Alec can't stop smiling.
He knows he must look like an idiot, looking over at Magnus every few seconds just to remind himself that this is real, he's there next to Alec, smiling back. Magnus's arm around him feels like a lifeline, the warmth of his body, so close, closer than he'd been allowed to be in days, is melting the tension that's been knotted up in the pit of Alec's stomach, clenched like an iron fist around his heart, since Magnus had walked away from him outside the infirmary.
He looks over again, just to make sure.
This is real.
"What?" Magnus asks with that knowing smile of his. A tiny quirk of the lips, a smirk that always makes Alec want to crowd him against the nearest surface and kiss it off his smug face.
It hasn't lost its effects.
"I -" Alec shakes his head, tongue-tied. He'd exhausted his coherent speech capabilities back there. He'd been rehearsing it in his head the entire night, working up the nerve to ask Magnus to talk, and now that he's done it, now that Magnus listened - didn't push him away, didn't scoff or yell at him, didn't roll his eyes and tell Alec to fuck off - he's too happy, too in awe, to get the words right again. There are so many things he needs to say, so much they need to talk about, he knows, but just for tonight, he wants to forget about it all. About the near war, about the Seelie Queen, about Valentine. He knows he has more repentance to do. He hurt Magnus and he will never stop trying to make up for it, he just doesn't know how to start, where to start. He thinks maybe it can wait one night.
"Cat got your tongue?" Magnus teases, that smirk still in place, that sparkle in his eyes, and Alec just… can't. He's never been one for words, they fail him more often than not, he's always been better at showing than telling.
He doesn't mean for it to get so out of hand.
He'd only intended a small kiss, a brush of lips against soft lips, but it turns into a gasp and a moan, teeth grazing, tongues curling, shared breath.
He'd only intended to take one step closer, so that he was close enough to touch, if Magnus wanted - because he still wasn't sure that Magnus did want, couldn't quite believe it - but one step turns into two, warm hands and cold metal against the small of his back, pulling closer, closer, another step until there's nowhere else to go, until Magnus is flush with the brick wall behind him, until there's nothing between them but jackets, and even that seems like too much.
He doesn't care about being discrete, doesn't care who sees them like this. All he cares about is that he's allowed to look with abandon, allowed to touch, allowed to taste. That he's allowed to have this again, allowed to have Magnus again.
He doesn't register the whistle and catcall, but Magnus does, starts giggling too much to keep kissing.
And Alec thinks it would be frustrating if it wasn't the most beautiful sight he's ever seen.
"Come on, let's go home," Magnus says, breathless and smiling. Home. And it's the best combination of words Alec's heard all week. He knows he's grinning like an idiot again. Can see it in Magnus's expression, but he doesn't care. He can't seem to care about anything tonight but Magnus.
He nods, "yeah, yes, please."
Magnus is laughing at him as he pushes against Alec's chest, making him take a step back; laughs when Alec takes his hand, unwilling to completely cease the physical contact, even for the mere six blocks left before they reach Magnus's loft, until they're home. Alec is laughing too, when Magnus stumbles, too busy looking at him to notice the uneven pavement, and clings just a little bit tighter, stands just a little bit closer. When they make it only three blocks before Magnus huffs "screw it" under his breath and pulls Alec into a kiss that makes his heart race and his knees go weak, that makes in ache in all best ways, so unlike the way he's ached all week.
They finally make it home, a mess of kiss-swollen smiles and clinging hands.
There are still things that need to be said, apologies that need to be made, lines that need to be drawn, but for just this once, they can let the morning handle those things.
There will always be wars, always be something to fight, for or against, always work to be done. But nights like this are numbered and meant to count. Nights like this, deserve to be honored with hushed voices and lingering touches, sweet nothings that mean everything, declarations of heart and flesh and soul.
Nights like this are the ones worth fighting for.