Chapter Text
But baby I've been here before
I've seen this room and I've walked this floor
You know, I used to live alone before I knew ya
And I've seen your flag on the marble arch
And love is not a victory march
It's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah
Where are you?
Magnus stares at the unanswered text, the music of the party going on in the background fading to a quiet buzz. He should be used to the feeling, but where it once filled him with disappointment and unseeming sadness, now all that remains is an acid bitterness creeping through his bones, and an obnoxious sense of fatality.
This isn’t the first time it happens. He has lost count of how many times he’s waited for a reply and never got one, no matter how insistent he could be. He isn’t insistent anymore, perhaps because he knows his efforts are pointless, but there is a part of him that dwells on another reason, one that makes his stomach squirm and his heart clench in his chest. Perhaps he has just given up.
For better or worse seems to be an eternity away, a faded memory that now leaves a sour taste on his tongue.
Where are you?
The words stare back at him, still and defiant. He remembers how thrilling it had been to text Alec, once. How he had to refrain from shrieking with excitement when the three dots showed he was typing an answer. He recalls having to count to ten in his head to keep himself from replying in a heartbeat and showing too much eagerness - he had quickly abandoned all restraint, though, because Alec had been just as keen and impatient as he had.
This time has passed.
There is no more excitement twirling in his stomach as he glances down at his phone, taking a sip of the champagne in his other hand, wondering inwardly if it would be deemed inappropriate to get utterly hammered at his own corporate party. It probably would, he ponders, heaving.
“Mr. Lightwood-Bane?”
Magnus turns around to face the person who - thankfully or not, he isn’t quite sure - pulled him out of his thoughts, plastering a polite smile on his face.
“Mr. Starkweather,” he says, reaching out to shake his hand. “It’s a pleasure to see you again.”
“It is,” Starkweather says, nodding sternly.
Hodge Starkweather is an important man in the line of business Magnus has chosen for himself. He is, after all, known to make and break careers and entire companies with no other weapon than the sharp point of his pen.
Magnus has always been fortunate enough to be on the right side of Hodge’s critical glance, because the public image of Edom, his company, is faultless, and the same can be said of what little people know of Magnus’ private life.
What they know is far away from the reality of his situation, but no one needs to know that, and especially not Hodge, who would give Edom the worst kind of spotlights without hesitation.
“I can’t see your husband anywhere,” Hodge points out rather uselessly, scanning the room for Alec. “Where is he?”
I wish I knew , Magnus thinks but doesn’t say.
He had told Alec repeatedly during the week how important this night is for his company. After years of struggles and fallouts, Edom is finally starting to take off and Magnus is beginning to make a name for himself. He had told him that Hodge would be there, because nothing is as good for PR as a good article in Forbes Magazine.
People love Magnus’ products, but even more so, they love to comment on the CEO’s committed and loving relationship with his supportive husband who always pushed him to aim higher and dream bigger. Alec knows how important it is for him to be there by Magnus’ side, if only for moral support. These events are draining even for a social butterfly like Magnus.
But Alec isn’t there, and Magnus doesn’t know what to tell Hodge to avoid explaining that his husband bailed on him without so much as a warning.
Work. It’s the excuse Magnus always uses, because it’s the one Alec always uses, but how is he supposed to tell that to Hodge without sounding as bitter and angry as he truly feels?
He opens his mouth to reply, but can’t get a word out before gentle fingers curl around his elbow, and he turns to the side to see Camille, his head of outside sales, standing there, an almost seductive smile on her lips.
“You know how it is,” she says, voice smooth like velvet. “He was probably held back by work. He’s a lifesaver. The hospital is so lucky to have him.”
If Hodge is startled by the interruption, it doesn’t show on his face. He nods. “I suppose being New York’s best neurosurgeon is quite time-consuming.”
Magnus swallows past the bitterness in his throat and forces an easy smile on his lips. “He is the best,” he allows, sounding more cheerful than he feels. “That makes him a busy man.”
“He’s so busy sometimes I wonder how he manages to find time for his private life,” Camille says, almost teasingly. “I’ve been pestering Magnus to tell me how they manage to balance their busy schedule and their marriage, but he still refuses to share their secret with me to this day.”
There is an undertone to her statement, something accusing that Magnus can relate to, but it is concealed by her blinding smile, enough so that he wonders if the acerb clutch on his heart isn’t making him imagine things.
Magnus shrugs, a staged smirk tipping the corner of his mouth up.
“It’s all about communication,” he quips playfully, fingers tightening around his phone, where he knows the unanswered text is still there to taunt him.
The lie slips on his tongue with practiced ease, and he hides the lurching of his stomach with a wink, raising his glass in a nonchalant gesture meant to mark the meaningfulness of his words.
He wonders when exactly Alec and he stopped talking, really talking. If he actually thinks about it, he knows, but he quickly pushes the gloomy thoughts away. Now is not the time or the place to revive painful memories, not when he is standing in front of Hodge and Camille, who don’t - and won’t - know half of the problems they have been facing.
Magnus hadn’t realized before tonight - or perhaps he had but was unwilling to admit it to himself - everything that is broken between them. Once, they would have fought to fix it. Today, it seems like the right and sole answer is to throw it all away.
He shares idle talk with Hodge for a moment, talking about Edom’s new contracts, the launch of their combined campaign with Sephora that is just around the corner, their upcoming expansion to Europe. He talks business and for a while, all thoughts of Alec and their crumbling marriage finally drift out of his mind, although the dawning realization and subsequent sorrow linger, lurking in a dark corner and waiting to come out again if given the opportunity.
He is thankful Camille is by his side, charming the reporter with witty retorts he doesn’t have the energy for tonight. She is brilliant at her job, and it shows in the way she never hesitates for a second when Hodge asks a question that would catch anyone else off-guard, her smile ever so polite, bordering on provocative when she knows she has given him a professional and thought out answer while Hodge expected even the slightest misstep.
When he excuses himself, looking somehow both disappointed and satisfied, Magnus waits until he is out of his sight to look down at his glass of champagne, watching the gold of his wedding ring gleam under the artificial lights of the reception room and heaving out a deep sigh.
“Thank you, Camille,” he tells her as she follows him there. “I’m a bit out of it tonight. You saved my ass.”
Camille dismisses his gratitude with a flourish of her fingers, but her brows furrow in concern, her head tilting to the side to catch his eyes. “You look like you could use a drink.”
It’s not even a question, just a simple statement, but it is so absolutely true that Magnus’ fingers twitch around his phone, still clutched in a iron grip.
He doesn’t reply, holding up his half empty glass of champagne instead.
Camille smirks, but it is less feral and more fondly amused than it usually is. “I meant a real drink,” she says, laying a hand on his forearm and leaning in as if to share a secret. “I know you keep the good stuff in your office for important clients,” she murmurs playfully, gently squeezing. “Come on, there’s no one left to impress. You’ve done enough socializing and sweet-talking for tonight.”
Magnus twists his brain for a reason to say no, but nothing comes. He really does need something stronger than champagne, which is when his private stash of bourbon comes in handy, and with Alec’s lasting radio silence, Camille seems as good company as any.
With a shrug, he downs the rest of his glass and leads the way to the elevator.
His office is on the top floor of the building, in the heart of Brooklyn. The grey-painted walls are made darker by the charcoal of the night, and it is only lit by the moonlight pouring through the wide floor-to-ceiling windows that offer an unbeatable view of the Manhattan skyline.
On his mahogany desk sits his laptop, a datebook lying open on the side, next to a framed picture of Alec and him on their wedding day, both tucked in impeccable suits and wearing blissful grins, their eyes shining with happiness. Magnus has to resist the urge to put it face down so he doesn’t have to witness yet more evidence of what they used to be.
He must have been staring for longer than he thought, because it is the sound of Camille clearing her throat as she leans against his desk that brings him back to his duller reality.
She holds out a drink to him, her fingers curled on the bottom of the glass.
“Thank you,” he murmurs absently.
“So, where is husband dearest?” Camille asks, circling the desk to sit on the imposing armchair, resting her long, naked legs on the mahogany. “Trouble in paradise?”
She curves an eyebrow in an almost defiant manner, and Magnus realizes there is no point in lying to her. She’ll know. One of the things that makes Camille so good at what she does is how easily she can figure out in a heartbeat the inclination and disposition of the person in front of her. It doesn’t really surprise him that she thus manages to read right through him. This is exactly why he hired her.
“I don’t know,” he says, walking to the window, watching the night wrap around New York. Thousands of lights make the skyscrapers seem more awake than ever, and Magnus wonders why it feels like he is being enveloped in darkness. “I haven’t heard from him.”
“Nothing?” she says, equally surprised and offended on his behalf.
“Nothing,” he confirms, taking a long sip of bourbon. “I wish I could say it was a one-time thing.”
His voice is barely over a decibel, because he can’t bear to hear the anguish in his own tone, but Camille doesn’t share his reluctance. She pushes off the chair and strides the distance between them until she is leaning against the window.
Magnus doesn’t glance toward her, gaze focused on his phone, which still refuses to bring him any sort of alleviation, screen stubbornly black.
“I’m sorry,” Magnus sighs dejectedly. “I don’t mean to bore you with my relationship problems. Forget I said anything.”
He goes to turn away but she stops him, resting a hand over his own to pluck his phone out of his hands, throwing it carelessly on the leather couch sitting against the opposing wall between two overflowing bookshelves.
“Magnus,” she says softly, “it’s okay. You clearly need to talk about it. Better talk to me than Hodge Starkweather or another one of these vultures waiting for the first opportunity to tear you apart because they’re jealous of your success, right?”
Magnus huffs out a quiet laugh, taking another sip. “I suppose so,” he says, the burn of the alcohol somehow soothing the tension in his shoulders. “I get that his job is important. He does save lives on a daily basis,” he confides, voice pitched low.
“But?” Camille prompts, her hand shifting to settle on his shoulder.
“But… Fuck,” he whispers, pinching the bridge of his nose. “But I should be important, too. We’ve always worked a lot - both of us - but we used to be able to make time for each other. We’re… not who we used to be anymore.”
He sucks in a deep breath, heart pounding in his chest. “Last month, we went out for dinner. I can’t even remember the last time we went out to a nice restaurant before that, and it was a disaster. We had an argument and spent the whole evening giving each other the cold shoulder.”
He doesn’t know why he is telling Camille any of that. He has never been one for oversharing, even less so with his employees, but the words are spilling out of his mouth without his brain ever agreeing to, and he finds he just can’t stop.
“I don’t even remember the last time we went to bed together,” he says in a whisper, and the realization feels like a slap to the face, even more painful than being stood up by his husband on the most important night of the year for the company Magnus has built from scrap.
He doesn’t remember the last time they said ‘I love you’ to each other either, but he doesn’t say that much, because he is afraid admitting it out loud would rip at the last strings of his already thin restraint; and breaking down in front of Camille is the last thing he wants.
He doesn’t even want to think about the reason why they stopped saying those words.
Did they cease to be meaningful? Would they be a lie? Or did they start taking them for granted at some point, and just failed to claim them back as something more valuable than three little words?
“I think -” he says, speech scattered by the lump in his throat, “I think we lost each other. We’re done.”
This is it, he realizes. The ugly truth he has refused to admit to himself for so long.
“Hey,” Camille calls out softly, taking a step closer to lay a comforting hand between his shoulder blades. “How long have you been married? Eight? Ten years?”
“Eleven,” Magnus corrects, more by reflex than genuine conviction. “But we’ve been together for fifteen years.”
“Maybe your time together is over then,” she says, in a casual tone that suggests she doesn’t really understand the impact of her statement. “You deserve to be with someone who realizes how lucky they are to have you.”
Leisurely, he is pulled out of his daze, of his torment of fatalism and misery, and as awareness comes back to his bones, making him more acute to his surroundings, he realizes Camille’s hand has moved from his back to the nape of his neck, stroking it lightly.
His breath hitches in his throat, cursing the wave of shivers that runs down his spine.
Magnus is not an idiot. He knows Camille has been flirting with him for a long while, but he never thought too much of it, because she does it periodically, and always subtly enough for him to pull away easily.
He knows, too, that he should have put a stop to it a long time ago, just as plainly as he knows he can’t do that.
Camille, with all her femme fatale demeanor and flawless physique, makes him experience what it is to be desired again, and Magnus had forgotten how good that felt, how it left him with a pleasant warmth spreading in his chest.
It has been a long time since he caught in Alec’s hazels the spark that glimmers in Camille’s eyes in that moment, one that speaks of a craving rooted deep into one’s soul.
“Who knows?” Camille purrs, fingers curling in the hair at the nape of his neck. “Maybe that someone isn’t as far as you think.”
He knows what she is going to do before Camille even starts moving closer. Her breath smells of bourbon and a hint of mint as it lands on his mouth. His heart is rummaging in his chest.
He doesn’t remember the last time Alec and he kissed because they actually wanted to, because they were craving for the other’s touch, because it felt right.
He could let Camille kiss him and hide behind the excuse of his marriage falling apart, of his heart having been unceasingly stomped upon for what feels like a perpetuity sentence, but there was a time when Alec and he were happy, in love and thought themselves invincible.
Magnus isn’t going to ruin these memories because he feels wanted for the first time in forever.
This certainly doesn’t feel right either.
He turns his head before Camille can as much as brush his mouth, and her lips land on his cheek.
For a while, silence wraps around them, and Magnus takes the opportunity to gather what is left of his rationality and takes a step back, putting some much needed distance between them. He hadn’t even realized how close she had gotten.
“I can’t do this,” he says, as firmly as he can muster.
She seems startled by his rejection, but she quickly blinks out of it, the provocative flicker back in her gaze.
“Can’t you?” she questions, curving a dubious eyebrow. “You said it yourself: you and Doctor AWOL are done.”
“I’m still a married man,” Magnus argues, shaking his head. “And I can’t do this to him.”
“Who says he isn’t doing exactly the same thing when he doesn’t bother texting you back?”
This has the opposite effect of what Camille was certainly aiming for, and it achieves to pull him out of the storm raging in his mind.
He would be devastated if what Camille implied turned out to be true, no matter how bleak things have become between them. Some twisted part of his brain hopes Alec would be too, but he doesn’t want to see it.
He grabs his suit jacket and his phone, and flees out of the door before Camille can stop him, ignoring her calling his name after him.
Once in the elevator and on his way to the ground floor, he allows himself to breathe, slouching against the wall. His heart is rummaging in his chest, his pulse echoing in his ears, adrenaline rushing through his veins like he just went out from a boxing fight - one he isn’t sure he won. He feels restless and exhausted all at once, his whole body throbbing with despair.
Usually, he grabs a taxi or the subway to go home. The loft isn’t too far away from Edom’s office but if he is completely honest with himself, tonight he needs the fresh air. Nothing is ever quite as effective as a late night stroll through Brooklyn to clear his head.
The wind is biting, leaving him feeling oddly exposed. It rained earlier in the evening but it has stopped now, leaving the rain-kissed sidewalks shining under his steps.
Magnus buries his hands deep in his pockets and tries not to focus on his phone because he knows it won’t buzz. There is no need for him to keep hoping it will.
Walking home never fails to remind him of their first date. They had gone to a bar in the heart of Brooklyn, and Alec and he had spent the entire night talking until the barmaid had eventually asked them to leave so they could close. They hadn’t had enough of each other, however, so they had taken a walk, and Magnus feels like he is walking in the exact same path they had followed then. He can recall with terrifying accuracy the way Alec had laughed at his jokes, how his mind had been buzzing with a pleasant sense of comfort. Magnus had known, even so early in their relationship, that it would take him on the journey he had been aimlessly wandering for up until that point.
They had been young, and reckless, and Magnus had fallen so fast and so deep it still makes him dizzy when he thinks about it.
To see it all go to waste now tears at his heartstrings, but he has tried to fight for them, or perhaps he is deluding himself in believing so. Perhaps he stopped fighting at the same time Alec did.
This is what they have become. The thought is painful, but it also makes it clearer that they are doomed for failure. It is a hard idea to contemplate, the fact that this is a turning point in their relationship, one that will likely lead to its end. Once, Magnus would’ve had no doubt of where they were heading, and if he did, he had found peace in the knowledge that they were heading there together.
He isn’t sure about that anymore.
It seems like they are both moving forward, but on separate roads, leaving the other behind without a look back.
Magnus had believed so hard that Alec would be his happy ending, his fairy tale story, but the reality is brutal and ruthless, and he can only admit he had fooled himself, his earnest and wishful way of thinking preventing him from keeping his eyes open long enough to see his happy ending slip through his fingers. It makes the fall all the more cruel, all the more agonizing.
And he is angry. Angry at Alec, angry at himself, angry at the both of them for letting all their efforts, all the overwhelming passion fade away when it had once seemed indestructible.
What are they doing to themselves?
It takes him an hour or so to get to their building, his path slow and measured. It has been a while since he last felt a rush of warmth, spreading through his whole body and making his skin tickle, at the prospect of going home.
The loft is just like he expected it to be as he walks in: cold and empty. Silent.
For many years while they had been together and living with each other, Magnus had never felt lonely. Even in their worst moments, it had been an abstract concept to him, an affliction he didn’t have to suffer from as long as Alec was by his side.
He feels lonely now.
He goes to the kitchen, not even bothering to switch on the lights. The moonlight pouring through the window is enough for him to perceive his surroundings. He grabs a bottle of wine from the fridge and slumps in a chair at the table, pouring himself a glass that probably doesn’t classify as reasonable.
He plucks his phone out of his pocket then and unlocks it to find his still unanswered text staring back at him.
It is worse than them not talking anymore, Magnus realizes as he scrolls up their previous messages. Magnus doesn’t know what to say to Alec anymore; nothing seems good enough to interest him. His texts are succinct and soulless, and he wonders for how long he has unconsciously worried about burdening Alec — his husband, his best friend, the one person he used to always go to to talk about everything and nothing — with something as trivial as texting.
He loses track of time, but it seems like an eternity has passed before he finds what he has been intuitively looking for.
The last time they shared I love you’s is dated over six months ago. Magnus knows it has been at least twice longer since they last said it out loud. Perhaps more.
The loft is as quiet as a mausoleum, and it seems oddly fitting, for this is where they unknowingly buried their marriage, behind closed doors and unspoken truths.
Magnus still loves Alec. He will always love Alec. But as thrilling, as wonderful, as powerful love can be, sometimes it just isn’t enough. Not anymore. Not when they have let it degrade with time and lingering silences.
Once, Magnus knew all about Alec’s secrets. His fears, his favorite things, the little habits that made him cringe in people, what songs he favored depending on his mood. He knew literally everything about Alec. Now they are back to being strangers.
Maybe it’s time for Magnus to pick up the pieces of his heart and start over.
The front door opens quietly, creaking just lowly enough for Magnus to know Alec is home, if he can even call it that anymore. The digital clock on the oven indicates past 2am. They were supposed to meet seven hours ago.
He hears Alec’s footsteps heading his way but he doesn’t move, eyes riveted on the glass in his hand. He hasn’t even had a sip, too busy wallowing in self-pity to allow himself that little pleasure.
Alec walks in the kitchen and switches the light on, startling when he catches sight of Magnus.
“Hey,” he says, shrugging his coat off and hanging it on the back of the chair in front of Magnus. It’s funny how the little rituals Magnus used to find endearing now make his skin crawl in irritation.
When Magnus doesn’t reply, Alec walks to the sink to get himself a tall glass of water. “You’re up late,” he points out, as if he isn’t the one coming home at two in the morning.
Magnus hums absently, gritting his teeth. He doesn’t know why he expected an apology. An excuse to justify standing Magnus up on the one evening of the year he needed Alec to be there.
He doesn’t glance up but he doesn’t need to to know Alec is lifting an eyebrow at him. It is plain in his tone when he asks, “Are you okay?” before downing his water in two long gulps.
One moment, he is mourning their relationship, tears brimming in his eyes at the devastating conclusion, and the next, a dormant wrath seeps through his veins, sealing their fate.
This is that tone, the one that suggests he is not even truly interested in the answer. This is the tone of a stranger, passing by someone crying in the street and asking how they are, but not stopping to actually hear the reply because they don’t really care. Because someone else’s sorrow doesn’t affect them.
Magnus has no doubt his anguish and anger are written on his features, clear as crystal.
But Alec doesn’t bother to look at him, truly look at him anymore.
“I’m fine,” he grits out through clenched teeth.
Alec nods, and puts his glass in the dishwasher. “Ok,” he says, nonchalantly. “I’m going to bed, I’m exhausted.”
He punctuates this with a yawn, and turns around to leave.
It can’t go on like this.
Magnus is hurting, his whole being aching for release, and he knows, deep down, that Alec is hurting, too. There is no way he is unaware of what they have become, how low they sunk, how the distance between them has grown into a boundless void.
The words slip out of Magnus’ mouth, but he doesn’t try to stop them. He did that for too long, and postponing it any longer would be unfair to the both of them.
“I think we should get a divorce.”
Alec freezes in the threshold of the kitchen, one foot on the stair that leads up to their room, taking a second to see if Magnus is going to say something else - anything else to reassure him that he had misheard him. After all, he did just get out of a seven-hour long surgery that put an end to an even longer twenty hour shift, it is possible he heard incorrectly. His body is tired, feet aching from standing, and he’s sleep deprived, his mind in a foggy haze from being awake for so long.
“What?” The question chokes him as he says it. He knows — deep down he knows he heard Magnus correctly. He knows that Magnus did in fact say the words he never expected to hear.
Magnus sucks in a short breath, hesitating.
Alec turns slowly in place, making sure to keep one hand on the door frame for support.
He looks at Magnus, sitting there at the table alone, and he looks- tired. It’s not a physical exhaustion. Alec can tell by the rounded shoulders, the down turn of his eyes, that Magnus is emotionally exhausted. All of his normal confidence is gone, replaced by an uncharacteristic uncertainty.
“I think we should get a divorce,” Magnus repeats himself. And even though his voice is lower and more hesitant this time, Alec hears each word loud and clear. They hit him one at a time, knocking his breath out with a force he can feel in the pit of his stomach.
The air in the room feels thick and heavy, those seven words filling the room like a cloud of smoke, making it impossible for him to catch his breath. He closes his eyes and leans against the door frame, inhaling deeply and steadily.
Things with Magnus have been strained lately, their relationship more distant than it has ever been but he never imagined that Magnus was feeling this way about them.
“Where- where is this coming from, Magnus?” he forces himself to ask.
Magnus straightens up in his seat and finally looks up from the wine glass in his hand to look at him, meeting his eyes. He draws his shoulders back and Alec can see the exact moment he erects a wall between them. The shield he uses to protect his heart- a shield Alec put time and effort into tearing down when they first met. A shield that Magnus has never had to use against him before. Until now.
"I think you know, Alexander. T-This, us, it's not working anymore.” Magnus says it with such certainty, as if it were the most obvious fact in the world, that Alec wonders how he could have missed the signs.
“No, I don’t know, Magnus,” Alec says with a shake of his head. “I know things have changed between us and maybe we don't go out together as often as we used to but it hasn't gotten that bad, has it? We work and we're busy, this is normal. This is life.”
Magnus’ eyes harden on him and there’s a raw anger in the clench of his jaw as he leans forward, elbows digging into the table. "We've always worked, Alec. It didn't prevent us from granting time for the things that matter before. This may be life, but it isn't a life together anymore. We're just two strangers living under the same roof," Magnus says decidedly, the voice of a man who has made up his mind.
Alec runs his hands through his sweat-damp hair, his mind racing and trying desperately to process what Magnus is saying. He knows things have been off between them. Where they once shared laughs, now there is only silent huffs of acknowledgment, empty conversation, no more flirting glances, or whispers in ears as they hold each other close and dance in the kitchen. Things between them have died ever since— he cuts that line of thinking off. He’s not going there, he’s not going to revive that pain right now, that’s not what this is about. This is just a phase, a rough patch that they will eventually push through. It’s what they did, It’s what they've always done. They always work things out together because that’s who they are.
He swallows roughly past the thickening in his throat not wanting to admit that this time it’s different— this time it's Magnus giving up on them.
"Why haven't you said anything before? Why are you just now bringing this up - and like this?" Alec asks, the words stammering out of him with a bitter anger he can taste.
"I didn't know how to bring it up. And I didn't want to face the truth, but I'm tired of being disappointed,” Magnus says, the response spilling out of him, full of pent up frustration. “Tonight was just the last straw, I guess."
"Tonight? We're- we’re just now seeing each other- what could I have possibly done to make this the last straw? I've been at work in surgery all day ,” Alec argues, confused and taken aback by Magnus’ sudden surrender. It isn't like Magnus to quit, especially not when it comes to something or someone he loves. The thought that maybe this is exactly the problem - perhaps Magnus is no longer in love with him - crosses his mind in a blinding flash. It roots itself in his chest, gnawing on his heart until he can feel the pain of his heart breaking with every beat.
He tries to ignore the sobering revelation and instead mentally retraces his steps to remember every interaction he’s had with Magnus over the past twenty hours. Try to pinpoint a moment in time where he could have upset Magnus or let him down.
Magnus’ eyes scan over his face, taking in the confused look of shock Alec is sure is plastered all over his face. Magnus rolls his eyes as he grits his teeth and pinches the bridge of his nose. His eyes close tightly as he heaves out a frustrated breath.
"You have no idea what tonight was, do you?" Magnus finally asks, looking up at him. He watches him and waits, a desperate hope in his eyes that maybe Alec will have the right answer; behind the hope is a resignation, as if he already knows that the answer Alec will give him won’t be the one he wants to hear.
Alec opens his mouth, expecting to have an immediate response to such a simple question but he finds that he doesn’t. Tonight? What was so important about tonight? He doesn’t even know what the date is anymore. His work schedule has left his internal clock a mess. It’s a Friday night- he’s pretty sure about that. It’s not Magnus’ birthday- of that he’s positive. It isn’t a holiday because if it was then he would likely be at work. This leaves a work related event as the next possible choice—
Alec closes his mouth and grinds his teeth together, remembering Magnus’ pleading words to him just the night before.
‘Please don't forget the company’s end of quarter party tomorrow night. Seven o’clock.’
“Fuck,” Alec curses under his breath. Guilt washes over him, adding itself to the already sick swirl of emotions in his stomach. Of all the disappointing things he has ever done - and he's sure he has done plenty over the past fifteen years - this is quite possibly his biggest fuck up.
He crosses the room in heavy, weary steps, and drops into the seat across from Magnus. He doesn’t even want to look at him, to look him in the eye and see the disappointment he knows is there because he feels it too. He leans forward on his elbows and hangs his head in his hands, sighing heavily.
"Shit, Magnus. Your company's party.” He wipes a hand down his face and forces himself to face his husband. “I'm sorry- I got caught up at work, it completely slipped my mind."
Magnus’ brows jump at Alec’s justification, his mouth set in an unimpressed frown, an expression on his face that says, ‘I’ve heard that before’.
Alec drops his gaze and acknowledges the weak excuse for what it is, overused and just that: an excuse. He can't count the times he has used work as a way to get out of dinners, events, parties, or even nights alone with Magnus. He’s even volunteered to cover late night shifts for Dr. Garroway -the Chief of surgery- so that he could have time off to spend with his family. Magnus never knew about this; but Alec has found himself offering to stay instead of going home, choosing to sit in the break room to avoid this suffocating tension they have when they're together.
"Clearly," Magnus deadpans.
" Magnus, don't be that way. You know I wanted to be there.” He's telling the truth this time. He realizes that the minute he says it. Despite the distance that has formed between them, he still cares. This is Magnus. His husband of eleven years, his best friend, and the one person in the world who has the ability to see through him completely.
At least, that's what he used to be. Alec doesn't know what he is to him anymore or what they've become. His heart clenches in his chest at the overwhelming truth that he no longer recognizes who they are.
Alec reaches across the table to take Magnus’ hand in his, an affection he realizes -once his hand leaves the table- he hasn’t done in a long time. He doesn’t know why he ever quit or when it was that he stopped showing Magnus the simple, yet pivotal, reminders of his love. He wonders if it’s too late to express that now or if he can still prove to him that he does in fact still care, that he knows how much this night meant for him and how he didn’t mean to forget.
His fingertips lightly graze the back of his hand, the warmth of Magnus’ skin sparks an old, familiar memory that is instantly erased when Magnus pulls away from him.
Alec lets his hand drop to the table and he curls it into a fist, blunt nails digging into the pads of his palm. The rejection plunging like a knife in his chest.
He watches as Magnus laces his hands together and brings them up to his mouth, moving back in his seat, distancing himself from him. He wonders when his touch became a thing of repulsion. At what point did Magnus stop desiring his touch? Was it before or after Alec quit giving it to him? Does he miss it? Or is he okay with these miles of empty space that seem to lay between them now?
Brown eyes that once looked at him with kindness and complete adoration are hard and unforgiving when he eventually turns to face him again.
Magnus swallows, the bob of his Adam’s apple hitching as if choking back tears Alec knows he won’t allow himself to shed. "You know how important this party was to me, Alec. Remember Hodge Starkweather? He asked where you were, and I didn't have an answer to give him because I couldn't really tell him that my husband bailed on me and didn't even have the decency to warn me that he wouldn't make it. The only thing that saved me from completely embarrassing myself was—” He pauses and sucks in a deep but quivering breath. “You know what? Never mind. This is pointless,” Magnus finishes resolutely with a gesture of his hand between them.
The stabbing pain in his chest twists, digging deeper now.
"I didn't bail on you,” Alec disputes, “we were short staffed, a head trauma came in and I had to perform an emergency craniotomy- that's a seven hour surgery. I was the only surgeon on shift, I didn't have a chance to text you or anything before having to go into prep, and when I was finished, I came straight home. You act as if I did this on purpose just to embarrass you." His voice is beginning to rise, he can feel his pain begin to shift to the low simmer of anger.
Magnus scoffs. "You're always the only surgeon on shift, because you refuse to hire another one. And don't act like you would've texted at all had you had the chance. You forgot about it. But you know what? It's probably not such a bad thing. Saved us from another fucking disaster like dinner last month."
Alec winces at the memory of that dinner. Fucking disaster is the perfect way to describe what happened that night. That entire date had been doomed from the beginning.
He remembers running late, despite his well-intended promises to Magnus that he would leave work so early they would have plenty of time to have drinks at the restaurant’s bar before their dinner reservation. Instead they ended up being twenty minutes late for their reservation, resulting in Magnus having to convince the hostess to still give them a table. Alec had tried apologizing. “ Your job is important to you. It is what it is, Alec,” was all Magnus had said to him with a forced smile before turning away and directing his attention at anything but Alec — That was the first sign that the night was not going to end well.
Alec should have recognized the second sign but it was much more subtle, one he is so used to seeing that he quit noticing. Their conversation, if you could call an ‘oh yeah?’ or a ‘Mm’ every now and again a conversation, had been interrupted all night by Magnus’ phone pinging with a new text message every other minute. Because even though Magnus would never admit to it, his work never ends.
The proverbial nail in the coffin had been when Alec’s colleague Meliorn had walked past their table. At work Meliorn was a man of few words and one of the few people at the hospital that seemed to mind his own business, which made him one of the few colleagues Alec had left that hadn’t met Magnus.
“Magnus, this is Meliorn, he’s one of our anesthesiologists. And probably the one I trust the most.” Alec had introduced him to Magnus. Magnus had smiled. Everything had seemed fine until — “Alec is one of the most professional and efficient surgeons I’ve had the pleasure to work with. Great work ethic and such a hard worker that he still refuses to hire another surgeon.” Meliorn had flashed his smile and laughed wholeheartedly, never knowing that his simple statement was enough to unravel and break the weak strands of the cat’s cradle that was holding their marriage up in its delicate balance.
The argument that followed still rings in Alec’s mind, serving as a constant reminder of his failures in this marriage. The promises he’s failed to keep.
Alec chews on his lip, his anger filling in his chest the more he thinks about the double standards Magnus puts on their marriage. Alec has never once complained to Magnus about the long hours starting his company requires of him. He has always been his biggest supporter, the cheerleader in his corner when things don’t go as planned and he wants to give up; always encouraging him to try again and to push harder. And now, he is always working, even when he’s home, his work never ends. Whether it be emails, conference calls on an early Sunday morning, or a constant stream of text messages. Magnus’ company has become his life and in the process, Alec gets pushed to the sidelines.
Still, Alec never complains.
Alec pushes his chair back and stands, needing to move. He’s tired of Magnus placing all of the blame onto him, as if he has been the picture-perfect example of a husband throughout their marriage. Lately he always feels the need to defend himself, defend his career, and his choices. Once Magnus had been proud of him. Proud to have a husband that climbed the surgical ladder and became an attending surgeon at such a young age, one of the best neurosurgeons in the state; and now- now Magnus does nothing but make him feel bad for his accomplishments- always throwing them back in his face when he was needed elsewhere.
Hiring another surgeon is something Alec is trying to do but it’s an incredible responsibility he doesn’t want to screw up. So instead he takes on all the extra work for himself. It’s something he shouldn’t do but he does, because, if he’s being honest with himself, it’s easier than going home. He’s never said this to Magnus, only ever telling him the other side of the coin, the other truth: that he’s afraid of making the wrong choice and someone’s life ending because of it. He’s tried explaining this to Magnus, time and time again, but here he is, explaining it again.
"We haven't had any decent candidates that I would trust to handle things while I'm gone. These are people's lives I'm responsible for! I can't pick just anybody. So yeah, my schedule will be busy until I find the perfect fit.” Alec paces over to the counter and rubs at his eyes tiredly. He breathes in deeply and exhales a long breath through his nose, trying not to let his anger get the best of him. “Besides, dinner was a disaster before Meliorn showed up because you spent the whole night ignoring me and texting Camille about some work related project I don’t know about because you never feel the need to share these things with me anymore." His voice is calmer now when he looks at Magnus, more controlled, but the irritation lingers on him like a second skin.
He notices Magnus’ shoulders tense and the subtle, uncomfortable shift in his seat as he looks away.
He doesn’t know how they got there. How they let their marriage get to this point of being in ruins. They spend more time in silence than they do sharing stories. They spend their nights together looking at their phones instead of each other. Every now and then, he has found himself wondering what Magnus is smiling at on his phone. He’d find himself wanting to ask but it isn’t that easy anymore. Before, Magnus would have shared it with him and they would have smiled or laughed about it together, their relationship simple and still uncomplicated. Now when Magnus smiles at his phone, it’s quick, almost hidden and before Alec can even think about asking, the phone is tucked away and the moment is gone. Now, Magnus doesn’t bother to share his happiness with him, hides it like a secret— a secret he no longer wishes to share with him.
Alec leans forward on the counter and drops his head into his hands.
He has been blind, so very blind.
Tears sting his eyes as the memories scurry through his mind, synapses firing making him suddenly cognizant of every detail he has failed to notice. He gasps in a breath, realization hitting him in the pit of his stomach. The knife in his chest twisting until it finds its home, piercing his heart, and puncturing his lungs to the point where he can no longer breathe. He feels like a fool— a naive, oblivious fool. The signs have been there, plain as day, for who knows how long and he never noticed, never put the pieces together, until now.
His stomach retches, the betrayal burning like acid in his throat as he tries to swallow down the sickening dread he feels. He breathes in, fingertips digging into his head, the inflation of his lungs pushing against the asphyxiating pressure wrapped around his ribs, crushing him.
Magnus remains silent and his silence is deafening.
Alec raises himself slowly to stand. He needs to be looking at Magnus when he asks him this question. He needs to see the look on his face, because Magnus can lie, but his face can’t. Alec has always been able to see his every emotion, his every truth, and so he needs to look at him now for this. No more hiding behind work, or phones, or excuses. He needs to know.
Alec presses his palms to his eyes and pushes back the burning tears, wills them to go away with every ounce of strength he has left so that Magnus won’t see him broken and in pieces. He moves his hands down to rest on the countertop and grips onto the granite edges as he breathes in a shuddering breath through a throat that feels constricted and useless.
"Magnus...it is Camille you're talking to, right? There's not—” he takes in another sharp, shallow breath— “is there someone else?" The words hurt on their way out, as if his body rejects the very notion that they even need to be asked.
Magnus bristles, his back straightening, shoulder blades pinching together. Alec can’t tell from his vantage point whether or not the reaction is out of guilt or out of offense. He’s not left to wonder for long before Magnus turns to him.
"What if there is, Alec?” Magnus sneers, his hands clenching together hard enough to turn his fingertips white from the pressure. “Don't make this about something it's not.”
Alec reels back, the response catching him off guard. He didn’t know what he was expecting— a ‘yes’ that would shatter him completely or even a ‘no’ that would settle this unease inside of him— but it wasn’t this, never this. The betrayal shoots through him, running up his spine and triggering his anger yet again.
He pushes off the counter in one swift motion, tears trying to force their way out, as he shouts, "How the fuck is this not about that?! If you're seeing someone else, I have the right to know, Magnus!"
Alec brings his hands up behind his head to give his lungs more room to expand. He’s terrified of Magnus’ answer and unsure if he even wants to know the truth. He wonders if it would be best to just leave things as they are. They can walk away now without him having to hear a truth that will irrevocably tear him apart.
Magnus sighs and wipes at his mouth, the gold reflection of his wedding band catching Alec’s attention; and Alec can’t stop the unhealthy images of Magnus touching someone else with those hands from flooding his mind. Would he have bothered to take off his wedding band? Or was he so detached from their marriage that leaving it on would not have mattered to him? Alec clenches his jaw. The thought of Magnus with someone else runs through him like a caustic chemical, eating him away from the inside and the pain hurts more than he could have ever imagined.
"I'm- I'm not seeing someone else. I would never cheat on you, Alec. And I can't believe you thought I would."
"Well I never thought you would want a divorce either," Alec retorts.
Magnus winces and looks back down at his hands, dragging his eyes away from him.
Silence settles over them. Always a silence between them.
He knows he should be satisfied with Magnus’ answer, that it should be enough to relieve the weight that’s settled over his heart but an unease tugs at him, demanding his attention. Magnus had hesitated, he looked ashamed, and maybe he hadn’t cheated on him but Alec is sure there is something more there. Something left unsaid that without asking the right question, perhaps Magnus will never confess to. Magnus is an expert at saying nothing while also saying so much.
Alec purses his lips and clears his throat. "Why would you say that? If there's no one else, why wouldn't you just say 'no'? Why would you ask if it mattered?"
Magnus’ reaction is instant; he pushes his palms against his eyes and inhales deeply. His gaze is steady when he looks back at Alec. "I didn't cheat on you. I would never. But I thought about it,” Magnus admits. “For a second only, but it was long enough for me to know that whatever we had is broken. Camille tried to kiss me tonight, and I almost let her. And all I could think about wasn’t ‘no, I love someone else’, it was ‘no, I can't do this to Alec’."
This truth hurts almost as much. What difference is there if Magnus did or didn’t commit the act? If deep down he actually wanted to— had considered it? What is left for them to save if this is the point they had found themselves at?
Nothing. There’s nothing left, Alec admits to himself.
He can’t do this. He asked because he needed to know, he thought he could handle the truth and now that it’s been said, he can’t.
Alec slowly nods while he backs away towards the door in staggering steps.
"I can't— I can’t do this. I can’t be here right now," he chokes out and turns to leave.
The cold night air hits Alec in the face and freezes against his tear-damp cheeks when he steps foot out of their apartment building. He didn’t even realize he had started to cry and he wipes the tears away before folding his arms across his chest to try and keep himself warm. He left his coat back in the loft and in it his phone, he realizes. He probably should call first, find out if it’s okay to even go over there at this ungodly hour of the night but the thought of facing Magnus again is too much- they will understand.
Brooklyn is quiet and lonely as he makes his way through it, only the occasional car passing by. Alec and Magnus had chosen to live in Brooklyn because it would be closer to Magnus’ office and it would be more affordable than to live in the city while Magnus started up his company. Then his siblings had followed suit, wanting to keep their family close so they could always be there for each other. His stomach twists into a knot as he realizes that this dream of happily ever after is now lost. Gone would be the Sunday brunches at their loft with Magnus’ famous grapefruit mimosas, Jace’s summer pool parties, Izzy’s annual Fourth of July party, and combined Christmases. The loss of Magnus would not just devastate him but his entire family.
He stops at the end of the block, thunder rolling overhead as he waits for the flashing light of the crosswalk to change. This is a path he has walked with Magnus countless times over the years. He remembers standing at this very light, the weight of Magnus’ hand in his, the rings on his fingers cold between his own. As Alec balls his fist in the stiff fabric of his scrub top, he misses it, he misses the feeling of their palms pressed together, and the way Magnus would stroke the back of his hand with his thumb, the silent way he would show Alec his love by always wanting to keep their bodies in contact.
A crack of thunder and a flash of lightning open the sky, sending a torrent of rain over the city. The stark iciness of rainfall washes over him as he stands on the corner, dropping his head back and letting the rain rinse down his face. The cold bites at his cheeks and causes a chill to spread across his skin. He wants nothing more than to turn around and go back home, to wrap his arms around Magnus and apologize— apologize for not being there, for taking him for granted for so many years, for not putting him first like he should have, for not loving him the way he deserves to be loved, for not holding him more often, for not taking the time to tell him everyday how lucky he is to have him in his life. He’s made so many mistakes and now it’s too late.
He leans his head against the street post and cries in harsh shuddering breaths. It’s too late to turn back now, there’s nothing waiting for him back home, not anymore. For years he had left Magnus waiting— always waiting for him to make time for him in his life, and tonight, he had left him waiting again. He had left him disappointed again, a disappointment Alec is sure Magnus has grown accustomed to by now. A disappointment he never should have gotten used to because he deserves so much more.
The sign changes and he takes in a deep breath, determined to make it the last two blocks.
The rain is heavy, gathering in puddles along the sidewalk, he can see the line of townhouses come into view at the end of the block. Just a few more steps and he will be there, a few more steps and he won’t have to be alone in this. The light on their porch is off when he climbs the steps and presses the buzzer. He waits a minute before pressing the buzzer again. He can hear the sound of hesitant footsteps walking down the wooden staircase by the front door. The porch light turns on and he takes a step back so that they can see him from the peephole. The lock turns and the door is thrown open.
The sight of Isabelle brings the pain immediately back to him- she’s the image of comfort that he desperately needs right now. Her hair is tied up in a messy knot on the top of her head and she’s wearing an oversized t-shirt with a pair of pajama bottoms. She had been sound asleep and now he has shown up to startle her back to reality. He didn’t realize that he had been hoping this was all a nightmare and he knows the minute he tells her there will be no denying that this is, in fact, all real.
"Alec, what are you doing here?” She looks him over and her tired eyes settle on his scrubs, widening in panic. “Why are you still in your scrubs? Oh my God, is Magnus okay?"
Hearing Magnus’ name is crushing, and her question is not one he’s sure he even knows the answer to anymore. Is Magnus truly okay with this? Is this what he wants? Does he really want to throw in his cards and walk away from Alec altogether? Alec’s sobs come pouring out before he can stop them and he brings his hand up to cover his face. The rain continues to pour mercilessly over him, splashing against the back of his neck and running down his back, but it does nothing to cleanse him of this self-reproach.
He feels Isabelle’s warm hand on his forearm as she pulls him inside, slamming the door shut behind him. She guides him further into her home and assaults him with a series of frenzied questions he can’t even hear. She urges him down to sit and he drops back onto the large gray sofa against the wall.
“Alec. Alec, please. I need you to talk to me.” She wipes his rain-soaked hair away from his face with one hand while her other hand clings tightly to his hand. “Alec, tell me.”
She’s panicking, he’s doing this to her, he needs to stop- to calm down so he can explain. His voice is raw when he tries to use it, and even though he’s trying to speak, the words are coming out broken, fighting against the cries that are stuck in his throat. “Magnus — Magnus— wants a divorce.”
Izzy startles with a gasp and Alec finally pulls his hand away from his face to look at her.
“What? Alec, what are you talking about?”
Her mouth is slightly parted as she looks him in the eyes, waiting for his response. There’s confusion in her crinkled brow mixed with shock and what looks like disappointment as her mouth closes and turns to a frown.
He pushes the heels of his hands against his eyes and lets his tears take over again. She should be disappointed in him. This is his fault, this was his marriage, the thing that was supposed to be the most important thing in his life and he let it die.
He feels her hand gently squeeze his. “It’s okay, Alec, you can tell me,” she reassures him.
Izzy with all her kindness and wisdom, has always been there for him. To listen to his problems and give him advice - even when he didn’t want it- and he knew she would be there for him now. This was one of the many reasons he came here tonight. She is one of the pillars of strength that keeps him upright when he isn’t sure he can stand alone. Jace is another pillar of strength for him but it is the middle of the night and he didn’t want to risk waking Ariel up. And his last pillar— the one he can feel crumbling beneath him, bringing him to his knees— is Magnus.
Izzy clutches onto his hand tighter now, the pressure rooting him to her, giving him the strength he needs to tell her everything.
He nods and wipes at his eyes, taking the moment to catch his breath.
"Magnus told me he wants a divorce," he admits weakly, pausing to wipe his nose with the back of his hand before looking at her again. His eyes burn and even though he’s been crying, they feel dry and raw with every grating blink. “He doesn't love me anymore, Iz, and now- I've lost him."
Isabelle’s brows furrow even more, the wrinkle in between them deepening. "Okay," she says softly, and the fact that she doesn’t bother trying to reassure him otherwise isn’t lost on him and it hurts. "How about I make some coffee and you can tell me exactly what happened?"
Her eyes are gentle and understanding, her heartbreak for him shining in the unshed tears that line her lower lids.
Alec is about to nod when Maia’s voice comes from the hallway.
"I'll do it," she says, looking just as sleepy as Izzy did when she first opened the door.
“Thank you, Maia.” Isabelle offers her wife a quick smile before turning her attention back on Alec, brushing her hands along his forearms in long, brisk strokes meant to warm him.
“Alec, you’re freezing,” she says quietly, as if speaking to herself more than him. “And you’re soaked. Let me try and find you something dry to wear.”
He watches Isabelle retreat down the entrance hall and can hear her run up the staircase in quick steps. He feels awful and selfish for showing up here like this, soaking wet and broken, interrupting their peaceful night with his problems.
He can hear the sound of Maia setting three coffee mugs out on the counter as the coffee maker percolates loudly in the quiet.
Alec leans forward, elbows on his knees and hangs his head. He sniffs back his running nose and takes several deep breaths to calm himself. Perhaps he should have stayed home. Maybe he could have talked to Magnus and worked things out. Would he have been able to convince him that he meant it when he said he was sorry?
“Here.” Izzy is back in front of him, holding out a plush white towel. “Dry off.”
He follows her order and quickly removes the sopping wet scrub top, handing it to her when he sees her outstretched hand. The towel is warm as he dries himself off, scrubbing it over his hair so that the water will stop dripping down his neck in icy trails. When he finishes, he hands the towel over to her in exchange for a gray and white plush sweater he recognizes instantly, causing his stomach to clench. He knows this sweater. How it feels soft beneath his palms as they glide over the firm muscles that line Magnus’ spine, how thick the threads are when bunched in his grip as he tugs it over Magnus’ head, and how warm and comforting it feels beneath his cheek- soft breaths rising and falling underneath him. He knows this sweater because he’s the one that bought it for Magnus.
She must notice his reaction because he sees her grimace as she sits down beside him again. “I'm sorry. This is the only thing I have. Simon did leave a sweater the other day but it wouldn't fit you,” she apologizes.
Alec nods and bites on his lips, trying to hold back the fresh swell of tears he can feel burning like sand in his eyes.
“Oh God, Alec.” She stands to leave. “Let me try to find something else—”
“It’s fine,” he says, stopping her with a hand on her arm. “Don’t worry about it.”
She settles back in by his side with a sheepish nod.
He runs his fingers along the ribbed rows of the sweater, remembering the last night Magnus wore it. It’s only been one week since they were in this very room, playing an intense game of Cranium with his siblings and friends. Simon had to use Magnus as a marionette to act out a charade and Magnus had taken the sweater off and thrown it over his shoulder, claiming his competitiveness made him sweat. He had spent the night in his undershirt and when it was time to leave he had thrown on his coat, the sweater forgotten on the couch.
The memory is painful more than anything else when Alec remembers how they had spent that night pretending to be happy yet keeping their distance. It’s a role they had unknowingly started whenever family was around. An act in a play about their life full of indirect conversations, glances from across the room, and casual brushes against the arm to make it seem like everything is okay between them.
He wonders if any of them have noticed. If they had seen the evidence of his marriage unraveling before he did. He had somehow managed to unknowingly play a passive role in all of this. He had gotten so lost in the daily routines of life that he became a passive figure in their marriage. One whose passiveness was so prominent it had become an active contributing factor to their demise without his intention.
Izzy is silently watching him and he realizes that he has been sitting here staring at the sweater. He braces himself with a deep breath, stuffing his arms in the sleeves and then pulling it over his head in one swift motion.
Magnus envelopes him— the minty smell of his skin, that mixes perfectly with the spiced scent of his cologne. The scent Alec has known for the last fifteen years of his life, the scent that lingers on his sheets, that fills his head, and invades his senses whenever Magnus is near. The sweater surrounds him in the familiar feeling of home and contentment that Magnus brings to him.
He feels the tears spring from his eyes, escaping along with a choked back sob. Isabelle is quick to place her hand on his back, rubbing soothing circles that help calm him. She’s shushing him quietly in his ear, her forehead resting firmly against his temple. He focuses on the calming sound, allowing it to drown out the sound of his cries.
“I’ve got you, Alec,” she whispers, placing a kiss on his cheek.
His breaths flow easier as he leans into her with her arms wrapped around him and supporting his weight. “Thanks, Izzy.”
Alec feels the couch sink on the other side of him and he wipes his eyes to see Maia holding out a warm mug of coffee to him, a small, apologetic smile pulling at her mouth.
“Thanks,” he mutters quietly, accepting the cup from her with shaking hands.
He wraps his hands around the entire mug, desperately seeking the heat to help settle the nerves he feels taking over his entire body. He focuses on the warmth as it wraps around the frigid cold of his fingertips and travels through his palms. His body is trembling but he no longer feels the cold, he only feels depleted — hollow, still somehow filled with sorrow. He feels like he is mourning and he figures that in a way, he is. He is mourning the death of their marriage, the death of a love that lasted over a decade. A love that was supposed to last until his dying breath.
He takes a sip of the coffee and lets it soothe him. His love isn’t dying, he thinks to himself. No. His love for Magnus will always remain, even if their marriage doesn’t. His love for Magnus is the energy his body uses to push itself forward, it’s the beating of his heart and the blood it pumps through his veins. As long as he has life, his love for Magnus will have life because the two are one and the same.
"Want to tell us exactly what happened?" Izzy asks, breaking him of his thoughts.
Alec takes another sip of his coffee before placing it on the coffee table in front of them. He doesn’t know how they are being so kind to him when he showed up at their door in the middle of the night, crying and unloading his life problems on them. He showed up like a wounded victim and now he has to be the one to tell them that he has single-handedly ruined the best thing in his life and that he’s taking away a brother from them.
“I fucked up.” He draws in a deep breath, ready for the anger he knows is coming. “I forgot about his company party. I stood him up on one of the most important nights for his business." He sighs. "He doesn't ask for much and I couldn't even do this one thing for him."
Maia stiffens up beside him, her hands clenching around her coffee cup. “What the hell, Alec? You know how important this party was for him! He's been talking about it non-stop for a month!"
Izzy’s eyes widen a fraction before settling pointedly on her wife with a look that is begging her to hold her tongue. It’s a silent communication that is understood and works instantly. It’s the type of communication he and Magnus used to have.
Alec cringes. Maia is absolutely right. Magnus’ excitement over this party has been a constant current in their lives throughout the past few months. This party had the power to make or break his business and Alec was supposed to be there by his side to show his support. He should have been there.
" I know . I was just— I was distracted and then I had a surgery…And I know these are just the same shitty excuses I've been using for years so it doesn’t matter. The truth is, I don't have a good excuse.” Alec stops to pinch the bridge of his nose. “I fucked up and he's had enough of it,” he concedes.
Izzy’s hand squeezes around his.
"But, still, a divorce?" she prompts. "Has it really gotten that bad?"
Alec thinks it over for a moment. The warning signs of their failing marriage flashing at him like flares that demand to be noticed. The dinners they either ate alone or ate in silence across the table because they no longer knew how to talk to each other. The cold, distant touches. The care was no longer there when they touched each other- all affection was lost to the point that their intimacy had ceased to be an act of love. The signs had been there all along, Alec knows this, but instead of seeing them and making the necessary changes, Alec chose instead to live his life in a constant state of denial, because if he didn’t accept that their marriage was falling apart, maybe it never would.
Alec scoffs inwardly at himself, not the least bit surprised that he had been wrong about something else yet again.
He nods at Izzy. "Things haven't been the same between us since— well, for a long time now, Iz. I let our marriage slip through my fingers."
Maia rests her hand on his shoulder, applying an encouraging pressure. “Come on, it's nothing you two can't fix. You've been through some tough times together, surely you can make it through this.”
Alec shakes his head. "I don't know if we can fix it this time. This time it’s different...Camille wasn't between us before..." he trails off, the reminder of Magnus’ confession wringing his stomach into knots.
"Camille?" Isabelle asks with a frown, doubt filling her eyes.
Alec closes his eyes, the sound of Camille’s name cutting through him with fresh slices of betrayal.
"Is he cheating on you?" Izzy’s question is blunt and to the point. She watches him and swallows roughly as if it’s hurting her to ask a question that accuses Magnus of a betrayal she doesn’t want to believe he is capable of.
Alec hangs his head in his hands. He wants to lie to her, to tell her only the simple truth that, no, Magnus did not cheat on him. He wants to leave it at that because repeating the rest and thinking about it again will cement it as an absolute truth. Magnus no longer desired him, he desired someone else. How could a marriage come back if one half has completely given up?
"No. I don't know?” He runs his fingers through his damp hair, curling his fingers in, gripping the hair at the root to ease the tension that lines his scalp. “He says he hasn't and that he never would but - he says he's thought of it. And somehow...that hurts just as much."
He lets his hands drop, not bothering to wipe away the tears that start up again. The sharp pain of his elbows digging into his tired legs serves as a welcome distraction from the pain he feels eating away inside of him.
Izzy and Maia share a look that’s equally stunned and grave.
No one ever expected this. Not from them, not from Magnus and Alec.
"But he hasn't," Izzy tells him, gently rubbing his back. "You have to keep that in mind, Alec. He could have, but he didn't. That means a part of him is still willing to fight to save your marriage."
"Does it though? I've never considered it. I can't even imagine being with someone else.” Alec looks down at his hand, the brushed gold wedding band Magnus chose for him staring back at him. The memory of Magnus sliding it down his finger at their wedding is there and it’s a beautiful memory full of warmth that emanates in his chest. It sits beside another memory, a favorite of his, a memory that brings a rush of flutters to his stomach and a pounding beat in his heart. Magnus’ lips kiss the ring gently and then hover over it, brushing against him, telling him how he never knew happiness like this could exist as they lay tangled in bed.
He never thought that these cherished memories would now be accompanied by the events of tonight. That he would always know what hatred looked like on Magnus’ beautiful and usually kind face. That he would remember Magnus’ face lit up with laughter, his smile of sated pleasure, and now his eyes dim and distant with heartbreak.
“Besides, you didn't see his face. You didn't see the hatred in his eyes. He's done with me,” Alec utters, remembering the haunting look of resentment on Magnus’ face.
"He doesn't hate you," Maia argues. "He was pissed off because you forgot about the party. Anger makes you act irrationally sometimes. I'm sure you both said things that weren't entirely fair. But Magnus could never hate you. You've been together for fifteen years."
"Maybe that's just it though. Fifteen years is a long time. Maybe our love has run its course," Alec sighs tiredly.
Isabelle quirks a dubious eyebrow. "Do you really believe that?"
Does he? Is he willing to believe that their love with all its intoxicating and dizzying passion has burned out?
His life was made up of rationalities and carefully considered decisions. Falling in love with Magnus had never been a choice. It was never a conscious decision he weighed the pros and cons over. It was a free fall. Alec had closed his eyes and without a single thought, let himself fall. Without tether and without hesitation.
Their entire relationship had been one exhilarating fall without stop. And even now, fifteen years later, despite the lull and despite the fact that he no longer recognizes what they had, Alec can tell that he is still falling- head first and has never stopped.
"I still love him. I love him so much "—he sucks in a ragged breath—"but I stopped showing him. Why did I ever stop?"
Alec's shoulders shake as his cries break free.
Izzy springs forward, tears flowing from her eyes as she wraps her arms around him, burying his face in her shoulder. She’s crying with him, her fingers combing through his hair. Maia’s arms wrap around him from behind, her head resting against his back and he feels himself breaking down, unable to stop.
Izzy sniffs and presses a kiss to his head. “It’ll be okay, Alec. You can make things right again. Magnus loves you. I know he does.”
He wants to believe this, he really does. More than anything, he wants to believe that some part of Magnus, even if it’s the smallest part, still loves him. That there’s still a hint of that overwhelming and consuming love he used to have for him lingering in some corner of his now closed-off heart. And if there’s still something there, Alec is willing to fight for it. He will fight to bring it back if it’s the last thing he does.
Alec nods against her and sits himself up, pulling the stray strands of her hair away from where they stuck to his face. “I’m sorry I came here like this. I shouldn’t have burdened you both with this.”
Maia wraps her arms around his neck and nuzzles into him for a warm hug. “Don’t be ridiculous, Alec, you’re our brother and you’re always welcome here.”
Izzy hums in agreement with her wife. “You’re welcome to stay here as long as you need.”
Maia stands and moves over to the trunk in the corner of the room. She pulls out a blanket and pillow and takes them over to him. “Get some sleep, you look wrecked.”
Alec lets out a small laugh. He can’t imagine what he looks like having been awake for almost twenty-four hours now.
“We’ll be here for you in the morning.” Izzy pats him on the cheek and wipes his tears. “I love you, Alec.”
Alec smiles at her. “I love you too.”
The sound of the door closing after Alec echoes long after he’s gone.
Magnus doesn’t move for a long time, staring at the wine shifting in the glass between his hands. Anger and bitterness have deserted him, and all that is left are the devastating sorrow and the smothering loneliness that came weighing on his shoulders the moment Alec left.
Alec’s coat is still hanging on the chair in front of him, and Magnus can’t help but wonder if Alec isn’t cold out there without it. It is a brisk night of October, and the wind has been howling outside. The despair on Alec’s features before he escaped the tension between them is haunting, the way they buckled to disclose his inward betrayal, the flash of sorrow in the hazel that exposed the exact moment his heart broke.
Magnus hadn’t even known he still had any kind of power over Alec’s heart.
Yet, here they are now. Both heartbroken. Both alone.
The lump that has been squirming in Magnus’ stomach all night long hasn’t subdued. If anything, it grew heavier, pushing against his lungs to prevent him from breathing properly, clutching at his heart ruthlessly until all he can think of is how they broke their word.
It has been eleven years, but Magnus remembers the vows Alec and he swore to observe on their wedding day all too well. He recalls talking about darkness, and finding light upon meeting Alec, trusting him to guide him through. If he were still as angry as he was when he first came home, he would smile at the irony. Here he is now, sitting in the dark in their kitchen, abandoned to grieve the death of their marriage on his own.
Because this is what it is. Their marriage is dead, and Magnus pulled the trigger, even though they both had their fingers hovering over it for too long.
With a sigh, Magnus pushes off the chair and grabs Alec’s coat, sliding it on. The sleeves are slightly too long for him but it fits nicely around his shoulders, and most importantly, it smells like Alec — the fresh, woody scent of his cologne wrapping around him at once.
It is warm, too, protecting him from the biting cold as he steps on the balcony. It is pouring outside, but Magnus is unaffected, sheltered by the half-roof over his head and the warmth of Alec lingering on the coat, enveloping him.
Gulping past the lump in his throat turns out to be impossible, so Magnus stops trying. Heaving out a deep sigh, he walks to the right side of the balcony, where he keeps his secret stash of cigarettes hidden behind the pot of creeping thyme Alec never touches - which is for the best, since Magnus has always been the one with green fingers in their relationship.
Magnus has never really smoked, but he does indulge in the bad habit when he is stressed, and tonight clearly calls for it. Lighting the cigarette, he inhales slowly, his shoulders relaxing as he draws out the smoke, watching it form a shapeless cloud that dissipates under the beating rain.
It is a habit of his that Alec always hated. He never understood the concept of stress smoking, but he always let Magnus be, until recently. Perhaps it is symptomatic of their downfall, and Magnus should have put it together before. Alec had been sighing, clicking his tongue or pulling a disgusted face whenever Magnus retreated to the balcony for a cigarette. It had gotten to the point where he ended up hiding his cigarettes and only smoked when Alec wasn’t there - which, admittedly, was quite often. It wasn’t that he was scared of Alec’s reaction, he knows now. He just didn’t bother to confront him about it, because he didn’t want to— so he concealed his routine.
It seems silly, but it strikes him then that his stash of cigarettes is yet another thing they don’t bother to share with each other anymore. The energy talking to one another consumes just doesn’t seem worth it anymore.
How did they come to this?
Sliding his free hand in the pocket of Alec’s coat, his fingers brush against something and he plucks it out. It’s Alec’s phone. Magnus presses the home button and immediately regrets doing it.
Where are you?
Magnus’ text flashes at the top of the screen, unread, proof that Alec claiming he hadn’t checked his phone before or after surgery was a genuine excuse.
It isn’t that Magnus truly believes that Alec would have lied to him about being in surgery and not checking his phone. It has happened enough times for him to know it is entirely plausible. Nevertheless, it comforts him somehow. Camille’s words from earlier — “Who says he isn’t doing exactly the same thing when he doesn’t bother texting you back?” — swirl back in his mind like a painful reminder. She was wrong. Of course she was, but there was a small, wicked part of him that had swallowed the doubt and let it linger in a corner of his brain with a dreadful purpose. She was wrong, and he should feel relieved, but it only makes the guilt clutching at his heart worse, for what didn’t happen, for what he said, and for even letting Camille’s spiteful words get to his head in the first place.
It stirs the bitterness back in Magnus’ throat before his attention focuses elsewhere.
Alec’s background picture is a photograph of Magnus. It was undoubtedly taken this summer, because Magnus is sitting at the edge of Jace’s pool, his legs hanging in the water. He is laughing, looking at something or someone outside the shot, his left hand curled around a cocktail glass, the gold of his wedding band shining under the sunlight pouring over him.
He looks happy there, and somehow, it is enough to bring back all the sorrow he tried to keep buried to the surface. He chokes on a sob, and tears spill out of his eyes.
When did they give up on this? Did they really give up, or do things seem so bleak because they simply and purely stopped trying?
Whatever it is, Magnus knows he can’t do this alone.
Without a second thought, he grabs his own phone and scrolls down his contacts, pressing call as soon as he finds the right one.
It rings three times and he is about to give up when Catarina’s voice answers, groggy with sleep. “Magnus? Is everything okay?”
A groan resounds through the line. "If this is about work, I'm going to kill him,” Ragnor grumbles, voice heavy with slumber. “Or worse, if he called because he couldn't sleep so he caught up on that stupid reality TV show you two like to gush about."
There’s a small scuffle of sheets, Catarina hushing her husband before she is back on the phone. “What’s going on, sweetie?” she asks softly, with more concern than Magnus feels he deserves.
He inhales deeply, putting out his cigarette against the railing of the balcony so he can throw it in the trash later. It takes all the energy he has left not to break down again.
“Cat,” he murmurs, his voice quivering with the threat of more tears. “I... I fucked up.”
"What'd you do?" she asks, the worry in her voice almost palpable.
It is the same question he has been asking himself ever since the front door shut after his husband and he was left with a gaping hole in his heart.
“It’s Alec,” he says, sucking in a deep breath. “He’s… He’s gone. He left.”
It hurts. It hurts more than he thought it would when he told Alec the only solution he could consider to get out of the chaos they tangled themselves in was a divorce. It was his idea, after all, and it seemed like the only good one at the time.
Now, he isn’t so sure.
“What do you mean he left? What happened?”
Magnus inhales deeply through his nose, sniffing pitifully. “I told him I wanted a divorce,” he admits, voice pitched low. “We had a fight and- and some shit that happened with Camille, and he left.”
He knows he doesn’t make much sense, but everything is fuzzy in his mind, and tears are brimming in his eyes again, menacing to escape, and this is all he can offer right now.
“We’ll be right there,” Ragnor chimes in firmly.
“Yeah,” Catarina agrees. “We’re on our way. It’s going to be okay, sweetie.”
Magnus nods, even though she can’t see him. “Okay,” he whispers, and the call is over.
Rain is still falling in harsh tumultuous drops, and Magnus thinks of Alec. If he still knows him even a little bit, he knows he went to Isabelle’s, because she lives the closest and he wouldn’t have wanted to go to Jace’s and risk waking Ariel up; it would be the logical place to go. He hopes, despite it all, that he made it there without getting completely soaked.
Rain falls like its sole purpose is to wash away the reminiscent dream hatched up in a corner of his mind.
Magnus steps back inside before he lets himself be consumed entirely by the depressing sight. As soon as he sets foot in the living room, he is all too aware of Alec’s absence. He lingers everywhere Magnus looks, in the book resting on the armrest of the couch, the medical journal and the box of praline-flavored chocolates - his favorites - on the coffee table.
He is everywhere and nowhere all at once, and Magnus misses him.
The truth is there. Magnus misses Alec even when he is in the same room. He misses the man he fell in love with in college, the man he married four years later, the man who made him feel loved and esteemed. He misses them, how carefree they were, how enamored, how passionate, how completely and unquestionably happy.
Blaming it all on Alec is easy, but Magnus knows he has his own responsibility to uphold in their decline.
He stopped trying. He stopped delegating the work he doesn’t have to do himself so he could either spend more time at the office or have an excuse to avoid Alec at home. He stopped telling him about his day, about his struggles and his achievements; about the company he created from scratch and that Alec has been supporting from day one.
Magnus’ eyes dart over the room aimlessly, seeking even the slightest tether to hold on to, to revive the hope he seems to have lost, and they fall on the lower case of the bookshelf, where they keep their old photo albums, the ones they haven’t looked at in years.
Magnus goes to fetch the bottle of bourbon in the kitchen, grabs one of the albums haphazardly and drops on the couch unceremoniously, taking a long sip straight from the bottle, because glasses are for people who aren’t witnessing their marriage falling apart.
The very first photograph is of their trip to London on their fifth wedding anniversary. They had still been counting money at the time, Edom being at the premises of its success and Alec going through his first year of neurosurgery residency at NYP, so Ragnor had lent them his family house to spare them accommodation fees. Their week there had been blissful and the weather clement.
The photograph was taken by a fellow tourist on the top of Greenwich Hill, London spreading behind them, the skyline reflecting the bluish color of the cloudless sky. The brightest thing in the picture, in Magnus’ humble and subjective opinion, remains Alec’s grin. He exudes happiness, arm wrapped over Magnus’ shoulder, his eyes crinkling in the corner. His ecstatic expression is only matched by Magnus’, who is looking up at him with nothing but sheer and unabashed love in his gaze.
This time is long gone now, and the last look Magnus witnessed on Alec’s features was nothing close to this. It was battered. Desolated.
Earlier in the evening, when bitterness and anger were still reigning on his mind and he rejected Camille’s advances, he hoped that Alec would be as devastated as he would were he to cheat on him. Now that he’s seen it, seen the pain and misery the mere idea of Magnus thinking about it caused, he regrets even considering it for a second only.
Magnus suggested a divorce so they would stop hurting each other, and he ended up doing just that: hurting them both, to a degree their many fights have never brought them before.
Apart from that time. That one time he has tucked in a corner of his mind and tried desperately to obliterate from his memories. In retrospect, he knows it is with that fight that they sealed their fate and condemned themselves to the dissolution of everything they had so carefully and patiently built together.
He startles when someone knocks at the front door. He has just enough time to stand up from the couch when Catarina rushes in and immediately strides the distance between them, wrapping him up in a tight hug. Magnus melts into her warmth, but his heart clenches in his chest when he realizes why exactly his friends ran to his place at half past three in the morning, nothing but a coat over their pajamas.
And he bursts into tears again.
Catarina tightens her hold around him and lets him bury his face in her neck, Ragnor laying a hand on his shoulder in silent support.
His world is crumbling, and Magnus doesn’t know what to do to stop it from doing so, so he just leans on his friends to help him, to bring him the comfort the excuses he has been fooling himself with for months now fail to bestow.
It takes a while, because Magnus has a lot to mourn for, but when he pulls back, he feels slightly lighter, enough so that it doesn’t feel completely forced when he tries to smile sheepishly at his friends.
Catarina cups his face between her hands, wiping his tears with her thumbs, and turns to her husband. “Tea, please?”
Ragnor nods and disappears into the kitchen without further ado, while Catarina grabs Magnus’ hand to lead him back on the couch. Her gaze falls on the open album. He hasn’t gone past the first page. When she glances back at him, she looks heartbroken on his behalf, and Magnus lowers his gaze.
“How did this happen?” she asks, brows furrowed in worry.
Magnus takes a minute to gather his thoughts. It was supposed to be a great evening. He had been looking forward to his corporate party for weeks. How it all went to hell so quickly and completely is somehow lost on him.
“I don’t even know,” he admits, heaving out a deep sigh. “I was angry and I was moping all the way home from the party and I just told him we should get a divorce because things have been… disastrous lately. And things just escalated from there.”
“And he wants a divorce too?” Cat inquires gently, like she isn’t sure she should even pry so far in their intimacy.
The shock, mingled with pain, on Alec’s face flashes before his eyes as he closes them to inhale deeply.
“No,” he murmurs. “No, he doesn’t. He was… shocked.”
It feels like an understatement, but this is all his brain is willing to provide.
“Is that why he left?” Catarina prompts, as softly as ever. “Because you talked about getting a divorce?”
Magnus isn’t sure he can answer that without breaking down again, so he just shrugs.
It isn’t enough to fool Catarina. She has always been too good at reading right through him.
“You mentioned Camille when you called,” she says, tilting her head to catch his eyes. “What happened with Camille?”
Nothing, he wants to say but the word stays stuck in his throat. It wouldn’t be a lie. Nothing happened. They didn’t kiss. Nothing he did could be considered as cheating. So why does he feel as guilty as he does? Why did the look of betrayal on Alec’s face feel like a slap to the face?
He did let himself be entranced by Camille’s flirting, and for selfish reasons. It isn’t even that he is overly fond of her, or that he would ever imagine himself with her the way he is - used to be - with Alec.
She just made him feel desired, and he misses the feeling. He misses the time when Alec looked at him the way Camille did tonight, with a barely disguised hunger burning in his entrancing hazel eyes.
“Camille tried to kiss me,” he blurts out before he can dive further in self-hatred. He will have the time for that later, when Catarina isn’t hanging to his every word, waiting for an answer.
She blinks quickly, her frown deepening. “And what did you do?”
“I rejected her, of course,” Magnus says, with a scoff that is more dejected than offended.
“Then what’s the problem?” Ragnor asks, trotting back in, carrying a tray with a fuming teapot and three mugs. “If you rejected her- surely, Alec wouldn’t hold something she did against you?”
Magnus pinches the bridge of his nose, heaving. He called his friends in so he could talk to them, but somehow, now he dreads to.
There aren’t many things in this world he values as much as he does their friendship. Ragnor and Catarina have been his best friends for ages, in the good and the bad times. They were the first to see something in him worth praising, to perceive the reality of him he had kept buried between walls and to come closer anyway, loving him for who he was.
They share the kind of friendship that blooms like a majestic tree, growing from a seed to blossom into something grandiose and beautiful, something too brilliant to be tarnished, too strong to be vanquished.
“I’m not exactly innocent,” Magnus admits in a whisper. “For a moment, I considered it.”
Catarina reaches out to take his hand, transpiring of the kindness she inspires in everyone she touches. “Oh, Magnus,” she sighs, but there is no judgement to be found there. “And you told him this. That’s why he left.”
Magnus nods, worrying on his bottom lip. “I didn’t tell him the whole thing,” he confesses, and if he can hear the self-dejection in his own voice, he knows they can too. “There’s more to it.”
Ragnor comes to sit on his other side, handing him a cup of tea, and under their prying but compassionate gazes, Magnus has no choice but to talk. So he does.
He tells them everything, how it all started in the greenhouse and how he let it grow until tonight when Camille tried to kiss him and he finally realized it had gone too far.
He tells them about the reason behind it all, no matter how puerile and selfish he thinks it sounds. It takes a weight off of his shoulders but it doesn’t stop the stain of guilt gnawing at his heart ruthlessly. He doesn’t try to justify his actions, and his friends let him talk without interrupting, unaware of the way every word seems to rip his insides, each enhancing the void in his chest.
His confession ends on a whisper, so low he can barely hear it himself over the pounding of his heart against his ribcage. His fingers are trembling, and it is only when Catarina reaches out to wipe his cheeks that he realizes he is crying again.
“Are you going to tell him?” Ragnor asks, squeezing his shoulder in comfort. “The whole thing?”
"I should," he says, gritting his teeth to stop the flow of tears sliding down his cheeks. "I know I should but..."
But he has too much to lose.
The words don’t find their way out of his mouth, so he closes it again, pushing his palms against his eyes.
"But you're afraid there will be no going back after that?" Catarina inquires.
Magnus’ voice is shaking when he replies, "Yeah.” He pauses, inhaling deeply.
This is more than guilt. This is fear travelling in his veins, because his happiness is slipping through his fingers and he doesn’t know how to stop it. It vibrates all the way from his ears to his thrumming heart, twisting his guts and churning his stomach. He has fought too hard for this, for that peace he has found in Alec’s presence. To see it all going to waste, it is frankly terrifying. But he is tired of fighting against the tide, pushing with all his might to get out of a torrent that ends up drowning him in sorrow despite it all.
“Nothing happened but what if he doesn't see it that way?” he muses out loud, glancing up to Catarina. “I still feel guilty so why wouldn't he feel betrayed?"
He doesn’t think he can handle seeing the look of equally repressed and plain agony he saw on Alec’s face tonight again. This is more than his heart can take.
"There's no guarantee that he won't and there's a good chance he already does,” Ragnor says, always the voice of reason, his hand rubbing soothing circles in Magnus’ back. “But, mate, he deserves to know. You would want the same respect if it were you."
"Ragnor's right, Magnus,” Catarina chimes in. “No matter how this ends or how you want it to end, he deserves the truth."
"Yeah, you're right. I know you're right," Magnus confides in a whisper. He sighs again, pressing a thumb against his temple to stop the headache he can feel simmering. "I need to talk to him with a clear head. When I'm not angry at him for standing me up again and at myself for almost caving for something as petty as feeling desired for the first time in forever."
The smile on Catarina’s face is gentle, caring, and Magnus swallows hard.
“Magnus, it’s only natural to want to feel desired,” she tells hims softly. “Especially if it’s been awhile since you last -” she doesn’t finish, her fingers dancing in the air in a dismissive flourish.
“Had sex,” Ragnor cuts in. “No need to beat around the bush, darling. Surely he still knows what it is.”
Catarina rolls her eyes, throwing her husband an unimpressed look before she focuses back on Magnus, wrapping his hand amidst her own. “Don’t beat yourself up over that. You didn’t go through with it and that says a lot about you. Alec will understand. Maybe not right away but eventually. He just needs time to think."
Ragnor leans forward and sets his tea cup on the table, shifting on the couch to face him. "Why talk about divorce though?” he asks, because he clearly doesn’t intend on beating around the bush. “I know you didn't blurt it out on some whim just because he missed your party. What brought you to this point?”
It isn’t just Alec not showing up at the party, no matter how important it was to Magnus. The truth — the ugly, awful, appalling truth — is that he is almost relieved that Alec didn’t show up, because he didn’t have to stage a happiness that is only pretence nowadays.
The memories of all the signs swirl in his mind, taunting him. He should have seen it coming. Perhaps he did but he just couldn’t admit it to himself before. This isn’t the first time Alec hasn’t shown up and forgotten to warn him. Just like Magnus himself has worked late before and didn’t bother to call to tell Alec not to wait up for him. He should have known they were doomed when the few dinners they managed to have together at home were plagued with long silences only broken by the clatter of cutlery against plates. When they stopped telling each other about their day or - worse - when they stopped asking, because they figured they knew each other too well to have anything left to learn about the other.
When they started being Magnus and Alec, instead of Magnus and Alec.
"Things have been bad for a while,” he says, lowering his gaze to his wedding band, twirling it around his finger. “We barely see each other and when we do, we fight about petty things. He's never home.” He pauses to pinch the bridge of his nose, thinking about to their disastrous attempt at going out the month before that ended in yet another fight. “He refuses to hire someone to take some of his hours because he never deems anyone good enough,” he sighs. As reluctant as he was, now the truth is spilling out of his mouth without filter, raw and bitter. “We don't even kiss anymore if it isn't to show off what a perfect couple we are to our friends and family."
Catarina’s eyes flash with compassion and she leans into him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. "I'm so sorry. We never knew.”
They didn’t. Magnus made sure that no one knew, just like Alec did. They are too private to expose their relationship problems at every opportunity - and family gatherings are already drama-heavy enough as long as they involve both Maryse and Robert.
Magnus never told them because he didn’t know how to explain to them that the love of his life, his one and true love story, was slowly succumbing to time and unspoken resentment.
“It can't have been easy for you to go through this alone," Catarina continues, oblivious to his internal turmoil. "And a divorce...is this what you really want?"
Magnus shakes his head, but it lacks any real conviction. He doesn’t know anymore.
He has reached his breaking point, but this is it, and he can’t surmise another option than putting an end to their relationship before he winds up hating Alec. It needs to stop now.
He can’t bear the dormant agony buried deep in his chest slowly consuming him.
"I just... I want it to stop,” he whispers. “I want to be happy again."
“Do you want that happiness with Alec?” Ragnor butts in, his eyes boring straight into Magnus’, unwavering.
Magnus pushes his lips together, running a hand on his tired features. “Got anything stronger than tea?”
His mind is already buzzing from the alcohol he’s had at the party and the wine and bourbon he drank before they arrived, but if they are going to step in that unguarded territory, he needs more. So much more.
Ragnor seems to understand that because he gets up and walks to the liquor cabinet, pouring them each a glass of whisky. He disappears in the kitchen then, and comes back a moment later, balancing the three glasses in his hands.
“I think with the night you’ve had, you’ve earned it,” he says, handing Magnus his glass.
Magnus forces a smile to his lips, fully aware that he doesn’t fool them. He glances down at the amber liquid, focusing on the golden glow of the ice cubes. He pokes them with a manicured finger, if only to hear them jingle in the heavy silence.
“I don’t know what to do,” he confesses, barely over a decibel. “I don’t know what I want. I just know I can’t stand this anymore.”
Catarina takes a long sip of her whiskey, and when she meets Magnus' gaze again, her face is painted with determination. "Well, I'm just going to shoot straight and ask: do you still love him?"
Ragnor clears his throat and opens his mouth to talk but Catarina silences him with an incisive look. Their unspoken communication makes something stir in Magnus’ chest, something akin to jealousy but he shuts it down quickly enough to wear an impassive mask when she focuses her attention back on him.
"And are you willing to lose him?" she asks pointedly, although her eyes remain kind and compassionate.
Of all the questions he has had to answer tonight, this is probably the easiest one. Yet, he knows it contradicts everything that happened ever since Alec missed Edom’s party.
No matter the odds, no matter the struggles and the pain, no matter the loneliness and the everlasting feeling of abandon that lingers in his chest every time he lets his mind wander too far in the meanderings of their decay and how it all started, losing Alec will never be an option.
Tears prickle in his eyes as he speaks, “N-No. No, I don’t want to lose him,” he manages to whisper, the words choking on the lump in his throat. “But we don't make each other happy anymore. Maybe I need to lose him—" he muses out loud, gaze roaming on his fingers twirling his wedding band around nervously but unable to focus properly—"to be happy again.”
Ragnor scoffs, throwing back the remainder of his whiskey in one swift movement. The sharpness of his gaze is unsettling compared to Cat’s softness, but it is just as affectionate. "Do you hear yourself right now?” he growls, and Magnus has the feeling he is resisting the urge to roll his eyes. “You said so yourself: he's the love of your life. Losing him is not what you need- it's you giving up because you're too afraid to fight for it.” Ragnor pushes off the couch, planting himself firmly in front of Magnus, who has no choice but to look up. “You don't make each other happy? Then try! Maybe the both of you stopped trying." He leans in, resting his hands on Magnus' shoulders, and levels him with steady eyes. "If you love him, if he's really the love of your life, then you have to fight for him. You're not a fool. So don't throw your happiness away with both hands."
Magnus downs the rest of his whiskey, swallowing hard. This is fine whiskey, hard, strong but leaving a bittersweet aftertaste that warms the body and the soul. Each bottle costs a fortune, enough so that Magnus knows he cannot blame the sour taste that slipped in his mouth on the alcohol.
He closes his eyes and draws a lungful of air, pursing his lips.
Happiness had been a distant concept to him before he had met Alec, tainted by the darkness of the loneliness he had grown up in. It was what he had talked about in his wedding vows, how Alec had taught him what being loved was, and the power it held. It had been the foundations of him building a life he had finally believed he deserved. He had learned, with Alec guiding him, to hope that as comfortable in its familiarity as it was to him, being lonely wasn’t an everlasting burden, not as long as he had love.
The roughness of life, the many hardships were all surmountable if he had someone to face them with.
And that feeling of overwhelming, unapologetic happiness he had found with Alec, once, he doesn’t want it with anyone but him.
There is no feeling powerful enough to compare to what it is like to find home, not in walls of stone but in the arms of the person he loved more than he had thought himself capable of.
Magnus had tried every path, pushed every door, opened his heart to many people - men and women - but only Alec had been willing to receive and give back, to see right into his very core and still love him without reserve.
That, if anything, is worth fighting for.
“Yeah,” he whispers, opening his eyes again. “Yeah… You’re right.”
“So, what are you gonna do?” Catarina asks softly.
He is going to fight. Magnus has never been one to give up easily, and his friends are right. He can’t lose Alec. He has endured a lot, but he knows this is where his heart draws the line.
Full of liquid courage and this renewed verve, he stands up. He sways on his feet a little, the whiskey catching back on him - he probably had too much tonight, he realizes with a grimace, he isn’t used to drinking that much anymore.
“I’m gonna talk to him,” he announces, with all the passion of a man who believes, a man who hopes . “Right now!”
Ragnor chuckles and reaches out to take his hands, gently pushing him back down on the couch. “Perhaps right now is not the best time. I like the enthusiasm though.”
He has a point, Magnus ponders to himself, although he doesn’t admit it out loud. It is late enough to be almost early, and he will need some beauty sleep if they are going to have that desperately needed talk. They need to lay it all on the table, but first Magnus needs to sleep, and to figure out what it is exactly he is going to say.
With a nod, he curls up on the couch. Catarina gets up to give him more room, kneeling next to her husband to glide her fingers through his hair, stroking softly.
“Thanks for being here, guys. I love you,” Magnus mumbles, glancing up at them. “And I love Alec, too. I just want to go back to when we were happy and we had sex all the time.”
The expressions on their faces are matching looks of compassion and amusement, and Magnus smiles faintly before shutting his eyes, exhaustion dawning on him all at once.
He feels Catarina pull at the throw blanket hanging on the back of the couch and lay it over him.
“We love you too, and we will always be here for you,” she murmurs gently, and warmth spreads through his chest, numbing some of the sorrow that had settled there. “Get some sleep and tomorrow morning… then you’ll go and get your man back.”
Magnus hums but doesn’t reply, already drifting into a dreamless slumber.
Magnus opens his eyes to a brightly lit room, the sunlight pouring through the floor-to-ceiling windows leading to the balcony, contrasting greatly with the dim weather of the night before. He squints, taking in his surroundings, pushing the blanket off of him as he sits up. The mere movement is enough to send a jabbing throb to his head and he grimaces, gulping to get rid of the dryness in his mouth.
He opens his mouth to groggily call out Alec’s name, but everything comes back to him and he shuts it abruptly, pushing his palms against his eyes to rub his eyes. He expects them to come out tainted with black and glitter but that is underestimating Catarina, who made sure to remove his makeup for him so he doesn’t feel completely like a failure in the morning. He makes a mental note to buy her flowers.
His brain feels like it is about to burst out of his skull, the obvious hangover certainly meddling with his breakdown of the night before and his lack of sleep to create the headache of the century.
He is pondering lying down again and preparing his will inwardly when Catarina walks out of the kitchen, a cup of coffee in one hand and a tall glass of water in the other.
“Good morning, sleepy head,” she calls out cheerfully, handing him the water and two painkillers. “How are you feeling?”
He is going to buy her flowers every day for the rest of their lives.
He swallows the pills and downs the water. “Like I’m dying,” he groans in a hoarse, throaty voice.
She smiles, holding out the cup of coffee. “Here, I think you could use this.”
Magnus grabs it gratefully. The first sip feels like heaven in his mouth, the bitterness somehow pushing through the hazy cloud in his mind.
"You're a gift to the world. Don't let anyone, and especially not your grumpy husband, tell you otherwise."
“I know, I know, you’ve told me a million times and I still love hearing it,” Catarina quips, smiling. She sits down next to him and leans into the couch, her arm resting against the back. “So, how are you planning on doing this today?”
Right. He has to talk to Alec. He isn’t sure he is in any condition to discuss the dissolution of their marriage, but it has to be done. They need to lay things down before it is too late.
“With at least two more cups of coffee,” he grumbles.
“And a breakfast for champions!” Ragnor exclaims as he walks into the living room, an apron around his waist and a spatula in hand.
Cat leans toward Magnus and makes a show of sniffing him, pulling a disgusting face. "And a shower.”
Magnus snorts, rolling his eyes, but it is only to prevent the grateful smile spreading on his lips to show too much. He doesn’t know how his talk with Alec is going to go. He doesn’t know if it is just going to cement the end of their marriage or offer them the perspective of better days to come.
But he knows, without an ounce of doubt, that he will always have Catarina and Ragnor no matter what, and that makes the leap into the void he is about to take just a bit easier.
His shower lasts twice the time it normally does, but as soon as he slips beneath the pebbles of warm water, his whole body relaxes, and his headache leisurely disappears.
Alone with his own thoughts, he forces himself not to let them wander too much. The hurt on Alec’s features before he left the night before is haunting him, but even more so is the knowledge that he was the one to cause it, that he brought pain on the one person he loved enough to pledge he would cherish him until his dying breath. The one person he promised to keep safe when the hurricanes ultimately came to blow the blissfulness away.
When his head stops throbbing, soothed by the regular flow of the water against his tired body, his heart starts aching again.
No matter how angry, how bitter, how abandoned he felt, yesterday and the months - years - before that, Alec deserves better than what Magnus offered him last night.
He deserves the truth, the blunt honesty they promised to always provide to each other without condition.
Whether they decide to fight for each other or to throw away what little is left to salvage in their marriage, they should do so knowing where they failed and how it all went downhill so easily when they had deemed themselves invincible.
The lump in his throat is there again when he steps out of the shower and wraps a fluffy towel around his waist, but it has nothing to do with hangover - or at least, this hangover has nothing to do with too much whiskey.
If he wounded Alec too deeply and he rejects Magnus’ attempt at patching things up, then so be it. He would say goodbye to their relationship knowing he tried to give it one last chance, for this is all they have now.
In their bedroom, he slips on a pair of ripped jeans and one of Alec’s oversized sweaters, puts some light makeup on, eats the breakfast Ragnor cooked for him, grabs his coat and Alec’s and just goes.
It’s already late morning. The air is cold, but the trees in the park that spreads down their building are blazing with the hues of Fall; scarlet, orange and gold lining his path as he crosses the park to get to the subway station.
He doesn’t want to walk, because he is afraid the longer it takes him to get to Alec, the more he will lose himself in self-doubt and go back to the loft, terrified of facing Alec’s rejection if it comes.
Isabelle and Maia’s townhouse is only ten minutes away with the subway and Magnus knows that this is where he will find Alec - Jace’s place would have been another option but it was almost three in the morning when Alec left and he knows he wouldn’t have wanted to wake Ariel up if he showed up there so late.
The train is packed, but Magnus finds a relatively safe place to stand, tucked in a corner where he doesn’t have to be shoulder to shoulder with a sweaty guy clearly coming back from the gym or a teenage girl chewing gum loudly enough to give him murder tendencies. Despite his safe spot, he rushes out of the train as soon as it stops at the right station. He gets bumped into on his way out by an obnoxious businessman on the phone who barely gives him a second glance before he turns around with no intention to apologize.
This is why Magnus usually walks to work.
Isabelle and Maia’s house has always felt like a second home to him, smelling of the roses they planted by the side, warm and familiar, the wide windows giving it a luminous glow that is only enhanced by the modern decoration inside.
In the years they’ve lived here, it’s the first time Magnus hesitates at the door. He stares at it for a long time, gathering the courage to knock. He isn’t sure what they know, but if Alec showed up at three in the morning, Magnus assumes they didn’t let him get away with it without a rightful explanation and they must be angry at him. He would be too if he hadn’t been the instigator of the hurtful look on Alec’s face the night before. He would be furious.
But this is his family too, has been for eleven years officially and even more than that. He was Maia’s best man when they got married. Surely, that has to mean something, even if Alec is Isabelle’s blood. It has to mean they won’t hate him completely, no matter how he believes he deserves it.
“Get yourself together, Lightwood-Bane,” he murmurs to himself under his breath.
Releasing a deep, scattered breath, he knocks, his stomach twisting with nerves.
It’s Maia who opens the door and she freezes at the sight of him, her dark eyes widening in surprise.
“Magnus, hey.”
Magnus swallows hard, but the words escape him. He doesn’t even remember why he got here in the first place. Losing Alec is already more than he can bear, but it hits him right then that it will mean also losing the family he has become a part of throughout the years, the one that accepted him without reserve because he made Alec happy, that opened their arms to a lost boy and made him part of something bigger than himself.
He can’t see the disappointment in their eyes.
He is about to turn around and leave when Izzy comes in from the living room, walking to her wife to see who is at the door.
There is no hesitation on her features when she catches sight of Magnus standing on the threshold. She smiles at him, equally warm and sad, and grabs his sleeve to tug him against her and greet him with a hug.
“It’s good to see you, Magnus,” she says against his ear, and Magnus all but melts into her, wrapping his arms around her shoulders.
He draws in a deep breath, his heart hammering against his ribcage, anguish and relief somehow meddling together.
Isabelle pulls back after a minute, cupping his face between her hands. “Come in,” she says softly.
Magnus nods, stepping inside, immediately soothed by the familiar scent of incense Maia likes to burn in the evening.
He scans the living room, eyes darting left and right, but he can see no sign of Alec anywhere.
Isabelle lays a hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently. “He’s in the bathroom upstairs,” she tells him. “He and Jace went training this morning.”
Magnus nods blankly, rubbing his fingers together. “How is he?” he asks, because despite how they left things the night before, it is still the first thing that matters.
It will always be the first thing that matters.
“Not good,” Isabelle replies, with the blunt honesty that is inherent to the Lightwoods. “I’ve never seen him like this before.” She hesitates for a moment, but despite the internal debate she seems to struggle with, she decides to speak up again, her eyes boring into his own. “He’s heartbroken.”
Maia comes to stand next to them, lifting an eyebrow in his direction. “You look like shit too, by the way.”
For once, Magnus wonders if he wouldn’t have prefered a small lie, something that wouldn’t add to the torment already swirling in his mind like a ruthless hurricane. Just a small, innocent lie so he could live a little longer with the foolish hope that he hasn’t broken what was left between them.
But it wouldn’t have mattered if their words had held all the reassurance in the world, he realizes, for he can see the truth in their eyes, and it is what they just told him.
Perhaps, if he learns what to do with it, the truth really will see them free.
Magnus sighs, sliding his hands in his pockets before he starts ripping at his own skin with how hard he is rubbing his fingers.
“Can I… Can I talk to him?” he asks.
Isabelle gives him a small smile, patting his arm. “Give me a minute, I’ll go ask.”
Magnus nods, his body stilled in anticipation. He doesn’t even turn around to watch her go up the stairs, because if she comes back alone, he doesn’t want to see it.
If she comes back alone, then this is it. This is where they end, in a living room that will never feel as familiar as their own, regardless how domestic it feels.
“He’s going to say yes,” Maia says, gently rubbing his back, as if she can feel the need for comfort emanating of him. “He loves you too much to say no.”
Magnus shuts his eyes against the tears threatening to submerge him again. “Yeah,” he whispers. “I hope you’re right.”
Her smile grows wider as the sound of the steps crackling behind him. “I know I am,” she whispers out of the corner of her mouth. “See?”
Magnus’ stomach lurches, bile rising to his throat, but he turns around nonetheless. Slowly, giving himself the time to exhale deeply.
When he finds the courage to glance up, his eyes find hazel at once. Alec is frozen in the middle of the staircase, his gaze boring straight into Magnus’, one hand still on the handrail, hair still wet from the shower, wearing a sweater Magnus knows to be his.
His heart skips a beat in his chest, pushing against his lungs.
Magnus remembers the first time he saw Alec. It was on the campus of NYU, in the middle of a cold September. Magnus had been coming back from a lunch date with Catarina and running late for his Science class. He had been rushing, cursing inwardly that he was going to be late to the one class that interested him the most for his future, utterly oblivious to his surroundings. That was until he had bumped into someone else, hard enough that he had swayed on his feet for a moment, only stopping when two strong hands had grasped his forearms to balance him.
He remembers Alec apologizing profusely, babbling about being late for his Science class and not looking where he was going, but Magnus hadn’t heard a word, blinking up at him in awe. Alec had stopped talking upon realizing Magnus wasn’t hurt - or bothered - and his hazel eyes had settled on him.
To this day, the small, breathless ‘wow’ that slipped out of his mouth when his eyes roamed over Magnus’ face is still carved into Magnus’ mind among his most precious memories.
The smile they shared when they walked into the classroom and the teacher paired them together without sparing them a glance, admonishing them for their lateness under his breath, is amidst them as well.
There is none of that innocent, thunderstruck awe in their gazes now.
They stare at each other almost warily for a long time, and Magnus wonders if Alec is feeling the same wave of nostalgia as he is, if he is also thinking of a time where they were still blissful, taking a leap of faith despite their fears and heading hand in hand on a journey that Magnus had never thought, at the time, would ever come to this.
When Alec finally gets down the remaining steps, it takes Magnus a moment to find his voice.
“Hey,” he whispers.
Alec’s tongue darts out to wet his lips and he clears his throat, but his voice remains raspy when he speaks, “Hey.”
Magnus’ hands twitch in the front pocket of Alec’s sweater with the need to reach out but he stops himself, balling them into fists, digging his nails into his palms.
“How are you?”
The question feels dull in his mouth, like it can’t possibly hold the true meaning beneath it, the suffocating worry that slithers through Magnus like a second skin.
Alec stuffs his hands in his own pockets, pursing his lips together. “I think I’ve been better,” he admits, voice hoarse the way it normally only is in the morning. “You?”
Now that he is standing close enough, Magnus can see Alec’s eyes are still a bit red, and the bags under his eyes darker than they are even after a week of accumulating night shifts.
Magnus has no doubt he looks no better. All the makeup in the world couldn’t hide the sorrow in his eyes, not from Alec anyway. He has long learned to see past Magnus’ guard.
“I’m… not okay,” he confides in a low-pitched sigh. “Can we talk?”
Alec licks his lips, darting a look at Maia and Izzy before nodding and looking back at Magnus. “Yeah. I think we should.”
Relief pours through Magnus in waves. It isn’t much, but if they can talk, they can fix it.
They won’t ever be able to start over, the burden of their past clutching too tightly around their marriage, but maybe they can learn to forgive each other for the things they said - and for the ones they didn’t.
With a small, bashful smile, Magnus hands him his coat and Alec shrugs it on, moving forward to press a kiss on his sister’s forehead, and another to Maia’s.
“Thank you,” he tells them softly.
Magnus hugs them tightly, before turning back towards Alec, exhaling deeply.
“Come on, boys, you’ll sort this out,” Maia says, exuding confidence. “I’m sure it’s not half as bad as you think it is. Things may seem bleak now but you need to focus on the good things.” She weaves in between them, draping each arm over their shoulders as she guides them towards the door. “Like, you always do something fun for your anniversary! What did you do this time? It was what? Three weeks ago?”
It is because Magnus’ eyes are still fixed on Alec that he catches the moment when they freeze in perfect synchronisation.
Air is knocked out of his lungs, but Magnus finds some kind of comfort, if scarce and minimal, in the knowledge that Alec is feeling the same way, his eyes blown and apologetic as they settle on Magnus.
Maia gazes between them, a frown pulling her brows together as she catches their expressions, realization slowly dawning on her.
“Oh,” she says, a simple word heavier than any spoken curse. “You guys go… talk. We’re here if you need us.”
They nod at Maia, and slip out of the door.
It is only when they are back on the sidewalk that they dare facing each other, their movements still wary and hesitant from the shock they just went through. Magnus is certain the fear and sorrow he can read on Alec’s face are mirrored on his own.
“We forgot our own anniversary, Alec,” he breathes out.
Alec heaves out a deep, shaky sigh, rubbing at the scar on his eyebrow. “I can’t believe we let this happen.”
Magnus hums as they start walking towards the road, Alec raising an arm to call a cab.
“We really need to talk.”