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The wind is harsh outside when Alexander Lightwood shuffles his way out of the tall high-rise of his work building and onto the sidewalk. It’s only just past 5 o’clock but the sun is already subdued behind the misty gray and orange of the cloudy sky. It’ll probably rain tonight, and the sidewalk will likely be slick with ice come morning, but for now the path to his apartment remains clear as he trudges forward.
A few blocks of crowded streets leads Alec to his first roadblock.
Literally.
Bright orange and reflected light catches his eye, along with a big “DETOUR” sign that directs him down an unfamiliar street he really doesn’t want to take, but knows is the fastest way to a (barely) warm shelter. If he’s lucky, Jace will have the heat dialed up to a reasonably priced degree.
With a resolute sigh into the cold air that puffs out in front of him, he wraps the scarf tighter around his neck and follows the flock of people en route. It’s only a couple of blocks before he’s at the station, he knows , but it doesn’t make him any less annoyed about the unanticipated deviance in his daily routine.
These streets are darker, blocked and obscured from the bright flickering color of the main street lights, but one shop catches his eye in particular. Specifically, the elephant decal surrounded by twinkling lights in the window.
It's a bookstore.
A bookstore he’s going to miss his train for.
A bookstore that he really doesn’t have the time or energy to visit, but finds himself stepping into anyways. It’s not that he necessarily needs more books. He has plenty stuffed into his bookshelves back at the apartment, and he receives at least one new book every Christmas or birthday. He knows he’s going to have to listen to Jace gripe about how his books are going to have to start paying rent if they expect to take up the whole damn living room too.
But it’s cold, and what he really wants to do this weekend is snuggle up in the living room with a cup of coffee and a good read. Sure, he has more books than he should that remain unfinished, stuffed into the corners of his closet, or forgotten on his dresser, but something about this bookstore he’s come across just feels… right .
Fingers trace idly along the worn spines of the used books section, some frayed, some ripped, and some perfectly smooth and intact. Alec could go for something in the newly released spotlight, something eye-catching and likely worth the price. One of his favorite authors just released a new novel that he’s been itching to get his hands on. But he’s looking for something different, for an experience. He’s looking for a book with a little bit of personality.
Time passes slowly inside the wooden walls of the bookstore, warm and comforting with the faint smell of a cranberry candle burning just under the scent of paper and leather. The chairs scattered around the room look suspiciously inviting with their deep burgundy color and carefully placed throw pillows, especially with their competition being the frigid air outside. So tempting in fact, that Alec is already grabbing a few books off the shelf and strolling towards one of the chairs with orange pillows.
A buzzing sound catches him before he can sit, however, and he clicks his phone to see a message from Jace with a request to bring home food and to hurry the fuck up.
With the roll of his eye, Alec shoves his phone back into his pocket and impulsively decides on one of the three books in his hand - A Speck in the Sea - before making his way to the counter to pay and head back out into the cold.
Dinner is a quick and casual affair, and when Jace had inspected the plain plastic bag from the bookstore in hopes of dessert, he very expectedly had not been able to hold back any comments about the state of Alec’s already crowded shelves.
But now, with Jace spread along the couch taking a post-dinner nap, Alec can finally delve into the first pages of his new endeavor.
The pages begin to flip themselves after not long, a barely audible flutter as Alec becomes more engrossed in the story and loses his time to the book in his hands. It’s only thirty minutes in when Alec is taken out of his immersion by a comment written off to the side in dark blue ink.
What an idiot.
What?
Is this… meant for him - for Alec ? Did Jace somehow sneak away with the book and scribble in the margins as a prank? It’s not Jace’s penmanship, a fact he knows for certain due to years of schooling together with Alec as the only one able to decipher the illegible scratching. A wary eye towards his friend, and a loud snore purge the inclination from his head, and his only remaining explanation is that a previous reader couldn’t keep their thoughts to themselves.
Not that they’re necessarily wrong …
With the shake of his head, Alec ignores the loopy writing and returns to the printed words in his hand. However, with the turn of his page, he finds himself face-to-face with yet another note:
Clever… but still an idiot.
A sigh, and then the roll of his eyes has Alec shifting in his seat and quickly fluttering through the pages to see just how many of these notes he has to look forward to. There aren’t many, thankfully. There are changes in colors at different points in the book, still the same elegant scrawl but clearly read on different days. Alec’s about to close the book, to set it aside for another day when he isn’t annoyed by the ruining of a perfectly good story by someone else’s intrusive thoughts that they deemed worthy enough to bother someone else with, when he notices the last page of the book has a series of numbers.
A phone number.
Alec stares at it for a minute. Then another.
Finally, after a long internal debate, he slams the book shut and tosses it onto the end table, deciding that no more reading is going to get done tonight.
The next two weeks pass in a blur of work, snowfall, hot coffee, and books that decidedly aren’t his newest purchase.
No, that book remains in the same spot as it had the first night Alec brought it home, being used daily as a coaster for Jace’s unfinished sodas. It only even catches attention because Izzy is sitting in Alec's usual spot, looking for a place to put her hot cocoa.
“I’m surprised you’re actually letting Jace defile a precious book with his condensation,” she laughs, eyebrows raised.
“Oh, yeah. Well someone already wrote all over the book anyways,” Alec shrugs.
At that, Izzy’s brows rise higher and she nestles the cocoa between her thighs so she can reach and save the book from it’s life of abandonment. She skims it quickly, eyes focused on the margins where she pauses once in a while to giggle at whatever nonsense has been left behind by this mystery reader.
Sure, Alec had wanted a book with personality. He had wanted something borrowed and loved, something enjoyed by another, passed along to tell the tale to a new soul. He just didn’t expect to receive the thoughts of someone else to break him so thoroughly from enjoying it.
Izzy’s gasp brings him back to the living room, and her sly grin twists dread deep in his gut. “No,” he manages before she’s even said a word. She doesn’t need to speak, she doesn’t need to do anything but give Alec that look for him to know what’s going through her mind.
“C’mon Alec, they left their number in here, they clearly want someone to text them. You two can bond over the book, and who knows, maybe it’ll be true love!”
“Absolutely not,” he sniffs, squaring his shoulders and plucking the book from her hands.
“You’re such a sour puss,” she sighs.
Yeah, maybe he is. But it’s better than being the person who ruins a book by writing stupid notes in the margin.
At 7 in the morning, on the hour, Alec’s phone buzzes with a message from an unknown number.
What a lovely message to wake up to. Good morning.
Confused, Alec rubs the sleep from his eyes and rereads the previous message, sent the night before.
Saw your number in the back of a book. I have to admit, you left some interesting comments.
A groan escapes him as he flips over to bury his face in the pillow and shove the phone far away from him. Stupid Izzy, stupid sister and her meddling ways. When had she even taken his phone? When did she grab the book back for the number? Regardless of the questions about his menacing sister, the damage has been done, and at least now Simon’s unread messages will have a companion in Alec’s phone.
Another buzz, a few minutes later has Alec reaching for the phone again in mildly annoyed curiosity.
Thoughts? Were you riveted by my unique additions to the storytelling? Did you feel like I was there with you?
As much as Alec doesn’t want to respond, as much as he wills himself to sink his head back onto the pillow and get another thirty minutes of sleep, he finds that his fingers are moving of their own accord.
Actually, I found it incredibly distracting. So much so I haven’t picked the book up since.
Maybe that was too harsh. Maybe he could have said it a little nicer. Maybe he shouldn’t have responded at all.
Ah, so you’re one of those kinds of people.
And, god , as much as Alec doesn’t want to respond, he’s already a flurry of moving thumbs before he realizes he’s texting back again.
One of those kinds of people who don’t like defacing a perfectly good book with inane thoughts and perceptions of a fictional character?
The next response comes faster than he expects, and he finds that he’s sitting up in bed to read it, back propped up against pillows on the headboard.
If someone’s putting their fiction out there to be consumed, I’m allowed my ‘inane thoughts and perceptions’ of whatever characters they choose to portray. With that being said, you have to admit, John was sort of an idiot.
Regardless of whether or not you think he was an idiot, you didn’t have to ruin the book with your silly notes.
Admit he was an idiot, and I’ll promise to never ruin another book with my silly notes. Scouts honor.
This conversation has no bearing on me whatsoever outside of this moment. I refuse.
You’re quite feisty, aren’t you? Don’t forget, you’re the one who messaged me, whatever your name is.
Alec. My sister messaged you, not me.
As soon as he hits the send button, Alec regrets it. Why is he messaging his book ruiner at 7 o’clock in the morning? And why is he giving out his name? This person is perfectly content with leaving behind insipid comments everywhere, for all he knows they could be some sort of psycho murderer. Before he can dwell for long, he receives another message.
My name is Magnus. I’d say pleasure to meet you, but clearly it wasn’t intentional and you certainly don’t think very highly of me. Do you treat all new people this friendly?
Do you always write in books and leave them for other people to buy?
Actually, this was a first for me.
Curiosity hits Alec, and he can’t help the next question he throws out.
Why did you leave your number?
There are several minutes before Alec receives a reply, and when he does, he wishes he hadn’t asked.
When I bought that book I had just broken up with my girlfriend at the time. I took it hard, and I had a lot on my mind, a lot to get out and no one to go to. So I wrote in the book, I let my thoughts out as they came, I penned my experience with the story in the margins beside the text. I figured that someday, someone would buy the book and they’d feel like they had someone to share it with, that it wouldn’t be a lonely experience, that they could find comfort in my candor.
Clearly, I was mistaken. How far did you get in the book? Judging by the clear disapproval of my notes, not very far.
A gulp, almost audible in the quiet early morning of the room, and Alec can’t help but rub the guilt further into his face with blunt hands. This is why he never wanted to message the random number, Magnus’ number. He didn’t want to know the reasoning for the scribbled nonsense, he didn’t want a name or face to put with the defiler, and he didn’t want the guilt that stemmed from a slight overreaction.
I only read the first few, and gave the book up.
An apology seems unnecessary, and he wouldn’t know what he’s apologizing for anyways. So he doesn’t. Several minutes later when Magnus finally replies as Alec’s getting ready for his shower, it’s with a suggestion.
Keep reading.
Later that night after dinner, Alec settles back into his familiar seat, hot mug of coffee and book in hand. It’s tentative, the way he flips back to his spot, and the script on the edges flare that small spark of annoyance once more, but he perseveres.
Most of the comments are useless contributions, sometimes there’s just a doodle of a boat, or a lobster, until he comes across one that makes his stomach clench.
Can you imagine the guilt you’d be feeling? It’s not your fault, you did nothing wrong, and still… Sometimes people are predisposed to take the brunt of the emotional baggage.
Alec wonders if it’s Magnus’ way of venting, if he’s talking about the story, or his ex-girlfriend. He supposes it doesn’t matter.
It doesn’t stop him from reaching out that night.
The next night, Alec finds himself reaching for his phone before he’s even sitting with the book, and Magnus’ name is lighting up his screen in moments.
If I’m correct, now’s about the time you’re just snuggling up with your book and scowling at my notes?
Alec scoffs, but can’t keep the grin off of his face as he forms a reply.
Are you watching me through my window?
No, of course not, I would never. And I certainly don’t know that you’ve got pink fuzzy slippers on or anything. No, definitely not.
A snort escapes him when he reads the message, one that catches Jace’s attention as he walks out of his room to use the bathroom, and Alec is more mindful to keep his reactions to himself.
Nice try, but they’re blue.
Even better , Magnus replies. And then, after a moment: Blue is my favorite color.
They get into a routine over the next few weeks, Magnus’ messages coming every night around the same time. He gets to know Magnus, he learns of his favorite genre of books (Romantic mysteries, surprisingly), learns he has a cat (Chairman Meow), and an insufferable group of friends that remind him of his own. Alec can honestly say he hasn’t gotten much further in the book than he had since he reached out to Magnus that first night. It’s not that the book isn’t interesting, or that Magnus’ notes are too distracting to keep himself intrigued. It’s just--
Alec doesn’t get a chance to finish his thoughts, because when he opens his message it’s a picture from Magnus.
A picture… of Magnus.
I hope this isn’t too forward of me, but I figure we’ve been talking for a few weeks, you already know so much about me, you may as well know what I look like too. You don’t have to send a picture back if you don’t want to, no pressure! (unless the pressure is working and you’re feeling more inclined to send a selfie, in which case pressurepressurepressure)
Alec would laugh at that last bit, would maybe shake his head and roll his eyes at the endearing message, but he’s still struck by the picture of Magnus that fills his screen when he taps on it.
It’s all caramel skin, smudged eyeliner, deep brown eyes and captivating smile. It’s Magnus, defiler of books with morose little notes, Magnus who holds such a deep affinity for self-reproach. The same Magnus who texts him promptly on the hour every night for the past couple weeks, different from the Magnus who resides in the margins of a random chance finding.
Time passes, Alec’s sure it has to be an hour, but the reality is far shorter with only seven minutes between Magnus’ first message, and his newest one.
Did I scare you off, Alec? I hope you know I was just joking, and you don’t actually have to send one back.
Before Alec can respond, Magnus tries to change the subject.
Where are you in the book? Any progress?
No progress, too distracted.
Magnus’ next message comes quicker, and with it, the steady pulsing in Alec’s chest.
Distracted?
God, what is he doing? This is nonsense. This is stupid, this is a mistake. Why is he moving his lamp now, and why does the lighting look better? Why is he bothering to fix his mess of a mop on his head?
Before he can talk himself out of it, Alec snaps a picture of himself in his living room, and sends it to Magnus before the overthinking and doubt creeps in. The nerves are bubbling up, he can feel the uncomfortable way his throat is constricting and the harsh pounding of his chest.
None of it eases up until he finally receives a reply from Magnus, and all of the uncertainty and anxiety leads the way for hopeful fluttering in his stomach.
Must be something in the air, then. I’m finding myself quite distracted as well.
The book remains forgotten on the end table as Alec sinks back into the cushions of his seat, a sappy smile on his face when Magnus sends another picture, one he must have just taken in his own living room. There’s a book in his lap, one that Alec can’t make out no matter how far he tries to zoom in, and the edges of Magnus’ face are softer in the dim light of his home. The liner remains, more smudged if anything, and the hair that had been perfectly coiffed in the first picture is styled more messy, as though he had just run his fingers through it.
They spend the rest of the night texting and sending photos back and forth, some of them selfies, some of books, and some of the view outside. Alec doesn’t remember what time it is when he slips into bed, only that the last thing he remembers seeing is the vision of a droopy eyed, smiling Magnus snuggled between thick sheets.
Once the initial giddiness of seeing Magnus for the first time passes (though doesn’t lessen enough to not smile every time his name pops up on the screen), Alec finds himself becoming more invested in finishing the book.
It’s not necessarily for the story, though, but rather for the evolution and history of Magnus’ messages left behind.
It’s a story within a story.
Not only is he reading about John’s survival and Anthony’s rescue mission. No, because on the outskirts of that story lies a hidden one. A story of heartbreak and loneliness, empathizing with someone lost at sea, drowning in the overwhelming distress and helplessness with no community rallying up to come save him. Magnus is John. Magnus is alone and confused and doing his best to stay above the water, searching for a buoy to keep him afloat, hoping that he’ll be found, even if he doesn’t live to see it.
It makes Alec’s stomach turn in knots when he catches one of the solemn messages.
The sheer amount of strength to keep going is impressive. Not everyone would be able to do that, successful lobsterman or not. Sometimes it’s easier to just give in, to let yourself sink with the knowledge that nobody is looking for you, nobody is coming to pull you out from the water, and you’re truly all alone.
A few pages later, another:
Imagine having a community like that, having so many people to care about you, having a family even when you’ve grown up alone. Things like this don’t exist in real life. People don’t band together for someone they hardly know. Nobody will come to save you.
It becomes less about the book, though Magnus always finds a way to relate it back, and it becomes more about Magnus’ story; Magnus’ tribulations. Alec’s heart breaks with every word of Magnus’ surrender to the sea of his turmoil, knowing that he’s helpless where he sits right now to do anything for the past, because that Magnus no longer exists. That Magnus is not the same one who messages him every day, a different, darker Magnus than the one that sends pictures on his way to work of him wrapped delicately in scarves and the overcast sun illuminating the warmth of his skin.
On the day Alec finally finishes the book, Magnus offers a celebration.
Let’s meet up.
Right now? Alec rushes out, brows raised. It’s nearing midnight.
No, but soon. I have an idea, if you’re open to it? When’s your next day off?
Alec doesn’t know what he’s agreeing to by saying yes, but he doesn’t really care if it means he finally gets to meet Magnus.
The wind outside is freezing, somehow colder than the icy streets of New York, but the air is clearer, crisp. It took three hours to get to here, one trip on the Long Island Rail Road and far too many steps along the snowy path. It was Magnus’ idea to meet up in Montauk, Magnus’ excitement to have their first meeting in real life center around their first meeting in the margins of a page, and despite the cold it actually stirs something warm inside of him.
The lighthouse up above is gorgeous and the water below rushes in soft waves along the snowy shore. Alec compares it to the image of his mind, the image of Montauk in the summer, the beach bustling with people. He imagines it at night, illuminated by the bright light high in the sky, and wonders what it was like for John and Anthony far on the sea, only the stars to guide them.
There’s a shuffle behind him, the tell-tale sounds of crunching snow, and when he turns around, it’s to Magnus. And god, does he look even better in person than through pictures. Magnus with the cloudy sky of gray and white snow below him. Magnus, wind-whipped hair and flushed cheeks from the cold, bundled protectively in his scarf, jacket and gloves, a living picture of perfection.
“Alec?” Magnus says across the whistle of the breeze, and Alec feels his weight shift instinctively, one foot stepping in front of the other, closer to Magnus.
“Were you expecting someone else?” He quips, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
Magnus rolls his eyes, reaching forward to punch him lightly on the arm. “You could have been a catfish for all I know,” he explains with a shy smile. “It seems some things aren’t too good to be true, afterall.”
Alec’s sure he’s blushing, and he finds himself ducking his head and motioning behind him to the lighthouse and slow breaching waves below the hill of the beach. “We’re here,” Alec whispers. “Thoughts?”
Beside him, Magnus scuttles up close enough that Alec can feel the brush of their jackets together and hears the small screech of nylon. “I imagine it’s a lot more different in July.”
Alec laughs, louder than expected, and when he turns to Magnus he’s pleased to see the satisfied smile. “I think it’s safe to say the ending would have been drastically different if John had been thrown overboard in the middle of winter.”
“Oh, without a doubt,” Magnus agrees, scrunching his nose adorably. Silence befalls them as they stare out, and when Alec gives a glance to Magnus, he sees a somber mood setting over his features.
“Is this your first time here?” Alec hears himself asking.
“No,” Magnus whispers. There’s a quiet moment of understanding where Magnus continues to stare out into the vast horizon, and Alec watches him, taking in all the subtle flickers of emotion that he can’t put reason to, but can weather a guess.
The Magnus on the margins of his book is not gone. He’s still here, standing in front of Alec now, a companion he’s gotten to know in the quiet solitude of his own reading. A friend who didn’t have any, someone real and doing their best to survive. Someone who had fallen so far, an idiot who had tipped overboard into unknown territory, someone who had dropped all the way down to the bottom and managed to resurface despite the odds against them.
No, that Magnus isn’t gone. That Magnus survived and changed, adapted and transformed into the Magnus that is turning to him with a serene smile and a nudge of his arm.
“It’s cold out here, and I don’t want hypothermia to do me in,” Magnus murmurs into his scarf and motions with his body to the buildings down the path behind them. “There’s a coffee shop down there, and I think it’s only fair I buy you a cup for all the troubled reading I’ve caused you.”
Alec chuckles, but nods his assent, and slowly they make their way down the path of the lighthouse and into the small town of Montauk.
The trip back home is just as long as it was on the way up to Montauk, but it goes by far quicker with Magnus around.
They sit close, and Alec can feel every shift as Magnus talks, animated as he is in his storytelling. There are so many things Alec wants to ask him, so many things he still has yet to learn about the other man that never felt quite right over text. But he has time.
He knows he does, because this meeting isn’t the only one they’ll have, and he’s not alone in thinking that, if Magnus’ telling smile is anything to go by.
At some point, Magnus huddles closer in their chattering and leans his side into Alec’s. He only notices it when he turns to face Magnus and notices their proximity, feels the warm puff of breath against his lips and sees the fluttering of lashes as Magnus glances down at Alec’s lips.
Alec wants to lean forward and close the distance, he wants to feel Magnus’ lips against his, and realizes he’s wanted this since before today. But in the space of his hesitation, Magnus leans back and smiles softly in return.
The rest of the ride passes in quiet conversation, the mood shifting away from the light humor and into something more calm and subdued. They speak of books, and of wine, of favorite spots to read, and other hobbies.
When the time comes for them to step off the train, Magnus goes first and Alec follows. They walk around Brooklyn, unspoken in their agreement to stay in each others’ company as long as possible.
It’s colder now, and the snow falls light across the sky the longer the night goes on, but neither seem to care. The only time there seems to be a pause is when they pass the familiar sight of an elephant, and Alec’s step falters.
“It’s funny how things work out, isn’t it?” Magnus speaks softly into the air, facing the frosty window of the bookstore. Alec doesn’t say anything, so Magnus continues. “Out of everyone in this city, you happened upon my book.”
“It could have been anyone,” Alec offers, shaky even to himself.
Magnus turns to him, eyes bright and cheeks darker than they were in the light of the train station. “But it was you, Alec.”
They step closer now, drawn together slowly by the unseen force of desire, meeting in the middle where Magnus lifts his arms to wrap around Alec’s shoulders and pull him in. Seconds go by, eyes searching and hearts afloat, until finally Alec ducks his head and seals his lips to Magnus’ in a soft kiss. It’s heat in the middle of winter, warmth to fight against the cold of the snow that settles in their hair and the exposed skin of their faces.
They kiss once, and then twice. They kiss long, and they kiss slow in front of the bookstore with twinkling lights, and a detour Alec never intended to take.
Alec doesn’t believe in soulmates, or serendipity, or silly things like that. He doesn’t believe in stupid little notes written in the margin of a perfectly good book, or texting unknown numbers on the back cover. He doesn’t believe that he of all people was meant to find the one book Magnus had written in. It was over a year ago that Magnus had left that book, and in that span of time anyone could have picked it up and found his number, anyone could have read Magnus’ story and texted him out of the blue.
Anyone at all.
But he did. And he has a certain sister who deserves a huge thank you for her intervention, as well.