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“I know, but magic can’t create fears…only bring them out.”
“Magnus…” Alec started, not wanting to have this conversation.
“Look,” Magnus interrupted gently. “You don’t have to explain yourself. I’ve been through it myself. Just promise you’ll tell me if things ever get that bad.”
Alec nodded minutely at Magnus — an unspoken promise made — and tried to smile, though the gesture seemed to fall flat.
He turned his head back to the city below and clutched the balcony wall, his fingertips hurting, and dirt and dust getting stuck under his nails. As vehicles sped by and mundanes carried on with their day, Alec’s vision started to blur, his eyes glazing over as memories started to stir.
***
The sky was dark — nearly black — and the moon watched over Brooklyn. No stars were visible, but he knew they were there, dead in the atmosphere. Clouds drifted through the night like all the mundanes on the sidewalk, and the wind was strong and fast, like the cars and trucks that zoomed past him, like the trains he could hear in the distance.
Summer nights were Alec’s favourite, especially nights that weren’t perfect. It was a sobering reminder that he was far from perfect himself — though he certainly tried. No matter how hard he tried, though, he’d never be perfect. He’d never be the son his parents wanted. He could pretend, and that would have to be enough. For now, at least.
Alec cared about the rules but he’d been finding himself sneaking out at night. The only place he ever went was the roof, even if it was raining.
Most nights consisted of his legs dangling as he sat on the edge of the roof, staring at the world below him. He thought about what kind of mundane life he would live if he hadn’t been born a Shadowhunter.
Would he play sports or go to the movies with his friends? Would he travel? Or would he be smart enough to make it to University — and if so, what would he major in? Journalism? Criminology? Business? Drama? Would his parents be more accepting of other ideas and opinions? Would they have pets? And maybe more importantly: would he be happy?
It was impossible for him not to wonder.
The problem was that it consumed him, especially when the night fell and the distractions of earlier in the day had vanished like the sun.
Another thing that seemed to haunt his thoughts while on the roof was the overwhelming curiosity he felt. A part of him — a part he was deeply ashamed off — wondered what falling would be like.
Alec could imagine it so very clearly.
He would stand, teetering on the edge, his toes balanced on nothing but air. His arms would be outstretched to the side, like a bird. The wind would ruffle his hair as he would close his eyes, feeling the air rush over his face. After a few moments of just breathing, lost in his head, he’d open his eyes and look down, watching and waiting as traffic slowed, and no one was walking past. When the streets and sidewalks were as empty as possible, Alec would simply lean forward and fall. He’d be graceful, not fighting the gravity. The wind burning his face would distract himself enough from the imminent landing.
Sometimes, the only thing that stopped him was the horrifying possibility that he’d survive. That he’d have to explain to his parents why, even though he wasn’t entirely sure he could explain.
It wasn’t just falling from rooftops he fantasized about. Every time he went down a flight of stairs, he considered the possibility of flinging himself down, just to see what would happen. And the Institute had so many weapons — knives, swords, blades of any kind — it’d be so easy to just have an “accident”. There were so many every day things, daily tasks, that could put him in harms way and he considered it every time.
Instead of letting himself fall this time, though, he sighed, tears fighting against his eyes, and he pulled his legs back over the edge, none of his limbs dangling over the open air anymore. His palms hit the concrete and the memory stopped, like it was rooted in touch.
Alec looked at Magnus as he busied himself, taking care of the stray cats on the balcony.
He smiled to himself — in spite of himself — and for one of the first times he could remember, he was glad to be standing on solid ground. He was glad that his heart was still beating, that he wasn’t injured. That he could just be himself, unapologetically.
Maybe there was hope after all.