more than the actual reckoning of it. Catarina still comes around every few weeks, more often if she’s exhausted after an especially gruelling day at the ER. Ragnor still sends letters every few years aside from his phonecalls, his horned friend adamant on keeping the beautiful traditions of penpals alive by his sheer force of will.

But somewhere down the road, Magnus had stopped being the man he once was.

The clothes of an era bygone stare him in the eyes as he brings them out one by one- shirts, pants, breeches, boots, accessories that museums would give a limb and a half for.

The reason for all this, lies heavy at his desk in this other room.

Malcolm Fade was a wild man while he had magic. After losing his soulmate to the whims of the Nephilim, he’d grown almost mad it had seemed, until he lost his magic as well. Magnus had visited him a few times in the past, while everyone was still reeling from the loss of the Shadow World. Malcolm had seemed like his older self, more cheerful, more present in general. Magnus had been glad to see his old friend coming back to himself, and hoped this change will continue to be good for him.

It seems that his love for extravagant parties has not changed however.

The pale lavender envelope was hand delivered almost two days ago, making Magnus lose enough sleep over it already. What does it mean to have been invited to a gala, while his magic is back and in such a precarious way?

Magnus had stayed up staring at the invitation for hours, until he had decided to go at precisely 3:47 am, and to conceal the return of his magic until absolutely necessary.

Malcolm may be a friend, but he's a friend who suffered the loss of a soulmate, who Magnus last remembers having the Black Volume necessary for necromancy, and who isn’t above violence to get his Annabel back, if history is witness.

It’s better to bide his time. Learn to control it better.

And there's still a tiny part of him that thinks this is all temporary, and that this too will pass like a phase of the moon.

Magnus doesn’t pay any attention to that part, instead gathers up some clothes to take to the tailor nearby for a quick fitting.

---------------

“Holy fuck.” Alec gapes at the fabric lying on the fitting table at David’s tailor shop. It’s practically Manhattan’s worst kept secret at this point, that while a big name company may provide you a great designer dress or suit, you always come to David and his wife Genya for fitting. He’s seen them work wonders with his most nitpicky of clients, and for all the business the Lightwood name brings, he practically has an open access to the place.

The fabric’s unlike anything he’s seen before, the threadwork in gold and the artistically arranged deep brown buckles might seem too much, but yet it all ties perfectly together somehow.

“Is it the fabric you’re making my waistcoat in? Please say yes!” Alec tries to make a pleading face, but Genya hits his slouching back with the back of her measurement board.

“Stand still. Or I can’t work on you, and you can go wherever you’re going in this weird bulging state.” If it had been anyone else, Alec would’ve had a comeback, but Genya is a force to be reckoned with, and that eyebrow quirk is sure to leave his gambit backfiring. So Alec keeps his mouth shut, and the ginger hums appreciatively.

“This isn’t ours, sorry Alec.” David answers him with an apologetic smile.

“All good.” Alec offers, standing as still as possible, so as to not anger the seamstress currently working on the seam of his cuffs.

“That’s actually from one of our oldest clients.” Genya says, her voice muffled as she turns to work on Alec’s pants. “He came in and said his great grandfather had this made from us in the early 1900s. Said he’s going to a themed party and needed a refit.”

“Funny, the party I’m arranging is also themed around the early twentieth century.” Alec nods, before rolling his eyes. “Though honestly my client has made it into an hodgepodge if you ask me.”

“I’m sure you’re gonna do a wonderful job either way.” Genya offers, David nodding along with his wife.

They always seem such an odd couple, Genya with her fiery heart and strong smile and eager to talk to everyone, and David with his quiet sketches and always busy doing something . Alec has never seen two people so opposite, yet so in love.

His soulmark itches in the corner of his ribs, and Alec moves involuntarily, making Genya tut loudly. He doesn’t have time to think about wherever his soulmate is, whatever he’s doing.

He can’t.

That’s why he took this gig, after so many of his friends gave up trying to coordinate with Malcolm Fade’s- ahem, eccentric- choices. They all warned him about it, about the insufferability of it all, but he needed something, anything , after that day. Because no matter what he did, those kind brown eyes would come back to haunt him in his sleep, the smile in them so cruel, so mocking.

Genya taps on his shoulder, shattering his thoughts for the time being, and Alec’s grateful for the little intervention before his thoughts could turn dark like they’ve been for a few days now. Alec understands it, has heard of it. It’s the lack of the bond while coming so close to his soulmate. The bond is snapping forward, trying to find its twin, only to meet with emptiness.

Alec wants to rip it out of himself.

“Everything’s going to be okay, Alec. You’re going to be okay.” Genya says, not unkindly. She’s always had the uncanny ability to understand exactly what goes on inside someone’s head, and no matter how much Alec tries, it works on him nonetheless. It used to unnerve him, now it just feels familiar.

“I’m going to be more than okay,” Alec jokes, trying to lighten the mood, “I’m going to be fabulous in this suit. You’ve truly outdone yourself, David.”

The man in question only smiles a little, while Genya looks over her husband proudly, love shining in her blue eyes. Alec looks away from them, the bond screaming all alone in his chest. It’s too painful to look at people so clearly in love.

“When they come back to pick it up, tell them I said they have excellent taste.” Alec spares one last glance at the cloth lying on the table, before walking out to the counter.

---------------------

Magnus is late to his first proper gala in over a century.

It’s really the Chairman's fault, he sighs to himself. If the cat hadn’t decided to be an absolute arse today, he would’ve been out the door to get his waistcoat at least an hour earlier. It’s a miracle he’s not missing the party entirely.

Well, a miracle and maybe a little bit of magic.

Okay, maybe more than a little.

It’s dangerous to try out portalling at such an early stage of his magic’s comeback, Magnus knows. The theory has also been proven multiple times as he stumbled across a petting zoo in France and an abandoned ruins of a church in Rome for the past hour. It took him three tries to finally get the location right. At least, knowing New York traffic, he’s still earlier than it would’ve taken him in a taxi.

Maybe he shouldn’t have uninstalled uber so soon.

The doorman regards him closely, and Magnus feels himself stiffen under the strict scrutiny. He feels like an actor playing pretense, his clothes and makeup all done in the hands of a man he no longer is. But, it’s still fun to see so many familiar faces under the same roof.

Whoever planned this party did a wonderful job of it, Magnus thinks. The chandelier is reflecting all the disco lights currently hanging from the ballroom, a swath of artifacts and activities from several different decades all in the same place, as is Malcolm’s taste, Magnus remembers.

But there’s still order in this chaos, a type of organized mess of a beauty, and Magnus can appreciate it. His thoughts flow, unbridled, as he takes a glass of soda on the rocks from the bartender, about a similar party he went to not too long ago, and how everything changed since then.

His moment of tranquil appreciation is soon interrupted by a pink-skinned phouka slamming into him. Magnus loses balance at the collision, and the world flips the centre of gravity in a blink of an eye, his drink spilling everywhere.

“Shit.” Magnus swears low in his throat.

“Can’ye see w’er y’er goin’?” The phouka yells in a deep accent, startling Magnus.

“I’m sorry.” Magnus apologizes, knowing full well it was not, in fact, his fault. It’s not in his nature to cause conflict. Even if he’s the one drenched in soda.

Even if his magic is crackling at his fingertips for a retaliation.

“What seems to be the problem?”

Magnus feels his magic going into overdrive, his skin feels too tight- too hot- too everything . He’s feeling like he’s seeing the whole party from a different perspective, the colours feel more vibrant, the chandelier a little sparklier, the sweet stench of the spilled drink a little stronger.

He feels drunk without having a single sip of anything.

“This nothin’ nobody’s tryna ge’ in the par’y for a quick sip, I reckon. I doubt he’s even in the list Mr Fade gave’em.” The phouka gives him a dirty glance. Magnus considers baring his eyes- his true eyes- for him to see exactly who this ‘nothing nobody’ is.

He decides against it at the last moment, instead pulls himself to his full height, towering over the barely four feet tall fae. Magnus juts his chin out the way he’s seen his best friend do every time he asks Raphael for a movie night, puts his mask away, and buttons the open jacket, regardless of its now drenched state. “My name is Magnus Bane. Check your damn list again.”

“Magnus.”

----------------

Alec feels like he’s dreaming.

This party is a dream in itself, the setting is done deliberately to emulate a sort of dream like chaos. He’s chosen his own outfit accordingly, a white a black ensemble, with an elaborate angel mask that covers his cheekbones in what looks like wings.

He looks divine and he knows it.

He was ready to be a professional tonight, making sure everything goes off without a hitch, half because Mr Fade is late to his own party, and half because he had to be, because staying cooped up in his apartment with netflix and pizza sounds a lot less appealing than whatever happens here.

Even though his mind is swimming with pain from the almost rejected bond.

Even though the pain of it seems imprinted on his very soul.

But then there’s a disturbance, one of Malcolm’s tiny bouncers yelling at a man who smells like the kind of expensive soda Isabelle likes. A man wearing the same jacket Alec saw on David’s table only a few hours ago.

Alec had been delighted, ready to make conversation with the man wearing the jacket he’s been so fond of- the same man in that simple yet elegant black and white handheld domino mask, until he’d noticed his eyes.

Until he’d said those words.

Alec feels the floor tilt from under him, every inch of his body screaming to go up to him, to introduce himself, to dance with him until they can’t anymore. It seems like a different sort of madness, and Alec’s not sure he’s objecting.

“Magnus?” He asks, hope blossoming like ivy under his skin.

“Alec.”

His name on those lips is what leaves Alec undone. All his professionalism, all his suaveness, everything Alec Lightwood ever is or ever will be, concentrated on those two syllables from the man Alec has waited a long- maybe too long- to meet.

Alec starts forward, a step taken almost unconsciously, his words warm against his ribs. Magnus has put his mask down minutes ago, and as he looks at his face, Alec feels like he’s falling into a never ending tunnel of love.

Those simple strokes of metallic eyeliner, like starlight bathed in gold. And in between them, the kindest, most beautiful eyes he has ever seen.

“Magnus.” Alec chokes out again, unable to say anything else. Magnus stretches a hand out for him to hold, and Alec takes it like a drowning man being offered a raft.

It takes him a moment to realize that the words have stopped hurting, as if a simple touch from Magnus have doused the burning flame into cool waves of calm.

---------------

Magnus takes a leap of faith.

Alec’s voice feels choked, like it hurts him to breathe anymore, and Magnus feels his whole life flash in front of him, all eight hundred years of it. It’s been too long, far too long, since he’s taken a chance on love. He’s gone cozy in his little comfort zone, happy to stay unrejected.

But he doesn’t want to do that anymore. So he offers a hand, a simple gesture masking a thousand words.

I’m sorry it took me so long.

I’m sorry I ran away.

I’m sorry I didn’t look for you.

I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere else.

Alec catches his hand, holding him close like the only hope in his whole world, and Magnus feels like he’s weightless, floating on clouds.

“Dance with me?” Alec asks, the question more of a request than anything else.

Magnus doesn’t find it in himself to say no, and quite frankly, he doesn’t want to either. So he smiles, eyes crinkling with hope and happiness and possibility. “I thought you’d never ask.”

------------

The fast pop music changes into a slow waltz as the two of them go down to the dancefloor, a round ballroom stretching almost fifty meters every which way. Alec pulls Magnus right underneath the enormous chandelier, the reflected golden light painting them both in halos. They sway together, happy to just be close for the moment, and Alec is grateful. He doesn’t have it in him to talk right now, not when everything feels too perfect and too much like everything he’s ever wanted.

Finally, the music ends, and Magnus looks at him for a long moment right in the middle of the dance floor. Alec feels uncharacteristically nervous, everything he is laid bare in front of his soulmate. But he doesn’t shy away, instead he meets his gaze head on, before Magnus grabs his hand. Alec lets himself be led out of the ballroom, away from the crowd, finally stopping at the adjoined balcony, away from prying eyes.

“I’m sorry about the other day.”

“I thought I’d never see you again.”

Both men speak at the same time, before pausing to comprehend what just happened. A small smile graces Magnus’s face, and Alec wants to live in it, revel in it, spend his forever in it.

“I’ll go first,” Magnus says, “I’m sorry I walked out on you abruptly that day. There was an emergency and I had to leave.”

“Emergency?” Alec asks, concerned, “Is everything okay?”

“Yes, of course. Everything is fine.” Magnus assures him. “Just- I told myself I left for that reason only, but the truth is, I was scared. I’ve heard those words a million times before, and every time they scarred me like a blade. I was so scared- scared of everything that I would be taking a chance on- afraid what I would be risking. I’m sorry. Really really sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” Alec stops Magnus, clasping both his hands with his own, “I could have looked for you, tried to understand why you left, why you didn’t talk to me. I’ve heard my words too, over and over and over again. Until they hurt like a million paper cuts at the same time. And- and after you, I was so caught up in my own hurt, I didn’t stop to think there could be a second explanation.”

“I’m so sorry.” Magnus lowers his eyes, guilt overflowing his heart.

“Don’t be. Please don’t be.” Alec brings up Magnus’s hands, kissing them both, “You came back to me, that’s all that matters. I’m so so so happy to see you again.”

“This whole time I’ve been running up and down the whole city, trying to forget you somehow , but it’s like the more I tried to forget everything, the more the world just pulled me towards you.” Alec lets out a surprised chuckle. “I tried to plan a corporate party, but the banner place fucked up, and I had to get it done from somewhere else, and they told me about this other guy who’d been the same kind of bindup like me, and that he’s sweet and polite and that he’s been trying to get his banner for weeks, and all I could picture was you, and I just- I just couldn’t not help him.”

Magnus feels recognition hit him full force. “You’re the one who told Andrew to get my banner done in time?”

Alec stares at him for a full minute before speaking. “Oh god. Please don’t tell me it was you who went to Jace’s to get the same order as me.”

“You know Jace?”

“Our parents are high school friends, we practically grew up together.” Alec explains. “Honey macchiato?”

“Honey macchiato.” Magnus smiles, the two sharing a secret between just them under the night sky while the party rages on inside.

“And you were at David and Genya’s,” Alec says half to himself, before smiling mirthfully, “I told them to tell the owner of the jacket that they have great taste.”

“And?” Magnus goads him on.

“And I’ve decided that the owner has amazing taste, especially in soulmates.” Alec winks. “Though their taste is not enough to rival my own, because my soulmate is better, prettier, more amazing, than everyone else in the world. Brighter than all the stars in the sky.”

Magnus sputters for a second at the compliment, splotchy blush blooming on his golden cheeks as he ducks his head. Alec can’t stop grinning.

“Can we get out of here?” Magnus says in a stroke of sudden confidence, the surety in his voice evaporating as soon as the words leave his lips.

Alec makes an exaggerated gesture of being surprised, and Magnus can’t be annoyed with him even if he wanted to. “Mr Bane. Oh my. So forward.”

“You don’t have to.” Magnus adds quickly. “I get it, this is your event, and we can leave once it’s over. It’s okay.”

“I didn’t say that, Magnus.” Alec practically bounces the way to the reception, and signs off on a few papers, before explaining some things to his assistants. All the while holding Magnus’s hand in his own, like it’s his second nature by now.

Magnus feels like he’s walking on sunshine.

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Later, Magnus and Alec stumble into his shop-in-apartment in Brooklyn, tangled together with limbs and mouths and hearts and bonds, losing touch with the reality of where one begins and another ends, words of love and promises whispered into every kiss.

I love you.

I’m not going to leave.

We’re together.

Everything’s going to be alright.