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"Alec, you ready to have some fun?” Isabelle yelled from her room, standing in front of her white full-length mirror, turning this way and that to see her outfit from all angles. She was wearing a tight black leather dress that stopped just above her knees, her feet tucked into a pair of neon pink stilettos. Her dark hair was falling over her shoulders, the tips temporarily dyed to match the shoes.
“Our definitions of fun are very different, Iz,” her brother said, walking in with a hand covering his eyes. “Is it safe to look?” He asked.
“Yes,” she chuckled and Alec dropped his hand. Izzy made a twirl. “What do you think?”
“Beautiful, as always,” he told her, before stopping to think for a second, “but maybe add that bracelet of yours. The snake one. You need some bling.”
“If I didn’t already know you were gay, dear brother, this would be the moment I realized it,” Isabelle joked, moving to her jewelry box in search of the bracelet. “Glad to see you wearing colors for once,” she said, looking him up and down and nodding in approval.
“That depends on how you define color,” Alec countered, gesturing to his white shirt. So sue him, he preferred darker colors, like black. Mostly black. Luckily, his jeans and shoes were dark enough to counter the effect of the shirt. Or maybe make it pop even more.
“What’s with you and definitions tonight?” Izzy wondered.
Alec shrugged, “I’ve been doing that thing where you learn a random new word each day, and today the website gave me the definition of definition.”
“And what is the definition of definition?”
“A statement of the exact meaning of a word,” he replied proudly. “Ready to go?”
***
Alec had never liked parties. There was too much noise, too many people, too— anyway, he didn’t like them. But with him and Izzy in college on different sides of the country, spending Thanksgiving weekend at home was one of the rare opportunities for them to hang out, so when she asked if he wanted to join her, he readily agreed. Granted, they probably won’t get to do much talking here, but just knowing his sister was nearby was enough.
As soon as they walked into the house of a friend of a friend of one of Izzy’s friends (maybe there was another layer of ‘friend,’ Alec wasn’t completely sure), Iz dragged him toward the kitchen to get them some drinks – vodka for her and a beer for him.
“Sis, how old are you, again?” Alec asked, taking the cup away from her.
Isabelle tried reaching it, but even with her high heels, Alec's hand was still too far up for her. “Oh, come on, don’t be a buzzkill. Nineteen’s more than old enough in most countries.”
“Did you only bring me here to be your designated driver?” He put her cup on the counter and added some orange juice to it. “At least don’t drink it straight,” he pleaded and let her have her drink back.
“There are so many puns waiting to be used there,” Izzy giggled, “but I see Clary over there, so I’m going to go say hi.”
With that, Alec was left alone in the midst of more alcohol than in the average liquor store. He looked after Isabelle until she reached a short red-haired girl Alec vaguely remembered seeing around the house when Izzy was in high school.
Taking a swig of his beer, he moved to the doorway to what he assumed was the living room, if the multiple couches and a giant coffee table full of snacks were anything to go by. The room was huge, with at least fifteen people moving around it.
There were four girls standing in the corner near the window, trying to take a selfie. They were giggling and obviously having trouble with the photo, but Alec didn’t care enough to offer them his help. They’d manage eventually. Probably.
On the other side of the room was a foosball table with three people playing and one guy screaming at the opponents that spinning is not allowed.
Still, they weren’t what caught Alec’s attention. What was, though, was the person sitting in the middle of the armchair next to the fireplace. Holy fuck me, Alec thought. The guy’s hair was spiked up, his eyes framed by dark eyeliner, a small smile on his lips as he talked to the girl sitting on the arm of the chair, leaning into him. He was wearing a half-unbuttoned pink shirt, and, if Alec didn’t know better, he’d say his chest was sparkling. Like, Twilight-style sparkling. Luckily, he did know better, as his sister liked using body glitter from time to time. (She might have made him put some on for a dare, once.) (He might have secretly liked it a bit.)
“You’re the definition of thirsty right now,” a voice next to him said. He turned to see Isabelle back with Clary, who gave him a small wave.
“Huh?” Alec asked, confused.
Izzy rolled her eyes in a way that almost made him congratulate her on not getting them stuck, and replied slowly, like she was talking to a three-year-old. “You’re checking him out.”
“I’m not!” He said quickly and she laughed.
“See, if you were actually just standing there, you would’ve asked me who I meant, because there are at least half a dozen guys in that room. But you didn’t ask, because you didn’t need to, because you know who I meant, because you have, in fact, been checking him out.”
For a second, Alec looked like he might try denying it again, but then he settled for, “He’s really pretty.”
Isabelle glanced at him, surprised by the honesty. “You gonna talk to him?” Clary piped in.
“Nah, he’s straight. Besides, I’m not looking for anything like that tonight.”
“He’s not straight,” she replied confidently.
“The girl he’s with makes it pretty clear he’s not gay.”
The red-head raised her eyebrows at him. “I never said anything about gay.”
“So, what, bi? You think?”
“I know. I know him.”
Alec looked at her expectantly, “And?”
“And what?” Clary questioned.
“Does he have a name?”
Izzy chuckled, “He probably does. But Clary’s not telling you.”
“Why not?” Alec nearly whined.
“Because you’re twenty-one, Alec, you need to start flirting on your own.”
“I can flirt!” He replied defensively.
“Flashing a smile to woo the old lady in the library into letting you check out one extra book does not qualify as flirting,” Isabelle told him.
“Doesn’t matter either way, he’s not here alone,” Alec told them, looking back at the mysterious man. Could he be classified as mysterious just because Alec didn’t know him? If that were the criteria for mysteriousness, then there would be billions of mysterious people on the planet.
He was pulled back from his thoughts when the smile that had up until then seemed to be a constant feature on the guy’s face turned into a full-blown smirk. Alec looked up to see predatory eyes trained on him.
“Oh, yes, with the way he’s looking at you, he’s definitely taken and straight. You’re totally right,” Isabelle said, taking Clary by the wrist. “We’re leaving you to it, big brother,” she added, already walking away, “good luck.”
***
Well, this party was a bust. True, most parties thrown by college students who were home for the weekend and wanted to do something fun were, but this one takes the cake.
Magnus received the invitation mere hours ago – his high school friend knew a guy who knew a girl who… – and now here he was, spending Black Friday evening with a cup of something in his hand, looking around a room full of people he didn’t know.
His friend, Raphael, had left him alone seconds after their arrival, saying he needed to talk to someone, Magnus didn’t remember the name.
About twenty seconds after Magnus had managed to find a free seat in the middle of whoever-lived-here’s living room, a very pretty, very drunk girl had made her way over to him and perched herself on the side of the armchair he was in. He knew her, of course – Camille Belcourt, the one who, had Magnus’s high school been like the ones you see on TV, would have been the evil wannabe prom queen who ends up being overshadowed by the nerdy girl. Real life wasn’t like that, though, and Camille wasn’t all that bad – she just knew her own worth. Magnus hadn’t seen her in almost three years. Last he’d heard, she’d moved to Europe to finish college in France. Or was it Italy? He wasn’t sure.
Having sat by him, she immediately started flirting with Magnus, and, any other time, he would probably have enjoy the attention – Camille was beautiful – but he preferred his socializing to be done with someone a bit less inebriated.
So he let her talk, occasionally adding the odd hmmm, or an oh, really?, or a low chuckle, but mostly, he kept quiet.
“…And that guy, looking at you like he can’t see you’re with me,” Camille said suddenly, pulling him from his thoughts.
Magnus followed her line of sight and, true enough, there was a guy standing there. Well, a guy might be putting it too simply. Magnus was never one to wax poetic… okay, maybe just sometimes… but Heaven had never seen a soul shine as bright as this angel’s eyes, Hell had never felt anything warmer than his smile, and Magnus himself had never been so instantly attracted to another human being in all his twenty-two years among the living.
He felt himself smirk as he noticed the raven-haired man’s eyes still locked onto his face and the other looked at him, his expression stunned as if surprised at being caught. Magnus saw the two girls the guy was with (was that Clary? Did she know this guy and never tell Magnus?) look between the pair and move away, and took that as his cue.
“Sorry, darling,” he quickly said to Camille as he uncrossed his legs and stood, his half-full cup of the yet-to-be-defined drink tightly held in one hand, still not breaking eye-contact with his target. (Target. That made it sound like he would attack the man. He wouldn’t.)
Maybe the party will not end up being a total bust, after all.
***
Okay. He could do this. He was a grown man.
…a grown man who was just caught staring at a stranger like the creepiest creep who ever creeped. And he couldn’t flirt to save his life.
God, he was screwed. (And not in the fun way, a voice sounding disturbingly like his younger sister’s supplied in his head.)
Shit, crap, fuck, he should bail. Just turn around and walk out of here. He could send Izzy a text later, saying how he… how he what? How he chickened out of literally just talking to someone? He would never hear the end of it. Maybe he could—
Nope. He should go. The guy is still looking at him. He’s only halfway between his seat and Alec. Either he’s walking slower than a sloth or Alec’s brain is working way too quickly to be considered healthy.
What should he even say? ‘Hey, sorry I was staring so much you had to walk here and tell me to stop’? That’s idiotic. He needed to leave.
No. He’ll stay. He will stay. He is going to stay.
***
Wow.
The guy looked more and more beautiful with every step Magnus took. Not-Photoshopped cover of magazines beautiful.
And those eyes were still trained on Magnus, beckoning him closer. At least that’s what he hoped the look meant.
***
Seriously, if Alec was going to leave, this was his last shot.
Yes.
That’s what he’ll do. He is going to turn around and leave.
Right.
Now.
***
“I don’t think we’ve been introduced. I’m Magnus.” Well, as far as opening sentences go, this was quite solid, in Magnus’s opinion.
“Yeah, hi,” the man in front of him stammered, “I—I should…” He closed his eyes for a few seconds, and, damn, what a shame, denying the world that wonderful hazel glow. No sooner had Magnus thought that than they opened again. “I’m Alec,” the other said, offering a hand for Magnus to shake.
Accepting it, he said, “Nice to meet you, Alec.”
"You, too. Listen, I'm sorry about—" Whatever Alec was going to apologize for was cut off by a loud shriek coming from the area around the foosball table.
"I hope this isn't too forward," Magnus started when the screaming stopped, "but would you like to go somewhere more quiet?"
Yes, there had never been a smile as welcoming as the one Magnus got in return.