#willjtudor

The ingredients table stands untouched and nothing is brewing in the iron cast cauldron off to the side; everything in the same place it was when Alec stopped by on his way out to the Institute to wish Magnus a good day and get a kiss goodbye.

Magnus himself is sat at his desk, unmoving, like one of the marble statues lining the Institute roof; the tabletop lamp to his right is casting dark shadows onto his face and reflecting fractured light in the glass of whiskey nearby, barely a sip missing from it. The second hand of the clock ticks twice before Magnus realizes Alec is in the room and it takes him another moment to pull the mask of contentedness over the heavy sadness that was there before.

Alec knows that look, knows what it means - it’s not the kind of nostalgic melancholy that comes with reliving old memories or even the tiredness seeping into bones after a hard day, but the vulnerable, hurting sorrow Magnus had felt after Valentine and all the torture he had to endure in his body. Alec can still recall it picture-perfectly, burned into his memory - a hollow gaze, eyebrows pulled together and lips tight, Magnus’ entire body slumped down where he always sits tall.

With a feeling of deja vu, Alec watches Magnus stand up too quickly, overeager in his want to hide all evidence of weakness; there’s a tight smile in the corners of his mouth as he beelines for Alec to greet him with a kiss. It’s short and sweet and Alec gives into it because he’s only so strong, but it doesn’t sit right with him.

“Alexander, is something wrong? You look worried, darling,” Magnus says, his voice smooth and palms warm against Alec’s chest; worry roots itself inside Alec as he runs through the list of things that could’ve caused Magnus to feel like this. As far as he knows, Magnus only had one minor client meeting set up, then a warlock party he was invited to, a congregation in the wake of recent events.

It must’ve been that, if Alec’s gut-feeling is anything to go by. He smiles reassuringly at Magnus, putting his hands over the ringed fingers tapping out a subtle pattern against the fabric of his shirt.

“I’m fine, but what about you?”

“What do you mean?” Magnus feigns ignorance, but Alec knows better than that, has watched Magnus for so long that he can easily spot all the cues - the shift from foot to foot, the nervous bob of his throat.

With a gentle hand cupped over Magnus’ elbow, Alec leads him back to the swivel chair he got up from, then perches on the edge of the desk, careful of all the things already on it, especially the framed picture of them from one of their dates in Europe.

“You seem off. Did anything happen while you were at that meeting?”

Magnus glances down at his lap, where his hands are folded together, fingers worrying a ring, turning it restlessly. The edges of his jaw harden and anger flows over, acidic in all the words he throws next.

“Lorenzo Rey happened. You’ll meet him at the next council, since I won’t be there.”

Alec doesn’t understand. He shifts, brows drawn down and head tilted.

“It wasn’t a party, but an almost business meeting. The community voted for a new High Warlock due to what Lorenzo called ‘crucial lapses of judgment’,” Magnus sighs heavily, bitterness joining all the emotions already trapped beneath his ribs. “And while some wanted to have me stay in the position, the majority voted for Rey, who’s been always against me and my ways of living. So, he’s the new High Warlock of Brooklyn now.”  

Silence falls across them as Alec mulls over the information, shocked by what he’s just heard. At first, his brain can’t catch up, associating the title with Magnus since he can remember, but then, it all clicks and righteous anger lights up Alec’s veins. He wants to stand up and go find this newcomer, shake him by the lapels and take what’s Magnus’, yet it’s not as simple as that.

Politics are never an easy ground to walk and both sides are somewhat right - while Alec would love nothing more to fight for Magnus’ honor (even though Magnus can do that himself, the thought is nice), he can see why warlocks have taken the steps they have, with how their relationship is viewed and Alec’s connections to the Clave, how Magnus’ decisions could be seen as influenced, skewed by a Shadowhunter. Still, he can’t help but feel cheated alongside Magnus.

It all depends on the point of view, because when people make a decision, they judge by their intentions and not by actions, whereas others see it the opposite way. Magnus had chosen his own kind, had wanted another Downworlder to protect his people from frankly inevitable trouble in the form of the Soul Sword, over a militarist organization that had abused and betrayed him many times before. He couldn’t have predicted that the Queen would turn on them and side with Valentine; he had done his best in the very difficult situation he’d found himself in, trapped between two important fractions of his life.

“That’s… Magnus, I’m sorry,” Alec murmurs, at a loss for words.

Magnus barks out a bitter laugh, eyes trained on something in the middle distance.

“No, don’t. Maybe it was the right thing to do.” He licks his lips, presses them together into a thin line against his teeth. “Luke and Raphael warned me, told me there was a different way to go about this, but I didn’t listen, lost in my pain and fear. You lying to me about the sword, the threat of my children ending up hurt or dead, the entire Shadow World in danger… I couldn’t think straight. Especially after what happened with Azazel and Valentine.”

Guilt flares up like a red-hot brand in Alec’s heart, but he tamps it down - he’s been forgiven, this is not about him. Him betraying Magnus’ trust was the last drop that broke the dam, released all of that pent-up hurt and anger, everything he’s been holding onto for a long while. They both thought they’d done the honorable thing, picked the proper path to walk on.

The discussion about all of this could last for hours on end, different factors changing outcomes like butterflies in effect, and the conclusions would be still as grey as the fog that hangs over New York on cold and wet mornings.

“You did what felt right.”

“I did. Still, it was ultimately their choice. It’s just…” When Magnus falters, Alec reaches for his palm, cradles it between his own in reassurance; he’s listening, he cares. “I’ve had this title for so long, it’s become a part of my identity, something I relied on to remind me of my strength in moments of doubt. I’ve always been Magnus Bane, the High Warlock of Brooklyn.”

Magnus smiles a hollow smile, eyes flickering up to meet Alec’s. “Now, it’s just Magnus Bane, a warlock. Maybe not even a good one.”

As soon as the resigned words leave Magnus’ mouth, there’s that anger again; it flows through Alec, tasting like refusal on his tongue. He knows Magnus doesn’t truly think that, instead lets himself feel the harshness residing deep, left behind from all the times he’s been beaten down and made to think he’s less than the powerful being Alec and the world see him as.

“Magnus, don’t -” Alec pauses, shuffles from the desk down to the floor, resting on a bent knee. Other hand still tangled with Magnus’, Alec sets his free palm on Magnus’ thigh, finds his wandering gaze and holds it steady. “You know that’s as far from the truth as you can get.”

Alec squeezes Magnus’ fingers gently between his, the only sounds around them the creak of the leather chair underneath Magnus’ weight and the rhythm of their breathing.

“You’re kind and thoughtful, always offering your home and your heart to people in need, always risking everything to protect your people. Without your input, we’d probably never solve half the cases we have, I hope you’re aware.”

Magnus allows a small chuckle at Alec’s words, nodding his head in smug agreement despite his gloomy mood. Relishing in that sliver of warmth on his boyfriend’s face, Alec continues, “Your knowledge keeps surprising me each time I get to hear your stories, each of them showing how wise you are, how much you understand. You survived wars and ends of the world as we know it, lived for centuries, yet you still have that gentleness in you that so many other people are missing.”

“But you’re not all brains and heart and no brawn, no. You wield your strength and your magic with pride - I’ve never met anyone else more powerful than you, because all it takes is one swipe of your arm to annihilate Circle members and you perform impressive spells like nobody’s business, not even breaking a sweat. You’re stronger than a title, still as capable as you are without it.”

When Magnus wants to interrupt, Alec doesn’t let him oppose the truth.

“You’re an extraordinary person, a great leader, the most wonderful lover and friend - anybody who says otherwise is either blind or in denial.”

Magnus’ palm fits itself around Alec’s cheek, soft fingertips against the edge of his jaw. Alec smiles, leaning into the touch.

“I’m not saying any of this just because I think you need to hear it. I mean all of it, every single word.”

He’s seen it all with his very own eyes, witnessed all he just described - he was there after all, when Magnus saved Luke’s life, putting his own in danger; when he saved Alec, more than once already. Magnus has helped Clary on multiple occasions when there were other things on his mind, assisted the Institute, even though he didn’t have to. He fought valiantly against people who looked down upon him and all those that did wrong, like Iris. There’s so much more to tell, not enough hours in a day to sing all of Magnus’ praises.

Thumb swiping a metronome rhythm across Alec’s cheek, Magnus stays quiet, his expression neutral except the upward quirk of his lips, like a peek of sun from behind stormy clouds. He seems to be reflecting on what he just heard, until that smile blooms and he stands slowly, pulling Alec up with him until they’re face to face.

Magnus’ careful hands slither up Alec’s arms, waking shivers in their path until they come to rest on broad shoulders. “Thank you,” he says, earnest and quiet, before he presses his forehead against Alec’s who tugs him even closer, until there’s no space between them. Their eyes dip shut, eyelashes fluttering against cheeks as they breathe each other in, surrounded by calmness of the loft, the quiet familiarity of their touch.

“I’m here for you and I love you. Remember, you’re not alone in this,” Alec murmurs, lips brushing against Magnus’ with each syllable.

“I love you, too,” Magnus hums, slipping his hands around to grab at the back of Alec’s shirt, then rests his cheek against Alec’s shoulder; he’s not holding on for dear life, but for comfort, like he understands this isn’t temporary. “I do know that, but sometimes it’s difficult to take my own advice.” Magnus chuckles to himself, but Alec feels it more than he hears it, Magnus’ breath sweeping over his skin.

“I feel like I will go crazy, just standing on the sidelines,” Magnus confesses and Alec tightens his hold, rubbing soothing circles against Magnus’ back; he’s not going to let that happen.

Their daily lives keep getting more steeper and more demanding, but that means nothing against Alec’s love for Magnus - their short separation was more than enough to show Alec that leaving Magnus’ side is impossible; he’s here for good, and he’s here to do better, to make up to Magnus for all his past mistakes. Relationships may be still new to him, but he knows how much support means when troubles are ahead, how loyalty and honesty and affection are the base for a love that can withstand any storm.

“Take this break to focus on yourself, then. You’ve gone through a lot recently, so find your balance, then take the council by storm.” Alec presses a soft kiss to the side of Magnus’ neck, searching for that ticklish spot that never fails to make Magnus laugh. Bones warming at the sound, Alec adds lightheartedly, “I can already hear Lorenzo shaking in his fancy boots.”

Magnus taps him on the shoulder in mock chastisement with another giggle escaping his chest, but then sobers, leaning back to look Alec in the face.

“What would I do without you, huh?”

Alec smiles innocently, eyes flickering up and away.

“You’d probably mope around all night, drink some expensive alcohol and maybe magically egg Lorenzo’s house, but since I’m here, we can go to our bed and then figure things out tomorrow. How about that?” Alec asks, already taking a step back towards the doors, one hand extended between them as an invitation.