Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Tuesday 11:43am

Alec stares at the digits in the bottom right corner of his computer screen, swears he can hear the ticking of a clock in his head. He wills it to go faster, knows it won’t, but tries anyways.

Two minutes is all he needs, honestly.

He thinks of his bag in the fridge. Boring, brown, and crumpled from re-use the day before. It’s the treasure it holds that has his stomach responding, begging the gods that preside over this particular section of pixels to somehow speed up time.

He’s starving, hungers for the leftover chicken pasta that graced his and Izzy’s dinner table last night. If he thinks really hard he can even taste the hint of cream on the back of his tongue, heavy and savory. Maybe that’s just his saliva. Maybe he’s died from hunger and has gone insane.

His eyes are drawn back to the screen when the numbers change with sloth-like speed and the mantra of food food food in his mind bring him to his feet, his chair protesting at the sudden movement.

Nobody notices, nobody cares but him that he’s going to lunch 15 minutes early, and he likes it that way. He prefers the company of his grumbling stomach and beeping of the microwave before the only sounds in the room are scrapes of his utensils against the tupperware and content sighs of happiness. It’s his favorite part of the day, the 15 minutes he gets to himself before he prepares for the drama and insipid tales of parties he has no interest in ever attending that his coworkers like to push on him.

His coworkers aren’t bad, if he’s honest. They’re normal for the most part, and he’s done his best to stay in the relatively good graces of almost everyone. Everyone near him, at least.

Alec doesn’t venture very far in terms of cubicles, choosing to stay contained and focused on his work. But sometimes when he’s been away from Izzy for too long he’ll feel the creepings of loneliness and a need for human interaction and he’ll drag himself down two-to-the- right- one-up until he’s peering over the edge of Simon’s cubicle wall, patient and waiting until the bespectacled boy offers him a story about his band’s gig the previous week, or wistful stories about his best friend that’s just a friend, and he’s totally not in love with her, shut up Alec why are you laughing?

So things could be worse, he thinks to himself as he reaches into the refrigerator for the paper bag and settles himself into his favorite chair with his back against the wall. He could have coworkers that are raucous and annoying, who squawk and screech when they talk. Or he could—

Thief!

Alec’s body is still, his hand tucked into the crumpled bag before him, body heavy and cold with the realization that his pasta is gone.

He digs, quick and rushed, unforgiving to the bag he won’t be able to reuse tomorrow but that’s the least of his worries right now. His fucking pasta is missing. He removes what’s left of his lunch, staring desolately at the tupperware of mixed fruit and bag of crackers, something purple and foreign stuck beneath them.

He grabs it, a piece of paper that’s been neatly folded into fourths, opens it up with shaky fingers that he’s sure is from the lack of food in his system and not at all from the completely valid and necessary outrage he’s filled with.

Sorry! I’ll pay you back!

The loopy scrawl looks elegant but does nothing to quell his rising blood pressure or satisfy the ache in his stomach. He crumples the paper, tosses it into the trash bin across the room where it belongs, and snaps his tupperware lid open to stab at his fruit with a fork that really doesn’t deserve the harsh treatment.

He’s going to find out who did this, and he’s going to…

Well, Alec is too hungry to think of what he’s going to do to them, but he knows it’s going to be bad. Very bad.

--–

Wednesday 11:34am

The low hum of keyboards and the occasional mouse clicking that he’s used to doesn’t calm Alec’s racing thoughts like it normally does, doesn’t try to lull him into the dream-like trance of his peers. Most days it does, but today is not most days.

Today is the day Alec has begun to see his coworkers for what they really are. He doesn’t care if Lydia—who sits in the adjoining cubicle to his left—is pristine in her work and mannerisms and polite to a fault. Doesn’t care that she’s always polished and perfect in the coworker handbook, which doesn’t exist but really should because who steals people’s lunch? What he does care about is that he knows for a fact Lydia still has a stack of post-it notes she asked to borrow last week, a pack that has been almost completely used up to leave reminders and notes around her desk. She still hasn’t given them back, or offered him a new pack, and Alec pushes back the errant reminder in the back of his head that she offered and he refused.

Because now she’s a suspect and he trusts no one.

He stands, slowly as not to arouse suspicion, and when he passes her desk he does a quick glance around to see if he notices anything else that belongs to him on the dark wood.

As hard as he tries, Lydia is perceptive and offers Alec the same picturesque smile she always does, teeth white and blinding in the fluorescence, and Alec does his best to hold in his guilt at his mental accusation.

He’s early to the break room, earlier than usual, and he hopes that he’s rewarded with the mouthwatering teriyaki chicken and rice he prepared for today. It’s one of his favorites, and he feels his mouth flood with just the thought.

He grabs at the crisp paper bag, sets himself down in his usual chair and reaches in to find—

Money?

There’s a note with it, red paper embellished with little gold swirls that trap the $20 bill.

Sorry again mon petit chef !

Hopefully this covers whatever I’ve stolen

I promise I’m not a bad person, just hungry!

Your food is the best. ♡

He’s infuriated. This monster is mocking him now, taking the time to doodle on apologetic notes while he savors every last bite of Alec’s carefully cooked meal. They have the time for jokes and notes, surely they have the time to bring their own damn lunch.

The only thing left in his bag is the empty, but thankfully washed, tupperware he had packed this morning. Damn it, he thinks as he shoves his fingers through his hair and heads over to the vending machine, angrily forcing the crisp bill through the slot and punching in his choices. Chips and cookies, highly nutritious and sure to get Alec through the day in a wonderful mood.

He jabs at the coin return button a few times with no response, and when he glances down he can’t help the strangled noise that leaves his throat and the anger that forms a prickle at the corners of his eyes.

Machine does not give change.

He’s never used the vending machine before, not in his one and a half years has he ever needed to. But now…

Now, he’s forced to sit at his table with a defeated sigh and $20 worth of snacks.

--–

Thursday, Alec comes prepared.

In the morning he comes in wary with his lunch held close to his chest, and he sets it down in the same spot as always. Only this time, there’s a note taped to the front of his bag, a yellow post-it note that he hopes gives Lydia a hint, whether she’s the culprit or not. “Stop eating my lunch” it reads, big bold and to the point. Just like Alec.

The day passes uneventfully, and though he’s confident nobody will be touching the cut up steak, potatoes and veggies in his bag this time, he’s still suspicious of everyone.

Simon comes over to pass him a flyer for his show tonight, bright orange and the art is drawn by my best friend Clary, she’s so amazing isn’t she? I mean it, it’s amazing artwork. You know in a few years time this will probably be worth a lot of money, like a collector’s edition or--

Alec’s ambiguous stare unsettles Simon and he adds a weirded out “Dude are you, like, okay?” before he shrugs and heads back to his own cubicle, Alec’s undecided eyes following his every movement with a sharpness he’s never needed to hone until now.

Perhaps he’s covering up, trying to extend an olive branch beyond the monetary.

Alec won’t accept, though. Won’t forgive and forget until he knows for certain that it’s Simon, and has a confession straight from the source. Why doesn’t Simon just admit that he’s been taking Alec’s lunch and apologize? Why does he have to do it in a roundabout way now that he’s been called out? Be a man, Simon Lewis. Admit your defeat, and stop eating my lunch.

At 11:45 Alec’s visit to the refrigerator is prompt and purposeful, renewed with vigor because he has no reason to believe his lunch has been stolen again. Not until he’s sat on his chair with another empty container and note, livid.

Or what?

I’ve repaid you for my trespasses.

Sorry again, mon petit chef!

Today was especially tasty.

xo

Fuck.

--–

Friday’s plan is foolproof, Alec smiles to himself, whistling as he steps up to his chair and sets his thermos and rustled paper bag on his desk. It’s unseemly, looking out of place and cluttered, but it’s a precaution he has been forced to take now, because he’s figured out how to get out of this predicament he’s been caught in all week.

Gone are the days he comes home, starving to the point of exhaustion because Alec really does rely on his lunch to get him through the days. It’s hard to concentrate on numbers that begin to jumble together on a flickering screen that only agitates the pounding in his temples.

So he’s decided that he’ll bring a lunch that wont spoil on his desk, something that will still be edible after 4 hours of room temperature climate. He’s testing it with his favorite soup, chicken noodle with extra chicken and veggies, his broth rich and hot filled with all the flavors that make his mouth water.

Perhaps having his food in such close proximity to him all day is not the best idea. He eyes the thermos, then shakes his head because he’s being ridiculous now. He’ll survive, and at 11:45 when it’s time for lunch his soup will still be warmed and tasty and completely untouched by him or any conspiring coworkers.

Only by the time lunch rolls around his thermos is only half-full and he’s already got cracker crumbs on his shirt because self-control is severely underrated and Alec is literally hungry all day long. So he savors what’s left of his lukewarm soup, tips his head back to drink the leftover vegetable bits and pieces that have settled at the bottom of his thermos with a grimace. It’s not the worst lunch, but it’s not satisfying and the high hopes he had set himself on this morning are shattered like the last cracker he crunches in his mouth.

At 12:40 he’s about to head back to his desk when curiosity strikes him.

Slowly, as if he wasn’t sure what would be on the other side of the door, he pulls open the refrigerator. His stomach twists bizarrely when he sees the carefully tented green paper in the spot he normally leaves his lunch. It looks oddly fitting, he thinks for a moment, like it belongs there instead of the unsightly brown paper bag he always leaves. He reaches for it, turning it over and feeling the weightlessness of it on his palm, despite how heavy it feels in his chest.

Mon petit chef -

I’m sorry if I’ve scared you off.

Here’s to hoping Monday brings new gifts.

Enjoy your weekend.

xo ,

M.B.

Alec feels his face heat up, warmer than he’s ever felt in the confines of his kitchen with the fire high and wrapped in the air. The irritation sparks up again, and Alec doesn’t know why he suddenly feels so embarrassed and intrigued, but he knows it’s all too much to take in right now so he stuffs the note in his pocket and stomps to his desk.

He scans the room before he sits down, most people are in the break room enjoying their lunch before the hour is up. Most people except Catarina Loss, three-to-the-right-two-down, who meets his eyes with a patient smile. Alec pauses, for the briefest moment he wonders if this is his thief, M.B., but then she looks away, returns back to her work as quiet and unnoticed as always.

He doesn’t know much about her, and he makes a mental note to get whatever information he can out of Simon later without being obvious.

--–

Monday brings Alec in with hesitant, unsure steps, and he feels as if he’s walking into a bad idea.

He sets his bag down on his desk, pulls out two brown paper bags, and stares.

He would probably look insane if anyone walked by, watching these two lunch bags with such intensity he’s surprised they don’t burst into flames, but he’s early and Raj who sits behind him is the only one around at this time. Alec doesn’t care about Raj, nobody likes Raj. He’s an ass and if he wants to look at his lunch bags for 5 minutes then Raj can screw off.

Chill, Alec, he can hear Jace’s words repeated in his mind. He sort of had a panic attack at Jace’s house Sunday afternoon when he realized he had no idea what he was going to do about Monday’s lunch.

Jace knows about Alec’s lunch dilemma. Knows a little, at least. Enough for Alec’s freak out to seem a little less random and crazy.

But still a freak out nonetheless, and now Jace isn’t here to calm him down, but he’s got his affirmation in his head that it’s really not a big deal, it’s just lunch.

He snatches the offending bags, taking quick steps to the refrigerator where he sets them down side by side, one lightly rumpled bag next to an unblemished bag with the simple letters M.B. on them.

What the hell is he doing? He must be losing it. All these numbers and long hours in a stuffy office all day long are turning his brain to mush and now he’s making lunch for his thief—not his thief. A thief. A lunch thief.

Damn it!

This shouldn’t be complicated at all, this shouldn’t even be a thing for heaven’s sake. It’s just lunch, it’s not a date and he doesn’t even know who’s on the other side of these notes. He’s acting like a teenager with these silly games.

His fingers twitch, ready to reach out and snatch the bag to toss it in the rubbish along with any other stupid ideas he might have come up with, but he leaves it alone. Whatever this is, he’s being dumb about it, because it’s just food and maybe his mom would be proud or something, because Alec is feeding the less fortunate.

With a nod, Alec regains his composure and heads back to his desk, feigning the confidence he sure as hell doesn’t feel, and when he slumps in his chair it’s definitely not because of a stupid lunch bag.

--–

11:45 comes so slow Alec is surprised he isn’t bald from ripping his hair out with each passing minute that feels like an hour.

He stands, an attempt that was intended to be slow and purposeful but comes off as awkward and causes him to sway with misstep. Nobody sees, but he feels stupid regardless.

While nobody notices him in his cubicle, he sees the usual smile from Lydia as he passes her, but this time Catarina is watching him and they make eye contact on his trip to the break room. Her expression is calculated, studying his movements and he hopes to god he doesn’t trip and embarrass himself.

When he opens the refrigerator he’s disappointed to see the brown bag with the initials back in place, looking as though it hasn’t been touched. He grabs it to toss it away so he doesn’t have to take home the shame of his failed attempts at—

Alec pauses, because he doesn’t even know what he would call this. Friendship? Peace offering?

Whatever it is, he’s done with it for good.

When he lifts the bag, though, it’s light and the food inside has clearly been consumed.

He grabs his own bag and hurriedly makes his way to his seat, reaching in unceremoniously to retrieve the folded note he’s hoping is in there. He’s victorious, and he knows he looks bonkers with the huge grin on his face but he doesn’t care because he’s alone for now, and he’ll smile if he wants to. He sets the note down on the table, his eyes tracing over every letter slowly, admiring the swooping penmanship that he wants to rewrite with his fingertips.

Mon petit chef -

Today’s gift was from the Angels themselves .

I feel very special, so I’ll answer your request.

Looking forward to tomorrow.

xo,

Magnus

He picks at his food, for the next 15 minutes, rolling the name he’s asked for over in his head, tastes it on his lips like the sweetest word he’s ever said. Magnus.

It’s impossible to get back to work after lunch, but Alec does his best, honestly tries so hard to focus on the numbers in front of him but it eludes him. So he welcomes the distraction when Simon pops into Alec’s space, typing away at his phone and half-attentive to his own story that he’s regaling Alec with.

“—and then Maureen was like ‘Oh, Simon, you’re so smart you should be the one running this place!’ and guess who walks past the office?”

Alec gives a noncommittal grunt, and that’s enough for Simon because he continues.

“Mr. Bane!” His voice is grave and he stops plucking at his phone to watch Alec’s reaction, deflates when the only response is a raised eyebrow. “C’mon Alec, work with me here. Mr. Bane,” he repeats as though that will get the point across.

Alec shrugs. Simon rolls his eyes.

“Mr. Bane is the guy who runs this place. He’s like the Sam Walton of Walmart.”

“Sam Walton Bane is a weird name,” Alec responds, his fingers tapping quickly at the keypad to his right. He’s good at multi-tasking.

Simon groans and smacks his palm to his forehead in an over-dramatic show of frustration. Simon has always been a bit over the top, but Alec supposes he has to be since he sort of owns a band. “No, Sam Walton is the guy that invented Walmart or whatever, you know the big chain? Magnus Bane is the guy that invented this place,” he supplies, though his voice comes out dejected because he’s sure Alec isn’t even interested anymore, if he ever was.

But Alec’s brain halts suddenly, his fingers ceasing all function at the mention of the name he’s been repeating all day to himself.

“Wh-What?”

“Dude, if you’re not gonna listen I’m gonna go talk to Maureen,” Simon sigh and steps away from Alec’s desk where he was leaning against it. He’s ready to leave, takes the first few steps out of the cubicle before Alec seizes his arm, tugging harshly to bring Simon back. “Ow! The hell?”

“Who did you say invented this place?” The words sound stupid coming out of his mouth, he knows that’s not the proper way to say it, it’s Simon-speak, but he doesn’t care. His brain is on auto-pilot as it tries to catch up.

“Magnus Bane,” Simon repeats slowly, as though Alec is a child.

Magnus Bane.

M.B.

Fuck.

--–

Alec calls out sick Tuesday, his head pounding with the stampede of a million questions that will never receive an answer if he doesn’t go back to work. But curling up in his bed and burying himself in all the blankets he owns seems like a better idea, and Izzy is gone at work all day so really who’s to stop him?

Wednesday follows in the same fashion, only now he can’t stop googling pictures of Magnus, and good god, the man is literally perfect. He’s so gorgeous it makes his heart feel tender with loneliness because he knows Magnus is way out of his league. Magnus works 2 floors above him—well, Alec uses the term work loosely, because when you’re the head bitch in charge, what do you even do?

Oh god, he’s just called Magnus a bitch.

Magnus doesn’t know, can’t possibly know, but Alec still feels sheepish, and he ducks his head under his pillow to suffocate his shame.

Not 5 minutes later, he’s got his nose pressed to his phone as he takes in the glorious sight of Magnus Bane on the cover of some trite magazine. He looks exactly like his notes would paint him to be, Alec thinks, sighing as he scrolls to the next photo. That’s how Izzy finds him hours later, cheeks flushed and jittery, thoughts and images of a man so unattainable Alec wants to cry.

–--

Thursday is sluggish and slow for Alec, his body genuinely retaliating against him for forcing house-arrest on it, depriving it of the essential vitamins and exercise it’s used to. He blames his inability to concentrate on this fact, and when he tosses two lunch bags into the refrigerator in the morning, he holds tight to this excuse. He’s too out of it to think straight, to really deduce why he still brought an extra lunch for Magnus.

Why is he bringing Magnus lunch in the first place? The man has enough money to quit his company and live lavishly until he dies. Not that Alec wants to think about Magnus dying.

Mr. Bane, he should be saying instead. Because he really doesn’t know Magnus enough to be on a first name basis with his boss.

Little lunch-time notes from a stranger are one thing, but now that he’s wholly aware of the situation, this has to be the last of it. There has to be something against feeding your boss delicious food every day and getting flirty little notes in return, he’s sure of it.

Something stirs in his peripheral on his way back, and he sees Catarina frowning at him, though she remains silent.

He’s so lost, he doesn’t know what’s going on in this place anymore. His boss is stealing his food and flirting with him via notes like a kid, his coworkers are watching his every move, and on top of it all he hasn’t told anyone Magnus’ identity so he’s all alone in this.

By the time 11:45 comes around Alec isn’t even hungry, his mouth is satisfied with the nervous energy it’s consuming because he’s got plenty of it right now.

He opens the refrigerator to see his two bags unmoved, checks Magnus’ to make sure, and sits back in his seat dejectedly when it’s true.

There’s a noise at the door to the break room, followed by a soft click, but Alec is too preoccupied in his thoughts to notice.

He’s pushing around forkfuls of his spaghetti, jabbing his fork rather forcefully into one meatball in particular, but it does nothing to settle his nerves. He hears noise to his side, the soft tap of expensive shoes on tile, the door to the refrigerator squeaking open, the rustle of a brown paper bag with the initials M.B., and his heart races a few beats faster than normal.

“Is this seat taken?” the melodic voice questions, and Alec feels his jaw lock up, his body tense around the tupperware in front of him.

“N-Not at all,” Alec stutters. Dear lord, have mercy on his soul.

Beside him, hand grasped on the back of the only other chair at Alec’s table, is Magnus Bane, asking to sit next to him. Him, of all people.

Alec’s eyes travel first to the fingers curled around the plastic of the chair as he pulls it out, to the slender arm that connects to an equally slender but toned body and how does he even fucking know that? How can he tell what’s underneath the suit and tie Magnus is wearing?

Surely the hundreds of google images don’t factor in. No.

Alec gulps, and he finally meets the hesitant but curious gaze before him and jesus christ this man is beautiful.

“Thank you, Alexander,” he speaks, his words pouring out of him like warm honey. And Alec chokes. He chokes, on what he has no idea, but he chokes in front of Magnus Bane.

“H-How… My name?”

It sounds stupid, he sounds like he can barely string a sentence together, and Magnus watches him. He can see he’s trying not to laugh, of course he knows Alec’s name, he’s probably done his own research on his employees, and he’s obviously caught on that Alec knows exactly who he is and he wonders if maybe google ratted him out to Magnus about his search history, because the smug look is awfully suspicious.

“Would you prefer I call you mon petit chef?”

The magical laugh makes the teasing almost worth it, but Alec is beyond mortified now, because what does someone say to that?

Magnus reaches across the table, his fingers graceful and soft as they brush along Alec’s chin to tilt it back into place. And Alec doesn’t say anything, won’t ever mention the way Magnus lets his fingers linger on Alec’s skin to anyone, or the way he feels electric in all the spots Magnus touches.

“N-No. No thank you,” he murmurs, not sure why he’s being so polite when this is clearly not a formal setting, but rationalizing it to the fact that Magnus is his boss and also so insanely gorgeous and Alec is just so average that there’s no way he can form coherent thoughts in his presence.

“Your cooking really is quite heavenly,” Magnus manages, popping open the lid to his tupperware, Alec’s tupperware, that looks so dingy and dirty in Magnus’ polished hands. It all feels so very domestic, despite Alec having never sat across from anyone so brilliant and extraordinary in his life.

Staring at him now, face-to-face, Alec thinks that the photographs and magazine covers don’t do him the justice he deserves, don’t quite capture the immortality and timelessness of his face.

“I’m glad you like it,” Alec says softly, his gaze everywhere but Magnus, because even though they’re drawn to him like moths to flame, it’s too much to bear for a prolonged period of time.

But there’s time, he hears the whisper of the words in his head, feels them stretch across his consciousness with the promise of the future.

He’s only just met Magnus, only started his silly correspondence a little over a week ago, but he feels a connection he didn’t know he was missing.

Suddenly, a questions pops into his head and passes through the filter of his mouth before he can stop it, a question he’s been mulling over for days now since he found out who Magnus was.

“Why did you steal my lunch?”

Magnus laughs, loud and genuine and Alec basks in the sound, feels it warm the shakiness in his sweaty palms still.

“Catarina is one of my oldest friends,” he begins, his eyes twinkling. “I came to visit her one afternoon for lunch and I saw you sitting in here alone, in that very seat.” Alec feels the heat rise to his face and he shifts uncomfortably at how predictable and boring he is. “I thought to myself, ‘what is this gorgeous man doing here all alone?’ And then you took a bite of your food, closed your eyes and looked so peaceful that I decided then and there I needed to try this amazing food.”

Alec balks, his mouth threatening to fall open again, but he attempts to keep his composure. Magnus looks pleased with himself.

“You could have just asked me to make you something,” he whispers, more of a thought to himself than to Magnus, but he hears it anyways and gives a low hum.

“Where’s the fun in that?”

Where indeed, Alec thinks, and he takes a bite of his lunch he’s made for them today, peering up at Magnus through his lashes, watching his response as he takes his first bite of the dish. And maybe Alec’s in the wrong profession because the soft moan and euphoric look on Magnus’ face makes Alec feel more accomplished than a day filled with numbers and data entry.

The humor that their first meal together being pasta is not lost on Alec, and he smiles across at his lunch thief, wondering if he’s going to steal more than just his food.

He kinda hopes he will.

Chapter Text

Friday 7:50am  

Alec has to quit his job. 

He has to, there’s no alternative. 

Why did he have to go along with this whole lunch-time business anyways? Why did he have to instigate a thief in the breakroom? He could have let it be, could have begun to scout out restaurants nearby to get his lunch from instead. But no. He had to go on and make food for Magnus, to allow these shenanigans to continue despite not knowing that it was his boss on the other end of it. 

Not that he’s blaming Magnus. Magnus is perfect, and sweet, and funny, and god his hair is always— 

Get a hold of yourself, idiot!  

He knows he looks a hot mess when Raj turns around at the sound of his grumbling, watching him until they make eye contact. He wants to shout at him to mind his own business because fuck Raj, but he also doesn’t want to get reported to HR.  

Oh god, he didn’t even think about HR. Is this something that needs to be reported? Does he need to go and let them know he’s been making his boss lunch and he’s ogled pictures of him online in his spare time? He’s accepted money from Magnus, does that count as embezzlement? 

Never mind quitting his job, he’s going to be fired. Alec’s never been fired before. 

He scrubs at his face with blunt fingers, tries to focus on anything other than the swirling storm of thoughts in his brain. The room is filling up with his coworkers now, bleary-eyed but ready to get through the day because it’s a Friday and the weekend is full of the promise of relaxation. For them, at least. For Alec it’s filled with dread and confusion and fuck he might just be a little dramatic. He needs to stop hanging out with Simon. 

With a resigned slump, he clicks his computer to life and waits for it to boot up, forcing his mind to stay clear.  

---

The day is going by achingly slow for a Friday.  

Not that Alec is counting down the hours until he’s off or anything. He would never. 

It’s 10:22 when he decides to take his break, and the dryness of his eyes thanks him. Alec usually sits at his desk during his fifteen when he’s not being bothered by his coworkers. Sometimes he’ll go sit in the breakroom and make himself a cup of coffee, but today he feels restless. He needs to move. 

With a sigh, he stands and looks around the room, takes in the tops of everyone’s head past the cubicles they occupy.  

Simon is the only one who looks up, all smiles and hand waving in the air like a lunatic. Alec wants to ignore him, wants to make a point of purposely sitting back down in his desk because it’s Simon, but he remembers he needs the distraction. 

“Yo, Alec!”  

Alec grunts, leans against the entrance of Simon's cubicle and tries not to notice that his desk looks like a tornado passed by, or that a toddler decorated it. There are flyers taped to the walls, each one labeled with a different band name for all of Simon’s gigs he’s performed as. He’s got a couple pictures in empty spaces, pictures of his toothy grin and a redhead that looks equally as annoying as him.  

He’s been too lost in his judgement of Simon’s work area that he doesn’t realize Simon’s asking him a question. The expectant stare behind his twinkling eyes makes him nervous. 

“Huh?” he responds, and Alec’s glad he doesn’t pride himself on his eloquence.  

Simon rolls his eyes. “I said who did you lock yourself in the breakroom with yesterday?” 

Alec stares at him, wide-eyed and terrified. Simon knows. Well, knows something. What does he say? Does he tell him about Magnus, how he steals his lunch every day and leaves flirty little notes? Now that he thinks about it, it’s probably Magnus who would get in trouble and fired. But Magnus is his boss, so if he’s gone— 

“Dude, can you like, stop zoning out? Did you sleep enough last night?” 

Alec’s not sure how long he’s been standing here for, mouth open and eyes no less dry than they were when he came to Simon’s desk. It feels like at least ten minutes. He’s not sure if Simon still wants an answer from him, and part of him is worried he’ll have to stand here forever until he can come up with some sort of lie. Simon adjusts his horribly thick glasses and sniffles in the silence, clearly still waiting. Simon doesn’t like to work; he’ll spend all day waiting for Alec and he knows it. So, he does the only thing he can think of: 

He takes a step back, then another, and continues slowly the rest of the way to his desk in silence. 

Simon’s ‘What the hell dude?’ is louder than he’d like in the quiet office, and he feels the questioning stares of more than a few of his coworkers, but he pays them no mind. With a glance back at his computer screen, he checks the time and groans to see that it’s only 10:26. 

---

Ding!  

Th click-clack of Alec’s typing pauses when he’s startled out of his mid-morning work haze, the numbers on his screen blurring together until the pop-up box of a text chat blocks them out. 

M.Bane  

Meet me in my office on your lunch break.  

Alec feels his heart stop in his chest, swears he can hear the sound of it giving up, before it beats harder and faster to catch up. “M.Bane” reads bold and clear against the white background, and the more times he re-reads the message the more his stomach tries to twist around all the other organs in his body. 

His fingers are heavy on the keyboard with insecurity as he begins to type out a response: 

A.Lightwood  

Do you want me to bring my lunch?  
 

Alec strangles a sigh in his throat, presses his palm to his forehead in much the same way Simon does when Alec makes him repeat something, and quickly erases his response. He sounds like a fucking loser, asking if he should bring his lunch with him like a little schoolboy. Think, Lightwood!  

A.Lightwood  

Was I supposed to bring extra food for you today? Wasn’t sure...  

Finger hovered over the enter button, Alec reads over his message once more before deciding that’s not the one. It’s true, he wasn’t sure if he was supposed to bring another lunch for Magnus today. Once they had finished eating yesterday’s Spaghetti the other man had sort of glided out of the room in all his glory, no game plan in mind for the following day, or the rest of their lives. But that’s probably a conversation best saved for face-to-face.  

He recalls last night's events with Izzy when he made altogether way too much curry for them to eat, offering the excuse that he read the recipe wrong and accidentally made enough for 7 people, knowing damn well his sister is not stupid and knows what’s going on. Even if Magnus doesn’t eat lunch with him today, worst case scenario is that he has enough food for the week. 

A.Lightwood  

Are you suggesting, or demanding?  

Alec stares at the screen, follows the bend and curve of every single letter to make sure it’s perfect. Why is this so hard? Why does Magnus turn him into a child who suddenly can’t form coherent thoughts? Why does Magnus make him embarrass himself in front of Simon of all people, hands down the most awkward and humiliating person on this floor? 

Before he can hit send, another message pops up below the former. 

M.Bane  

You know I can see that you’re typing, right?   

Alec erases his last message, mortified and flustered because of course Magnus can see he’s typing. He’s used the messaging system at work before, why wouldn’t he think that the person who’s waiting for his reply wouldn’t see him start and stop typing like a bumbling fool? Perfect. Quickly, he types out his final attempt and hits send, closing the box afterwards and numbly returning back to his work. 

A.Lightwood  

I’ll be there.  

---

The fifth floor is a complete change from the current floor of Alec’s office. In here, the sun is bright and warm through the wall-length windows that offer a grandiose view of the city that peeks over the skyline of Brooklyn. The walls, whatever isn’t covered by grand windows, are red and comforting and make Alec’s stomach growl to no fault of his own.  He’s heard somewhere that red is a color they use in marketing to make people feel hungry and the need to eat. Now that he plays the fact over in his mind it sounds like something he’s half-listened to Simon talk about, and he’s less inclined to believe it. 

Alec steps away from the elevator, the plush carpet beneath his shoes sinking under his weight, and even that feels rich. What have you gotten yourself into?   

“Alexander,” comes the purr from his right, and his face is already pink and stuffy in here with just the sound of his name. Maybe Magnus will just think it’s a reflection of the sun off the walls. 

Alec doesn’t trust himself to speak, so he lifts the two brown bags in his hands in response, and a tentative smile follows. Magnus beams at him and he feels the breath pull from his lungs. 

“You’re amazing,” Magnus says, opening the door to his office wide for Alec. “I’m starved!” 

A few seconds later the rustle of the bags as Alec opens them and retrieves the food is the only sound in the enormous office, and he almost feels like he’s not worthy to sit in the thickly cushioned leather chair that Magnus holds out for him. He’s too-aware of Magnus eyes burning holes into his face as he sets about his task that’s completely self-appointed when the worry starts to prod at him because now he’s scared that Magnus might think that Alec thinks he’s incapable of getting his own food out of the lunch bag. 

Alec pauses, the tupperware of curry hot against his palm since he’s preemptively heated the food in the microwave before he got in the elevator. Now he looks stupid, food in hand, so he sets it down with a jerky movement. The fork he had balanced on top of it falls to the floor with barely a thud, and Alec’s mind begins to spiral again. 

Oh god, oh god, oh god—  

“You can have my fork!” He practically shouts at Magnus, still refusing to look anywhere but at his failure.  

“Alexander,” comes the inquiring laugh. “Are you okay?” 

Unbeknownst to Magnus, he’s just asked Alec a loaded question. 

Honestly, he doesn’t know if he’s okay. Last week he was living a normal, albeit boring, life of eat, sleep, work. And now— 

Well, now he’s sitting in front of Magnus Bane, one of New York’s youngest millionaires, the one guy who holds Alec’s livelihood in the palm of his hands, could put Alec and his sister out on the street with the flick of a wrist.  

And he’s making him lunch. 

This whole day is a joke, this whole week . Simon is pulling an elaborate prank on him; he and Lydia are conspiring against Alec for putting them at the top of his suspect list of lunch thieves. That has to be it. There’s no way Magnus Bane could be sitting here in front of Alec, smiling so beautifully, everything about him sculpted by the gods themselves and he’s not religious but Alec is ready to get on his knees and pray in front of him any moment now. 

Magnus’ smile is patient and kind when Alec forces himself out of his thoughts, and he genuinely feels like an ass. 

He’s hyping up Magnus for no reason, he knows only what he’s read in the magazines and interviews when he had his freak out a few days ago, but here is this man sitting in front of him, willing to wait for Alec to chill the fuck out. 

He inhales, deeply, but not so deep he’ll choke again, and releases it with a shuddered sigh.  

“Better?” 

Alec's smile is thankful when he glances at Magnus. He notices that Magnus is sitting in the replicated chair beside him instead of the ornate desk chair opposite him, tries not to think about it right now, but files it away for tonight when he’s lying in bed, swooning over a man he has no right to swoon over.  

“Better,” he nods, and pops open his container of curry, the smell wafting into his senses and making his nose tingle. Magnus copies him, seeming to savor the moment just as much as he is, and Alec waits and studies him. 

He watches as Magnus takes the fork he must have procured from the floor during Alec’s craziness, watches him pierce through the food and scoop a small bite into his mouth. He shifts in his spot when he sees the dark-lined eyes close and hears the soft whimper of satisfaction that exhales through his breath. Alec feels hungry, he feels it deep in the pit of his stomach, but he’s not sure anymore what it’s for.  

---

The walk back to his cubicle is more nerve-wracking than the walk up to Magnus’ office. It’s not because anything particularly eventful happened upstairs, he and Magnus ate in companionable silence, occasionally bringing up light topics that were safe enough that Alec felt he could actually speak.   

Magnus must have sensed his near-immediate ability to freak out over any little thing and taken pity on him.  

No, he’s not nervous anymore because of anything Magnus has done, but rather that horrible, vile, wretched Simon Lewis.  

Alec's late, he’ll give the guy that. It’s currently 1:05 and he’s effectively taken an eighty-minute lunch. Somehow, he thinks the boss will be okay with it, considering Magnus planted himself firmly in front of the elevators and wouldn’t let him leave until Alec handed over his phone so he could put himself in the contacts. His heart thumps a little faster at the memory that’s only a few minutes old, and Alec shakes it out of his head quick enough to give himself whiplash. 

Nothing is more important right now than this walk of shame that’s been forced on him by Simon, someone he trusted and believed to be a workplace-acquaintance-that-calls-himself-a-friend.  

“Alec! You’re hella late man, were you having a quickie in the bathroom or something?” He says with an over-exaggerated wink, quiet enough for Alec to hear that an attempt was made at whispering, but loud enough that Maureen—Simon’s friend and local workplace gossiper—could grasp on and sink her blood-thirsty teeth into. Within minutes of stepping foot into the office, he can feel the stares and whispers and fucking giggles that Alec had snuck off to the bathroom for something unseemly. 

With a glare at his “friend”— nemesis— Alec stomps the remaining distance to his desk and throws himself into the stiff office chair that hurts his body more than it should.  

Fridays are supposed to be easy. They’re supposed to pass by quick, without drama because everyone is waiting to go home already. But somehow, it’s been the most difficult day Alec’s had at this job to date, worse than the first day his lunch was stolen. And he’s somehow become the center of the tasteless workplace libel that he despises so much.  

The only thing that gets him through it is the buzz in his pocket and the text from Magnus that says: I’ll see you outside after work.  

---

Alec is usually complacent in the fact that he’s prompt for everything in his life, today’s lunch being the only exception. But now... now he’s sitting at his desk, computer screen dark and powered off but his mind full of uncertainty as he purposely waits for everyone to leave the office. He pokes his head up above the top of his cubicle, just barely in view of anyone who happens to look over at him, scours the room in hopes that everyone has gone home already. 

He meets the calm, questioning frown of Catarina who’s stopped at the door, waiting with her hand on the light switch. Oh.  

Alec clears his throat, the embarrassment that creeps up his neck becoming a constant fixture for the day. She must have been waiting for him, wondering what kind of a dumbass hides inside their cubicle for a good ten minutes after they’ve clocked out.  

Adjusting his bag that’s hanging off his shoulders, he takes a final look around his desk before he follows her out, the darkened room snuffing out what he hopes is the remainder of his horrible day. 

They head down the elevators in awkward silence. He senses Catarina wants to say something but hasn’t worked up the courage to do it, and Alec's brain is honestly so overworked he has nothing to contribute. Any small talk he’d be able to muster up would be awkward and more than likely detrimental to any sort of friendship they’d hope to form in the future. Their only connection is the numbers on their screen during the work day, and Magnus Bane. 

He opens the door for Catarina, the New York breeze shuffling his hair out of place and he lifts a hand to style it back quickly before he sees Magnus. 

She thanks him, her voice somber, and she pauses for a moment, regards him with a look he doesn’t know her well enough to place. He knows it’s on the tip of her tongue, the words she spent their elevator ride preparing, but the presence of their mutual friend stops her and she turns to leave. 

He wants to say goodbye, opens his mouth to do so but a gentle pressure on his elbow catches his attention and he turns to face Magnus. 

Magnus who is so breathtaking in the sun, the sway of his spiky hair accentuating the royal blue strands. He doesn’t look like he belongs here, casual and surrounded by the bustle of the city behind him. Somewhere he hears a taxi honk, hears people chatter and holler, but it all fades into white noise in the back of his skull when Magnus slips his hand down Alec’s arms to tug gently at his fingertips. 

He watches Magnus’ lips move, watches the way the corner of his mouth quirks up in a coy smile, and Alec nods, a silent acceptance of whatever Magnus has asked him. He doesn’t know what’s been said, but his approval seems to be the correct answer because the smile grows bigger and the fingers curl around his own, and Alec’s heart swells with emotions he’s never been lucky enough to find until now. 

Oh.  

Maybe today wasn’t so bad. 

Chapter Text

Monday 7:47am  

There’s a skip in his step when Alec walks through the elevator doors of the office floor. He does his best to retain his stoic demeanor, tries his absolute hardest to keep his lips from forming the smile they so desperately want to, and he does a pretty good job, he thinks. For the first time in months—years if he’s honest with himself, which he isn’t—he’s actually... happy.  

He passes Simon’s desk first, the annoyance he normally feels flickers away quickly because the guy isn’t even here yet, and he takes in the wreck of his cubicle walls with a sigh of contempt. He’s had the whole weekend to plot his revenge, but his ideas are half-formed and need checking. Izzy claims he’s being over-dramatic and Simon doesn’t deserve it, but what does she know? She doesn’t know him the way Alec knows him.  

Which admittedly is not at all but that’s beside the point... 

Lydia’s desk is next, polar opposite with the neatly arranged post-it notes in varying degrees of color, and meticulous piles of reports. He eyes the post-it notes that have remained since last week with lingering guilt, when she was his number one suspect. She’s seated studiously at her desk, already sifting through one of the piles with steady, practiced fingers.  

“Good morning, Lydia,” he mumbles quietly in the silence of the room.  

The words sound wrong in his ears; he’s not normally this friendly first thing in the morning, but the surprised, wide smile he receives from her as she responds politely is actually kind of nice. Maybe he should do this more often.  

His good mood is put on pause when he takes the next steps around Lydia’s cubicle to his own and sees Catarina standing there, arms crossed and tentative. She watches him, and he feels suddenly tiny and small under her scrutiny. 

He may be reading her a little too dramatically, but Alec’s nothing if not always suspicious of everyone.  

“Alec.” 

“Catarina.” 

Ah, an impasse. He should have suspected something like this would ha—  

“I want to talk to you, if you have a minute?” Her voice cuts through his thoughts, he knows she can’t hear them, knows that she has no idea she was even interrupting at all, but he still feels the heat on the back of his neck. What’s wrong with him?  

He glances down at his watch in a feigned attempt to seem more put-together than he actually is, and he hopes it works because while Catarina is very quiet and observant in the office, he knows she really doesn’t associate with anyone and her impression of him is still amenable. He catches sight of Raj to his right. Raj who is being a nosy fuck and watching the whole interaction which makes his hands feel clammy with perspiration and should he have brought another shirt to work? When he looks back up at Catarina though—who seems to pay their onlooker no attention—she gives no indication of her judgement, her face passive and devoid of anything other than patience.  

“Perchance,” is his slow, overly drawn-out response, because he’s been so focused on her expressions—and fucking Raj— looking for any hint that suggests her disregard for him that he’s already forgotten what she’s asked. “Yes.” He adds the last word on just for good measure. 

She stares at him like he’s lost his mind—and maybe he has—one eyebrow raised with a questioning look that mirrors the one Simon always wears. 

“Okay,” she says cautiously. She probably thinks he’s a head-case. “I’m going to make some coffee if you’d like some?”  

He nods, choosing to forego the words this time. It’s probably best to save them for their conversation and quit while he’s ahead. Hurriedly, he sets his bag down on his desk and pulls out his two crumbled lunch bags, one a little worse for wear, and he tries not to notice the way her brows furrow just slightly at the sight. 

The break room’s not far, and thankfully empty. Catarina starts up the machine, measures out the coffee grounds, and pours in the water silently before she turns to face him. She waits, watches him for a few seconds, and twists her mouth in a way that makes Alec’s stomach sink. 

“Magnus is my friend,” she begins, soft and unsure. 

“He’s my friend too—” 

“Barely,” she interjects, and wow, okay, fair. 

Alec’s not sure if she wants him to say anything so he fiddles with his hands, looks around the room, tries to be as inconspicuous as possible standing in front of her. 

“I mean to say,” she begins again, her eyes focused on him, “I’ve known Magnus for many years. I’ve seen him get caught up in all sorts of trouble, and I’ve seen him get hurt more times than I can count. When you’re wealthy, people take advantage, especially when you’ve got an open heart.” 

Oh, this is the friend talk.  

Alec gulps, the room so quiet he can hear the working of his throat above the bubbling of coffee beside them.  

“I-I’m not,” he starts, and stops immediately. What do you say to that? I’m not a bad guy, I swear. I’m not gonna hurt Magnus. I’m just trying to make sure I have a solid lunch every day, and Magnus kind of stole my lunch so really who’s the bad guy here? Nothing seems fitting for the seriousness of Catarina’s demeanor. 

Beep!  

The sound of the coffee machine startles him, and he scrambles to reach for his mug, an easy distraction. Catarina is far more graceful than him, already swirling the milk and sugar into her cup by the time he’s barely grabbed the handle of the pot.  

He feels a nervous wreck, the heat radiating from his mug as he lifts it to his lips—wait, no, the coffee is literally piping hot, what are you doing Alec do you want a burn? Oh god, Catarina’s watching him lift and move the mug from his lips, why is she not saying anything? Why is he still talking to himself?  

He’s never been more thankful to see Simon as he is in that moment, when he barges past the door of the break room, panting and sweaty and—wait, gross, why is he sweating so much? 

“Oh, thank God!”  

Words right out of my mouth, Lewis.  

Simon’s clutching at his chest as he stumbles over to the cabinet, pulling out his mug and smacking it down on the countertop. Is this guy ever not a train wreck? Not that you’re one to talk...  

“I’m—my alarm—missed the—station—police—homeless kid and—popcorn everywhere —barely made it!” 

Alec stares at him. 

He beams with what Alec assumes is the logic that they’ve perfectly understood the fiasco that is Simon Lewis, shaky hand splattering coffee into his mug, and Catarina takes this moment to turn to Alec with a look that says ‘Don’t you dare hurt Magnus or I’ll kill you.’  

He nods, solemn, and she leaves with quick steps.  

Slurping, a gasp, and a ‘shit!’ bring Alec back to Simon who has successfully burned himself on his steaming cup of coffee. It’s not revenge, but it’s karma, and Alec will take what he can get.  

Idiot.  

---

Lunch comes quickly that day, and Alec is pulled into Magnus’ office by an enthusiastic hand and a whimsical tale of some Gala Magnus had to attend this weekend for some lady named Seelie or something. He’s intensely interested, enraptured by the way Magnus flourishes his hands when he speaks, and tries not to focus on the sensual way his lips move around the fork when he takes a bite of Alec’s food and moans.  

Catarina’s words echo in his head all the while, I’ve seen him get hurt. He tries not to stick on it but when he’s sitting beside Magnus, who’s laughing deeply at his own story, Alec wonders who could ever hurt someone like him.  

He catches Magnus watching him, playful and wondering, head tilted to the side in a characteristically feline manner.  

Adorable. 

A shy, pleased smile graces the corners of Magnus’ mouth as his eyes flicker down to Alec’s lips. 

Oh god, did he say that out loud? 

Fuck, fuck, fuck. 

He can hear the sharp intake of breath through his nose, the leather of his seat is hot and uncomfortable now, and he knows Magnus can see the onset of his freak out.  

“Alexander,” Magnus says, a hand reaching out to rest against Alec’s forearm. It’s warm and smooth and comforting. “You’re fine.” 

Define ‘fine’, Alec thinks. Fine as in okay, alright? Fine as in hey you’re pretty good-looking? Fine as in totally not fine but it’s okay cause you’re kind of a spaz and I’m used to it? Alec needs answers. 

But he doesn’t get answers, because the gentle swipe of Magnus’ thumb along his skin is distracting. And maybe he doesn’t need answers, really, because Magnus is new and exciting, and maybe exactly what Alec does need.  

So he relaxes. He sinks into the chair beside Magnus’ and lets himself get lost in the sounds of the low, even voice and the feel of his fingers, a warm, welcoming pressure.  

---

On Tuesday, Alec is a little more chill.  

He doesn’t freak out when he says something silly in front of Magnus, well, not much, but it’s enough to be a noteworthy accomplishment for him.      

And when Magnus’ hand brushes against his arm when Alec says something unusually funny, he tries not to let it show that his stomach feels light and airy, and filled with something that’s not food.  

He starts to notice, though, that sometimes when Magnus looks at him it’s overloaded with... something. He’s not sure yet, hasn’t ever experienced a friendship like this to be able to label it.  

But he sees it. Most of the time when Alec opens his eyes from a particularly savory bite of his lunch, Magnus’ gaze is piercing. He contemplates commenting on it, but it disappears as soon as he catches it, and the moment is gone.  

They dip into Magnus’ past when he occasionally brings up something that reminds Magnus of an old funny story. Most of the time it’s about some guy named Ragnor, sometimes it’s about Catarina. 

And sometimes, when the mood that settles between them is a little more somber, Magnus will stare out the enormous windows of his office and watch the city moving with words of Asmodeus on his lips. 

Magnus doesn’t like to talk about his father, and Alec only really knows the bits he’s gathered from the internet and the scraps Magnus throws out. But he already doesn’t like him, and he doesn’t like the way it causes Magnus’ spark for life to fade. 

Alec doesn’t even notice he’s reached out in the distance between them, doesn’t realize he’s holding Magnus’s hand until the fingers twine with his and he feels the cool metal of Magnus’ rings against his skin. And when Magnus turns his attention back to Alec, he wishes he could understand the tempestuous range of emotions.  

He’s willing to wait until he’s figured them all out, absolutely intent on staying right where he is until he deciphers how to make Magnus feel better, work be damned. But Magnus changes as quickly as a chameleon and offers him a secret smile, leaning close enough that Alec can feel his breath against his face.  

“Catarina loves cronuts,” he says, throwing Alec completely out of the loop. 

Has he missed something? 

Magnus is laughing now, no doubt at the confused look on his face, but when he settles down, he twirls his fingers in the air with a magical motion.  

“You were looking for a way to get on her good side, right?” Alec nods. “She doesn’t dislike you, you know,” Magnus adds, but Alec doesn’t believe him. “She’s just protective.” 

“Magnus, she practically tried to murder me with her eyes when I came up here today.” 

It may have just been a glance up, because Alec had sort of tripped on the corner of his cubicle, but he’s positive there was intention. 

Magnus tuts, watching Alec with humor. “If that’s the case, bring her a cronut. They’re her weakness, the ones with strawberry and powdered sugar. She never buys them for herself, and she’ll love you forever.” 

What can I bring you, to make you love me forever? 

It’s a fleeting thought that Alec doesn’t have the time or will to think on right now, not if he wants to keep his friendship intact.  

He listens to Magnus talk, soaks up the smiles and the laughter of the man beside him who deserves better company than Alec, who probably has better company than Alec Lightwood every time he’s not around. His eyes drift from Magnus’ coiffed hair to the glitter that shines around his eyes, down to the intricate twisting of the necklaces across his chest, and focuses lastly on the way their fingers are connected, still. 

---

Wednesday, Alec wakes up a little earlier than usual.  

It’s also very likely that he just hasn’t slept at all, but the rumple of his sheets and the sound of his alarm clock blaring in his head lets him know he at least managed a few hours of fitful rest. 

It’s not like he was up for any particularly important reason, it was just cronuts. Cronuts and Magnus Bane, who flirts harder through text than he does on silly little lunch-notes.  

Mon petit chef, don’t bring a lunch tomorrow. I want to eat you up somewhere other than my office.  

He had stared at it for a long time, pulled it further from his face to see if the words would change, but they didn’t.  

Did you mean eat?  

Did I?  ; )  

Ok.  

Ooh, wear blue! I want us to be matching in case someone's looking to steal my snack.   

I thought we were going out to eat? Am I supposed to bring snacks?  

He had searched his cupboards, tossed out boxes and bags of already half-eaten crackers and chips. He’d even sought out his sister for help, and together they made piles in front of their pantry. 

Izzy had given him a critical look, hands on her hips and the hair from her bun falling loose in front of her face. “What was this for again?” She had asked. 

“Magnus said someone was gonna steal his snack,” he replied, matter-of-fact. 

She seemed confused, so he had run back to his room to grab his phone, setting it in her hands as she scanned their last few messages. She snorted, rolled her eyes, and tossed the phone back at him before stomping to her room with a yell for him not to bother her again with his idiocy.  

He reread the messages, his eye catching on the new message at the bottom that made him groan into his hand and wish he’d had his phone on him sooner.  

Not snacks, just the one in the mirror that’s wearing blue. Please and thank you!  ♡  

He had spent so much time scouring his kitchen that it was already late by the time he found an acceptable outfit for tomorrow, and he still had to research cronut shops he’d pass on the way to work. 

As he stands in the present, weary and exhausted with the low thrum of adrenaline keeping him awake, he takes in the simple outfit reflected back to him in the mirror and tries not to blush at the implication that he’s anything other than ordinary and plain. 

--- 

It’s 7:51 by the time he steps into the office, carrying the small box of pastries. He rushes in, looks for Catarina and is pleased to notice she’s in the break room, coffee in hand and easily engrossed in deep in conversation with Lydia. 

He maneuvers the box open in his hands, places a napkin on her desk and leaves one dainty treat on top of it, before scurrying away to the elevators, hopefully undetected.  

When he makes it up to Magnus’ office, it’s already 7:55 and he contemplates just leaving the box outside of his door because, well, work. But he’s never had a cronut before, not even in all the craze a few years back when people crowded the shops in hopes of getting one, and he kind of wants to share that with Magnus. 

It’s the first time he’s been up here without being invited, and he’s intimately aware that he’s being watched with narrowed eyes by a woman at the receptionist's desk that’s always been empty when he’s come up.  

“Do you have an appointment with Mr. Bane?” 

He fumbles, not expecting to have been met with any resistance so early in the morning but in all fairness, he kind of just wants to share a cronut with his friend but time is running out and no, he doesn’t even know how to set up an appointment with Mr. Bane.  

“Ah – I, uh, I...” 

“Mr. Bane is very busy right now,” Alec glances through the glass at Magnus, sees the phone against his ear and the way he’s rubbing at his forehead in agitation, and yes , he does look quite busy.  

“Y - Yeah, sorry. Could you, uh, I’m just gonna,” he sets the cronuts down on her desk and takes a step back, by all accounts awkward. “Can you just tell him I left these for him? Alec – uh, Alec Lightwood, that’s my name. Thank you, sorry.” 

He turns, tries not to feel dizzy because he’s turned too fast, and stabs at the button of the elevator wanting to just not be here. But the woman calls out to him, so he turns back. 

“Alec? Hi, I’m sorry. I’m Maia,” she walks towards him, sheepish, and extends a hand that he shakes nervously. “I didn’t mean to be rude, it’s just that people try to come in here all the time and creep on him and, well, that’s why he hired me. I’m kind of a no-bullshit type of person. But he told me if you ever stopped by to let you in, always.” 

Alec nods slowly, perplexed. She hands him his box back and swings open Magnus’ door with newfound vigor. Magnus snaps his head up, casts his gaze from Maia to Alec, and promptly ends his call. His features shift immediately, the frown and tension on his brow evaporating into a cool mist of happiness.  Alec feels his heart beat a little faster and tries not to let his mind trick him into thinking that change is for him.  

“Alexander,” Magnus chirps, stepping away from his desk to stand in front of Alec.  

“I - I brought you something,” Alec stutters, motioning to the box in his hand and he notices Maia has seen herself out.  

Magnus make a face piqued with curiosity and he reaches for the box, carefully propping it open. Alec suddenly feels foolish, because Magnus has never once said he liked cronuts, has never indicated he would want one but here’s Alec at 8am in the morning with enough sugar in his hands for the entire day.  

The sound of Magnus’ laugh fills his ears and Alec turns his head away to hide the blush that’s lighting up his face like a neon sign. Magnus turns it back with a light touch. 

“This is perfect,” Magnus says, watching him with a fondness that Alec knows he’s undeserving of. 

You’re perfect, his mind supplies. 

Alec sets the box down precariously on Magnus’ desk, attempting not to interrupt the very clean, very neat workspace. He lifts a pastry and cushions it with a napkin, holding it out to Magnus before doing the same for himself.  

“I’ve never had a cronut before, and it looked so good that I really wanted to try one with you.” 

Magnus raises a brow at that, and Alec knows he didn’t have to add ‘with you’ , but it’s the truth and he wants him to know. The cronut that’s in Magnus’ hand tips forward to tap Alec’s in a confectionery ‘cheers’ before they both take a bite.  

It’s delicate, crisp on the outside, and so sweet with the sugar and strawberries that top it. But it’s amazing, incredible, actually. Alec momentarily wishes he’d bought a dozen of them just to get him through the day, but he’s certain the high from his sugar rush would crash before he’s halfway through, and then he’d never make it to lunch with Magnus. 

The thought of lunch causes him to shift his attention to Magnus’ outfit, the light-blue patterned suit jacket, the silky black shirt underneath that’s tucked into form-fitting royal blue pants that trail down into his loose black boots. He wishes he had the predilection for accessorizing, because the way Magnus does makes it look so effortless and elaborate, all dangling chains along his hands and blue glitter around his eyes. But he doesn’t, he’s just standing next to this flawless being, looking the definition of homely.  

He feels the twinge of disappointment in his choices, wishing he’d had time to go buy something nicer than his boring dark blue shirt. 

But Magnus hums, brings his focus back from his self-deprecation with an unabashed sweet stare that makes the sugar on his tongue seem diluted in comparison.  

He knows he’s late to work now. He can see Maia from the corner of his eyes watching them, but he doesn’t care. He just wants to stay here and bask guiltily in the looks Magnus lavishes him with, eating sweets, and stirred up in this moment of fluffiness that’s dripping with sentiment he hasn’t yet cracked, rivaling any pastry he will ever come across.  

--- 

Alec tries his best to remain quiet when he sneaks back to his desk. He sees Catarina look up, always perceptive, and wonders if he’s got powdered sugar on his shirt because she looks down at his attire with a smile.  

He doesn’t, thank god.  

She lifts her half-eaten cronut with a nod and a mouthed ‘thank you’, before returning to her work and he tries not to let the action warm him with more hope than it should. 

He’s prepared with an excuse, ready on his tongue for when Simon comments on his absence, but he’s not there. And Alec is infinitely grateful because his excuse was stupid and mainly consisted of him yelling at Simon to mind his own damn business, a product of lack of sleep that he’s more than a little embarrassed at.  

He starts up the computer with a click, listens to the whir it makes in the calm interior of his cubicle, and hopes he doesn’t fall asleep before lunch time comes around. 

---

He’s awoken to a polite, prodding finger that can only belong to Lydia.  

With a bewildered cry, he shoots awake, his chair creaking with the sudden struggle. Lydia giggles, quiet and reserved to herself because he knows she’s probably not trying to embarrass him. But he feels the heat of humiliation anyway.  

“Sorry to wake you,” she begins, her voice demure against the chatter of his coworkers in the background. “I was going to let you sleep, but I know lunch is your favorite.” 

He flusters and nods his thanks, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes in a desperate attempt to ignite some life into his brain. He makes his exit when she leaves, once again thankful that he doesn’t have to pass any traitorous wannabe-friends along the way, glaring at Simon’s desk just because he can.  

However, as he’s about to step in the elevator up to Magnus’ floor, he sees the man already there, surprised. 

“I thought you stood me up,” he questions softly when Alec steps in. 

Alec shakes his head, apologetic sleep-laden voice rasping out, “I fell asleep.” 

The walk is quiet, and their fingers brush more than they should, but Alec doesn’t say anything. His brain is mushy from fatigue, and his heart is a steady thump in his chest that wants to lull him back into a dream of him and Magnus, in another time and place where Magnus is not his boss and not totally out of his league. 

It takes about ten minutes of idle chatter, when provoked by the city evolving around them, before they’re standing in front of a taco truck that’s packed with people, voices buzzing in excitement. The smell of food rouses Alec’s senses, and the lethargy he’s carried with him is only a vague memory now.  

Magnus offers a wave and a cheery smile to the older lady that notices him in the window of the truck and she beckons them forward with an eager gesture, ordering people to make space for them. He feels Magnus’ fingers curl around his, and he swears it’s the heat of the bodies that jostle against him as he’s pulled into the crowd that make him blush, and nothing more. Definitely not anything more. 

Magnus orders them food, chats animatedly with the older lady who is giving Alec long, curious stares that he tries not to embarrass himself over. He smiles back, anxious, and does his best not to feel lost in the crowd of people who are as equally hungry, and a whole lot angrier than he is. He can’t be angry though, can’t feel anything other than the steady presence of Magnus’ hand against the small of his back as he’s talking to his friend.  

Finally, after what feels like hours and shouldn’t they go back to work already, they’re handed two trays that are loaded with way too many tacos for the both of them to finish. He sees Magnus hand over the payment, says nothing about the fact that it’s a hundred-dollar bill, and tries not to freak out over it because that’s almost how much he spent on 2 weeks of lunches alone.  

His mind feels like it’s working in overdrive. 

The sun is bright and way-too-fucking-sunny above them, so much so that Alec sometimes has to squint at Magnus to get a proper look. And when he does, he’s forced to look away again because Magnus, in all his sparkling glory with tacos in hand and the backdrop of New York City, is too-weird of an image for his poor, sleep-deprived brain to handle.  

Part of him wants to suggest they walk back to the office, because at least they’ll have privacy and Magnus will be the brightest thing there. But Magnus lifts a taco to his mouth and bites, the juice from the meat and lime combined trailing a path down the side of his mouth, and he swipes at it tantalizingly slow with the pink tongue that darts out, and Alec doesn’t remember what he was going to say. 

Alec swallows, looks down at his own food and wills himself to stay composed. 

Magnus suggests that they sit at a bench near a small park, and Alec agrees, thinks it’s a great idea until they actually do it and Magnus has the side of his body pressed up so close against Alec’s. It’s hard enough to breathe with Magnus against him, let alone eat, so Alec does his best to do so as quickly as possible, which really isn’t much of a feat because he’s seriously always hungry and these tacos are insanely good . 

But now he’s done, and Magnus finishes soon and watches him with that look again, and with the distraction of food gone, Alec doesn’t know what to do.  

He’s wringing his hands together, a nervous habit that’s quickly stopped by Magnus’ glittering fingers slipping into his own. Oh god . 

What does he do? In the office it’s so easy to get lost in the bubble of seclusion he’s gotten used to the past few days, it’s easy to lose himself in the words of Magnus’ elaborate stories. But here and now, in the over-populated city street full of loud noises and screaming people, Alec is hyper-aware of the way Magnus is grazing his thumb along his antsy hands.  

Maybe he should say something, maybe that will spur on a story from Magnus that will take his mind off the intensity of the moment in his head. So he turns, fully intends to open his mouth and ask Magnus a question, but time stops when his brain is short-circuited by Magnus’ lips against his. 

Oh my god. Oh. My. God.  

He doesn’t move, doesn’t breathe, and he knows he’s going to faint any second now because he’s literally holding his breath.  

But when Magnus pulls away, Alec inhales so deeply the cologne of this man and he doesn’t think, shuts off his over-reactive brain, and lets himself feel.  

With a tug that’s more graceful than anything he’s ever done in his life, Alec pulls Magnus back in by the lapels of his suit and kisses him with more urgency than has ever consumed him before. 

And tonight, when Izzy asks him how his lunch date with Magnus went, he’ll shrug, say ‘fine’, and flop onto his bed with a secret, knowing smile.  

Chapter Text

Thursday 7:42am  

It’s a beautiful morning, Alec thinks. 

The sun is shining high, the birds are chirping, the homeless kid that badgers him for money every day is surprisingly docile when Alec passes by, and the old crazy lady that screams at him for walking too close to her stoop stares at him with her good eye but says nothing beyond the croak of surprise when he smiles at her. All-in-all, things are looking up. 

Well, maybe not for the old lady, because he uses the term ‘good eye’ relatively loosely since one eye has sunken in so far, it’s practically popped the other one out of its socket.  

Regardless, good day. 

Even the flowers that he passes look strikingly vivid today, the colorful arrangement putting that extra pep in his step and at this point he’s practically skipping to work and okay chill, Alec. 

He’s in his building before he knows it – skipping decidedly is not a factor – and a walk that usually feels like it lasts forever most mornings passes in the blink of an eye. With ample time to spare, he boldly decides in the elevator to pass his floor and head straight up to Magnus’. 

Maia looks up with annoyance at the ding of the doors, he can’t blame her really, but it quickly morphs into a barely contained smile as she offers him a small wave. He reciprocates, and the raised brow and way her smile changes into something tinged with confusion makes him wonder if he’s too eager and gleeful, and when the fuck has he ever used that word before? 

He coughs once, deliberately, to regain control and tries not to contort his face to work out the muscles of his cheeks that are aching from overuse.    

“Well good morning to you, sunshine,” she says, all white teeth and clever eyes. She seems smart, perceptive, and someone who will clearly call him out whether he wants it or not. That fear startles some sense into him.  

“Good morning,” is his awkwardly polite response. 

She’s still smiling at him, waiting, but Alec doesn’t know what for. Should he ask her about her day? It’s not even 8 in the morning, her day has barely begun, and Alec remembers why he hates small talk. The pressure hits him like a bucket of cold water, and the cheeriness he felt is now slipping out of him and puddling on his forehead in the beginnings of a nervous sweat.   

A heavy silence takes up the space between them, and he really wishes he brought more cronuts or literally anything because now he doesn’t know what to do with his hands, and was Maia offended that he didn’t bring her one yesterday? In his defense, he didn’t even know she existed until he was already here, with only two left. Maybe he should have offered her one, or he could have split it in half, or he could have just left the two of them for her and Magnus, but he really did want to try one— 

“Alexander.” 

A familiar voice, warm and honeyed, snaps him out of his thoughts, and the feel of comforting fingers that curl around the thin material of his work shirt at his elbow seeps warmth into his skin. He doesn’t realize his breaths are shallow through the flare of his nostrils, or that Maia’s eyes upon him are amused, despite the frown that concerns her features.  

Magnus, a vision of flawless glamour that belongs on billboards and in movies, is standing in front of him so close that the breaths Alec's heaving into his lungs are so concentrated with the expensive scent of him. His mind feels fuzzy, his vision blurred around the edges of anything that isn’t Magnus because he’s just so damn unreal in front of him. 

“To what do I owe the pleasure of your company this morning?” 

“I just wanted to see you,” Alec blurts. 

He expects to feel embarrassed, begins to prepare himself for the annoyingly predictable heat on his face and the laugh that will inevitably follow from the other occupants in the room when he starts to freak out. But he doesn’t, because the way Magnus smiles at him, charming and bright and breathtaking as he pulls him into his office is distracting.  

Everything about Magnus draws his attention, from the craftily arranged spikes of his hair to the impeccably tailored suit he’s wearing, dark purple and black and perfect. Alec’s eyes follow Magnus’ movements, the graceful sway of his hips as he twists the blinds shut to keep out the inquiring – and knowing – gaze Maia sends their direction, the way he does a swift spin as he turns back towards Alec and laces their fingers together.  

And when Magnus tugs him closer, Alec follows that too.  

“Is this okay?”  

Words don’t leave Alec’s mouth, nothing but faltered breaths with the nod of his head to signal his approval, and then Magnus is kissing him, slow and sweet and everything he never knew he wanted. Not until Magnus inched his way into Alec’s life – his heart – with stolen lunches and the hope that there’s someone out there Alec won’t scare away. 

--- 

The days pass by in a blur, a whooshing rush of numbers, food, and Magnus. 

Magnus, who makes it his mission in life to pull the redness from his face at all opportunities: in front of Maia who laughs and joins in every time, in front of unsuspecting passersby that couldn’t give two shits about them on their way to a new street vendor, and mortifyingly in front of Catarina when she agrees to join them for lunch on Friday.  

Alec doesn’t honestly mind, he really doesn’t have time to process the embarrassment that’s inherently over-reactive, because Magnus will always follow it up with a slow swipe of his thumb on Alec’s wrist and the constant reassurance that Alec is doing just fine is more comforting than the routine of sitting at a computer desk all day in a fog of numbers that mean nothing to him.  

His days are no longer boring, and he’s actually excited to come to work most days.  

Most days, he says, because on Monday Simon won’t shut up about his friend Clary, and he feels like he already knows this girl’s whole life story, and the drama that entails when Maureen huffs beside him with narrowed eyes makes Alec really uncomfortable. But when he tries to leave Simon pulls him back in with an “interesting” story about his gig over the weekend and it takes everything in Alec not to shout at him. I don’t care about your fucking band, Simon!  

Despite the fact that Simon is a basket case and cloyingly optimistic in his belief that he and Alec are actually friends, he’s decidedly not the worst thing about coming to work every day. On Wednesday, Simon’s incessant chatter about literally nothing important is more of a godsend, because Raj seems to have absolutely no focus on anything in the world – especially not work, apparently – other than Alec’s personal life. And he watches him, all the damn time, always sees when Alec is in a particularly good mood and comments on it with something vulgar and petty like “Someone must have gotten laid.” 

Lydia scoffs every time, turns around with a pointed glare and shakes her head as though to say “What the actual fuck, Raj?”  

But she’s too polite; she’s too nice of a person to do anything but help him fight his battles from the sideline with supportive smiles. He still appreciates it. 

What he doesn’t appreciate is the way that Raj follows him on Friday when he stands for his last fifteen, takes steps in time that are far too close to Alec’s that he almost has half the mind to trip him.  

Just ignore him, Alec tells himself. 

Aside from Raj’s jeers and instigating comments, the week has been relatively easy. 

It’s been over a week since Magnus had kissed him. A glorious, wonderful, timele— 

“Dude, Lightwood, move.” 

He feels the twitch of his fingers as his fist clenches, and then feels it reflexively un-clench because Alec is not an aggressive person. 

Magnus’ floor is only a few minutes away, but Alec knows Mondays and Fridays are the busiest for him and he’s already burdened him with his company enough for today, he can’t justify visiting again. 

Although, with Raj’s grumbling behind him that sounds like the crunching of desert sand in his skull, Magnus’ voice seems an oasis.  

He’s not even blocking the way, Raj could easily walk around him towards the break room, but Raj is nothing if not a stirrer of pots, and Alec knows he’s being provoked. He’s brushed off Raj’s chit-chat as less than deserving of a response, he’s glared at the jokes, and he’s blatantly ignored too many insults for Raj to just accept defeat. 

Simon rises in his peripheral, a presence that alerts Alec to the fact that the room is unusually quiet right now and all eyes are on them.  

The plain light blue button up he's wearing today feels too hot and his undershirt suddenly seems a size too small, adhering to his skin with the arrival of nerves that jitters across his back. He doesn’t want this attention, he’s really just getting up for a cup of coffee, why does Raj have to be such a fucking asshat ? 

“Are you deaf, Lightwood? I said move,” comes the agitated voice behind him. 

There’s contact, a shoulder that shoves into him roughly, rough enough to not be accidental in the open space between their cubicles, and Alec’s response is so quick he doesn’t have time to process it. 

But now Raj is on the floor, eyes wide with anger and mouth snarling out obscenities that Alec can’t hear over the rush of blood in his ears. He feels hands on his shoulders and he whips his head around to see Simon who’s watching him with eyebrows raised, sees the shocked expression of his own face reflected in the thick glasses, and he tries to focus on something other than the dread that’s ripping at his insides because he just physically assaulted a coworker.     

Lydia offers him a worried look before she bends down to help Raj up, and Catarina is making her way over with a level-headed stare that will probably keep him anchored into reality but he sees a flash and turns to it, noticing Maureen is still in her corner of the office, phone in hand taking pictures. 

Oh god.  

He needs to get out of here, immediately. 

So he runs.  

The flowers outside of the building are whipped around in the harsh wind of Alec’s sprint, the crazy old lady with maybe one functional eye is screeching nonsense at him, and he almost fumbles over the homeless kid that tries to catch him. He doesn’t stop running until he’s home, doesn’t try to catch his breath until he’s collapsed onto his bed and has no choice in the matter because the white spots that cloud his vision snap his eyes shut. 

--- 

There’s a whizzing sound, distant, but loud enough that it rouses Alec awake. 

He catches Izzy’s laughter over the noise, musical and ingrained into his head so deeply he’d be able to hear it in a crowd, followed by murmuring that he’s not quite conscious enough to make out. 

The clock on his nightstand reads 6:23pm and Alec groans, rubs his fists into his eyes and forces himself out of bed. 

It’s probably Jace, and honestly, Alec could use his bluntness right about now. He needs advice on what to do next because there’s no way that he hasn’t been reported to HR, and the thought of quitting passes his mind but he needs this job, so he has to figure something else out. Maybe he can sue Raj or something. 

He changes into something more comfortable – a black t-shirt and sweats – and washes his face quickly before he steps out of his room and towards the source of the noise. Hopefully it’s not one of Izzy’s new boyfriends, he’s had a roller-coaster of a day and he kinda just wants to mope around and be miserable. 

When he steps through the threshold of the kitchen, he’s met with Izzy huddled over the countertop, whispering in hushed tones and pointing at something, with a guy who looks suspiciously like Magnus Bane. 

Only it is Magnus Bane, and they’re huddled over several embarrassing photos of him as a kid, and what the fuck Izzy?  

Alec stomps over – as much of a stomp you can create with your bare feet – and snatches the photographs off of the counter with a huff.  

“It’s about time you woke up sleeping beauty, I thought you were dead!” 

The offending photos are carelessly tossed into a drawer where they definitely don’t belong, but Alec doesn’t have the patience to seek out the right one. “Good to know you’d let me just lay there if I was.” 

She snorts a response and hands him a glass of some sort of slushy that he accepts without question, and he takes this time to peer over at Magnus who is watching him with that same sparkle he always has in his eyes. A shiver runs through him, draws out the hairs on the back of his neck, and he blames it on the cold drink in his hand and not the way Magnus' eyes are roving over him. 

“I made us margaritas, my own special recipe!” Izzy explains brightly, looping an arm with Magnus’, and when did this happen?  

Alec has never introduced them before, to his prior knowledge Izzy only knew of Magnus from Alec’s freak-outs about his lunch and the few text messages he’s shown her. Nothing substantial, aside from the fact that he and Magnus work together and that he’s Alec’s boss.  

And that they went out for tacos last week.  

Ugh. 

The slushy slides into his mouth quickly when he takes a sip, but it shoots out just as fast when the overwhelming tequila and bitterness hit the back of his throat, catching him off guard. Oh god, is there ever a time where he’s not choking in front of Magnus? 

Magnus, who’s hands are pulling the drink away from him and patting softly against his back.  

Izzy looks momentarily offended, but it quickly disappears to be replaced with laughter, and Alec wants to murder her.  

“I forgot you don’t like margaritas,” she responds to his fit coolly, taking a sip for herself, and if Alec could talk right now, he’d let her know that he fucking loves margaritas, she’s just shit at making them. 

--- 

Is it possible for one person to be so hot they actually set someone else on fire? 

Alec thinks it is, because Magnus is standing next to his couch, his black polished fingers seemingly moving in slow motion as they tug open the top few buttons of his deep blue shirt after Alec told him to get comfortable. With each exposed inch of Magnus’ chest, Alec feels himself having to tug at the collar of his own shirt because the space between his skin and his clothes feels like a sauna that’s burning a slow death into him.  

He shouldn’t be having these thoughts; he should be giving Magnus the privacy of getting comfortable without the indecency of Alec’s eyes. But morals become ambiguous when Magnus is in front of him, shrouded in such a mystery he always feels the enigmatic pull bringing him in. 

Magnus creaks onto the couch, crosses his legs and sinks low into the cushions beside Alec, whose feet are tucked beneath him.  

“I wasn’t trying to impose,” Magnus begins softly, searching Alec’s face for an expected response. He’s not sure if he finds it. “I just came to drop off your bag from work because Catarina told me what happened.” 

Alec stiffens, picks at the threads in the couch, and lets out a shaky breath. “I’m sorry. I don’t really – I don’t... Raj is an asshole.” 

It’s the only excuse he knows, it’s not a valid one no matter how many people agree, but it’s all he can grasp at. 

Magnus’ fingers find his, stills them in their endeavor of destruction, and encompasses them in the warmth of both of his hands. 

“She said he was goading you into it, that all you did was push him because he shoved you.” Magnus’ face holds all the concern in the world for him, and he feels guilty. “If you’re having trouble, you should have gone to Human Resources.” 

It’s weird, he notices, talking about work with Magnus. They’ve talked about Catarina, and Maia, and Alec will occasionally bring up the traitor Simon Lewis, but those were all humorous or entertaining, none of it was serious or job-threatening. This is different, and Alec doesn’t feel comfortable.  

“I’ll deal with it on Monday.” 

He leaves no room to be swayed, but Magnus doesn’t try, just offers a gentle squeeze to the hand he’s got captive, and nods.  

They sit like that for a while, a few minutes at the very least, with nothing but Alec’s heart hammering in the silence. He sees Magnus bite his lip, can practically see the way they’re forming words, but he doesn’t speak. 

“What is it?” Alec hopes he comes off reassuring, the way Magnus always does for him, and he guesses he does because Magnus speaks without much pressing. 

“I don’t mean to offend, and please tell me if I’m stepping over any boundaries, I’m just curious.” He pauses, his white teeth poking out again, “you seem to do a lot of... thinking.” Freaking out. “I’m just observing, not judging. Is there anything I can do to help?” 

“You do help,” his voice is sincere and quick to respond, a fact that he hopes Magnus doesn’t brush off. “I’m not... I’m not good at talking about how I feel... Things like this don’t, uh, y’know...” 

Magnus nods, and Alec tries to continue, tries to stay calm but he can feel himself becoming restless with the topic. 

“I like you – a lot.” 

“I like you too, Alexander.” 

Alec swallows, feels the clamminess in his hands already, and the heat of Magnus’ hands don’t help him stay focused. 

“I like routine, I’m very much a creature of habit,” he admits, his eyes straying down, his black sweats and the perfect press of Magnus’ black pants a striking contrast between them. “I go to work, I eat my lunch by myself, and I go home when work is over. I like it, it’s what I’m used to, and it’s comfortable. But then you came in, and you stole my lunch.” 

The laugh that escapes him is quiet, and he shakes his head because this all sounds so ridiculous when he says it out loud. It’s such a far-fetched story, but this is his life now. 

“I’m not mad that you did it, I would have never met you otherwise, but it threw everything off-balance. You throw my whole life out of order and sometimes – sometimes I don’t know how to handle it. I don’t know how to handle you...” He trails off, pauses, and releases a pathetic sigh at last. “I overthink, if you haven’t witnessed it enough already, you can ask Izzy. I’m a disaster by every definition when I’m out of sorts. But – But you make it easier.” 

Alec feels Magnus disentangle one of his hands from around his own, feels the press of the digits under his chin to meet his gaze, and Alec’s heart feels like it’s about to give out with how hard it’s working to keep up. 

“I’m a lot to get used to,” Magnus whispers, and it sounds so soft and sad Alec wants to kiss it out of him. But he waits. “My life is far from routine; I thrive in unexpected circumstances. The world I live in is far from normal, but you keep me grounded. For this short amount of time that I’ve known you, you’re the most real thing I’ve ever been a part of... and I’d like to continue that if you're okay with it.” 

Alec can feel the smile that’s pinching at his cheeks, can feel the familiar burn he seems to be getting nowadays from always being so damn happy, but he doesn’t care. His face is just going to have to get used to it. 

“You don’t have to keep asking me if I’m okay with everything, y’know. With you, I am – always. I apprecia—” 

He’s cut off by Magnus’ lips, fierce and hot and urgent against his. And yes , this is what he wants. This is what he needs, Magnus, who is completely and hopelessly out of his league but sitting in his living room in clothes that are more expensive than his whole wardrobe, kissing the breath out of Alec. 

There are hands tugging, pulling their bodies closer, and it takes Magnus’ body falling on top of his to realize those are his hands bringing them together, curling fists into the silky material of Magnus’ shirt. Alec doesn’t feel embarrassed though, he has no time because Magnus pushes him deeper into the couch, presses cold fingers under Alec’s shirt and makes his body tremble when they leave memories of their shape along his sides.  

It’s hot, the room is so hot, but those cool fingers against his skin keep him tethered to Magnus, keep him from floating away like an air balloon in the breezy winds of passion. He wants to let go, part of him wants to warm Magnus’ fingers faster so he can let himself be carried away, especially when he feels the insistent tongue that’s tracing along the lines of his neck and collar, bringing with them the gentle assault of those perfect white teeth that nip at his skin. 

Alec doesn’t try to stop the moan that starts into the quiet of the living room, not until Magnus seals their lips together again and that tongue is searching the corners of his mouth, the lingering bitter taste of tequila and margarita mix fluttering some sense into him. He doesn’t want to stop, because Magnus’ body is firm and shifting against his in the most intoxicating ways that no liquor will ever reproduce, but liquor reminds him that Izzy is in the next room and can totally hear them. 

“M-Magnus,” he breathes, shaky and higher than he expected, his voice more of a whimper than anything. 

“I love the way my name sounds coming out of your mouth,” Magnus says, and Alec feels the heat spike through him because fuck that’s kind of hot. Magnus is kind of hot. There are lips attached to his neck again, sucking and anything but gentle this time as they leave marks on his sensitive overworked skin, and Alec's already forgotten what he was even going to say.  

It’s several minutes, and many loud moans later when they do finally pull apart, because Izzy is banging on the wall of her room, shouting something that sounds like another language.  

They laugh – Alec laughs harder than he has in a long time – and Izzy peeks her head out soon after with a smile that crinkles her eyes.  

--- 

Alec enlists their help for dinner, despite the fact that Izzy can’t cook he still wants her there. Magnus agrees happily with an “I get to see mon petit chef at work? Count me in.” 

It makes his knees weak and his face tingle with warmth, but he won’t tell Magnus that and let him gloat over the effect he has over Alec.  

When they’re gathering the ingredients for the chicken stir-fry, Alec stops to watch them chattering about something he hasn’t been listening to and he wonders if Jace and Magnus would get along.  

It’s a thought he saves for later, because Magnus is smiling at him, holding up two different sauces from the pantry with a questioning tilt of his head. 

Alec holds back the urge to walk over and kiss him, he knows Izzy wouldn’t care because she’s been watching them all night with that dopey grin on her face, but he wants to remember everything about this night and Magnus’ lips tend to make him forget even basic functions. 

He points to the one he needs and Magnus nods, turns to Izzy with a remark that Alec doesn’t hear but makes her throw her head back in laughter, and he feels his heart ache with a tenderness he’s never encountered.  

Monday will come with consequences, but right now Alec is happy. He thinks he deserves a little bit of that.

Chapter Text

Saturday 9:17am

Magnus is sleeping on his couch, a fact that Alec is achingly aware of. 

As quietly as possible, he lifts himself off of the floor and heads to the bathroom, rubbing out the soreness that begins to stab into his back. He uses more face wash than he needs, scrubs his teeth so vigorously her can feel it in his gums, and almost swallows the entire lid of mouthwash before he tries to regain some semblance of control. 

It’s just Magnus. Magnus on his couch, peaceful and sleepy. Magnus who made them cocktails last night and sang along horribly with Izzy to YouTube karaoke.  

Alec – adamantly – did not sing, and refused Izzy until she became so tipsy that she declared him the judge, only revoking his judge privileges when Magnus happened to win every round on the basis of bias. 

But really, who can defeat the smooth, velvety voice of Magnus Bane singing into a mojito at one in the morning?  

Alec breathes in, slow and steady through the tremble of his lips. He looks at himself in the mirror with wide, frazzled eyes and steps out into the living room.  

He’s prepared himself for nothing, however, because Magnus and Izzy are still adorably tangled up together on the couch.  

Izzy’s snores are obnoxious in the quiet of their apartment. They throw off the fondness he feels watching them, but doesn’t dispel it because in less than twenty-four hours Magnus has bonded so beautifully with the one person he cares about most in the world and that makes him feel something a little stronger than like.  

--- 

An ominous text from Simon greets him twenty minutes later, “Need to talk, lmk when you're free.” 

He doesn’t respond. Actually, he kind of forgets about it because it arrives when he’s mixing up pancake batter, and he feels a hand against his back to signal that Magnus is there, his smile emanating a calm affection that draws Alec closer and makes him forget all about Simon’s text. 

Their mouths press softly at first, just a gentle brush, and Alec thinks that if he died right now, he’d be content. But he doesn’t, so he shifts closer to Magnus, more urgent to seek out the taste of the mint of his mouthwash that sits on his bathroom sink, hinting at him with the tangled breath against his lips. 

It’s enough, he thinks. One kiss is enough for him right now, and then he can go back to breakfast. 

But it’s not enough, because when he pulls back to say good morning, he’s greeted with a nearly shirtless Magnus Bane. Okay, he tells himself, his shirt is just unbuttoned but still.  

He thinks back on the night briefly, remembers Magnus working his fingers slowly along the strip of buttons until they were all released, blaming it on the warmth of the liquor and flashing Alec an intoxicated wink that made him blush for more minutes than he’ll ever admit. 

Okay, it was seven.  

Now, without Izzy’s stares and gawking, he can fully appreciate the beauty of Magnus Bane all for himself, shirt open and displaying the carefully chiseled muscles of a god, because are you kidding me?  

He’s never wanted anything more, never seen anyone in front of him so heartbreakingly perfect until now. Part of him wants to button Magnus’ shirt back up and put some decency back on him, to cover him up so he’s not so defenseless against Alec’s appreciative eyes, but that seems such a terrible crime and he doubts his fingers would listen to him anyways.  

So he stares instead, open-mouthed with eyes that are prickling from the lack of wetness because he refuses to blink, even for a moment. 

The space around them is different without his sister to make comments, or coo at how cute they are together, and he feels infinitely more mediocre next to Magnus, who is watching him with a satisfied smile. 

That smile, Magnus’ smile, no matter which shape or direction it takes, always pulls him out from the darkest parts of his mind that try to smother and suffocate every good thought he’s ever had. He takes it in, takes in the way Magnus’ eyes are shining up at him with so much intensity it almost hurts to look at him, and opens his mouth to speak. 

“Syrup Saturday!” 

Huh?  

It’s only a few quick seconds before Alec realizes that’s Jace’s voice, and the sound of his boots thudding into the kitchen are not a figment of his imagination.  

He steps away from Magnus, then steps forward again to quickly cover up his exposed torso with half-hearted intentions, and fumbles to turn and face Jace. 

Alec’s face has never felt hotter, not even when Magnus had locked eyes with him while he undid his shirt last night. And Jace’s eyes, surprised and loaded with questions, cross the two of them multiple times, taking in the skewed clothes and lifeless pancake batter in his occupied hand, before there’s a shift and they narrow at Magnus.  

“Jace - uh, hey, good morning,” Alec stutters, his fingers seeking out the forgotten whisk and attempting to seem composed. Jace doesn’t look convinced, looks a great deal of emotions, actually, but doesn’t take his eyes off of Magnus.  

Magnus seems genuinely confused, and he turns to Alec for guidance, but Alec’s just as lost. 

“Jace, this is Magnus. Magnus, Jace,” he introduces, slowly, motioning between them with the bowl. 

“Pleasure to meet you, Jace,” Magnus’ voice is charming and steady as he gestures to the bags that are hanging limply in Jace’s hands. “I’d shake your hand but they seem quite full.” 

Jace grunts, lifts the bags to the table and begins to take the bags of fruit he’s purchased out of them. It’s Saturday. Syrup Saturday. He’s been so distracted in Magnus and all his open-shirt glory he forgot all about their weekend plans. 

Izzy walks in, yawning with arms above her head in a stretch, and he wishes he could be her in that moment, oblivious to the tension that’s creeping into the room.  

“Jace!”  

“Morning, Iz,” Jace smiles, and okay, wow, he is capable of being something other than moody right now? Alec feels annoyance rising in his chest, lets out the steam of it into the pancake batter that is definitely overworked, but he doesn’t care.  

“Have you met Magnus?”  

She pops a grape into her mouth and Alec wants to scold her because she hasn’t washed it and that’s kinda gross, but there are more important issues right now. Like the fact that Jace is resolutely plucking the leaves off some strawberries, his jaw clenched with what Alec is assuming to be refusal to answer Izzy’s question.       

“I just introduced them, actually,” Alec responds, setting the bowl down on the counter top and trying not to get distracted by Magnus secretly trying to button up his shirt. “But he hasn’t even acknowledged Magnus.” 

The adrenaline that pumps through him makes him feel bolder, makes his back straighten and his legs stand taller, but when Jace focuses a hurt glare at him, he wants to shrink back down. He doesn’t, though, he stands his ground because Magnus has done nothing wrong. 

Jace is quiet, and Izzy watches the scene unfolding with raised eyebrows and a look that says is it too late to go back to sleep?  

“Alexander,” Magnus’ voice is low, warning, and he feels the hand pressing against his elbow, begging to be noticed. “It’s okay.” 

“It’s not,” he snaps. Not at Magnus, not at Jace, he just – he just has so much that he’s feeling and it’s leaking out of him the only way it can. Magnus keeps his hand against him, warmer than he’d like right now, but understanding. 

He doesn’t get it. He doesn’t understand why Jace is being such an ass to Magnus, who he’s literally only met a few minutes ago. Is it because he didn’t like that he practically caught him ogling Magnus nearly half-naked? Jace takes every opportunity to walk around with the least amount of clothing on possible, bit hypocritical. Maybe he’s mad that Magnus is a stranger? 

Alec remembers thoughts of himself at an exasperated Jace’s apartment, wallowing on his living room floor in self-pity because he’d just found out it was Magnus Bane who had been stealing his lunch. Jace had been amused, he’d laughed at Alec, peered down at him with a light nudge at his ribs and told him ‘It’s really not a big deal, it’s just lunch.’  

Clearly, it is a big deal Jace Wayland, best friend gone rogue. 

“Look,” Jace sighs and runs a hand through his hair, letting it drape across the side of his face that’s so inherently him. “I’m sorry. I’m not trying to be an ass, I’m just – I have a lot of concerns.” 

“Perhaps I could ease these concerns over breakfast?” 

There’s another pause, and Jace’s shoulders are lifted so high and tense that if this weren’t a delicate situation Alec would laugh at him.  

He feels his phone buzz in his pocket – another text from Simon – but he ignores it.  

Jace looks to him, Alec wonders if he heard his phone, but then he turns back to Magnus and nods. “After,” he says, finally. Alec doesn’t like the sound of that. 

Magnus doesn’t seem to mind though, he hums quietly, a low note that thrums in Alec’s heart, and he feels the warmth on his arm slip away.  

Alec almost reaches out to grab Magnus’ hand, to pull his presence closer. But Izzy’s voice honestly scares the shit out of him. 

“Syrup Saturdays!” 

“Am I supposed to understand what that means?” Magnus questions, and Alec can see the lopsided quirk of his lips he’s trying to hold down. 

Izzy laughs and the sound seems to loosen Jace’s shoulders. 

“Every Saturday Jace comes over and we eat pancakes, or waffles, or French toast,” she explains, waving her hand around in the air, nonchalant. “We’ve done it since we were kids, and it’s just a tradition now.” 

They fall into easy conversation after the very confusing, still unanswered morning, and Jace makes it a point to try to be nicer to Magnus, though Alec can still see the way he doesn’t quite relax like he normally does. When Jace spills syrup on his shirt halfway through their meal, he doesn’t even take the chance to remove his shirt, just stares at it and dabs it off with a napkin.  

Something is definitely wrong.  

--- 

Monday 7:47am  

Alec doesn’t even get a chance to make it through the doors of the building before he’s accosted by a disgruntled Simon Lewis.  

“Do you ever respond to your texts, what the fuck, Alec?!” 

Oh, yeah. 

Whoops.  

Alec shrugs him off, brushes at the microscopic bacteria that he's no-doubt been contaminated with because, well, It’s Simon. He’s not amused. 

“I’m serious, dude,” Simon begins, the tone conveying an urgency from him that Alec’s never been on the receiving end of. “Look, the other week I saw you.” 

“Simon,” Alec starts, his words slow and enunciated because Simon clearly has brain damage. “You see me every week. We work together.” 

Simon breathes, deeply.  

“Thank you, Captain Obvious, I meant at the taco truck.” 

The words put a dead weight in Alec’s stomach, heavy and sinking and hitting his knees so hard it makes them feel wobbly. 

Instead of facing the reality, he plays dumb. 

“Yeah, I like food.” 

“I know you like food, you’re kind of a dick when you haven’t eaten. No offense,” he adds when Alec narrows his eyes. “I know you know what I’m talking about. I saw you and Magnus Bane taking off with tacos, I didn’t even know you were friends, especially considering you didn’t even know who he was a few weeks ago.” 

Simon’s tone doesn’t seem skeptical, or accusatory, which makes Alec wonder where he’s going with this.  

“Anyways, I was skipping out that day ‘cause I just needed a break, y’know? So, I waited in line and got some tacos, and I was gonna text you about it later, but then when I walked by, I saw – um, well, I mean I think you know what I saw.” 

Alec does know what he saw. He remembers too clearly crinkling Magnus’ suit, remembers the way Magnus had laughed against his lips when Alec became too eager for their first kiss. He remembers not being able to focus on anything other than Magnus in blue, sitting on a bench looking too-good for this world. 

“Alec...” 

“What are you trying to get at?” He responds, defeated. 

“I’m not trying to get at anything. It’s just – I know you don’t consider us close, I don’t either, but you’re still kind of a friend. You’re a good guy, even if you’re kind of a snappy hermit crab. And Magnus Bane? He’s our boss.” Simon puts a hand on his shoulder, a touch that’s meant to be reassuring and comforting but just feels very, very awkward between them.  

Alec works the words around his mouth for a few seconds, can feel the way they’re grasping at straws, before her finally speaks. “He’s not my direct supervisor.” 

“He can still fire you if things don’t work out,” Simon comments, and Alec shuts his mouth. 

He wants to say that Magnus isn’t like that, he wants to tell Simon about how amazing and wonderful Magnus is, but he knows it won’t matter. “Why are you bringing this up now? Why didn’t you say anything when you came back to work?” 

There are people rushing by, it’s almost time to clock in and Alec knows that if they stay out here much longer, they’ll be late.  

Simon doesn’t seem to want to answer him, seems content to just keep his hand dangling between them, his brow furrowed into so many wrinkles that Alec just might start counting them. 

“I’m friends with Maia,” his voice is tentative, and Alec wonders when he had the chance to meet Maia, but supposes that Simon is far more friendly than he is. “I brought it up to her because she’s the only person I know who knows Magnus Bane, and she told me to stay out of it, that it’s none of my business. And it’s not – I know it’s not. But I kept thinking about how crazy it is, and then I started to worry about you, and I guess the whole Raj thing kind of freaked me out.” 

Ugh. He forgot about Raj.  

Simon doesn’t seem to be finished, which doesn’t surprise him because Simon has never known when to shut up, but this is the most serious conversation Alec’s ever had with him – with any of his coworkers – so he just listens.  

“HR is gonna call you in because of the Raj thing, but I want you to think about yourself, okay? I haven’t told anyone other than Maia about what I saw, nobody else knows, but that doesn’t mean you can’t come out to HR. I don’t know Magnus Bane, and clearly you do, but I dunno, it’s just kinda weird, man.” 

You don’t know Magnus, Alec wants to stress Simon’s own words back at him. 

But Simon – despite his lack of decorum – has his heart in the right place.  

He doesn’t realize he’s just kind of staring at Simon until the hand on his shoulder is cautiously removed and Simon nods his head, lumbering into the building like he always does. 

The doors are foreboding as he studies them. He doesn’t want to go inside and face reality, he wants to stay holed up in his apartment with Magnus, Izzy and Jace, shut out from the harsh truth that the office beckons. 

He stands by his unwavering belief that Magnus has done nothing wrong. If anything, Alec is the one who could ruin Magnus, not that he would.  

With a heavy sigh, he steps into his impending doom. 

--- 

Raphael Santiago.  

Alec wonders if the name alone puts fear into the minds of others, or if they need the face to really kick-start it. 

Either way, they’re working wonders on Alec’s fragile nerves that are frayed with the stress of three weeks' worth of information to process.  

And Raphael – Mr. Santiago? – is sitting in front of him, surveying him with a stare that could easily take down a bear, or a shark, or something equally terrifying. 

“Mr. Lightwood,” he trails, glancing down at a piece of paper on his desk with presumably all the information about Friday. 

“Y-Yes?” he squeaks, and oh god. This is unbearable. 

Raphael waits, scrutinizes Alec to the point he doesn’t even feel like he can breathe without permission, and then begins to scribble something on the paper that flares the anxiety inside of him. 

“In your words, explain to me the events that occurred on Friday afternoon.” 

Alec gulps, painful because his mouth has been dried of all of it’s saliva and is there like water or something, because he’s sure they have to provide you with water when they interrogate you? He searches the room, sees a bottle on one of the bookshelves but he’s not sure if it’s Mr. Santiago’s personal water bottle so he doesn’t want to touch it because he’s pretty sure the moment he does he’s going to combust.  

“Is there a crucial part of your testimony hidden in the corner of the room, Mr. Lightwood?” 

Fuck, fuck, fuck.  

Okay, you got this Alec. You’re good, Raj is an ass, and you’re good. Magnus is good. No, don’t talk about Magnus, that’s not good. Okay, look back at him and smile, seem cool and friendly, like you’d never hurt a coworker. 

Alec smiles – or attempts to – but the way Raphael’s brows raise turns it into an awkward scowl halfway through, and he remembers he still hasn’t said anything.  

“N-No, sorry. Uh...” 

Raphael stares, just observes him, but not the patient way Magnus does it, and he tries not to berate himself for thinking about Magnus again, wills himself to get it under control.  

“I got up for some water,” god, he could use some water right now. “It was my break time. And, uh, Raj’s too, I guess... He followed me and complained that I was in the way, but, uh, there was definitely room for him to walk around me. I guess – I guess he didn’t want to though, and he shoved into me with his shoulder.” 

He sounds like an idiot. In a testimony stand-off between Simon and himself, he would lose, one-hundred percent. 

Raphael nods, scribbles more on the paper, and gestures for him to continue. 

“I - I don’t really remember exactly what happened next.” 

“Think,” Raphael says. Alec tries his best, but only because he’s got the fear of god in him right now. 

“Um, I pushed him, I think. It – It might have been more aggressive than I expected, and then I ran away,” he finishes lamely.  

If he thought Raphael watching him before was unimaginably excruciating, it’s nothing for the stare he’s leveled with now. The thin pressed line of his lips gives no hint as to what he’s thinking, and Alec wonders if he’s said something wrong, or stupid. He should probably take that as a given, though. 

There’s more scratching of the ballpoint pen in Raphael’s hand against another paper that Alec assumes is going into his personal file. A hopefully very, very thin personal file. He wants to be as unnoticed as possible, although he’s not doing a very good job of that anymore. When Raphael finishes, he looks up at Alec with a slight squint and both hands clasped to rest under his chin. 

“Is there anything else you’d like to add?” 

Alec shakes his head quickly.  

“Any other discrepancies you may have had with anyone else?” 

Does kissing your boss count as a discrepancy?  

Raphael seems to take the dumb look on his face to mean he’s going to say something, so when he doesn’t, Raphael pushes. “Go on, I’m listening.” 

Shit.  

He says the first thing he can think of – the only thing his panicked brain can formulate when you have the fire of a thousand suns boring into you. “If your boss gives you money and you buy snacks from the vending machine, is that embezzlement?” 

Raphael watches him, and Alec can swear he sees the twitch of his brow, but the silence that follows his question becomes heavy with shame. 

“You may leave, Mr. Lightwood.” 

--- 

Magnus doesn’t come to work all week, only explains himself with a text that says “Needed to take care of some stuff, won’t be in town, sorry! ” 

Catarina is suspiciously absent as well, and Alec feels like the two are connected, but he doesn’t know Catarina well enough to inquire on her whereabouts.  

Every time he stands up to stretch, or leave his cubicle, Simon is watching him. At first, it’s kind of endearing, but it quickly borders on stalker-territory and Alec idly considers threatening to push him like he did Raj, but he’s not good at jokes and Simon’s kind of a spaz too so he’d probably take it seriously and report him to Mr. Santiago. 

He had only been given a warning and a reprimand not to touch another coworker, to walk away from a situation and diffuse it when possible. He promised his assurance that he would, an easy one to make when the choice comes down to beating up a coworker or facing the deadly gaze of Raphael Santiago again.  

According to Simon – who heard it from a verified source – Raj had been temporarily suspended, and would have to be transferred to a different floor. They had questioned many of Alec’s coworkers on Friday, right after the fight happened, and the suspension had been almost immediate.  

He turns to Lydia, who is typing with a precision that Alec still hasn’t mastered in his one and a half year here, looks around for the last remaining post-it note he let her ‘borrow’ that hangs above her computer screen in the same spot it always does. His eyes squint as he tries to read it, and he feels his heart beat a little faster at the fancy script of Lydia’s handwriting that has an affirmation he tries to hold for himself at all times: Relax!!! 

It warms him more than he imagines it should, and even though Magnus isn’t at work this week, he’s still got the company of these people who seem to have his back despite how hopeless he is with them. 

Today, he thinks he’ll take his lunch at 12.   

Chapter Text

Tuesday 12:34pm  

Magnus has been gone for two weeks. 

Two long, very boring, very drawn out weeks. And Alec is growing increasingly restless with the lack of information he's being given. 

Even Izzy seems to know something he isn’t privy to, and the way he keeps catching her watching him from his peripheral when she thinks she's sneaky enough does nothing to quell his nerves. 

What the fuck is going on?  

“– and then I was like bwowowow, and the other guy was like blee-deedle-ee, and it was totally awesome.”  

He turns his attention back to Simon whose arms have finally settled back onto the table where his nearly finished bowl of Chicken Alfredo pasta sits. It’s lovingly contained in Alec’s tupperware, because despite Magnus being gone for so long, Alec stills brings him lunch just in case. He knows it’s silly, knows that Magnus would let him know when he’s back, but it comforts him now to make a little extra food and portion it out for someone who will appreciate it more than anyone else will. 

Pasta makes him miss Magnus. 

Simon is staring at him, his eyes huge through the thick lens of his tragically unappealing glasses. He should get contacts, Alec thinks, passingly. Oh, he’s waiting for a response. Alec thinks hard, compels his brain to sift through the previous bits of conversation until he remembers – ah, right. Simon was telling him about some ‘totally sweet jam sesh' with some other local band he met this weekend.  

He smiles, as much as he can muster with the heavy fog of concern in his head and the pasta in his stomach that threatens a repeat visit back to the bowl in front of him. “Sick,” he offers, enunciating the word the same way he’s heard Simon in the past, but he can tell it doesn’t come out right because now Simon’s shaking his head, pressing a dramatic finger to his temple.  

He wants this day to be over with.  

This whole... however-long-it-takes-for-Magnus-to-come-back thing to be over with. 

Simon’s next words are slow, and careful, quiet among the chatter of their coworkers around them. “Alec, if you need to talk about anything, I’m here for you, man.” 

It makes him smile – well, half-smile at least – because Simon always seems to have the best intentions at heart, but he’s also been very vocal to Alec about their situation when he even has an ounce of belief that Alec is listening to him.  

And also, because Simon won’t stop referring to him as Magnus Bane, with so much emphasis one would think Magnus is an evil Disney villain. Which he isn’t. 

...hopefully.  

Alec shifts in his seat, uncomfortable in the stiff plastic the company provides them with for “comfort”, unused to the attention of Simon’s bug eyes that shimmer up at him. Simon has been his lunch companion most of the days that Magnus has been gone, although it’s more for the benefit of Simon who apparently never brings food to work and only survives off of the Cheetos and Dr. Pepper from the vending machines. Learning that had made Alec feel so bad he couldn’t help but shove the extra bag of food in the crisp paper bag opposite his own rumpled one across the table at Simon with a grumbled shut up and eat. 

Now look at what he’s gotten himself into. 

Simon sighs across from him, frustrated because he’s been trying to get Alec to open up to him about Magnus for the past two weeks, and shovels the pasta into his mouth carelessly before he leaves to wash the bowl. Small miracles, he thinks as he watches Simon with a fond smile that he’ll never show him to his face. 

--- 

The clack of typing in the silence is soothing, and Alec feels more relaxed, stops feeling much of anything when he’s focused on work. As boring as it can be, the monotony of it all is fitting for someone like him, someone who prefers routine and the simple things in life. He doesn’t need much to be happy really, doesn’t entertain himself with thoughts of silly schemes or grand adventures, and his greatest ideas flow into his cooking. It’s in the middle of a long string of numbers when his phone buzzes next to his keyboard, the last of it flowing out of his fingertips before he gives the message any attention. 

Are you at work?  

His heart thumps angrily against his ribs when he sees Magnus’ name, and he scrambles to unlock the screen to fumble out a reply that he hopes doesn’t come out too eager and desperate. 

You’d know if you were here.  

Okay, well at least it’s not eager or desperate.  

Fair point. Can I walk you home?  

You’re back?  

No, I just like to make plans I don’t intend to keep.  

Yes, I’m back. How much did you miss me?  

Ask me again when you walk me home and I'll show you.  

Alexander, are you flirting with me?  

Yes.  

What a little deviant. Get back to work!  

He’s smiling, knows he looks like a deranged fool, but he doesn’t care because Magnus is back. Two weeks of sparse text messages at random times of the day can’t possibly compare to Magnus in front of him, touching him, kissing him, showering him with words in his ears that bring out all these emotions he didn’t know he was capable of. There are a few minutes of elated silence as his head floats off with daydreams of Magnus, before he begins to feel pulled down by the irrational fear that he’s not prepared.  

Quickly, with such force that his chair squeaks harsh and high inside his cubicle, he looks down to take in his appearance for the day. He’s not dressed properly for Magnus. No, definitely not dressed for anyone really, with his very crisp white shirt and Ill-fitting trousers that are all he had left because he was too busy moping around the apartment to do laundry. 

He checks the time – 4:21pm – and realizes there’s not nearly enough time to sprint home and change. Not that he has anything to change into that’s work appropriate, but that’s beside the point. 

A sigh escapes him, defeated and drawn out, and he resigns himself to the fate of his too-tight pants. 

--- 

At 4:57 Alec finds himself in an intense stare down with the clock in the bottom right corner of his computer screen, uses every force in his body to intimidate it into moving faster. It doesn’t work, but he doesn’t give up. Eventually he’ll have won, because that’s life and he’s fighting with a clock. 

When his victory comes it’s all he can do not to shove his coworkers out of the way to be the first to the elevator.  

Actually, it’s the severe glare and stern warning of Raphael Santiago’s face his mind conjures that forces him to stay at least an arms-length away from everyone else. Alec thinks Simon would be proud of his spontaneous flair for drama, because the way he says Mr. Santiago’s name is relatable to that of Simon’s Magnus Bane.  

Magnus isn’t there when he arrives, so he waits inconspicuously behind a pillar outside, keeping a keen eye on the entrance to the building so he doesn’t miss him. It’s a random day for Magnus to be back, mid-week and odd timing, but then again when has Magnus adhered to the structure of normal? The homeless kid is watching him, he notices, but then he looks past Alec and that’s all the signal he has for Magnus’ arrival.  

“Waiting for someone?” 

It’s the familiar purr he hasn’t heard in a few weeks, the sound that’s so heavily embedded into his heart that it kicks it into gear and makes his blood pump a little bit faster. He wonders if Magnus will ever not have this effect on him, but he thinks: probably not.   

Magnus looks like he’s just walked out of a photoshoot, the elegant dark gray jacket with gold embroidery on the shoulders, vivid red shirt and the same belt Alec remembers him wearing on their taco date. Was it a date? A lunch date. There’s a shy smile on his lips, and Magnus looks... nervous? Alec has seen him fiddling with his ear cuff before, but this is a different kind of fiddling, not the charismatic swoop of his hands to bring attention to the accents in his attire, but the kind where he’s resorting to comforting tells. 

“You’re back,” Alec finally responds, and immediately chides himself because he already knew Magnus was back, they had literally just texted earlier. He coughs, shifts his satchel higher on his shoulder, and stares hard at the ground, refusing to let the annoying blush show on his face. “You - ah, you look nice.” 

Alec’s gaze is firmly on the ground and he has no intentions of changing that, because the soft laugh that Magnus offers doesn’t help the thumping in his chest or the heat that’s becoming too obvious to hide. Magnus’ shoes catch his eyes first, black and shiny against the dull concrete beneath them, then his hand that sparkles in the low sun. Lastly, his face, as breathtaking and perfect as Alec remembers from Saturday weeks ago in his apartment, and he’s so lost in Magnus he doesn’t notice they’re kissing until he pulls away with a shy smile.  

They’re behind the pillar, but still in plain sight and Alec’s first instinct is to look around and make sure nobody can see them. But Magnus brings his attention back with a gentle pressure against his chin. “Can we go somewhere else?” 

Alec nods and they walk in silence, Magnus reaches for his hand, his palm smooth against his already clammy one. Neither of them comments on it, and Magnus leads him down a familiar path, passing food vendors that wave at Magnus as they walk past. It’s sweet to see the way Magnus has worked his way into so many people’s lives, the way his compassion has garnered so much affection from these people he’s connected with over something as small as food. Just like me, Alec thinks, and it’s with a full heart that he waves along with Magnus as they pass the taco truck he remembers so well. 

It’s not long before they’re at the bench, less spectacular than he remembers, but still a treasured memory. Magnus sits, beckons him down with a pat at the spot beside him, and Alec follows, setting his satchel off to the side. 

They’re quiet – Magnus is quiet – and the sounds of birds chirping, cars honking, babies screaming off in the distance and (maybe) a gunshot are the only sounds that fill his ears, but none of them are what he wants to hear. He wants answers because, while he’s happy to see Magnus, Alec feels like he still has no clue what’s going on.  

Part of him is afraid, he realizes. If everyone has been so cryptic about this whole situation, is it really something that Alec wants to hear? Does he really want to know that it’s all been some big joke to Magnus, that he was just bored and needed an outlet and Alec happened to be there, the idiot who brought him lunch every day? How many nights did Magnus laugh to Catarina about the stupid things Alec had said or done? 

There are hands on his face suddenly, warm pressure from Magnus’ fingertips with the cold of his rings to anchor him in. “You’re thinking.” 

There’s a flash of anger, small but sparked to life with Magnus’ words because all he’s been doing is thinking. He hasn’t had any answers, hasn’t had any sort of hint as to why Magnus and Catarina have been gone for two weeks, still has no fucking clue what Jace was wound so tightly about. And it’s not fair. 

“Just tell me what’s going on,” he sighs, finally. 

Magnus seems to mull over his choices of what to say, and Alec watches the way the glitter around his eyes glint as he squints in thought. The words he lets out are whispered so softly that their close proximity is the only reason it reaches his ears. “I quit, Alexander.” 

It takes a moment, just a few quick breaths for his brain to catch up, before Alec is pulling away from Magnus. “Wh-What? You quit? Why?”  

There’s a mixture of feigned calmness and nonchalance that flits across Magnus’ face, carefully placed as he pretends to inspect his polished fingernails like he didn’t just announce the end of his very successful and lucrative career. “Why not?” he offers with a shrug. 

I quit.  

Why not?  

That spark of anger burns brighter, fueled by the seeming indifference Magnus has towards this life-altering change, and Alec stands immediately, pacing the small space in front of the bench Magnus remains seated on.  

“I’ll quit. I'll quit and that way we don’t have to worry about it anymore, I – I’ll find something else to do. I’m smart enough, I have a good work ethic when you’re not around, I can – I can do it.” 

Okay, he’ll need to find a new job immediately. Something with numbers would be easiest, but he did pretty well in school, maybe something physical? Maybe he could be some sort of tutor, he’s not bad with children. But that would be a massive pay decrease, not that he’s loaded from his office job, but it’s stable. And Izzy—  

Alec!  

Alec? 

He realizes that’s Magnus’ voice, strong and urgent and pulling him back in, fingers curled around his wrist that tug him back down onto the bench. Magnus looks stressed, brows furrowed in a way Alec has only seen when he talks about his father, a stress that’s been there years before Alec was even a blip in Magnus’ world. The temptation to reach over and smooth the lines out of his face almost takes over, but the anger that’s kindled inside of his stomach is still there, still keeping him idled where he sits, waiting for answers. “Where have you been the past two weeks?” 

“Tying up loose ends,” Magnus has always been cryptic, and today is no exception. “As much as I appreciate your offer to quit on my behalf, this was always the end result for me. I hate this job,” Magnus sighs, and Alec feels that straight to his core. “It was always my father’s plan for me to take over for him, but when I became good enough, when he trusted me enough, he used me as a way to branch out and expand his company.” 

Alec doesn’t say anything, there's nothing he can offer, and Magnus takes in a deep breath before he continues. 

“I’m not going to lie and say that you didn’t affect my decision. It was already a plan I had put into motion before you came into my life, but having you around certainly made me speed it along. I’m just sorry it took me so long to come back.” 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” 

Magnus watches him, twists idly in his hand one of the rings around his fingers before he speaks. “I didn’t want you to stop me.” 

“Magnus I—” He’s cut off by the raised eyebrow and amused smile, because okay yeah, he would have. “You’re more valuable than I am, and you’ve got a lot more to lose,” Alec grumbles out. 

“Alexander, you’re more valuable than you give yourself credit for,” Magnus says wistfully, before shaking his head. “I’m not losing anything by leaving. I’m not happy here, I haven’t been for a long time... not until you came along.” It sounds cliché, god, does it, but coming from Magnus it makes Alec fluster and his heart race.  

“Why was Jace so upset with you?” he blurts out, because he’s embarrassed and needs a distraction from Magnus’ declarations. The tense of his shoulders doesn’t put confidence in Alec’s mind, but he waits anyways.  

“He told me I wasn’t being fair to you, that it was funny when it was just messing with your lunch, but now that it’s serious I was putting you in situation you weren’t prepared to deal with.” Alec opens his mouth to respond, but Magnus holds up a finger, stopping him. “It’s nothing I haven’t heard from Catarina, or thought for myself. I was very unfair to you, and I’m sorry if you ever felt like you couldn’t say no to me.” 

“I never felt like that,” Alec says immediately, his back stiff and chest puffed out in what he hopes Magnus can take as assurance. “I still don’t, if you’re worried.” 

It’s quiet, the screaming baby is gone, the gunshot are just echoes drowned out by the faint call of police sirens, and Magnus’ breathing is all Alec wants to focus on.  

“Do you regret it?” Alec asks, carefully. He shifts in his seat and plucks at the seam of his trousers that are becoming uncomfortable with how tight they are against his thighs. He should have just gone home and changed.  

“Do I regret us?” Magnus repeats, and Alec nods. “No, I’ve never regretted anything less. I do wish I would have waited, though.” 

Alec stops picking at his pants to turn to Magnus, who looks thoughtful. “Waited?” 

“I wish I would have waited until I wasn’t your boss to kiss you.” 

Oh.  

Suddenly Alec’s eyes are drawn to anything but Magnus. They take in the foliage that sways in the light breeze, the shadows that are fading in intensity with the setting of the sun that’s not far off, and the rush of people that surround the taco truck off in the distance. He remembers how bright it was, how sparkling and magnificent Magnus had been that day, tacos and Alec’s heart in his hand. The sun had been too hot, the people too noisy, and Alec was horribly plain beside Magnus, but it had been perfect. 

And it almost hadn’t happened.  

“I wouldn’t change any of it,” Alec says firmly. “And you don’t have to quit your job.” 

There’s a hand on his shoulder, sliding up to the back of his neck where the tips of Magnus’ fingers thread into the hair there. It sends a chill down his spine, and he leans closer. “I’m happier now. I feel like all of this pressure, this part of me that I’ve locked up can finally be free. I’ve spent so many years catering to my father’s wishes, every weekend schmoozing the people he paid to keep an eye on me to make sure I was doing his bidding. I’m still young, and I already feel like I’m a hundred years old. Now I can do what I really want to.” 

“What’s that?” Alec inquires, perking a brow at Magnus’ last words. 

“I was thinking of trying out for a band,” Magnus smiles, teeth bared and stunning. “Have you heard of this guy named Simon Lewis? From what I hear he’s kind of a big deal.” 

Alec scoffs, shoves at Magnus with his shoulder playfully. “I think I’d flee the country if you did that.” 

“We could run away together,” Magnus says suddenly, the laugh falling from his voice. For a moment Alec wonders if he’s serious, wonders if that’s really something Magnus would do. 

He’d be lying if he said it wasn’t tempting.  

Alec could never leave Izzy and Jace, but he doesn’t get to dwell on the thought much longer because the way Magnus is looking up at him with adoring wide eyes that are searching for just as many answers as Alec has questions is enough to bring him in. It’s a soft press of lips, hesitant and unsure where they stand with each other, scared to push too far after the words they’ve shared.  

When it changes it becomes deeper, something meaningful and twisting in this... thing they’ve gotten themselves tangled in. When the sun sets around them, they finally stand and head towards Alec’s apartment, shy fingers seeking each other out as they bump in the space between their bodies. And it’s okay that Alec still feels a little lost. Not every question needs an answer right away, and when Magnus kisses him goodbye outside his apartment door later that night, Alec knows that they’ll figure them out together. 

--- 

Thursday 7:57am  

Oh, hell no. 

Alec stares at the decorated bag in the fridge, absolutely taking up his spot on the shelf, ostentatious and unnecessary in its presentation because it’s just a lunch bag.  

Part of him hopes it will burst into flames with the might of his hate, he knows it’s not going to, but stranger things have happened. So he reaches for it, tries not to appreciate the smooth texture of the design on it because it doesn’t belong here, and shoves it over.  

He’s not expecting the paper taped to the shelving when he lifts the bag, or how his eyes catch on the familiar loopy scrawl that makes his heart dance something awful, and with shaky fingers he reaches for it. 

Mon petit chef -  

It is with a heavy heart that I must bid our lunch-time meetings adieu.  

I’ll always remember the tasty meals you’ve shared, and I hope that this dish I’ve prepared for you is payment enough for all you’ve done for me.  

Thank you for keeping me well-fed!  

xo  

Fuck.  

Magnus made him lunch?

He can’t do this. He can’t sit here all day with this sitting in the fridge, with thoughts of an empty office two floors up that has become so comfortable and familiar, that he’ll never have a reason to see again.  

With a quick motion Alec pulls out his phone, punching words into it with urgent thumbs.  

Where are you?  

It’s less than a minute before Magnus responds. 

I’m grabbing a couple things from upstairs.  

In a flurry, Alec is out of the break room and rushing to the elevators, and he barely hears Simon’s ‘Dude, you almost ran me over!’ over the pounding in his ears. He has places to be, Magnus’ to kiss. 

The elevator moves entirely too slow for his liking. He feels like he’s got so much pent up nervous energy because this will probably be the last time he rides up to the fifth floor, and it’s such a bittersweet feeling that he never thought he’d have the misfortune of experiencing. This office that used to be boring and monotonous with the only excitement being from the overheard chatter of parties his coworkers threw or attended, now holds so many crucial moments and memories for Alec, from first meetings to goodbyes. 

Maia calls his name as he rushes by, but he offers her hardly more than a quick wave before he’s swinging Magnus’ office door open. He pushes down the errant thought that it’s not Magnus’ office anymore, because it makes his chest ache and Magnus is standing near one of the enormous windows that bask him in the bright Brooklyn sun, face turned towards Alec over his shoulder. 

“I want to request vacation time!” 

In the silence he can hear the erratic pounding of his pulse, the harsh breathing that leaves him in huffs, and Magnus slowly lifts a brow. 

“Vacation... time?” he questions slowly. 

Alec nods, searches the room quickly, and tries not to let the pang in his chest grow because the room is so empty and devoid of the quirks that made it Magnus’.  

“Alexander,” Magnus laughs, confusion tinting the sound. “I’m not your boss anymore, and you’ve never gone through me to request time off before.” 

“So that means you’re free then?” 

“Free for what?” 

“To go with me on vacation. And to date – ah – I mean, uh, for dinner. Tonight. A – A dinner date.” He feels like an idiot, fumbling over words as simple as this, but he’s never asked anyone out before, never asked Magnus out. For clarity, because he wants there to be no misunderstandings about what he wants, he adds: “As my boyfriend.” 

Magnus is quiet, but he turns to face Alec with a gentle smile. “I’d love that,” he says, barely above a whisper.  

“Perfect.” 

Perfect.  

Alec tries to stop his face from looking so stupid the whole way down to his floor, tries his damn hardest to stop smiling and keep the skip out of his step. Catarina’s eyes are on him, three-to-the-right-two-down, and when he looks at her, she smiles back at him with a laugh. Lydia is focused as always, and it’s 8:13 so she’s already settled into her groove of numbers and furious typing.  

The breakroom he expects to be empty, but is honestly not surprised to find Simon in there with sugar spilled around his mug of coffee and milk, a clear disaster, his morning muttering surrounding him with damn sugar who even leaves it open all the way like that, just what I needed...  

“Simon,” Alec says, low in an attempt to not scare him.  

There’s a jump anyways, sugar that sprinkles the floor of the break room with an overly dramatic motion that you’d think only happens in movies, unless you know Simon Lewis.  

Simon pushes up his glasses, gives Alec a swift nod, and scoops up his mug to show his casual disregard for the fact that the floor is now slippery with sugar. Alec doesn’t even care, doesn’t have the time or patience right now to deal with Simon’s misgivings.  

“Sup, dude,” Simon draws out, elongating each word with a shaky tone.  

“You can have my lunch.”  

Simon blanches at that, nearly spits out the coffee in his mouth. “Woah! That’s a little extreme man, you okay?” 

Part of him wants to be annoyed that Simon thinks something’s wrong just off the pretense that Alec doesn’t want his lunch, but he’s kind of been a stickler about his food, and he’s not gonna apologize for it. What’s wrong with proper nutrition?  

“I’m going on vacation,” he offers simply. He grabs the bag off of the table where he’d left it, thankful nobody has touched it, and swaps it out for the elaborate one in the fridge, the one that makes his heart flutter just looking at it.  

Simon’s smiling when he looks back at him, a toothy grin that’s unflattering on his face, but endearing nonetheless. He smiles back. 

“Say hi to Magnus for me.” 

Alec appreciates the effort Simon gives to refrain from saying “Bane” at the end of Magnus’ name. They stay like that, quiet for a second, and Alec wonders what he did to deserve someone like Simon in his life. Someone to dull the edge of the workday with his enthusiastic and over-dramatic tales of his life, someone who will stick up for him and keep an eye out for whatever trouble he might get himself into, despite the fact that he’s an even hotter mess than anyone else on planet Earth. 

When he walks out with Magnus several minutes later, lunch bag in-hand, he thinks of Izzy with her delighted squeal at the sight of Magnus in their apartment last night. Thinks of Jace, who called him after Izzy’s text about Magnus quitting his job to congratulate him and apologize to Magnus again, who responded with a “Don’t ever apologize for looking out for Alec,” to which Jace had just laughed and said “Same.”  

He’s not sure how he got so fucking lucky that Magnus saw him of all people, that Alec’s routines got him into such an interesting predicament that turned out so right.  

Alec doesn’t know what it’s like to take a vacation, doesn’t know the first thing about relaxing anywhere that isn’t his and Izzy’s apartment. He doesn’t even know if he’ll do anything but hole himself up with his two favorite people and Magnus, trying out new recipes, or spending the nights drinking terrible margaritas and judging singing contests until two in the morning. 

Whatever he does, he’s not going to do it alone, because Magnus is here beside him, running his thumb along the back of his hand as they walk through the early morning of Brooklyn. His lunch thief, who has stolen far more than Alec’s lunches, more than either of them could have expected.  

Today wasn’t so bad, Alec thinks. 

Tomorrow looks even better.