Chapter Text
- Alec -
The firehouse had been relentless lately. With Jace still recovering, Alec picked up extra shifts, splitting his time between training, drills, and emergency calls. By mid-morning his shirt clung to his skin, and the weight of responsibility pressed heavily on his shoulders — until the buzz of his phone cut through the exhaustion like a spark.
✉️Magnus: Chairman Meow just claimed my pillow again. I think he believes he pays the rent.
Alec’s lips twitched into a grin before he could stop himself. Trust Magnus to send something so ordinary and make it feel like a lifeline. The knot in his chest eased, the exhaustion blurred for a moment as he thumbed back a reply between bites of his energy bar, unwilling to leave Magnus waiting.
- Magnus -
Across town, Magnus barely had time to breathe between rounds, meetings, and impromptu consults. His team huddled around a surgical mannequin in a skills lab when his phone lit up in his coat pocket.
✉️Alexander: At least your cat only hogs your pillows. Mike just stole the last slice of pizza. Again.
The corner of Magnus’s mouth quirked before he could stop it. He slipped his phone away before anyone noticed, but the warmth lingered, slicing through the fatigue. Alexander had a way of doing that — dropping a line so ordinary it became extraordinary, reminding Magnus he wasn’t carrying the weight of the day entirely alone.
- Malec -
Their messages became lifelines, buzzing back and forth through the noise of their busy days. Some were teasing, some were confessions of small joys or frustrations — all of them weaving Alec and Magnus closer.
There were quick phone calls too — stolen late at night when exhaustion dragged at their voices but neither could hang up. Those were the moments that felt the most dangerous, the most intimate — hearing the other’s breath in the quiet and knowing they were not alone.
Piece by piece, they collected each other’s quirks. Magnus adored ice skating; Alec loved the wild freedom of open-water swimming. Alec admitted he despised sprouts — ‘the spawn of the devil’ — and Magnus teased him mercilessly. Magnus confessed his dream of standing beneath the aurora borealis, swearing one day they would go together.
They were only scraps of conversation, ordinary on the surface. But between them, something extraordinary was smouldering.
- Alec -
That week, Jace was finally discharged — grumbling about bed rest while Izzy fussed like a mother hen. Alec was relieved to see him out of the hospital, and quietly grateful for the excuse of checking on his brother, lingering close whenever he could.
Late one evening, after a brutal training session, Alec collapsed on the firehouse bunk, shirt damp with sweat, muscles heavy and uncooperative. He let his eyes drift shut — until his phone buzzed against his chest.
✉️Magnus: Skills lab survived. My residents might yet learn how to tie their sutures straight.
✉️Magnus: I deserve a medal.
✉️Magnus: Or chocolate.
✉️Magnus: Or both.
A laugh slipped out before Alec could stop it. His body ached everywhere, but Magnus’s words dissolved it like sugar in coffee, warmth spreading before he knew it.
✉️Alec: Medal on backorder. Chocolate I can arrange. 😉
✉️Alec: Though I’d like to see you in scrubs trying to boss me around first.
He pictured it instantly — Magnus rolling his eyes, eyeliner sharp, every inch of him dramatic. The thought curled around Alec like warmth from a fire, carrying him into sleep with a smile tugging at his mouth.
- Magnus -
The following afternoon, Magnus was buried in charts, eyes blurring over the endless columns of numbers, when a knock at the door pulled him back. A nurse stepped in, holding out a chocolate bar wrapped in a scrap of folded paper.
“From the ER,” she said with a faint smile. “Delivery for you.”
Magnus arched a brow, curiosity prickling as he unfolded the note. Inside, in Alexander’s crooked scrawl:
‘Spawn of the devil,’ huh? Tried sprouts again today. Still disgusting. Still blaming you for making me think of them. — A.
A startled laugh burst from Magnus, loud enough to make the interns hovering nearby glance up in surprise. He quickly waved them off, shaking his head as warmth spread through his chest. He slipped the note into his pocket like it was something fragile and precious, even as he unceremoniously tore into the chocolate.
That firefighter. He had no idea how easily he was starting to matter — how these little gestures were breaking through the barriers Magnus had thought sealed for good.
- Malec -
Their conversations were woven together like a patchwork quilt — part trivial, part deeply intimate. Alec admitted he had a soft spot for cows (“don’t ask”) and Magnus teased him relentlessly until Alec promised he’d explain someday. Magnus shared a photo of Chairman Meow stretched smugly across his duvet; Alec responded with:
✉️Alexander: Your cat looks like he owns shares in your bed.
Exhaustion sometimes pulled them both into late-night calls, their voices low with weariness. Alec described the crackles of fire still in his ears, the adrenaline that took hours to fade. Magnus confessed how heavy the silence in the operating theatre pressed down hardest after a close case. Neither judged. Neither turned away.
Somehow, between jokes about cats and cows, and confessions made in the shadows of midnight their bond only deepened — each message, each call, another spark feeding the quiet fire beginning to burn between them.
- Alec -
Two nights later, Alec sat in Jace’s apartment while his brother dozed on the couch, remote slipping from his loose grip. The TV flickered soundlessly in the background, casting shifting light across the room that still smelled faintly of soup Izzy had insisted on making. Alec leaned against the chair, scrolling absently through his phone.
A notification blinked from hours ago followed by a message.
Missed video call.
✉️Magnus: Call attempted. Missed you. I suppose one of us has to save lives while the other wrangles duck-phobic heroes. 😉
Alec winced. He’d been caught on a false-alarm run earlier. Without thinking, he lifted his phone and snapped a picture of the scene before him; Jace snoring softly, Izzy’s too-bright blanket sprawled across him in careless folds.
✉️Alec: Brother successfully wrangled 😂
✉️Alec: Sorry I missed your call, duty called.
✉️Alec: But… I’d rather see your handsome face than a fire any day.
He hit send before he could second-guess the words. His pulse jumped when Magnus’s reply arrived almost immediately.
✉️Magnus: Careful, Alexander. Keep saying things like that and I might start expecting goodnight video calls.
Alec bit back a smile, thumb hovering over the video-call button. Not now, he thought. Maybe soon.
- Magnus -
The following afternoon, Magnus escaped onto the hospital’s rooftop garden between surgeries. The air was sharp with the smell of rain and asphalt, a cold breeze tugging at the edges of his coat. Below, the faint roar of traffic blurred into white noise, blessedly distant from the chaos of the wards and surgical theatres. For once, he was grateful for the quiet.
He pulled out his phone, scrolling absently through his gallery until he landed on a photo Alexander had sent earlier — a candid shot in turnout gear, soot streaking his cheek, grinning despite the smoke-stained disorder behind him.
Magnus lingered on it, thumb brushing the screen. No one else saw Alexander like this — tired, dirty, unguarded… and devastatingly alive. It felt like a secret glimpse he hadn’t earned but couldn’t look away from. He tapped a reply quickly:
✉️Magnus: You have an infuriating habit of looking unfairly handsome even covered in soot.
✉️Magnus: Do try not to break too many hearts while I’m stuck here with charts.
His phone buzzed almost immediately.
✉️Alexander: There’s only one I’m worried about breaking.
✉️Alexander: And it’s not mine.
Magnus stilled, reading the words — not mine — echoing like a heartbeat. Then, slowly, a smile tugged at his mouth — wide and irrepressible, and dangerous. He slid his phone back in his pocket, pulse unsteady with the terrifying comfort of knowing Alexander Lightwood was already weakening the barriers he had sworn would never fall.
- Malec -
By the time their first official date at Luna's Haven drew near, both men carried these small exchanges like secret armour. For Alec, Magnus’s words were tucked into the edges of long shifts, pulled out like oxygen in the middle of smoke and exhaustion. For Magnus, Alexander’s steady honesty replayed in the quiet aftermath of surgery, cutting through a silence that too often felt suffocating.
Their date approached like a promise neither dared speak aloud — inevitable, bright, and waiting to ignite.
- Alec -
Alec stood in front of his closet like it was a battlefield. His shirts hung in neat rows — Henleys, t-shirts, the occasional button-up — none of them looked like date material.
Too plain. He tugged at the hem of his navy Henley before tossing it on the bed. ‘Pathetic. You’ll look like you didn’t try.’
The fitted black button-down shirt lasted all of three seconds before he shoved it back on the hanger. Too stiff. ‘Like you're pretending to be someone you’re not. And he’ll see right through you.’
“Why is this harder than walking into a burning building?” he groaned, dragging both hands through his hair — which of course made it worse. The inner voice whispered again: ‘You’ll never measure up. Not to him. Not ever.’
His phone buzzed on the nightstand. Magnus’s name lit up the screen with a single message:
✉️Magnus: Don’t be nervous, Alexander. Just wear whatever makes you feel like you. That’s the Alexander I want to see. ✨
Alec's throat tightened. Just be you. Words so simple, but no one had ever said them like that before — like ‘you’ was enough. Like ‘you’ was worth showing up as. The voice that told him he wasn’t good enough faltered just a little.
He swallowed hard, lips twitching despite himself, he retrieved the navy Henley from the bed and pulled it back on. He paired it with dark jeans, boots polished just enough to pass for effort, and his leather bracelet — the one Magnus had once traced with his finger. Tonight he wanted that memory close.
By the time he was lacing his boot, his pulse was a steady roar. Nervous, yes — but underneath it a quiet spark — fragile, defiant — whispering maybe, just maybe, being himself wouldn’t ruin everything.
- Magnus -
Magnus’s loft was a canvas of half-discarded outfits: a tailored emerald jacket draped across the back of a chair, sequinned cufflinks glittered on the vanity. He stood before the mirror, eyeliner in hand, contemplating whether too much shimmer was even a real concern — or if it was easier to focus on glitter than the fear humming beneath his ribs.
“Ridiculous,” he muttered to Chairman Meow, who yawned from his perch like a theatre critic unimpressed with the show. “It’s a first date, not the Met Gala. But still…”
The humour landed, but beneath it flickered the truth: this wasn’t about sequins or jackets. It was about lowering barriers he’d sworn never to lower again. About daring to let someone close enough to see the man behind the show.
He slipped into a deep charcoal suit, perfectly tailored, and added a subtle silk pocket square — understated by his standards. The decision itself unsettled him. Simple. Less armour . Less of a shield between him and Alexander. Only then did he reach for the eyeliner, just a whisper of kohl around the eyes, finished with the faintest dusting of gold shimmer. Enough to catch the light. Enough to make Alexander look twice. Enough to remind himself he could still be seen.
His phone buzzed. A photo from Alexander filled the screen — boots laced and ready.
✉️Alexander: Hope this passes inspection.
Magnus’s answering laugh rang through the loft. He snapped a mirror selfie — suit sharp, eyes sparkling, one brow cocked, just enough heat in his smile to make it a promise — and sent it back.
✉️Magnus: Approved. More than approved. Prepare yourself, Lieutenant. 🔥
For all his practiced composure, he lingered in front of the mirror after sending it, watching his reflection with something dangerously close to hope. Confidence had always been his performance, a shield. But tonight it was real — terrifying, exhilarating all at once.
- Alec -
Alec arrived a few minutes early — of course he did. Standing on the cobblestoned stretch outside Luna's Haven, hands in his jacket pockets, rocking slightly on his heels. The glow from the restaurant’s lanterns spilled onto the sidewalk, warm against the cool evening air.
He tried to calm the restless beat of his pulse, telling himself it was just dinner. Just food. Just Magnus. The voice in his head sneered: ‘as if Magnus could ever be ‘just.’’
Yeah, right, he thought. Just Magnus.
Then the world seemed to tilt. Because Magnus was walking toward him, suit catching the soft glow of lamplight, kohl lining his eyes like shadow spun into art. A subtle glitter sparked with each step — like he’d bottled starlight just for tonight.
Alec’s throat went dry.
Magnus slowed as their gazes locked, a smile tugging at his lips. “Well, hello there, Alexander.”
“Hi.” Alec’s reply came breathlessly, nerves and awe colliding. “You look… amazing, really.”
Flattered, Magnus dipped his head in a small bow, “Thank you, darling. And you —” His eyes skimmed over the Henley, the jacket, the leather bracelet — lingering long enough to make Alec’s skin heat. “— you look pretty devastatingly handsome.”
Alec blinked, ears warming. Compliments weren’t his strong suit. “Oh, uh… thanks. I'm just —” he faltered, then managed, “— really glad to be here with you.”
The way Magnus’s smile softened, like Alec’s honesty mattered more than any polished words, made his heart stumble.
“Oh, are you now?” Magnus teased gently, leaning just close enough that Alec caught a trace of sandalwood and spice. “One look at you, and you’ve left me quite speechless.”
Alec huffed a laugh, tension easing a fraction. “Speechless? You? That’ll be the day.” Straightening slightly, he extended his arm, mock-formal. “Dr. Bane. Shall we?”
Magnus’s grin widened, delighted by the gesture. He slipped his hand through Alec’s arm with theatrical flourish. “We shall, Lieutenant Lightwood.”
Together, they stepped inside.
The host let them through the softly lit restaurant, past tables draped in linen and candles flickering low. A violinist played somewhere near the back, the notes threading through the gentle murmur of voices.
Alec tried not to stare — at Magnus, at the room, at the way Magnus seemed to belong in this world of elegance while he felt like a lumbering giant, every step a risk of knocking over a wineglass.
They slid into their seats, menus unfolding between them. Alec busied himself scanning the words, not because he couldn’t choose, but because Magnus’s gaze felt like sunlight he wasn’t sure he deserved.
When he finally risked a glance, Magnus was watching him — chin resting lightly on his hand, eyes glinting with unmistakable amusement.
Alec arched a brow. “What?”
Magnus didn’t flinch. His lips curved slowly. “I was just thinking… you’re far more captivating than anything on this menu.”
Heat rushed to Alec’s ears. The words hit so casually, like a fact — but Alec’s chest tightened certain Magnus couldn’t mean it. His inner voice hissed, ‘He’s joking. He can’t mean it. Don’t make a fool of yourself.’ He dropped his gaze back to the menu, muttering, “I am not on the menu.”
The smug curve of Magnus’s mouth told Alec exactly just how he’d given himself away.
Trying to regain footing, Alec cleared his throat, pointing at the menu. “This all looks so good, I can't decide.” And if you keep looking at me like that, I won’t be able to breathe, let alone eat.
Magnus leaned in, conspiratorial. “Neither can I. Everything looks delicious.” His wink was shameless and timed perfectly, because the waiter appeared beside them just then.
“You can order for us both, Alexander,” Magnus said smoothly, eyes dancing, “I trust you.” Trust. The word hit like a weight he wasn’t sure he could hold.
Alec blinked. His brain stalled. Order for both? With Magnus looking at him like that? You’ll mess it up. He’ll laugh. He’ll see you’re not enough. His mouth went dry, his tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth. “We’ll, um… we'll have… the pasta bolognese and, uh…” He skimmed the page like it was written in another language. “The chicken Milanese?”
Magnus gave the waiter a charming nod, effortlessly covering Alec’s stumble, “And a bottle of the house red, please.”
The waiter smiled. “Excellent choices.”
Taking the menus, he walked away, Alec dragged a hand over his face. “Well… that was smooth,” he muttered.
Magnus’s laughter was soft, rich and entirely too forgiving. “It may not have been the most eloquent order, but I’m certain it will taste wonderful. And besides — ” his eyes softened, “you were perfect.” ‘Perfect. He doesn’t mean it. He can’t.’ And yet some traitorous part of him wanted to believe.
Perfect. The word sank deep, at odds with every sharp-edged memory that told Alec he wasn’t. He ducked his head, smiling helplessly, wishing his heart would calm its furious beat.
- Magnus -
Magnus swirled the stem of his water glass, hiding a smile. Alexander Lightwood might have been many things — brave, disciplined, breathtakingly handsome — but smooth was not one of them. And somehow, that made him all the more irresistible.
The food would be excellent, yes. But watching Alexander stumble over ‘chicken Milanese’ like it was arcane code? That was the true delight.
Magnus let his eyes linger — the way Alexander’s hair fell stubbornly across his brow, the tense set of his jaw as if he were fighting invisible battles, the strength in his hands dwarfing the menu. And then that blush — disarming, devastating — tugging at places Magnus had sworn to keep barred.
“You were perfect,” Magnus murmured, savouring the sight of Alexander ducking his head, trying to hide a smile. “Though, if I’m honest…” He let the words trail, teasing — and a little too honest for comfort.
Alexander’s eyes lifted, wary but curious. “Though what?”
Magnus’s lips curved, slow and wicked. “Though I should have let you order dessert too. Watching you taste something sweet… now that would be a pleasure worth savouring.”
The flush that deepened across Alexander’s face was even more intoxicating than the finest champagne.
The meal disappeared far too quickly, time slipping through his fingers like sand. It always did when Alexander sat across from him — time became bright, electric, threaded with the kind of silences that felt warm and safe, almost dangerous in their ease.
When the waiter offered dessert, Magnus didn’t bother glancing at the menu; raspberry cheesecake was already on his lips. Alexander, though, went straight for chocolate mousse. Magnus couldn’t help but file it away — rich, understated, a little indulgent. Very Alexander.
It didn’t take long before Magnus caught Alexander eyeing his plate like a starving man trying not to be caught. Delight curled through him. Smirking, he lifted his fork. “Careful, Alexander. You keep staring at my cheesecake like that, and I might think you’re after more than my company.”
Alexander’s blush came immediately. “I was just… wondering if it tastes as good as it looks,” his voice low, uncertain — but there was hope threaded in it too, and it caught Magnus off guard.
Magnus leaned forward, offering a forkful across the table. “Why wonder, when you could know?” His hand was steady, though his pulse was not. He hadn’t done this in years — Camille had forbidden it, intimacy hidden in the simple act of sharing. It felt dangerous, exposing.
Alexander hesitated a fraction too long, then leaned in, teeth sinking through the cheesecake. His eyes fluttered closed for a second, a low hum slipping out of him before he quickly swallowed. “Okay… yeah. That’s… ridiculously good. Better than mine.” The sound lingered in Magnus’s chest, hot and electric far more intoxicating than cheesecake should ever be.
The little hum rippled through Magnus like lightning. He bit the inside of his cheek, fighting the grin clawing its way free. “I did warn you. Fortunately for you, I’m generous… and willing to share.”
Alexander recovered enough to shoot him a crooked grin before nudging a spoonful of mousse across the table. “Then it’s only fair you try mine. Don’t say I never give back.” Fair, Alexander called it — but Magnus saw the quiet offering for what it was: trust, dressed up in banter.
The mousse melted, rich and sinful, though Magnus barely tasted it. What he truly savoured was Alexander’s gaze — fixed on his lips, unwavering. Magnus hummed deliberately, letting the sound linger as he swallowed, just to see the flush climbing higher. “Not bad at all. You may just have good taste, after all.”
“May?” Alexander laughed, shaking his head. “You’re impossible.” The sound of his laugh wrapped warm around Magnus, sweeter than any dessert on the table.
They traded bites until both plates were scraped nearly clean, laughter threading with something heavier — something Magnus knew better than to name. And yet… he let it burn anyway.
Then the bill arrived.
Magnus’s hand moved instinctively — years of habit, of taking control before anyone else could. But before his fingers closed around the leather folder, they collided with Alexander’s. “Nope. I’ve got this,” he said firmly, eyes narrowing like he was ready to battle an inferno if Magnus tried to argue.
Magnus arched a brow, smirk tugging at his lips. “Oh? And here I thought we lived in a civilised age of equality, Alexander. Are you suggesting I’m incapable of paying for my own dinner?”
The flush that raced up Alexander’s cheeks was immediate. “No — I mean, yes — I mean…” He groaned, dragging a hand over his face. “I just… I invited you. It’s my responsibility.” Earnest, awkward, so painfully sincere Magnus felt his chest tighten.
“Responsibility,” Magnus echoed, rolling the word around like it was a vintage wine. He leaned forward, chin resting in his palm, watching Alexander squirm. “Darling, I think you might be the only man alive who makes picking up a bill sound like a solemn oath.” Magnus tilted his head, lips curving slyly. “So noble. So old-fashioned. Next you’ll be insisting I let you drape your jacket over puddles.”
That earned him a muttered laugh, half-embarrassed, half-relieved. His shoulders loosening just a fraction. “Just… let me do this, okay? Next time, you can pay.”
Next time. The words landed with far more weight than Alexander likely realised, curling warmth in Magnus’s chest.
Magnus let the promise settle, dangerous and sweet, before inclining his head in mock-gravity. “Very well. But I warn you — I tip extravagantly. Consider yourself prepared.”
The grin that broke across Alexander’s face was unguarded, lopsided and radiant. Magnus thought he’d surrender every bill in the world if it meant seeing that smile again.
- Alec -
Outside, the evening air was crisp, the moonlight soft against the cobblestones. Alec felt the lingering warmth of Magnus’s arm brushing his as they walked side by side, the simple closeness banked a steady heat under his ribs — one he wasn’t ready to name.
When Magnus’s hand brushed his, Alec instinctively tightened his grip — and to his astonishment, Magnus threaded their fingers together like it was the most natural thing in the world. Magnus’s thumb pressed once, warm and certain, against the back of Alec’s hand — not teasing, just there — and Alec’s heart stuttered, then raced.
“I can’t believe how quickly the night went by,” Alec admitted, his voice quieter than he meant. He hesitated, then pushed the words out anyway, raw and uncertain. “I don’t… I don’t really want it to end.”
Magnus’s fingers squeezed his, gentle but sure. “Neither do I, Alexander. Tonight has been…” He turned his head, glitter catching the moonlight in his lashes. “Extraordinary.”
The word hit Alec like a blow and a balm at once. Extraordinary. Him. He almost laughed at the absurdity — his mother would choke at the thought — but Magnus said it like he believed it.
Alec ducked his head, cheeks hot. “You’re going to make me blush if you keep talking like that.”
“Good,” Magnus replied softly, leaning close enough that Alec caught the faint spice and sandalwood of his cologne. “You’re devastating when you blush.”
Alec laughed under his breath, shaking his head, unsure what to do with words like that. Compliments were usually something he deflected, but from Magnus they didn’t feel like flattery — they felt like truth, dangerous and disarming.
They slowed when they reached the corner where they’d part ways, the air between them thick with hesitation. Alec swallowed, his courage wobbling, every nerve screaming at him to lean in. The voice clawed up immediately — ‘Don’t. He doesn’t want this. You’ll ruin it’. But something under it pulsed something stronger: respect. As much as he wanted to taste the promise of Magnus’s lips, he sensed the moment wasn’t quite theirs yet.
Magnus must have seen it too. His hand slid up to cup Alec’s cheek, thumb warm against his skin. “It’s okay, Alexander,” he murmured, as if he could read the swirl of hesitation and longing inside him.
Alec exhaled shakily. “I should… probably go.” The words slipped out, guilt and uncertainty. But even as he said it, his feet refused to move.
Magnus nodded, masking the flicker of disappointment in his eyes with a smile that was far too kind. Alec’s stomach twisted — leave it to him to ruin a perfect night.
Alec turned to leave — but stopped, heart pounding. He found his fortitude at last. He ignored the voice screaming at him to back away, like he should have done all along, he ignored the voice screaming at him to back away. He spun back before his courage could falter, leaned in, and pressed his lips to Magnus’s cheek. His free hand slid around Magnus’s back in a clumsy hug, holding him for a moment longer than was strictly necessary.
Glitter sparkled under the moonlight, and Alec thought he’d never seen anything so beautiful. His lips tingled where they’d touched Magnus’s skin. For the first time in years, he felt something in his chest loosen — like he’d finally done something right.
- Magnus -
The brush of Alexander’s lips against his cheek was so simple, so chaste — and yet it sent a shock through Magnus that unravelled him far more than he expected. His breath caught, a spark racing down his spine, igniting in the places he thought he’d sealed away. The tenderness slipped straight through his barriers frighteningly easily.
For all the carefully built walls he’d sworn would keep his heart safe, that single kiss made them tremble. It wasn’t a grand declaration, but it carried something far rarer: sincerity — and sincerity was far more dangerous than seduction.
Magnus smiled — wide, unguarded, impossible to contain. He slid a hand against Alec’s chest, feeling the rapid, steady hammer of his heart beneath the fabric. Strong. Steady. Unyielding. He let himself lean into the strength of Alec’s arms for one brief, dangerous moment, knowing how fragile his own felt in comparison — and it felt terrifyingly right.
When Alec pulled back, Magnus lingered, fingers trailing down to rest at his elbows, reluctant to let the warmth go. Their eyes locked, neither willing to look away. It wasn’t just attraction anymore — it was a spark, fanned brighter by trust.
“Goodnight, Alexander,” Magnus whispered at last, his voice softer than he meant it to be. More vulnerable than he meant it to be. A promise threaded between the words.
Alec’s cheeks flushed pink, but his smile was steady. “Goodnight, Magnus.”
As they parted, each step away felt heavier than Magnus wanted to admit. But when he glanced back, Alexander was looking too — stealing glances over his shoulder until they both laughed quietly at being caught. Every stolen look chipped at Magnus’s barriers, until finally they lost sight of one another — and yet, somehow, Alexander still lingered.
By the time Magnus stepped into his loft, the ache of parting had already set in. Magnus barely had time to slip out of his coat when his phone buzzed, and the sight of Alexander’s name lit him up all over again. He couldn’t stop the chuckle that rose, nor the dangerous thought that maybe — just maybe — the barriers around his heart were already beginning to fall.
✉️Alexander: I had an incredible time tonight.
✉️Alexander: You looked absolutely amazing, by the way. 😉
✉️Alexander: I think I already told you that, but you definitely need to hear it again. (Because apparently once wasn’t enough 🙈)
Magnus chuckled, sinking onto the arm of his sofa, warmth curling low in his chest. Alexander was earnest in a way that could have felt naive — Magnus had heard a thousand compliments in his life, most of them hollow. But this? This was disarming. Endearing. Real.
✉️Magnus: As did you, my dashing firefighter.
✉️Magnus: You clean up nicely. 😉
✉️Magnus: And now I can't stop thinking about your smile… or how it felt when you aimed it at me.
Another buzz, and Magnus’s grin widened before he read it — ridiculous how quickly Alexander had him waiting for the next word.
✉️Alexander: Haha, thank you.
✉️Alexander: I have to admit, your eyes are just as mesmerising in moonlight as they are in my dreams.
✉️Alexander: (… did I really just text that? 🙈)
Magnus blinked, caught off guard by the quiet boldness of the words. His pulse skipped. Alexander had no idea what it meant to him — to be wanted not for glitter, the show, the carefully painted armour… but simply for who he was beneath it all.
For a long beat, Magnus stared at the message, thumb hovering over the keys. To reply meant letting down another fraction of his armour — another sliver of his barriers. He typed, fingers trembling just slightly before he hit send:
✉️Magnus: Is that so? Well… I could say the same about yours. 😉
✉️Magnus: Truth is, there's something I wish I’d had the courage to do before we said goodnight.
The reply came instantly — like Alec had been waiting with his phone in his hand, pulse racing just as much as Magnus’s.
✉️Alexander: Oh? What's that?
✉️Alexander: (… should I be nervous?)
✉️Magnus: This… 💋
He set the phone down, his grin stretching wide as he pictured Alexander’s inevitable blush. For once, it wasn’t Magnus performing, dazzling, distracting, it was just him — bare, open, terrifyingly honest. And to his surprise, it felt… wonderful.
✉️Alexander: Well… there will be other opportunities, you know. 😘
✉️Magnus: You're absolutely right.
✉️Magnus: Consider it a promise — one I fully intend to keep on our next date. 😉🔥
✉️Alexander: I'll hold you to it, Mr Bane. Don’t think I won’t. 😉
✉️Magnus: You can count on it, Mr Lightwood.
Magnus let the phone rest against his chest, a ridiculous, boyish grin refusing to leave his face. Somewhere across the city, he knew Alexander was lying in bed with the same foolish smile. Their night might have ended, yes — but the sparks they’d struck in the moonlight were still burning, brighter than ever.