Work Text:
Magnus has always been pretty good at covering up that he had a shitty day. He jokes, he flirts, he throws himself in an outfit that even he thinks is ridiculous. Just to hide from the world that, inwardly, he isn't always the calm, relaxed, controlled, flamboyant, cheeky, and over-the-top person that he shows on the outside, depending on what the people around him need him to be or what a situation demands from him.
Home, alone in his lair – and with a selected few friends – he lets the cracks show. Not all of them. Not uncontrollably. Never fully, but enough for them to understand. Though, frankly, people like Catarina or Ragnor have long understood him without words. One look of them, and he's an open book. As they are to him. A heartache drink, a comfort jacket, a food that reminds him of a home that has been history since he was a little boy. As with every immortal, Magnus has collected memories and habits that tell those in the know what his facade tries to hide away from the world — his secrets, his abysses, and even joyful things that feel too precious to share with just anyone.
Today is a shitty day. Not in dimensions that matter much to the ever-moving world, not much in the grand scheme of things, likely not even in the vast existence of his own life. It's just melancholy mixed with everyday annoyances. And the fact that he hasn't spent a single night on the same continent as his husband all week, both busy, their time zones and schedules too different to make portalling worthwhile.
But he doesn't let it show when they finally find five minutes to video call.
"Hello, Alexander," he coos.
"Hello, love. How was your day?" Alec asks.
"It has just begun. I've got a meeting with my old friend, the High Warlock of Mumbai, regarding some strange occurrences in the Oshiwara neighbourhood. Where are you right now, love?"
"Alicante. But not for much longer. I can't wait to fall into my bed at the Institute."
"You're not even going home?" Magnus asks.
Alec looks at the camera like a sad puppy. This man has no poker face anymore when it comes to his husband. It warms Magnus' heart that Alec allows him to see him like this.
"No. The bed is too big without you," Alec murmurs.
Magnus melts a little at his honest words.
"Oh, my sweetling."
Alec's lips curl up into a small smile. "That's a new one."
Magnus chuckles. "It's sad that this term of endearment fell out of use. It suits you so well, my dear Alexander."
"You're as charming as always, Magnus. You always know how to make me smile even on a shitty day."
Magnus looks at his husband on the screen for a long moment, his heart expanding in his chest.
"You, too, my love," Magnus sighs. "Sweet dreams, Alexander."
"If I dream about you, it'll surely be sweet," Alec says. And the strange thing is, Magnus knows he means it. It's not just an empty phrase.
"I miss you so much it's eating me up," Magnus says, his facade crumbling to dust. He'd be worried if it was anyone else and not his husband. But what is new? Alec tore down the walls around his heart just as easily.
Alec's face falls for a split second, but then it morphs into a soft smile.
"I know, Magnus," he says. So simple, as if Magnus hadn't perfected the art of facade building centuries ago.
"I'll be waiting here," Alec promises. "And we'll take a break when you're back. Okay?"
"Okay," Magnus says and nods, butterflies storming his stomach. "I'll see you as soon as possible. I love you, Alexander."
"I love you too, my sweetling," Alec says with the most mischievous smile Magnus has ever seen on him. All of a sudden, the day isn't completely shitty anymore. Magnus files the picture away, tries to anchor it in his memory for millennia to come.
Who knows? Maybe Alec can already read him better than most people on this spinning globe. His Alexander. Wall-breaker and heart-filler. His husband. The love of his very long life. The one who fills his cracks and finds them as beautiful as golden kintsugi lines. The one who sees to his core and marvels in every detail. The one Magnus wants to tell all of his secrets to. It's frightening. It's exhilarating. And he's always the one thing Magnus looks forward to.
Home isn't a movable loft anymore. No. It's one Alexander Gideon Lightwood. Magnus will go and kick asses at the antique furniture market now, refraining from shopping after as he usually does whenever he's in Mumbai. Maybe then, he can still catch his sleeping husband in his old bed and portal them where they belong. A warlock can dream.