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Magnus has always been impeccably trained to spot the differences to any and all of his belongings or environments, enhanced warlock abilities or not. Hundreds of years of time to refine such abilities will do that, and suffice to say when Magnus steps foot into his apothecary on an otherwise ordinary Monday afternoon, he knows something is sorely out of place.
The ink pot sits on his desk, pristine and sparkling in the reflection of the soft glow of the light from the window slats, but Magnus knows it’s been moved.
His only rational explanation is Alec, but he’s sure his husband would have just asked first. Besides, what use would Alec have with Magnus’ ink anyways?
He begins to forget about the ink pot and it’s subtle but frequent repositioning. Alec gives no explanation, no reason to suspect it’s even him, and between the time they spend busy with work, helping Catarina raise Madzie, and nights to themselves, he forgets to ask.
But when he portals home to find Alec muttering curses into the sink where he’s furiously scrubbing at his hands with some of Magnus’ home-brewed soap, his mind supplies the easy question.
“What’s wrong, darling?”
Alec startles, but only half turns to Magnus. “I - ah, I got into a fight with a… a pen.”
It’s a lie. Magnus has a creeping disposition to always know when Alec is lying, and the crease that cuts into the middle of Alec’s forehead pulls the words from him. “Alexander, you know I would never say no to you if you asked to use anything in my apothecary. I trust you, and I trust you to take care of it.”
Alec doesn’t meet his eyes, keeps them turned down in a knowing tell. “I know,” he says, barely loud enough to hear. Magnus doesn’t press it, just rests a warm palm to Alec’s cheek and a soft kiss to the other, and leaves to let him finish.
It’s a few days later when suspicions rise. Magnus wakes slowly to a string of muttered curses from an angry Alec, and leaves the warmth of the bed to find his husband hunched over a desk, furiously shuffling through rumpled papers and patting them against the wood. Alec is stressed, unusually so for the time of day, and Magnus places what he hopes is a calming palm to the curve of Alec’s back.
Only there’s no calming to be had, because Alec turns in a rush of motion, clumsier than any Shadowhunter has any right to be. “M-Magnus! You’re awake!”
The inflection of Alec’s voice, pitched higher at the end with more of a question than a statement narrows Magnus’ eyes. “As are you,” he says as he attempts to peer behind Alec at the desk, parchment strewn and messy and so unlike his husband, but Alec moves his body to block his gaze. “Quite early on your day off, I might add.”
Alec fidgets where he stands, bottom lip bitten and eyes downcast. Magnus tips closer and lifts a hand to smooth across the strong chest before him, stroking away invisible wrinkles and the need to push for answers because Alec is clearly hiding something.
“I’ll explain,” Alec begins, hesitant, “but not yet.”
Magnus wants to ask, he can feel the questions begging and pounding at his throat with the need to be free. But Alec has set his boundaries, and after so many years together, Magnus knows which battles are worth fighting with urgency, and which are better left in waiting.
“Alright,” he concedes with a small sigh.
The smile he receives creases hazel eyes lit beautifully with gratitude and relief. It makes Magnus’ heart thump slowly, aware, because these moments of silent communication, of needing something from each other but being willing to compromise with the promise of solving it together in the end… this is what marriage has meant to him the past few years. The trust, the understanding, the trial and error of misunderstandings that led them to these moments, to problems that never remain unsolved and resentful.
“Thank you.” A whisper comes soft as Alec tugs Magnus closer by the belt of his robe.
“You can thank me back in bed.”
Alec grins against his lips, and there’s a brief moment where Magnus knows he can take the opportunity to look over his distracted husband’s shoulder, but Alec’s privacy means more than the satisfaction of his curiosity.
The next few days pass in a rush, a hurried blur of planning on Alec’s part and finite details left to Magnus for their wedding anniversary, only a few weeks away. It hasn’t hit him yet that it’s been almost ten years, that time has passed so quickly, and the only signs of it’s passage show in Alec and the age that brightens his face every morning and darkens him in the night with shadows of a life well-lived.
Alec, who calls out to him from Magnus’ own apothecary with a cheery “Magnus!”
“Yes, darling?”
“I’d like to show you something.”
Magnus raises from his perch on the couch, eyes glued to the seating arrangement for the dinner portion of the planned evening coming up, a cozy event of just shy under a hundred guests. Alec had set limits, and 99 attendees was just enough to garner an eye-roll and acceptance.
But then there’s a small square of parchment slipping in front of him when he finally makes his way to Alec, and Magnus flips it over cautiously. “What’s this?”
Alec says nothing, and when Magnus glances up at him he’s only met with a barely concealed smile and raised, urging eyebrows. Tentative, he traces the swirls and lines that decorate the paper with his sight, shifting colors of silvery metal and graceful loops of calligraphy that remind him of --
“You are cordially invited…”
Alec hums when Magnus loses words, stepping behind him to circle strong arms around Magnus’ waist and a pointed chin on his shoulder. “...to the 10-year anniversary of Alexander and Magnus Lightwood-Bane,” Alec finishes for him, satisfied.
“Alec,” Magnus breathes out, turning in his arms.
“It’s not much,” Alec adds hastily, and Magnus silences that train of thought with a quick peck. “I wanted to try something new, to learn how you did this the first time around. It’s only calligraphy, but I’ve been practicing every day and,” he pauses, sheepish, “I’m sorry for using so much of your ink. I wanted it to be a secret, but I know you’ve noticed, and I’ve replaced everything I used. Promise.”
Magnus thinks back on the past two weeks, to the stress that tensed Alec’s shoulders in the mornings when Magnus would catch him. The various trips to the bathroom where Alec seemed to be suddenly health-conscious and constantly washing his hands for no reason. The rustle of papers and the patting sound of them sponging spilled ink along wood. All of it for a small surprise like this, all this effort for Magnus.
“Even after all this time, you still continue to surprise me,” Magnus whispers.
Alec beams at him, brighter than the light that floods the apothecary, unique in the way only he manages to make Magnus’ heart stutter. “Like I said, it’s not much, it’s just an invitation, a piece of paper. But it’s what it means to me, I guess.” Alec shrugs, licking candor from his lips and meeting Magnus with earnest eyes. “I wanted to take us back to that time, to show you how much it meant to me then and now, and how happy I was that day. How happy I’ve been since.”
“It’s perfect, Alexander,” Magnus manages around the tightening in his chest that feels risen in his throat. “I couldn’t have done it better myself. It was worth the sneakiness and mild thievery, I think.”
His husband laughs, loud and boisterous as he only does in the company of his family, friends and Magnus, and love swells heavy around the room when Magnus pulls Alec down for another kiss.
“In ten more years we should write the invitations together,” Alec suggests, half-joking. Magnus bites his lip at the thought of another ten years with the man in front of him, time he never expected to have, but never takes for granted. Alec, with fine lines enhancing his features, laugh lines from enjoying their life together, and silver sprinkling his dark hair. Alec, growing old with him and loving every minute of it.
“I’d like that.”