Chapter Text
The weight of the patchwork quilt felt heavy against Alec's legs, despite the general lightness of it. He was leaning against the bedframe with a pillow stuffed under his lower back, his neck craned in an uncomfortable position that surely meant he'd be complaining about a crick for the following couple of days at the very least.
His body felt like lead – heavy and tired, and aching, though he hadn't even been outside in as many as three days. Jace would've made fun of him, had he known – 'you haven't seen the sun in days, old man'. This, despite him being only two years younger than Alec.
The book in his hands had remained untouched the past hour, no pages turned. Alec re-read the same sentence he'd started what felt like a million times already, but lost focus halfway through and gave up once more, letting his gaze flicker up to stare at the ceiling, instead.
There were cracks, spreading like webs from the corner where wall met ceiling and reaching halfway across the surface. Alec wasn't quite sure where they'd come from – his room was upstairs, with only the roof above, and he couldn't recall any occasions which would've warranted the damages. He chose to blame Jace.
A sigh escaped his lips, too loud in the quiet of the room.
Despite what he'd been told by what felt like the entire population of New York, his life had not drastically changed since he'd turned 21 the previous week. In fact, it seemed, nothing had changed at all. He stayed inside, he read, he went for walks. He met Aline once a week to get away from the restrictedness of his home life, the oftentimes inescapable feeling of being in a cage with no way out – Aline understood.
Their conversations often veered into fantasies halfway through, and especially with some drinks in – imagine running away, hopping in to a bus and travelling, halfway across the country, being free; imagine joining the hippies, the punkers, the goths; imagine swimming across the Atlantic Ocean, into Europe, into Paris, into anywhere; imagine, imagine, imagine. And in each scenario, they were free, and happy, and invincible against the rest of the world.
But the bubble of dreams was always blown out at the end of the night, when Alec kissed her on the cheek for good night and his mother, sitting in the living room with the table light on, reading, asked, always, without a fail – when are you bringing her home to meet the parents?
And always, "I'm not, mother, we're not together," and always, "She's such a sweet girl, exactly what you need."
And Alec wanted to scream, wanted to yell until his lungs burst, what do you know about what I need? What do you know about me, you've never known, I've never told you, and this wall that separates us is too solid for us to keep pretending it doesn't exist.
But he never did, and she never yelled back, and in the end, he climbed up the stairs into his room and fell asleep to the sounds of music because he refused to be a cliché, no crying yourself to sleep, not in his room, never. Lightwoods don't cry.
Alec discarded the book with a scoff, not bothering to mark the page. He slid downwards until he was flat on his back, the softness of the mattress enveloping him, coaxing him to close his eyes. He did – the darkness felt welcome. From behind his closed lids he could still see the light, emanating from the lamp on his desk, soft hues of orange against the black.
Is this it? He thought, his tone bitter even to his own ears. Was this all his life was ever going to be, constant pretending and acting, facades better than those trained actors had, because, he realized, this wasn't a job – this was survival. He played the role of the perfect son, and he played it well, and he ignored the toll it was taking on him, and he always would, because—
What else was there?
Leading a double life, for sure, but he hadn't the guts for it, nor the dedication, nor the desire—or, well, desire, yes, but… he was barely holding everything together right now, with things being as they were – he wasn't capable of building a life outside of his family and keeping it from them. Not for long, not here.
Alec opened his eyes. He could hear noises coming from downstairs, the front door opening and closing, keys clinging. There was faint giggling, which made Alec frown. Hushed talking, not audible enough for Alec to be able to deduce what was being said. Soon enough there were footsteps, climbing up the stairs – Alec recognized the familiar creaking of the fifth step before the floor.
There was a knock on his door, and Alec sat up, slowly. His back ached, his shoulders felt tense. Alec glanced around the room. His closet door was shut, his books were in order – he spied at the titles, inconspicuously hidden between the other novels; Maurice, Better Angel, The Charioteer, all bought in secrecy from his parents and read under the covers at night, hungry and starving to see himself on the pages, to glimpse at a world which welcomed him as a part of it.
Funny, how his parents knew so little of the son they claimed to love.
His window was open, and Alec saw the sun was setting, casting a pink hue over the buildings, colouring the clouds like marshmallows. Warm wind blew in. He walked over to the door, pulling it open.
Izzy was standing there, looking like she was ready to go out – or like she had just been out.
"Hey," Izzy said with a grin, and pushed herself into the room, shouldering Alec on the way. He closed the door behind her and turned around just in time to catch her sitting on the edge of his bed, bouncing her legs with excitement. He sat down by his desk, looking at her with a small smile on his face.
"How was school?" Alec asked.
Izzy waved her hand dismissively, tousling her already tousled up hair. "Great, great. Drew said—well, never mind what Drew said." She looked at him, her grin growing alongside with Alec's sense of dread. "Me and Clary – you know her, Fray, she's been around – anyway, we're going out."
Alec nodded slowly. "Alright," he said, sceptically. "And you're looking at me like that because – why?"
She chuckled. "Well," she started, "I know for a fact you've not been out to celebrate your birthday yet. And I know, also, that you're starting to rot inside this room. And, hence, I'm offering you a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to come out with me and Clare."
Alec's stomach flipped uncomfortably. Going outside was one thing – going outside, presumably to a club, was another. The thought of the sweaty crowd, the blaring pop music, the constant sense of not belonging – forever an outsider, looking inside from behind a glass window, not quite reaching anyone – didn't seem enticing.
But Izzy kept looking at him, hopeful and joyful and caring – and when had Alec ever had the heart to refuse her, when what she asked for wasn't much at all, in the big picture of life?
"Where?" He asked finally, knowing this was a lost battle.
Izzy clapped her hands, standing up. "You'll have a good time, I promise," she said, taking him by the hand and dragging him up as well. Then she looked at him over, once, and raised a brow. "Something needs to change."
Alec glanced at his outfit – washed out jeans, a simple, deep green knitted sweater – and saw no issues. Sure, there was a hole on his left knee, but he just hadn't had the time yet to sew it, and besides, no one would care, regardless.
Isabelle had deemed different. She shook her head, clicking her tongue. "No way," she stated. "We're going to borrow something from Jace, you're roughly the same size."
Alec wanted to point out that they weren't – he was a taller, and broader, and besides, Jace's wardrobe was an explosion of colours and fabrics Alec wanted nowhere near him – but before he could voice any of his thoughts out loud, Izzy was already dragging him from his room and down the hallway to Jace's.
"Where is Jace, anyway?" Alec asked as he sat cross-legged on the floor while Izzy went through Jace's clothes, mumbling to herself every few seconds.
"Out, with, uh, the girl," Izzy replied distractedly. She picked up something – a sweater similar to the one Alec was wearing – and after glancing at Alec, threw it on the floor without a word.
"The girl?" Alec raised a brow. "What a creative name she has."
Izzy snorted. "Don't get funny with me," she said, teasingly. "She's the one he met last month. You know – blonde, gorgeous, wears shoulder paddings as if they didn't go out of fashion last spring."
Alec let out an understanding 'ah'. "I see. Does she have a name?"
Izzy shrugged her shoulders, eyeing something inside the closet that Alec couldn't see. "Might've been Helga," she said. "Or—no, Helen."
Alec's eyes snapped to her, suddenly alert. "Helen? Helen Blackthorn?"
"I guess," Izzy said. She turned around to look at him, frowning. "Why, you know her?"
There was a sudden pit in his stomach. Aline had told him, had made him swear not to tell anyone—me and Helen, we're trying it out, but it has to be a secret—a few weeks ago, Alec remembered vividly. They'd been drinking coffee – he'd had tea. She'd been so happy, so excited to have met someone…
But Jace seeing Helen didn't necessarily mean anything. For all Alec knew, she was using him to cover up her being with Aline. For all he knew, everything was alright.
"I, uh, yeah," he managed to say. "She's friends with Aline."
"Oh," Izzy said, sounding surprised. "I didn't know that. How nice. I'm glad Aline's making friends that aren't you – you've both always seemed quite lonely, you know. I don't understand why you two don't just have a go at it, already."
They were threading waters Alec didn't want to explore. "She's a good friend," he said, shortly, and then cleared his throat. "You find anything there?"
"Mmh," Izzy hummed, absently. "A few shirts you should try on. The jeans are alright – I mean, they're not great, but I guess they'll have to do." She threw a few garments in his general direction, and Alec caught them mid-air, noting, to his horror, the neon colours some of them sported.
"Go on," Izzy said, sitting down opposite to him. "Try them."
Alec eyed the mess of fabrics in his lap. "… Right."
Ten minutes later he had tried on three different shirts, all ranging from 'bad' to 'absolutely horrendous'. Izzy had complimented all of them, sounding genuine, but Alec was not going to go out wearing a white silk shirt with palm trees on it. He had some remnants of dignity left.
Izzy let out a sigh, flopping down on the floor. "You are hopeless," she complained, resting her hand dramatically on her forehead.
"The only hopeless thing here is Jace's wardrobe," Alec said, crossing his arms. "All these shirts are horrible. I refuse."
"Refuse what?" Said an unfamiliar voice from the doorway. Alec glanced to his right, one brow raised.
A girl was standing there, about Izzy's age, with red hair done up in an intricate way. She was wearing blue flannel and jean shorts which Alec deemed too short for anyone going out in New York, but he figured it wasn't his place to comment on it.
"Oh, Clary, good," Izzy sighed, sitting up. "We're having an emergency."
Alec looked back at her. "I can just wear what I was wearing before this," he said, gesturing at the velvet polo shirt currently on him.
"I can help," Clary said, stepping inside, as if Alec hadn't said anything at all.
"Yes, please," Izzy replied. She stood up, and she and Clary got to sorting through Jace's questionable shirts once more.
Approximately five minutes later Clary emerged, holding a shirt that didn't immediately send Alec into cardiac arrest at the ripe old age of twenty-one. Next to her, Izzy was holding a pair of black jeans. They both grinned in unison, glancing at each other in a way that creeped Alec out just a little bit.
"Try these," Izzy said, handing both the jeans and the shirt over to Alec.
He did.
To his amazement, the shirt – a black silk tee, with puffy sleeves and red embroidered flowers – did not look too bad. In fact, if he squinted, Alec might've said it sort of fit him, when accompanied with the black jeans with too many holes in them to not be purposeful. He turned around in front of the mirror, glanced over his shoulder, then turned back.
"Well?" Izzy asked, sitting on the floor. She looked expectant, her eyes glowing. Clary was sitting next to her, inspecting her paint-covered fingers with mild interest.
"It's alright," Alec said, shrugging. The shirt slipped lower down his shoulders. "I can wear it."
Izzy hopped up, hugging him in excitement. "Yes," she yelled, too loud – Alec covered his ear and took a step back, laughing.
"Alright, alright, are we done here now?" He asked, moving towards the door. "It's almost nine, and I do want to get back home at some point."
Izzy shot him a look of horror. "Oh, Alec," she started. "No, we're not done. Let's go to my room."
Which was, coincidentally, precisely what she needed to say to make Alec want to run into the opposite direction. As Izzy and Clary left, he remained in Jace's room, swallowing down his anxiety. It was a night out. He was twenty-one, for God's sake, he could survive one night out. He'd been playing this game for so long, what was one night?
Izzy's room was downstairs – Alec stopped by his own room first, to pick up a bag for himself, before heading downstairs with a sense of dread in his stomach. The fifth stair creaked.
Once he got there, Izzy was waiting on the bed with a small bag on her lap, smiling in a way Alec assumed was supposed to be innocent. She patted the space in front of her, prompting for Alec to sit down, and he did, albeit hesitantly.
"What's that?" He asked, pointing at the bag.
"Make-up," Izzy replied, her tone light and casual.
"What," Alec deadpanned, his face blank. "I'm not—I'm not wearing make-up, Izzy, honestly—"
She shrugged, opening the bag and picking up something red, along with a brush. "You are, now," she said. "Listen, it's not a big deal. I know a lot of guys who do it." She paused, taking some of the red powder on the tip of the brush. "'Sides, no one's gonna see it inside the club, anyways. Close your eyes."
Alec opened his mouth to protest, then closed it, thinking. Izzy was right – no one was going to see it. And their parents were out of town for the weekend – if he wanted to be himself, for just a millisecond, this was the time.
"Fine," he eventually grumbled, pressing his lids shut tight. "But at least use good colours."
He heard Izzy sigh, and shift closer. "Obviously," she mumbled. "Don't—you're doing it wrong, relax, you're not supposed to hold them shut like you're in pain—no, that's not really it either, just—look, just close your eyes like you normally would, okay?"
Another hour later found them walking downtown, towards a club Izzy promised had an excellent reputation in the neighbourhood and outside of it. Alec was sceptical, but he'd promised himself to at least try – try to have a good time, to enjoy himself, to be, at least for a little while – free.
The sun had already set a long time ago, and the air felt chilly with the autumn wind. They walked in tandem, with Izzy and Clary walking side by side and Alec trailing a few steps behind, hands stuffed in his pockets. They passed crowds of people, but no one paid them any mind for the most part, save for the whistles Izzy and Clary received from desperate men – each time, they retaliated with insults before Alec was able to lift a finger.
It was a ten-minute walk before they reached the club. Neon letters flashed in blue by the front of the building, loudly proclaiming the name – Indigo Devil – to anyone walking past. Alec could hear the beating of the music from the street, and his face curled into an involuntary sneer.
"Don't look too happy," Izzy laughed upon seeing him. She linked arms with him. "Let's go and have fun, yeah?"
The inside of the club was filled with smoke, highlighted in different colours by the lights flashing from the ceiling – it created a sea of rainbows, constantly changing and moving. A mass of people were occupying every inch of the room, shifting and dancing and yelling, and Alec stood by the doorway, watching.
It dawned on him, suddenly, that this was a very bad mistake. He felt Izzy's hand slip away from his, and he turned to look, brows raised.
"We're going to go dance!" Izzy yelled at him over the loud blaring of the music, and before Alec could decline – he didn't feel like dancing – she disappeared off into the crowd with Clary, and he realized she never meant to ask him at all.
He felt cold, despite the heat of the place. This wasn't Alec's crowd – far from it. His skin felt like it was crawling, but before he could turn around and leave, the influx of people pushed him further into the club.
He staggered on his feet, disoriented. People were everywhere, stepping on him, touching him – he felt someone's breath against his neck, someone spilled their beer on his shirt, his head was dizzy, spinning—
Then suddenly someone grabbed him by the hand, fingers curling around his upper arm with determination, and dragged him through the crowd and into a more secluded corner by the counter. The fingers disappeared as soon as they stopped moving, and Alec placed his shaky hands on top of the counter, breathing heavily.
He counted to ten before looking over to his right.
A man was standing next to him, frowning in mild concern – the kind of concern you can hold for a stranger. His hair was spiked up, dyed – Alec assumed – black, with a hint of purple. He was wearing make-up, and Alec had a brief moment to realize that Izzy had been a complete liar when she'd said no one will see before the man had opened his mouth and was talking to him.
"Hey," he said – shouted – and smiled hesitantly at Alec. "Sorry for grabbing you like that, I—I thought you might want to get away from the crowd. You didn't look too well."
Alec swallowed nervously, nodding. "Yeah, uh, thanks. My sister—" But the rest of his sentence was swallowed up by the music, which was suddenly turned up by what felt like a hundred degrees.
Alec saw the man roll his eyes, before he gestured at Alec to follow him. The man led them outside through the backdoor and into an alleyway. As soon as the door fell shut behind them, the music subsided into a quiet thudding.
Alec sat down on the ground, leaning against the tile wall. His hands continued trembling. The man sat next to him, but keeping his distance.
"Let me reiterate," he begun, looking at Alec who turned his gaze away. "I'm Magnus. Magnus Bane. Sorry for the impromptu kidnapping."
Alec let out a shaky laugh, closing his eyes and letting his head tip backwards. "No, thank you for taking me away from that, I— thanks." He paused, and opened his eyes. "I'm Alec. My sister, she… thought she'd take me out for the night to have fun."
"Didn't look like you were having fun," Magnus offered.
Alec chuckled. "No. She took her friend and disappeared on me. I'm not big on crowds, so. Well. You saw me."
Magnus hummed. "Yeah, I did. Your shirt's very eye catching."
Alec glanced down at his – Jace's – shirt, sighing. "It was the only decent one," he admitted. "It's my brother's. Apparently, it wasn't suitable to go out in a sweater."
Magnus' laughter was deep and bubbly, and Alec found himself smiling. His head felt light, still, but the night air was helping.
"What kind of a sweater?" Magnus asked, still looking at Alec. Alec turned to look back.
"Green," he said. "Wool, I think."
The light fixed to the wall on top of them flickered ominously. Magnus glanced at it, before his eyes found Alec again.
"This place is a dump," he said. He straightened his right leg across the dirty concrete, his shoe shining.
Alec looked around them. There were bins, yet most of the trash was on the ground – burnt cigarettes, paper wrappers, God knows what else. He blinked, humming. "Well, you're not wrong."
"I didn't mean this alleyway, although the sentiment applies here as well," Magnus corrected. "But, no, I meant the club, itself."
"Oh." Alec paused. "Why not go somewhere else, then?"
"Not like there are many choices around here," Magnus replied, craning his neck to look up at the sky. Alec eyed his jaw, before tearing his gaze away.
"It's New York," he said. "Of course there are choices."
Magnus was quiet for a while, eyes trained on the stars. Alec sneaked glances at him. His lids were purple, and shining, sort of like twinkling stars. His lashes were dark, his nose strong, his lips beauti—
Alec shook his head.
"When you're like me," Magnus eventually said, "there aren't many choices."
Alec hesitated for a brief second, words hovering inside his head. "Like you?" He asked, carefully, hopefully.
"Well," Magnus started, his voice light – on purpose, Alec suspected. "I'm Indonesian. I dress flamboyantly. I'm bisexual. So, no, there aren't many choices for a person like me in this city, if I want to be even marginally safe."
Alec swallowed. "Oh. Right."
His heart felt like it was plummeting, trying to win a race against something invisible. His palms suddenly felt sweaty. Alec licked his lips, coughed, swallowed, coughed again. His mind was screaming at him to say something, anything, but no words came out.
"Right," Magnus echoed. He kicked something with his shoe, scraping the paint on it. "So, how—"
"I'm gay," Alec interrupted, loudly, before clamping down again. "I mean, I'm. Yeah. Sorry."
Magnus shot him an amused look, a smile playing at his lips. "That's alright," he mused. "We all have our moments."
Alec looked at him, trying to smile but ending up with a frown. "It's just, I've never done this," he explained. "I don't—the only person who knows has sort of always known, so I've never really…" He paused, his eyes flickering between Magnus' lips and nose and the light above them.
"Come out?" Magnus prompted.
"Yeah," Alec replied, his voice weak. "I don't—and we've only just met, but—I don't know."
Magnus smiled, gently. "Practice makes perfect," he said. "So, no one in your family knows?"
Alec shook his head. "They, uh, can't know. At least, not my parents. It would—it wouldn't end well, for anyone."
"I see," Magnus said. "I'm sorry. I know what it's like to… feel like an outside in your own family."
Alec didn't ask, didn't feel like intruding. He looked at the ground, at the cracked pavement, and sighed. Why had he agreed to this? He should've known better. His stomach felt like it was curling in on itself. He could feel Magnus' gaze burn against his face — and found he didn't mind all too much.
"When did life become so difficult?" He asked, not really looking for an answer, but he got one regardless.
"It never ceased being that," Magnus said, his voice quiet. "It's only that you one day wake up and see life for what it is, instead of what you want it to be."
Alec hummed. "I suppose," he agreed. "I wish—"
Before he could finish his sentence, the backdoor slammed open and against the wall with excessive force. Izzy stumbled out, swaying on her feet, and pointed an accusing finger at Alec as soon as she spotted him.
"You disappeared," she said, loudly, and Alec instinctively stood up, taking support from the wall.
"Ditto," he replied, taking a step closer. Her arm sneaked over his shoulders as she slouched against him, giggling.
"Who's that?" She asked, pointing at Magnus who gave a small wave.
"A friend," Alec muttered, trying to keep Izzy steady on her feet. "C'mon, let's go home."
The last thing Alec saw was Magnus standing up and dusting his pants. He shot Alec a warm smile.
Then the door fell shut between them.