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Alexander Lightwood was in a foul mood. He felt almost certain that his day couldn't get any worse. Then again, he wasn't exactly sure anything could make it better, either. Sure, winning the lottery would have been nice, but he didn't play.
The day had started off just fine. He'd woken up on time, found a shirt to wear that wasn't creased, and even managed to avoid any awkward conversations with his roommate-come-brother who'd arrived back the previous night late with his red-headed co-worker. Alec had been utterly astounded to hear her refuse to come in. Since when did girls not throw themselves at Jace?
It was then that things had started to go wrong. Jace, as per usual on a Monday morning, had a horrific hangover. Alec had spent most of the previous night studying, but Jace would be Jace. He'd spent about half an hour trying to call the girl (Alec managed to find out that her name was Clary) before giving up and throwing his phone on the floor, smashing not only his cell but also chipping the corner of one of the cheap tiles. Their landlord would be all too willing to charge them an extortionate amount for that.
By this time, after having an argument with Jace, he was late. Then he'd walked out of their apartment to find that it was pouring with rain. Alec had scowled up at the sky, cursing the world, and ran to work. He arrived at the coffee shop looking like a drowned rat. A fact which his sister, Isabelle, wasted no time in pointing out.
Add in some hundred year old complaining about a group of rowdy teenagers, a woman whose credit card didn't work and had a man's name on it who insisted that it belonged to her, and all the workers behind the counter getting snarky comments from their boss, and Alec really couldn't imagine how his morning could have been any worse.
"Alec!" his sister hollered from the other end of the counter. "Wraps for table nineteen!"
And so his morning continued in the same, tedious pattern. The only upside was that he wasn't sitting in a lecture, hand falling off after taking eight pages of notes in an hour. And in his mood, he couldn't even be grateful for that.
He turned to the next customer and attempted to plaster a smile on his face. "What are you having today?"
The guy, who looked about thirty and was dressed in ratty jeans and a sweater with enough holes in it to rival most of Alec's, scowled. "Black coffee."
Alec was sorely tempted to call him out on his rudeness, but customers were customers, and picking fights with them was not only petty and bad for business, but also delayed everyone else in the line. So he repeated the guy's order back to Isabelle at the coffee machine, and rung up the price.
"How much?" the guy asked, apparently incredulous.
"Three dollars," Alex repeated. Honestly, the price list was right in front of the guy. What did he expect?
Grumbling, the guy pulled out his wallet and practically threw the money on the counter. Alec held his tongue, took the money, and asked for the order of the next person in the queue. When the jerk left, he might calm down, but he hated customers who acted like the employees were pieces of dirt.
"Black coffee," Isabelle said, sliding it towards Alec. Alec passed it to the (still-glaring) man, shot him the happiest smile he could just to irritate him, and turned back to the seemingly-unending line of sprawling people.
The man at the front of the line shot him an apologetic smile. Alec couldn't help but smile back. There was no denying that he was utterly gorgeous: carefully-spiked hair, outrageous clothes that Alec was sure would look appalling on anybody else, tan skin and the strangest green eyes brought out by– Was that eyeliner? And glitter? The man seemed to practically shimmer with the stuff as he moved.
A curse rang out behind him. He frowned when he saw that the guy had managed to knock over his drink. Serves him right, he thought with an internal snort. He pulled out a cloth from under the counter, mumbled an apology to the man he'd just been blatantly checking out, and began to wipe up the spilt drink before it could do any damage.
"Same again," the guy snapped. Clearly, thanking Alec for clearing up the mess was beyond him. God, what was with some people?
Alec debated making him queue up again, but decided that it probably wasn't worth the inevitable argument that would ensue. Instead, he merely nodded, shouted the order back, and repeated the price.
The guy just looked at him. "I'm not paying again."
Alec sighed. "You've just ordered another drink."
"The other one got freaking knocked over! This is a replacement!"
"You knocked it over. I'm sorry, but I have to charge you."
"I'm not fucking paying."
Alec closed his eyes for a moment. Confrontation of this kind was so unpleasant. Couldn't he just kick the guy in the ribs and be done with it? "Then I can't serve you."
The guy slammed his hands down on the counter and leant right into Alec's face. "Listen here, I've paid for that fucking drink, and I'm not paying twice. Do you want me to call your manager and get you fired?"
Alec's eyes widened. Wasn't that a bit over the top for three dollars? But his response was interrupted when a woman shouted, "Hurry up! I'm waiting!"
Alec was the only person serving, as it was the middle of the day and therefore relatively quiet, but the guy was causing a hold-up, and people were beginning to get restless. Couldn't this guy just pay and be done with it?
"I'm really sorry, but this is policy. If I'd knocked it over then you wouldn't have to pay, but I didn't, so—"
The guy folded his arms. "Well it was your fault."
Alec stared at him, feeling a little desperate now. How did he get this dickhead to pay or leave? Because it seemed like they were about the furthest things from his mind right then.
"And how, exactly," came a cold voice, "was your awkwardness in any way his fault?"
Alec looked in shock to the man he'd been checking out earlier. He had his arms folded too, mirroring the other dude, but his stance seemed icily dangerous.
"He jogged me!"
"What, from behind the counter?" He raised one perfect eyebrow. "I don't think so. Please, either pay or leave. You're holding up everyone else."
"I'm calling your fucking manager," he snarled, jabbing a finger at Alec.
The man flicked invisible dirt from underneath his nails—nails which were painted bright purple. "You're boring. Please move. I have things to do and places to be which do not involve adults throwing temper tantrums."
The guy stared, open-mouthed, at the outspoken man, before shooting Alec one final glare and storming out of the café, slamming the door behind him. Alec felt the vibrations through the entire shop.
"Thank you," he said, flushing a little with embarrassment. How had a customer managed to handle that so much better than he had?
"No problem." Glitter-Guy flashed him a smile that definitely did not get Alec's pulse racing. "Caramel frappuccino, please. And this." He put a wrap on the counter, which Alec scanned and then passed back to Isabelle to heat up.
Alec smiled back. "Certainly."
He'd never felt so relieved to see the end of a line as he did a few minutes later. He left Isabelle in charge, ignoring her knowing smirk, and picked up Glitter-Guy's wrap to take over to him.
"Here's your wrap," he said.
The man looked up and smiled. Could he stop doing that? Because it made Alec feel like the stuttering, closeted teenager he'd been in high school whenever anyone paid him any attention.
"Thank you."
"Thank you," Alec replied. "For earlier, I mean."
"It was no problem." He paused, and studied Alec carefully. "You can sit down if you want to."
Alec sat down opposite him almost robotically. He didn't miss the grin that Glitter-Guy hid by ducking his head, but he chose not to read into it.
"Do I get to know your name?" Glitter-Guy asked.
Alec didn't question whether or not he could read the name-tag on his shirt: he was being polite. It seemed to fit what little Alec had seen of him before. He racked his brains to try to remember whether or not he'd ever seen the guy in the shop before. He didn't think he had. Maybe he'd just moved to Brooklyn?
"Alec," he said. "Alec Lightwood."
"People don't call you Alexander?"
He smiled wryly. "Only my parents, when they're annoyed with me. Which is most of the time."
"Alexander is such a nice name," he sighed. "I'm Magnus Bane." He held out his hand. Alec shook it, hesitantly. The name suited him: usual, interesting, somewhat exotic. They dropped hands, and Magnus took an elegant sip of his coffee, regarding Alec with catlike curiosity. Alec could feel his cheeks beginning to redden at the pointed attention, so he looked away. Honestly, had he reverted to blushing schoolboy for the day?
After a few seconds of silence, during which Alec racked his brains for a topic of conversation but came up with a blank, Magnus said, "You look like you're having a bad day."
He glanced back to Magnus. At least, he'd intended it to be a glance. The intrigued, open expression on Magnus' face stopped him looking away.
He shrugged. "Kind of," he admitted.
The arrival of his sister didn't make matters any better.
"He's having a shit day," Isabelle said, picking up the debris littered across the table which Magnus had clearly pushed to one side when he'd sat down. "And I am going to put up a sign saying 'throw away your own fucking rubbish' if I find one more table like this." She gestured wildly.
As per usual, Isabelle had no sense of embarrassment. How she could walk into a conversation with a perfect stranger like that, Alec truly had no idea.
A group of people walked through the door. Isabelle sighed dramatically. Alec made to stand up and return to doing his job rather than continue to sit around chatting, but Isabelle gave him a sweet smile. "I've got it," she said. She shot him a sly smirk as he walked off.
Magnus let out a beautiful laugh, and Alec flushed.
"Your sister?" Magnus asked.
Alec scowled. "Yeah."
Magnus grinned. "She's not very subtle, you know."
"Trust me, I do."
"Well," Magnus said, standing up, rubbish in one hand and a card in the other, "I need to go. It was nice talking, Alec."
Alec nodded perhaps a little vigorously as he too stood. "Uh, yeah. You too. I mean—"
Magnus' smile cut him off. "Call me," he said, pressing the card into Alec's palm.
Magnus didn't linger. He left Alec standing by the table, frozen to the spot in shock that someone like Magnus had actually just given him their number, tossed away his rubbish, then walked towards the door. And Alec totally wasn't staring at his ass in those sinfully tight red jeans when he walked.
Magnus paused as he passed him, and turned to face him again. "Don't look so surprised," Magnus said. "You're adorable." He brushed his lips across Alec's cheek, shot him a flirty wink, then walked back to the door. "Call me," he mouthed from across the café.
Alec looked down at the card in his hand, and turned it over to see Magnus Bane typed in an elegant, over-the-top font. He wasted no time in pocketing it with a slight smile.
Maybe he was wrong. Maybe his day could get better. It had certainly just been improved exponentially.