Work Text:
It started with a text.
---
December 24th dawned bright, clear and cold, with weather reports promising snow by the evening. Brooklyn was full of well-wrapped people gazing hopefully at the sky, Christmas lights twinkling in their eyes from shop fronts. But in one particular loft apartment, the mood wasn’t very festive.
The sound of a dramatic saxophone solo drifted through Alec’s admittedly much more pleasant dreams. He cracked one eye open and looked at his flipped-over phone, grunting tonelessly at the fact that he had managed to get the charger cable in before falling into bed, exhausted.
Brazil had been a whirlwind of sights and flavors, sounds and scents; Magnus had taken him to a beautiful terrace overlooking the Copacabana sea for a dinner of pao de queijo, acarajé, and brigadeiros for dessert. From there, they had literally danced across Brazil - Magnus creating portals in back alleys to get from city to city, dancing in clubs and streets, plazas and house parties for a few minutes each time, and at one point they ended up in what Alec suspected was a warlock sanctuary deep in the Amazon. It would explain how someone got a treehouse that high up, that didn’t interrupt any flora or fauna.
The night had ended on the plinth of Christ the Redeemer in Rio, masked by a cloaking spell and sipping cachaça. Alec had been well on his way to trashed already, but the sweet and sharp liquor had made everything look and feel golden. They sat close together, shoulders touching and legs swinging; Magnus had crooned to him, voice deep and language foreign, as the adrenaline and alcohol of the night coursed through his veins.
He couldn’t remember anything after that, but judging by how smug Magnus’s humming (coming from the kitchen) this morning sounded and the fact that Alec was wearing different boxers from yesterday, they probably desecrated the largest symbol of Christian faith in Brazil by having sex at its base.
Thank the Angel for cloaking spells. Also, for stamina runes, which work on weary legs as well as, well, other things.
But now he was brought back to reality by the insistent tune of that saxophone solo. Instead of answering it, he padded into the bathroom for a quick shower, then pulled on the pants he wore the night before, noting that Magnus had already magically cleaned them. The perks of a warlock boyfriend.
Flipping his phone over, he read the message from Izzy, a frown forming on his face. When he finished, he disconnected the phone and shoved it into his pocket.
He frowned at the floor, looking for his shirt and not finding it. Maybe it was in the living room.
“I won’t be here tomorrow night,” Alec informed Magnus as he entered the living room shirtless. He found his undershirt and shrugged it over his head, making Magnus sigh with disappointment. “Izzy insists that I come to the Lightwood post-holiday dinner, and knowing her, it’ll be easier to show my face than get her to back down.”
“Do Shadowhunters even celebrate Christmas?”
Alec shrugged, pulling his boots on. “Not really. We’re usually on heightened patrol during the holidays, though. All these new and clueless mundanes in the city make it a busy season for us.”
Magnus, wearing a familiar unbuttoned black shirt and sweatpants, tutted and poured them both coffee - his own in an elegant glass mug, and Alec’s into a travel mug. “Is that your way of saying you won’t have time for me today, either?”
Alec finished lacing up his boots and stood up, sighing. “Magnus--”
“I know, I know,” Magnus waved his hand dismissively. “I’m not concerned. Besides, the birth of a savior of such a young religion holds no significance for me, either.”
Alec approached the counter of the open-space kitchen on the other side and grasped the countertop, gazing earnestly at Magnus. “The Institute needs all hands on deck,” he said softly. “I have a city of people to protect.”
Magnus cocked his head slightly. “All by your lonesome?” he inquired with a hint of a smile.
“Izzy’s taking the Rockerfeller shift with--” Alec stopped and narrowed his eyes. “You weren’t being literal, were you.”
Magnus shook his head, smile widening, and Alec crossed his arms over his chest, frowning.
“We were in Brazil, Magnus. Yesterday.”
“Yes, but it wasn’t Christmas, Alexander.”
Alec pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing. “I’m not the only one--”
“Who’ll be skiving off patrolling duty?” Magnus snapped his fingers, and the mug, milked and sugared, jumped into his hand. “I thought you said Shadowhunters don’t celebrate Christmas.” He sipped delicately from his mug as Alec muttered to himself, hiding a smile behind the coffee as the Shadowhunter went to the fridge for his own milk.
The silence between them wasn’t tense, but it wasn’t very comfortable, either. Alec screwed the top of his travel mug closed, then fiddled with the opening.
“Alexander,” Magnus said gently, and Alec looked up at him, eyes large and wary. “I understand.”
Alec held his gaze, then dropped his to the mug. “Thank you,” he mumbled, his mind a whirlwind of worry again.
He never knew when he should stop pulling, when he should let Magnus take the lead. When he should let down his walls of suspicion and let himself be a little more malleable. And when Magnus tried pushing him, he always took that as a sign that he should push back. That he should stand his ground.
Those exchanges tended to end at an impasse, with the awkwardness being broken by someone saying something pithy (usually Magnus) or someone needing to rush off on assignment (usually Alec) or, on one memorable occasion, by discovering that Magnus was ticklish and taking gross and wholly enjoyable advantage of that fact.
Was it healthy? No.
Did it help him feel like his head was above water? Yes.
Did that mean he could breathe easier? Well, he thought to himself as he took a sip of his coffee and Magnus’s eyes softened as their eyes met over the rim of his coffee mug, it depends.
---
“Really, Izzy?” Alec muttered, sitting on a bench and unlacing his boots. His sister grinned in response, her tightly woven French braids hidden under a firetruck red knit cap that matched her lips.
Her entire ensemble was red, except the white ice skates she was lacing onto her feet. Alec had a pair, as well; Izzy had unearthed them from some dusty storeroom in the Institute and brought them with her on patrol.
“Remind me again why we’re skating?” he asked tersely, pulling the skates on and lacing them up with efficient, callused fingers, used to handling string.
“Because this is one of the most heavily trafficked tourist attractions in New York during Christmas and someone is always stationed here,” Izzy said, holding onto the rink wall to unsheath her skates. “And it used to be Hodge, so now it’s the two of us.”
She looked back at Alec, who raised his eyebrows at her, and she tutted. “Double the observation powers, brother. Now, come on.”
Alec huffed out a breath of exasperation and followed her onto the ice. The rink was crowded but not overpopulated, Rockefeller Center employees keeping careful watch and count of the people on the rink; couples skated sedately, kids laughed along the sidelines, and one couple - who had to be professionals - were showing off their moves to an enraptured audience of tourists.
They glided along next to each other for two laps of the rink, Alec’s legs sending up slight protest at being used for exercise the day after dancing across a different continent, silently observing the revelers.
Alec glanced at his sister a few times; she was grasping his elbow with an iron grip, face serene but jaw set. He could feel her grasp grow tighter incrementally, so before she shattered his elbow, he sighed and said, “Well?”
“Well, what?”
Alec slanted his gaze towards Izzy; his wholly unimpressed look said it all. She arched her eyebrow at him, but he held his expression, and she dropped her facade with a sigh.
“I think you should bring Magnus with you tomorrow,” she said.
“And I think you’re a meddling troublemaker,” Alec retorted.
Izzy snorted. “Watch it, brother,” she said, skating slightly closer to him. “My troublemaking got Magnus to your wedding.”
Alec shoved his hands in his pockets, grumbling, and Izzy used the opportunity to hook her arm to Alec’s. They didn’t falter, but Alec gave her a dirty look.
“Come on, Alec,” she said, a tad gentler. “What’s eating you?”
Alec looked around him for a few moments and then sighed. “I can tell that you’re serious this time,” he muttered. “No innuendoes were attached to that.”
“Don’t try to change the subject, Alec.”
Alec slowed down and stopped next to the wall. Izzy skated to a stop next to him. He stared out at the other revelers silently, then sighed again.
“What do you want me to say, Izzy?” he said. “I don’t know what to say. I don’t know when to say it. I wish I did. I want…”
“What?” she prompted gently.
Alec threw up his hands. “I don’t know!” he exclaimed. “It’s new to me! This is all new, and different, and I don’t know what to do.”
Izzy observed her brother deflating with alarm; shoulders sagging, eyes wide and jaw flexing making him look like he was gearing himself up for accepting defeat.
“Alec, when was the last time you spoke to Magnus?” Izzy ventured carefully.
Alec looked at her, confused. “This morning. I spent the night. Why--”
“Spoke to him, Alec,” Izzy said, a bit firmer. “Actually discussed your relationship. Not cutesy banter over almost indecently exotic delicacies.”
Alec glared at her, and then his expression melted into something so akin to sadness that Izzy instinctively wrapped her arms around him. “In the hallway, after the wedding,” he said quietly, his hands grasping hers like a lifeline. “Between Jace…” He swallowed convulsively. “And the rest of the shadow world erupting, we haven’t had much… Well, we haven’t been able to-- it’s, it’s just that--”
“I understand, Alec,” she interrupted him gently. “Let’s get off the ice.”
“What about--”
Izzy looked beyond him; following her gaze, he realized with a jolt that his parents were skating towards them. Instead of stopping by their children, they passed them without a second glance. Alec followed them with his gaze, dumbfounded.
“What are they doing here?” he asked, following Izzy off the ice and craning his neck to catch a glimpse of his parents again. “Why did they leave the Institute during holiday detail?”
“To see you,” Izzy said simply. Alec stared at her as she plopped gracefully down on a rinkside bench and started unlacing her skates. “They didn’t know if you were going to show up tomorrow, so this was their way of seeing you over the holidays.” She looked up to find that Alec was still standing there, staring at her.
“I tried stopping them, but they wouldn’t have it,” she hurried to reassure him, pulling on her stiletto boots. “Mother was hell bent on taking this shift. The only thing I managed to wrangle from them was that they wouldn’t try to approach you unless you did so first.”
“Who’s coordinating at the Institute?” Alec managed to get out, lowering himself on the bench and mechanically unlacing his skates, disbelief still clouding his thoughts. When he got them off, Izzy swept them into the bag with her skates and stood up, tossing her braid behind her shoulder.
“Lydia,” Izzy answered, tapping her foot impatiently as Alec hurried to pull his boots back on. “In fact, you’re free to go.”
Alec scoffed. “We still have to patrol the perimeter.”
“That’s what I’m here for,” Alec heard from behind him, and he whirled around to see Jace, still wan from his time with Valentine, flash him a brilliant smile.
“Jace, what-- have you been cleared for duty yet?” Alec exclaimed.
Jace grasped Alec’s upper arm and squeezed it, catching his gaze. “Hey,” he said softly, “Alec, listen to me.”
Alec couldn't look away. Since they were young, Jace always knew how to ground him. His strong grasp and arresting gaze wouldn't let Alec retreat into his own mind, which is exactly where he was going before Jace showed up.
His mind didn’t quiet, but the pressure in his chest eased up a bit. It was as if his subconscious knew that Jace would point him in the right direction.
And his subconscious was right. “You need to go to Magnus,” Jace said. “You not only want to, but you need to. We’re here. You’re not abandoning your post. I got your back.”
Alec gulped, then nodded. “You've got my back,” he repeated, then smiled wryly and added, “Even with Magnus?”
Jace grinned. “I mean, he already thinks that you're prettier than me. I can't reason with fools.”
---
Alec didn't text Magnus that he was on his way, assuming that his wards would let him know in time; which was why, when Magnus opened the door before Alec knocked, he wasn't surprised.
But the fact that Magnus was there, in a flowing glittery red shirt paired with black leather pants and a fairly distracting forest green ribbon bow serving as a choker, was a surprise. And the blast of hot air, accompanied by a faint strain of vaguely familiar music, was a surprise as well.
Alec squinted. “Am I interrupting anything?”
Magnus smiled and pulled him inside, shutting the door behind him. “Of course not, darling. This is how I'm celebrating the holiday.”
“By recreating yesterday's date?” The loft was glimmering with a soft golden light from an unknown source, stretches of bright fabric hiding the bookcases and giving the room the look of a pavilion not unlike the warlock treehouse they had visited last night. The coffee table had been magically lengthened, and hosted trays of delicacies and a decanter of cachaça.
“Are you hosting a party?” Alec asked, looking at the lounge chairs scattered about.
“Of one,” Magnus drawled, and suddenly he was next to Alec, hands on his shoulders. “Your coat?”
Alec shrugged it off gratefully and Magnus snapped his fingers, sending the coat to the closet. “Of course,” he murmured, smoothing his hands down Alec’s shoulders and arms, “you’re not in holiday attire, but I suppose black can fit every occasion. Especially when you wear it.”
Alec blushed and ducked his head. He felt warm - the crackling fire in the fireplace, the atmosphere, and Magnus's gaze on him all served to make him feel the heat in his cheeks. It was a feeling he was quickly growing to know, especially when in the loft. Magnus disarmed him constantly.
But as Magnus grasped Alec’s hand and led him to one of the lounges, Alec’s smile fell. He knew how this evening would go. He was sure of it. Magnus would hand him a drink; they’d have a light conversation, veering away from heavy subjects; if anything serious was discussed, Magnus would say something terribly intelligent, then cryptic, then funny, and then start outright flirting; and then the night (or morning, or afternoon) would dissolve into sighs and pants and bites, words and endearments, cries of ecstasy and the scent of mingling sweat.
And Alec will wake up the next morning feeling strangely empty, as if he should be happy and sated, but his mind was ten steps ahead of him. And every time he tried addressing those concerns running through his mind with Magnus, he was led to the sofa again, and the cycle would begin anew.
“Magnus,” he said, as they sat down, “I need to talk to you.”
“Isn’t that what you’re doing right now?” Magnus demurred, crossing his legs and turning towards Alec, holding his gaze. Alec felt his cheeks heat up even more (how was that possible? Was someone roasting him over an open fire?) and he looked down at his hands, twisting in his lap.
He frowned. Strange. His hands weren’t usually involved in exhibiting his anxiety. But when he chanced a quick look back up at Magnus, he understood why his subconscious gave his hands something to do; in the golden, sun-like lighting, Magnus’s skin looked like molten molasses, with the choker innocuously tied around the warlock’s neck giving Alec ideas about what he wanted to do with that choker.
(Mostly untie it and use it around Magnus’s wrists. Too bad the headboard was a single smooth block of wood, with nowhere to anchor it--)
Alec scoffed to himself and looked back down at his hands, which miraculously enough, stayed in his lap. “No, Magnus,” he said, “it’s--”
“How about a drink?” Magnus said, leaning forwards smoothly and uncorking the decanter. “It’s the same vintage as last night.”
“But I need to talk to you,” Alec persisted weakly, accepting the small glass Magnus handed him. (He couldn’t leave him hanging.) Magnus clinked his glass against Alec’s and took a sip, then rubbed Alec’s shoulder with his free hand, looking at him earnestly.
“And talk we shall, Alexander,” he said, “but a drink is always advised beforehand. Also, it’s Christmas Eve.”
“Doesn’t feel like it,” Alec said plainly. “It’s really hot in here.”
“A simple recreation of yesterday’s… atmosphere,” Magnus countered. “It’s still Christmas.”
Alec raised his eyebrows and pressed his lips together; Magnus tsked in annoyance and snapped his fingers. A decorated Christmas tree appeared against the wall, complete with lights (again with the unknown power source) and ornaments.
“There,” Magnus said decisively. “ Now it’s Christmas.”
---
They made short work of the food. Alec hadn’t eaten all day, and Magnus was fond of finger food, especially the kind that could be eaten in one bite. He insisted on feeding Alec some of the brigadeiro - there were several varieties, including one that was studded with chili pepper and dusted with salted caramel.
“You could have warned me,” Alec said hoarsely, swallowing the sweetness in his mouth and glaring at Magnus, who just grinned lazily and leaned over, pressing his lips to Alec’s.
The Shadowhunter’s eyes fluttered closed, and he fell with a sigh into the sensation of Magnus gently licking his way into his mouth. His hands moved towards Magnus, to grasp his shoulders - the front of his shirt - cup his face - but then, beyond the heat of the chili and the air and Magnus’s little moan that Alec felt reverberating on his lips, an errant quote popped up in his mind.
This is how the world ends,
This is how the world ends,
Not with a bang,
But with a whimper.
He pulled back, his hands going back to his own lap. His heart was jumping in his chest - was it fear? Anger? He couldn’t tell. All he knew was that he couldn’t stop thinking about that quote; it wouldn’t stop running through his mind, haunting him. It was screaming at him from inside his skull, like it was trying to prove a point.
Magnus was looking dazed, but worry bled into his expression quick enough. “Alexander?”
“We need to talk,” Alec said, staring at his hands. “And I said it earlier, too,” he added.
“And we did,” Magnus answered. “Didn’t we?”
“No!” Alec exclaimed, jerking away from Magnus, whose lazy cat eyes snapped back to their everyday hazel a fraction of a moment later. “We didn’t! And we never do!”
There was a moment of silence, where Alec could only look at his hands, and then--
“It’s Christmas Eve,” Magnus said softly, smoothly. “Can’t this--”
“By the Angel,” Alec growled and stood up, pulling at his t-shirt collar. He felt itchy, tight, like a coiled spring. “It can’t wait, Magnus. It shouldn’t have waited this long, but it kept on being pushed off.”
“What kept being pushed off?” Magnus inquired flatly.
Alec stared at him. He could feel the alcohol coursing through his veins fighting with his brain. “Talking,” he said lamely.
Magnus scoffed. “Darling, we talk about everything.”
“Really?” Alec said, crossing his arms over his chest. “Like what?”
“Max,” Magnus counted off on his fingers, “Trips we should take, oour antics on dates, food, music--”
“Immortality,” Alec countered darkly. Magnus paused, and Alec continued. “Power dynamics. Experience in relationships. My family. Your family--”
“Why,” Magnus interrupted him dryly, “would you ever want to hear about my family?”
“Because I sleep in your bed every night, Magnus,” Alec shot back at him.
“So?” Magnus answered.
“I don’t do it for fun!” Alec yelled, throwing his hands up. “I didn’t say to myself ‘maybe I should kiss this glittery warlock in the middle of my wedding , for fun ’--”
“Then what for?” Magnus shouted. “Why?”
Alec stared at him. Magnus was still sitting, but he was leaning forwards, hands on his knees, glaring at Alec. Except his eyes and the fact that he had just raised his voice at him for the first time, he was the picture of composure.
“Are you really asking me?” Alec said quietly, furious. “Do you really need me to tell you? Do you really not know?”
Magnus looked aside for a moment, then looked back at Alec, defiant. “Of course I--”
“I can’t,” Alec said, tugging at his shirt collar. “I can’t think in here. It’s too hot, the music--”
“You were perfectly fine with it yesterday,” Magnus commented.
“I was drunk yesterday,” Alec retorted, “and we were in Brazil, the actual country, instead of in your overly warmed loft with Brazilian food. In the real world outside, it’s snowing and cold and-- it’s real.”
“Why do you have to stay chained to reality, Alexander?” Magnus said earnestly. “Why do we have to be in Brazil to listen to the music?”
“We don’t-- that’s not my point!”
“Then what is?”
Alec took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and let it out shakily. Shit. Out loud, he said, “I don't know. I want… to know. And this--”
He opened his eyes and saw Magnus on his feet, on the other side of the table, poised as if he was about to jump over the table towards Alec. His eyes were still hazel, but they were soft, and--
Full of fear.
And it came crashing down on Alec, like an unexpected wave on a calm sea.
“You--” Alec choked, then swallowed convulsively and continued hoarsely, “You're not-- you don't know either?”
Magnus gulped, and Alec snapped. “I can't take this,” he said woodenly. “I need some fresh air.” Spinning on his heel, he walked to the door, left, and slammed it behind him.
---
Of all the things he thought that he would be using his stamina rune for on Christmas Eve, staving off the cold because he stormed out of the loft to brood on the roof wasn't one of them.
Brooklyn was laid out in front of him, glittering and cold. The snow crunched under his boots, and his hair blew loose in the wind. But his eyes gazed out over the city unseeing, and his mind whirled, replaying the night’s events.
Did he make a mistake, staying with Magnus after that conversation in the hallway? Were they really looking for the same thing? Because Alec had thrown himself into the relationship, and he didn’t know how deep in Magnus was. He was as emotionally invested as he could be, and Magnus always seemed as if he was a step away from dismissing him as a temporary distraction.
“You are a distraction, Alexander,” a soft voice came from behind him, and Alec spun around. Magnus was standing there, barefoot, snow falling silently on his hair, cat eyes glowing. He was shivering, but it didn’t come across in his voice.
“You were muttering that last part to yourself, darling, I couldn’t help but hear it,” Magnus explained. “I can’t read minds, and I’m not using magic at all. This is not the time.”
Alec could only stare. Magnus was always the master of projection, easy and smooth, powerful and commanding - and he was shivering, barefoot, on the roof of a Brooklyn loft.
“You’re a distraction,” Magnus continued. “You disarm me. When I told you that you’ve unlocked something in me, it wasn’t just the need for a companion. It was you. Your--” He motioned towards Alec with one hand. “Your everything. Your heart, and your dedication. Your single-minded devotion to doing what was right. Your earnestness. The fact that my words, that I use as armor and weapons, made you laugh. And your laugh, Alexander--” Magnus shivered. “Oh, Alec, it was the purest form of honesty I have ever received. It was like a gift, every time.
“And I never thought that you would choose me,” Magnus said, voice shaking, “and when you chose me, I didn’t think it would last.” His hands reached out for Alec’s, who grasped both of Magnus’s hands between his, rubbing them mindlessly to warm them up as he watched Magnus, mesmerised.
“So I treated this like my dalliances of the past,” he continued bitterly, “and I’m afraid I’ve ruined it.”
Alec shook his head numbly. “You haven’t,” he murmured, pulling Magnus to his chest and wrapping his arms around the shivering warlock. “You just have to treat this like it’s real. No more running away from responsibility. For both of us.”
“Does that mean we can’t take any whirlwind vacations to faraway locations unless we fly there in airplanes?” Magnus asked, voice muffled by Alec’s chest.
Alec laughed, and Magnus burrowed deeper into his chest. “Of course not,” he said hoarsely. “But it means that before you transform a holiday that is insignificant to you into a replica of our previous date, you ask, because this holiday does mean something to me.”
“You didn’t like the food?”
“The food was good.”
“And the alcohol?”
“You know I liked the alcohol.”
“Well,” Magnus countered, “we’re outside in the cold. That leaves one last thing you didn’t like.” And with a snap of his fingers, a jaunty folksy tune began playing, and Magnus took a step back, holding his hand out to Alec, eyes glistening.
“May I have this dance?”
“This isn't your standard tune, Magnus,” Alec said, eyebrows drawn together as a grin slowly bloomed on his face.
Magnus shrugged. “Words have power,” he said simply, and then his eyes glinted as he smiled. “Besides, if this evening has taught me anything, it's that I ought to learn new things, and adapt myself. Especially,” and here he took a deep breath and caught Alec's gaze, “if what - or who - hangs in the balance is dear to me.”
After a few moments of breathless shock, and joy, Alec smiled and took Magnus’s hand, kissing it.
Stumbling through the maze that was human feelings wasn’t as hard when someone was there to stumble with you, and as Alec placed his hands on Magnus’s waist, he let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. “I’m glad you’re here with me,” he said, and Magnus stood on his tiptoes to kiss Alec sweetly, chastely.
“This is so cliche,” he muttered. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”
And they danced, moving and laughing, eyes softening and sweet kisses exchanged, under the silvery light of the holiday lights.
---
“Izzy, stop yelling-- Isabelle!”
Alec was pacing around the kitchen island, holding the phone a safe distance away from his ear. He could still hear his sister yelling at him.
“Izzy, it’s-- IZZY!” he yelled. “It’s not my fault that Magnus is sick--”
“Technically it is,” Magnus said from the couch, although how Alec heard him from beyond his several layers of blankets and pulled up hoodie, he had no idea.
Alec turned around and glared at him. Magnus stuck out his tongue, then sneezed.
“ Did he just say it was your fault? ”
“Izzy--”
A long-suffering sigh came over the line, and Alec’s stomach clenched. He had forgotten that he and Magnus weren’t alone in the world, and even though yesterday night was a dream, he was brought back to reality by Magnus sneezing through the night and waking up with a sore throat and a severe headache.
Which is bound to happen when you dance on a snowy rooftop, barefoot.
It was an hour to their appointed post-Christmas celebration, and Alec had just called Izzy to tell her that he wasn’t going to be there. So far, she wasn’t happy.
“ If this is a ploy to get out of it-- ”
“This isn’t a fucking ploy, Isabelle,” Alec snapped, and Magnus sneezed. “I’m-- I was going to bring Magnus. We talked things over yesterday. But, this--”
“ I have an idea, ” Isabelle said flatly. “ And it better work. ” Then, a dial tone.
Alec sighed and closed his eyes. “Porque eu,” he muttered. “Porque.”
“Now that’s adorable,” Magnus rasped from the sofa. “You and your Portugese.”
“Well,” Alec said, padding over to Magnus and plopping down on the other side of the sofa, rubbing Magnus’s leg comfortingly, “I’m working on refreshing it. I used to be able to hold an entire conversation in the language, but it got sidelined in favor of Latin and modern Greek.”
Magnus peeked out of his covers. He looked wan and tired, but his eyes were soft, softer than Alec had ever seen them. It was as if they had been together for years and years, not a few scant months. “How many languages do you know, Alexander?”
Alec stared at him, then grinned suddenly, bright and wide. “Why are you asking?”
“Well,” Magnus started, and stalled. Alec sniggered, and Magnus scowled.
“Are you teasing your sick boyfriend?” he asked. “That’s cruel.”
“No, Magnus,” Alec, still chortling, said. “Cruel is sending me to get a pot of chicken soup from a woman down the block, telling me - specifically - to apologize for interrupting her Christmas, and neglecting to tell me that she is Jewish.”
“She told me that she was very amused,” Magnus said, the picture of innocence, besides the quirking corners of his mouth, barely visible over the blanket.
“Yeah,” Alec said, hoisting himself up and taking Magnus’s empty soup bowl with him to the kitchen, “I was mostly embarrassed.”
“See, but I knew that you would poke fun at me,” Magnus said, “so call this a preemptive strike.”
After Magnus had another bowl of chicken soup and Alec had some leftover brigadeiros, they snoozed on the couch; Magnus was stretched out on the long and deep sofa, with Alec’s head pillowed on his torso. They were both in pajamas, as comfortable as they could be, and as Alec snuggled into the mound of blankets that was Magnus, he truly began relaxing into this new cozy version of their relationship.
“Alexander,” Magnus murmured after a while, “I hate to be the bearer of bad news.”
“Mmmm?” Alec said, raising his head and propping it up to look at Magnus, hair tousled and eyes half-lidded.
“Your entire family just disembarked from two taxicabs in front of this building.”
Alec stared at him. “Are you fucking with me.”
“No.”
“Is this a sort of revenge for beforehand.”
“No.”
Alec stared at him some more, then closed his eyes, sweared low and fast in a language Magnus didn’t recognize but definitely wanted to hear again, and leaped up.
He was stuffing tissues into the garbage in the kitchen when a knock was heard on the door. Alec sped to the door, peered through the eyehole, then reeled back to actually rub his eyes and peek again.
Because his mother was there, in her overcoat and a pair of sweatpants and fuzzy slippers, her face stony and her arms laden with food.
Behind her were Robert, Isabelle and Max, in similar attire; Isabelle was grinning with a ferocious edge, Robert just looked worried, and Max was bouncing off the walls with excitement, his Christmas-themed pajamas brightening up the cinderblock walls just by existing.
“Let them in, Alexander,” Magnus said from behind him; he had shuffled off the couch and dropped part of the blankets to stand beside him. “They all have innoculation runes like you, don’t they?”
“Yeah, but--”
“And I’m hedging a guess that they’re as tired as you were,” Magnus said softly, and put his arm around Alec’s waist. “So let’s take advantage of the festivities and let them in.”
Alec placed his hand over Magnus’s on his waist, and Magnus smiled.
“Also, that sweet potato pie Robert is holding looks divine.”
---
It was awkward at first, and to say anything else would be a damn lie. People shuffled around each other, even after Isabelle loudly proclaimed that this was the new family leaf and people were to be civil and nice.
But after Magnus showed Max his collection of famous momentos from throughout history, and after Isabelle had taken Robert out to the balcony to show him the defenses Magnus had built in to the building, Alec found himself in the kitchen, stirring a pot of pre-dinner hot cocoa.
“A cinnamon stick,” a timid voice came from behind him, and at first, Alec didn’t understand who it was. And then his mom came to stand next to him, hands shoved deep into her hoodie pockets, and he realized with a jolt that he had never heard her speak timidly before.
“What?”
“I used to add a cinnamon stick to the cocoa at this stage,” she said, glancing at him quickly and then looking back at the pot. “Of course you-- you don’t have--”
A quiet plink made Maryse jump, and she looked back at the pot just in time to see the cinnamon stick slip under the surface.
“I always knew,” Alec said quietly, stirring slowly now. “It was always magical to me, before that. And after that, I found out that I could create that kind of magic on my own.”
Maryse looked at Alec silently, then whispered, “Does this mean you don’t need me anymore?”
Alec looked at her and slowly shook his head. His hand never stopped stirring. “No,” he said. “I need you. But,” and here he took a deep breath, “not enough to compromise myself.”
“Or Magnus,” she said, and he nodded, shutting off the flame, the sharp click of the gas dial sounding throughout the room.
They stood there, side by side, silently looking at the hot cocoa, and Maryse sighed.
“It won’t be easy,” she finally said. “But it’s important.”
Alec nodded. “I understand.” Then he looked at her; her jaw was set, her eyes were streaming tears, and her shoulders were shaking. Unthinkingly, he wrapped one arm around her shoulders; she spun and buried her face in his sweatshirt, breathing evenly but still crying silently.
“Thank you,” he whispered, and kissed the top of her head.
Magnus glanced up from the chess game he was playing with Max and caught sight of Alec hugging his mother. For a moment, their gazes met, and the final piece of the puzzle clicked home for Alec.
---
The next time he came home, he let himself in with his own key.