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Magnus presses a drink into his hand and then another when he finishes the first. They sit across from each other on opposite couches, Magnus with his legs tucked up under him and Alec letting himself sprawl back into the decorative gold pillows a little. Magnus lives up to his reputation of being charming and witty; he tells funny stories about the time he got caught skinny dipping in the Queen’s garden (though he did not specify which queen or garden) and the time he was almost elected the mayor of a town but in the end lost to a cat. Alec probably laughs harder than necessary but the alcohol makes him feel giddy and reckless. He mostly listens, but shares a few stories of his own, selections from his childhood in the Institute. Magnus listens with that same expression of warm curiosity he always seems to wear around Alec, and Alec keeps rambling, takes delight in making the edges of Magnus’s lips quirk up in a smile. But Alec can see Magnus’s eyes are getting heavy, and his body becoming languid, likely finally feeling the effects of his magic depletion and maybe the drinks. He sort of slides down the sofa, struggling to keep his eyes open and even drifts off for a second before jerking awake, apologizing profusely and insisting Alec’s stories are wonderful and he’ll have to forgive him. Then he does drift off, and Alec doesn’t have the heart to wake him. It’s silent in the living room save the grandfather clock ticking in the hallway, and everything is still enough for Alec to watch him, just for a little bit. The moon reflects off of Magnus’s face, cool blue outlining the curve of his lips, catching on his cheekbones. His hair has fallen in his face, and Alec considers, for a second, pushing back the strands from his face, and immediately feels a little ashamed at the thought.
Magnus snuffles a little, breaking the quiet in the loft. Alec thinks he should leave, but the alcohol is heady and it’s a chilly night and he doesn’t want to. Magnus is a tall man, but he looks so small curled in upon himself, like a child, as if he’d gotten use to holding himself in sleep. With his eyes closed and face open he’s the same age as Alec, but Alec can’t begin to imagine what’s underneath that illusion of peace. It’s not exactly a fragility, because Alec recalls the inordinate amount of energy and strength it took to stabilize Luke. He’d realized he’d never thought about what is must be like, to do magic. Magnus made it look refined, even lovely but he’d felt the life force ripped from his body, and could only imagine it must have been double if not triple that for Magnus. To drain yourself for every flick of the hand seemed unfair, but demonic powers mostly always were at great cost to the beneficent, almost as a matter of principle. He remembers the way Magnus’s body had collapsed into his, how Magnus’s heavy warmth fit so perfectly against his chest, that strange bereft feeling in his arms when Magnus staggered to his feet. He wouldn’t have minded if Magnus needed another second or so. He contemplates this for what feels like an eternity, and eventually rises. Alec quietly unfolds the blanket hanging on the back of Magnus’s couch and drapes it over Magnus’s body. Magnus’s eyes flutter for a second but he doesn’t wake.
Alec’s head is spinning and he’s exhausted too. He falls asleep soon after he closes his eyes, the wine and Magnus’s soft breathing lulling him to sleep.