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When Alec Lightwood thinks about the moments of his life that make his chest swell with happiness or pride, or make his cheeks ache with the stretch of smile that refuses to slip, he remembers them in terms of Magnus.
It’s not the specifics of a portaled evening to France or Tokyo, dinners overlooking the city skyline as it buzzes alive with energy. It isn’t the days spent lounging on the beach with the waves lapping at their feet as they let their hands wander. Not even their wedding the night before, surrounded by family and friends, warm with the smiles and touches of the people they love and adore, who are reciprocally irreplaceable to them.
It’s the way the neon of the city billboards dance across Magnus’ cheeks in their attempt to hide the color that sprouts when Alec says something unapologetically honest and raw. Or the way Magnus looks at him with an overabundance of joy that makes itself known in the sparkling white of his teeth and a smile that’s wider than most people get the chance to witness. The way Magnus whispers his affection into the gap between their lips when he pulls Alec in for a kiss.
Alec’s happiest moments aren’t events, they’re unrelentingly Magnus.
Magnus, watching him from the other end of the table where they’re sharing breakfast, his head canted to the side and his brows raised in an unspoken question that Alec can already read. “I’m just really happy,” he answers, before adding: “Why did you want me to make you waffles?”
The immediate answer is a hum that rumbles low in Magnus’ throat as he chews the fluffed square and berries, but the real answer comes after, cryptic as ever. “I dreamt of it once, and I wanted it to be real. As real as you are, as real as this is.”
It doesn’t explain anything, but Alec thinks it doesn’t need to. He can’t always explain the way his heart speeds up when he locks eyes with Magnus across the room, or the way his thoughts derail when Magnus rests a hand against his cheek and smiles at him like he’s single-handedly given him the world.
“Can we spend our first day married learning how to make crepes?”
It throws him for a fraction of a second. Married.
“Anything you want,” Alec says, breathless with thoughts of the future.
Magnus raises his brows again, always feigns surprise when Alec offers his whole heart in front of him, but Alec holds his stare, refusing to succumb to the shy embarrassment he knows so well. The dull scratch of the chair across the floorboards is his only warning before Magnus is making himself comfortable in Alec’s lap with his arms clasped behind his neck. It doesn’t make Alec’s stomach twist in excitement any less than it always does, and it doesn’t stop the way his eyes are drawn to Magnus’ lips, quirked and shiny with residual syrup.
“A man could get used to this type of treatment,” Magnus whispers. It’s not lost on Alec the way Magnus searches his eyes, seeks out something he’ll never know but does his best to supply. And he must find it, because the kiss Alec receives is sweet, not from sugar, but from something wholly Magnus.