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Chapter Text

Magnus Bane stood in the center of his new apartment, hands on his hips, surveying the controlled chaos that came with moving. Stacks of boxes leaned against one another like drunken party guests, half-unpacked bags spilled clothes onto the hardwood floor, and a lone lamp flickered from its perch on the kitchen counter. It was far from polished, but Magnus felt a pulse of satisfaction all the same.

He ran a hand through his hair, black strands catching the early evening light streaming in through the wide windows. The place was smaller than his last apartment, but the exposed brick and lofty ceilings made up for it. He could already imagine the transformations: velvet curtains draped dramatically, shelves lined with candles and books, a splash of color here, a bit of glitter there. It was a canvas waiting for him.

The front door banged open before he could sink too far into his daydream.

“Magnus!” Clary’s voice rang through the space, high and delighted. She stumbled inside carrying a tote bag nearly as big as she was, curls escaping the bun on top of her head.

Magnus opened his arms wide. “My favorite redhead! You’re just in time to help me pretend unpacking is optional.”

Clary laughed, dropping her bag with a thud. “You’ve been here for what—two hours? And already avoiding the boxes?”

“I prefer to think of it as prioritizing the important things,” Magnus said smoothly. “Like deciding where the bar cart should go.” He gestured toward the far corner where he’d shoved a stack of boxes labeled fragile.

Clary crossed her arms, pretending to scold him. “Normal people start with dishes. Or sheets. You know—survival things?”

“Darling, my survival depends on cocktails and mood lighting.” He wiggled his fingers dramatically, earning an eye roll from her.

Still, she stepped closer, giving the apartment a slow look. “It’s nice, Magnus. Really nice. It feels like…you.”

Her words warmed him more than he expected. “That’s the plan,” he said softly. Then, louder: “Now! Enough about bare walls and the tragedy of unlit candles. We have celebrating to do.”

Clary raised a brow. “Celebrating?”

“My triumphant arrival into this perfectly imperfect dwelling, of course. I was thinking—” Magnus reached for his phone, waving it like a wand—“a night out. The club. Drinks, music, questionable life choices. What do you say?”

Clary’s eyes lit up instantly. “Yes. Definitely yes. You’ve been buried in moving chaos for weeks, and I could use a night to dance my face off.”

Magnus grinned. “That’s my girl.”

She nudged one of the unopened boxes with her foot. “Though, should we at least put together your bed first? Because if you come home at three a.m., you’re going to regret not having one.”

Magnus gasped in mock horror. “Clary Fairchild, are you suggesting I would stumble home like some exhausted mortal and collapse into bed? Absolutely not. I fully intend to greet the dawn on the dance floor.”

“You say that now,” she teased, “but tomorrow morning you’ll text me about how your back hurts from falling asleep on the couch.”

Magnus flicked his wrist dramatically, dismissing her prediction. “Nonsense. I never regret glamour, darling.”

The two of them spent the next hour in their familiar rhythm—Clary unpacking a few practical things despite Magnus’s protests, Magnus fussing over which of his sequined jackets deserved the honor of debuting in his new home city nightlife.

By the time the sun had dipped fully below the skyline outside the window, the apartment looked no less chaotic, but the atmosphere had shifted. There was music playing from Magnus’s speaker, the faint scent of takeout on the counter, and laughter echoing against the bare walls.

Clary stood by the mirror, slicking on eyeliner with steady precision. “So, what’s the plan? We start at Pandemonium?”

Magnus adjusted his rings, admiring the way they caught the lamplight. “Naturally. Where else would we christen the beginning of my new era? Tonight, my dear, we dance until the universe itself begs us to stop.”

Clary shook her head, grinning. “You’re impossible.”

“And you love me for it,” Magnus said, meeting her eyes in the mirror.

She didn’t deny it.

-

Pandemonium was alive tonight. The club thrummed with bass-heavy music, lights flickering like neon heartbeats across the walls. Magnus felt it seep into his skin, the vibrations settling in his bones. He loved it—the chaos, the glitter, the endless swirl of strangers who all wanted to be someone else for a few hours.

Clary had already vanished into the crowd, spinning away with some blonde whose shirt looked painted on. Magnus wasn’t worried. Clary had always been good at finding her own fun, and he had every intention of doing the same.

He ordered another drink, perched elegantly on a stool at the bar, scanning the crowd. Then, just beyond the press of dancers, he saw him.

Tall. Broad shoulders. Dark hair mussed like he’d been running his hands through it all night. The fitted black t-shirt he wore clung to his frame, and—more importantly—ink crawled across his forearms, black lines swirling and curling like secrets etched into his skin.

Magnus’s lips curved into a smile.

Well. That was interesting.

He slid off the stool and cut through the crowd, hips swaying to the beat even when he wasn’t dancing. Within seconds he was standing in front of the stranger. Up close, the tattoos were even more captivating, winding in deliberate patterns that made Magnus’s fingers itch to trace them.

“Those are beautiful,” Magnus said, tilting his head toward the stranger’s arms.

The man blinked, startled. “What?” His voice was deep, almost rough.

Magnus leaned in so he could be heard over the music, the faintest hint of perfume clinging to him. “Your tattoos. They’re…well, artful. Not the usual nonsense I see inked on people here.”

A flush crept up the man’s neck. “Oh. Um. Thanks.”

Magnus offered a hand, adorned with rings that glinted under the club lights. “Magnus.”

The man hesitated, then clasped it. His grip was firm, but careful, like he was afraid of breaking something fragile. “Alec.”

Magnus let the name linger on his tongue. “Alec. Strong. Classic. I like it.”

Alec shifted, his eyes darting toward the dance floor. “So…you come here a lot?”

Magnus grinned. “Darling, that’s the oldest line in the book. But since you asked—occasionally. I prefer to appear in doses. Keeps things…mysterious.”

Alec huffed a laugh, the sound short but genuine.

Magnus’s gaze dipped back to the tattoos. “Tell me—are they all like this? Thoughtful? Or do you have one somewhere that says ‘live, laugh, love’?”

That earned him a full smile, crooked and fleeting. “No. No clichés. They…mean things. Each one.”

Magnus tilted his head. “You’re an enigma already. Careful, I might get invested.”

Alec’s blush deepened, but he didn’t walk away. That was promising.

“So,” Magnus said smoothly, “do you dance?”

Alec shook his head immediately. “Not really.”

“Tragic,” Magnus sighed. “You have the arms of a man who could lead beautifully.”

“I don’t think so,” Alec said quickly, though his lips twitched like he was fighting another smile.

Magnus chuckled. “Very well. We’ll stay here, where the world is quieter. Tell me, Alec—what do you do when you’re not brooding in clubs with dangerously intriguing tattoos?”

Alec hesitated, then shrugged. “Work. Family. Not much else.”

“Ah,” Magnus said, eyes narrowing playfully. “You’re one of those mysterious, guarded types. The kind that appear once in a blue moon and leave poets heartbroken.”

“You’re dramatic,” Alec muttered.

“Thank you.” Magnus’s grin widened. “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s said to me tonight.”

They talked. Not about much—books they’d read, music they liked, why Alec had gotten his first tattoo at eighteen. Magnus teased, Alec deflected, but he stayed. And slowly, Magnus noticed Alec leaning closer, his voice growing steadier as the minutes passed.

Eventually, Magnus brushed his fingers lightly against Alec’s wrist. “You know,” he said, his tone dropping, “I think you’d surprise yourself. You might even enjoy letting go.”

Alec’s breath caught. He didn’t move away.

When Magnus leaned in, Alec met him halfway.

The kiss was cautious at first, Alec’s lips firm but hesitant, like he wasn’t sure what he was allowed to take. Magnus smiled against his mouth, sliding a hand up into Alec’s hair. “Relax,” he murmured, before deepening the kiss. And Alec did.

One drink led to another. One kiss became several. The world blurred into neon and heat until Magnus was tugging Alec outside, into the cool night air, laughter slipping from his lips.

-

They ended up at Alec’s place.

Alec’s apartment was simple, tidy, almost painfully ordinary. But Magnus barely noticed because Alec was kissing him again, rougher this time, as though something had cracked open inside him.

“You sure?” Alec murmured against his mouth.

Magnus cupped his jaw. “Darling, I haven’t been this sure of anything all night.”

The rest unraveled quickly—hands tugging at clothes, the press of skin against skin, Magnus tracing the ink with reverent fingers. Up close, the tattoos weren’t just art; they were stories. And Alec let him read every line.

Shyness melted into hunger. The quiet, careful man from the club burned away until Magnus was left with someone raw, unrestrained, almost desperate. And Magnus—Magnus reveled in it.

-

The morning came softly, golden light filtering through half-closed blinds. Magnus blinked awake to the sound of Alec’s steady breathing.

Alec was sprawled on his side, one arm tucked beneath the pillow, hair falling across his forehead. Peaceful. Unaware. Beautiful.

Magnus lay there for a long moment, watching. He could imagine staying. He could imagine coffee, awkward conversation, maybe even a laugh that wasn’t muffled by darkness.

But he knew better.

Nights like these weren’t meant to survive the daylight. They were meant to burn bright and vanish, leaving nothing but the memory of the glow.

Quietly, Magnus slipped out of bed. He gathered his clothes, sliding rings back onto his fingers, shrugging into his jacket. He paused at the doorway, glancing back one last time.

Alec stirred faintly, shifting in his sleep, lips parting with a sigh.

Magnus’s chest tightened. Then he pulled the door shut behind him, the soft click echoing in the stillness.

The city welcomed him back with open arms, as though nothing had changed.

-

Magnus Bane prided himself on his ability to maintain composure. No matter the situation—an overbearing boss, a catastrophic deadline, or the occasional heartbreak—he showed up polished, precise, and ready to dazzle.

This morning, however, composure was proving difficult.

He sank carefully into his chair at the editorial office, biting the inside of his cheek to keep his expression smooth. The chair was criminally uncomfortable on a normal day, and today, with certain lingering aches from the previous night’s extracurricular activities, it was nothing short of torture, but he didn’t regret it. He welcomed it. He hasn’t let himself have it in a long time.

Don’t think about him, Magnus scolded himself as he adjusted in his seat. Don’t think about tall, broad-shouldered men with tattoos that begged to be traced. Don’t think about Alec.

“Rough night?”

The voice jolted Magnus from his thoughts. He looked up to see Simon Lewis leaning against his cubicle wall, clutching a travel mug like it was life support. Simon’s shirt was half-untucked, his tie askew, and his glasses fogged slightly from the morning humidity.

Magnus raised a brow. “Define rough.”

“You look like someone who fought with their mattress and lost,” Simon said, sliding into the chair opposite him.

Magnus smirked, reaching for his coffee. “Darling, if I’d been fighting with my mattress, at least it would have been mutual.”

Simon frowned, clearly trying to decide whether he wanted to ask. He chose caution and shifted the subject. “So, new apartment? Clary told me you moved in yesterday.”

Magnus leaned back—or tried to, wincing when the chair pressed in just the wrong place (or best places). “Yes. Cozy little place, lots of character. Exposed brick, decent light. And best of all…” He gestured broadly toward the office windows, where the skyline stretched beyond. “I can walk to work in ten minutes. No more soul-crushing commutes.”

“That’s amazing,” Simon said sincerely. “I’m still stuck taking the subway an hour each way. And there’s always that one guy who decides the entire car needs to hear his acoustic guitar covers.”

Magnus wrinkled his nose. “Tragic. Truly.”

Simon chuckled, sipping from his mug. “So, you’re settling in okay? Or is it still boxes everywhere?”

“A controlled chaos,” Magnus said breezily. “But Clary helped me christen the place with music and questionable takeout. I’d say it’s officially home.”

Simon grinned. “Sounds like you. You’ll have it decorated like a magazine spread in a week, won’t you?”

Magnus wiggled his fingers dramatically. “Darling, in less than a week. By Friday night, the walls will glitter with candles, and the couch will be draped in fabrics so luxurious you’ll wonder if you’ve stepped into Versailles.”

Simon laughed. “Can’t wait for the grand tour.”

Magnus inclined his head, pleased. He sipped his coffee, letting Simon ramble about the latest band he was obsessing over, the new article pitch he was terrified of presenting to their editor, and Clary’s insistence that he needed to buy better shoes. Magnus responded in kind, teasing him about his lack of fashion sense and assuring him that his pitch was brilliant.

All the while, however, Magnus couldn’t help shifting in his seat. His body was a betrayer, sending little reminders of last night every time he moved. Every brush of fabric, every sharp edge of discomfort pulled him back into Alec’s apartment. Into heat and breathless whispers, into the weight of Alec’s body pressed against his, into the way Alec’s voice had broken on his name.

He stirred his coffee with unnecessary force. Focus, Bane. Work now, daydream later.

“So,” Simon said suddenly, leaning forward conspiratorially, “are you seeing anyone? Or was Clary exaggerating when she said you’re ‘too married to your wardrobe to date properly’?”

Magnus arched a perfectly groomed brow. “Clary is a menace and a liar.”

Simon grinned. “So…not a no?”

Magnus let his lips curve into a slow smile. “Let’s just say I had a very…eventful evening. But I doubt it’s worth your romantic imagination running wild.”

Simon’s eyes widened. “Oh. Ohhh. That explains the—” He gestured vaguely at Magnus’s posture. “The whole…thing.”

Magnus shot him a warning look. “Finish that sentence, Lewis, and I’ll ensure your band never books a gig in this city again.”

Simon clamped his mouth shut, though his grin didn’t fade. “Fine, fine. I’ll drop it.” A pause. “But I will say you look…happy. And kind of tired. But, like, good tired?”

Magnus softened despite himself. “Maybe.” He set his coffee aside, straightening the stack of manuscripts on his desk. “Now, if you’re quite done analyzing my glow, I have work to do.”

Simon laughed, lifting his hands in surrender. “All right, all right. I’ll leave you to it. But don’t think this conversation is over.”

As Simon disappeared down the hall, Magnus allowed himself a quiet sigh. Alone again, he glanced at the empty document on his screen. Words blurred as memories pressed in—Alec’s hesitant smile at the club, the way his voice had deepened when he finally let go, the quiet vulnerability in his sleeping face that morning.

Magnus rubbed at his temple. He’d left before dawn for a reason. He wasn’t looking for messy entanglements, and Alec seemed like the kind of man who deserved more than a one-night shadow in his bed.

So why couldn’t Magnus stop thinking about him?

With a huff, Magnus forced his focus back to his work. Deadlines didn’t care about aching muscles or hazel-eyed men with arms inked in secrets. He had an article to polish and an editor with no patience for late submissions.

Still, as the day dragged on and he shifted in his chair for the hundredth time, Magnus knew the truth. No matter how close his apartment was to the office, no matter how much he tried to bury himself in work, Alec was there. A ghost written into every ache, every pause, every unguarded thought.

And Magnus hated ghosts.

-

Magnus Bane knew the universe had a flair for the dramatic. Still, this morning’s performance felt unnecessarily cruel.

First, his alarm hadn’t gone off. He had planned a full thirty minutes of outfit curation, hair sculpting, and eyeliner sharp enough to slice through mediocrity. Instead, he woke up thirty minutes late with the sun already in his face, cursed eloquently, and scrambled through his closet like a man possessed.

Second, because time hated him, he was forced to leave his apartment wearing black trousers and a silk shirt that didn’t quite match his jacket. His hair was tied into a hasty ponytail, and his accessories numbered only three rings instead of his usual curated collection.

And third, his coffee tasted like despair.

By the time Magnus slammed his apartment door shut, juggling his bag and travel mug, he was already rehearsing excuses for his editor. Something involving traffic, a tragic shoe malfunction, maybe even a fire drill—anything but the truth: Magnus Bane had overslept.

He swept into the lobby, ready to storm out the front door with as much dignity as he could muster—when he nearly collided with a tall figure carrying a cardboard box.

Magnus’s heart stopped.

Alec.

He stood there, dressed simply in jeans and a plain hoodie, a moving box balanced in his arms. His dark hair was slightly tousled, his lips parted in surprise. Up close, Magnus caught a faint whiff of soap and coffee.

For a split second, Magnus forgot how to breathe. It had been a month since their night together—one night Magnus had carefully shoved into the back of his mind, boxed and labeled Do Not Open. And now the box had been dropped right in front of him.

“Magnus?” Alec’s voice was low, uncertain.

Magnus snapped himself back into character, lifting his chin and forcing a smile. “Well. If it isn’t my favorite tattooed mystery man. Tell me, are you haunting me, or is this just a poorly written rom-com scenario?”

Alec blinked. “You live here?”

Magnus gestured around the lobby with his coffee. “Unless I’ve accidentally broken into the wrong building, yes. You?”

He remembered Alec apartment being on the other side of the city.

Alec shifted the box in his arms. “I…just moved in. Three days ago.”

Magnus’s lips parted, then closed again. Of course. Of course the universe would move Alec into his building. Not last week, not last month—three days ago, just in time to make Magnus’s morning worse.

“How…charming,” Magnus said, his voice smooth though his stomach was a knot. “New neighbor.”

“Yeah.” Alec gave a small, awkward smile. “Small world.”

For a moment, silence stretched between them, heavy with the memory of shared sheets and whispered names. Magnus fought to keep his composure, to ignore the ache of familiarity crawling over his skin.

“You’re…headed to work?” Alec asked finally.

“Tragically, yes,” Magnus said, rolling his eyes. “Late, under-accessorized, and burdened with truly abysmal coffee. My reputation will never recover.”

Alec’s mouth curved, just slightly. “You look fine.”

Fine. Magnus almost winced. He never looked fine. He looked spectacular, curated, unforgettable. But the way Alec said it—soft, honest, like he meant it—made Magnus pause.

“Careful,” Magnus drawled. “I might start thinking you enjoy complimenting me.”

Alec flushed faintly. “Just telling the truth.”

The sincerity in his tone tugged at Magnus in a way he didn’t have time for. He had a job to get to, a morning already ruined, and a neighborly revelation that threatened to upend his carefully constructed detachment.

“Well,” Magnus said briskly, adjusting the strap of his bag, “welcome to the building. I’d offer you a drink to celebrate, but as you can see, I’m tragically occupied with capitalism. Perhaps another time.”

Alec nodded, shifting the box again. “Sure.”

Magnus swept past him, the swish of his jacket trailing behind. He didn’t look back, though he could feel Alec’s eyes lingering.

Outside, the city was its usual blur of horns, footsteps, and chatter. Magnus sipped his lukewarm coffee, grimaced, and muttered under his breath, “Of all the apartment complexes in all the city…”

-

At the office, things only got worse. His editor scowled at his late arrival, his inbox overflowed with urgent revisions, and Simon popped by his cubicle with too much cheer.

“Magnus!” Simon said, leaning over the partition. “How’s the glamorous new apartment? Settling in?”

Magnus pinched the bridge of his nose. “Settling in, yes. Glamorous, tragically no. My morning has been a series of unfortunate events, starring yours truly.”

Simon smirked. “Overslept?”

Magnus shot him a look. “Do not mock my suffering, Lewis. It’s unseemly.”

Simon ignored him. “Clary told me you’d love the location. Close to everything, right?”

“Close enough to work that I don’t require an ark to survive the commute,” Magnus said, waving a hand. “Though that blessing has been overshadowed by my latest…neighborly revelation.”

Simon’s eyes lit up. “Oh? Cute neighbor?”

Magnus froze for half a second too long before replying, “Something like that.”

Simon grinned. “You’re holding back details. Which means it’s juicy.”

Magnus pressed a dramatic hand to his chest. “Darling, some secrets are too dangerous for mortal ears.”

Simon groaned. “You can’t just say things like that and then drop it.”

“Watch me,” Magnus said sweetly, swiveling back to his computer screen.

But as Simon wandered away, Magnus’s composure cracked. His mind replayed the morning again and again—Alec’s startled expression, his awkward smile, the way he’d said you look fine like it was the simplest truth in the world.

Magnus drummed his fingers on the desk, restless. A month ago, he’d slipped away quietly, convinced their night together was best left as a memory. But now Alec wasn’t just a memory. He was three doors down, carrying boxes, smiling awkwardly in Magnus’s lobby.

And Magnus had no idea what to do with that.

-

Magnus Bane had mastered the art of avoidance.

Or so he told himself as he tiptoed—yes, tiptoed—down the hall of his apartment building at seven forty-five in the morning, clutching his coffee like a weapon. His hair was perfectly styled today, his rings in abundance, his jacket immaculate. He looked ready to conquer the editorial office.

What he did not look ready for was running into Alec again.

And so, after their inconvenient lobby encounter three days ago, Magnus had perfected his strategy: memorize Alec’s schedule. Or, at least, the little he’d gleaned. Alec seemed to leave around eight every morning, box in hand, like he was still unpacking his new life one cardboard square at a time. Magnus, therefore, made it his mission to leave earlier. Or later. Or not at all, if necessary.

He didn’t want drama. Not again. Not after last year—when Camille had shattered everything, leaving Magnus with the sharp edges of betrayal lodged too deeply in his chest. He had promised himself, promised, that he was cured of dating. One-night stands, casual flings, glittering distractions—that was all. Safe. Controlled. No mess.

And Alec, with his sincere eyes and awkward compliments, looked like the definition of mess.

Magnus reached the lobby door and exhaled in relief. Clear. No Alec in sight. He straightened his jacket and stepped into the morning sunlight—

“Magnus?”

Magnus froze. Slowly, he turned. There, standing just behind him with a paper bag of groceries, was Alec.

Of course.

Magnus plastered on a smile. “Darling, if I didn’t know better, I’d think you were following me.”

Alec blinked. “I was…just coming back from the store.”

Magnus eyed the bag. “At this hour? What could possibly be so urgent it requires a dawn patrol?”

“Milk,” Alec said simply.

Magnus opened his mouth, closed it again, then settled for an elegant shrug. “Thrilling.” He swept past Alec, adding over his shoulder, “Enjoy your calcium.”

-

The next encounter happened two days later, in the mailroom.

Magnus had timed it perfectly: late evening, after most tenants were tucked away. He strutted in, coat flowing behind him, intent on retrieving his latest package of scented candles. Only to find Alec already there, crouched in front of a mailbox, frowning at a stubborn key.

Magnus paused in the doorway. He could leave. Yes, retreat, claim he’d forgotten something, come back later.

But Alec looked up at that exact moment. Their eyes met.

Magnus sighed. “Of course.”

Alec stood quickly. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“Exist? Be here? Breathe my air?” Magnus fluttered his hand. “Nonsense. Perfectly allowed.”

Alec gave him a look—half amusement, half confusion—that Magnus found annoyingly endearing.

“Do you need help?” Alec asked, nodding toward the box Magnus was holding.

Magnus arched a brow. “Darling, I can carry my own candles.”

Alec’s mouth twitched. “Candles?”

“Essential for ambiance,” Magnus said loftily, sweeping toward the elevator. “Some of us refuse to live in darkness.”

Alec Lightwood said his mailbox, information that Magnus didn’t want to know.

-

By the end of the week, avoiding Alec had turned into a full-time job.

He lingered in his apartment, peeking through the peephole like a spy before daring to leave. He took the long way to the lobby, weaving through the laundry room just in case Alec was lurking by the mailboxes. He even started wearing sunglasses indoors, convinced it made him less noticeable (it did not).

Clary noticed, of course. She always noticed.

“You’re acting weird,” she said one evening over takeout in Magnus’s apartment.

Magnus, draped dramatically across his couch, waved a chopstick. “I’m always weird, darling. It’s my brand.”

“No, this is different,” Clary insisted. “You’ve been hiding. Like…actually hiding. From who?”

Magnus took a long, slow sip of wine before replying. “My neighbor.”

Clary blinked. “Your…neighbor?”

“Tall, brooding, tattooed.” Magnus’s lips pursed. “We may or may not have shared a night of enthusiastic activities approximately one month prior to his moving in three doors down.”

Clary nearly choked on her noodles. “Wait—what? Alec? The guy with the box of books I helped move last week?”

Magnus groaned. “He has books? Of course he has books. Next you’ll tell me he rescues kittens in his spare time.”

Clary smirked. “He does have a cat.”

“Unbelievable.” Magnus flopped backward with a theatrical sigh. “The universe is taunting me.”

Clary tilted her head. “So…what’s the problem? He’s cute. You like cute.”

“The problem, my darling, is that I am cured of dating,” Magnus declared, pointing his chopstick for emphasis. “I am a survivor of heartbreak, a phoenix risen from the ashes of Camille’s betrayal. I will not—will not—be dragged back into the flames by a man who lives three doors down.”

Clary gave him a long look. “So, you’re just going to…avoid him forever?”

“Exactly.”

Clary grinned. “Yeah. Good luck with that.”

-

The next morning, Magnus opened his apartment door at the exact same time Alec opened his.

They froze.

Magnus considered retreating back inside, but that would scream cowardice. And Magnus Bane did not scream anything—except maybe style.

So, he smiled thinly and said, “Good morning, neighbor. How’s the milk?”

Alec blinked, then chuckled softly. “Still good.”

And against his better judgment, Magnus’s lips twitched upward, just slightly.

-

Magnus Bane was not easily rattled. He had survived heartbreak, bad fashion trends, and the collapse of a relationship that had nearly hollowed him out. He had rebuilt himself with sequins, sarcasm, and the occasional martini. He was unshakable.

Except today.

Today, everything conspired against him.

At work, his editor dismissed two of his article drafts with a sniff and muttered something about “style over substance.” Magnus had spent the afternoon glaring at the blinking cursor on his computer screen, his creativity stalling every time his mind drifted to certain tattoos. By the time he left the office, his head was pounding, his patience razor-thin.

And when he returned home and opened his fridge, he was greeted by a tragedy of epic proportions: half a bottle of white wine, questionable mustard, and a single shriveled lime.

“Pathetic,” Magnus muttered, slamming the door shut. “Even my refrigerator mocks me.”

Which was how he ended up trudging to the corner grocery store at nine p.m., silk scarf wrapped around his shoulders like armor. The fluorescent lights were unforgiving, the aisles buzzing with last-minute shoppers grabbing instant ramen and cheap beer. Magnus swept through with a basket, tossing in pasta, tomatoes, fresh herbs, cheese—if life insisted on unraveling, at least he would do it with style and decent food.

By the time he reached the building again, his arms ached from the weight of the bags. He held them carefully, balancing them with the grace of someone used to juggling crises. He was only a few steps from the safety of the elevator when disaster struck.

The cheap paper handles tore with a sickening rip.

“No—no, no, no!” Magnus exclaimed as the bags gave way. Groceries cascaded across the lobby floor: tomatoes rolling under the couch, pasta skidding toward the mailboxes, oranges bouncing mockingly.

Magnus froze, staring down at the wreckage of his dignity. He opened his mouth, closed it again, and finally groaned. “Of course. Of course this would happen.”

“Hey.”

The voice was familiar. Too familiar.

Magnus looked up to find Alec standing there, dressed in jeans and a Henley, holding his keys. His brows furrowed, his expression soft with concern.

“Let me help.” Alec crouched immediately, reaching for a runaway tomato.

Magnus’s first instinct was to protest, to wave him away with a dramatic quip. But frustration surged through him, sharp and exhausting. He dropped to his knees, muttering under his breath. “The universe truly despises me.”

Alec glanced at him. “It’s just groceries.”

“It’s not just groceries,” Magnus snapped, shoving pasta back into the torn bag. “It’s groceries after a day of creative humiliation, after a week of avoidance gymnastics, after months of surviving heartbreak with nothing but eyeliner and sheer force of will.” He let out a sharp laugh. “And now here I am, on the lobby floor, battling rogue citrus.”

Alec’s mouth twitched, like he wanted to smile but knew better. “Everyone has bad days.”

Magnus shot him a look. “Do they also have to suffer indignity in front of their inconveniently attractive neighbor?”

That earned him a flush across Alec’s cheeks. He bent his head quickly, gathering the last of the groceries into his large hands.

They worked in silence for a few minutes, the quiet broken only by the rustle of bags and Magnus’s dramatic sighs. When everything was collected, Alec straightened and held out one of the sturdier bags. “Here. I’ll carry this one up.”

Magnus opened his mouth to argue. But his arms were tired, and his pride was already in tatters. He accepted the offer with a small, reluctant nod. “Fine. But only because I’m seconds from collapsing into a tragic heap, and I refuse to be found dead surrounded by fusilli.”

Alec’s lips curved. “Noted.”

They walked to the elevator together, Magnus clutching his scarf tighter around him, trying to ignore the warmth blooming in his chest. The ride was silent, though Magnus could feel Alec’s presence like a gravitational pull.

When the doors opened, they stepped into the hall. Magnus stopped outside his door, fumbling for his keys. “Thank you, neighbor. Your heroism will not be forgotten. You’ve saved me from the ignominy of being crushed by canned goods.”

Alec handed over the bag, his gaze steady. “It’s really not a big deal.”

Magnus met his eyes, and for a heartbeat, the air shifted. Something unspoken hummed between them, dangerous and tempting. Magnus felt it in the tightness of his chest, in the memory of Alec’s voice murmuring his name in the dark.

He forced himself to break eye contact, unlocking his door with a flourish. “Goodnight, Alec.”

“Night, Magnus.”

Alec turned toward his own apartment. Magnus slipped inside his, shutting the door with a soft click. He leaned against it, groceries at his feet, and let out a groan that was half despair, half laughter.

“What am I doing?” he muttered.

He wasn’t supposed to feel this—this tug, this warmth, this messy human ache. He was supposed to be cured. He was supposed to keep his walls high, his heart safe. But Alec Lightwood had just carried his groceries like it was nothing, and Magnus was suddenly, painfully aware that maybe—just maybe—his cure wasn’t working.

-

Magnus Bane did not get jealous.

Jealousy was messy. Jealousy was undignified. Jealousy was something other people—less fashionable, less controlled—succumbed to. Magnus had survived Camille’s betrayal, had rebuilt himself with rings and sarcasm and the unwavering mantra: never again. He had no space in his heart for the ugly green-eyed monster.

And yet.

That morning, as Magnus swept through the lobby in a plum silk shirt and perfectly tailored trousers, latte in hand, he stopped short at the sound of laughter.

Alec’s laughter.

It was deep and warm, rolling out of him in a way Magnus had never heard before. Not that Magnus had heard Alec laugh much at all; their interactions had been awkward silences and stilted small talk, punctuated by Magnus’s quips. But this—this was unguarded, genuine.

Magnus’s eyes narrowed.

Alec stood near the front doors, shoulders relaxed, smile wide. Beside him was a blond man—tall, lean, dressed in running gear, his arm brushing Alec’s as they spoke. The stranger said something Magnus couldn’t hear, and Alec laughed again, ducking his head like he couldn’t help himself.

Something sharp twisted in Magnus’s chest. He didn’t recognize it at first, but the longer he watched the easy closeness between them, the more undeniable it became. Jealousy.

Magnus stiffened. Ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous. He had no claim, no reason. One night a month ago did not entitle him to anything. And yet, the sight of Alec smiling like that at someone else burned more than he wanted to admit.

The blond man clapped Alec on the shoulder, and they headed out together, the door swinging closed behind them.

Magnus stared after them, sipping his latte with studied nonchalance. His hand trembled only slightly.

“Well,” he muttered to himself. “Clearly I need stronger coffee.”

-

At work, the jealousy clung like smoke. Magnus sat at his desk, glaring at his computer screen. His article draft remained stubbornly blank, the cursor blinking like it was mocking him.

Simon wandered over, dropping into the neighboring chair. “You’re scowling. Like, more than usual.”

Magnus arched a brow. “This is my creative face.”

“Pretty sure it’s your murderous face,” Simon said, peering at him. “Everything okay?”

Magnus waved a jeweled hand. “Darling, everything is always okay. Sometimes spectacularly, sometimes disastrously, but always okay.”

Simon didn’t buy it. He never did. “You’re deflecting.”

Magnus leaned back, crossing his arms. “Perhaps I simply resent being chained to this cubicle, pouring my brilliance into words no one appreciates.”

Simon smirked. “Or maybe you’re thinking about a certain tall, tattooed neighbor you keep bumping into.”

Magnus’s eyes snapped to him. “Excuse me?”

“Clary told me.” Simon grinned. “You’ve got some serious neighbor drama. Which, by the way, is hilarious.”

Magnus inhaled sharply, then forced a languid smile. “Darling, you overestimate my interest. I am cured of romantic entanglements. I no longer suffer such indignities as longing, pining, or—heaven forbid—jealousy.”

Simon tilted his head. “Okay. So why’d you nearly break your coffee cup just now?”

Magnus glanced down. His hand was indeed clenched too tightly around the paper cup, the cardboard dented. He loosened his grip, sniffing. “Over-caffeination. Very dangerous. You should look into it.”

Simon rolled his eyes. “Uh-huh.”

-

That evening, Magnus returned to his apartment determined to put it all behind him. He lit his new candles, poured himself a glass of wine, and queued up a playlist of dramatic jazz.

But every time he sat down, he saw Alec in his mind: that laugh, that smile, the way his shoulders had relaxed in the company of someone else.

Magnus groaned, burying his face in a cushion. “I should not care. I do not care.”

He cared.

And he hated it.

The truth was, Camille’s betrayal had left him hollow. He had patched the hollow with glitter and bravado, swearing he would never give anyone else the power to break him. And Alec—Alec was danger incarnate. He was steady, sincere, the kind of person who slipped past defenses before you realized they’d been breached.

Magnus drained his glass. “No. Absolutely not. Heart: consider yourself officially guarded.”

-

The next morning, Magnus was extra careful. He timed his departure late, lingered in the hall until he was sure Alec would be gone. He swept into the lobby, coat flaring dramatically, confidence restored.

Until he spotted Alec by the mailboxes. Alone this time.

Magnus’s steps faltered. Alec looked up, meeting his gaze, and Magnus felt the familiar tug—infuriating, magnetic. He pasted on a smile.

“Good morning, neighbor,” Magnus said, voice smooth. “No charming blond companion today?”

Alec blinked. “Companion?”

Magnus waved a hand. “You know, tall, golden, devastatingly sporty. The one who had you laughing like a rom-com lead yesterday.”

Alec flushed faintly. “Oh. That was Jace. My brother.”

Magnus stopped. “Your…brother?”

“Yeah.” Alec tilted his head, brow furrowing. “Why?”

Magnus forced a laugh, high and brittle. “No reason whatsoever. Delightful. Truly delightful. I adore siblings. Nothing says familial bliss like jogging in matching sneakers.”

Alec gave him a look, clearly baffled.

Magnus cleared his throat, straightened his jacket, and swept toward the door. “Well, must dash. Capitalism waits for no man. Have a lovely day, Alexander.”

Outside, Magnus pressed a hand to his chest, heart racing. Relief and mortification tangled together until he didn’t know whether to laugh or scream.

“Brilliant,” he muttered. “Jealous over a brother. Absolutely brilliant. Someone please tattoo guard your heart on my forehead.”

He strode off down the street, head high, pretending the ache inside him wasn’t there at all.

-

Magnus Bane prided himself on compartmentalization. Work frustrations went in one mental drawer, social obligations in another, heartbreak in the one he kept locked and buried under metaphorical concrete. Most days, it worked.

Yesterday, however, someone had picked the lock.

It was late afternoon in the editorial office, the clack of keyboards filling the air, when Andrew from Sports had plopped down on the edge of Magnus’s desk with the weariness of a man crushed by life. Magnus had prepared himself for another tirade about deadlines or the coffee machine—only to be blindsided.

“She cheated on me,” Andrew muttered, scrubbing a hand down his face. “Again. Second time this year. I’m such an idiot for giving her another chance.”

Magnus froze, fingers hovering above his keyboard.

Andrew kept going, words tumbling out like loose change. “I mean, you think you know someone, right? And then you find out you’re just…a placeholder. Makes you feel like nothing. Like you weren’t enough.”

Magnus’s throat tightened. He forced his expression into neutrality, but inside, memories clawed their way to the surface. Camille’s smile, sweet and poisonous. Her hand in his, warm and deceitful. The way his world had cracked open the day he’d discovered she wasn’t his alone.

He had loved her. Trusted her. And she had turned his devotion into a weapon, cutting him down until he barely recognized himself.

Andrew sighed and rose. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to dump that on you. Just…don’t make the same mistakes I did, Bane. Guard your heart.”

Magnus nodded faintly, the words echoing in his head long after Andrew left.

Guard your heart.

-

The next morning, Magnus was determined to start fresh. He wrapped himself in a teal coat, styled his hair with extra care, and even allowed himself a smile as he locked his apartment door. The past was the past. Today would be better.

Until fate intervened in the form of Alec Lightwood.

Magnus nearly collided with him outside the elevator, their shoulders brushing. Alec, dressed in a fitted black sweater that did unspeakable things for his frame, looked startled—and then awkward, like he was gathering courage for something.

“Hey,” Alec said, voice low.

“Good morning, neighbor,” Magnus replied smoothly, masking the sudden flutter in his chest.

There was a pause. Alec shifted his weight, then blurted, “Do you—uh—want to grab coffee sometime? With me?”

Magnus’s world tilted. For a moment, he forgot how to breathe. Alec’s expression was uncertain but earnest, his gaze flickering to Magnus’s and away again.

And oh, how Magnus wanted to say yes. Wanted to lean into that sincerity, to let himself fall into the possibility of something real, something honest.

But Andrew’s words came rushing back, sharp and unrelenting. Guard your heart.

Magnus felt the weight of Camille’s betrayal pressing down, the echo of being shattered and discarded. He could still remember the way it had hollowed him out, left him raw and unsteady. He had promised himself never again.

So he forced a smile, brittle at the edges. “Tempting offer, Alexander, but I’m afraid I’ll have to decline.”

Alec blinked. “Oh.”

Magnus shrugged lightly, as if it cost him nothing. “My schedule is…chaotic. Tragic, really. No time for charming neighbors and their caffeine-based invitations.”

Alec’s jaw tightened, but he nodded slowly. “Right. Of course. Sorry I asked.”

He stepped past Magnus, heading toward the lobby doors.

Magnus stood frozen, watching his retreating back. His chest ached with the words he hadn’t said, the yes that wanted to escape. But fear wrapped around him like chains, whispering that this path only led to ruin.

He turned sharply, striding toward the opposite hallway as though distance could silence the turmoil inside him.

-

At work, Magnus couldn’t concentrate. The article draft mocked him, the cursor blinking in time with his heartbeat. Every sip of coffee tasted like ashes.

Simon leaned over the partition. “You look…haunted.”

Magnus arched a brow. “Darling, I always look haunted. It’s part of my mystique.”

Simon tilted his head. “Uh-huh. Did you and Clary fight? Or is this about the neighbor again?”

Magnus stiffened. “Why must everyone in this office conspire to turn my private affairs into a soap opera?”

“Because you’re obviously hiding something,” Simon said.

Magnus leaned back in his chair, forcing a smirk. “There is nothing to hide. I am simply a man with excellent cheekbones, a ruined draft, and a profound dislike for rejection.”

Simon frowned. “Rejection?”

“Never mind.” Magnus waved a jeweled hand dismissively, but the ache lingered.

-

That evening, Magnus sat in his apartment, staring at the flickering candlelight. He told himself he had done the right thing. That Alec deserved someone unbroken, someone unafraid. That his refusal was mercy, not cowardice.

But as he closed his eyes, all he could hear was Alec’s voice, tentative and hopeful: Do you want to grab coffee sometime?

And Magnus’s own voice, cold and false: I’ll have to decline.

He pressed his palms to his eyes, exhaling shakily. “I don’t want drama. I don’t want pain. I don’t…” His voice cracked, and he shook his head. “I can’t.”

Yet deep down, he knew the truth: it wasn’t that he couldn’t. It was that he was afraid.

And fear, Magnus Bane realized bitterly, was a terrible prison.

Chapter Text

Three weeks.

That was how long it had been since Magnus Bane had last seen Alec Lightwood in the apartment complex.

Three weeks of empty hallways, quiet mailboxes, and the bliss of not having to navigate awkward silences or his own traitorous heart. This was what he’d wanted, wasn’t it? Space. Freedom. A reprieve from temptation.

He told himself it was a victory. Every morning he sipped his coffee and thought, See? You’re fine. You’re over it already. Every evening he came home to flickering candles and convinced himself that the quiet was preferable.

And yet…

And yet, the victory felt hollow. His eyes lingered a beat too long on the lobby whenever he walked through, searching unconsciously for broad shoulders and dark hair. His steps slowed outside Alec’s door, listening for the faintest sound. When the elevator doors opened, some part of him always expected to see Alec stepping inside.

But nothing. Just silence.

Good, he told himself. This was good.

Then why didn’t it feel like it?

Magnus tried to reason with himself. What did he even know about Alec? They’d hooked up once, a month ago, and stumbled into each other afterward in increasingly ridiculous circumstances. That was all. Hardly the foundation of anything lasting.

You don’t even know his favorite color, Magnus scolded himself one night, swirling wine in his glass. You don’t know what kind of music he likes, whether he takes his coffee black or with sugar, whether he prefers cats or dogs (even though he remember clary mentioning something about a cat). You don’t know him, Magnus.

And yet, he did know Alec’s laugh. He knew the way Alec’s ears flushed when he was embarrassed. He knew how careful his hands were, how steady his gaze could be when it landed on Magnus like there was no one else in the room.

Magnus closed his eyes and groaned into the cushion. “Pathetic. Utterly pathetic.”

Life went on. It had to.

-

On the twenty-second morning, Magnus emerged from his apartment dressed in a sapphire blazer, rings gleaming, coffee cup in hand. He was humming under his breath, already mentally composing the opening line of his next article, when the elevator doors slid open.

And there he was.

Alec.

Magnus froze for a fraction of a second. Alec stood there in a simple gray hoodie, hair slightly mussed like he hadn’t bothered to tame it, a travel mug clutched in his hand. His eyes widened briefly when they landed on Magnus, then shuttered.

Magnus’s heart lurched. He summoned his usual bravado, lifting his chin with a dazzling smile. “Well, well. The prodigal neighbor returns. I was beginning to suspect you’d vanished into the night, leaving only echoes and unpaid rent behind.”

For a moment, Alec just looked at him. Then he gave a small nod and said, “Hey, Magnus.”

That was it.

Two words. No smile. No warmth. Just a short, polite greeting, delivered like Magnus was anyone else in the building.

Magnus’s smile faltered. He covered it with a sip of coffee, tilting his head in what he hoped was a casual gesture. “Charming as always, Alexander. I’ll leave you to your morning crusade.”

He swept past Alec, coat flaring, but his chest felt tight, heavy.

By the time he reached the street, his hands were trembling. He stared down at his coffee cup, blinking against the sting behind his eyes.

This is what you wanted, he reminded himself fiercely. Distance. Detachment. An end to messy entanglements.

Then why did it feel like his heart had been quietly, efficiently broken?

-

At work, Magnus tried to distract himself. He buried himself in edits, scrolled through stock photos for his latest piece, and even volunteered to proofread Simon’s rambling article about indie bands. But the image of Alec’s shuttered eyes wouldn’t leave him.

Simon noticed, of course. He always noticed.

“You’re quiet today,” Simon said, leaning against Magnus’s desk. “That usually means one of two things: you’re plotting revenge, or you’re depressed.”

Magnus arched a brow. “Darling, I never get depressed. I simply…refine my moods.”

“Refined into what? Because you’ve looked like someone kicked your puppy since you walked in.”

Magnus sniffed. “If I had a puppy, no one would dare kick it.”

Simon gave him a pointed look. “This is about your neighbor again, isn’t it?”

Magnus scoffed, twirling a pen dramatically. “Don’t be absurd. He is merely a man with impeccable shoulders and terrible timing. Our lives are not a romance novel, Simon.”

“Sure,” Simon said dryly. “You keep telling yourself that.”

-

That evening, Magnus sat on his couch, candles flickering around him, glass of wine untouched at his side. He replayed the morning over and over. The way Alec had looked at him—briefly open, then closed off. The way his voice had flattened into something polite and distant.

Magnus pressed a hand to his chest, feeling the ache there.

You don’t know him, he reminded himself. It was one night. It doesn’t matter.

But it did. Somehow, it did.

And the worst part was knowing he had done this to himself. He had said no when he wanted to say yes. He had chosen safety over possibility. He had guarded his heart so tightly that he might have pushed away the one person who could have slipped past his defenses without even trying.

Magnus tipped his head back against the cushions, eyes closing. “Well done, Bane. You’ve protected yourself so thoroughly, you’ve managed to feel heartbroken over a man who was never yours.”

The silence of the apartment answered him, heavy and unyielding.

-

The city was too small. That was the only explanation.

Magnus had carefully arranged his life so that Alec Lightwood was neatly contained in one box: neighbor (dangerous, avoid), hookup (memorable, archive), temptation (guard against). That box lived in the back of his mind, tucked behind heartbreak and bad memories.

Except now, the universe had gleefully knocked everything off the shelf.

It started innocently enough. Magnus arrived at a publishing industry mixer with his usual flair: velvet jacket, eyeliner sharp enough to maim, confidence like perfume. The editorial had sent him to “network,” which Magnus translated as “drink cocktails and be admired.”

He was halfway through charming a pair of junior editors when a familiar voice floated across the room.

“I’m here for the nonprofit’s literacy program. We’re hoping to secure more partnerships with publishers.”

Magnus froze, martini glass halfway to his lips. Slowly, he turned.

Alec stood at the other end of the room, tall and steady in a crisp button-down, speaking earnestly to a small group. His hands moved as he talked, precise but expressive, and his eyes lit with quiet conviction.

Magnus’s heart gave a traitorous lurch.

Of course. Of course Alec would be here. Magnus should’ve guessed—New York was vast, but when fate had a flair for melodrama, no city was big enough.

Their eyes met across the room. Alec’s gaze flickered, guarded, before he inclined his head politely. Then he turned back to his conversation, as if Magnus were just another face in the crowd.

Something sharp twisted in Magnus’s chest.

He told himself this was good. This was what he wanted—space, distance, boundaries. Alec was clearly respecting that. He should be relieved.

But all Magnus felt was disappointment.

-

An hour later, Magnus found himself cornered by Clary near the hors d’oeuvres table.

“You’re brooding,” she accused, balancing a plate of stuffed mushrooms.

“I never brood,” Magnus said, swirling his martini. “I smolder.”

Clary rolled her eyes. “Semantics. Is it because of him?”

Magnus followed her gaze across the room. Alec was by the bar now, laughing softly at something one of his colleagues said. He looked—relaxed. Content. As if Magnus’s existence or absence had no effect at all.

Magnus forced a smile. “Darling, I hardly know what you’re talking about.”

Clary narrowed her eyes. “You know exactly what I’m talking about. And you look like someone stole your favorite pair of boots.”

Magnus sighed, lowering his voice. “He’s…giving me space.”

“And that’s bad?”

“It’s what I asked for,” Magnus said tightly. “It’s what I decided. No entanglements, no attachments, no opportunities for history to repeat itself. I should be celebrating.”

Clary tilted her head. “So why do you look like you’re about to set your drink on fire with sheer willpower?”

Magnus didn’t answer.

The inevitable happened when a mutual acquaintance, blissfully unaware of the tension, introduced them.

“Magnus, this is Alec Lightwood—he runs the nonprofit side of the literacy initiative. Alec, this is Magnus Bane, one of the editorial’s most creative voices.”

Magnus arched a brow, slipping effortlessly into his persona. “We’ve met,” he purred. “Several times, in fact.”

Alec’s expression remained calm, polite. “Yes. Good to see you again.”

No warmth. No spark. Just civility.

Magnus’s smile wavered before he tilted his head. “So, Alexander, saving the world one book at a time?”

“It’s a team effort,” Alec said simply. He gestured to his colleague, who beamed. “We just want more kids to have access to books they’ll actually want to read.”

Magnus’s chest squeezed. The sincerity in Alec’s tone, the quiet fire in his eyes—it was exactly what had drawn Magnus in the first place. And now, Alec was standing an arm’s length away yet felt miles distant.

“Admirable,” Magnus said, his voice lighter than he felt. “Truly. If only the world had more crusaders like you.”

Alec’s lips curved in a faint, polite smile. Then he excused himself, turning back to his group.

Magnus watched him go, martini glass trembling in his hand.

-

Later that night, Magnus sat alone in his apartment, the silence pressing in. He stared at the city lights outside his window, his reflection ghosted in the glass.

He should be happy Alec was giving him space. He should be relieved to see Alec moving on, unbothered, unaffected. That was the goal: no drama, no risk, no chance of heartbreak.

So why did it feel like loss?

Magnus rubbed at his temples, muttering to himself. “You don’t even know him. One night. That’s all. One night and a handful of awkward mornings. You’re being ridiculous.”

But the image of Alec’s guarded eyes, the polite distance in his voice, replayed endlessly. It hurt in a way Magnus hadn’t expected—like being cut off from warmth he hadn’t realized he was reaching for.

Guard your heart, he reminded himself. Always guard your heart.

But as he sat there in the dark, Magnus couldn’t shake the thought that maybe, just maybe, he had built his walls so high that he had trapped himself inside them.

And Alec Lightwood, with his quiet smile and steady hands, was already walking away.

-

Magnus had not planned to linger in the lobby that evening. He had a deadline breathing down his neck and a bottle of chardonnay chilling in the fridge. But fate, as always, had other plans.

Because when he stepped out of the elevator, there was Alec Lightwood, standing by the row of mailboxes with a stack of colorful flyers in his hands.

Magnus slowed, curiosity piqued. Alec was dressed in jeans and a black t-shirt, sleeves pushed up to reveal those forearms Magnus tried very hard not to think about. His expression was focused, serious, as he slid one flyer into each slot.

Magnus tilted his head. “You’ve traded your crusader’s sword for paper and staples, Alexander? What noble mission is this?”

Alec startled slightly, glancing up. “Oh. Hi, Magnus.” His voice was even, polite, but not unkind. He held out one of the flyers. “It’s…not a mission. Just—here.”

Magnus accepted it, expecting an announcement about the literacy nonprofit or maybe a building notice. Instead, he found himself staring at a grainy photo of a small tabby cat, green eyes wide, perched in what looked like a cardboard box. Beneath the photo, bold letters read: “Looking for a loving home.”

Magnus blinked. “You’re distributing cat adoption flyers?”

Alec scratched the back of his neck, suddenly self-conscious. “Yeah. I found him on the street a couple weeks ago. He was half-starved, really skittish. I took him to the vet, got him checked out, made sure he’s healthy.” His mouth curved faintly, tender despite his awkwardness. “He’s actually really sweet. Just…can’t stay with me.”

Magnus’s brows arched. “Why ever not? Surely your heroic heart has room for one more stray.”

Alec gave a small huff of laughter. “I already have a cat. His name’s Church. He…doesn’t exactly get along with other animals.” Alec’s grimace was almost sheepish. “Tried introducing them. It was chaos. Hissing, growling, the whole nine yards. I don’t think it’s fair to either of them.”

Magnus glanced down at the flyer again. The little tabby’s eyes were impossibly round, as if pleading through the cheap ink. Something warm tugged at his chest.

“You rescued him,” Magnus said softly, almost to himself.

Alec shrugged, as if embarrassed. “Anyone would have.”

Magnus looked back up, meeting Alec’s eyes. For a moment, the noise of the lobby faded away. Alec’s sincerity was so unguarded, so simple, it made Magnus ache.

He cleared his throat, forcing brightness into his tone. “Well, it appears destiny has delivered this feline damsel in distress directly into my path.”

Alec frowned slightly. “What?”

“I’ll adopt him.” Magnus held the flyer between two manicured fingers, lifting it like a proclamation. “Consider it settled.”

Alec blinked. “Wait—you?”

“Yes, me. Why not me?” Magnus placed a hand over his chest, feigning offense. “I am an excellent caretaker. My apartment is spacious, my sofa plush, and my tolerance for judgmental stares unparalleled. A cat would thrive under my roof.”

Alec’s lips twitched, as if he were fighting a smile. “You’re sure? It’s not just—impulsive?”

“Darling, I make a hobby of impulsive decisions. Some of them even turn out brilliantly.” Magnus smiled, softer this time. “Besides, I’ve been thinking my life could use more…companionship.”

Alec studied him for a long moment, something unreadable flickering in his gaze. Finally, he nodded. “Okay. Hee’s yours. If you really want him.”

Magnus lifted his chin, resolute. “I do.”

-

Twenty minutes later, Magnus found himself in Alec’s apartment for the first time since that night weeks ago. The air felt charged, though Alec moved about calmly, retrieving a small carrier from the corner. Inside, the tabby cat sat curled on a blanket, blinking up at them with cautious eyes.

“There he is,” Alec murmured, crouching beside the carrier. His voice softened in a way that tugged at Magnus’s heart. “Hey, boy. You’ve got a new home now.”

Magnus crouched as well, peering in. The cat tilted his head, whiskers twitching. “he’s exquisite,” Magnus whispered. He extended a careful hand through the grate, letting him sniff his fingers. To his delight, he didn’t shy away.

“He likes you,” Alec said, sounding faintly surprised.

“Of course he does,” Magnus replied, smiling faintly. “I have excellent energy.”

Alec chuckled under his breath, shaking his head.

They carried the carrier across the hall together, the silence between them almost companionable. Once inside Magnus’s apartment, Alec set it gently on the floor and opened the door. The tabby stepped out hesitantly, paws padding across the rug. He sniffed a table leg, then leapt onto the sofa with surprising grace.

Magnus watched, enchanted. “Oh, he belongs here. Look at him—claiming the throne already.”

“He’s resilient,” Alec said softly, hands in his pockets as he watched.

Magnus glanced at him. For a moment, their eyes met, and something unspoken passed between them. Gratitude. Admiration. Longing, maybe.

Magnus broke the moment first, turning back to the cat. “He’ll need a name, of course. Something regal, something worthy.” He tapped his chin thoughtfully. “Chairman Meow, perhaps?”

Alec laughed then, warm and genuine, and Magnus’s heart gave a painful twist.

“Chairman Meow,” Alec repeated, shaking his head. “That…actually suits him.”

Magnus smiled, pretending his chest wasn’t aching. “It’s settled, then. Chairman Meow has found his kingdom.”

Alec lingered a moment longer, watching the little cat curl into the cushions. Then he straightened. “I’ll get out of your way. Just—call me if you have questions about his care. Or anything.”

Magnus’s smile wavered. He wanted to ask him to stay, to sit, to let this quiet moment stretch on. But he bit back the words.

“Thank you, Alexander,” he said instead, voice carefully even.

Alec nodded once, then slipped out the door.

Magnus stood in the silence of his apartment, watching Chairman Meow bat at the fringe of a throw pillow. He looked up at him, blinking slowly, and for the first time in weeks, Magnus felt a spark of joy that wasn’t tangled in fear.

“Welcome home, darling,” he whispered, sinking onto the sofa beside him.

But even as he stroked his soft fur, the memory of Alec’s laugh lingered, bittersweet and inescapable.

-

Chairman Meow wasted no time in asserting his dominion over Magnus’s apartment.

By the second morning, he had scaled the bookshelf like a mountaineer, swatted a crystal vase into oblivion, and claimed Magnus’s pillow as his official throne. Magnus awoke with his tiny paw pressed against his cheek and his wide eyes daring him to complain.

“You’re lucky you’re adorable,” Magnus muttered, carefully detangling himself from his grip. He padded to the kitchen in silk pajamas, trailed by his new shadow. Chairman Meow sat on the counter as he brewed coffee, tail flicking in a rhythm that seemed designed to test his patience.

Simon nearly fell out of his chair at work later that day when Magnus launched into an uncharacteristically frazzled tirade.

“He has no respect for personal space, Simon! I can’t so much as blink without him climbing me like a human tree.” Magnus gestured dramatically, nearly spilling his latte. “My apartment has become a jungle gym, my wardrobe a scratching post, and my once-dignified existence has been reduced to bribing a small tyrant with tuna treats.”

Simon grinned. “Sounds like he fits right in.”

Magnus glared. “You are enjoying this far too much.”

“Oh, I absolutely am.” Simon leaned forward, mischievous. “But also…you look happy.”

Magnus froze. Happy? Surely Simon was mistaken. He was exhausted, covered in scratches, his sleep schedule destroyed. And yet…he thought of the way Chairman Meow curled up on his chest at night, his purr rumbling like a tiny engine, and his heart softened.

“Perhaps,” Magnus allowed, lips twitching. “Though I’ll deny it if you quote me.”

-

Two days later, there was a knock at his door. Magnus opened it to find Alec standing in the hallway, carrying a small paper bag.

Magnus’s pulse jumped. Alec looked casual, dressed in jeans and a dark hoodie, but his eyes held that same steady earnestness Magnus remembered.

“Hey,” Alec said. “I just wanted to check in. See how he’s doing.” He lifted the bag. “Brought some extra toys and treats he likes.”

For a moment, Magnus was too busy staring at him to respond. Then he stepped aside with a flourish. “By all means, Alexander. Come witness the havoc your little ward has unleashed upon my household.”

Alec entered, and almost immediately, Chairman Meow darted into the room, tail high. He rubbed against Alec’s leg, meowing loudly.

Magnus gaped. “Traitor. You ignore me for hours, but the moment he walks in, you perform loyalty theater?”

Alec crouched, scratching gently behind his ears. The sight—Alec’s large hands cradling the small tabby with such tenderness—did things to Magnus’s insides he’d rather not examine.

“He remembers me,” Alec said softly, almost smiling. “Guess he approves of his new home.”

“Well, his approval is hardly in question,” Magnus replied, folding his arms. “I, on the other hand, have been tested to the brink of madness.”

“Yeah?” Alec looked up, amusement flickering in his eyes. “What’d he do?”

“Where do I begin?” Magnus launched into a dramatic recounting: the vase incident, the bookshelf expedition, the 3 a.m. yowl that nearly gave him a heart attack. Alec chuckled through it all, shaking his head.

“Sounds like he’s settling in,” Alec said finally. “That’s good.”

Magnus rolled his eyes but felt his chest warm. “Good for him, perhaps. My sanity remains in question.”

They moved to the sofa, Chairman Meow perched smugly between them. Alec set the bag of supplies on the coffee table, pulling out a feather toy. The cat immediately pounced, batting it with manic glee.

Magnus found himself watching Alec instead. The way his mouth softened when he smiled, the quiet concentration in his eyes. It was unfair—Magnus had worked so hard to build walls, and here Alec was, dismantling them with nothing more than kindness and a bag of cat toys.

“Thank you,” Magnus said suddenly.

Alec glanced at him. “For what?”

“For rescuing him. For…bringing him to me.” Magnus lifted a shoulder, feigning nonchalance. “He may be a tiny whirlwind of destruction, but he’s also…” He hesitated, then admitted quietly, “He’s good for me.”

Alec’s expression softened. “I’m glad.”

The silence stretched between them, comfortable and charged all at once. Magnus wanted to reach out, to close the distance, but fear tightened his chest. He forced himself to lean back, conjuring a wry smile.

“Well, Alexander, it seems you’ve inadvertently tethered us together through this tiny tyrant. I hope you’re prepared for updates, complaints, and possibly photographic evidence of his crimes.”

Alec’s lips curved in a genuine smile. “I wouldn’t mind that.”

Magnus’s heart stuttered.

-

Later, after Alec had gone, Magnus sat on the sofa with Chairman Meow curled in his lap. He stroked his fur absently, mind replaying every moment of Alec’s visit. The way he had laughed, the warmth in his voice, the subtle ease between them.

It wasn’t enough. Magnus wanted more—wanted the connection he’d been too afraid to claim before. And yet, fear still lingered, whispering caution.

Chairman Meow purred, vibrating against his chest. Magnus looked down at his, sighing. “You, my dear, may very well be the undoing of me.”

He blinked up at him, unimpressed.

Magnus laughed softly, burying his face in his fur. Maybe—just maybe—undoing wasn’t such a terrible thing.

-

Magnus had survived another punishing day at the editorial—deadlines stacked like dominoes, his inbox a battlefield. By the time he dragged himself back to the apartment complex that evening, his silk shirt was crumpled, his eyeliner smudged, and all he wanted was a bath hot enough to scald away responsibility.

The lobby was quiet, bathed in golden light. Magnus shifted the strap of his bag, fishing distractedly for his keys as the doors slid open behind him.

And then he walked in.

Alec.

Dressed in a fitted black tank top and sweatpants, gym bag slung over one broad shoulder, damp hair curling slightly at his temples. His skin glistened faintly, the sheen of exertion catching the light, accentuating lean muscle.

Magnus froze mid-step.

Every nerve in his body lit up like fireworks. The world seemed to narrow until there was only Alec—the breadth of his shoulders, the tattoos etched dark against pale skin, winding up his arms in lines Magnus still remembered tracing with hungry fingers.

And God, he remembered everything.

The heat of Alec’s mouth against his neck. The roughness of calloused hands skimming his skin. The quiet, broken sound Alec had made when Magnus pulled him close, the way their bodies had moved together in perfect, breathtaking rhythm.

Magnus’s grip tightened on his keys. He had locked those memories away, buried them beneath a hundred excuses. But now, standing here with Alec only a few steps away, they came rushing back with devastating clarity.

He wanted.

He wanted to press Alec against the wall and kiss him senseless. He wanted to peel away the damp fabric and map every tattoo with reverent fingers. He wanted the intensity of that night all over again—the dizzying rush, the way Alec had looked at him like he was the only thing that mattered.

Magnus’s mouth went dry. His body remembered, even if his mind screamed caution.

Alec noticed him then. His stride slowed, his hazel eyes meeting Magnus’s. For a heartbeat, neither spoke. The air between them thickened, charged with something raw and unspoken.

Magnus forced his lips into a smile, brittle around the edges. “Well, well. Look at you, Alexander. Positively glowing. I assume this is the result of…suffering at the gym?”

Alec’s mouth quirked, almost a smile. “Something like that.” He adjusted his bag, gaze flickering away and then back again.

Magnus swallowed, suddenly aware of how close they stood, of the heat still radiating from Alec’s skin. His imagination betrayed him—flashes of that night, the way Alec had moved inside him, the ache and ecstasy intertwined.

Desire pulsed through him so fiercely it almost hurt.

He shouldn’t. He knew he shouldn’t. He had promised himself no more entanglements, no more risks. But his body didn’t care about promises. His heart didn’t care about reason.

And Alec—Alec was right there, close enough to touch.

Magnus shifted, fingers brushing the edge of his blazer pocket, desperate for composure. “You make quite the spectacle, returning like some…sweaty demigod.”

Alec huffed softly, eyes crinkling. “That’s one way to put it.”

The silence that followed was electric. Magnus wanted to fill it, to step forward, to close the distance—but Alec seemed rooted in place, gaze careful, as though holding himself back.

Magnus’s heart clenched. Alec was giving him space again, being respectful, waiting for a signal Magnus couldn’t quite bring himself to give.

And oh, how Magnus wanted to give it.

His hand twitched at his side. One word, one step, and Alec would be his again, even if just for a night. He could already feel the phantom weight of it, the rush of surrender.

But fear clawed at him, whispering of heartbreak and betrayal, of history repeating. His pulse raced, his longing coiled tight—and he did nothing.

Instead, he forced another smile, sharp and brittle. “Well, I won’t keep you from your protein shakes or post-workout rituals. Have a pleasant evening, Alexander.”

Alec hesitated, as if about to say something. Then he simply nodded. “You too, Magnus.”

He walked past, the faint scent of soap and sweat lingering in his wake.

Magnus stood frozen in the lobby, chest aching, skin burning with everything unsaid. His reflection in the polished glass looked poised and composed, but inside, he was unraveling.

He wanted. God, he wanted.

And wanting had never felt so dangerous.

-

Magnus lasted exactly forty-eight hours after seeing Alec come back from the gym before he cracked.

He tried everything—burying himself in deadlines, retail therapy, two extra glasses of wine in the evening. He even staged a private dance party in his living room, sequins and all, but every beat of music only conjured the memory of Alec’s body moving against his.

The tattoos. The strength. The way Alec had looked at him like he wasn’t afraid to burn.

Magnus couldn’t take it anymore.

So when he stepped into the elevator one night and found Alec already inside, hair still damp from a shower, hoodie clinging in the most distracting ways, Magnus knew he was done pretending.

“Evening, Alexander,” he said smoothly, though his heart hammered against his ribs.

Alec glanced up. “Hey.” His tone was calm, neutral, that maddening restraint again.

The doors slid shut. Silence filled the small space, thick with everything Magnus had tried to deny.

He took a breath. Then he moved.

One step, then another, until he was close enough to feel Alec’s body heat. “I can’t do this anymore,” Magnus murmured.

Alec’s brows knit. “Do what?”

“Pretend I don’t want you.”

Before Alec could answer, Magnus leaned in and kissed him.

The effect was immediate. Alec froze for a split second, then kissed back with a hunger that stole Magnus’s breath. Their mouths crashed together, desperate, and Magnus fisted his hands in Alec’s hoodie, pulling him closer.

It was everything he remembered, everything he’d craved. The taste of Alec, the press of his body, the spark that roared into flame the moment their lips met.

The elevator chimed, doors sliding open on Magnus’s floor, but he didn’t care. He tugged Alec out, down the hallway, fumbling with his keys as Alec’s mouth trailed heat along his jaw.

Somehow they made it inside, the door slamming shut behind them. Magnus pushed Alec against it, kissing him like he was drowning. Alec’s hands gripped his waist, strong and sure, and Magnus gasped, shivering with need.

He wanted more—so much more. The memory of that night haunted him, every touch, every thrust. He wanted to lose himself in it again, to feel Alec moving inside him until the world fell away.

Magnus tugged at Alec’s hoodie, sliding it upward, revealing warm skin and the edge of a tattoo he’d traced once before with trembling fingers.

But then Alec pulled back.

“Magnus.” His voice was ragged, his breath unsteady. “Wait.”

Magnus blinked, chest heaving. “Wait? Alexander, in case you haven’t noticed, waiting is not my strong suit.”

Alec’s hands remained firm on his waist, holding him at just enough distance to make Magnus ache. His eyes, darkened with desire, searched Magnus’s face with startling intensity.

“I don’t want this to just be…” Alec hesitated, then said firmly, “I don’t want it to just be sex again.”

Magnus’s heart stuttered. He forced a laugh, brittle around the edges. “Darling, I’m not hearing complaints from my past partners. Quite the opposite, in fact.”

“That’s not what I mean,” Alec said quickly, shaking his head. “You’re…more than that. You deserve more than that. We do.”

Magnus froze, the words hitting him like a blow. More? The idea was intoxicating and terrifying all at once.

Alec swallowed, jaw tight. “If you want to sleep with me again, you have to go on a date with me first. A real date.”

Magnus gaped. “A…date?”

“Yes.” Alec’s voice steadied, resolve hardening in his eyes. “Dinner. Conversation. Something that isn’t just about ripping each other’s clothes off.” His mouth curved faintly, ruefully. “Even if I really want that too.”

Magnus stared at him, torn in half. His body screamed yes, desperate for the heat, the release. But his heart—the fragile, fractured thing Camille had left behind—quailed. A date meant vulnerability. A date meant possibility. A date meant risk.

“Alexander…” Magnus began, faltering.

“You don’t have to say yes,” Alec said quietly, though his grip didn’t loosen. “But I can’t—won’t—be just another hookup. Not with you.”

Magnus’s throat tightened. The sincerity in Alec’s eyes was almost unbearable.

For so long, Magnus had guarded his heart, convinced that opening it again would only lead to pain. But here was Alec, not demanding entry, but offering something else entirely: choice. A chance.

And God help him, Magnus wanted it.

He laughed shakily, pressing a hand to Alec’s chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat. “You are infuriatingly noble, you know that?”

Alec’s lips twitched. “So I’ve been told.”

Magnus exhaled slowly. “Fine. Dinner. One date. But if it’s dreadful, I reserve the right to dramatically storm out.”

Alec smiled then—small, genuine, devastating. “Deal.”

Magnus felt his own lips curve in response, helpless against it.

But when Alec leaned in this time, it was only for a brief, soft kiss. Then he pulled back, steady as ever, and headed for the door.

Magnus leaned against it after it closed, his body still buzzing, his mind spinning. He had wanted another night. Instead, he had agreed to something far more dangerous.

A date.

Magnus Bane was in trouble.

-

Magnus had been on countless dates in his life. He knew the choreography well: dazzling entrances, impeccable outfits, just enough wit to leave them charmed, and an exit timed perfectly so that no one—not even Magnus himself—walked away with messy attachments.

This was supposed to be no different. Just a dinner. Alec’s condition, nothing more.

So why had Magnus tried on six different outfits, rejected two sequined jackets as “too desperate,” then circled back and rejected them again for being “not desperate enough”? Why had he fussed with his eyeliner until it was a weapon of mass seduction, then spritzed cologne on his wrists not once, not twice, but three times?

Ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous.

He muttered this to himself as he slid into the corner booth of the candlelit restaurant, posture perfect, every detail rehearsed. Control. That was the name of the game.

And then Alec walked in.

Magnus’s control unraveled in an instant.

Jeans. A navy button-down, sleeves rolled up. Hair still slightly damp from a shower, curling at the nape of his neck. Simple. Understated. Unreasonably magnetic.

“Hi,” Alec said, awkward but sincere, as he reached the table.

Magnus rose, leaning in just enough. “Alexander. You clean up nicely. Positively dangerous, in fact.”

Alec flushed faintly, sliding into his seat. “You look…amazing.”

“Darling, I always do,” Magnus replied smoothly, though the warmth in his chest betrayed him.

They ordered wine. Alec looked uncertain until Magnus assured him this vintage was “practically poetry in a bottle.” Once the waiter left, Magnus tilted his head, voice silk. “So. A date. Tell me, what does Alexander Lightwood consider the ideal way to woo someone?”

Alec’s lips quirked. “Something simple. Coffee. Dinner. Just…time to talk.”

“Talking,” Magnus echoed, swirling his glass. “How revolutionary.”

Alec laughed, low and genuine, and Magnus felt something flutter dangerously in his chest.

Their meals arrived—roasted duck for Magnus, steak for Alec. Magnus prepared to regale him with a story about Parisian rooftops, but Alec spoke first.

“You asked me what I do,” he said, cutting neatly into his steak. “I teach. High school history.”

Magnus paused, fork hovering midair. “You? In a classroom of hormonal teenagers, lecturing about Napoleon?”

Alec chuckled. “Something like that. World history, sometimes American. Depends on the semester.”

Magnus blinked, then leaned back with a grin. “That, Alexander, is possibly the most unexpectedly endearing revelation I’ve heard in years.”

Alec ducked his head, ears pink. “It’s not glamorous.”

“On the contrary, molding impressionable young minds is practically heroic. Better than most heroes I’ve met, at least.”

Alec smiled faintly but didn’t deflect. “It’s not just teaching, though. I run a nonprofit on the side. Literacy programs. After-school tutoring, free workshops. We fundraise for supplies and volunteers.”

Magnus stilled. “You…run a literacy initiative.”

Alec nodded, tone modest, as if it were no big deal. “A lot of kids at my school can’t afford extra help. Some don’t even have books at home. It started as a small tutoring group, but it grew. We partner with libraries now. Try to get books into kids’ hands who’d never have them otherwise.”

For once, Magnus had no clever retort. He set down his fork, genuinely struck.

Here he’d been, imagining Alec as brooding, enigmatic, deliciously tattooed—and now, this. A man who spent his free time helping teenagers fall in love with reading.

Magnus’s chest tightened. Dangerous territory.

“That,” Magnus said at last, voice softer, “is more than endearing. It’s extraordinary.”

Alec shrugged. “It’s just…important. Books changed a lot for me growing up. I want other kids to have that chance.”

Magnus swallowed, unable to tear his gaze away. “You are going to ruin me, Alexander.”

“What?”

“Nothing,” Magnus said quickly, taking a large sip of wine to cover the quake in his voice.

The rest of the meal blurred pleasantly, conversation flowing in unexpected ways. Alec wasn’t flashy, but he was steady, thoughtful. He spoke about history with quiet conviction, about his students with pride, about the nonprofit with determination. And Magnus—Magnus, who usually dominated conversations—found himself listening. Not because he had to, but because he wanted to.

He wanted to know more. About Alec’s favorite books. About what drove him. About the way his eyes lit up when he described a student’s breakthrough.

Magnus, for once, was captivated.

Dessert arrived—a chocolate soufflé Magnus insisted on—and Alec admitted sheepishly to having a sweet tooth. Watching Alec savor each bite nearly unraveled Magnus entirely.

By the time the check came, Magnus was laughing more freely than he had in months, warmth radiating through him that had nothing to do with the wine.

As they stepped into the cool night air, Magnus slipped his hands into his pockets, posture impeccable though his insides trembled. Alec walked beside him, calm and solid, like gravity itself.

At the corner, Magnus stopped. “Well. As far as dates go, this was…not dreadful.”

Alec smiled, faint but genuine. “I’ll take that as a win.”

Magnus tilted his head, mischief curling his lips. “Careful, Alexander. If you keep being this tolerable, I might let you kiss me again.”

Alec’s gaze softened, and he stepped closer. “Maybe I should, then.”

The kiss that followed was gentle, steady. Nothing like the fevered night they’d shared before. This was softer, lingering, layered with possibility.

It left Magnus more shaken than anything else could have.

When they pulled apart, Magnus touched his lips, feigning casualness. “Dangerous territory.”

“Worth it,” Alec murmured, his eyes holding Magnus’s in a way that nearly undid him.

-

Magnus should have known.

He should have known that one date would not be enough, that dinner and conversation and one devastatingly soft kiss on the sidewalk would only ignite the ache he’d been suppressing for weeks.

And yet when Alec followed him back to his apartment—when their hands brushed in the elevator, when Magnus opened the door and Alec stepped inside without hesitation—Magnus’s pulse was a thunderstorm in his veins.

He told himself it was inevitable. Alec had laid down the terms, and Magnus had agreed. A date first, then…this.

“This doesn’t mean anything,” Magnus said lightly as he set his keys on the counter. His tone was flippant, but his hands trembled faintly. “We’re simply honoring the bargain struck.”

“Sure,” Alec replied, though the faint curve of his mouth betrayed him. He stood there, hands shoved awkwardly into his pockets, as if he wasn’t the same man who had kissed Magnus with unshakable certainty only minutes ago.

Magnus’s chest tightened. That mix of boldness and hesitation—it was infuriating. Irresistible.

“Alexander,” Magnus drawled, stepping closer, “are you going to stand there all night, or…?”

Alec moved.

One second Magnus was teasing, the next his back was against the wall, Alec’s mouth on his, the kiss hungry, grounding, real. Magnus gasped, clutching at Alec’s shirt, pulling him closer, closer.

It was different from that first wild night. Less frantic, more deliberate. Each kiss seemed to say: I want this. I want you. Not just now, not just once.

Magnus’s knees went weak. He had spent weeks convincing himself he could resist, that Alec was a temptation he’d be smarter to avoid. And now here he was, melting beneath the heat of Alec’s hands.

Clothes disappeared in a blur of touches and laughter and gasps. They stumbled toward the bedroom, half-tripping over Magnus’s discarded jacket, until they collapsed together onto the bed.

Magnus traced the tattoos on Alec’s arm with reverent fingers, the way he’d imagined doing countless times. He kissed along each line of ink, whispered nonsense compliments that made Alec laugh, then gasp, then shiver.

And when Alec touched him—steady, careful, unhurried—Magnus felt something he hadn’t in a long time. Safe. Wanted. Seen.

It terrified him.

Because this wasn’t just about heat and sweat and the kind of pleasure that left him shaking. This was intimacy. This was Alec learning the rhythm of his body, Magnus trusting him enough to give it.

When it was over, Magnus lay breathless beside him, silk sheets tangled around their legs. Alec’s chest rose and fell in slow rhythm, his arm draped loosely around Magnus’s waist.

Magnus stared at the ceiling, mind racing. He should get up, make a joke, pour wine, put the walls back in place before it was too late. That was the script. That was how he survived.

But Alec shifted closer, pressing a soft kiss to his temple. And Magnus’s carefully rehearsed defenses crumbled.

“Was that…” Alec began, voice rough with fatigue, “a terrible idea?”

Magnus turned his head, met his eyes. “On the contrary, Alexander. That was…exceedingly good.”

Alec smiled faintly, relief flickering across his face, and Magnus’s heart clenched.

This was supposed to be simple. It wasn’t. Not anymore.

Magnus traced idle patterns on Alec’s chest, pretending nonchalance while panic swirled beneath. He could already feel it—the danger, the risk of letting someone in. Alec wasn’t like the others. He wasn’t a fling Magnus could brush off with champagne and glitter. He was something else. Something real.

And if Magnus wasn’t careful, Alec could wreck him completely.

But as Alec’s breathing slowed, as warmth spread through the quiet room, Magnus realized something even more dangerous: he wasn’t sure he wanted to be careful.

-

The morning after, Magnus Bane was a picture of poise.

Or at least, that was what he told himself as he shuffled around his kitchen in silk pajama pants and a kimono robe, trying to whisk eggs without trembling like a caffeinated squirrel.

The evidence of last night was everywhere: a shirt draped over the arm of the sofa, shoes kicked into a corner, Alec’s watch still sitting innocently on the nightstand in Magnus’s bedroom.

Magnus had woken to sunlight and the steady rhythm of Alec’s breathing beside him. For one dangerous, heart-stopping moment, Magnus had simply watched him—broad shoulders relaxed, hair mussed, lips soft with sleep—and thought: I could get used to this.

Which was exactly why Magnus had bolted out of bed with all the grace of a startled cat and fled to the kitchen to make breakfast.

Distraction. That was the key. Bacon, eggs, fruit, perhaps a mimosa or two—if he filled the air with the scent of domesticity, maybe he could ignore the roaring panic in his chest.

Of course, that was when he made the mistake of dialing Clary.

“Magnus?” her voice crackled through the speaker, groggy. “It’s—Magnus, it’s eight in the morning.”

“Clary,” Magnus said in his most imperious tone, despite the whisk clattering against the side of the bowl, “this is an emergency.”

There was a beat of silence. Then: “Oh my God. You slept with him again, didn’t you?”

Magnus nearly dropped the phone into the eggs. “Excuse you—how dare you leap to such conclusions without evidence!”

“So you did,” Clary said, voice sharpening awake with delight. “You totally did. You called me at eight in the morning to freak out about Alec.”

Magnus pressed a hand dramatically to his forehead, pacing. “Clary, you don’t understand. This isn’t just a repeat performance of our initial rendezvous. This was—” He lowered his voice, as if Alec might somehow hear from the bedroom. “This was…different.”

Clary’s laugh was merciless. “Different how?”

Magnus collapsed into a chair, silk robe flaring around him. “It wasn’t just fireworks and chaos, though there was plenty of that. It was…” He struggled, uncharacteristically short on words. “Tender. Considerate. Frighteningly intimate.”

“You sound like that’s a bad thing,” Clary said.

“Of course it’s a bad thing! Tenderness is dangerous, Clary. Intimacy is the breeding ground of feelings. And feelings are messy, unpredictable things that lead to heartbreak and buckets of Häagen-Dazs.”

Clary snorted. “So what? You had a great night with a guy you clearly like. What’s the emergency?”

“The emergency, my dear girl,” Magnus said, waving the whisk for emphasis, “is that Alexander Lightwood has the potential to dismantle the very foundations of my carefully curated life. And I—” He broke off, glancing toward the bedroom where the sound of movement stirred. “Oh God. He’s awake.”

Clary’s voice turned gleeful. “Put me on speaker.”

“Absolutely not,” Magnus hissed, shoving the phone between his ear and shoulder as he darted back to the stove. “If he hears you, I’ll never recover my reputation.”

“You mean your reputation for being cool and unflappable?” Clary teased. “Yeah, Magnus, I think Alec’s already figured out you’re human.”

Magnus groaned. “Cruel child.”

Alec appeared in the doorway then, hair adorably tousled, one of Magnus’s blankets draped around his shoulders like a cape. He blinked sleepily at the scene: Magnus in full dramatic mode, eggs half-whisked, phone pressed to his ear.

“Morning,” Alec said, voice still husky.

Magnus nearly dropped the frying pan. He plastered on a smile. “Alexander! You’re awake. Splendid timing. Breakfast is nearly ready.”

Alec’s lips quirked as he padded over. “You cook?”

“I do everything well,” Magnus replied breezily, though the eggs were starting to look more like scrambled chaos than a masterpiece.

Alec leaned against the counter, watching him with infuriating calm. Magnus felt his hands shake and willed them still.

Clary’s muffled voice piped up from the phone. “Tell him hi for me!”

Magnus lunged to mute it, but Alec’s brows lifted. “Clary?”

Magnus froze. “Ah. Yes. She…called me, actually. Something about…art supplies?”

Alec’s eyes sparkled with barely contained amusement. “Uh-huh.”

Clary’s laughter rang faintly before Magnus managed to stab the mute button. He groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Kill me now.”

But Alec didn’t tease. Instead, he stepped closer, pried the whisk gently from Magnus’s hand, and set it aside. Then he leaned down and kissed him—soft, unhurried, the kind of kiss that made Magnus’s knees weak all over again.

When Alec pulled back, Magnus was breathless, clutching the counter for balance.

“Relax,” Alec murmured. “It’s just breakfast.”

Just breakfast.

Magnus wanted to laugh, or cry, or both. Because nothing about this felt like “just” anything.

And that was the problem.

Chapter Text

Magnus had lived through worse mornings.

Or so he told himself as he sat at his desk, staring blankly at the glowing screen, his body screaming reminders of last night with every shift in his chair.

It wasn’t pain, not exactly. More like a pleasant soreness, the kind he had always secretly adored—the ache that whispered of passion, of being thoroughly wanted. It was a physical reminder that Alec Lightwood had been inside him less than twelve hours ago.

Magnus pressed his lips together, trying not to shiver at the memory.

This was fine. Perfectly fine. They were not dating. They had gone on one date, true, but that was merely a prelude to their repeat performance, which Alec had—quite unfairly—demanded as a condition. No labels, no messy entanglements. Just…an arrangement.

So why did Magnus feel like his heart was currently being wrung out like a dishrag?

“Magnus?”

He nearly jumped out of his chair. Simon was leaning against the cubicle wall, two coffees in hand and an expression that was equal parts concern and amusement.

“You look…” Simon squinted at him. “Distracted. And a little like you fought a battle last night and lost.”

Magnus straightened his spine. “I’ll have you know, darling, that I never lose battles. Though I may, on occasion, choose to surrender in style.”

Simon handed him a coffee, eyes narrowing. “Translation: you hooked up again.”

Magnus scoffed. “Your imagination runs rampant, young one.”

But Simon only raised an eyebrow. “You’re sitting like my uncle after he tried hot yoga for the first time.”

Magnus almost choked on his latte. “Simon!”

“I’m just saying,” Simon added quickly, grin widening, “you don’t look like a man untouched by passion.”

Magnus flung a glitter pen in his general direction. Simon ducked, laughing.

“Fine, fine,” Simon said, holding up his hands in surrender. “I won’t push. But you should know you’re glowing.”

Magnus rolled his eyes, but heat crept up his neck nonetheless. He forced his attention back to the article draft on his screen, though the words blurred together into nonsense.

He tried to focus. Really, he did. But every paragraph about emerging authors and quarterly projections transformed into flashes of Alec: ink-dark tattoos, calloused hands, the weight of his body pressing Magnus into the mattress.

He groaned softly and dropped his head into his hands. “This is intolerable.”

“Need another coffee?” Simon asked helpfully.

“No, what I need,” Magnus muttered, “is an exorcism.”

Simon blinked. “Wow. Okay. That’s…dramatic, even for you.”

Magnus waved him off. “Go be youthful and naive elsewhere. Some of us are trying to suffer in peace.”

The day crawled. Every time his phone buzzed with an email, his heart leapt, expecting a message that never came. It was maddening.

He wanted to text Alec. He wanted to type out something breezy, clever—Had a marvelous time last night, darling. Let’s do it again soon—and hit send before he could overthink.

But then the voice in his head whispered: What if he doesn’t want to? What if it was just the bargain? What if this is where it ends?

And so Magnus typed nothing.

By the time he got home, he was exhausted from the effort of pretending to be unaffected. He dropped his bag on the floor and collapsed onto the couch, staring at the ceiling.

It would be easier if Alec were like the others. If Magnus could simply enjoy the pleasure, file it away as a lovely memory, and move on.

But Alec wasn’t like the others. Alec lingered. In his mind, in his body, in the way Magnus kept catching himself smiling at nothing.

Magnus groaned and threw an arm over his eyes. “This is disastrous.”

A knock at the door startled him upright.

For a split second, his heart thundered with hope—irrational, traitorous hope—that it might be Alec.

It wasn’t. It was Clary, armed with takeout and a knowing grin.

“You didn’t answer your phone,” she said as she breezed inside. “So I figured you needed feeding.”

Magnus eyed the bags suspiciously. “What’s the catch?”

“No catch.” She set the containers on the table, then turned to him. “Except maybe you explaining why you look like you’ve been haunted by a very attractive ghost all day.”

Magnus sighed dramatically, flopping back onto the couch. “Darling, if I tell you, you must promise not to gloat.”

Clary smirked. “No promises.”

Magnus covered his face with a cushion. “Alexander Lightwood is the bane of my existence.”

“Didn’t you already know that?” she asked dryly.

“I thought I did.” Magnus peeked out from behind the cushion, expression pained. “But apparently I underestimated the situation. He’s…lingering. In my mind, in my very bones. It’s insufferable.”

Clary sat beside him, bumping his shoulder. “Sounds like you like him.”

Magnus scoffed. “Don’t be absurd. I don’t ‘like.’ I engage, I enjoy, I exit.”

“Uh-huh.” She opened the takeout container and handed him noodles. “And yet you’re spiraling like a teenager with their first crush.”

Magnus twirled noodles around his fork with unnecessary vigor. “Crushes are for the inexperienced. I am simply…caught off guard.”

Clary gave him a long, knowing look. “Magnus. You like him.”

Magnus stabbed his noodles. “I’m doomed.”

And the worst part? He knew she was right.

-

Magnus was not prepared for the text.

He had been expecting silence, or at most, a perfunctory thanks for last night message that would leave him to wallow in melodramatic agony. Instead, sometime midafternoon, his phone buzzed with two words that nearly sent him off his chair.

Alec: Do you know a good dry cleaner?

Magnus stared at the screen, jaw dropping. That was it? That was the first communication since that night’s symphony of sweat and skin and whispered names? A question about laundry?

And worse—it was endearing. Mundane. Grounding.

Magnus reread it five times, then tossed the phone onto his desk as though it had personally betrayed him. “Unacceptable,” he muttered.

Simon, perched on the opposite desk, looked up. “What’s unacceptable?”

“Men,” Magnus snapped, then immediately softened. “Not you, darling. Just the ones who—” He caught himself, lips pressing into a thin line. “Never mind.”

Simon wisely said nothing, though the smirk tugging at his mouth suggested he knew exactly what Magnus meant.

By the time Magnus arrived home, he’d replayed the text so many times he was convinced Alec was secretly plotting his demise through strategic mundanity. Because how dare he be so normal, so steady, so utterly disarming?

The decision, Magnus realized as he climbed the stairs to his apartment, was simple. He could not let this fester. He could not sit idly by, haunted by soreness and memories, while Alec Lightwood went about his day asking about dry cleaners.

No. Magnus needed another night. Another reminder. Another way to ground this restless, gnawing want in something tangible.

Which was how he found himself standing outside Alec’s apartment door, heart hammering, fist raised. He knocked twice, sharp and decisive.

A moment later, the door opened. Alec stood there, hair damp from a shower, T-shirt clinging in a way that should have been illegal. His eyes widened.

“Magnus.”

“Alexander,” Magnus greeted, sweeping inside before Alec could protest. He turned, silk coat flaring dramatically. “We need to talk.”

Alec blinked. “About…?”

Magnus drew himself up. “About the fact that I am currently in a state of torment, and the only known cure involves you, me, and considerably fewer clothes.”

Alec’s ears went pink. “Magnus—”

“No, no, hear me out,” Magnus interrupted, pacing the small living room. “I am a reasonable man. I respect boundaries. But I also respect passion. And right now, Alexander, I would very much like to feel you again.”

Alec’s mouth opened, then closed. He scrubbed a hand over his face, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like a prayer.

Finally, he said, “Magnus, Maybe another time?”

Magnus froze, blinking at him. “Are you…turning me down?”

“I’m saying,” Alec replied carefully, “that maybe you should give your mind a chance to process what you want before we—” He gestured vaguely between them, face reddening. “You know.”

Magnus stared at him, equal parts shocked and affronted. “Alexander Lightwood, are you suggesting I don’t know what I want?”

“I’m suggesting you don’t have to push yourself,” Alec said, crossing his arms. “It’s not a race.”

Magnus stepped closer, lowering his voice to a purr. “Alec.”

The way Alec flushed—bright, all the way to the tips of his ears—was almost worth the rejection. Almost.

“Magnus,” Alec said firmly, though his voice wavered at the edges, “I’m serious.”

Magnus tilted his head, studying him. Most men he’d been with would have leapt at the invitation, eagerness eclipsing any concern. But Alec was…different. Careful. Steady. He wasn’t denying desire—Magnus could see it burning in his eyes—but he was choosing restraint.

It should have irritated Magnus. Instead, it left him reeling. Because underneath the frustration was something more dangerous: a sliver of warmth in his chest, a whisper of trust.

He exhaled dramatically, throwing himself onto Alec’s couch. “You’re infuriating.”

Alec sat on the armchair opposite, still tense but trying to hide a smile. “You’ll survive.”

Magnus pressed the back of his hand to his forehead like a tragic hero. “Barely.”

They sat in silence for a moment, the air thick with what hadn’t happened. Finally, Magnus glanced at Alec, a slow smile tugging at his lips.

“Very well,” he said. “I’ll let you have your way. For now.”

Alec raised an eyebrow. “For now?”

Magnus smirked, eyes glinting. “Don’t get too comfortable, darling. I’m nothing if not persistent.”

Alec chuckled, shaking his head. “I already know that.”

And despite the ache still thrumming in his body, Magnus realized he was smiling too.

Because maybe waiting—just this once—wouldn’t be the end of the world.

-

Magnus Bane did not take rejection well.

Correction: he did not take rejection at all.

Especially not when rejection came wrapped in broad shoulders, quiet smiles, and the kind of self-control that should be a crime. Alec Lightwood had turned him down with all the tenderness of a saint, and Magnus had spent the entire night glaring at his ceiling, plotting.

If Alec thought a little boldness would keep Magnus from pursuing pleasure, he had another thing coming. Magnus adored a challenge. And if he had to turn the art of seduction into a full-scale campaign…well, he was Magnus Bane. Campaigns were his specialty.

Which was how, the following evening, Alec opened his door to find Magnus leaning against the frame in a glittering gold blazer, eyeliner sharp enough to cut diamonds, holding a bottle of red wine like an offering to the gods.

“Hello, darling,” Magnus purred. “I come bearing gifts.”

Alec blinked at him. “Magnus, it’s Tuesday.”

“And Tuesday is a day in need of glamour.” Magnus swept inside without waiting for permission, tossing his scarf over the back of the couch. “I thought we might enjoy a civilized evening of wine, conversation, and perhaps a little…recreation.”

Alec shut the door, sighing. “We talked about this.”

Magnus set the wine down, then leaned closer, eyes glinting. “Did we? Because I recall you talking and me being tragically deprived.”

Alec’s jaw tightened, though his ears flushed a telling shade of pink. “Magnus.”

“Yes, Alexander?” Magnus drawled, advancing a step.

Alec backed up until his calves hit the edge of the couch. He crossed his arms, clearly trying to look stern, but Magnus could see the way his throat bobbed as he swallowed.

“You need to think this through,” Alec said firmly.

“What I need,” Magnus countered, pressing a hand dramatically to his chest, “is you.”

Alec’s lips parted. For a moment, Magnus thought he’d won. But then Alec shook his head, stubborn as ever.

“You’re not going to seduce.”

Magnus arched an eyebrow. “You underestimate my powers.”

And with that, he launched his offensive.

First: proximity.

Magnus perched on the arm of Alec’s chair, letting his knee brush Alec’s shoulder as he poured the wine. Every casual movement carried a deliberate brush of contact—an elbow grazing, a hand lingering.

Second: words.

Magnus unleashed his full arsenal of compliments, each one tailored to Alec’s blush-inducing modesty. “Has anyone ever told you your tattoos are a masterpiece? That shirt really is a crime against your arms, darling. And don’t get me started on your jawline—it could cut glass.”

Alec turned redder with each remark, muttering protests that Magnus ignored with gusto.

Third: touch.

Magnus “accidentally” dropped his ring onto the rug and bent over far more slowly than necessary, ensuring Alec’s gaze followed every curve. When he straightened, he let his hand linger on Alec’s thigh just a moment too long.

By the time they reached the end of the first glass of wine, Alec was sitting stiffly on the couch, every muscle taut, while Magnus sprawled beside him like a cat who’d cornered its prey.

“You’re blushing, Alexander,” Magnus teased. “Am I making you nervous?”

Alec huffed. “You always make me nervous.”

Magnus’s grin faltered for a second. The honesty in Alec’s tone struck deeper than he expected. He recovered quickly, but the echo of the words lingered.

He leaned closer, lowering his voice. “Good. Because you make me restless.”

Their faces were inches apart now. Alec’s breath hitched. Magnus tilted his head, lips hovering, waiting—

And Alec stood abruptly, retreating to the kitchen like a man fleeing a battlefield.

Magnus flopped back onto the couch with a groan. “You wound me.”

Alec returned a moment later with two glasses of water, setting one in front of Magnus with exaggerated calm. “Hydrate.”

Magnus narrowed his eyes. “You’re insufferable.”

“You’re persistent,” Alec countered.

Magnus sipped the water, glaring over the rim. “And eventually, persistence pays off.”

Alec’s lips twitched, almost a smile. “We’ll see.”

Magnus tossed his head back, groaning theatrically. “You’re going to drive me mad, Alexander Lightwood.”

Magnus sank deeper into the cushions, torn between frustration and a warmth he didn’t dare name.

He’d win eventually, of course. He was Magnus Bane. But for the first time in a very long time, he wasn’t sure winning was the point.

-

Magnus Bane did not surrender.

He had once seduced a senator into voting against his own bill simply by raising an eyebrow. He had convinced a CEO to donate five million dollars to a charity by purring the words “think of the tax write-off, darling.” He had never, in his long and illustrious career of being irresistible, failed to get what he wanted.

Except, apparently, when it came to Alexander Lightwood.

It had been three nights since Magnus’s ill-fated “wine and seduction” campaign. Three nights of Alec holding the line with saintly self-control while Magnus threw every trick in his glittering arsenal at him.

The battle had escalated.

First came casual intimacy: Magnus showing up at Alec’s door under flimsy pretenses—“I needed sugar,” “I was lonely,” “I ran out of nail polish remover, can you believe the tragedy?”—and sprawling across Alec’s couch like he owned it. Every visit included a lingering touch, a low-voiced compliment, and Magnus leaning just a fraction too close.

When that didn’t crack Alec, Magnus upgraded to visual warfare: glitter eyeliner sharp enough to kill, shirts unbuttoned far too low, silk pants that clung in ways that should have been illegal. He would appear at Alec’s door with a careless, “Oh, this old thing? I just threw it on.”

Still, Alec endured.

So tonight, Magnus unveiled his final strategy: the grand gesture.

When Alec arrived home from work, he found Magnus waiting outside his door with a bouquet of lilies in one hand and a boom box balanced on his shoulder.

“Magnus,” Alec said flatly, “what are you doing?”

“Wooing you,” Magnus replied with dignity, pressing play. A dramatic string arrangement filled the hallway, echoing off the walls. Magnus thrust the bouquet forward. “Do you not feel moved?”

Alec pinched the bridge of his nose. “The neighbors are going to complain.”

“Let them complain!” Magnus declared, stepping closer. “I am a man undone, Alexander, and I will not be denied!”

Alec’s lips twitched. “You sound ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously romantic,” Magnus corrected, eyes glinting.

Alec tried to turn away, but Magnus caught the faintest smile tugging at his mouth. Victory sparked in Magnus’s chest. He pressed the attack, lowering his voice to a purr.

“You’ve resisted so valiantly, darling. Truly, your willpower is legendary. But why deny yourself what we both want?”

Alec swallowed, his throat working. His arms were crossed, muscles taut, but his eyes—oh, his eyes were betraying him.

Magnus stepped closer, close enough to feel Alec’s breath. “Let me have you again,” he whispered. “Let me remind you how good it can be.”

For a heartbeat, Alec stood frozen. Then—finally—something snapped.

The bouquet dropped to the floor. The boom box was shoved aside. And Alec kissed him.

Not the careful, restrained kisses of before, but something fierce, hungry, desperate. Magnus gasped, clutching at him, triumph surging through every nerve.

“About time,” Magnus breathed against his mouth, before Alec swallowed the words with another kiss.

They stumbled into the apartment, slamming the door behind them, shedding clothes like breadcrumbs. Magnus laughed breathlessly as Alec lifted him, carried him to the bedroom with a strength that made Magnus dizzy.

This wasn’t slow or careful. This was pent-up frustration igniting into wildfire. Alec’s hands roamed, greedy and sure, and Magnus gave back everything with equal fervor.

“Thought you said—” Magnus gasped, nails digging into Alec’s shoulders, “—that I should be thinking more.”

Alec’s voice was ragged. “You wouldn’t let me.”

Magnus’s laughter turned into a moan as Alec pressed into him, finally, gloriously. Every ache Magnus had been nursing for days was consumed in heat and pleasure. He arched, clung, demanded more.

When it was over, Magnus lay sprawled across the sheets, body humming, eyeliner smudged, utterly and deliciously ruined. Alec collapsed beside him, chest heaving, one arm slung possessively over Magnus’s waist.

Magnus turned his head, smirking weakly. “So much for restraint.”

Alec shot him a look that was equal parts exasperated and fond. “You’re impossible.”

“And irresistible,” Magnus added, smug despite the wreckage of his hair.

Alec kissed him again, softer this time. “Yeah,” he admitted. “You are.”

Magnus’s heart stuttered. Dangerous, dangerous territory. He covered it with a theatrical sigh, draping an arm over his eyes. “Well, darling, if you insist on giving in to temptation, who am I to argue?”

Alec chuckled, pulling him closer. “Pretty sure you were the one insisting.”

Magnus smiled into the sheets, his body aching in all the best ways. Victory had never tasted so sweet.

But beneath the triumph, beneath the satisfaction, lurked something far more perilous: the realization that every time Alec gave in, Magnus fell a little deeper.

And there was no seduction scheme in the world that could protect him from that.

-

Magnus Bane was happy.

And that was the problem.

Happiness wasn’t supposed to last. Happiness was a champagne bubble, sparkling for a moment before it burst. Happiness was a flame, beautiful until it burned you.

Still, he couldn’t deny it: Magnus was happy.

Some nights, he and Alec went out—low-key bars or, on rare occasions, places Magnus could dress to the nines while Alec tried not to look completely out of place. Other nights, they stayed in, sprawled across Magnus’s couch with wine and terrible movies. More often than not, they ended up tangled in silk sheets, Alec’s body against his, Magnus falling asleep with a faint ache that reminded him he was very much alive.

It was casual, it was regular, it was everything Magnus had told himself he didn’t want—and yet, it made him smile more than he cared to admit.

So of course, it couldn’t last.

They were curled up on Magnus’s sofa one evening, Alec barefoot, leaning against the armrest with a book while Magnus lounged dramatically across his lap, pretending to scroll through his phone. The city lights glittered beyond the window, a perfect backdrop.

And then Alec, with all the subtlety of a dagger to the heart, said, “Magnus…what are we?”

Magnus froze.

The words were simple, innocent even. But they detonated inside him, blowing apart the fragile illusion he’d been clinging to.

He set his phone down with exaggerated care, buying time. “Darling, we are currently two men sharing a sofa, one of whom has far too little appreciation for the joys of sparkly socks.”

Alec’s brow furrowed. “You know that’s not what I mean.”

Magnus looked away, out at the city. “Why must there be a label?”

“Because I need to know,” Alec said, his voice firm but not unkind. “Are we dating? Are we boyfriends? Or am I just…” He trailed off, the hurt unspoken but heavy in the air.

Magnus’s chest tightened. He wanted to say yes. He wanted to say of course, Alexander, you’re mine and I’m yours. But the words stuck in his throat, caught on old wounds that hadn’t healed.

Images flickered: Camille’s laugh, the sting of betrayal, the hollow ache of being discarded after giving too much. He had sworn never again. Never.

“Alexander,” he began, voice softer now, “must we ruin a good thing by pinning it down with expectations?”

Alec’s jaw clenched. “Ruin it? That’s what you think?”

Magnus winced. “Not ruin, exactly. But…why label something when it is destined to fall apart?”

The silence that followed was louder than any argument. Alec’s hand, which had been resting lightly on Magnus’s hip, pulled back.

“You really think that?” Alec asked quietly.

Magnus forced a smile that felt brittle. “Darling, look at me. Do I seem like the sort of man who thrives on permanence?”

“Yes,” Alec said, and there was no hesitation. “I do.”

Magnus’s breath caught. For a moment, the world tilted—because Alec believed in him, believed he could be steady, believed he could be more. And that belief terrified Magnus more than rejection ever could.

“Alec—”

“No,” Alec interrupted, standing abruptly. His book fell to the floor with a dull thud. “If you can’t even say what this is, then maybe I’m wasting my time.”

Magnus’s heart sank. He wanted to protest, to reach for him, to say you’re not wasting anything, you’re everything. But the words locked tight, fear chaining them down.

So he just sat there, staring as Alec grabbed his shoes, his jacket, moving with quiet efficiency born of anger he was trying hard to contain.

When Alec finally turned to the door, his expression was a storm. “I can’t keep doing this, Magnus. Not if you won’t even try.”

The door clicked shut behind him.

Magnus sat frozen, the silence pressing in on him like a weight. His chest ached, his throat burned, and still, he didn’t move.

Because deep down, he knew.

He had done exactly what he always feared: let someone in, let himself hope, and now—

Now Alexander Lightwood would wreck him.

And Magnus wasn’t sure he could survive it.

-

Chairman Meow was an excellent listener.

Not by choice, of course—being a cat meant the poor creature had no say in the matter—but Magnus had always believed in giving credit where it was due. And tonight, as Magnus slumped dramatically across his sofa with a glass of wine and mascara smudged under his eyes, Chairman Meow sat curled neatly on the armrest, tail twitching with disdainful patience.

“You’re the only one who truly understands me,” Magnus told him, raising his glass in salute. “All those humans out there, with their expectations and their feelings and their labels. But you, Chairman, you ask for nothing more than kibble and the occasional lap. A perfect arrangement. No messy entanglements.”

Chairman Meow blinked slowly, which Magnus chose to interpret as agreement.

He sighed and dragged a hand over his face. “And yet, here I am. Entangled. Hopelessly ensnared in the trap that is Alexander Gideon Lightwood.” He stretched the name like silk, then flopped backward across the cushions. “Do you know, Chairman, that man has the audacity—the sheer gall—to ask me what we are? As though I haven’t spent weeks keeping him in silk sheets and gourmet coffee! What more does one need?”

The cat yawned, baring tiny teeth.

“Exactly,” Magnus said darkly. “Utter ingratitude.”

He drained his glass and refilled it immediately. The bottle was nearly empty; he made a mental note to stock up tomorrow, or possibly never leave the apartment again. That seemed safer.

Because the truth, the wretched, unbearable truth, was clawing at him: Alec wasn’t wrong.

Magnus traced the rim of his glass with one finger, staring at the ceiling. “I liked it, you know,” he murmured. “Going out with him. Coming home with him. Waking up and pretending it was normal to have someone’s arm heavy across my waist. I liked all of it, and that, my dear Chairman, is the problem.”

The cat jumped lightly from the armrest to Magnus’s stomach, landing with the perfect insult of feline indifference. Magnus groaned but didn’t push him off.

“You see, my furry tyrant, I’ve played this game before. I’ve let someone in, let myself hope. And do you know what I got in return?” He set the glass aside, voice sharpening. “Betrayal. Camille taught me that love is nothing more than a dagger slipped between your ribs when you least expect it.”

Chairman Meow licked a paw delicately.

“Yes, yes, I know,” Magnus muttered. “Not everyone is Camille. Alexander is…different. Infuriatingly honorable. And yet, doesn’t that make it worse? Doesn’t it mean he has all the power to ruin me completely?”

The cat kneaded at his shirt, tiny claws pricking through the fabric. Magnus winced.

“Precisely,” he said bitterly. “Pain. That’s all this leads to.”

Silence stretched, broken only by the faint hum of traffic outside. Magnus stared at the cat, who stared back with inscrutable golden eyes.

Finally, Magnus whispered, “But what if it doesn’t?”

The words hung in the air, fragile and terrifying.

“What if, just once, someone means it? What if he means it?” His throat tightened. “And I…I threw it away because I was too afraid?”

Chairman Meow let out a single, unimpressed meow.

Magnus laughed, the sound sharp and self-mocking. “Oh, don’t look at me like that. I can see the judgment in your whiskers. You think I should march over to his apartment right now, don’t you?”

The cat flicked his tail.

Magnus closed his eyes. In his mind’s eye, he saw Alec’s stormy expression as he’d walked out, the slam of the door, the sound of something in Magnus’s chest cracking wide open.

He pressed the heel of his hand against his eyes. “I’ve ruined it,” he whispered. “Truly, spectacularly ruined it.”

The cat purred, vibrating against his chest, as though to remind him he wasn’t entirely alone.

Magnus let the sound wash over him. For once, he didn’t try to be breezy or glittering or untouchable. He just lay there, holding onto the warmth of a small creature who asked nothing from him, and admitted the truth he couldn’t say to anyone else.

“I think I love him,” Magnus said softly. “And I don’t know what to do.”

-

Magnus Bane did not do charity.

Or, more accurately, Magnus Bane did not do features on charity organizations for editorial pieces. It was not glamorous, it was not exciting, and, quite frankly, it was not fun.

Yet here he was, clutching a notebook and a pen, striding across the polished lobby of the literacy nonprofit Alec Lightwood ran. The air smelled faintly of coffee, paper, and a sort of earnest optimism that Magnus found deeply irritating.

He had been assigned the article against his will. “It’s a good cause, Magnus. Showcase it,” the editor had said, as if his life were not filled with sparkle and intrigue and wildly more entertaining people to write about than someone handing out books to children.

Magnus hated it before he even got inside.

And then he saw Alec.

Standing behind the reception desk, hair neat, shirt pressed, smile polite but infuriatingly genuine, Alec looked exactly like someone who deserved all the happiness Magnus had been trying so hard to resist.

Magnus’s stomach churned.

“Magnus,” Alec said warmly, stepping forward. “I’m glad you came.”

Magnus forced a smile, mentally rolling his eyes at the sweetness of the greeting. “Yes, well…someone has to chronicle heroism. Lucky me.”

Alec tilted his head, observing him with patience and a hint of amusement. “You don’t seem…thrilled.”

Magnus waved a hand dismissively. “Thrill is overrated. I prefer…nuance.”

They toured the center, Magnus scribbling furiously in his notebook, trying not to notice Alec. But it was impossible. Every time Alec explained a program, helped a child pick out a book, or gently corrected a volunteer’s pronunciation, Magnus felt his chest tighten. He hated it. He hated that it made him want to smile. He hated that it made him ache for the simplicity of their nights, for the silk sheets and tangled limbs.

And worst of all, Alec was polite. Polite in the way that made Magnus ache in his bones: calm, measured, entirely unflustered by Magnus’s signature theatrics.

“Magnus,” Alec said softly, catching him staring at a volunteer handing out literacy kits. “Are you even listening?”

Magnus snapped his notebook closed, flustered. “I…am taking notes! Very…important notes. Yes.”

Alec’s eyebrows rose. “Mhm.”

They finished the tour, and Magnus was poised to flee, desperate to escape the perfection of Alec and the reminder of how dangerous he was. But Alec stopped him at the door.

“Before you go,” Alec said, voice quiet, “we need to talk.”

Magnus froze, hand on the door handle. “Talk?”

“Yes.” Alec’s gaze was steady. “About us.”

Magnus felt his stomach flip, hot and cold at once. He wanted to run, wanted to throw glitter and wine in Alec’s face, wanted to scream, I’m not ready for labels! But Alec was waiting, calm and deliberate, and Magnus couldn’t even summon his usual dramatic flair.

“I don’t—” Magnus began, faltering.

“You don’t want to?” Alec asked, voice carefully neutral, though Magnus could see the tension in his jaw.

“I—It’s not that,” Magnus said quickly, flailing internally. “It’s just…” He waved a hand, frustrated. “Why put a label on something doomed to fall apart?”

Alec’s eyes darkened, and Magnus knew immediately that he had touched the core of Alec’s patience. “Doomed?” Alec’s voice hardened. “Doomed? You mean…because of Camille?”

Magnus flinched. “I…yes. I’ve been burned, Alexander. I—”

“You’ve been burned,” Alec repeated slowly, “and now you’re letting that fear dictate us?”

Magnus opened his mouth, then shut it. Alec’s glare was polite but icy, and Magnus had the distinct sensation that Alec could, if he wanted, dismantle him completely with a single word.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Magnus said softly. “Or me. Or—everything. I just…” He trailed off, head spinning. “I just like it as it was.”

“You mean casual?” Alec asked. “Regular sex, no expectations, pretending we’re just…friends?”

Magnus winced. “Yes. Pretending. Because it’s safe. Because it doesn’t matter if it ends. Because I don’t have to guard my heart—”

“You think you can control this?” Alec’s voice was calm but cutting. “Magnus, you are not safe. And you’re not in control. Not of me. Not of us. Not of how you feel.”

Magnus swallowed. He had never been so aware of the thrum in his chest, the faint ache of memory that sat low in his body, reminding him that Alec’s touch lingered even when he wasn’t there. He hated that he wanted it. Hated that he wanted Alec to touch him again. Hated that he wanted to say yes.

And yet…

“Yes,” he whispered.

Alec blinked. “Yes?”

Magnus swallowed hard. “Yes, I…like you. Too much. And I’m terrified. And yes, I know it’s reckless. But it doesn’t change what I feel.”

Alec’s eyes softened, but the tension didn’t leave his jaw. “Magnus, I want us to be more than just this. I want a label. I want us to try. To see where it goes.”

Magnus’s chest tightened. He wanted to argue, to throw a glitter bomb and flee, to insist that he was unbreakable. But the truth—cold, undeniable—was there: Alec could wreck him completely, and he might let him.

“I’m scared,” Magnus admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

Alec stepped closer, closing the small distance. “I know. But that’s why I’m asking. Because it’s worth it. Because I’m worth it.”

Magnus looked away, fighting tears, fighting laughter, fighting the urge to leap into Alec’s arms and never let go. “I…don’t know if I can be brave enough.”

Alec reached out, fingers brushing Magnus’s cheek lightly. “You’ve been brave every time you’ve let me in. You just need to trust it doesn’t have to end in pain.”

Magnus shivered. He wanted to nod, wanted to throw himself into the warmth of Alec’s presence. But a small, stubborn voice in his head reminded him: You’ve been burned before.

“Yes,” Magnus said again, this time quieter, more resigned. “Yes, Alexander. I…want this. But I’m afraid.”

Alec smiled faintly, brushing his thumb over Magnus’s knuckle. “Good. That’s honesty. That’s a start.”

Magnus closed his eyes, feeling the ache, the pull, the dread—and somehow, beneath it all, the thrill. Alec could wreck him. And he had every intention of letting him try.

-

Magnus Bane had officially agreed to a label.

It should have felt triumphant. Liberating. Glittering with possibility.

Instead, he felt like he’d stepped off a cliff wearing heels too high for the landing.

He replayed the conversation in his head, Alec’s steady gaze, the light touch on his knuckle, the quiet insistence that he was worth it. Magnus had said yes. And now, yes was a word that weighed more than a thousand of his sparkling coats.

Because saying yes meant vulnerability. Exposure. Risk.

He tried to tell himself it was fine. That labels didn’t have to mean doom. That Alec wasn’t Camille. That maybe, just maybe, he could survive loving again.

But as Magnus sat in his apartment later, swirling wine in a crystal glass like it contained the answers to all his problems, the panic crept back.

He poured another glass. Then another. Then paused, staring at Chairman Meow, who had settled on the armrest with regal patience.

“You see, my furry confidant,” Magnus said, voice low, dramatic, a tremor betraying him, “I’ve signed a contract with my own heart. I’ve willingly handed over the key to Alexander Lightwood, and I’m…terrified.”

The cat blinked slowly, the universal feline signal of you’re ridiculous but carry on.

Magnus groaned. “Do you understand, Chairman? Labels are permanent. Commitment is perilous. Love—dangerous. I’ve been happy, yes, absurdly, scandalously happy. But now…” He gestured vaguely to the empty wine bottle and the city skyline, a glittering expanse of everything that could go wrong. “Now I’ve made it official. And there is no glitter, no charm, no careful misdirection that can protect me from this.”

The cat purred. Magnus hated that the purr made him feel slightly better.

“I’m supposed to be in control,” he whispered, curling onto the couch, silk robe pooling around him. “I’m supposed to command, to enchant, to orchestrate. And yet,” he pressed his face into a cushion, “I’m reduced to this. A trembling, overthinking, utterly unglamorous wreck.”

-

The next morning, Magnus awoke with a mixture of dread and something that could only be called anticipation. Alec was supposed to join him for coffee—official first-date style. Magnus had dressed, undressed, redecorated, then dressed again in three different combinations of velvet, silk, and sequins before settling on something approaching casual sophistication.

He checked the mirror for the twentieth time. “You look calm. Unshakable. You are Magnus Bane,” he muttered to himself. “You can do this.”

The moment Alec arrived, knocking politely and holding a single cup of takeout coffee, Magnus felt his control begin to slip.

“Morning,” Alec said softly, extending the cup. “I hope I’m not too early.”

Magnus flared his nostrils, taking the coffee with exaggerated elegance. “Oh, heavens no. Fashionably prompt, as always.” He sipped delicately, then cleared his throat. “So…dates. We’re doing this.”

Alec tilted his head, amusement flickering in his eyes. “We are.”

Magnus felt a flutter of panic. This was not how it had been before. Before, he could claim Alec’s bed, Alec’s attention, and retreat when the intensity became overwhelming. Now there was expectation. Now there were plans. Now there was…Alec, sitting there, calm, steady, entirely unattainable if Magnus didn’t rein himself in.

“Tell me,” Magnus said, voice slightly too high-pitched, “are we doing something…traditional? Or chaotic? Because I can do chaotic.”

Alec smiled faintly. “I thought something simple. Breakfast, then a walk. Maybe check out that bookstore you like?”

Magnus blinked. Simple? No fireworks? No dramatic entrances? No lingering touches that could burn a man alive?

“Yes,” he said too quickly. “Yes, of course. Perfectly…simple.”

Inside, he was screaming.

-

As they walked through the streets, Magnus tried to focus on the mundane: the rhythm of their steps, the aroma of fresh pastries, the way the sun glittered on the glass of the bookstore windows. He tried to remember that this was safe, tame, contained.

But then Alec laughed—a soft, easy sound—and Magnus felt that familiar ache bloom again. He wanted to grab Alec’s hand, pull him into an alley, and prove that labels didn’t matter when the body remembered.

Instead, he reached for Alec’s arm lightly, pretending it was casual. Alec’s eyes flicked to his, curious but unjudging.

“Are you…okay?” Alec asked.

Magnus forced a small smile. “Never better. Simply enjoying the day, yes. Delightful, charming, perfectly—” He tripped over his words. “—unremarkable.”

Alec raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. Magnus glared at a passing pigeon.

By the time they reached the bookstore, Magnus was a mess of nerves disguised in layers of silk and velvet. He tried to focus on the smell of paper, the weight of books, the thrill of discovery. But Alec moved beside him, gentle and sure, discussing titles for the children in his literacy program, and Magnus realized something terrifying.

It wasn’t just the intimacy in bed that drew him. It was everything. It was Alec, all of Alec, in his careful kindness, in his passion for something beyond himself, in the way he made Magnus’s heart race even while arranging books alphabetically.

Magnus swallowed, suddenly aware of how small and reckless he was feeling.

“You’re quiet,” Alec said, voice low, glancing at him.

“I…admiring,” Magnus said. “Yes. Admiring. From a safe distance.”

Alec’s lips quirked. “Safe, huh?”

Magnus wanted to laugh, but it came out as a strangled little noise. “Well, we can’t have me falling in love entirely,” he said. “That would be…disastrous.”

Alec’s expression darkened slightly, the storm he’d always managed to keep restrained flickering in his eyes. “Magnus,” he said softly but firmly, “you’re already in love. The question is whether you’re going to let it grow—or run.”

Magnus felt his knees weaken, and for the first time, he couldn’t rely on glitter, or sarcasm, or dramatic sighs. He was exposed.

And he was terrified.

-

That evening, Magnus returned home, slumping across his sofa with Chairman Meow perched on his chest like a judgmental crown.

“You see, Chairman,” Magnus said, voice low and trembling, “I agreed. To a label. To…us. And yet, I’ve spent the day wondering if I’ve made the gravest mistake of my long, glittering life. He is…he is everything I want, and everything I fear.”

The cat blinked, tail flicking.

Magnus groaned. “Yes, yes, I know. I’m being dramatic. But this is love, Chairman. Dangerous, infuriating, reckless love. And I—I don’t know if I can survive it without being utterly ruined.”

He curled up, clutching a throw pillow as if it were armor. “And yet…I cannot stay away. Even knowing the risk. Even knowing the pain. He has already begun to wreak havoc on my carefully controlled life. And I…welcome it. Some part of me welcomes it.”

Chairman Meow purred. Magnus rested his cheek on the cat’s soft fur.

“Perhaps,” Magnus murmured, “the only way to live is to let oneself be wrecked. Even by Alexander Lightwood.”

He closed his eyes, trembling, exhausted, terrified—and impossibly, impossibly happy.

-

Magnus Bane had faced many perils in his long, glittering life.

And yet here he was, trembling like a debutante at a cotillion, because he had agreed—officially agreed—to date Alexander Lightwood.

Not just date casually. Not just meet for wine and whispered kisses and silk sheets. No, Magnus was now responsible for navigating the treacherous waters of what humans referred to as a “relationship.”

Which, from what he’d seen so far, was utterly terrifying.

The first date proper after their label agreement had been a brunch. Magnus had spent three hours selecting the exact right ensemble, culminating in a velvet jacket, silk scarf, and a pair of shoes that could double as murder weapons. He had rehearsed witty banter, clever observations, and flirtatious glances in the mirror until he feared he would break the reflection entirely.

He had been terrifyingly prepared.

Alec, by contrast, had shown up in a plain button-down shirt, dark jeans, and sneakers. Hair slightly tousled, no fanfare, no drama. Calm. Predictable. Deadly.

Magnus nearly fainted.

“You look…casual,” he said, voice fluttering somewhere between admiration and horror. “How dare you reduce yourself to normality? To a plain…human?”

Alec raised an eyebrow. “I thought this was brunch.”

“Yes, but brunch requires flair,” Magnus hissed, gripping the railing of the stairwell as if it were the only thing keeping him upright. “Flair is essential. To survive. To live. To…exist.”

Alec didn’t respond, which only infuriated Magnus further.

Brunch was a disaster, of course.

Magnus tried to appear relaxed, sipping mimosa with exaggerated elegance while Alec casually read the menu and occasionally commented on eggs or pastries. Magnus had imagined witty banter, clever repartee, subtle teasing. Instead, there was just…food.

“Do you want a croissant?” Alec asked, breaking Magnus’s internal monologue.

Magnus nearly choked. “I—yes. But the butter! It must be spread evenly, Alexander. Uneven butter is the mark of a civilization in decline!”

Alec blinked, deadpan. “I just want a croissant.”

Magnus groaned, face in his hands. “And yet I cannot escape this. You are here. You exist. You make me human.”

Alec raised an eyebrow. “I think that’s called dating.”

After brunch, they wandered into a small park. Magnus tried to navigate holding hands without looking desperate or clumsy. It was impossible. He felt like a giraffe attempting ballet.

“You are very…intimate with your hands,” Alec observed, clearly amused.

Magnus stiffened. “Hands are a statement. A declaration. A—oh, forget it. Just hold mine, darling, before I panic entirely.”

Alec obliged, squeezing Magnus’s hand lightly. Magnus nearly collapsed into a puddle of silk and nerves.

“You’re trembling,” Alec said, amusement flickering in his dark eyes.

“I—no! I am…excited. Vibrantly, dangerously excited,” Magnus replied. “And also slightly terrified. And, fine, yes, a little overwhelmed by your existence and the very thought of commitment. But in a glamorous way.”

Alec shook his head, smiling faintly, and Magnus felt a flutter in his chest that might have been love—or panic, or both.

Later, Magnus suggested a detour to a bookstore. He had imagined soft lighting, cozy corners, whispered literary debates, and maybe Alec accidentally brushing against him, igniting another private spark.

Instead, Alec calmly browsed, offering Magnus a running commentary on the literacy programs he ran, books he recommended for the children, and occasionally handing Magnus a title to inspect.

Magnus felt his chest tighten. Alec wasn’t just infuriatingly calm—he was impossibly good, and it made Magnus want to weep and throw glitter at the same time.

“You’re…amazingly organized,” Magnus said finally, trying to recover his composure. “I—how do you manage all of this and still remain…alive?”

Alec chuckled softly. “I enjoy it. It matters to me. And somehow, I think you’d like it too, if you gave it a chance.”

Magnus almost choked on air. He did like it. He liked it so much he wanted to crawl inside Alec’s jacket pocket and never come out. He had to remind himself: breath, Magnus. You are a professional. You are glitter incarnate. Do not faint in a bookstore.

By evening, they ended up back at Magnus’s apartment. The date hadn’t gone catastrophically wrong—technically. But Magnus was exhausted, both mentally and emotionally. Dates were so…mundane. So real. So un-seductive. And yet, somehow, every glance from Alec, every small touch, every carefully measured word had Magnus tumbling headlong into feelings he wasn’t sure he was ready to admit.

“Coffee?” Magnus offered, fumbling with a French press.

Alec accepted with a small smile, leaning against the counter as Magnus struggled to pour without spilling on his silk robe.

“You’re…nervous,” Alec said casually.

Magnus froze, French press hovering dramatically in the air. “Me? Nervous? Never! I am always in control, perfectly poised, eternally glamorous!”

Alec’s eyebrow twitched. “Sure.”

Magnus pressed a hand to his chest. “Do not test me, Alexander.”

Alec’s smile widened. “I’m not testing you. I’m observing.”

Magnus’s heart lurched. Observing. Careful. Interested. Everything he wanted, and yet everything that made him afraid.

Later, as they curled up on the sofa, Magnus found himself debating internally whether to touch Alec or not. He had been careful for weeks, keeping their intimacy deliciously physical but emotionally neutral. Now, with a label, every touch felt like it carried weight, expectation, consequence.

He leaned in, then pulled back. Leaned in again, then recoiled. Finally, Alec’s hand found his. Gentle, steady, grounding.

“You don’t have to be afraid,” Alec said softly. “Of this. Of us.”

Magnus swallowed hard, trying to maintain his signature poise. “Afraid? Me? Never. I simply…appreciate caution. Dramatic, controlled caution. Very Bane-esque.”

Alec chuckled, nudging him playfully. “You’ve been dramatically, unreasonably, charmingly cautious since the beginning. But maybe it’s time to try…letting go a little.”

Magnus shivered, then laughed, soft and shaky. “Letting go? Oh, Alexander. That is dangerously close to seduction disguised as advice.”

“I’ll take full responsibility if it’s successful,” Alec replied.

Magnus’s heart thumped, but he let his guard slip just enough to rest his head on Alec’s shoulder. Outside, the city hummed quietly, indifferent to the chaos of two men navigating love for the first time.

And Magnus, ever the dramatist, decided that maybe—just maybe—this chaos could be worth it.

-

Magnus Bane, as a rule, was unflappable. Glitter and charm had seen him through every disaster imaginable, from disastrous charity galas to magical mishaps of catastrophic proportions. He prided himself on his composure, his flair, his ability to navigate the most treacherous social waters without so much as a smudge on his eyeliner.

And yet…

Weeks into dating Alexander Lightwood officially, Magnus found himself teetering on the edge of disaster.

It started innocently enough: a casual dinner at Alec’s apartment, the first time Magnus would meet the family. Jace and Isabelle. Charming, grounded, and incredibly intimidating in their own ways. Magnus had arrived in full dramatic regalia—a velvet blazer, silk shirt, and enough scent to leave a trail across three city blocks. Because if he was going to be vulnerable in front of the Lightwoods, he was damned well going to do it in style.

Alec’s apartment buzzed with warmth as Magnus entered. Jace shook his hand firmly, Isabelle gave him a bright, appraising smile, and Magnus immediately felt the weight of their judgment. They weren’t impressed by flair or glitter. They were impressed by presence, substance…oh, and maybe a little by his audacity.

Magnus bowed dramatically. “The pleasure is entirely mine. I hope you can forgive me if I dazzle a little—I simply cannot help myself.”

Isabelle raised an eyebrow but smiled. Jace shook his head, muttering, “He’s…something.”

Magnus beamed. “Something marvelous, I assure you.”

Dinner was a delicate balancing act of charm, wit, and careful avoidance of overexposure. Magnus commented on the wine, complimented the food, and made careful, strategic jokes about family dynamics. Alec, seated beside him, occasionally brushed his hand against Magnus’s, a reminder of the private, delicious knowledge that this, here, was their shared world now.

And it was intoxicating.

Afterwards, when everyone else had left and Alec’s apartment was quiet, Magnus found himself pressed against Alec in the bedroom once more. Their connection was electric, a fierce, consuming flame that Magnus adored and feared in equal measure. Weeks of restraint had built a tension that ignited immediately. Clothes were discarded, kisses deepened, and Magnus once again marveled at the way Alec could make him ache and tremble without ever uttering a word.

“Alexander,” Magnus gasped, fingers threading through hair, nails digging into shoulders, “you are…utterly devastating.”

Alec smirked, voice low. “I’m just very persuasive.”

And persuasive he was. Hours later, Magnus lay sprawled across silk sheets, utterly wrecked, body humming with the memory of every precise touch, every deliberate, intimate movement.

He had thought he could navigate this, thought he could keep his heart guarded, but Alec had a way of bypassing all defenses. And Magnus—ever the showman, ever the overthinker—knew that if Alec wanted, he could utterly dismantle him.

Which was both thrilling and terrifying.

-

The following days were a strange mix of euphoria and dread. Magnus floated through his apartment, glittering and flamboyant, sipping coffee and pretending casual ease. He answered emails with panache, crafted social media posts with effortless brilliance, and yet every quiet moment brought a familiar pang of worry.

When would the next shoe drop?

He knew Alec’s family approval wasn’t a guarantee that heartbreak wouldn’t follow. He knew, deep down, that every touch, every kiss, every whispered word was a gamble.

Magnus tried to occupy himself with work. He spent hours in the editorial office, crafting articles, managing projects, and chatting with Simon and Clary about irrelevant topics, hoping the conversation would distract him from the ache in his chest. It never did. Every memory of Alec—folded hands, quiet smiles, the warmth of his body in the sheets—was a tiny pulse of chaos beneath his controlled exterior.

Even simple things were triggers. Magnus passed by a bookstore and almost called Alec just to hear his voice. He made elaborate mental lists of “distraction techniques” while simultaneously imagining Alec tracing his fingers along his tattoos, whispering words that made Magnus shiver in both delight and apprehension.

-

One evening, Magnus found himself pacing his apartment, silk robe flaring dramatically with every turn. Chairman Meow, perched on the window sill, watched him with indulgent patience.

“Do you understand, Chairman?” Magnus asked, gesturing wildly. “I am happy. Happy, understand? And yet I am entirely convinced that catastrophe is looming. He has—oh, Alexander Lightwood—he has entered my life with the subtlety of a hurricane and the precision of a master thief. My defenses? Gone. My glittered armor? Obliterated. And yet…”

He paused, pressing a hand to his chest. “And yet I cannot stop wanting him. Cannot stop craving him. Cannot stop—”

The cat yawned, unimpressed.

“Yes, yes, I know. You are judging me. I am aware. But love, Chairman…love is terrifying. Especially when it could, at any moment, destroy everything you’ve worked to preserve.”

Magnus flopped onto the sofa, covering his face with a pillow. “I adore him. I fear him. I am undone by him. And still, I do not want to let go. What am I supposed to do, Chairman? How does one survive being this…exquisitely wrecked?”

Chairman Meow flicked his tail. Magnus interpreted it as approval.

-

Later that week, Magnus and Alec had another intimate evening. By now, their rhythm was familiar: flirtation, teasing, touch, and finally, a fiery, consuming connection that left Magnus both ecstatic and vaguely terrified.

Afterwards, Magnus lay on the bed, tangled in sheets, staring at the ceiling. He traced his fingers along his own arms, thinking of Alec’s touch, the way his hands had mapped Alec’s tattoos like a cartographer exploring uncharted territory.

“I should be terrified,” Magnus murmured. “And yet…I am entirely helpless. Completely, unabashedly…”

He paused, flustered, unsure whether to admit it even to himself. “…in love?”

The word was dangerous, terrifying, and yet it hovered in the air like glitter falling slowly from the ceiling.

Alec stirred beside him, brushing a hand along Magnus’s side. “What’s that?”

Magnus smirked despite himself, masking the fear with flamboyance. “Nothing, darling. Just…admiring the ceiling. Marveling at its…texture. Yes.”

Alec chuckled softly, tugging him closer. “You’re impossible.”

“Yes, I know,” Magnus admitted, pressing a kiss to Alec’s shoulder. “And yet you adore me anyway.”

Alec’s hand moved over Magnus’s back, steady and sure. “I do.”

Magnus swallowed, heart racing, mind spinning. Everything he had ever feared about labels, vulnerability, and being hurt was still there—but so was the warmth, the intimacy, the undeniable connection. Alec could indeed wreck him completely. And yet, Magnus realized he didn’t want him to stop.

Because some chaos was worth it.

Chapter Text

Magnus Bane had a complicated relationship with mornings.

Most mornings, he awoke to glitter in his hair, a sense of chaotic energy, and a carefully curated plan for the day. Some mornings, he woke to champagne and spontaneous rendezvous. Some mornings, he woke with a slight hangover and a regretful text to someone he didn’t remember calling.

And then there were mornings like this.

Alec was still asleep beside him, the soft rise and fall of his chest, the slow curl of his fingers brushing Magnus’s side, the faint warmth radiating from him making Magnus’s heart pound. Naked, tangled together, safe in a cocoon of sheets, Magnus felt something he rarely allowed himself: unguarded, unpretentious, entirely human.

He had watched Alec sleep many times before—admired the way his brows furrowed, the calm rhythm of his breathing, the subtle tension of muscles that still carried him through every long day—but today, Magnus felt the need to speak. To reveal. To unburden a part of himself that had been carefully locked away.

“Alexander…” Magnus whispered, brushing a hand over Alec’s chest.

Alec stirred, eyelids fluttering open, voice groggy but attentive. “Hmm?”

Magnus swallowed. “I…want to tell you something. Something I’ve never said before. Or at least…not fully.”

Alec lifted his head slightly, propped on one elbow, gaze steady. “You can tell me anything, Magnus.”

Magnus’s chest tightened. “You already know part of it…about Camille. How she…betrayed me. How I was…devastated. How I swore I would never let anyone hurt me like that again.”

Alec nodded slowly. “I know. You’ve mentioned her.”

“Yes, but not everything,” Magnus said softly, tracing patterns along Alec’s arm with a trembling finger. “You know the story, but you don’t know the weight it left behind. The way it hollowed me out, made me…careful. Skeptical. Afraid. Afraid to love, afraid to be adored, afraid that every beautiful thing must eventually shatter.”

Alec listened in silence, not touching him, not judging, just present, just steady. Magnus felt his throat tighten further.

“I adored her, Alexander,” he continued, voice low. “I gave her everything. My time, my trust, my love…all of it. And she…took it, and threw it away. And for months afterward, I wandered through life like a glittering ghost, keeping people at arm’s length, keeping my heart…protected, because I couldn’t bear to be shattered again.”

Alec’s hand found Magnus’s, entwining fingers gently. “And now?”

Magnus let out a shaky breath. “And now…I’m terrified. Terrified of letting you in completely. Terrified of being this vulnerable. And yet…I can’t resist it. I can’t resist you.”

Alec’s thumb brushed over Magnus’s knuckles. “I don’t want to hurt you, Magnus. Not ever. And I’m not Camille. I’m here. I’m yours if you let me be.”

Magnus turned to face him, eyes glistening. “I know. And that terrifies me even more. Because you…you have the power to wreck me completely. And I…think I want you to.”

Alec’s gaze softened, a quiet tenderness that made Magnus’s chest ache in a way he hadn’t allowed himself in years. He leaned forward, pressing a gentle kiss to Magnus’s temple, letting the warmth linger.

“You’ve survived before,” Alec whispered. “You can survive now. But you don’t have to do it alone.”

Magnus let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. Naked, tangled, vulnerable, he rested his head against Alec’s shoulder. “It’s…hard to admit, you know. To let someone see the parts of you that are broken. I’m…not proud of how much she hurt me. Not proud that I carried it like a curse, like a warning sign for anyone who dared love me again.”

“You don’t have to be proud,” Alec said, voice gentle. “You only have to be honest. And you are. That’s enough.”

Magnus closed his eyes, the words, the warmth, the trust washing over him. He had lived years in glitter and performance, masking fear with charm, hiding vulnerability behind wit. But here, now, he felt the smallest flicker of something else: safety.

“I never thought I’d…feel this again,” he murmured. “Safe. Loved. Desired. All at once. And I…” He hesitated, unsure how to finish, how to encapsulate the mess of emotions that churned inside him. “…I never want to let go.”

Alec shifted slightly, pulling him closer. “Then don’t. Don’t let go. Not unless you want to.”

Magnus let out a soft laugh, a mixture of relief, joy, and lingering fear. “Oh, Alexander. You have no idea the chaos you’ve brought into my life. And yet…I don’t want it any other way.”

Alec kissed him softly, deliberately, letting the contact linger, grounding them both in the reality of the moment. Magnus felt the weight of past heartbreak loosen, if only slightly, under the steady presence of someone who truly cared.

“I think,” Magnus whispered after a long pause, fingers tracing the lines of Alec’s face, “that this…us…might be worth the risk. Even if it terrifies me.”

Alec smiled faintly, pressing a forehead to Magnus’s. “It is. And you won’t have to face it alone.”

Magnus let himself sink into the embrace, feeling the soft warmth of the sheets, the quiet rhythm of Alec’s breathing, the subtle thrum of intimacy that was more than physical. It was trust. Connection. A promise.

For once, Magnus didn’t need glitter, spectacle, or drama to feel alive. Naked, vulnerable, and speaking the truth of his heart, he realized that some things—love, trust, intimacy—could be enough on their own.

And maybe, just maybe, letting someone in wasn’t the same as giving them the power to destroy him. Maybe it was the first step to surviving, truly surviving, with someone by his side.

He closed his eyes, resting against Alec’s chest, letting the quiet morning and soft touch wash over him. And for the first time in a long time, Magnus Bane felt like he could breathe without fear, even if just for a little while.

Magnus Bane had to admit, mornings like this were…dangerous.

He lay curled against Alec, warm and steady, the soft rhythm of his breathing grounding Magnus in a way nothing else could. Naked, tangled in sheets, the sunlight spilling through the curtains and dusting Alec’s hair with gold, Magnus felt an unfamiliar sort of calm settle over him.

“Do you ever stop looking devastating?” he murmured, brushing a finger across Alec’s collarbone.

Alec hummed softly, eyes still closed. “Only when I’m asleep,” he said, voice low and teasing.

Magnus grinned against his shoulder. “Lucky me, then. I get you at your most vulnerable, and yet…” He traced a finger down Alec’s arm, reveling in the warmth. “…still perfect.”

Alec stretched, a lazy smile curling his lips. “You do know I’m the one who should be worried about you, right? You’re dazzling enough to blind a person before breakfast.”

Magnus laughed softly, curling a little closer. “Oh, darling, I assure you, the danger is mutual.”

They lingered there a while, savoring the quiet intimacy that came before the chaos of the day. No glitter, no dramatic entrances, no obligations. Just the soft warmth of each other’s bodies and the subtle hum of early morning.

Eventually, Magnus rolled off Alec with a dramatic sigh. “Well,” he said, standing, “as much as I adore languishing in bed, I believe it’s time to transform breakfast into a work of art.”

Alec watched him move around the kitchen, silk robe flaring, hair slightly mussed, still somehow perfectly Magnus. “I thought you might say that,” he said, moving to lean against the counter. “What’s on the menu today, chef?”

Magnus flourished a hand. “We shall have scrambled eggs, lightly seasoned, accompanied by avocado slices, artisanal bread, and coffee. Strong coffee. As it must be for a man who battles the world before nine a.m.”

“Impressive,” Alec said, voice teasing. “And what about for me, then?”

Magnus turned dramatically. “For you, my dear Alexander…whatever your heart desires. You may even pick a slice of bread yourself if you’re feeling particularly daring.”

Alec rolled his eyes, a smile tugging at his lips. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Ah,” Magnus said, brandishing a spatula like a sword, “but I am your ridiculous. And today, I am bringing breakfast glory to our humble abode.”

Cooking with Magnus in the kitchen was always an adventure. He moved with exaggerated elegance, flipping eggs with flair, sprinkling seasoning with a flourish, humming tunelessly, occasionally giving Alec an appreciative look that made the other man blush despite himself.

“Do you ever stop turning everything into a performance?” Alec asked, moving closer to inspect the avocado.

“Stop?” Magnus gasped, clutching his chest. “Darling, performance is the air I breathe! Without it, I would simply wither into…a beige, uninspired husk. And I cannot, will not, allow that.”

Alec laughed softly, brushing past him to reach the coffee. “I see. Well, husk or not, you make a spectacular breakfast.”

Magnus pressed a finger to his lips, feigning offense. “Flattery, Alexander, will get you everywhere. But only if accompanied by sincere appreciation for my culinary genius.”

“I’ll take notes,” Alec said dryly, though the warmth in his eyes betrayed him.

Breakfast was served on the small table in the sunlit kitchen. Magnus had laid everything out with careful precision, each dish a work of edible art. Alec leaned back in his chair, examining the spread like it was a priceless exhibit.

“You know,” Alec said, voice quiet, “I could get used to this.”

Magnus nearly choked on air. “Get used to what, exactly? My presence? My dazzling charm? The way I make even scrambled eggs feel like a Broadway performance?”

“Yes,” Alec said simply, smiling. “All of it.”

Magnus felt his chest tighten, a small ache of delight mixed with that familiar flicker of fear. “Ah,” he murmured, swirling his fork dramatically through eggs. “You are far too kind to me, Alexander Lightwood.”

Alec reached across the table, brushing a hand over Magnus’s. “Not kind. Honest. And I mean it.”

Magnus blinked, trying to mask the sudden swell of emotion. “Honesty. Dangerous, intoxicating honesty,” he muttered, voice soft. “You have no idea the havoc you wreak with words like that.”

Alec’s smile was quiet, steady. “I think you like it.”

Magnus smirked, sipping coffee with the faintest tremor in his hand. “Perhaps I do, just a little. Perhaps it’s the thrill of being…entirely human again.”

They lingered over breakfast, chatting lightly about their schedules, office gossip, and minor city dramas. Magnus felt a rare ease in the conversation. No need for dramatic entrances or glittering metaphors. Just quiet, everyday intimacy, the sort that made the heart race even when nothing spectacular was happening.

Finally, Magnus stood, clearing dishes with exaggerated flair. “Well,” he said, handing Alec the last plate, “I suppose we must prepare ourselves for the cruel, unrelenting demands of work. But fear not, darling! We shall return to each other, unscathed and victorious, before the day is done.”

Alec smiled, rising and brushing Magnus’s shoulder gently. “I have no doubt.”

Magnus pressed a kiss to Alec’s hand, lingering, savoring the warmth. “You, Alexander, are my greatest peril and my most delightful reward. Don’t ever forget it.”

“You remind me enough,” Alec said softly, letting Magnus hold his gaze for a moment before turning toward the door.

By the time they left for work, Magnus felt that rare, delicate balance of calm and anticipation. Morning spent naked and soft, breakfast made with care and a dash of drama, and the quiet knowledge that, even amidst the chaos of life and love, he had someone by his side who could keep him grounded without dimming his sparkle.

As they walked out into the city, hand in hand, Magnus allowed himself one thought: the world might be unpredictable, his heart might still ache from past betrayals, and life might continue to hurl chaos in every direction—but for this moment, at least, everything was…right.

And Magnus Bane, glittering, chaotic, and vulnerable, allowed himself to simply enjoy it.

-

-

Magnus Bane didn’t usually do Sunday evenings like this.

Sunday evenings were, by tradition, meant for bubble baths, face masks, and quietly cursing deadlines he had ignored all weekend. If he ventured outside at all, it was to buy overpriced wine and Trader Joe’s mochi. Certainly not to stroll leisurely through the park like some character from a romantic comedy who believed in picnics and forever.

And yet, here he was.

Walking. Holding hands. With Alec.

It was disturbingly…nice. The late-summer air was still warm, the park dotted with families and couples, the golden light filtering through the trees like the world itself was softening around the edges. Magnus should have been at home with cucumber slices over his eyes. Instead, he was allowing himself to enjoy the steady weight of Alec’s hand in his, the quiet rhythm of their steps matching.

“You’re quiet,” Alec said, glancing at him.

Magnus arched an eyebrow. “Darling, it’s called mysterious allure. Look it up.”

Alec smirked faintly, squeezing his hand. “Mysterious, huh?”

“Utterly,” Magnus said, sweeping his free hand dramatically toward the skyline. “Behind these glittering eyes lie multitudes. Enigmas. Dark, unknowable secrets. Also a mild craving for pad thai, but that ruins the effect.”

Alec chuckled, shaking his head, and Magnus allowed himself a small, private smile. He liked making Alec laugh. He liked it too much.

They stopped for coffee at a cart by the park’s edge, Alec paying before Magnus could produce his gilded wallet. “You’ll ruin my reputation if you keep doing that,” Magnus teased as they continued their walk, cup warming his hands.

“What reputation?” Alec asked, genuinely curious.

Magnus gasped. “As a kept man of impeccable taste, obviously. The scandal would be immense.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Alec muttered, but there was warmth in his voice.

Magnus was about to fire off another witty retort when fate decided to ruin everything.

“Magnus?”

He froze. Slowly, carefully, he turned. And there, smiling brightly with a tote bag full of books, was Jennifer from the editorial office. A sweet, nosy woman with a fondness for asking far too many personal questions at the worst possible times.

“Oh, Jennifer,” Magnus said, slipping immediately into performance mode. “What a delight to see you outside the fluorescent horrors of our esteemed workplace.”

Jennifer beamed. “It’s been forever since I ran into you! And…” Her eyes flicked to Alec, who stood solidly at Magnus’s side, hand still linked with his. “And who is this?”

Magnus felt his throat seize. Who is this? Easy question. Simple question. Any sane person would say this is my boyfriend and move on with their life.

But his brain screamed like an alarm bell. Boyfriend. Label. Trap. Commitment. The last time you said that word, Camille was already sleeping with someone else.

He stalled, words scrambling for cover. “This is—ah—this is…Alexander. He is…”

Alec looked at him, steady, patient.

Magnus’s pulse thundered. He wanted to say friend but the word stuck like ash in his throat. He wanted to say nothing but that would burn worse. Alec deserved more. He deserved honesty, even if it scared Magnus out of his silk robe.

Magnus inhaled, exhaled, and said, voice tight but clear, “This is my boyfriend.”

The world didn’t collapse.

Jennifer smiled wider. “Oh! Well, it’s lovely to meet you, Alexander. You’ve clearly got your hands full with this one.”

Alec smiled politely. “I know.”

Jennifer prattled on about work gossip for another minute before heading off, mercifully oblivious to the way Magnus’s heart was trying to climb out of his chest.

They walked in silence for a stretch, Magnus sipping coffee like it was the only thing tethering him to earth. Finally, Alec said softly, “That was hard for you.”

Magnus let out a sharp laugh. “Darling, hard is an understatement. I nearly combusted on the spot. I could feel my glitter molecules rearranging themselves into panic.”

“But you said it,” Alec pointed out.

Magnus glanced at him, startled by the simplicity of the observation. “Yes,” he admitted slowly. “I suppose I did.”

“And?” Alec prompted, his voice careful, like he didn’t want to spook him.

Magnus considered, rolling the word boyfriend over in his head. It had felt foreign at first, like trying on someone else’s shoes. But the more he thought about it, the more it settled into place. Not a chain. Not a curse. Just a word that meant this is mine, and I am his.

He exhaled, long and shaky, and finally said, “And…it wasn’t awful. In fact, it was—dare I say—freeing. Like throwing open a window you didn’t realize was suffocating you.”

Alec’s lips quirked. “That’s one way to put it.”

Magnus smiled crookedly, bumping Alec’s shoulder with his own. “Don’t get used to me being sentimental. It’s dreadfully unbecoming.”

“I like it,” Alec said, brushing their hands together again.

Magnus’s heart clenched, but this time it wasn’t painful. It was terrifying, yes, but threaded through with something startlingly bright. Hope, maybe.

They kept walking, the park glowing around them, and Magnus thought—for the first time in a very long time—that maybe a label wasn’t doom. Maybe it was just another kind of performance, one he didn’t have to fake.

-

Magnus Bane prided himself on commanding a room.

No matter the setting—gallery opening, rooftop cocktail hour, or dreary staff meeting—he had perfected the art of entrance. A swish of velvet, a glimmer of eyeliner, a perfectly timed quip: Magnus could hold attention the way most people held umbrellas.

But tonight was different.

Tonight he wasn’t entering alone.

Alec walked beside him into the cavernous downtown event space, quiet and steady as always, his black suit perfectly tailored but simple. Magnus felt the eyes flicking toward them—toward him, as usual—but for once, his performance wasn’t solo.

This was his first time unveiling Alec to his circle. Coworkers. Fellow columnists. A few too-curious editors. His friends from the gallery world. Even Clary, resplendent in crimson, had texted earlier: Can’t wait to finally meet him properly. Behave.

Magnus had laughed at the time. Now, with Alec’s hand brushing his, his chest tightened in something dangerously close to nerves.

“Magnus!”

Sure enough, Jennifer from the office was first to swoop in, glass of chardonnay in hand, eyes sparkling. “You made it! And—oh—you brought Alexander.”

Alec offered his hand, polite as ever. “Alec,” he corrected gently, smile small but warm.

“Right, Alec.” Jennifer beamed. “I’m so glad Magnus finally brought you around. He’s been very mysterious about you.”

Magnus gasped theatrically. “Mysterious? Me? I am an open book, Jennifer. Glossy cover, gilt edges, but open nonetheless.”

Jennifer laughed, already charmed, before drifting off to snag more gossip.

Magnus exhaled, tension easing fractionally. Alec looked amused. “You have…interesting coworkers.”

“That’s one word,” Magnus muttered. “Another is insufferable. But tonight, darling, you’re part of the show. Smile, nod, and remember: you are devastating arm candy. Own it.”

Alec smirked. “Arm candy, huh?”

“Utterly edible,” Magnus purred, slipping his hand through Alec’s arm.

The evening unfolded in waves.

Clary arrived, sweeping Alec into a hug before Magnus could even introduce them. “So this is the man stealing Magnus’s time,” she teased, eyes sharp but approving.

“Borrowing, darling,” Magnus corrected smoothly. “He merely borrows my time. My sparkle remains my own.”

Simon materialized next, guitar strap slung carelessly over his shoulder despite the black-tie setting. “Oh, wow,” he said, shaking Alec’s hand. “You’re taller than Magnus made you sound.”

“I never said a word about his height!” Magnus protested.

“You implied,” Simon said solemnly.

Magnus rolled his eyes, muttering, “Remind me again why I tolerate you?” before dragging Alec toward the bar.

Alec, to his eternal credit, seemed unfazed by the chaos. He met everyone politely, offered quiet smiles, even held his ground when Magnus’s editor launched into a pompous speech about deadlines. And through it all, Magnus kept catching himself watching him—how Alec’s presence seemed to anchor him, how easily he fit into spaces Magnus had once guarded fiercely.

It was…unsettling. And wonderful.

Later, as the crowd thinned, Magnus and Alec found themselves near the tall windows overlooking the city. Magnus leaned on the sill, champagne in hand, trying to ignore the flutter in his chest.

“You survived,” he said lightly.

“Barely,” Alec teased, sipping his own drink. “But your friends are…good people. They care about you.”

Magnus raised an eyebrow. “Shocking, isn’t it? To think anyone could care about such a dramatic menace.”

Alec’s gaze softened. “I don’t think it’s shocking at all.”

Magnus felt his throat tighten, so he masked it with a smirk. “Careful, Alexander. Compliments will get you everywhere.”

“Good,” Alec said simply.

The rest of the night blurred—farewells, glittering laughter, Magnus’s usual dramatics. But when they finally left, stepping into the cool night air, Magnus realized something startling.

He wasn’t terrified anymore.

He had expected bringing Alec into his world to feel like surrender, like chaining himself to something fragile. Instead, it felt…freeing. Like for once, he didn’t have to hold the stage alone. Alec wasn’t here to upstage him or tame him. He was here to stand beside him.

And that, Magnus thought, might just be the most dazzling thing of all.

-

Magnus Bane was not accustomed to happy endings.

He knew how to craft them in stories, knew how to perform them at parties with laughter and champagne and glittering smiles. But in his own life, happiness always seemed like the part of the script someone else got. His role was to sparkle, to dazzle, to distract. Not to stay.

And yet—tonight was different.

The fundraiser had gone better than expected. Alec had fit seamlessly among Magnus’s friends and coworkers, polite but steady, a quiet anchor in the swirl of chaos Magnus usually shouldered alone. For once, Magnus hadn’t felt like he was balancing on a stage. He’d felt…seen.

By the time they stumbled back into Magnus’s apartment, shoes kicked off at the door, ties tugged loose, Magnus was buzzing. Not just from champagne, though that was certainly humming in his veins. No, this was a different kind of buzz. One that settled in his chest and refused to let go.

He turned, leaning against the door, watching Alec set down his jacket. Alec looked up, caught his gaze, and smiled faintly. And Magnus—Magnus felt undone.

“Darling,” he said, voice lower now, “do you have any idea how insufferably handsome you are?”

Alec raised an eyebrow. “You’ve told me a few times tonight.”

“Not enough,” Magnus countered, pushing off the door to close the space between them. “Never enough.”

He kissed him then, hard and certain, pouring every ounce of unspoken feeling into it. Alec kissed back just as firmly, hands sliding into Magnus’s hair, grounding him even as the world tilted.

They tumbled toward the bedroom in a mess of laughter and half-unbuttoned shirts. Magnus tugged Alec’s tie free, flinging it across the room with a flourish. Alec retaliated by pulling Magnus’s jacket down his arms, tossing it onto the chair.

“You treat clothes like they’re disposable,” Alec teased against his mouth.

“Clothes are replaceable,” Magnus murmured, pushing Alec back onto the bed. “You, however…” He trailed off, kissing him again, softer this time, reverent. “…you are not.”

The night unraveled from there in heat and touches, in whispered names and laughter muffled against skin. Magnus reveled in every second, in the weight of Alec’s body against his, in the strength of his hands, in the way he made Magnus feel whole in a way he hadn’t thought possible.

When it was over, they collapsed together, slick with sweat, sheets tangled around their legs. Magnus curled into Alec’s side, pressing his face against his shoulder. For a long moment, the only sound was their breathing, slow and even.

Magnus should have panicked. This was the moment, historically, when his chest tightened with dread, when he felt the sharp edge of loss hovering too close. But tonight, there was none of that. Just warmth. Just contentment.

“This,” Magnus whispered before he could stop himself.

Alec shifted slightly. “This?”

Magnus swallowed, fingers curling against his chest. “This is…what it’s supposed to be, isn’t it? Coming home with someone. Laughing. Touching. Staying. Being happy.”

Alec was quiet for a long moment, then pressed a kiss into Magnus’s hair. “Yeah. It is.”

Magnus closed his eyes, letting the words settle in. Happiness. It felt foreign on his tongue, terrifying in its simplicity. But lying there, naked and safe in Alec’s arms, Magnus thought maybe—just maybe—it could be his, too.

The next morning, sunlight spilled across the room, warm and golden. Magnus stirred, blinking against the brightness, then rolled to find Alec still asleep beside him. Hair mussed, lips parted, face relaxed in a way it never seemed when he was awake.

Magnus watched him for a long moment, something heavy and tender swelling in his chest. This, he thought again. This was what life was supposed to be.

And for once, Magnus Bane didn’t feel the urge to run.

He only felt…happy.

-

Magnus Bane believed breakfast should be an art form.

It wasn’t enough to fry an egg and pour burnt coffee. Breakfast was a stage, a performance, the first act of the day. Even if no one applauded (and honestly, they should), Magnus knew that a beautifully plated meal could transform the bleakest of mornings.

So naturally, this morning, after the night he and Alec had just shared, breakfast had to be perfect.

Magnus was in his silk robe, humming under his breath as he worked at the stove, spatula in one hand, mimosa in the other. The smell of cinnamon toast drifted through the apartment. The eggs were fluffy, the fruit sliced precisely, the table arranged as though Vogue might walk in and photograph it at any moment.

Behind him, Alec shuffled in, hair adorably mussed, wearing nothing but sweats and one of Magnus’s old shirts that fit too tightly across his shoulders. Magnus nearly burned the eggs watching him.

“Morning,” Alec murmured, voice still low with sleep.

“Darling,” Magnus said smoothly, as if his pulse hadn’t just spiked, “you look devastating for someone who’s only just rolled out of bed.”

Alec smirked, sliding onto a stool at the counter. “You say that every morning.”

“And every morning it’s true,” Magnus countered, placing a plate in front of him with a flourish.

Alec eyed the spread—perfect toast, glossy fruit, golden eggs—and shook his head. “You know, most people just make cereal.”

Magnus gasped. “Cereal? In this household? Perish the thought.” He leaned across the counter, lips quirking. “Besides, I have a reputation to maintain. You never know when The Times might send a reporter to investigate my breakfast habits.”

Alec chuckled, shaking his head. He dug into the eggs, and Magnus watched shamelessly, sipping his mimosa like it was liquid courage.

And then Alec said it.

Between a sip of coffee and a bite of toast, so casually Magnus almost missed it:

“I love you.”

Magnus froze.

The words hung in the air, deceptively simple, like Alec had just commented on the weather. Alec didn’t even seem to notice he’d said them, already reaching for the jam.

But Magnus—Magnus was spiraling.

He said it. He said it. Alexander Gideon Lightwood just said he loves me. Out loud. Without hesitation. As though it were the most natural thing in the world.

Magnus’s grip on his glass tightened. His chest felt too full, his brain too loud. He tried to focus on his toast, but the words echoed: I love you. I love you. I love you.

It should have been easy. He should have smiled, leaned across the counter, and said it back. He’d had lovers before, relationships before—he knew the script. But with Alec, the script wasn’t enough. This wasn’t performance. This was terrifyingly, disarmingly real.

“Magnus?”

Alec’s voice pulled him back. He looked up to see Alec watching him, brow furrowed. “You okay?”

“Of course,” Magnus said, too brightly. “Why wouldn’t I be? Perfectly fine, nothing to see here.” He punctuated the sentence with a dramatic sip of mimosa.

Alec tilted his head. “You look like you’re panicking.”

Magnus laughed, high and sharp. “Panicking? Me? Darling, I invented composure. I—oh, hell.” He slumped onto the stool opposite Alec, burying his face in his hands. “You said it.”

Alec blinked. “Said what?”

“You know what,” Magnus groaned.

Alec’s eyes widened slightly, then softened. “Oh. That.”

“Yes, that,” Magnus said, peeking through his fingers. “You just dropped the single most devastating phrase in the English language over cinnamon toast, Alexander. Do you have any idea what that does to a man?”

Alec looked faintly amused. “I didn’t realize it would…devastate you.”

Magnus gestured wildly. “Devastate! Undo! Eviscerate! Pick your adjective, they all apply.” He stood, pacing the kitchen dramatically. “I wasn’t prepared for this. I thought we had more time before that.”

“Magnus,” Alec said gently.

Magnus froze mid-stride, meeting his gaze. Alec wasn’t teasing anymore. His expression was steady, calm, so achingly sincere it made Magnus’s throat tighten.

“I meant it,” Alec said simply.

Magnus’s first instinct was to deflect. To joke, to twirl, to smother the ache in his chest with glitter and bravado. But the look in Alec’s eyes stopped him cold.

Because Alec did mean it. Of course he did. Alec wasn’t careless with words, not like Magnus. He spoke with purpose, with weight. If he said I love you, it wasn’t a performance. It was truth.

And Magnus realized, with a shock that made his knees weak, that he wanted that truth.

He wanted it more than he’d wanted anything in years.

Slowly, Magnus crossed back to the counter and sat. He stared at his plate, at the half-finished toast, at the life he’d convinced himself he couldn’t have.

“I’ve been terrified,” he admitted quietly. “Ever since Camille. Terrified that if I gave myself away again, I’d be left in pieces. That if I said those words, they’d turn to ash in my mouth.” He looked up, meeting Alec’s gaze. “But you—Alexander—you’ve undone me. In the best and worst ways.”

Alec’s lips quirked faintly. “Is that your way of saying you love me too?”

Magnus laughed, shaky and incredulous. “Leave it to you to make the most dramatic declaration of my life sound pedestrian.” He reached across the counter, taking Alec’s hand in his. His voice steadied. “Yes. I love you. Desperately. Hopelessly. Probably irreparably. There, I’ve said it. Happy now?”

Alec squeezed his hand, eyes warm. “Yeah. I’m happy.”

Magnus exhaled, a laugh slipping out, relief flooding him like champagne bubbles. For the first time in years, the words didn’t feel like chains. They felt like wings.

Breakfast resumed, lighter now, though Magnus kept sneaking glances at Alec like he still couldn’t quite believe it. Alec caught him once, smirked, and said, “What?”

Magnus grinned, raising his mimosa. “Nothing, darling. Just marveling that somehow, against all odds, I managed to stumble into happiness. And into you.”

Alec rolled his eyes, but his smile gave him away.

Magnus took another sip, heart still racing, and thought: So this is what it feels like. To stop running. To stay. To love, and be loved in return.

And for once, Magnus Bane didn’t want to perform. He just wanted to live it.

-

Magnus Bane had always known how to make an entrance.

Velvet, glitter, champagne — he had built his life on spectacle. He was the man who owned every room he walked into. The man people remembered.

But this morning, Magnus woke to sunlight slanting through thin curtains, a warm weight pressed against his back, and the sound of Alec Lightwood’s soft breathing at his nape.

And for once in his life, Magnus didn’t want an entrance.

He just wanted this.

He lay still, careful not to wake Alec, and let himself feel it: the slow rise and fall of Alec’s chest against him, the heat of his arm draped around Magnus’s waist, the scratch of stubble brushing the back of his neck.

It was ordinary. Almost painfully so.

And it was everything Magnus had never dared to believe he could have.

His first instinct, as always, was to ruin it with panic. His brain offered up a hundred reasons it couldn’t last: Camille’s betrayal, the way good things slipped through his fingers, the inevitability of loss.

But Magnus had spent months learning — fighting, stumbling, choosing again and again to stay. And now, as Alec murmured something unintelligible in his sleep and tightened his hold, Magnus silenced the panic with one simple truth.

He loved him.

And Alec loved him back.

That was enough.

Later, they padded into the kitchen, Magnus in silk pajama pants, Alec in sweatpants that Magnus fully intended to burn one day. Chairman Meow twined imperiously between their ankles, demanding breakfast first.

He should bring Church sometimes, even if those two cats can’t live in the same room.

“Slave to the furball,” Magnus muttered as he set down the bowl.

Alec chuckled, leaning against the counter. “You love him.”

“I tolerate him.” Magnus shot Alec a look. “I adore you. He’s merely…adjacent.”

Chairman Meow yowled, unamused.

Magnus laughed, pouring coffee into two mismatched mugs. “See? Even the cat disagrees with me.”

They ate breakfast at the tiny table, knees bumping under the surface. Alec spread jam on toast with soldierly precision, Magnus added strawberries to his plate like he was curating a still life.

“So,” Alec said casually, “Izzy’s hosting dinner again next week. You up for it?”

Magnus arched a brow. “Meeting your family twice in one month? Alexander, you’ll spoil me. Soon I’ll expect matching holiday pajamas.”

Alec smirked. “Don’t tempt Izzy.”

Magnus pretended to shudder, though secretly, the thought warmed him. Family dinners. Holidays. Future.

All the things he’d once sworn weren’t for him.

Now, they felt like possibility.

The rest of the day was a mosaic of small, perfect moments.

They walked through the park, hands brushing until Alec laced their fingers together. They browsed a secondhand bookstore, Magnus mock-scandalized at Alec’s “boring” taste in nonfiction while sneaking three romance novels into his own pile. They stopped for ice cream — Magnus with pistachio, Alec with plain vanilla — and argued about whose flavor was superior until they both ended up laughing too hard to eat.

It was nothing extraordinary. Which was, of course, what made it extraordinary.

That evening, back in Magnus’s apartment, they curled up on the couch with a blanket and a movie they didn’t finish. Halfway through, Alec kissed him, and Magnus melted into it, laughter forgotten, the world narrowing to heat and touch.

Later, tangled in sheets, Magnus lay staring at the ceiling while Alec dozed beside him.

His old fear whispered again: What if it ends?

But Magnus finally had an answer.

If it ended, it ended.

But right now, it was here. Alec was here. And Magnus was not going to waste a single second running from joy.

He turned onto his side, pressing a kiss to Alec’s temple. Alec stirred, eyes blinking open, and Magnus smiled.

“I love you,” Magnus whispered, steady this time. No drama. No defense. Just truth.

Alec’s answering smile was slow, sleepy, devastating. “I love you too.”

And that was it.

Not fireworks. Not disaster.

Just two men, an unremarkable Sunday, and a love that had finally, finally found its place.

For Magnus Bane, who had built his life on entrances, this felt like the first real arrival.

And he had no intention of leaving.