Chapter Text
Magnus is running late, which is bad enough on it’s own but considerably worse considering that it’s his first day, and he’s a very easily fireable intern. He’s sure that his shoes weren’t created with the intention of the wearer hightailing it through the busy streets of New York City on a Monday morning, but he really doesn’t have the time to stop and think about how much damage he’s causing them. Because he’s late . Almost thirty minutes late , which is ridiculous .
Finally he sees the building in sight, and he crashes into the lobby and in the direction of the elevator pausing just long enough for the security guard to scan his badge and approve his entry. He’s lucky enough to get to the elevator just as another person is stepping in, and he calls out to them to hold the doors, which they mercifully do. Magnus steps in, thanks them profusely, and then gives himself a couple seconds to lean against the wall as the doors slide shut.
“Bad morning?” The other occupant asks, and Magnus can hear the smile in their voice.
He opens his eyes, “You can say that.”
His elevator-buddy is smiling, sympathetic and just a little bit teasing, and his hazel eyes are regarding Magnus as though he wants to say more but hasn’t determined if a full blown conversation will be appreciated. He’s wearing a well fitted suit that shows off his body in ways that makes Magnus want to see him without the suit, and his dark hair is just begging to have Magnus’ fingers running through them. Magnus knows he looks good, even after he’s been running, but he can’t help but feel like there were better times in his life that he could have been placed in an enclosed space with a man who looks like he just stepped out of a magazine photoshoot.
Then Magnus considers their location, “Do you work here? Are you one of the models?”
The man seems taken aback, but he recovers quickly and laughs, “No. God, no. I’m more of a behind the scenes kind of guy.”
“Oh?” Magnus tries to hide his disappointment at realizing he won’t be getting the opportunity to style this man anytime in the future.
“Yeah. I’m a photographer.” He says, then regards Magnus with a quirked brow, “Are you ?”
When Magnus frowns in confusion, the man continues;
“Are you a model?”
“Oh! Oh, no.” Magnus says, flushing, “I’m new. A stylist.” Well, a stylist to-be anyway, “I work with Camille Belcourt.”
Something shifts in the man’s expression at that, something that Magnus can’t quite place before it’s gone and replaced with a smirk that could only be described as suggestive , as he leans in and says, “Pity. I would’ve loved to photograph you.”
The elevator starts to slow down as they approach their floor, and Magnus is suddenly very aware of how close in proximity they are right then.
“Magnus Bane.” He says quickly, because there’s no way in hell he’s letting an opportunity to know this man pass him by.
And -he tacks on, remembering that he’s at work - it’s never too early to start networking, of course.
The man smiles wide, stretches out his hand just as the elevator comes to a stop and the doors begin to open.
“Alec Lightwood. Pleasure to meet you, Magnus.” He says, “I hope we see each other around.”