When you've lived for century upon century, people generally take it as a given that there's very little left out there to truly shock you. After all, immortality is incredibly boring. Now, Magnus Bane being the High Warlock of Brooklyn, considered himself a man of great knowledge and influence. He believed he knew all he needed to, or at least more than most. So why on earth did he find one simple, mundane contraption so strangely baffling?
Exhaling yet another loud sigh, the warlock stood in the centre of the loft, staring intently at the source of his discontent, willing it to fall through the floorboards where it would no longer be his concern. He had to keep it of course, but not in here. Rubbing a finger along his chin in thought, the cold, polished metal of rings grazing his lip lightly, Magnus noted with distaste how the bare, white surface of the appliance contrasted harshly with the comforting hues of orange and red draped throughout his home. Pacing back and forth impatiently, he glanced around in vain for a practical spot to put the thing, eventually settling on adding a minor extension to the loft - through magical means, naturally. After successfully hauling the eyesore to its new home, Magnus looked around in relief, apologising mentally to the umpteen different door salesmen who had tried to get him to invest in a utility room in the past. Perhaps he should've been kinder to them.
Having completed the first challenge he'd been faced with, Magnus turned to the next: How did he get the thing to work?
Pressing down on one of the buttons experimentally, he waited for some sort of mechanical noise to show that it was working, but none came. Next, he turned to the dial protruding from the front, twisting it gingerly in the hopes that this time he'd gotten it started. Still nothing. Scowling, Magnus took a step back from the offending object, attempting to retain his patience which was rapidly running out. In an act of desperation mingled with little curiosity, he reached for a barely visible square of plastic jutting out of the left corner, and pulled. A tray. An empty in Magnus snapped. What was the point of all these switches and add-ons if they did absolutely nothing?
Due to his new personal mission to create as many fun and inventive curses to call the obnoxious device in front him as possible, the aggravated warlock failed to notice the quiet click of the door, and the soft, even footsteps that followed.
"I know we talked about getting one of those, but that was fast."
Magnus started at the familiar, low voice, turning to see Alec leaning against the door frame, his amusement barely noticeable save for the subtle up-turn of his mouth. "Oh, you know me Alexander," he replied, his light tone seeming strained as he directed a deft kick to the washing machine. "I've never been one to disappoint."
Sensing the tense atmosphere of the room, Alec decided this would be a good time to intervene. "Hey, let me help you before you…" Alec faltered, punctuating his sentence by wafting his hands about limply in a fashion that could only be read as a poor impression of the other man. Luckily, the man in question seemed to have bigger things on his mind.
Holding a finger up to silence the shadowhunter, Magnus valiantly continued his battle, jabbing aimlessly at the buttons with no noticeable effects. Was it broken or something?
"Magnus."
The older man's frantic button-mashing was hindered by a pair of calloused, gloved hands catching his wrists gently. Reluctantly letting his arms go limp, Magnus turned his body away from where his rage had originated, before casting one last, defeated look in its direction. "You know," he started, lifting his gaze to meet the younger man's eyes. "We wouldn't have had this problem if you would just let me-"
Instead of finishing his sentence, Magnus raised a hand to Alec's face, miming a click with a flourish. Clearly the warlock had witnessed the shadowhunter's abyssmal attempt to imitate how he looked when performing magic, and was now using it against him.
However, there was no malice in his actions, Alec saw that his features were creased fondly, his eyes holding a teasing spark. The truth, though he might not be able to admit it, was that he worried about Magnus wasting his magic on something as dull as washing clothes - if there was an attack, he would need it.
Lowering his arm slowly, Magnus still noticed the faint pressure of Alec's fingers on his wrists, and tilted his head to meet his gaze again, spotting how the younger man's eyes flickered to his lips and then back before he leant in.
"Wait."
Alec stopped at Magnus' voice, opening his eyes as he felt a hand gently yet firmly press against his lips. "What?" he asked, his voice coming out slightly muffled.
Magnus made sure to offer a reassuring smile as he watched Alec search his face, hazel eyes filled with uncertainty. It was still early days, but each day the shadowhunter grew in confidence, and Magnus didn't want to ruin that. "Please will you show me how to use this infernal thing?" he begged, angling his head towards the washing machine before nudging his forehead against Alec's chin playfully.
He watched as Alec pulled away, in a futile attempt to conceal a fond laugh. Then Magnus allowed himself to be pulled down to eye-level with the washing machine, to learn the function of each control. As Alec explained that the detergent went here, and the dial was meant to go there, Magnus found himself once again attempting to solve the mystery that was Alec Lightwood. How could someone considered to be constantly grumpy by family and friends, and someone who answered most questions with a sarcastic quip, and a roll of the eyes, still have a heart of gold and the patience of a saint?
"You got it?" Alec asked, looking expectant, a lopsided smile on his face. At his question, Magnus was raised out of his thoughts, realising with a jolt that perhaps he should've paid more attention - not that Alec needed to know that.
"Honestly Alexander," he began, feigning hurt as he straightened up. "You underestimate me, of course I get it."
When it became apparent that his only response was going to be eyebrows raised disbelievingly, Magnus dropped the façade. "Show me again?"
Alec rolled his eyes with barely concealed affection as he rose, making his way out of the room. "Wait here," he stated simply, disappearing into the living room.
On his return, Alec was holding a screwed up leather jacket, which, when he shook it out, Magnus guessed was not his. He knew for a fact that the jacket was too battle-worn to be Alec's, there was too much evidence of hand-to-hand combat - something Alec wasn't known for.
His interest piqued, Magnus watched as the younger man wordlessly threw the item into the machine, before turning it on, the beginnings of a smug smile on his face.
"Now, I may not know much about washing machines," Magnus said, as he wandered over to Alec, a knowing look gracing his features. "But I happen to know that leather is not machine washable." As he stated this fact, he fiddled with the front of Alec's own leather jacket, adamant that he had never once left it to the mercy of the machine.
"Does Jace know?"
"He'll figure it out."