Archive of Our Own

Before

When the invitation to Aline and Helen’s wedding had drifted through his letter box six months ago, Alec had imagined that his own was not far off. His heart fluttered reading the invitees: Alec and Sebastien. Their names rolled right off of his tongue, a harmonious and sweet combination he hadn’t tired of hearing over the course of the year they’d been together. At that point, it was almost perfunctory; Should we invite Alec and Sebastien? Does anyone know where Alec and Sebastien live? Have you met Alec and Sebastien?

Alec had practically giggled and kicked his feet as he RSVP’d for the both of them, imagination swirling with flashes of suave tuxedos and swaying together to Alec’s favourite song. Sure, the wedding itself was about Helen and Aline, but he would not begrudge himself a stolen moment with his boyfriend, a little romance. Everyone does it, why should Alec be an exception?

Yet here he was, 6 months later, forced to listen to Jace’s incessant flirting with one of the many bridesmaids, who resembled a great big pink peony.

He had found out, only after he had boasted to several members of his family how amazing his boyfriend was, that the feeling wasn’t all that mutual. He doesn’t hold any grudges against Sebastien – Alec was not his person. Maybe deep down, buried beneath the insecurity and love-sickness, Alec knows that Sebastien wasn’t his person either, but even the wrong person is better than no person, right? It certainly would have eased the pain of the torturous last few hours, of every Great Aunt and third Cousin twice removed he didn’t know he had asking after the man who left him 4 months ago. Hence why he is currently hiding at the back of the room with Jace, who also went stag, though he didn’t get much of a say in the matter. In his brother’s opinion, weddings are filled with his type: horny and lonely.  

"Wow, the Peace Corps?" The Maid of Honour's voice is high and flirtatious, cutting through the chatter. Alec doesn’t bother turning his head, but he’s certain that if he did, he’d catch her twirling a lock of hair between her fingers.

“Yeah, I ship out tomorrow.” Jace says. Alec snorts into his drink, then covers it with a cough as he senses his brother’s glare. “You know, some people say that the Peace Corps is the most noble thing you can do, and to those people I say, ‘is it?’, and they say ‘Yes, yes it is.’”

“They are so right!” She says, and then her voice takes on a low, sultry tone, “I wish there was something I could do.”

Hook, line and sinker.

“Oh Kaelie, I’m so glad you said that.” Jace replies. Alec feels the air shift beside him, and glances over to see his brother leaning into whisper in her ear.

Frankly, Alec is just marvelled that Jace managed to find a straight woman at a wedding that could also be called the New York lesbian convention. Before now, he didn’t know carabiners were included in the Black-Tie dress code, but a lesbian wedding is hardly the place to restrict self-expression.

Alec extends the purview of his people watching. His heart lurches at the sight of Simon twirling Izzy under his arm, looking at each other like they’re the only two people in the world. He pulls his mouth into a tight smile as he makes unwanted eye contact with the odd Uncle or Cousin, hoping they don’t take pity on him and come over and start a conversation – God forbid.

Beyond the dancefloor, a flash of gold catches his eye. For a moment, he thinks it’s the glint off of the ornate chandelier, but his eyes find a figure across the room, shining like a thousand diamonds in the sun, blinding Alec to everyone else in the room.

There is a man, seated five tables away. The sharpness of his cheekbones is emphasised by the glitter that is dusted over his brown skin. Strands of his raven hair intertwine with gilded highlights, the very same shade as the rings and necklaces he is adorned with. He’s absentmindedly mixing his drink – a martini – with a cocktail stick, unaware of the way he is holding Alec’s attention. The man surveys the room just as he himself had been a moment ago, and Alec tracks the movement of his eyes across the room until the man’s gaze meets his own. Inexplicably, Alec feels his heart skip a beat.

The man quirks the corner of his mouth ever so slightly. Alec returns it, then looks away and hides his smile in his drink to avert the course of the creeping blush that threatens to blanket his cheeks. When he looks back up, the man has not shifted his attention away.

His heart thrums in his chest, pushing him forward, impossible to ignore.  

After

“Where did you disappear to last night?” Izzy asks as Alec finally emerges from the spare room in the early afternoon.

She still calls it that – the spare room – despite the fact that Alec’ tenancy was ever extending, with no end in sight. The rent in his last apartment was too much for a single person, and with the impending lapse of his lease, Izzy had offered the guest bedroom as a temporary home until he managed to find somewhere else. Alec had promised a few weeks at worst, but after he’d spent those few weeks crying into a bucket of ice-cream, Izzy didn’t fool herself into believing that this would be a short stay. It’s been nice having him around again, even if it has made her sex life a little more precarious.

A lazy Sunday was just what the Doctor ordered, so she find herself curled up with her fiancé on the couch, after what must have been the wedding of the century (at least until her own). She and Simon had arrived home Champagne drunk in the early hours, expecting to find Alec already home and asleep; she’d lost track of him just before midnight, assuming he’d gone home when Jace had ditched him for his latest Clary-replacement. Concern flitted through her when she found his bed empty, but Alec was a big boy, and Simon’s hand was drifting down her back, lower and lower and she’d gotten…distracted.

“I had the most amazing night ever.” Alec replies. He heads straight for the small kitchenette that adjoins the office-dining-living room in their conservative apartment. Disgust flares her nostrils as Alec gulps down milk straight from the carton.

“Alec!” She complains, “We have cups for a reason.”

Alec makes a show of grabbing a glass. Izzy bites her tongue as he puts the empty container back in the fridge.

“I just love you so much and I want to share everything with you.” Alec ruffles her hair and tries to kiss her on the cheek. She swats him off. He lands on the armchair with a huff, white beads dripping off the side of his glass onto the armrest.

“How the apartment hunt going?” She asks.

Alec rolls his eyes. “I’m working on it.” He says, which Izzy suspects to be a lie. “We should be talking about more important things, like my most amazing night ever.”

“Tell me about it,” Simon says, “Best cake I ever had.”

Men are idiots.

“Most amazing night ever,” she says, cutting of her fiancé before she has to hear another dessert testimonial, “aaaaand go!”

Before

“Bride or other Bride?” The man asks before Alec can introduce himself. His face is split with an easy grin, small wrinkles on the curve of his cheeks tell Alec that this is a near permanent feature. Alec has taken the seat next to him on the other side of the dancefloor, letting drunken flailing hide him away from the hungry eyes of his overly inquisitive family.

“Aline is my cousin.” Alec says, and then watches the man’s face carefully. Hitting on strangers at a family wedding is a dangerous affair, especially with a family as large and complicated as Alec’s. “And you are…?”

“Not related to either of them, I promise.” The man says in his honey smooth voice, reading the caution on Alec’s face easily. “But I should tell you that I have a rule.” He leans in enough for Alec to pick up the scent of sandalwood, which is especially cruel considering what he says next: “I don’t hook up at weddings.”

Alec startles at his directness but composes himself before the man thinks him shallow. “I’m guessing you haven’t always had this rule?”

“Here’s the thing, those great big romantic moments are great when they happen, but they’re not real.”

“Exactly! Like before I came over here, and I saw you shovelling that cupcake like it was your last meal, I’m not going to lie to you, big time mood killer.”

The man laughs, rich and full bodied, which strikes Alec like a bullet in his chest. “You should see me tap dance.”

“But I know now it’s just a mirage.” Alec continues.

“Wedding goggles!”

“And that, in a nutshell, is why I’m not putting the moves on you.”

The man cocks an eyebrow, drawing Alec’s attention to the concentrated hazel of his eyes, paired perfectly with the rose-gold that paints his eyelids with expert brushstrokes. “This isn’t the moves?”

“You think this is the moves? You would know the moves. People ten tables away would know the moves.”

“It’s too bad,” he says, “but I have a solution.”

“Interested.”

“And to preface this, we aren’t going to sleep together tonight.”

“Less interested.”

The man blesses Alec with a wry smile. “The thing that always screws it up is the next day. So why don’t we just cut that part out. I’m here, you’re here, this is a big romantic wedding. Let’s dance and have a great time and then when it’s over, we never see each other again.”

The idea has merit, especially with the dire straits his love life is currently in, but he hangs on those last few words: We never see each other again. He’s known the man for just ten minutes – doesn’t even know his name – yet his soul is burning with a spark he thought had flamed out.

“Unless –“

“No, no unless. No texts, no emails, not even names. Let’s make a memory that will never be tarnished. A perfect moment.”

The man’s excitement is palpable, growing with every word that tumbles past his lips. Lips that Alec would really like to kiss, at some point tonight. A perfect moment. All Alec had wanted was for tonight to be a perfect a moment.

“Screw it, I’m in. I guess we’ll need fake names. I can’t keep calling you devastatingly gorgeous in my head all night.”

“You can call me, buttercup.” He grins, holding out his hand. Alec grasps it firmly, the cool metal of his many rings sing against his heated skin.

“Please to meet you, buttercup, I’m Pedro Pascal.” The man’s laugh carries over the music, and the bustle at the open bar behind them. “This is kind of exciting, our names will forever be a mystery – ”

“Alec, Alec, Alec,” Jace appears like an omen, making a dent in Alec’s shoulder with his ceaseless poking. “Look I got the hottest bridesmaid Alec are you looking Alec? Look!” Jace shifts slightly, revealing a different bridesmaid on his arm than the one he’d been talking to earlier. “Later man.”

Alec holds his breath as he turns back around. The man’s face is soft and amused, eyes shining in a way that puts Alec instantly at ease.

“So, I’m Alec.” He explains.

“Magnus.” Magnus says, “Can I call you Alexander? Just for tonight?”

Magnus speaks his name like promise and a prayer, devouring every syllable, and it’s everything Alec can do not to drop to his knees.

“You can call me whatever you’d like.”

“But no last names!” Magnus grins impishly, and from there, Alec’s night truly begins.

After

Izzy groans and hides her face in the soft cotton of Simon’s shirt. “What on Earth is wrong with you?”

Alec makes a noise of offence. Simon swiftly cuts in to come to her aid.  

“That truly is a terrible idea, dude.” Says her fiancé says, his bravery for talking back to Alec bolstered by the fact that she’s his human-shield.

“No, it isn’t! It was awesome, I had a great night, there is no way to see him again, and I can never ruin it.” Alec says.

“You’re as bad as Jace,” Izzy complains. “Instead of actually confronting his feelings for Clary, he’s been running around New York chasing tail for months. Why are you both so hell-bent on denying yourself good things!”

Alec quirks his head. “Jace likes Clary?”

Izzy turns to Simon, hoping that he will share in her exasperation, but all she finds is a similarly surprised look on his face. She shakes her head and makes a mental note to force Alec and Jace to pay for a nice spa weekend for her, after she’s sorted out the consequences of their emotionally repressed actions. “I know you got blind-sided Alec, but that doesn’t mean you have to deny yourself for the rest of your life.”

“This isn’t about him,” Alec explains, arms folding across his chest, “I now have a perfect memory of a perfect night, and there is no way anyone can ruin that, including me.”

“You didn’t ruin things with Sebastien.” Izzy says sadly.

“I said it wasn’t about him.”

The air becomes thick with tension and words unsaid. On cue, Simon’s conflict avoidant self tries to alleviate the emotional fog.

“Look at it this way,” Simon chirps, “Last night I ate the best cake of my life. You think im going to let that cake out of my life? No! I’m going to find that bakery and get some more cake.”

Simon’s high spirits and generally infectious mirth softens Alec slightly, “That cake really got to you, huh?” Her brother says.

“It haunts me.” Simon replies.

She shoots Alec a practiced look, that she knows he will interpret correctly. We’re not done talking about this. However, there are more pressing issues for the time being.

“So, what happened next?” She asks.

Before

Talking to Magnus is disgustingly easy. He hooks Alec with every flourish of his ruby tipped fingers, then reels him in with the flash of his honey-gold iris’, tugging on the strings of Alec’s worn heart like the moon pulls the tide. Magnus seems just as enamoured, like he’s hanging on Alec’s every word as he tells a well-rehearsed anecdote, a compliment which rocks Alec to his core. An hour passes like that. Magnus talks like it is a performance, carefully lacing his stories with half-truths, to obfuscate any clues Alec could pick up on. When it’s Alec’s turn, Magnus cuts him off every time he delves too deeply into the details, and each time, it feels like being doused with frigid water.

This is only for tonight.

This version of Magnus, who looks at him though the fringe of his lashes, whose cheeks flush when he laughs, who makes Alec’s heartbeat like he’s running a marathon, will only continue to exist for a finite number of hours. Magnus doesn’t talk of siblings, or work, but spines impossibly tall tales that Alec has no way of knowing if they’re true, but Magnus enriches them with other details that make Alec feel like he lived it too. There are no breaks in conversation, each thread flows seamlessly into the next like the trickle a river down the mountain, and even as the night wears on, Alec doesn’t feel the time passing.

“It’s a shame I’m not going to get to see these ‘moves’ I’ve heard so much about.” Magnus teases, smile hidden behind the rim of his glass – the second of the martinis he’s been nursing since Alec sat down. Alec, for his part, hasn’t indulged in the open bar half as much as he expected to tonight.

Alec hums as he considers Magnus’ challenge. Alec’s moves mostly consist of being fulsome and more importantly, tall, but he wants Magnus to remember him as more than just ‘the tall guy I talked to at that wedding I went to’.

Movement catches his eye over Magnus’ shoulder. The bartender has stepped away for a moment. Like a flash of lightening, as idea comes into fruition in Alec’s mind. He reaches the bar in two easy strides. He presses his back against the counter, throws a wink Magnus’ way, and surreptitiously gropes behind the bar until his finger slip around the chilled neck of a bottle. Magnus meets him in the middle as they come together, the bottle shielded between their bodies. For the first time tonight, Alec sees Magnus at his full height. He’s a couple inches shorter than Alec, not including the peaks of his gel-spiked hair. Alec jolts as Magnus’ finger brush against his, causing his skin to tingle where they touched. He relaxes his hands to allow Magnus to turn the bottle smoothly, eased by the accrued condensation.

“Champagne,” Magnus says, “Nice choice.”

There are just inches between them, and suddenly, the grand ballroom with towering ceilings feels much too small for the breadth of emotion that churns in his stomach. He curls a hand round Magnus’, cold and slightly damp, and walks him from the room. As they weave throughout the tables, Magnus stills behind him.

Alec inclines head, a question on his tongue.

“Let’s do all the single people in here a favour.” Magnus says. Alec follows his gaze over to the centre piece of the room; a large white table, on which sits a 4-tiered cake and next to it, a modest bouquet of lavender and daisies.

“We’ll need a distraction.” Alec says. He tucks the bottle under his arm and picks up a knife and glass from the empty table next to him. He clinks them together 3 times, and then begins the chorus of Kiss!

An outdated tradition at a profoundly modern wedding, but it works a treat. His calls are echoed by the other guests, and as Aline dips Helen, becoming a cohesive cloud of white, Magnus snags the bouquet off the table, and lets Alec drag him out of sight.

*

They end up stumbling though the vast labyrinth of corridors, rattling locked doorknobs until Alec finally hears the creak as the door gives way, and he pulls Magnus inside. It’s another of the many events rooms in this building, but for tonight, it’s just storage. There are chairs stacked high along the far wall, but tucked away in the corner, is a grand Mahogony piano.  

As Alec takes in the beauty of such an expensive item, Magnus comes up behind him and relieves him of the Champagne. Magnus has undone his bow tie and a few buttons of his shirt; the sight threatens to take Alec’s breath away.

Alec hadn’t had the foresight to steal glasses or a corkscrew, but Magnus isn’t perturbed. He unravels the gold foil and grips the corkscrew between his teeth. Before Alec protest, the cork comes loose with a pop, liquid fizzing up and over Magnus’ hand. Alec laughs as Magnus drinks from the bottle, and immediately becomes overwhelmed by the bubbles. He hands the bottle to Alec, and he takes a swig. 

“You play?” Magnus asks.

“Huh?”

“The piano? You were staring.”

Alec dips his head. “I had lessons in high school. I can just about manage chopsticks, but nothing fancy.”

Magnus gestures to the Steinway. Alec hands the Champagne back to Magnus, and then winces as he puts the bottle on the lid. Alec makes a distressed noise in his throat and swipes the bottle before it can leave any unsightly rings on such pristine wood. He puts it down by the leg and takes up residence on the stool.

“Are you ready to see the most incredible tap dancing you’ve ever seen?”

Alec spreads his far-reaching fingers across the ivory.

What ensues, is easily some of the worst tap-dancing Alec has ever seen. That’s if you could even call what Magnus does, tap dancing. In the hours he’s known him, Alec has recognised Magnus to be graceful and luxuriant, his movements calculated and agile, apropos of a dancer. However, the way Magnus kicks his legs back and forth, stamping his feet on ever other beat is apropos of nothing. In much the same way, Alec’s long fingers and discipline made signing up for piano lessons an obvious choice, but you cannot teach passion.

Although, whilst Magnus isn’t accurate, he definitely is passionate. Petals come loose and spiral to the floor as he jostles the bouquet, still clutched in his hand. Alec stretches his fingers to play the final chords, foot pressing into the pedal for some added drama. Magnus finishes his routine with similar flair, then they both break into a fit of giggles.

Magnus’ breathing is only slightly heavier as he balances on the narrow stool, his hip pressing into Alec’s. He’s fit, then, Alec thinks. He knows he shouldn’t be looking past the surface tonight, shouldn’t be noticing details—but he does. He always does. Like now, they sit close enough that Alec catches a few notes of vanilla beneath Magnus’ cologne. He tucks it away in the back of his mind, storing it with all the other useless facts he’s hoarding, like a dragon curled protectively around it’s hidden treasure.

“So, I can’t actually tap dance.” Magnus says.

“Hardly noticed.”

The sound of Magnus’ earthy laugh floods his ears. Magnus plinks on the keys absentmindedly. Alec lets out an exaggerated sigh.

“It’s too bad you’re not going to get some tonight.” Alec says.

Magnus grins but doesn’t look up. “Oh, if I wanted some, I could get some.”

“No, you couldn’t.”

“Yes, I could.”

Magnus looks up then, their faces just a few moments of intention apart.

“Yes,” Alec says, voice like gravel in his throat, “You totally could.”

The air between them grows hotter and thicker, with each second Alec spends drowning in the sea of Magnus’ eyes. Alec inches forward, almost imperceptibly, closing the gap between them a millimetre at a time. He’s close enough to catch the fruity notes of Champagne on Magnus’ breathe, the warmth rolling off his velvet skin, when Magnus abruptly turns away.

“We’re not going to kiss tonight.”

Alec slams his hands into the keys, a discordant noise cutting through the thick tension like a swift knife.

“If we kissed,” Magnus explains, “then all of this would become real. You might use too much tongue, I might not use enough, and then suddenly - poof! - spell’s broken.”

“How dare you! I use the exact right amount of tongue.”

Magnus shakes his head, but he still smiles at Alec in a way that could outshine the sun.

“How about this,” he says, “The best part of any first kiss is the lead up to it. It’s like a big…drumroll.” Magnus emphasises his words with his hands. Another fact for the pile. “How about we just stick with the drumroll?”

“Okay.”

“But we can’t kiss!”

Alec nods. He would rip his still beating heart out of his chest if Magnus asked him. Then, Magnus is searching his eyes and dropping his gaze to Alec’s mouth.

Magnus surges toward him like a wave but stops just short of his lips. Magnus lives in that space, a hair’s breadth away from touching. When Alec moves forward, Magnus retreats. It’s a dance, a waltz, carefully choregraphed so they never meet, so Alec never feels the plushness of Magnus’ gin-soaked lips against his own. His forehead comes to rest against Magnus’, sharing breaths and moments, but not kisses.

As Alec leans in further, desperate to drink in whatever parts of Magnus he can, Magnus starts to slip backwards off the stool. He inhales sharply as Alec’s arm shoots round his lower back to steady him and keep him upright. Magnus wrinkles his shirt where his reflexively grips it, his palm flattening  a moment later, and running smoothly over Alec’s breastbone. There is a dull pain on the edge of his nose, where the small stud in Magnus’ scrapes along tender skin. Magnus’ hands trail down the contours of his chest, lingering on his waist for a moment, before pulling away, their touch breaking apart like oil from water.

It's heartache like Alec has never known, and for a moment, he thinks it will kill him not to touch Magnus. If it did, it would be the sweetest death he could ask for.

Magnus collects the forgotten the Champagne bottle from the floor, and wraps his lips around the tip, eyes ever leaving Alec’s. He offers the bottle to Alec once he’s done, but Alec waves him off.

He wants to remember this.

“Come on sailor,” Magnus says holding out his hand, “We should join the party.”

After

Izzy stares at her brother as if he has grown horns. Not since those first few months since he came out, has she ever heard of him acting so reserved. She’d known months before anyone else that Alec was gay, in that time, she had tended to Alec’s romantic side, which had withered under the belief that he would falling in love wasn’t on the cards for him. She’s thankful that everyone was supportive, but spiteful that Jace was so supportive; his allyship was primarily based around nurturing Alec’s sluttier side.  

“So what?” Simon asks, “Was that it? You just said goodnight and...performed a drum solo?”

Izzy slaps her fiancé lightly on the leg, then turns her attention to Alec. “You’re an idiot. This guy sounds amazing!”

Alec drains the last of his drink and pushes himself off the chair. “He was.” Alec says, “He was completely amazing, we connected on every level, and I’m never going to see him again.”

Alec finishes his statement with a nonchalant shrug, then disappears into the kitchen, no doubt to put his glass next to the dishwasher. When heartache is involved, everyone turns to her for advice. She’s cursed with emotional maturity, so much so that her brothers use her as a sounding board for every disastrous idea they have about love. What she wishes, though, is that they’d actually listen to the advice they beg for.

She’d advised Alec against moving in with Sebastien. She’d liked Alec’s boyfriend well enough, but she’d never really come to understand him. He was Alec’s first serious relationship, and despite Izzy’s gentle pushes in the opposite direction, Alec had done whatever it took to keep the relationship moving forward, even if it meant cutting out parts of himself.

She works out the wrinkles in her forehead with her fingers and leans into Simon’s hand moving up and down her back. She waits, listening to the dulcet sound of Alec pottering about the kitchen. He comes rushing out a second later, alarm written all over his face.

“Holy shit, I have to see him again!”

Izzy bites back an I told you so, and gestures for Alec to sit again.

“Let’s get to work. What do you know about him?” She asks.

“Well, for one, he’s gorgeous,” Alec says, “easily the best-looking person at the wedding, and certainly the most attractive man I’ve ever seen. He has a cat, wouldn’t even tell me the cat’s name though, and he smelt like sandalwood and vanilla. He had these amazing eyes that were so hazel they were almost gold and - ”

“Okay!” Izzy interrupts, “We know he’s pretty. What about things that could actually help us track him down?”

“..You can’t use any of that?”

Izzy sighs. “What about his accent? Manhattan? Queens?”

Alec thinks for a moment before he says, “Brooklyn, but only on certain words. He sounded more…vague? Definitely something international, underneath.”

“Well in that case you better hope he didn’t fly in for the wedding.”

Alec breaks out into a sudden smile. “Aline! Aline would know!”

“Alec!” Izzy warns as her brother scrambles for his phone in his pocket, “You can’t call her, she’s on her honeymoon! She’ll be back in two weeks, call her then.”

Alec’s finger hovers over the screen. “Yes of course, you’re right, two weeks….I’m calling her now.”

Before Izzy can get up and snatch the phone from his hands, ringing echoes through his phone speakers. “Alec! You don’t mess with the honeymoon!”

“Yeah come on dude,” Simon backs her up, and then leans into Alec’s side and says quietly: “Ask her about the cake.”

Izzy elbows him in the side.

“Alec?” Their Cousin’s voice filters through the phone.

“Aline! Great wedding, beautiful toast, touching stuff! How’s the honeymoon?” Alec continues before Aline can get a word in edgeways. “Listen, I’m calling because I met this guy at your wedding and silly me, I forgot to get his number.”

“Oh, you have got to be kidding me! You called me on my honeymoon to help you get laid!?” Aline says incredulously. She moves away from the speaker, her speech becoming muffled, but Helen’s laugh is loud enough for them all to hear.

“Pretty please? His name was Magnus.”

“Well lucky for you, I know that guest list backwards and forwards.” Aline huffs, “Unlucky for you, there was no Magnus at my wedding.”

Alec visibly deflates, and Aline swiftly ends the call.

“He double fake-named you?” Izzy says, “Oh he’s good.”

“Maybe he was a ghost.” Simon gasps, “Maybe that’s why he didn’t want to kiss you! I just had a great idea for a screenplay.”

Alec pinches the skin of his palm between his thumb and forefinger; an anxious habit she thought he left behind with the last of his exams.

After a moment, he starts dialling again.

*

“What was so urgent I had to come over here straight away?” Jace asks, sweeping into their apartment. The tissue-paper thin walls shake as he slams the door behind him. Jace is dressed to the nines, as he often is, despite the fact that as far as she’s aware, there is nowhere for him to be today.

Alec had begged him to come over, believing he might be the key to unlocking Magnus’ true identity. It’s getting into the late afternoon by the time he arrives, and she’s finally managed to convince Alec to shower and put on some clothes.

Alec regales the whole story to Jace, leaving out the more flowery and love-sick details than he had when he told Izzy.

“Did you get the number of the bridesmaid you were talking to last night?” Alec asks, voice laced with hope.

“You know I did.” Jace quips.  

“Great, could you call her?”

“You know I won’t.”

Alec all but stomps his feet in petulant protest. “Please! He was sitting right next to the bridesmaid’s table – she might know something!”

Jace goes to the fridge and pulls out a beer. He uncaps it using the countertop.

“It was a hookup Alec! I can’t call her; I need to wait until at least…forever!”

Alec makes to argue, but Izzy cuts in.

“It’s no use, Alec,” She says, “Jace will never call this girl, because if he did, then it might actually go somewhere, and God forbid he admit he’s capable of a real relationship, because that would mean he’d have no excuse for not asking out Clary.”

Jace splutters in indignation. “I don’t want– ”

“You stare at her constantly, you’re an incorrigible flirt, and you look at her like she hung the moon and stars.”

“I do not!”

“Prove it then! Call your bridesmaid.”

Jace hurries to take out his phone, and then dithers. He looks between Izzy and his device. She raises her eyebrows in challenge.

With a reluctant twist of his lips, he makes the call.

“Stacy! Baby!” He says. He glares at Izzy over his shoulder as he takes the call in another room.

As the bedroom door closes, the front door opens.

“Hey Clary, what are you doing here?” Simon asks, sweeping his oldest friend into a tight hug.

“Izzy texted me,” She says, helping herself to the contents of their fridge, “Said there was some big drama I should be a part of.”

Simon scowls at her, but she knows it’s meaningless. Izzy will only be sorry for her persistent meddling when it stops being effective.

“How was the wedding?” She asks as she emerges from the kitchen, Diet Coke in hand.

“Very dramatic, as it turns out,” Izzy says, “I’m sorry you missed it.”

Aline and Helen’s policy was very clear: Plus-one’s were only for guests in serious relationships. Simon had made the cut that way, despite never meeting Aline or Helen before their wedding. Jace didn’t get one for obvious reasons and Alec, well, his plus one ditched him. Izzy did suggest he take Clary with him, but he didn’t want the pity date, and she claimed that she had work to do prepping for her Gallery opening. It’s a shame Jace didn’t get a choice, as Izzy would have forced his hand in inviting Clary. She’s tired of watching them dance around each other, and also, selfishly, Izzy is desperate to be a Maid of Honour. The prospect might even excite her more than being a bride. She and Clary had become fast friends once Simon introduced them, so much so that she is both Best Woman and Maid of Honour at their upcoming wedding.

Clary rubs the back of her neck. “I actually… didn’t miss it?”

Simon cocks his head. “What do you mean?”

She cracks open her drink and takes a long sip before replying. “Well, I was sitting around the gallery, pretty bored, actually, and I thought to myself, what’s a little wedding crashing between friends-of-friends? So…”

“You came to the wedding?” Izzy says, “When? I didn’t see you all night.”

Clary lets out a self-deprecating laugh, a red tint creeping up her cheeks. “I got there well into the reception. I barely made it into the ballroom before…” She trails off, hesitating.

Izzy pieces it together first. Her eyes widen.

“You saw Jace and the bridesmaid.”

Clary nods sheepishly.

Speak of the devil, Jace reappears, whatever Clary’s reply was going to be, catching in her throat.

“Well, that was a bust,” Jace says, and then his eyes catch the new arrival, “Clary.” He exhales.

“Jace.” She says, averting her gaze.

“Wait, what was a bust!?” Alec insists, coming between the two of them, as though he believes if he can hide Clary from Jace’s view, she’ll cease to exist entirely.

Jace seems to notice that the atmosphere in the room has shifted since he stepped out, causing him to inject his words with some hesitance. “She didn’t know anything about him, and now thinks I’m a lying asshole, so thanks for that.”

“You are a lying asshole.” Alec laments. Humbled by the amounting dead ends. he throws himself face down on the couch dramatically. 

“What’s this about?” Clary asks.

“Alec met a guy at the wedding and now he doesn’t know how to track him down.” Simon explains.

“He wasn’t just some guy!” Alec whines, “He was the most amazing person I’ve ever met! Everything about that night was beyond my wildest dreams, and now all I have is a memory of him.”

“Maybe Clary knows something about him!” Simon speaks up. He tries to continue, but Izzy rushes to cut him off before he put his foot any further in his mouth.

Izzy watches as Jace’s brow furrows, and then he turns to the redhead. “You were at the wedding?” He asks.

“Possibly…briefly…yes?” Clary stammers.  

“I’m going to die an unmarried hag.” Alec bemoans, words muffled by the cushions.

Jace ignores Alec. “Why didn’t you come say hi?” He asks.

“You seemed like you were busy.” Clary says, with a bit more bite than Izzy supposes she intended.

Hurt flashes across Jace’s face. Alec continues his couch grumbling before he can reply.

“You know what? It’s for the best. Magnus said he wanted just one perfect night and that’s what it was. It’s fate that I never see him again.”

“Wait, Magnus?” Clary says. Recognition flows through her short words, enough so that Alec is lifting his face of the cushions to look at her. “I spoke to him last night.”

“You did!?” Alec exclaims.

She nods rapidly. “Alec, I know who he is!”

“Clary,” Jace interrupts, “Can we just talk for a minute, please?”

Alec throws himself off of the couch, stumbling toward Clary like a newborn giraffe.

“I have no time for your heterosexual nonsense!” Alec shouts. He grabs Clary by the shoulders, and shakes her gently, “Tell me what you know!”

Before

For the majority of her childhood, Clary was raised by a single mother. As such, she knows how to take care of herself. Jocelyn instilled her with fierce feminist values; always know your worth, never put yourself down, and never waste your time crying over a boy.

Yet here she is, hastily wiping the snot from her nose, in a bathroom at a wedding she wasn’t even invited to, crying over a boy she isn’t even with.

Jace has every right to flirt with bridesmaids, to go home with whomever he wishes. Clary does not own him. These objective facts did not stop the sharp, stabbing pain she felt in her heart when she saw the way Jace’s lips were curled round the shell of her ear, as they rocked together on the dancefloor. She ached to know what they were saying, yet the dialogue her brain supplied caused her to pick up her red dress and get as much distance as she could from the sight.  

She regards herself in the mirror. Her eyes are just beginning to puff up, small streaks of mascara are littered beneath her eyelashes, and the tip of her nose is blotched red from her aggressive nose-blowing, all of which screams to her that she never should have come here.

She does her best to make herself presentable, even if she has no intention of going back to the wedding. She is grateful for this fact as she emerges from the bathroom, and immediately collides with a firm chest.

“Sorry.” She mumbles as the brick wall steps away from her. She looks up and finds gentle eyes looking back down at her.

“My fault.” He says, “I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

Clary plasters a polite smile on her face, and steps aside. The man speaks before she can make her getaway.

“Are you alright?” He says.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” she says hurriedly, “allergies or something.”

The man smiles. The action is so soft and genuine that it immediately cripples the admittedly weak front she was putting on, and she feels herself starting to tear up. The man doesn’t mention it but pulls a pack of tissues from his back pocket and hands them to her.

“Weddings always make me cry, and I don’t like looking like a racoon, so I always keep some on hand.” He explains as she carefully dabs the moisture from under her eyes. “I’m Magnus.”

“Clary.” She says, then blows her nose noisily. “Does everyone snot up this much when they cry?”

She’s alarmed how openly she is weeping in front of this stranger, but something about his calm disposition is putting her at ease.

“Here, why don’t you take this.” He says. Clary notices only then that he is holding a bouquet of flowers. “I was going to keep it as something to remember this night by, but I don’t think I’m going to forget it any time soon. You look like you could use it.”

She takes the bouquet gratefully, a small and kind gesture, though she wonders how he got his hands on it. He doesn’t seem the type to take part in the humiliation ritual for single people at weddings.

“You’re very sweet.” She sniffs, “So, Bride or Bride?”

Magnus chuckles.

“Neither” He says, “I made the cake.”

After

“He made the cake.” Alec utters, his night slotting together like a jigsaw puzzle. “He wasn’t on the guest list because he wasn’t a guest – he made the cake!”

“He made that cake?” Simon gasps, “Alec, you’ve got to marry this guy! Today! He has to move in with us!”

Izzy puts a hand on Simon’s arm, his appetite bordering on hysterical.

“What are you going to do?” She asks.

Alec is dialling the phone before the last syllable has left her mouth.

“Aline!” He says, as soon as the call connects, “Hope your honeymoon is going well. I have a quick favour to ask.”

“Alec, the only reason I am being so calm about you calling me not once, but twice, on my honeymoon, is because my beautiful wife has helped me realise that I sometimes act like a crazy person, and I don’t want my new wife thinking I’m a crazy person. That being said, my patience is very limited.”

“I need to know where you got your wedding cake.”

“The cake? Are you fucking – no, you know what? I’m in Hawaii, I’m with my wife, I’m not letting you raise my blood pressure anymore.” Aline says, “After this, I’m blocking your number until I’m back in New York. The cake, uh, we got it from this cute little shop in Brooklyn.”

“Called?” Alec says, trying and failing not to sound impatient.

“I was getting there. It’s called The Buttercup Bakery.”

Alec hangs up first this time. He feels like the floor has given way beneath him, as all the hints and clues fall into place. The pseudonym Magnus gave himself, the scent of vanilla, the sweetness of his skin – powdered sugar.

“The Buttercup Bakery." The words themselves taste sweet on Alec's tongue. "I...I guess i'm going to the Buttercup Bakery!" 

Alec grabs for his coat by the door. 

“Wait!” Jace says before he can race off, “You can’t wear that!”

Alec looks down at himself. His plain black t-shirt and jeans are perfectly appropriate, in his opinion.

Jace scoffs as Alec shrugs.

“This is a big romantic gesture! You need to suit up!”

Alec considers this for a moment but gets caught in the memory of his and Magnus’ last conversation.

“Actually,” Alec says, “I don’t.”

Before

When they wander back into the ballroom hours later, they find it deserted.

The band has gone home, Helen and Aline left to catch their flight a while ago, and the rest of the guests have trickled out throughout the evening. There are only empty chairs at empty tables, the odd staff member meandering through.

“Whoa,” Alec says, moving out the way of an exhausted looking waiter who is clearing away the crockery, “guess we were gone a while.”

“That’s too bad,” Magnus hums, “I was looking forward to one last dance.”

Alec can feel that their night is coming to a close. Fear strikes him in his gut, sudden and tempestuous. Alarm bells rings in his brain a second later; he’s known Magnus a few hours, the thought of him walking away should not scare him this much.

Alec takes out his phone and props it up on a nearby table. He picks something atmospheric and romantic from his playlist. He walks backwards onto the dancefloor slowly, and Magnus follows, pulled into each other’s space like magnets. Alec grasps Magnus’ hand and gently spins him, before pressing him against his chest.

“Yes, yes I do.” Alec says, and then, after confusion twists Magnus’ features, he continues: “Sorry, I could tell what you were thinking.”

A smiles tugs at the corner of Magnus' mouth. "And what was I thinking?”

“’Damn he’s looking mighty fine in that tux.’”

Magnus laughs. “You got me, you’re good.”

“In the real world, Alec wears sweatpants and a black jumper with holes in the sleeves.”

“Real Alec sounds real sexy,” Magnus says, “Too bad I’ll never get to meet him.”

Alec dips his head to hide his face in Magnus’ neck, wondering if Magnus will be able to see the depth of want in Alec’s eyes. He touches Magnus, mapping his skin, afraid that Magnus will suddenly slip through his fingers like sand. His nose traces a path up Magnus’ neck, lips ghosting the skin of his jaw. He notes, with some confusion, that Magnus’ skin tastes sweet. Alec’s not sure if this violates Magnus’ no kissing rule, but the other man doesn’t protest. He sighs and tilts his head back ever so slightly, blossoming for Alec like a flower in spring.

Alec reaches to pinnacle of his ascent. This time it’s Alec who leans in, unable to stop himself from chasing Magnus’ mouth, but Magnus shifts, so that all he feels is the faintest brush of Magnus’ lips on his.

“Tell me your last name.” Alec says.

Magnus gets a look on his face as they continue to sway together—one Alec can’t quite decipher. He shakes his head, and that, at least, Alec understands.

“You know there is one flaw in your plan.” Alec says.

“What’s that?” Magnus asks.

“I’m going to go home tonight with a lot of great memories, and one really bad one: the memory of you walking out that door.”

Sadness contorts Magnus face. Alec is rueful to know that he is the one who has caused it, to make Magnus’ countenance shift in such an unnatural way; someone as bright and beautiful as him should never be sad. As quickly as it changed, Magnus’ face shifts again, this time, a wry smile slipping into place. 

“Hey Alec?” Magnus says, stepping away.

“Yeah?”

“Close your eyes, and count to five.”

Alec huffs a laugh, but complies.

“One, two, three, four…” Alec pauses longer than he needs to before the last number. Maybe if he keeps his eyes closed, waits a little longer, he can stay in this moment forever.

“Five.”

Alec knows what he will find – or rather, what he won’t – when he opens his eyes, but lifting his eyelids is agony all the same.

Involuntarily, he throws a hand over his heart.

Magnus is gone. 

After

Simon had rambled excitedly for the duration of the taxi ride to The Buttercup Bakery.

Alec hadn’t actually asked for company, but as soon as he’d hailed the cab, they were all piling in. Alec at least got shotgun, with Izzy and Simon in the back. Jace and Clary had stayed behind – they had some things to talk about, it would seem.

After getting off the phone with Aline, he had only spared 5 minutes to change before rushing out of the apartment. His ratty black jumper – complete with bleach stains and holes that his thumbs get caught in – had seemed like such a good idea as he recalled the picture of the real Alec that he had painted for Magnus, but now he feels starkly underdressed. Magnus was a vision at the wedding, and sure, he was dressed for a black-tie event, but everything about the man screamed extravagance and indulgence, that he enjoyed the finer things in life. Alec isn’t sure he’s one of them.

The cab pulls up a few doors down from the bakery. The sun has long since set, but there is a warm orange glow emanating from only one storefront on the street. Someone is in there; maybe it’s Magnus, or just a stranger to provide him another breadcrumb.   

Alec has a feeling that whatever happens in the next 5 minutes will define the rest of his life.

How did this happen? How did he go from heartbroken and pitiful to wanting and reckless in the space of 24 hours? What spell had Magnus cast on his heart?

“I can’t go in.” Alec says breathlessly. He can’t stop staring at the sign for the shop: A cupcake, ornately decorated with a gold-flaked buttercup, underneath it, the word Buttercup Bakery, est. 2015.

“What?” Izzy barks, “You’ve spent the whole day agonising over this guy what do you mean you can’t go in?”

Alec can’t summon up the courage to give her the real answer: What if he doesn’t want to see me? What if he doesn’t like the real Alec? What if he does and I get my heartbroken anyway?

“Listen,” He says instead, “until my dying day, I’ll remember everything about that night as perfect. Maybe we both need that. So many things go wrong in life, but this is the one thing that never will. It will always be pure, unadulterated perfection. If I walk in there, i'm robbing both of us of what could be – ”

“Alec I’m glad youre having a big emotional moment but the metre's running, dude!”

Izzy slaps him on the shoulder, spurring him out of the taxi. He faintly hears Simon shout, 'Grab me a cupcake!' before he shuts the door behind him.

Alec’s legs, pushed forward by his heart, carry him to the storefront before his brain can intervene.

Through the window, Alec sees him.

And yes, whilst he does enjoy Magnus in a tux, this is much better. There are flour handprints dusted across the lavender apron that hugs his waist. Underneath, Magnus wears something soft and woollen, rolled up to his elbows. There are still gold streaks in his hair, but they fall gently over his forehead, and from what Alec can tell, his makeup is much more understated. Jewellery too, but Alec supposes that is down to the blue latex gloves he’s wearing as he does intricate piping on a sugar cookie.

Alec spares a glance back to the cab. He could leave now. Magnus hasn’t seen him, and he could keep it that way. The real Alec never has to meet the real Magnus. They could just keep their perfect night, forever.

It’s selfish, he knows, but Alec doesn’t want to spend the rest of his life wondering, what if?

A small bell rings overhead as he pushes open the door.

“Sorry,” Magnus starts as he glances up, “We’re clo – ”

Magnus breathes in sharply, Alec stays rooted to the floor.

The moments Magnus spends staring at him, not saying a word, feel like the longest of Alec’s life. Then, Magnus drops the cookie and piping back onto the counter, breaking into a wide grin that Alec hadn’t realised he’d missed so goddamn much.  

“Oh, thank God.” Magnus says.

Alec crosses the cozy patisserie in two strides, his hands reaching out for Magnus on instinct. Lightening races down his fingertips as soon as they touch the soft skin of his face, and this time, there’s no crescendo — just the crash of lips meeting, inevitable as a heartbeat.

And if last night was the drumroll, this is the whole damn symphony.