Archive of Our Own

1. 

Beneath the flickering fluorescent lights of the loud, echoing school gym, Magnus sat staring down at his shoes, scuffing his feet back and forth against the vinyl floor. He could hear his second grade teacher shouting from across the room, her voice bouncing off the walls and amplifying to a near-painful level. 

The other kids in the gym looked nearly as thrilled to be there as Magnus was. None of them were talking, despite sitting beside each other on rows of benches. A girl a row in front of Magnus looked so nervous she was close to tears. Behind the shield of her bag, she was clutching a worn bunny with a missing ear. 

“Magnus Bane!”

Magnus looked up at the sound of his name. Reluctantly, he picked up his rucksack, navigated his way past the other kids, and walked up to the doorway, where a harried teacher was checking names off a list, and another was greeting mentors and checking formal-looking documents with a severe expression.

“Magnus,” the teacher at the door said, beckoning him closer. “This is Ragnor. He’s going to be your mentor. You remember everything we told you last week?”

Magnus nodded.

“Good. To remind you, this week he’s not allowed to take you off school grounds, but next week, you’ve got more freedom. Have fun.”

And, with that, she waved them off, turning to the next mentor in her line. 

Magnus turned his attention to Ragnor. He didn’t look very old, Magnus thought, especially compared to some of the other unfamiliar adults being paired up with Magnus’ classmates. His hair was untamed and curly. The pale grey sweater he was wearing looked very soft.

“Hi,” Ragnor said, looking down at him with a small smile. He had dark, endless eyes. Magnus felt like Ragnor could see right into his soul. “I’m Ragnor.”

He held out his hand. Magnus stared at it for a moment, confused, before he realised that Ragnor wanted to shake his hand. Magnus had never shaken anybody’s hand in his life. 

“I’m Magnus,” Magnus said, although he was sure Ragnor already knew his name. He took Ragnor’s hand and shook it hesitantly.

“Shall we go somewhere a little quieter?” Ragnor asked, arching an eyebrow. 

His accent wasn’t American, Magnus noticed. Maybe Ragnor hadn’t been born in the States either.

Magnus shrugged. “Alright.”

“Why don’t you pick somewhere? I’ve never been to your school before.”

They ended up in the canteen, sitting at a table normally occupied by people Magnus despised. Not that it mattered, when it was just the two of them. The room looked strange, not packed with hundreds of kids all clamouring for the best spot and shouting excitedly across the table at their friends. 

“Is there anything you’d like to ask me?” Ragnor asked, leaning one elbow on the table and fixing his attention on Magnus in a way that Magnus found decidedly unsettling. Over the last two years, he’d gotten rather used to not being paid any attention to. After the initial feelings of crippling loneliness, he’d decided it was easier that way. If he worked in school, and behaved when he was with his foster parents, and didn’t talk back, and didn’t get himself into trouble, everything was fine, and everyone left him alone. 

And that was better.

Truthfully, Magnus did want to ask Ragnor questions. He wanted to know where he was from, and how old he was, and why he cared about helping kids in fourth grade, and whether he was getting paid.

(His teacher had told him no, with a slightly odd look, when Magnus had dared to ask, but he didn’t quite believe her. Why else would anybody want to mentor struggling kids?)

Magnus shook his head. “No.”

“Alright. Can I ask you a question?”

“If you want.”

“How old are you?”

“Nine.”

“What did you have for lunch?”

Magnus opened his mouth, stopped, and blinked. “What?”

Ragnor looked amused. His mouth curled at the corners, but that wasn’t really what gave his emotions away, Magnus thought. It was his eyes. He smiled from his eyes. The darkness of them seemed to glimmer.

“What did you have for lunch?” Ragnor asked again. “It’s okay, it’s not a trick question. I’m not here to catch you out.”

“Pasta bake,” Magnus said, slowly, wondering whether anybody had asked him such a mundane question since his mother died.

Well. Not even since she’d died. Since she’d gotten so sick that other people had started looking after him. 

His step-father, for example.

“Don’t they feed you dessert in America? I seem to remember we got fed squares of sponge cake quite regularly. And custard. Horrible, lumpy custard. Nearly put me off the stuff for life.”

Magnus hesitated for a moment, watching Ragnor carefully, and then said, “Where are you from?”

“London, darling. England.”

“Oh.” 

Magnus felt his eyes brighten with curiosity, questions brewing on the tip of his tongue, but he swallowed them down and pressed his lips together. Every foster parent and teacher he’d ever had always got frustrated with his questions sooner rather than later. He didn’t want Ragnor to get annoyed with him. Not when he had to see him twice a week, every week, for three months. 

Ragnor’s eyes narrowed slightly as he studied Magnus’ face. “You know where that is, right?”

“The UK. Where the Queen is from.”

“That’s right. Have you ever been there?”

“No.”

Is it true that everyone in England only drinks hot tea? Magnus wanted to ask, because that’s what Lily had announced to the class after her parents had taken her to London during Christmas break, but he didn’t. 

“Do you want to play a game?” Ragnor asked, breaking the silence that had fallen. 

Magnus perked up at that. He loved games. His nana had played games with him, before she died. He’d loved playing games with her. Even when she was sick and his mother took him to see her in the hospital, they’d played games. 

“What kind of game?”

“I’ve got snap, or scrabble. I can buy something else for next time, but that’s all I had in my cupboard.” He grinned. “Not the most original, I know.”

“Scrabble?” Magnus suggested. 

Ragnor reached under the table for his bag, and pulled out a travel sized box. He handed Magnus the bag of letters, and unfolded the board. Magnus shook out the letters, beginning to turn them face down. 

“Isn’t this mentoring thing supposed to be...you helping me with homework, and teaching me about stuff?” Magnus ventured. He was pretty sure he was right. He’d overheard the other kids - the ones who hadn’t been picked for the scheme - laughing about how only the dumb ones had to go to extra school twice a week.

Ragnor shrugged. “It’s supposed to be about your development. Your teachers told me all about how well you’re doing in school, so I don’t think homework is why they recommended you for this programme. Do you?”

Magnus shook his head slowly. “Did they– Did they tell you about my mom? Or my nana?”

Ragnor’s eyes softened. “No, Magnus. They didn’t tell me anything about your mum, or your nana, and you don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to. But if you do want to tell me something, or ask me something, that’s fine too.”

“But you’ll tell my teachers.”

Ragnor’s eyebrows shot up, and he shook his head. “Not at all. Only if it’s something dangerous.”

“Oh.”

Ragnor finished slotting his letters onto his rack, and eyed them critically, before glancing up at Magnus. He shot him a smirk.

“Ready to play?”

“Yeah.” Magnus smiled back at him. “Yeah, I am.”

***

Magnus saw Ragnor six more times before he dared to start asking questions. 

They’d gone for ice cream, and to the park with the swings, and to an exhibition at a nearby science museum all about old telephones and computers, and Ragnor was unendingly patient and bizarrely relaxed. He didn’t care when Magnus was too nervous to order his own ice cream, and he stood watching with his hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans while Magnus bent down to greet a stranger’s curious dog, and he didn’t seem to mind when Magnus was only really interested in a handful of the things on display at the museum. 

The seventh time they met, after school on a Monday, Magnus was exhausted. The summer months were drawing nearer, and the blinds in his bedroom at his foster parents’ house were so thin that the sun woke him up in the early hours of the morning. He couldn’t say anything, though. Last time he’d complained about something, to his very first set of foster parents, he’d found himself being moved only a week later. 

He wasn’t going to have a repeat. These ones were fine. He was fine there. He didn’t want to move and find himself in someplace worse, like he had before. 

“Are you alright?” Ragnor asked, frowning down at him as they walked from the sports hall to the reception desk, so that Ragnor could sign them both out and write down where they were going. 

Magnus nodded. “‘M fine.”

“If you’re sure.” Ragnor held the door open for him, and gestured in the opposite direction to the one they usually walked. “I thought we could go for a drink and some food at my favourite cafe.”

Magnus glanced over at Ragnor. “Your favourite cafe?”

“Mmhm. You can see the lake, and it does excellent tea. A rare find this side of the Atlantic.” Ragnor nudged him lightly. “Or we can do something else, if you’d rather.”

Magnus shook his head. “That sounds nice. But...” He hesitated. 

“But?” Ragnor prompted.

“But I think I need some help with my math homework.”

“Ah.” Ragnor smirked. “Well, I am amazing at maths. I have an A level in maths, in fact. We’ll have a look together once we get there, okay?”

Magnus had no idea what an A level was, but it sounded impressive. Maybe Ragnor would be better at explaining math than their teacher. 

They sat down at a table by the window, Ragnor balancing tea, hot chocolate, and two slices of carrot cake on a tray. It was sunny, and warm, and the sounds of people enjoying the spring weather outside were audible through the open windows. A pigeon had found the remains of somebody’s sandwich just outside.

“Let’s have a look at this homework, then,” Ragnor said, stirring half a sachet of sugar into his tea. He broke off the end of his piece of cake, made an appreciative humming noise, and peered down at the sheets Magnus handed him. After a few seconds of silence, during which his expression morphed into a frown, he rolled his eyes, and muttered, “Bloody stupid way to teach something.”

Twenty minutes and most of his slice of cake later, Magnus no longer needed Ragnor’s help to go through the problems on the sheet. It was easy, really, now that Ragnor had explained it differently. Ragnor’s way made much more sense. 

“I’m done,” Magnus announced, feeling strangely proud of himself. He didn’t usually struggle with school, so he didn’t tend to need help with his homework, but on the occasions that he did, he never asked his foster parents. His mother was probably the last person who’d helped him do his homework. 

And that—

That must have been a long time ago. 

“Let’s see,” Ragnor said, setting his tea down. “This looks good, Magnus. Well done.”

“Thank you,” Magnus said quietly, looking down at his hands. He’d scratched the back of one climbing on the tree in the back garden, but he hadn’t wanted to make a fuss. It still stung a little. 

Ragnor watched him carefully for a moment. Magnus avoided looking back.

“Why do you do this?” Magnus blurted out, his brain-to-mouth filter dissolving, much to his mortification.

Ragnor raised his eyebrows. “Why do I do what?”

“This. Why do you care about some random kid? They told me you’re not getting paid, but I don’t see why else you’d do it.”

“I don’t get paid,” Ragnor agreed. “I do it because– Well, a lot of reasons.”

“Like what?” Magnus pressed, narrowing his eyes. 

Ragnor was nice, but he was an adult. Adults lied all the time. Especially when they didn’t want kids to know things. Which was incredibly annoying, in Magnus’ opinion, because he knew and understood a lot more than they always thought he did, and he always found out the truth eventually, and it would have been easier if they could just tell him the truth in the first place.

“I’m studying at university back home, in the UK. I’m studying economics. For one year, I get to stop learning, and spend a year abroad, doing something worthwhile.”

“So I’m your charity case to make you look good.”

Ragnor looked stunned for a minute, lips parted, and then he threw his head back and laughed. Magnus glared at him, feeling a little insulted.

“No, Magnus,” Ragnor said, shaking his head with a smile. “I’m here working. Doing a job out here so I can go home and boast about this shiny job I’ve had in New York. I signed up to this programme because I wanted to do something with more meaningful while I was here. Working in a glamorous office with very annoying colleagues wasn’t cutting it.”

“Oh.” Magnus paused, tracing a finger around the rim of his now-empty hot chocolate mug. “It’s just– I know all my foster parents get paid to look after me. Otherwise nobody would do it.”

Unsure of how much Ragnor had been told by his teachers, Magnus looked up anxiously, wondering what expression he’d see. But Ragnor didn’t look upset, or angry. His brows were drawn together, and he was leaning closer across the table, and he was giving Magnus his undivided attention. 

That was the most unsettling thing about afternoons with Ragnor. The attention. Magnus still wasn’t used to it. He wasn’t used to being seen like that. He wasn’t used to being asked banal questions about his day, just because– What? Because Ragnor cared? 

“I’m sure your foster parents care for you,” Ragnor said.

He knew that Magnus wasn’t living with his real parents anymore, then. But he’d never given any indication of knowing that before. Except, perhaps, that Ragnor had never asked him about his parents, or his family. 

Magnus shrugged. “Some of them have. My first ones definitely didn’t.”

“Well, I know that my influence in your life is limited to six hours a week, but I hope you know that I care for you.”

A hint of a smile caught at the corners of Magnus’ lips, and he looked at Ragnor from beneath his lashes. “Really?”

“Of course I do. I bought you Hershey’s chocolate when you wanted it, Magnus, come on.”

Magnus giggled. “What’s wrong with Hershey’s?”

Ragnor shuddered in an extremely melodramatic fashion. “Horrible stuff. Cadbury’s is much nicer.”

“Cadbury’s?”

“I’ll smuggle you some back from the UK one day.” Ragnor smiled at him. “But more to the point, the whole point of this is that I’m an adult outside of school or home who can mentor you and help you and build a relationship with you. So yes, I care about you.”

Swallowing, Magnus tore his eyes away from Ragnor’s. It was too much. Someone caring about him was too much. It was overwhelming, after what felt like so long of nobody caring beyond the most superficial level. Even his mother, once she’d got really bad, hadn’t been in any fit state to care like she once had. She’d loved him, and she always smiled when she saw him, and she hugged him when he cried, but she hadn’t been able to care. Not really. She couldn’t help him with his homework, or cook him dinner, or keep up with everything he told her about his life. Sometimes he hadn’t even been allowed to see her for days at a time: other people - his step-father, usually - had decided that she was too bad or that he would be too upset by the state of her.

He hadn’t been allowed to see his nana before she’d died, either. 

“Ragnor?”

“Yes, Magnus.”

“The school, did they– What did they tell you? About my family?”

“Nothing, darling,” Ragnor said, voice soft. “All they told me is that you’re in care, and with foster families, not your own.”

“My mom died. I found her.” He blinked. “There was a lot of blood.”

Ragnor’s face did something complicated. His brow furrowed a little, and his eyes turned sad, and he watched Magnus with that disconcerting intensity that made Magnus want to squirm. 

“I’m so sorry, Magnus,” he said. “You must miss her.”

Magnus nodded, staring down at the table rather than risk meeting Ragnor’s gaze. He had the strangest feeling that if he did, he might just burst into tears. And he never cried. Not anymore. Not since endless well-meaning nurses and doctors had told him that he had to be strong and brave when his nana had been sick, and then his step-father had told him to man up and stop whinging when his mother had withdrawn from the world, and then social workers had told him to keep his chin up when they rescued him from hell, and then his first foster parents had informed him that big boys don’t cry. 

Magnus never cried.

“Ragnor?”

“Mmm?”

“Do you believe in heaven?”

“Ah.” 

Something about the tone of Ragnor’s voice made Magnus look up. He was hesitating. He seemed uncertain, fingers tapping lightly at the tabletop.

“What? Do you?” Magnus prompted. 

That’s what they always said. That’s what everyone had always said. She’s up there now, watching over you. As though that was a good thing. It was a comforting thought, Magnus supposed, but what could she do from up there? What was the damn point? Why couldn’t she just be here, if God was so perfect?

“No,” Ragnor said steadily. “No, I don’t believe in heaven, or a god, or anything like that. But that’s not to say that you shouldn’t, if you want to. It’s completely up to you, and there’s no correct thing to believe, no matter what anybody tells you. You might even change your mind about what you believe as you go through life.”

Magnus fell silent, processing what Ragnor had said. He didn’t know what he believed, really. But the idea of his mother watching his life from afar was more upsetting than comforting, sometimes. 

“I’m scared,” Magnus admitted. 

“Of what?”

“People. Life.” He paused, throat working as he felt it go tight. “She died in the summer after first grade. I’m in fourth grade. This is the fifth home I’ve been in.”

“Fifth?” Ragnor asked, astonishment clear in his voice. 

Magnus shrugged. “The first two were always going to be temporary. I broke the rules in the third one, so I got sent back. The forth didn’t like me very much, so they sent me back too, even though I tried to be good.”

“Oh, Magnus,” Ragnor said, sorrow clear in his voice.

“Sometimes I want to talk to someone, but I don’t know who I have anymore.”

“Hey.” 

Magnus felt fingers under his chin, tilting his head up. The touch was incredibly gentle, and, when Magnus’ eyes landed on Ragnor’s face, it looked blurry. He blinked. A tear spilt over and ran down his cheek, all the way to his jaw, where Ragnor brushed it away with a thumb. 

“I know we don’t know each other that well yet, but we’re going to see each other every week, twice a week, until the end of the school year. So I want you to know that I’m on your side. And if you want to talk to me about things, you can. Alright?”

Magnus sniffed, lifting a hand to scrub at the wetness lingering on his face. “Alright.”

“Good.” 

Ragnor tapped him under the chin, before dropping his hand. Magnus missed the touch the moment it was gone. His current foster parents were better than all the others had been, but they already had two children. They didn’t treat Magnus like one of their own. He was never included in goodnight kisses and morning hugs and intimate chats in the kitchen after school. 

After another few minutes, Ragnor announced that it was time for them to head back to the school so that Magnus’ foster parents could pick him up. It was with a heavy heart that Magnus obediently stood, shouldered his rucksack, and followed Ragnor out of the café. 

Magnus was silent on the walk back. Ragnor attempted to engage him in conversation, but Magnus couldn’t bring himself to respond. He was upset, and he didn’t really understand why. Ragnor had listened to him like nobody had listened for years. He’d heard him. He’d bought him cake and hot chocolate and helped him do his homework. Magnus should have been happy, like he usually was after he saw Ragnor.

He liked Ragnor. Often, seeing Ragnor was the best part of his week. 

Why wasn’t he happy this time?

The feeling only intensified when he saw his foster mother standing outside the school gates, engaged in conversation with one of the teachers who ran the programme. She looked cheerful, and neither of her own children appeared to be with her, but Magnus wanted nothing less than to go over to her and go home. 

Home. Not that it really felt like home. 

“Magnus?”

At the sound of Ragnor calling his name, Magnus realised that he’d stopped walking. Confusion was etched into the lines of Ragnor’s face where he’d halted a metre or so ahead. 

“I don’t want to,” Magnus said, before he could stop himself. He knew he sounded babyish, and he knew he was too old to throw tantrums, but, god, he couldn’t help it. 

“Don’t want to what?”

“Go home.” Magnus felt his breath hitch. “I want– I just don’t want to! I hate it! I hate all of it, and I know they’re going to move me again, and I don’t want to, I just want to go home!” He stopped, breathing hard, lips trembling, and whispered, “I want to go home. I miss my mom.”

Silently, Ragnor walked towards him. He crouched down, one knee on the filthy concrete of the sidewalk, and reached out to wrap his arms around Magnus. 

For a moment, all Magnus could do was freeze. The sensation of being hugged felt so foreign, and he didn’t know what he was supposed to do. Then Ragnor’s hold tightened almost imperceptibly, and Magnus found himself hugging Ragnor back hard, pressing his face into Ragnor’s shoulder, his sweater as soft against Magnus’ skin as he’d always imagined it would be. 

“I know,” was all Ragnor said, voice low and soothing in his ear. “I know, darling.”

They stayed like that for several long moments, Ragnor kneeling on the ground and Magnus clinging on with acute desperation. 

Eventually, Ragnor drew back, sliding his hands down to grasp Magnus’ upper arms. “Are you ready, or do you need a minute?”

Magnus shook his head. “I’m ready.”

“Sure? I don’t mind waiting.”

“I’m sure.”

Ragnor studied him for a moment, then nodded once, and stood up out of his crouch. “Alright. Let’s go.”

They walked over to the teacher holding the clipboard full of names, and Ragnor gave their names to be ticked off. Magnus’ foster mother didn’t come over, but Magnus could feel her eyes on them. 

“I’ll see you on Thursday, Magnus,” Ragnor said, offering him an encouraging smile. 

Thursday. That was three days. Magnus could make it through three days. 

“See you on Thursday,” Magnus said, smiling back.

***

On a hot, sunny afternoon in early June, Magnus found himself watching the clock on the wall with trepidation as his last lesson of the day drew to a close. When the bell rang, he picked up his bag and made his way to the sports hall, hoping that Ragnor wasn’t early. 

Ragnor raised his eyebrows when Magnus trudged over to him, but didn’t comment on Magnus’ obvious sour mood. Instead, he offered to take Magnus’ rucksack, and informed Magnus that he’d brought their favourite board game, and asked him where he wanted to go.

Magnus shrugged. “Wherever you like.”

He could see Ragnor frown through his peripheries, but he kept his gaze fixed on the ground in front of him.

Magnus felt a little bad, as the afternoon wore on. It was obvious that Ragnor was making a particular effort, and Magnus was refusing to engage properly. He didn’t take any of the openings Ragnor offered him to share what was wrong, and he studiously ignored the concerned looks he was receiving. 

They settled in a quiet corner of the park for the last hour of their afternoon, the sun beating down on them, and Magnus wished with all his might that time might stand still. All he wanted was to stay right there on the grass, with the bustling sounds of New York floating over from every direction, with Ragnor.

It wasn’t until Ragnor told him that they had to go back soon that Magnus felt the stirring embers of anxiety in his gut spark, and flame into sheer panic. 

No. It couldn’t be time to go back. Not yet, it couldn’t be. 

“Come on, kiddo,” Ragnor said, voice heavy. “It’s time to go.”

Magnus swallowed. “Five minutes?”

“I–” Ragnor sounded conflicted. “I don’t want them to think I’ve kidnapped you, love. We really should go. Unless there’s anything you want to talk about.”

Picking up a stick and beginning to scratch at the peeling bark in an attempt to appear nonchalant, Magnus shook his head quickly. “No.”

“Magnus...”

Magnus ripped off a long strip of bark and tossed it on the grass with a viciousness that did nothing to alleviate the ache in his chest. His hands trembled with sudden anger. 

“It’s not fair.”

“What’s not fair?”

“This,” he said savagely, and threw the stick as far as he could, narrowly missing a man walking his dog. “This is a stupid programme and I hate it and I wish I’d never been made to do it!”

Ragnor stared at him, brows pulled together, and shook his head. “What on earth are you talking about?” 

Heart thudding with a heaviness that bordered on painful, Magnus pushed himself up from the grass and dusted off his jeans. “Nothing. Let’s go.”

“No, wait.” Ragnor caught him gently by the shoulder, and spun him back around. “Talk to me.”

Magnus scoffed, and kicked at the ground. “What’s the point?”

“Well, it might make you feel better. I might be able to help. I have before, you know,” he pointed out, sounding a little reproachful. 

“Yeah, but I’m never going to see you again. You’re leaving me. Just like everyone does.”

Realisation seemed to crash through Ragnor like a tidal wave. His grip on Magnus’ shoulder slackened, and his lips parted, and his eyes widened, and he looked for all the world like he truly had no idea that this being the final date of the mentoring programme would bother Magnus. 

Seeing Ragnor twice a week had been like a lifeline, at first. Someone to confide in. Someone to help him. Someone to spend time with him. And then, abruptly, Magnus had found himself telling Ragnor about his day at school, and he’d realised that he’d been making friends. He’d been asking his teachers questions again. He didn’t feel so lonely all the time. 

Ragnor had given Magnus his confidence back. And now it was all going to go away. Ragnor was going to go away, and he was probably going to go back to England, and Magnus would go back to being alone. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” Ragnor said firmly. “Is that why you’ve been so angry with me today?”

Magnus shot him a glare. He didn’t want Ragnor to lie to placate him. “It’s the end of the programme.”

“Magnus Bane.” Ragnor smiled a little, eyes crinkling at the corners, and shook his head slowly. “Do you really think I need a mentoring programme to want to see you? I promise, today is not the last time you and I are going to see each other. In fact, I was rather hoping I’d see you next week, just the same as normal.”

Magnus felt his eyes go wide. “What? But— How?”

“There are details that need to be ironed out,” Ragnor admitted, “but I’ve spoken to your foster parents, and been in touch with your social worker. I’ve listened to many, many lectures from your social worker about how sure I have to be that I want to be a part of your life. But I can be, if that’s something you’d like.”

“Yes!” Magnus all but shouted. Ragnor grinned, and Magnus felt himself flush a little at his own enthusiasm. “But—aren’t you going back to England?”

“Ah.” Ragnor’s face dropped a little, and Magnus’ heart sank. “As I said, there are some things that need to be worked out. Yes, at some point, I will have to go back to London. I was only planning to be here for a year, so I’ve left most of my life behind. And I don’t know that I would be able to get a job in New York.”

“So you can’t keep seeing me, even though you want to.”

Ragnor exhaled, shoulders drooping and sadness flitting through his eyes. “I don’t know how much I’ll be able to see you. But if you want me to, I’m going to try. I can’t promise you much, but I can promise you that.”

“I want that,” Magnus said. Seeing Ragnor occasionally was infinitely better than never seeing him at all. “When are you going back to England?”

“Not until after you start fifth grade,” Ragnor said, and Magnus perked up a little, because that was ages away. Summer break hadn’t even started yet.

“Can I write you letters while you’re there? Like a pen pal?”

Ragnor let out a laugh. “If you want to. But I was going to do you one better, and suggest that you could phone me.”

“Oh. But I don’t have a phone.”

“I’m sure you foster parents would let you use the landline.”

“Yeah.” 

Magnus found himself smiling. It wasn’t going to be perfect by any means, but he’d take Ragnor at the end of a phone over never speaking to him at all. And Ragnor wanted to keep seeing Magnus. He was under absolutely no obligation to see Magnus ever again, but he would, because he wanted to. 

It made Magnus feel warm, and pleased, and—

“Ragnor?”

“Magnus.”

“I love you.”

Ragnor’s expression turned liquid-soft, and he tugged Magnus into a hug, one arm across his back and the other hand tangling in his hair. Magnus felt himself relax, melting into Ragnor’s embrace, and he revelled in the sensation of being held by someone who cared for him.

“I love you too,” Ragnor said, bending to press his lips to Magnus’ temple. “But we really should go back now, otherwise they will think I’ve kidnapped you.”

Magnus hid his smile in Ragnor’s stomach, and refused to relinquish his grip just yet. “Two minutes.”

Ragnor huffed, but he didn’t sound annoyed. Amused, maybe. “Alright. Two minutes. But no more.”

Satisfied, Magnus nodded, and allowed himself to relish in the knowledge that for once, someone was going to stay.

***

2.

“You’re quiet today.”

Magnus attempted to smile at Ragnor across the table of the quaint little cafe, but he knew it came across weakly. He didn’t have the energy for it. Or the strength. 

He’d been looking forward to seeing Ragnor for weeks, ever since Ragnor had emailed him his flight details and informed him that he’d be in New York for six weeks after the New Year.

Then he’d been moved. And Magnus’ hypothesis that the worst of his fostering days were behind him had been proven horribly, staggeringly incorrect. 

Ragnor would want to know. Magnus knew that Ragnor would want to know. He’d probably try to do something about it, too. He might get angry, first—that fierce, tightly controlled rage that would have been terrifying, if Magnus weren’t always so certain that it wasn’t directed at him. 

But, sat in front of Ragnor now - having thrown himself bodily at him when he’d picked him up from his foster parents’ house and then staying close to his side while they’d gone to watch a film - Magnus found that he couldn’t say anything. 

“Is it because you had to move school? Do you miss your friends?”

“Yeah, of course I miss them,” Magnus said quietly. 

And it was true. He did. His new foster parents lived too far away from his old school for it to be practical for him to stay enrolled here, so, halfway through sixth grade, he’d switched to somewhere new. 

He hated it. He hated moving schools. It was awful. But it wasn’t at the forefront of his mind. 

“Here.” Ragnor slid a plastic bag of something across the table. “Chocolate and other British delicacies. Different ones to the ones I brought last time.”

“Thank you,” Magnus said, reaching out to take the bag. He pulled it open to peer inside, wondering which of the brands Ragnor worshipped he’d been gifted this time. 

“Hey, what did you do to your arm?”

Fingers caught at the sleeve of his sweater, pushing it further back where it had ridden up. Reflexively, Magnus snatched his arm back, flinching at the touch. 

Frozen, he stared at Ragnor. Ragnor stared right back, looking a little shocked at Magnus’ reaction. Magnus didn’t blame him. He usually took every opportunity to hug Ragnor, and didn’t shy away from casually affectionate contact. 

“Magnus, please tell me what’s going on,” Ragnor said softly. “You’re acting like you’re frightened of something.”

Magnus swallowed.

“You’re not afraid of me, are you?”

“No!”

Ragnor watched him unblinkingly for a moment. “Can I at least look at your arm?”

After a moment of hesitation, Magnus acquiesced. Ragnor’s touch was gentle as he took Magnus’ hand in his, and rolled up the sleeve of his sweater, and—

His head jerked up, eyes snapping to Magnus’. There was a crease between his brows that hadn’t been there a moment before. 

“Did somebody do this to you?” Ragnor asked, sounding horrified. 

Magnus shrugged, moving to pull away, but Ragnor caught his hand gently between both of his, and ducked his head to catch Magnus’ gaze.

“Magnus, it’s okay. You can tell me.”

“It’s fine,” Magnus mumbled. 

“No, it’s not. You don’t deserve to be treated like this. Nobody does. Did somebody grab you? Is that how you got these bruises?”

Magnus nodded. “I was talking back.”

Ragnor blinked in clear bewilderment, before understanding stole across his face. 

“Your foster parent did this?”

“But I was talking back. He warned me but I—”

“Magnus.” Ragnor looked appalled. He sounded angry. It made Magnus want to shrink back and hide away, even though, logically, he knew that it wasn’t directed at him. “You’re twelve years old. You’re practically a teenager. You’re supposed to talk back. Adults aren’t supposed to hurt you for it. That’s completely unacceptable.”

“There’s not much I could have done, though, is there?” Magnus asked, knowing he sounded a little bitter but not finding it in himself to care. 

“You could have told me! Jesus, Magnus, the people who are supposed to be caring for you are abusing you.”

“You’re not here!” Magnus snapped, yanking his hand away from Ragnor’s gentle grasp and glaring at him. “You haven’t been here since I’ve moved! You’ve been in London, and you haven’t been here, so what the hell could you have done?”

Hurt flashed across Ragnor’s face for a split second, and guilt rose in Magnus, through the blinding explosion of fear and anger. Then Ragnor’s expression turned blank, and Magnus swallowed everything that wasn’t rage. Being angry was much easier.

“You know I’m here as much as I can be,” Ragnor said, voice sounding forcedly even. “I jumped at this job because it’s so perfect, because I have to work in New York for four months of the year so I can be here. But you know that you can always call me. If you’d told me that this was happening—”

“What?” Magnus demanded. “What exactly could you have done? You were across the damn ocean.” 

“That’s true,” Ragnor said, infuriatingly calmly, “but the moment you told me, I would have been on the first plane out here.”

That made Magnus pause. Surely Ragnor wasn’t being literal? He couldn’t drop everything and fly out to New York just because Magnus was in a crappy foster home. Not to mention how much it cost to travel that far at short notice.

“But your job—”

“No.” Ragnor shook his head with something akin to desperation. “No, Magnus, that’s not how this works. As much as I would like to, I can’t become your parent. But that doesn’t mean I won’t come if you really need me.”

“Oh,” Magnus said. “Oh.”

“Oh,” Ragnor repeated, with a soft smile. “I’m not letting you go back there.”

“But I don’t have anywhere else to go. They’ll never move me with a few hours notice. It takes time.”

“You don’t have to worry about anything,” Ragnor said firmly. “Finish your drink and tell me about school.”

Ever since his nana had first got sick, Magnus’ instinct had been to be suspicious of adults telling him not to worry about things. That usually meant that he should be worrying. Lots. But something about the hard, determined glint in Ragnor’s eyes made him think that, this time, perhaps he just needed to trust.

***

Magnus had know Ragnor for three years. In all that time, he’d never actually been to Ragnor’s apartment. Usually, they’d go to places and do things and drink unnecessarily expensive hot chocolate in out-of-the-way cafes, and then Ragnor would take him back to his foster parents’ house. Some of them would let Ragnor come in for an hour or two. Others would unsubtly shut the front door in his face the moment Magnus crosses the threshold—Magnus never did understand how anybody could object to Ragnor, but they did.

“Do you have rules?” Magnus asked, as Ragnor led him up the stairs inside the apartment block, to the third floor.

“Rules?” Ragnor’s lips quirked. “Let’s see. Take your shoes off. Use the words biscuit and cookie correctly. Don’t make me watch Disney.”

Magnus frowned. “I like Disney.”

“I know, love. I’m kidding.” He ruffled Magnus’ hair, and unlocked the front door. “After you.”

Ragnor’s apartment was exceptionally tidy, Magnus’ thought, as he walked in and toed off his sneakers. And cold. Really, really cold.

“First time I’ve been here since you last saw me,” Ragnor said, grimacing, and reached up past Magnus to flick on a light. “I’ll go and turn the heating on. Make yourself at home. If you can be bothered, you could leave these in the kitchen.”

Ragnor held up the bag of groceries they’d stopped off to buy on the way (including a truly ludicrous amount of chocolate that Ragnor claimed was offset by the large variety of vegetables he’d purchased) and tilted his head towards a doorway that appeared to lead through to a small living room. 

“It’s through the living room.”

Magnus took the bag, and Ragnor walked down the hallway, opening a cupboard and peering inside with a frown. 

An hour later, Magnus was sat in the middle of a small but pretty kitchen, at a mock-granite-topped island, swinging his legs and watching Ragnor concocting a stir fry. He’d refused all of Magnus’ offers to help; Magnus wasn’t really sure what to do with himself. 

“I was thinking,” Ragnor said over the sound of sizzling chicken, as he turned the heat down on the stove and peered into the saucepan of rice. “As I haven’t given you a birthday or a Christmas present, because international postage is outrageously expensive, I could take you out one day, and you can pick something.”

“Really?”

“Of course. Why not?” Ragnor picked up a sieve, and turned over his shoulder to look at Magnus. “Can you grab some plates? Middle cupboard, left hand side.”

Dinner was good. Magnus didn’t understand why Ragnor kept taking him out to places and spending money when he could cook like that. They sat on the sofa eating chocolate and watching TV, and Ragnor showed him some photos of London covered in snow from a few weeks ago, and by the time Magnus was settled in a bedroom that was tiny but far more comfortable than most he slept in, he couldn’t help but think that life was so, so unfair. 

Why couldn’t this be his life? Why did immigration laws have to exist? Why couldn’t he live with Ragnor all the time, instead of moving from home to home, each one less loving than the last?

At least he got this, he thought, as Ragnor set a glass of water on the nightstand and bent over to press a kiss to the top of Magnus’ head. At least, sometimes, he was allowed to have goodnight kisses and hugs and intimate chats in the kitchen. 

***

The indicator boards overhead announcing airport arrivals rolled through the flights agonisingly slowly. Magnus couldn’t look away. 

“Is it that one?” his latest foster mother said, frowning at the board. “At the bottom?”

Jess and her boyfriend were the second people Magnus had been with since Ragnor had intervened in his situation. The first had been temporary: a place he could stay for a few weeks until they found somewhere permanent. Ragnor had offered, rather fiercely and with a great deal of pointed staring, to let Magnus stay with him until somewhere long-term could be found. Sadly, that was apparently against the rules. Ragnor had checked in with him every day he’d been in the States, and had called him the moment Magnus had emailed him to say he’d been moved. Magnus thought it had been a little excessive, and, eventually, he’d told Ragnor that he was fine and that he didn’t need to call every day.

But it was nice. Being cared about was nice.

“No, he’s coming from Heathrow, not Gatwick.”

Ragnor’s flight had been delayed. Magnus was going out of his mind with impatience. He didn’t want to behave like an ass in front of Jess, because she’d offered to take him to the airport on a Saturday morning so that he could greet Ragnor, which was more than any of his other foster parents had ever done, but he couldn’t stop the relentless movements of his fingers. It had been nearly three months since he’d last seen Ragnor, and he was going out of his mind with anticipation.

“You need a haircut,” Jess observed.

“I like it long.”

Also, Kay at school had told him that it looked nice long, but that was only a contributing factor. 

After what felt like about a thousand years, Magnus spotted Ragnor walking out of the arrivals wing. He had dark circles under his eyes, and he was frowning at his phone, but Magnus couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face.

“Ragnor!”

Ragnor glanced up, frown deepening, and scanned across the crowds of people waiting for loved ones and drivers waiting for customers. Magnus waved, and, finally, Ragnor’s eyes landed on him.

“Well, hello, darling,” Ragnor said, smiling at Magnus in slight confusion as he approached, dragging his large, heavy-looking suitcase with him. “I didn’t know you were going to be here.”

At that, he turned to Jess, who offered Ragnor her hand to shake. 

“Jess,” she said, with a smile. “We were warned that you two came as a bit of a package deal. Magnus has been very excited about you coming.”

Magnus felt himself flushing a little as Jess exposed him like that—especially when Ragnor turned teasing eyes on him, one corner of his mouth lifted. God, Magnus wasn’t a little kid anymore.

“Has he, now?”

“Shut up,” Magnus muttered, and reached up to hug him tightly.

Once upon a time, Ragnor would bend down to hug Magnus. Crouch, kneel, fold over. Now, Magnus could get his arms around Ragnor’s neck without too much stretching. They weren’t the same height, yet, but they were getting closer.

“You’ve got taller,” Ragnor said, ruffling Magnus’ hair, to which Magnus scowled, and raked it back into position with his fingers. “And you need a haircut.”

“See?” Jess said, smiling and arching her eyebrows at Magnus. 

“And I still like it long,” Magnus said.

“Oh, I see.” Ragnor grinned at him. “You’re a teenager now, so you have to rebel. Is that it?”

Magnus rolled his eyes. “Sure. That’s it.”

“It’s okay. I dyed my hair blue when I was fifteen. My dad went mad.”

“Have you got pictures?” Magnus asked, brightening at the thought of Ragnor - who worked in finance, had endless navy hoodies and beige sweaters, and was never seen out of straight-leg jeans - with blue hair. 

“No,” Ragnor told him flatly. Magnus pretended to sulk. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?” Magnus asked innocently. 

“Yeah, yeah.” Ragnor tossed one arm around Magnus’ shoulders, gripped the handle of his suitcase with the other, and rotated them both towards the exit. “How’s that drawing of yours coming along? The kingfisher you sent me a photo of?”

“It’s got colour now,” Magnus told him. “I used those watercolours. They were really good. Thank you, by the way.”

“You’re welcome, kiddo. I’d love it see it, while I’m here.”

Jess led the way out of the airport and through to the car park, where she’d left her unfortunately ugly SUV. When Magnus had first gone to live with Jess, her boyfriend, and their daughter, he’d told Ragnor about the car, knowing Ragnor’s low opinion of SUVs. Ragnor had offered to fly out and kidnap Magnus so he needn’t be subjected to such an atrocity. It had made Magnus laugh so hard his eyes had watered. 

“It’s even worse than I imagined,” Ragnor muttered in Magnus’ ear, eyeing the orange paintwork with poorly concealed disdain. “How many kids does she have?”

“One. And me.”

“I hate America,” he said, to which Magnus snickered. 

“No, Ragnor, you hate everything. You hate London. You hate the North. You hate the South. You hate the Tube, you hate driving on motorways, you hate—”

“Alright, enough!”

Laughing, Magnus ducked out from beneath Ragnor’s arm to avoid a playful swat on the head. Ragnor was shaking his head at him, but his eyes were fond, crinkling at the corners despite the fact that his lips were only slightly curled. 

“I suppose I’d better let you go,” Ragnor said, looking a little regretful.

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m sure Jess wants to go home. Thank you for driving him out, by the way. That was kind of you.”

“Well.” Jess smiled over at Magnus. “I actually grew up in foster care, too, so I know what it’s like to feel overlooked and to have no stability. Magnus told us how many homes he’s been in. We’d like to give him just one for as long as we can.”

Ragnor raised his eyebrows at her, but didn’t do more than hum his acknowledgement. Magnus knew what he was thinking: Magnus hadn’t stayed in one home for longer than eighteen months in all the years he’d been in care. If he stayed in this one until he turned eighteen, that would be just over four years. 

It sounded unlikely. Nice, but unlikely. 

“Anyway. You’re welcome to come back for a coffee. And dinner, if you’d like.”

Ragnor blinked at her. “Are you sure?”

“Of course.” She waved a hand at Ragnor, gesturing for him to pass her his suitcase. “Get in, both of you.”

Magnus hauled open one of the heavy doors, and climbed over to the opposite side so that Ragnor could get in, grumbling about SUVs under his breath as he did. 

“Have you painted your nails?” Ragnor asked suddenly, while Magnus was putting his seatbelt on. 

Magnus stiffened. “Oh. Uh, yeah.”

He’d done it for the first time a few weeks after he’d gone to live with Jess and her family. He’d seen them all double-take when they noticed, had watched Jess purse her lips and visibly force herself not to say anything, had seen her boyfriend’s expression crease before it turned forcedly neutral, had seen their daughter wrinkle her nose. None of them had said anything, but they didn’t need to. 

Magnus liked it. He didn’t really care what they thought. Whatever glossy golden promises Jess made, experience said that he’d probably be somewhere else by next Christmas. It didn’t matter if they thought what he was doing was weird, or wrong, or emasculating. 

But Ragnor—Magnus very much cared what Ragnor thought. In fact, Ragnor’s opinion was the one he valued above all others. If Ragnor thought it wasn’t appropriate, Magnus knew he’d be upset. Not that he’d show it. He’d just take it off and never put it on again. And he’d probably throw away the eyeliner pencil he’d bought, but hadn’t quite summoned the courage to try yet.

When Magnus dared to glance up, Jess had already climbed into the front of the car, and was fiddling with the radio. But he had eyes only for Ragnor, who was considering Magnus’ nails with an inscrutable expression. 

“It’s nice,” Ragnor said, after a moment. He looked up at Magnus and chucked him under the chin. “Suits you.”

“Yeah?” Magnus asked, smiling shyly. 

Ragnor smiled, as though he knew exactly what Magnus was afraid of. “Yeah.”

***

3. 

“What would you say if I told you I wanted to do something really stupid?”

Unbothered, Ragnor chewed the end off his slice of pizza, swallowed, and said, “I’d say is it more or less stupid than when you got a cat while you were barely able to look after yourself?”

Magnus scowled. “Don’t insult Chairman. Also, he was very helpful in getting me over my suicidal ideations, thank you.”

Ragnor sighed and leant back against the sofa. “I know. That’s why I grudgingly accept his presence in the world. He’s still demonic.”

“He’s not demonic! He’s adorable!”

“I wish you’d got a dog. I like dogs.”

“Fine. I’m not telling you my stupid idea.”

“Catarina’s already told me about plenty,” Ragnor informed him. “This might be old news to me.”

Magnus regretted nothing more than the day he’d introduced Ragnor to Catarina Loss. It had been an accident, really: he and Catarina had been sharing an apartment since their second year at college, and Cat had come home early one day, when Ragnor was over. It had taken approximately two minutes for them to become friends, with their shared preference for wry, sarcastic humour that sometimes got really quite dark.

The two of them ganged up on Magnus constantly. It was deeply unfair. He loved them both dearly, and they repaid him by being endlessly cruel. 

“I told you that I didn’t really know what I wanted to do after college,” Magnus began, to which Ragnor nodded. “But a few months ago, when I was doing a shoot, someone on set found one of my designs. I don’t know why they were rooting around in my things, but it doesn’t matter.”

Ragnor frowned, opening his mouth as though he was about to protest that statement, but Magnus carried on before he could. Ragnor had expressed his disapproval at the way Magnus was sometimes treated on modelling sets so many times that Magnus could recite the arguments by heart. The fact remained that the steady streams of jobs was allowing him to pay his way through college. Especially with the exposure he was getting, lately. He’d done one tiny little interview six months ago, and everything had spiralled. He’d had his face on the last issue of Rolling Stone, for fuck’s sake. 

“She really liked them. She told me that she was one of the designers working for the brand I was modelling, and asked me if I’d ever thought of doing it professionally.”

“Well, that seems like a good career choice for you,” Ragnor said easily. “You’re good at art. You’re knowledgeable about fashion. You enjoy that sort of thing. Why is this a stupid idea?”

“That would be a sensible idea,” Magnus agreed. “But it’s not what I want to do.”

“Right.”

“I want to do it all myself.”

Ragnor paused, a slice of pizza halfway to his mouth from the box, and frowned. “I don’t follow.”

“I don’t want to be a designer in some huge label. I don’t want to work my ass off for decades, with my bosses getting the credit for my work, until I make it to the top where I then take credit for other people’s work. I don’t want to be part of a billion-dollar company that exploits models. I want to do it differently.”

“So you do admit that they exploit you!” Ragnor exclaimed, throwing his hands up.

“No! Well.” Magnus paused, aware that he was about to concede the point Ragnor had been making and he’d been denying for the last two years. “When I first started out, yeah. But that’s not the point. I want to build the whole thing myself.”

Ragnor put his pizza back in the box, set the box on the coffee table, and turned on the sofa to face Magnus. 

“Just to be clear. You don’t want to work for a fashion company. You want to create one.”

“Exactly.” Magnus smiled wryly. “Told you it was a stupid idea.”

“No.” Ragnor shook his head. “Look, Magnus, you’re not stupid. You know that if you do this, you’re probably not going to be working on the scale of the people you’re modelling for now. But people set up successful independent businesses on a smaller scale all the time. You could do it.”

“You really think so?” Magnus asked, trying not to sound too hopeful. He took things Ragnor said to heart. He always had. Probably always would. He trusted him. Sometimes, things didn’t quite seem real until he’d told Ragnor about them.

“I do. Besides, you’ve always got an accountant at the end of the phone.”

Magnus laughed. “That is handy.”

“No, really. Would you like my help with the financial side of things?”

“Oh my god, yes, if you’re really offering.” 

“I am.”

Magnus laced his fingers together and pressed them to his mouth, half hiding his smile. “I really want to do this.”

“So do it!” Ragnor said, with a little laugh. “You’ve already got what most people haven’t.”

Magnus wanted to roll his eyes, but he was smiling too much, high on the idea that this might actually happen. That he might actually get to try this. “Don’t praise yourself too much.”

“Not me, you insolent bugger,” Ragnor said, rolling his eyes. “Exposure. You’ve got exposure. You’ve got a social media account with a healthy number of followers, you did an interview with Rolling Stone—you’re starting to be noticed in the modelling industry. If ever there were a perfect time to turn your brand around, it would be now.”

Magnus stared at him. “How the hell did you become a boring stuffy accountant?”

“Shut up,” Ragnor said firmly. “It’s very lucrative.”

“And very boring,” Magnus agreed. “Nobody ever wrote exciting novels about accountants.”

“They write them about sexy sexy CEOs, though. And I can tell you, every CEO I’ve ever met has been old, ugly, and boring as hell.”

Magnus grinned. “I’m going to be a charming, handsome, charismatic CEO.”

“You’re going to be insufferable.”

“Oh, we’ve long since passed that milestone.”

They ended up talking late into the night, half seriously and half not, about Magnus’ blossoming business idea. At midnight, Ragnor disappeared to the kitchen to make coffee, and turned with two mugs and a notepad, two pens held between his teeth, so they could start jotting things down. 

By five o’clock in the morning, when they both passed out on the sofa, exhausted, Edom Fashion had been born. 

***

4.

“Going places with you makes me nervous, sometimes,” Alec said, looking at Magnus’ open laptop and frowning at the live feed of one of the cameras that overlooked the gate of the penthouse, where security staff were attempting to disperse a screaming, rowdy crowd of people. 

Magnus glanced over his shoulder from where he was washing out his coffee mug in the sink. “It’s not normally like that. It’s just because—”

“You have fans who are overly invested in your personal life?” Alec smiled wryly. “Yeah. I’ve noticed.”

Magnus shook his head. “It’s just because there’s been all this ridiculous drama around us, and the paparazzi think they can get a scoop.” He set his mug down on the draining board and walked over to set a hand on Alec’s forearm. “Forget about that. We’re going out the back. There’s a car waiting.”

Alec’s eyebrows shot up. “Do you have a driver? I didn’t know you had a driver.”

“It’s a new thing,” Magnus admitted. “You know, four years ago, Edom fashion was a few late-night scribbles on a piece of paper. Sometimes I can’t believe that this is my life.”

“Yeah, but five years ago, I was picking up a copy of Rolling Stone with you featured on the front cover.”

“My apartment then was smaller than yours now.”

“I bet your paycheque was bigger.” Alec checked the time on the screen of his phone, and shot Magnus a slightly anxious look. “Shouldn’t we go now?”

“Are you nervous about the paparazzi, or about meeting Ragnor?”

Pink bloomed across the tops of Alec’s cheeks, and he scowled. “Both! When I met you, you told me that the extent of your family was your cat. You didn’t mention that you had a pseudo-father that I’ve got to impress. While combatting whatever they’re saying about me on Twitter today.”

“Alexander.” Magnus turned Alec to face him, set both hands on his neck, and stroked his thumbs over the fragile skin at his pulse point. “Ragnor is the last person to pay any attention to what the press say.”

“You told me Ragnor was your manager.” Alec sounded a little accusing.

Magnus shrugged. “It’s easier than explaining what he actually is to me. And he does do a lot of managing, if grumbling at me can be considered managing. He’s been bugging me about meeting you for months. He’ll love you, darling. Stop worrying.”

“I bet you say that to everyone you bring to meet him,” Alec muttered.

Magnus shook his head, smiling a little, but decided not to argue the matter further. In a couple of hours, Alec would realise for himself that Ragnor liked him. 

And Magnus was certain that Ragnor would like Alec. Ragnor had only met two of his previous partners, and he’d hated them both. One had ended up being married, and the other had cheated on Magnus with their lab partner. 

Ragnor’s opinion mattered to Magnus. He valued it above anybody else’s. He didn’t always take Ragnor’s advice on board, to begin with, but he did listen. He’d listened when Ragnor had told him, time and again, that he deserved someone who loved him, heart and soul; that he shouldn’t settle for second; that he shouldn’t tolerate anyone treating him like anything less than precious. 

(Precious, but not fragile, Ragnor said. Anyone who tried to patronise him should be kicked to the curb immediately.)

Alexander did. If he’d ever had any doubts about that, they’d dissipated at Alec’s reaction to Magnus’ confession about his struggles with depression. 

Magnus took Alec’s hand as they descended the stairs and exited through the back, heading towards the black Mercedes sedan. Alec eyed it appreciatively. 

“You know,” Magnus said conversationally, as the driver checked in with security and pulled out onto the road, “you seem so uncomfortable with wealth, but your parents are CEOs, right? You must have grown up with money.”

Alec smiled sardonically. “Yeah. Money was a common cause of arguments, however much of it they had. Then, obviously, I was disowned, so it’s not like I’ll ever see a cent of it. Not even in birthday presents.”

Magnus reached across the leather seats between them, palm up, a small, sad smile on his lips. Alec took his hand, lacing their fingers together, and sighed. 

“Sorry. That was bitter.”

“You have every right to be bitter about that.”

Alec squeezed his hand. “Tell me about Ragnor,” he said. “Preferably some inside knowledge that will allow me to impress him.”

Tapping his chin thoughtfully, Magnus hummed, wondering about which banal details he hadn’t mentioned yet. Most of their conversations about Ragnor had been relating to who Ragnor had been to Magnus as a child.

“He persuaded me to set up Edom when I floated the idea,” Magnus said. “He managed all the finance to begin with. He used to move between England and the States every few months, before he got a green card a few years ago. I found it hard when I was a kid, but it was better to have him for a few months than not at all. If you call a biscuit a cookie, he will make a snide comment.”

Alec blinked at that. “What?”

“An American cookie is a British biscuit. He’s very particular about it. Don’t question, just obey.”

“Right.” Alec shifted in his seat, looking nervous again. “Anything else?”

“He swears terrible sweaters. Don’t judge.”

Alec let out a breathless laugh. “I don’t think I’m going to be the one doing the judging, you know.”

Half an hour later, the driver pulled up outside Ragnor’s house. Magnus dragged Alec up the steps to the porch, and held fast to his hand while he rang the doorbell and knocked twice for good measure. 

The door opened so quickly that Magnus was almost certain that Ragnor had been standing right behind it, peering through the peephole to get a sneaky look at Alec ahead of time. Ridiculous, Magnus thought, fondly. 

“Magnus,” Ragnor greeted him, reaching out to tug him into a brief, warm hug. 

Magnus let go of Alec’s hand to hug him back, internally rolling his eyes at the show Ragnor was putting on. They’d seen each other at work on Friday, for goodness’ sake. It was only Sunday. Once upon a time, they’d regularly gone months without seeing each other. 

“Ragnor,” Magnus said, pulling back and fixing his friend with a stern but amused look. “Behave.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Ragnor said dismissively. He turned his attention to Alec, who, to Magnus’ surprise, looked more at ease than he had a moment ago. “You must be Alec. Or is it Alexander?”

“Alec,” Alec said, shooting Magnus a flash of a grin. “Just Alec is fine.”

“Well, Alec, it’s nice to meet you,” Ragnor said, extending a hand. Alec shook it without preamble. Magnus’ lips twitched, knowing that Ragnor was undoubtedly basing his initial impressions of Alec on the quality of his handshake. 

Ragnor waved them inside, and led the way to the living room, where he offered them coffee, and asked Alec about his job, and his family. Magnus had warned him not to start asking Alec about his parents, and Ragnor seemed to have remembered, nodding along to Alec’s comments about his siblings but not pressing for more. 

“Have you met the fury demon?” Ragnor asked, coming back through from the kitchen with their coffees. 

Clearly confused, Alec looked over at Magnus where they were seated beside each other on Ragnor’s squishiest sofa, hesitating. Ragnor sat down opposite them, and raised his eyebrows. 

“He means Chairman,” Magnus said, reaching for his coffee. Magnanimously, he choose not to comment on Ragnor’s rudeness.

“Oh.” Alec chuckled. “I have. Absolutely ferocious.”

“You joke,” Ragnor said, waving his mug dangerously in the air, “but I warn you, that thing has ruined so many of my shoes I think I deserve compensation.”

“He likes dogs,” Magnus told Alec. 

“Do you like cats?” Ragnor asked, ignoring Magnus entirely. Asshole. 

“I do now. I actually used to be allergic to them when I was a kid, but I guess I grew out of it.”

“Really?” Magnus turned to look at him. “I didn’t know that.”

“You’re lucky,” Ragnor said. “Magnus will choose that damn cat over any human being.”

“And yet, here I am, tolerating you.” Magnus shot him an overly sweet smile. “Perhaps Alec and I should just go...”

Ragnor looked over at Alec, deadpan. “All those years flying back and forth across an ocean, and this is the treatment I get.”

“Well.” Alec took a sip of his coffee and smiled over at Magnus, before returning his gaze to Ragnor. “Magnus speaks very highly of you.”

Ragnor’s eyebrows shot up in a valiant effort to meet his hairline. “Does he, now?” he said, as though he couldn’t imagine a less likely eventuality. 

Outrageous. Magnus was often rude to his face, but unfailingly lovely about him behind his back. There was no use getting sentimental all the time in person. Ragnor didn’t need to hear that Magnus loved him just as much at twenty-five as he had at ten.

“Don’t let it get to your head, old man,” Magnus said. “Can I use your bathroom?”

Ragnor pulled a face. “No, there’s been a sudden ban. Of course you can. You know where it is.”

“That was code for, Can I leave the room and trust you not to bully my boyfriend?” 

“Ah.” His eyes twinkled with mischief as he smiled. “Well, I suppose you’ll just have to leave and find out.”

***

When Magnus finished in the bathroom, he could hear Ragnor and Alec laughing in the living room. Surprised, but not displeased, he decided to leave them to it, and instead headed through to the kitchen. He hopped up onto the counter, pulled out his phone, and went through a couple of emails, keeping an ear out for any imminent disasters in the next room. 

“You’re not subtle.”

Ragnor brushed past him, bringing his and Alec’s empty coffee mugs to the sink. He didn’t meet Magnus’ gaze, instead pushing up the sleeves of his turtleneck (cerulean blue and much less hideous than usual) and rummaging around in a cupboard, a frown creasing his brow. 

“What are you looking for?”

“Never you mind,” Ragnor said, pushing things out of the way and tilting the door so that Magnus couldn’t see inside. 

“What did you say to Alec?”

“Ask him.”

“I’m asking you.”

“Nothing that will give him too many nightmares.”

“Ragnor.”

“Magnus.” 

Finally, Ragnor made a triumphant noise, and pulled something heavy down from the very back of the cupboard. He set it down on the counter with a thwack, blocking Magnus’ view with his shoulders.

“Do you love him?” Ragnor asked suddenly.

Magnus choked, and shot a furtive glance at the door between the kitchen and the living room. It was pushed to, but not shut, and Magnus knew from experience that Alec would be able to hear them if he decided to listen. 

“We haven’t talked about that,” was what Magnus decided on.

Despite the fact that Ragnor was facing away from him, Magnus could tell that he rolled his eyes. Ragnor used his whole body to roll his eyes. It was something he and Alec had in common, in fact: an eternal disdain for ninety percent of the world. Alec hid it better, though. Or, at least, he did in front of Magnus. His siblings told a different story.

“Magnus.” Ragnor spun on his heel, arms folded across his chest, and pinned Magnus with the sort of look that made him feel nine years old. “We both know that that’s completely irrelevant. Do you love him?”

He inhaled deeply, letting his chest expand, as though perhaps then he could accommodate everything he felt about Alexander Lightwood in the physical limits of his body. 

It was impossible. He never would. It was too much. Already, after a mere few months, it was too much. Too much feeling. Too much fondness. Too much overwhelming affection at the smallest, most trivial things. 

Holding Ragnor’s gaze, Magnus nodded, and beckoned Ragnor closer, lest Alec overhear what they were saying. He didn’t want Alec to find out that Magnus loved him from a hushed conversation Magnus was having with someone else. 

“I’ve never felt like this before,” Magnus confessed, lowering his voice. 

Ragnor smiled, and reached out to cup Magnus’ face in one hand. “Good,” he said. “That’s good.”

“It is?” Magnus blinked in surprise. He’d expected some sort of warning. A comment about what he should be wary of. The overused speech about all the things he deserved.

“Yes.” Ragnor patted his cheek, and then lowered his hand. “I like him. He cares about you. He seems kind. And very loyal.”

“He is,” Magnus said, thoughts flitting to Alec standing outside his front door, take-out bag in hand, worried after not having heard from Magnus for two weeks. “Exceptionally so.”

“Then let yourself have this,” Ragnor said. “Just...take it. Take him. Love him. Let him love you.”

Magnus laughed a little. It came out sounding slightly wet. “I wasn’t expecting such a resounding seal of approval from you.”

“No.” Ragnor picked up whatever it was he’d pulled from the cupboard. A book of some kind. “No, I have to say, neither was I.”

“I’m not complaining.”

He was, in fact, so ecstatically happy that Ragnor liked Alec that he didn’t have words for it. It was almost as good as when Chairman had decided that Alec was an acceptable human to occupy his home, upon occasion. 

“You will be in a minute.” Ragnor shot him a smirk over his shoulder. “I’ve found some photos.”

“Photos,” Magnus stated, deadpan.

“Of you. As a kid.”

Magnus felt his face pale with horror. Memories of thick eyeliner and terrible haircuts and eyeshadow that clashed horribly with his clothes flashed through his mind. He shuddered. 

“Oh god. Ragnor. No. Please.”

“Alec,” Ragnor called, grinning unrepentantly at Magnus as he opened the kitchen door. “I’ve found something that Magnus would really love me to show you...”

Magnus moaned, burying his face in his hands, and decided that he was never bringing Alec to see Ragnor ever again. They were clearly going to get on far too well, and it was going to be a disaster. They’d gang up on Magnus, and lovingly tease him, and Magnus would have no power against either of them. 

This was a disaster. A catastrophe. Magnus was going to make sure Chairman Meow ruined every pair of shoes Ragnor was fool enough to leave unattended in his home. 

***

5.

As conceited as it sounded, Magnus was no stranger to people flirting with him. 

People had been doing it, unsolicited, since he was eighteen. Sometimes other models, which wasn’t such a big deal. Sometimes photographers and directors, which had been weird and creepy and had made him very, very uncomfortable. 

Now, of course, it was bigger than that. People made shameless comments about his body and what they would like to do with him on the Internet all the time, and seemed to think he’d never see them. People made comments to their friends when he passed them in the street. People he actually met and held a conversation with tended to be more classy, but they still flirted. His colleagues flirted. People he dressed flirted. 

Mostly, it was harmless. Before Alec, it had been fun to reciprocate, sometimes.

Camille Belcourt appeared to be a different creed. 

She’d called him earlier, out of his working hours, claiming she needed alterations made to the clothes he’d fitted on her just a few days before. He’d obliged, a little confused but not willing to begrudge a model her comfort on the runway. 

And now, Camille stood in his living room, fluttering her eyelashes and making comments that bordered on inappropriate and eyeing him in an overly sultry, obvious manner. It was Magnus really quite uncomfortable. He was trying his utmost to maintain professional boundaries, but she kept brushing against him and angling her body in a way that was clearly supposed to be seductive.

She had to know he was taken. The entire fucking world seemed to have made it their business. Which made it even worse. How could anybody be so shameless? Especially when Magnus was making absolutely no move to reciprocate, or even acknowledge her advances. 

“Could you take it in a little here?” she asked, running a red-tipped finger down the side seam of her dress, which ran close to her breast. 

“Of course,” Magnus said smoothly, side-stepping her when she leant into his personal space. He picked up a pin, pinching the fabric to her liking. “There?”

“Perfect,” she purred, smiling dangerously. 

Minutes later, she stripped out of her dress, leaving her in underwear and tall scarlet stilettos. Magnus had never met a model who did their fittings in high heels, but he wasn’t going to say anything. It was none of his business. 

“Was there anything else, Camille?” he asked, keeping his voice light and pleasant as he picked the dress up off the floor and draped it carefully over the back of a chair before it had a chance to crease.

“No, thank you, Magnus,” she said, smiling brightly. “You do know how to make a girl look perfect!”

Magnus heard the door creak just as Camille leant forwards in a rather exaggerated fashion, set her hand on his chest, and stretched up to press a loud, smacking kiss to his cheek. 

Shocked at her brazen display, Magnus froze, staring down at her as she smiled in clear satisfaction. She pulled away without a word, dropping her hand and sauntering away. She bent over to pick up her clothes, looking over her shoulder to see whether Magnus was watching. 

And he was - with a horrified sort of fascination - but only for a second. 

Movement in his peripheries caught his attention. His gaze snapped to the door, and he saw Alec standing on the threshold, eyes wide and lips parted in clear shock at the scene he’d walked in on.

Oh, god. What the hell was Alec going to think, arriving at Magnus’ door when they were supposed to be going out for dinner only to find a woman wandering around in heels and underwear, clothes scattered across the floor? Had he seen her kiss his cheek? Did Camille leave him covered in lipstick? 

Fuck. 

“Camille,” Magnus said, unable to take his eyes off Alec’s. Alec looked like Magnus had just punched him in the face. He was holding a small bouquet of flowers in one hand, and, oh, god, he’s bought me flowers, fuck— “If there’s nothing else, I’ll alter these and see you for a refit on Monday.”

“Of course, Magnus,” she said, voice as sweet as honey. A hand made contact with his bicep. Magnus tried not to flinch. “I’ll see you next week.”

Magnus couldn’t bring himself to say anything, as Camille let her fingertips drag across his arm in a way that made him want to crawl out of his skin. She shot Alec a smirk as she strutted past him, thankfully now fully clothed, and pulled the front door shut behind her.

Silence sounded agonisingly loud in the apartment. Alec was staring at him, entirely unmoving, and Magnus had no idea what he should say first. What could he say that didn’t sound like him desperately trying to cover his ass? 

“That wasn’t what it looked like,” Magnus blurted out, well aware that the longer he said nothing, the more incriminating it would seem. 

“Oh, really?” Alec choked out a laugh. “That wasn’t some half-naked woman kissing you? I know I’m early, Magnus, but god, I thought you’d have the decency to kick out your side-hustle more than fifteen minutes before your boyfriend is supposed to turn up.”

“No.” Magnus shook his head vehemently. “She’s a model, she’s modelling for me in a few weeks. She wanted some alterations done.”

“Oh, that makes it so much better, does it?” Alec sounded a little hysterical. “You’re fucking your model, and that’s supposed to make me feel better?”

“There’s no fucking going on! I would never do that to you!”

“No?” Alec’s voice was growing in volume, and he looked more upset with every passing second, waving his free hand around erratically as he spoke. “You’ve just got random women coming over in their underwear leaving lipstick all over you and it’s all totally platonic, is that it?”

“Yes!” Magnus shouted desperately, because no matter how ridiculous it sounded, it was true. “She was flirting with me, but I didn’t reciprocate, she just—”

“She just thought it was fine to plant one on you for absolutely no reason?” Alec snapped. “Right.”

“Alexander—”

“No, fuck this.” He tossed the bouquet of flowers on the floor at Magnus’ feet, lips curling in clear contempt and hurt swimming in his eyes. Magnus wanted so badly to take it away. “Goodbye, Magnus.”

He slammed the door on his way out.

***

Rain was lashing down on the streets of New York as Magnus hurried up the sidewalk, shivering in his thin cotton jacket and jeans. He hadn’t thought about his attire when he’d rushed out of his home, feeling like his world was coming apart at the seams. 

All because of fucking Camille Belcourt. He should have listened to Meliorn when he’d warned Magnus that she wasn’t the sort of person he wanted to have around. Meliorn always gave excellent professional advice. Magnus had been too concerned by how good Camille was at her job to pay much attention to anything else. He would be keeping his work separate from his personal life, from now on.

Sadly, it was too late for that. Professional had bled into personal in the most horrifying way. 

Magnus’ boots squelched on the waterlogged grass as he crossed the lawn and jogged up the steps, arms folded tightly across his chest in an attempt to combat the cold. God, he hoped no reporters had followed him here. He hadn’t worried about security: none of them had located Ragnor’s house yet. He was safe, surely?

He pounded on the front door, fingers so cold that he could barely feel them. He couldn’t pull his phone out to check the time, but it couldn’t be too late. Night had fallen across the city, but it had still been daylight when he’d banished Camille from his home. 

“Alright, alright! Give it a rest!”

Magnus sagged when the door opened to reveal Ragnor on the other side, glaring. His expression cleared when he saw Magnus, and morphed into one of concern. 

“Magnus. What on earth are you doing here? Why are you so wet? What’s going on?”

“I made a mistake,” Magnus said, hearing his voice tremble. It could have been because he couldn’t feel his lips, but he knew it wasn’t. 

“Get inside. Bloody hell, Magnus, you’re soaking. And freezing. Did you walk all the way here?”

“Subway,” Magnus said, teeth chattering the moment he got into the warmth of the hallway. Ragnor peeled his jacket off, shaking away the excess rainwater and hanging it up on the coat stand. 

“Go and have a shower,” Ragnor said. “I will not be seen to be responsible for Magnus Bane catching hypothermia. Your fans will slit my throat in my sleep.”

Magnus couldn’t even manage to crack a smile at Ragnor’s eternal exasperation over the behaviour of Magnus’ more enthusiastic fans. He couldn’t purge the image of Alec’s face when he’d walked in on Magnus’ and Camille from his mind. The shock and betrayal and anger, all of which failed to hide the sadness in his eyes, was seared into Magnus’ brain. 

“Magnus.” Ragnor set a hand on his shoulder, and squeezed lightly. “Please, go and have a shower. You can borrow some dry clothes. Then we’ll talk. Alright?”

As tempting as it was to drown himself in the shower, Magnus managed to refrain. He tugged on Ragnor’s clothes without complaint, and found him in the living room, reading a book and nursing a mug of tea between his hands. Another sat on the coffee table.

Silently, Magnus sat down beside Ragnor on the sofa, pulled his legs up to his chest, and hugged them. He stared at the steam curling off the surface of his tea, rising up into the air and twisting into elegant swirls. 

The rustle of Ragnor turning a page of his book sounded in the silence. Neither of them made any move to break it. Ragnor had his legs crossed in apparent nonchalance, ankle resting on the opposite knee, but Magnus knew that he was tuned into Magnus’ every breath. 

Magnus pressed his forehead into his knees, inhaling the smell of old books and tea and fresh laundry detergent. He wondered at how he could have been so stupid to fall for the oldest trick in the book. 

He was naive. He trusted people too much. He’d trusted Camille, taken her words at face-value, hadn’t considered that she might have ulterior motives. He’d ignored not only Meliorn’s warning, but all the subsequent red flags.

Exhaling, Magnus unwrapped one arm and reached for his tea. He blew across it and took a sip, letting the heat slide down his throat and distract him, just for a moment. 

The sound of a book being set down heavily on the wooden table made Magnus jump. He turned to look at Ragnor, and found him frowning over at Magnus. 

“You’re spiralling,” Ragnor said. “I can’t let you spiral.”

“I’m not spiralling.”

“Yes, you are.” Ragnor fixed him with a look, half chastising and half worried, and set a hand on his knee. “What’s going on? Since when do you dash through the pouring rain rather than pick up the phone?”

“Since I make terrible, terrible mistakes.”

“Is this about Alec?”

Magnus sighed. He tiled his head back to let it rest against the top of the sofa and closed his eyes, resting his mug on his thigh.

“You know Camille?”

Ragnor was silent for a beat, then: “Yes, I know Camille. Unfortunately.”

“She told me that she had some concerns about the designs she was supposed to be modelling next month. I offered to speak to her about it on Monday, but she wanted to talk now, and said that it would be easier to do it person.”

“I suppose she has a point, if she wants alterations made to her clothes. Although why you need to be involved in that—”

“They’re mine. The designs were mine, not the team’s. I thought it was odd, because I knew I’d measured everything correctly, and it had seemed fine during the fitting, but–” He shrugged “–I never want models wearing my clothes to be uncomfortable.”

“Of course,” Ragnor acknowledged. “So you met her?”

“I did. I met her at home, because I didn’t want to go all the way into the office. And it was fine. Until she started being a bit...friendly.”

“I’m shocked,” Ragnor said dryly.

Magnus opened his eyes and lifted his head to look at Ragnor. “Is it just me? Am I the only person who didn’t realise that Camille is...like she is?”

“Oh,” Ragnor said, realisation settling deep into the lines of his face. The corners of his mouth twisted down, and sympathy flooded through his eyes. “Do you mean that you didn’t realise that she’s been trying to seduce you?”

“No!” Magnus threw his hands up. “No, I didn’t!”

Ragnor chuckled.

“Stop laughing! This isn’t funny!”

“No, it’s not,” he agreed, “but it’s sort of sweet. You’re so enamoured of your boyfriend that you were completely oblivious to the woman trying to get in your pants. Or your wallet. Probably both, if were being honest. She’s been excruciatingly blatant about it.”

Magnus found himself at a loss for words. How could he have missed something apparently so obvious?

“Go on,” Ragnor said, with a small, encouraging smile. “Finish your story.”

“It was the perfect cliché,” Magnus said, laughing bitterly. “Alec walked in just in time to see her put a hand on my chest and plant a smacking kiss on my cheek. She left lipstick all over me.”

Ragnor snorted. “Classy. Very subtle.”

“She also wasn’t very dressed,” Magnus said. “We were mid outfit change.”

“That must have looked good, to Alec,” Ragnor said, shaking his head. “And then?”

“Alec looked like he’d been punched in the gut, Camille made some simpering comment, I sent her away and we argued. I don’t even remember what we said, just... I think he was too upset to actually listen to anything I told him.”

“But I’m sure he’ll listen once you’ve both calmed down,” Ragnor said, not unreasonably. 

“I still hurt him,” Magnus said, miserably. “And I know he feels...insecure, sometimes, about not being a part of the same professional sphere as me.”

Ragnor snorts indelicately. “Professional sphere. Do you mean he’s insecure about all the people professing their love for you on Twitter? The people who talk about how much they want to fuck you?”

“No, actually. I think it’s the other people in the industry. The people he feels - wrongly - inferior to, in some way.”

“People like Camille.”

“Exactly.”

Ragnor hummed, appraising Magnus over the rim of his mug. His eyes were flicking around Magnus’ face, as though dissecting his expression and analysing all the things Magnus hadn’t said. Desperate for an excuse to avert his gaze, Magnus took a sip of his tea.

“You love him, don’t you?”

Magnus choked. Hadn’t Ragnor asked him that before? Hadn’t he said yes? Why was Ragnor bringing it up again? “I’m sorry?”

Unimpressed, Ragnor quirked an eyebrow. “You said you loved him. You still do, don’t you?”

Of course I do, Magnus thought, filled with something akin to desperation. Of course he loved Alec. He loved his messy hair in the mornings, the way it took him half an hour to really wake up, and how he was cuddling and loose and relaxed in that sweet, sweet half hour, brain apparently too foggy for insecurities or second-guessing or self-control or brain-to-mouth filters.

He loved how much Alec cared, without reserve or judgement or hesitation. He loved when Alec managed to make him laugh hysterically, with his deadpan, sarcastic humour that was sometimes a little dark. He loved Alec’s enthusiasm for his truly awful, appalling taste in music. 

“What’s that got to do with anything?” Magnus said, because he couldn’t talk to Ragnor about this when he hadn’t even told Alec yet. When he still hadn’t told Alec. 

Admitting that he loved Alec would be the catalyst for everything cracking and crumbling and crashing down around him. Things were too good. He was too happy. Alec was too wonderful. The other shoe had to drop at some point. 

“Everything,” Ragnor replied, gaze steady while Magnus’ darted around the room, eager to evade Ragnor’s too-knowing stare. “Absolutely everything. If you don’t love him, then this is about your guilt because you’re a decent person who doesn’t like hurting people. Perhaps you thought you loved him, but you’ve changed your mind. Perhaps something has changed. Perhaps he’s not like you thought. But if you do still love him, then it’s about your inability to accept anything good.”

Fuck. That was the problem with going to any of his friends for advice—especially Ragnor. They knew him too well. Ragnor knew him far too well. He seemed to read Magnus like an open book written in size twenty. It was infuriating. 

Alec did that, sometimes. Acted like he knew all the things Magnus wasn’t saying, or couldn’t say—as though he was becoming so attuned to Magnus that he could translate the silences and the false smiles and the stillness between Magnus’ endless movement. 

That was terrifying. 

“I love him,” Magnus said, quietly. “Of course I love him. How could I not? He’s—” He swallowed and blinked, feeling strangely emotional. “I love him.”

“He loves you too, you know.”

“What?”

“It was obvious.” Ragnor waved a dismissive hand. “The first time I met him, it was obvious. The way he watched you when you weren’t looking, and his body language when he was close to you and the way he talked about you—”

“What did he say?” Magnus demanded, unable to help himself. “Was it when I went to the bathroom? Did he tell you something? What did you say to him?”

“Oh no.” Ragnor chuckled. “No, that’s staying between me and him, darling.”

Magnus pouted. Ragnor was unmoved. 

“You’ll be fine,” Ragnor assured him. “Everything will be fine. You’ll see.”

***

Alec was the first to reach out, because of course he was. While Magnus was still stewing, mulling over what to say and when to say it and at what time of day he should pick up the phone to call or whether he should text or perhaps just show up on Alec’s doorstep, Alec, apparently, had no such qualms. 

When he and Alec had first started dating, Magnus had cornered his head of security and made sure that, should Alec ever wish to visit him, or surprise him, or for any reason attempt to gain access to his home, there wouldn’t be any issues. He’d made that mistake once before, right after he’d moved into his penthouse, with a woman he’d been seeing. She’d refused to speak to him ever again after his security staff had tried to throw her out when she turned up unannounced one evening, when Magnus wasn’t home. 

So, when Magnus answered a phone call from one of the security staff on duty, he wasn’t expecting Alec to be the issue.

“I don’t understand,” Magnus said at last, once the situation had been explained. “He’s still on the list, right?”

“Yes, but we heard your...disagreement, the other night. We wanted to be sure.”

Magnus cringed. Was this really his life, now? Security staff overhearing his quarrels with lovers and feeling concerned for his wellbeing, therefore feeling obligated to take matters into their own hands? God, he’d much rather have the drama of Alec pounding on his front door in the pouring rain, shouting his name and refusing to leave or stop making noise until Magnus let him in.

Possibly Magnus had been watching too many cheesy romcoms. 

“That’s very professional of you, but anyone on that list can always come up. I’ll take responsibility.”

“Of course, sir.”

He was going to give Alec a key. The code for the external gate, the code for the door downstairs, and a key. Then there’d never be a problem. 

Well. Unless things were going to turn sour. 

Magnus opened his apartment door just as the lift chimed its arrival and Alec stepped out. His hair was more ruffled than usual, sticking up in different directions, as though he’d been running his fingers through it in agitation. 

“Hey,” Alec said, and cleared his throat when the word sounded rough. “Sorry for just turning up. I didn’t realise...” He shook his head. “I can go, if I’m bothering you.”

“No,” Magnus said. His voice came out with a strange, soft quality to it that sounded far more vulnerable than Magnus had intended. “No, stay. My security team was just being overzealous.”

“It’s good that they are. I’ve seen some of the freaky things people send you. And say to you on Twitter.”

Magnus’ lips twitched up, amused and fond at the look of disgust on Alec’s face. 

“Come in,” Magnus said, gesturing.

Alec moved past him, toed off his boots, wet from the rain, and turned to Magnus, determination set hard into his eyes. 

“Tell me I’m not being really stupid coming here. Tell me it really wasn’t what it looked like.”

“It really, really wasn’t,” Magnus said earnestly. “I don’t even particularly like Camille, let alone feel anything close to what I feel for you. She just models the clothes we make. That’s all she is to me. Someone I’m employing to work in a show.”

Alec exhaled, tension bleeding from his shoulders, and he shot Magnus a small, careful smile. “My sister did point out that it would be pretty stupid to leave your front door unlocked when you were in the process of cheating on me.”

Just the sound of the words falling from Alec’s lips made Magnus blanch. 

“I should have been more obvious in my rebukes,” Magnus admitted. “But I swear to you, I would never do that, to you or anybody else. I wouldn’t want to. I’m happy with you.”

Something complicated passed over Alec’s features, but it disappeared quickly as he schooled his expression into careful neutrality. “And the fact that she was in her underwear?”

“Nudity isn’t something we’re squeamish about in modelling. It wasn’t sexual, no matter how hard she was trying to flirt. I was just fitting her clothes.”

For a moment, Alec simply stared at him. Magnus dared not look away from his gaze, steady and searching and unyielding. It was rather unnerving, in a way. Alec saw him, just like Ragnor saw him, and he wasn’t good at being seen. He found it difficult. He didn’t want people to just know, just by examining his expression and his body language. He wanted to be able to hide and conceal and protect himself. Protect his heart.

Maybe Alec wasn’t going to hurt him. Maybe Alec was going to be like Ragnor. The exception to the rule.

Maybe.

“I believe you,” Alec said at long last, to Magnus’ relief. “I should have listened before, but she left her lipstick on you like a claim, and she was eyeing you like a piece of meat, and I just—” He shook his head. “I saw red.”

A little stiffly, Magnus said, “I understand. I would have been the same.”

“Next time, just– Please just tell her to stop? I know nobody wants to start office arguments, but...”

“If she tries anything like that again, I will firmly remind her that I am a happily taken man,” Magnus assured him. 

Alec let out a breath, and offered Magnus a small smile. “Thank you.”

“No. Please don’t thank me for that.”

God, Magnus wanted to say it. The urge to blurt out the words he felt like he’d been holding back for weeks was crippling, and he had to physically bite down on his tongue to stop them spilling over. He couldn’t say it now. It wasn’t the right time. It would seem to much like he was using them to excuse what had happened. It would feel cheap. 

Alec deserved far more than cheap. Just like he deserved more than Magnus with somebody else’s lipstick on his cheek. 

“Don’t do that,” Alec said, taking a step towards him and reaching out to grip Magnus’ arm gently.

“What?” Magnus asked, staring up the few inches between them, searching Alec’s intense gaze.

It was always intense. He always gave Magnus his full attention. It was never half-hearted.

“That. Being self-deprecating.”

“I should have—”

“Maybe,” Alec agreed, “but you didn’t, and I forgive you. It’s not like you encouraged her, right? You just ignored it.”

“Of course I didn’t encourage her.”

The mere thought of encouraging Camille made him cringe. He didn’t know how anybody could be so brazen without feeling embarrassed. When he was nineteen, Camille probably would have been exactly the sort of person to attract Magnus, with her confidence and snake-like charm and, admittedly, conventionally stunning looks. 

But not now. Definitely not now. 

Alec shrugged. “Then that’s all there is to it, isn’t it?”

Magnus sighed, and looped his arms around Alec’s neck, moving closer and angling their bodies together until their hips brushed. Alec’s eyes flickered down to his lips, his own parting slightly, and Magnus forced himself not to get distracted by that incredibly tempting sight. 

That was far more seductive than Camille, and Alec wasn’t even trying. 

“You’re one of a kind, Alexander,” Magnus murmured. 

Alec’s lips quirked. “Sure,” he said, sounding like he didn’t believe that for a second.

Magnus found himself being kissed breathless before he had the chance to utter a rebuke. And, frankly, he was never going to complain about having Alec’s mouth on his. 

***

+1.

“Ragnor!”

Ragnor glanced up from his phone to see Catarina hurrying down the hall. She’d clearly been through hair and make-up, and she was in her dress - a shimmering grey with a very flattering cut - but she was barefoot, and she looked, Ragnor thought, like someone had just set fire to the wedding venue, with the grooms trapped inside. 

“What is it?” Ragnor asked, dread curling in the pit of his stomach as he stowed his phone away and stood up, brushing down his pants. God help him if they were wrinkled in the photos and Magnus noticed. He’d never hear the end of it, and his reputation as being hopeless at clothing would be forever cemented. 

“Magnus is just—” She waved a hand around vaguely in the air. “Freaking out.”

“What?” Ragnor frowned, and motioned for her to lead the way. He fell into step beside her. “He was fine when I left. That was only twenty minutes ago. Is he—”

“Spiralling,” Catarina confirmed.

She didn’t bother to knock on Magnus’ hotel room door, instead flashing a keycard and knocking her shoulder against it brusquely. 

Ragnor steeled himself, mentally flashing through all the things that might have triggered Magnus’ abrupt freak-out an hour before he was supposed to walk down the aisle. Honestly, he’d expected this in the run-up to the wedding - especially when Magnus had told him that he and Alec had argued about money, again - but not now. Not when all the preparation had gone so well, and the guest list had been finalised with minimal drama, and the press had been sickeningly supportive when Magnus and Alec had been caught at the airport wearing engagement rings. 

What the hell had set him off? Did he really doubt that Alec wanted to marry him? Worse, did he doubt that he wanted to marry Alec?

No. It was never going to be that. Magnus was besotted. But surely he could see that Alec was just the same? Alec was devoted to Magnus. He was everything Ragnor had ever hoped Magnus would find. 

Catarina held the door open, and Ragnor walked past her, a speech on the tip of his tongue as he rounded the corner.

At the dresser, Magnus was sat with his legs crossed on the stool, expression bright as he laughed at something someone was saying. From where he stood, Ragnor couldn’t see who it was, but he didn’t have to. The only person who could evoke such soft fondness in Magnus’ eyes was Alec. 

“Hello,” Ragnor said, a little amused at the sight, after Catarina’s clear distress. She couldn’t have been out of the room for more than ten minutes, at the most, and yet Alec had managed to turn Magnus’ mood right around. 

“Ragnor!” Magnus beamed at him. Had anyone asked, Ragnor would have told them that such a joyous expression made him feel nauseated, but it didn’t. It made him want to smile right back, for the memory of the sad, traumatised little boy he’d first met, so many years ago, who’d watched abuse and suicide and alcoholism and cancer all before the age of ten. 

“Catarina was worried about you,” Ragnor said, moving so that he could see Magnus and Alec both, “but I see that I didn’t need to come running.”

He let his gaze drift to Alec, who grinned, a little sheepish. 

“I’m sorry to have worried you both,” Magnus said. “I’m fine. I was just—”

“Spiralling,” Ragnor, Catarina and Alec said in synch. 

Magnus pouted. Alec leant forwards from his spot perched on the edge of the dresser to press a kiss to Magnus’ temple in apology. Ragnor wanted to be sick, the sight was so sweet. 

“I don’t spiral,” Magnus muttered, jabbing a finger into Alec’s thigh in retaliation. 

Alec yelped. “Ow! What was that for?”

“I don’t spiral.”

“Yeah, babe, you do.” He smiled, reaching out to brush some invisible speck of dust from Magnus’ cheek. “It’s okay. It’s not like I’m really one to talk.”

A knock at the door made them all turn, much to Ragnor’s relief. He knew it was their wedding day, but god, he felt like he was intruding on a very private moment that got even more private with every passing second. 

“Sorry to interrupt,” Isabelle said. “Alec, Jace wants to talk to you.”

Alec sighed. “I guess that’s my cue.” He turned to Magnus, expression turning liquid-soft. “I’ll see you at the altar.”

“See you at the altar,” Magnus echoed.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Alec moved to follow Isabelle out of the room, and Magnus followed him with his eyes, staring after him as though Alexander Lightwood was his entire world. Which he wasn’t, Ragnor knew, because Magnus had more than enough room in his heart for everybody he loved, but it was clear to Ragnor, then, that as long as Magnus had Alec, he’d be okay. No matter what. 

It filled him with a strange sense of peace. Perhaps he hadn’t needed to worry about Magnus for a while. Perhaps Alec had been worrying alongside him for years. But it was reassuring to see how easily Alec could talk Magnus down.

Sometimes, as illogical as it was, Ragnor still felt the pressure he had when he was little more than a teenager, and he’d inadvertently made himself a permanent fixture in Magnus’ life. He still felt like he couldn’t screw things up. Couldn’t let Magnus know that he struggled, sometimes, with being anything like a parental figure. Couldn’t show weakness.

But he could. Magnus was an adult. A successful, kind, balanced adult, at that. 

“I’m getting married,” Magnus said, sounding like he was in some daze-like daydream, still staring at the hallway down which Alec had disappeared. “I’m going to marry that man.”

“You are, yes,” Catarina said, sounding amused. “Any final words before you’re a married man?”

Finally, Magnus tore his gaze away from the middle distance and looked at Catarina, mouth open to speak. He paused, closed it, tilted his head to one side, and said, “No. None.”

Ragnor smiled. “We should probably head down, too. Are you ready?”

Magnus inhaled deeply. He turned to look in the mirror on the dresser, giving himself a cursory once-over, and nodded firmly. 

“I’m ready.” He grinned. “Ready to walk me down the aisle, old man?”

Ragnor scoffed, reaching out to swat Magnus over the head. Magnus ducked out of the way with a yelp and a hysterical protest about his hair, and Ragnor laughed. 

“Come on,” Ragnor said, looping his arm through Magnus’ and ignoring his pout. “Let’s go and get this over with.”

“Excuse me, I am expecting you to be glued to every word. I am also expecting you to cry.”

“In your dreams, Bane.”

Magnus sighed wistfully, smiling. “That won’t be my name in an hour.”

They bickered all the way down to the orchard at the back of the hotel, which had been decorated in pretty bouquets and silky white streamers and sappy quotes that made Ragnor want to roll his eyes lest he get emotional over such an overt display of love. They lingered in the lobby, Catarina bidding them farewell to take her spot beneath the wicker archway, where Jace and Alec would already be standing.

“You okay?” Ragnor asked, when Magnus shifted from one foot to the other, glancing anxiously at the ornate clock hanging on the wall opposite them as they waited for the music to start up. 

“I’m fine. I just want to...”

“Marry Alec?” Ragnor suggested, with a wry smile. 

“Yeah.” Magnus let out a breathy laugh. “Yeah, exactly.”

“You will. In about three minutes.”

“Right.” Magnus bounced on his toes. “I wish my mom could have been here.”

Ragnor squeezed Magnus’ arm sympathetically. “I’m sure she would have been very proud of you.”

Magnus shot him a half-smile, and shook his head. “I barely remember her, and I was too young to really know her, as a person. She was just my mom.”

“That doesn’t mean you don’t love her. The little boy I met loved her very much.”

“Of course I do. It’s just...I can’t even imagine what her reaction to all this would be. My job. My sexuality. My fiancé.”

“The silver lining is that you’re free to imagine your own happy ending.”

To Ragnor’s surprise, Magnus looked over at him, lips twisted into something resembling a grin, and shook his head. 

“I don’t need to. I did love my mom, and obviously I wish she was here, but losing her brought me you. And this family that I’ve found, you and Alec and Catarina and Isabelle and Raphael—it’s the best family I could ask for.”

Ragnor blinked rapidly, surprised by the emotion Magnus’ words evoked. Excessive displays of emotion weren’t his forte; he much preferred to hide his feelings away from the world. But he’d tried so very hard not to when Magnus was a child, knowing that it was a poor lesson to teach a child, that around Magnus, sometimes, he forgot. Even now. 

“Don’t make me cry before the vows,” Ragnor said gruffly.

Magnus chuckled. “I love you too.”

“Shut up,” Ragnor told him sternly, just in time for the first notes of Magnus and Alec’s chosen wedding music to ring through the air, sharp and clear. 

After exchanging a quick smile, Ragnor patted Magnus’ arm, and they stepped out onto the aisle, between rows and rows of people who loved this couple - truly loved them - and wanted to share in their happiness. 

It was rather beautiful, Ragnor thought, as he kissed Magnus’ cheek and left him beside Alec, who was smiling so hard it looked like his face might split in two. Twenty years ago, Magnus had been so very alone, and so very frightened. Now, he commanded the adoration of millions of people, simply by being himself. And, more importantly, he had this. This family.

As he watched Magnus and Alec grasp hands, facing towards each other as they read out their vows, he felt himself thinking back, with no small amount of melancholy, to the boy he’d first met, so long ago. The boy who’d been wrong-footed by someone asking him what he’d eaten for lunch, who’d hugged him desperately upon parting, and who’d stolen Ragnor’s heart without even trying. 

His heart ached for that little boy. The sight of Alec reaching out to thumb a tear away from the corner of Magnus’ eye, laughter on both their faces, made him wish fervently that he could go back in time and tell that sad, lonely boy that this was what awaited him, if he could just hold on. That one day, he’d have enough family to fill an entire wedding venue. That he’d have someone to kiss him when he came home, to hug him after a hard day, to share in his burdens and support him in his triumphs. 

When rings had been slipped onto fingers, Alec took Magnus’ face in his hands like he was something infinitely precious, and kissed him with such tender care that it made the tears that had been brimming in Ragnor’s eyes slide down his cheeks.

They held each other close when they pulled apart, with eyes for nobody but each other. It seemed like they hardly heard the officiant pronounce them, so busy were they staring at each other with their hearts shining in their eyes. 

You’re going to be okay, Magnus, Ragnor thought, to his mind’s image of nine-year-old Magnus. You’re going to be fantastic.