Disclaimer: Nope, still don't own the Mortal Instruments series.
It's a shame. I wouldn't need to worry about that silly thing called money or school or bosses or anything remotely like that ever again. I guess I'll just have to wait until I release my own saga.
Anyways, this is a pen pal AU if you happened to miss the synopsis. And to clarify, I've never had a pen pal, so I wouldn't know how the system really works. This is a story made for feels and random splurges of Malec, not necessarily for real life accuracy, so sorry if I say anything incorrect or if I offend anyone somehow. I mean, I don't know how I would, but I just thought I'd mention it. I'm hopeless.
I hope you enjoy it!
"Look, look! My first letter!" he squeals, running across the floor to his mother. He's only seven, and she's just gotten back from an exhausting shift, but she still smiles and picks him up, placing him on her lap gingerly.
"I see, Magnus. What does it say?" The little boy giggles, tearing at the envelope.
"I'm opening it, I'm opening it," he answers instantly, fingers tracing over the words with fervor.
Hi, I'm Alec.
Well, my real name is Alexander, but I hate it. It's too long and my mom thinks it's nice, but I think it's a mouthful.
I'm seven years old and I guess I'm going to be writing to you for the next two years. It's weird, knowing I'll be nine by the time this is over.
How old are you? I hope you're my age. It would be cool to have another friend who's my age.
By the way, we're going to be friends now. I hope that's okay with you.
I don't know what to say. Mom thinks I'm good with words, but I've never done this before. I guess I should tell you something new about myself in every letter so you'll know me really well some day.
Today I'm going to say that I have three siblings. I have a little brother, Max, and he's only a few months old. I bet he's going to be really smart. I have a sister named Isabelle, but she's only five, and people think we're twins. She teases me about it a lot. My last brother, Jace, is adopted, and he's six years old. He is my best friend.
Anyways, I think I'm going to stop writing now.
Please write back!
It's a good first letter, Magnus thinks, and he grins once it's done. His mother ruffles his hair and flicks him on the nose.
"Alec sounds nice," she announces before giving him a bowl of rice and settling down for a nap - she's been in the factory for a big portion of the day, and although that work isn't necessarily as threatening as it used to be where they live, it can still be tiring. She likes her job, and it's a fairly safe operation, even if it doesn't pay the best. Magnus, even at seven, knows that life has thrown his mother some curve balls. His father dying, for example, hadn't been planned. Neither had her foray into the textile industry, but she had needed new income sources after his father's death.
Magnus loved her, though. He was little, true, but he was fiercely protective of those he cared for, even at his young age.
His mother had lived in Indonesia for most of her life and had only left because his work had taken them there about a year ago, right before the accident. Technically, yes, he wasn't in Indonesia anymore, but he had signed up for the pen pal project with his school and the identification had gone through. It was something in their patch of grayness, but frankly he had so much more envisioned for his life.
He wanted to see the world, to travel around and back and sweep his mother off of her feet one day. He wanted to try new things, meet new people, make connections wherever he could.
Perhaps that was why the pen pal initiative had sounded so exciting. The chance to talk to another person, to know somebody living someplace entirely new, was invigorating. Someone knew he existed, all the way in a downtown American city in the middle of nowhere. Someone cared.
Someone named Alexander, apparently.
He writes back immediately.
Hi, Alec, I'm Magnus.
It's nice to meet you. I'm your age, so we're both seven. Cool, huh? I live with my mother. She's really good at sewing - I think I want to learn that. It looks cool, how she makes things out of rolls of fabric. Almost like real life magic.
I think that means I'm going to be a magician when I grow up.
I wish I had a brother or a sister. It's just me and mom, over here.
Yes, we're going to be good friends. Just one question - do you like cats? I want a cat someday.
Write me back soon!
"Can you mail this, mom?" he asks immediately after he's finished and his mother has woken up, folding the skimpy piece of paper. She smiles softly, exhausted as she is, and runs a tender hand through his hair.
"We'll drop it off at your school tomorrow, honey," she tells him, and he beams. It's strange, looking forward to something.
"Okay!" He is bursting with excitement the rest of the day, short as that may be, and Magnus has never been looking forward to his schooling so much.
The next letter arrives back soon - it's two weeks time, which is relatively fast, given the distance. He tears through it with anticipation.
Hey, Magnus,
What are you doing over there? Right now my mom signed me up for swim lessons. I'm good at swimming but it's sort of boring. My teacher says I'm the best in the class. I don't know. So . . . do you like swimming? Maybe it would be more fun if I had a friend there with me.
Anyways, my birthday is in a few months. When is yours? I want to mail you a birthday card when it happens. That's what other kids do, and then they invite eachother to parties. I can't really do that with you, but it'll still be cool. I'll send an extra long note instead.
You said you wished you had a sibling? That's nice and all, but half the time I wish I didn't have one of mine. They can be loud and annoying sometimes.
Take Izzy. She also likes fashion and wants to learn about sewing, so you'll get along great. Maybe, if I ship her to you, that can even be your birthday gift.
For real, I think you'll like my family. Maybe one day we'll see eachother and I can meet your mom, too. I bet you look like her.
Here's my fact of the day: I like reading books more than watching shows. It's so much more fun, and my mom says it's better for your eyes. I think that's why I'm better at vocabulary than the other kids in school.
Talk to you later,
Alec (and yes, I like cats)
He likes cats. That's just about the only requirement he has for friends at age seven, and Alexander passed with flying colors.
Magnus clutches the note to his chest, trying not to wrinkle the parchment, and smiles widely.
Alec,
Yeah, I'm good at swimming. My mom taught me when I was five and I really love doing it. It's cool that you're good at swimming even if you don't enjoy it, but don't take classes if you don't like it. Then you'll get sad and mopey and won't want to go.
My birthday is months away, too. It's in the summer, and it gets too hot to think. But it's nice, I guess. I'll send you a long note on yours, too.
I can't wait to see Izzy one day. What does she look like? You said she was practically your twin, so . . .
I'm going to be the best designer in the world one day. When that happens, she can join in my business, if she wants. I bet she'd be good at it, but don't worry, you'll still be my favorite.
It's gonna happen. I know it. Even if nobody else does.
Speaking of looks, I do look like my mom. Only my eyes are different - I got them from my dad. He's not here anymore.
I'm not sad, really. I don't want other people to be sad, either, except my mom. She loves him.
Lastly, I don't have a tv. So, yup, I would rather read. I mostly read some history books at our school. History is super interesting, and I'm gonna name my cat Chairman Meow because of it. I hope that makes you laugh, if you get the joke.
You said you liked cats. You agreed. So now I will spam you with cat comments.
I hope that's okay. I've never had one before and I always wanted one. When I'm older and have my business, I'm going to buy a cat. The Chairman will like you, I think.
Bye, Alec! See you someday!
They send sloppily made hand-done birthday cards come summer. They are folded at awkward angles and colored in with chalky crayons.
Magnus saves his in a drawer and Alec clutches his for hours, right next to his heart.
For the next two years, the letters come without fail. Some take a little longer than others and some get lost in the mail for a little while before reaching their final destination, but Magnus never stops sending them and Alec never stops replying.
Today, though, Alec's letter is a little different.
Hi, Magnus,
Today's the day. The school year is up and we're both almost ten.
I kinda wished it wouldn't come so fast because I really liked sending letters to you, but now that this is the end of the official program, we won't be sending messages through the schools anymore. I feel like you were one of my first real friends.
Can we still write to each other? Please? I would really miss you.
From, Alec
His response is immediate.
Of course, Alec.
Why would we stop?
When he reaches the ripe age of eleven, his crappy downtown apartment is moved out of when his mother finally gets a promotion and a small bonus. The new place is slightly bigger, slightly more modern, and in a slightly nicer block. The appliances don't creak with age and the carpet doesn't sag. She smiles as she sets down their meager bags and turns on the television at night, which is one of the fresh luxuries their pad has to offer.
The next day she walks him to school, which is a lot closer. He takes great care to memorize the route, and when afternoon comes and he returns, he finds that another boy is heading back to the same complex.
"I'm Ragnor," he states, introducing himself with an open hand. He's a grade above Magnus, taller and smarter, but he tried to make friends with the strange new kid from two floors down. It's a gesture that does not slip past the aspiring designer.
"Magnus," he responds, and he smiles. Ragnor gives him half of one back, his lips pulling up at the corners as if he didn't quite remember how to grin like everyone else. His eyes, though, look kind enough.
"Just a warning, I am sarcastic. And worry a lot. And everybody says I'm too smart for my own good," the other student recites as if it's a list he's used to repeating. "I thought you should know, if you want to stick around."
"I think I'll manage." And just like that, he's made peace with the person who was soon to be his best friend.
He pens down every detail of the interaction to Alexander, who is nothing but supportive.
Ragnor comes over every other night, and in the days between Magnus visits him. They watch television, talk about books and girls and colleges, and years and year and years slip by.
Soon Magnus is sixteen, and he realizes that although he has faithfully recorded everything to Alec, he neglected to tell him one thing.
Hey Alec,
So did I ever tell you I was bi?
I really hope that's not a problem. I figured it out years ago, but yeah. Bi. Me and Ragnor both, actually. Our parents know, but I didn't think you had been told.
Sorry?
From, Magnus
The post comes in less than a week.
Magnus, thanks for telling me, but I knew for years. No straight guy would ever talk about glitter for passages on end and dream about designing dresses for a living. It wasn't exactly hard to piece together.
Also, on the subject of coming out, I like guys. Girls kind of confuse me. Izzy knew, and Jace had guessed, but my parents didn't for a while. I told my mom a few weeks ago, and then my dad, and while they were surprised they weren't mad or anything. I think they took it pretty well, so I hope you're okay with that.
But I'm pretty confident that you are. If you didn't get me, you wouldn't have been one of my best friends, after all. I'm used to disclosing everything.
Just don't make out with Ragnor, for future reference. From what you've told me about him, I think he prefers the more stoic type and you'll only get rejected. I'm so sorry to tell you this way.
From, Alec
Ragnor read over the missive behind Magnus, and he started furiously laughing at the end, choking on air.
"I want an even exchange," the betrayer manages between gasps. "Him for you. Anytime, anyday."
"Shut up, you're supposed to be on my side! Both of you are!" the other boy scowls, lightly shoving him. "I hate you so much right now."
"Yes, well, the 'on your side' bit, did you get it in writing?"
Magnus' eyes squint. "You're very funny."
"Someone has to be," he smiles winningly, pulling out one of his rare all-encompassing grins that stretch from cheek to cheek. "I'm so sorry to tell you this way."
Magnus throws a pencil at his best friend's face.
He cannot quite regret it.
At seventeen, Magnus finally gets a real phone and not some flip-phone catastrophe. He face-times Alec up in New York for the very first time and it's nothing short of incredible.
"Hi," he tells Alexander, beaming and running a hand through his hair. "Woah, your face."
"Yeah, I have a face," the teenager who is so familiar and yet so new responds, smiling just as broadly. "And it's really good to see yours. Like, really, really good. So this is Magnus Bane, who shall take the world by storm."
"Absolutely. My fashion empire is going to be a literal empire, complete with a very well-groomed set of bodyguards to protect me in my reign of terror. We'll have banquets, sell very pretty armor, it's gonna be great." Alec snorts.
"Only you. You're forgetting the lavish castle, though."
"With a moat of glitter," he nods seriously. "Entirely glitter glue. Just vats of it."
"I can imagine."
"Can't you just? It's going to be fabulous."
"As long as I'm allowed to visit," the blue eyed boy responds, looking amused.
And on a mental side note, was that strand of hair caught in his lashes? Magnus was pretty sure it was caught in his lashes.
"Everyday, whenever you want," the high school student hums. Alec salutes and Magnus Bane laughs his ass off for no particular reason. "It's really you, isn't it?"
"Yeah, it's me," he says softly, and they talk for the rest of the afternoon, adding to the space of his brain dedicated to 'Alexander Lightwood' with images of his appearance, of his mannerisms, and of the little way his head would tilt when he began to ramble.
Magnus had known that his pen pal had black hair, blue eyes, and pale skin. He knew that he was a dork, that he was crazy about his family, that he loved New York. However, he hadn't really known what all of that together looked like in a tangible person, just a few hundred miles away. It was more than just letters. It was real.
And hell, he was cute, huh?
Ragnor says as much the next time they video chat. He makes several not-so-subtle comments on how Alec is just Magnus' type.
Privately, he agrees. Instead he decides to smoother Ragnor Fell with an expertly embroidered pillow until the other teen conceded and very grumpily scowled that murder was unsportsmanlike.
They still send letters, but it's not so frequent. Not when they are just a call away at any time or a video chat from face-to-face. But the parchment is their thing, the medium that started it all, and so they continue out of nostalgia. There's always a homemade card on their birthdays, always a note written down in ink on holidays. Alec sends postcards when his family vacations and Magnus snaps him several embarrassing pictures of Ragnor, which are always awarded with a laugh. Magnus tries not to reason out why he always smiles brighter after one of their talks or why his chest starts pounding when his comrade grins, because if he did, he would be starting a whole new brand of problems for himself. Alexander hadn't even met him in person yet. It was a little too soon to develop . . . well, whatever this was.
However, there are other important things going on. Finally it's time to pick a college, and Magnus settles on a fashion academy in New York. It's his dream; the ability to design something brand new, to weave brilliance into flat fabric, has always been his passion, and his mother has dutifully taught him well. Ragnor reluctantly agrees to help him with marketing when Magnus sews him an expertly tailored three-piece suit for Prom, which they attend out of obligation and without dates. It's a decent night and a decent party and he's proud of his handiwork.
It's a complete surprise when Magnus learns he got into the academy on scholarship, though. He cries and grins and hugs everyone he sees and begins composing a letter (because some things were too important to be sent by text message).
Hey, look, Alec,
I made it.
I'm coming to New York next fall.
You better be proud of me or else I'm gonna kick you when we meet in person, okay?
I am proud.
So, SO proud.
I can't wait to see you, Magnus. You have absolutely no idea.
That short letter came express-delivered in days, and Magnus couldn't stop beaming.
When he does arrive in New York, Ragnor goes with him. He claimed that someone needs to protect the aspiring designer from all the horrors of downtown NY, and to that Magnus confidently claimed "bullshit" rather loudly in a very public place. He tried not to be too embarrassed, but when his mother heard about that lovely story she was less than happy. Still, both come to the Big Apple as autumn rolled in, sweeping the city in shades of red and gold. The thought alone makes Magnus itch to design, to be honest, but he restrains himself because of a bigger excitement: Alec.
As soon as the two pass through baggage, a very familiar face and his entourage (a grown man, strong and well-built, a sturdy woman with many of her son's features, a golden-haired Jace with his usual friendly smirk, a younger boy with glasses and his older brother's dark hair, and Izzy, still as electric and vibrant as ever).
Magnus doesn't want to admit he cries.
But he does. Like a damn sprinkler.
"By the angel, it's great to see you," he manages to get out, hugging him fiercely whilst trying not to soak Alec's sweater in tears. His companion is real, warm and solid and alive tucked within his arms. He's real, and he smells like cotton sheets and his skin is soft and his eyes are even brighter than they are on screen.
That's the problem with letters, sadly. They don't allow you to know all the little details about a person that you gather while spending time with them, taking them in face to face. The caramel skinned teen really couldn't have imagined anything better than Alexander, in the flesh.
"Hi, I'm Alec. Nice to meet you again," he whispers back into Magnus' ear, and he can hear the smile this time. "Bane, I presume?"
"Shush, I missed you." Is it possible to miss someone you never actually met? If so, he did. Very much so. "A little less now, though."
"Excuse me," Ragnor coughs from behind them, squeezing in. "I'm Ragnor Fell, the superior of the dynamic duo, currently playing the roll of chopped liver at the moment. And it's nice to see you in person." When it's clear that the aspiring designer isn't going to leave without a fight, Alec awkwardly reaches behind Magnus' back and extends a hand.
"Thanks for looking out for him."
"I'm not a child, Alexander," he drawls, but the effect is diminished somewhat by the fact that his words are muffled into his comrade's sweater.
Ragnor, ever the faithful, ignores him gladly like the loyal best friend he was. "I tried my very best. And now he's your problem, too."
"Ours, actually," Isabelle corrects, squeezing her brother's shoulder. "We've heard about Magnus for years. He's practically a topic of family debate, so. Now you're stuck with all of us."
"Oh, you made an enormous mistake," Jace adds. "You'll never escape now. Even if you wanted to, you're not leaving New York without us alive."
"God, they're scaring you guys away already," Alec moans, and it vibrates his entire body. Max tries not to grin. "I hate them. This was supposed to be a good surprise and now it's going to end in four murders." Magnus can't help but think that the prospect of potential kidnapping has never sounded quite so welcoming.
And then, out of his mental calm: "I'll help hide the bodies," his best friend grins, and then Jace is grinning back and Izzy is complaining that the boys 'always get to do the interesting stuff' and Mayrse is detailing the many reasons why stashing corpses is illegal and therefore not an activity she wanted her daughter aiding in. Robert, knowing his daughter well, also argues that the stench would infect her precious wardrobe, and she wrinkles her nose and agrees that maybe hauling away dead bodies was not something she wanted to do. Jace began coughing, Max began snorting, and Ragnor began to privately chuckle and poorly attempted to hide it, leading to another riveting discussion on how he could possibly be a good candidate to hide corpses with if he couldn't even disguise laughter.
Alexander and Magnus lagged behind the rest of the group, side by side and silently absorbing the others' presence, which was far more warm and familiar than what should have been possible for two people who had just met.
Magnus couldn't stop thinking about the far-too-pretty boy he thought the world of and the far-too-pretty boy he wrote letters to for years and found that they reconciled too well. Actually, he couldn't stop thinking about him, period.
He was going to love New York, then.
Fashion school is rigorous. It's demanding. It's difficult in ways that Magnus could not begin to understand when he signed up for the program and the stress and the deadlines and the drive nearly kill him a dozen times within the first month.
In short?
He loves it. Every single second of it.
Alexander helps him get set up in the city. They'd already had a low-rent apartment scoped out, but thankfully the Lightwood family has got their backs when it comes to gathering things they didn't purchase, such as cheap furniture. They stock the pantry with ramen noodles and gift them a cookbook titled '101 Recipes for the Broke College Kid', which was an unexpected (if not incredibly insulting) lifesaver.
Magnus, having very little money saved up for unnecessary things and wanting to preserve his few funds for something important, decides to buy rich, expensive paint and redo the entire apartment up in shades of indigo, jade, gold, and violet. It's a symphony of color at the end, and while Ragnor grumbles something along the lines of 'I would prefer black and white' and 'you know you could have told me you were going to paint the entire flat' and 'we're broke how much did this cost' and 'by the angel why is there wet paint in my closet I swear to god Magnus', the college student cheerfully disregards all of it. He's an artist, alright? He has to live somewhere with a little personality. It's worth the expense.
Alec, despite agreeing that it's a lot of color, helps him paint like the loyal pen pal he is. Every single time he scrunches up his nose, Magnus' heart does a little dive. It's cute. It's really, really cute.
Not that he just sequesters Alexander to himself. He does, more often than not, because Alec is his and hell hath no fury when he's taken away, but. The caramel skinned man spends time with the entire group, and as he gets to know all of the Lightwoods outside of Alec's missives, he learns a little bit about each of them.
Robert and Mayrse are ex-military. They now are federal officers, and they've seen things. They are not instinctively touchy-feely and they are not the kind of couple that enjoys cuddling or kissing or holding hands, and yet they are the most reliable people he's ever met. They trust eachother implicitly and would give their lives for their family and their community in a heartbeat. They are generous and clever. And they took one look at him coming out of baggage and thought 'that child is our child's friend, and that makes him ours'. Magnus could not be more grateful.
Max is bright, artistic, and an absolute whirlwind of energy. He cannot stop talking about everything on his mind, and while that should have been annoying, it was incredibly endearing for some bizarre reason. He clearly adored his older siblings and loved them to pieces, aspiring to be 'just like his family' when he grew up. Alec passingly mentioned once that he'd be a great officer, even better than his parents, and Magnus agreed.
Jace is every bit as stubborn and opinionated as he's been made out to be. He's snarky and overly confident and a general menace to the world at large, so if he ever became a serial killer Magnus would truly fear that the end days were upon them. However, he's also incredibly protective and devoted to his family and to his girlfriend, Clary Fray, who Magnus has to adopt as a kindred spirit immediately because she's the precious best friend he never had (and much, much nicer than Ragnor, the eighty year old man at heart). She, on the other had, is sweet and thoughtful (but not a pushover, so god help those who mess with Clary Fray) and very artistic, so she and Magnus have a lot in common already. The redhead does wonders to soften Jace up; she just slips her hand into his and smiles warmly and he's gone, melted through the floor. It's nice.
Izzy, on the other hand, is sarcastic, funny as hell, and simply cannot be told what to do. She was a force to be reckoned with and a true nightmare for those who tried to hurt her friends. She was just as headstrong and willy as her blonde brother, and yet she carried herself with a grace that made those traits seem bold rather than cocky. Beautiful, clever, and charming, Magnus threatens to make her one of his business executives in his future fashion empire. She excepts the hypotheticals in a heartbeat. Yes, Ragnor Fell had some serious competition for best bro material.
And Alec?
Alec is everything he ever dreamed his pen pal would be. In fact, impossibly, he's better.
Alexander is kind, compassionate, and smart. He's brave in ways that Magnus cannot conceive and he's the hardest worker he's ever had the pleasure of meeting. He's not loud or in-your-face the way his siblings are or the stoic pillars of strength his parents embody, but he is dependable and responsible all the same. The black haired man is unfairly talented at archery, which he decided to learn because 'no one else did, anymore'. When he smiles his full smile, unrestrained and so wide it hurts, it does some inventive things to Magnus' chest. And dang, he's pretty. Really, really pretty, with big blue eyes and inky black hair and long sweeping lashes. It's very unfair.
He tells his mother all about it, talking at the speed of light as he recounts his experiences in the program and in the city, and she cannot stop saying how proud she is of him.
More often than not, Alexander hangs out at their apartment over the next four years to come. He drinks eggnog with them during the winter and watches movie marathons in their pad. He tears Magnus and Ragnor (who was now a proud and aspiring business major with a part time job, a bike, and a boyfriend named Rafael, so he felt ridiculously mature) out of their frantic studying and reminds them to breathe, despite the fact that he too is a poor college student under the stress of exams and soul-crushing homework. He leaves letters and sticky notes all over the flat, sometimes as reminders ('Magnus, you need more milk. And more bread. And more noodles. Honestly, how are you alive? Are you soaking in the sunlight and drinking in the air? You better go shopping with me sometime next week or I will force you into a soup kitchen.'), sometimes as news ('If you weren't already aware, Ragnor is siphoning off your glitter supply when you leave the house because you drop it everywhere and it's even in his clean laundry. I've seen him sneaking it away, in the act of theft. You both have a problem. The first step to fixing it is acknowledging its existence.'), and sometimes as little notes simply designed to make him smile ('Your last design was incredible! Don't worry, your project is going to be great. You've got this. And if you don't, I'm sure I can sic Izzy on the professor. But I have faith in you, so no pressure.') It's sweet as hell and incredibly thoughtful, and Magnus never wants them to end. It's just their thing, and he loves it.
(He also loves the image of Alexander it conjures up, with shining eyes and a warm smile. He loves the way his handwriting sprawls across the pages, long and neat with no frivolity, and yet it's elegant and polished all the same, much like the man himself. He loves the way the Lightwood laughs fully and is the exact opposite of Magnus' flamboyant and emotionally demanding self and being around him is as easy as breathing, or as living itself.
He thinks, actually, that he might have failed. Perhaps he has a little bit of a crush.
Just slightly. In time, he'll get a grip. Alexander's far too good for him, anyhow.)
News flash: it didn't go away.
In fact, with every damn minute he spent with Alec, who was his literal sunshine since the age of seven, it only grew worse.
It's kind of a problem, but he doesn't do anything about it.
Crushes all fade eventually, right?
Hey, Magnus,
I just realized that I haven't actually mailed a physical letter, envelope and all, in a while. Months, probably. It just never makes sense, since we're so close now that we hang out all the time. And if I don't see you in a day (cannot remember when the last time I went a day without seeing you, though) I can always shoot you a text.
But I miss this. I miss writing out my thoughts, long-penned and permanent. It feels more special this way.
Anyhow, yesterday in my history class the teacher mentioned how regency spies used to communicate via encoded letters. It's all very Victorian, writing letters. All the cool stuff they were used for is all done via technology now. But it made me think that you'd be a great Victorian lord. You could rock the bright, all-too-colorful breeches and the five thousand layers of silk and the flowing capes and you'd absolutely love every second of it. And by the angel, could you imagine Ragnor forced to wear canary yellow stockings? I want that to happen. So, so badly.
I propose a plan. We jump him on Halloween and manhandle him into breeches. It will be the highlight of my year.
From someone who apparently has too much time on their hands and still doesn't get enough sleep,
Alec
PS, I used to hate it when anybody used my full name. 'Alexander' sounds more Victorian than just about anything. But then I realized that you've been using it for the past four years and I never mind it when it's you. I wonder why that is.
I guess I just feel most like myself when I'm with you.
When Magnus read that, he simply had to write a response, mailed and everything.
To thine dearest Alexander, Duke of the esteemed Lightwood Estate,
Yes. I one hundred percent agree. I should have been a royal or a noble back in Victorian days. T shirts are boring, only fit for peasants. I deserve all the silk and I demand a redo. I want to be a three hundred year old warlock just to be a part of the regency. Send me back so the deed may be done.
Actually, that entire era was really cool. I mean, clearly it had its problems and the lack of wifi would have driven me insane, but I think I'd do well there. For one, all the most established big wigs were eccentric in nature, so I would fit right in. Que the glitter, que the kohl and hair dye. I've got this. And speaking of Victorian letters, it seems like every single note according to tv dramas goes along the lines of 'My Dearest Gwendolyn' or 'My Darling Marie'. So now you've asked for it. Your name now and forevermore shall be Darling. No refunds. You've started this, and in true Victorian fashion no less.
You can't stop me. And I will continue to use the name Alexander. It's really nice and kind of pretty. In fact, as a show of commitment, I'll name my next clothing line in school 'My Darling Alexander' in your old-fashioned honor. You're welcome.
Love,
Magnus
(How on earth did I get lucky enough to meet someone like you?)
When they see eachother in person next time, Magnus smiles up from his work.
"Hello Darling, how was your day?"
The blue eyed man who was far too attractive for his own good hugged him from behind and countered with, "Perfectly well, my Dearest Gwendolyn. My day is complete now that I'm with you, love." He tries to say the words with a straight face, but Alec is not one for come ons and ends up blushing like a schoolgirl after a few seconds, sputtering when Magnus jiggles his eyebrows suggestively.
It's obscenely adorable.
If he keeps calling the Lightwood by the title of Darling from then on, nobody can blame him. He's just a little bit obsessed is all.
Alec does literally everything with him, he realizes. Aside from shower, he spends about 97% of his day with Alexander Lightwood.
They go to concerts on the green together, screaming at the top of their lungs in unison. They'd wear matching shirts, much to his companion's chagrin, and Magnus would insist on running non-permanent dye through their hair. It's always fun.
Magnus watches sappy movies that make him cry like the child he is and Alec is right there with him, putting an arm around him and rubbing his shoulders, even if he flushes like a firetruck while he does it.
And then, of course, they do the big domestic thing together. They go shopping.
"I can't believe you thought baking soda and baking powder were the same thing, Magnus. Why would they be called different names, then?" he sighs, dragging Magnus along to the next isle. "How have you survived this long?"
"By not cooking, actually," the caramel skinned man replies cheerfully, glancing at the dollar section. "Here, wait, come over here!" Alec groans as he is pulled away from their legitimate grocery shopping but doesn't fight back. He is well versed in all things Magnus Bane and has accepted that there is no escape.
"What are we doing here? I am really, really tired. Like, I might pass out from exhaustion. Is there a purpose to this?" He yawns. "What is life?"
"Twenty four, if old internet memes have a say," the designer hums back, and Alec groans in response and leans on his shoulder. "No, seriously, I just saw this and couldn't resist." He procured a plastic blue princess crown, tall and swathed in fake gems, and placed it atop Alec's head. "Now you're really a noble, Darling. Blue is definitely your color." Alexander smiles lazily and looks around the dollar section, pulling out a red monstrosity.
"Here you go, my lord," he tries, biting his lip in concentration as he sets the fake jewelry atop his partner's head. "Beautiful. So inspiring."
"You better believe I am," Magnus replies back, posing. "And how do I look?"
"Ridiculous, actually. Pretty cute, somehow," Alec hums absentmindedly. "You're seriously attached, aren't you?"
"Well, I can't be a lord without my title and my crown, Alexander, how do you think it works?"
"Fine, fine, just put them in the basket," he concedes, yawning yet again. "Let's just get everything else and leave before we get distracted again, alright?"
"Deal, Darling." Alec rolls his eyes all too fondly and begins walking them to the next item on the list, griping his hand a little tighter than before.
(Wait a second, he thinks later, we've been holding hands the entire time.
When had that occurred?)
It's when Ragnor announces "I'm moving in with Rafael, I cannot live with your sewing needles everywhere any longer," that Magnus realizes college has just ended and thus the rest of his life is beginning. He's just started up his new website, launched the beginnings of an online store, and is amassing a small following. He's really doing it, starting to make 'Magnus Bane' a household clothing line. He's worked his butt off and now it's finally coming to fruition.
And then, almost accidentally, Alec began living with him.
It was just that Jace had a pad with his amazing girlfriend Clary, Magnus' literal favorite, and Izzy was moving into her boyfriend Simon's place downtown. Alec wanted to move out, Magnus now had a vacant room, and he spent so much time at the apartment he was practically living there anyhow. It didn't matter if he moved in with Magnus, right?
Ha. Living with Alexander was all sorts of challenging.
He helped out with organizing his sewing equipment, fetched materials, and took care of the groceries. He never once complained about Magnus' odd hours or clients and was nothing but supportive. He made tea when Magnus' throat got sore and cuddled under blankets during rainy days and willingly decorated the flat with glittery tinsel come Christmas. He was perfect, despite being his usual slightly reserved and sensible self. Cute as all get out, too.
That was a problem. How was Magnus supposed to think platonically about his roommate when his roommate was Alexander?
And then the Lightwood surpassed himself.
Magnus, as you can see this is an ordinary brown box. However, it's your birthday, and there's something very special inside this box.
I hope you like it.
Love you, Magnus.
From, Darling (Yes, it's starting to grow on me. Don't let it go to your head.)
Inside was a fluffy white fuzzball with the widest, sweetest eyes.
"His name is going to be Chairman Meow, by the way," Alexander smiled from behind him. "Your seven year old self demanded it."
"I remember," Magnus swallowed, and suddenly the room seemed too small. He gently put down the kitten and squeezed his roommate far too long, far too tenderly for two friends. "I really love you, Alexander. Too much." With a start, he realized it was true in all the right ways.
(Shoot shoot shoot abort mission abort mission, he privately thought to himself.
He wasn't supposed to get a crush on his pen pal in the first place.
He definitely wasn't supposed to start falling in love, either.
When on earth had that happened?)
"I'd hope so. I went to so many shelters for you, you have no idea." The blue eyed man hummed into his shoulder, not moving away at all, and the designer hoped that he felt the same, as warm and soft and utterly infatuated as he was.
"Ragnor, I think I'm in love with Alexander."
"I think you've been in love since your first letter, Magnus. He was the thing that made you happiest."
"Why didn't you say anything?" he moaned, burying his face in his hands.
"Um, because you're a dramatic jerk who would passionately declare me insane and try to get me hauled off to an asylum?"
Magnus swallowed down a sigh. "Good point."
"Yeah." They sat in silence for a moment. "And what are you going to do about it?"
"Huh?"
"Well, obviously you care about him. It's legit. Now what on earth are you going to do about it?"
"Pine like a tree."
"Hilarious," the man snorted. "Truly. Great job."
"I don't know, alright? I just can't loose him."
And that was that.
As it turned out, he didn't need to worry.
He finds a letter tucked inside his jacket pocket.
So, Magnus, I'm going insane.
There's a reason why, but I'm gonna say it in chunks because I'm nervous.
Honest to god shaking like a wet chihuahua. Here goes nothing.
There is another at the counter when he comes out of his bedroom.
It's been something I meant to say for a while, actually, but I think I'm finally done.
I can't anymore.
That probably sounds super vague. It'll clear up, I swear.
I mean, I might not want it to, but it will. And then you can decide what to do with that information.
There is one taped onto the microwave in small scrawl, neat as ever.
I went down to the park, actually. I needed some ambiance if I wanted to do this.
I never do this sort of thing, so this is all sort of new. I'm just trying not to screw things up.
With a frown of confusion, Magnus finds himself pulling on a coat and walking to the door, freshly dressed and very concerned. In the door hinges stood another note.
Ha, so, funny story. Remember the post office we used to send letters from? Mind going there first to pick up another one?
It's kind of a build up. I promise that after this, you can just go down to Central Park, our spot. But you need to read one last note.
It's . . . well. A confession?
It's okay. I think. Just, here it goes.
He takes a stroll to the post, and at the front desk is it. The second to last of a confusing chronicle of papers.
He opens it with much trepidation, hands almost shaking.
It wasn't about suicide, was it? Alec wasn't the type, and frankly Magnus would melt without him.
And yet, what was this all about?
So.
I'm pretty sure I'm in love with you.
Yeah, I said it. Sad, I know, but I mean it. Magnus, you are incredible and I've never met anyone like you. Letters have always been our thing, you know? And so I'm doing this. I didn't think I could just come out and say it like a normal person. I'm kind of a mess.
Take a brief moment to process that bombshell before walking down to the park. I figured the trip would give you some time to think and for me to silently run over what my epithet should be. 'He died as he lived: socially awkward' sounds like a good fit, right?
I have one last question for you, provided you don't hate me now.
I hope not. I care a little too much about you now.
But I'd understand.
Magnus . . . did not have a response for seemed too good to be true.
"Is this real?" he asks the woman behind the desk, who simply shrugs and smiles.
"I think that's for you to decide," she tells him, voice warm and understanding, and so Magnus runs to the park, mind reeling, and does not stop or slow down for anything, moving at the speed of sound.
Alexander sits there on the bench in a coat Magnus sewed for him last Christmas and converse that had seen better days, braced like a man awaiting execution. Magnus, as usual, is winded by just how nice he looks (how nice he always looks, even in his frumpiest sweaters and most worn-out jeans) but does not do his ritual awing. Instead, he shoves the letter in his face.
"Is this true?" he asks, somewhat aggressively, and he thinks after the fact that maybe that sounded a little too terrifying and somewhat desperate. So he takes a deep breath and sits down next to his best friend. "Darling, did you mean what you wrote in here?" Alexander laughs shakily.
"I mean, yeah. I didn't really know how to say it but I woke up this morning and I just . . . I couldn't do it anymore. By the angel, you're you, you know? You're the most creative, ingenious, random, inspiring person I know and you're incredible. Damn, I knew that since we were seven. And I thought 'hey, letters are our thing, why don't you tell him on paper so you can just get it out, points for ingenuity' and I just . . . I don't know. Went along with that idea? I don't think straight when it comes to you," he complains, and Magnus has to smirk.
"Think straight?"
Alec blushes, a very even shade a bright crimson enveloping his face. "I take it all back. I don't like you. God, that was dumb." He bit his lip. "You're taking this remarkably well. I mean, aren't you mad? Or even a little freaked out?"
"No, not really," Magnus replies, and suddenly he's grinning, as vibrant as the sun and brighter still. "Wanna know why?"
"Why? Because I'm mortified, personally, and I was afraid I'd be loosing my best friend."
"Nothing, just this," he tells him, and then his hand is in Alec's hair and his lips are encasing his and the world feels a little bit perfect. His breath catches and his chest throbs like wildfire and his heart is just about to tumble out onto the floor. His brain is gone, as is all hope of common sense or propriety, and all he can do is try not to let his insides liquefy into a puddle of molten gold. But then Alec makes this little noise, sudden and surprised and absolutely happy, and what remains of his resolve flies out the window.
He loves this man. He does not care about anything else right now.
Eventually they get weird looks, as they are viciously making out atop a park bench in broad daylight, but Magnus is not bothered by that fact at all. Not one bit.
"So, maybe we're idiots. And maybe I've liked you for years and never said anything and was really hitting a wall on how to tell you," he admits, smiling like they're the only two people in the world. "So maybe you have nothing to worry about, either."
"Oh," Alec mumbles, trying to remember how to talk again. "Oh. Oh, um. That's good. That's really, really good."
"Cat got your tongue, Darling?"
"How are you speaking?"
"Honestly, I'm too happy to care." He pecks Alexander on the cheek and he does his best not to combust. "Now didn't you have a final letter?" Numbly, clutching his cheek, Alec hands over the letter.
So, apparently you've made it this far and you didn't run for cover, so I guess I'm going to ask before I loose the nerve:
Will you go on a date with me?
Please say yes. I honestly think I'm dying.
Also, I am a nervous wreck right now so please take pity on me. If you're going to reject me, do it as painlessly as possible.
"You don't have to," the blue eyed man mutters quietly, but he's still grinning, still processing what had just happened. "I mean, I'm a lot more confident about my chances now, but -"
"So how does tonight sound?" he answers instead, crumpling the letter into his pocket and grabbing his pen pal's hand.
Yes, that feels right, doesn't it?
"That sounds . . . pretty perfect, actually." And so together they walk home. The few people surrounding them clap vigorously. Alec pulls Magnus away before he can bow.
"So, Ragnor, Alec and I went out last friday."
"Well finally Magnus, it took you long enough to wisen up. You asked him, right?"
"He beat me to the punch, somehow. But by the angel, I'm happy he did."
"Alec got the guts to do it before you?"
"Ragnor . . ."
"You know, I knew there was a reason I liked him better. He's your superior in every single way. It's like comparing Bumblebee and Optimus Prime."
"Bumblebee is AWESOME and his color scheme is vibrant excuse you!"
"Spoken like a true sidekick. It's sad, really."
"Damn, I hate you. So, so much."
"Yeah, well, love you too. I'm happy for you, alright? So don't mess this up."
"Wouldn't dream of it."
And that was that.
Their first date goes impossibly well, as does their second and their third and all the ones that follow. They spend Christmases together, watch crappy movies during dismal New York days, and stay up late into the night rattling product ideas off of eachother.
Magnus soon publishes his first collection, and soon he's publishing his next several.
"Just like magic," a little boy says when he sees Magnus' designs on the cover of a magazine, and it gives the man hope.
As it happens, he finally gets his wish fulfilled; he's able to sweep his mom off of her feet and put her into a better apartment in a better district and assures her she'll never have to worry about money again. The designer sets her up with cruise passes and airplane tickets and encourages her to come travel the world, to do all the things she wanted to before their father left and she had to make do.
"I think I lived a very good life despite all the bumps along the way," she mused when she eventually made her way to New York to visit. "I got to raise you, didn't I?" At that point, she smiled mischievously at Alec. "And you've certainly done well for yourself."
"I did, didn't I?" he smiled back, and as Alexander came back and took his hand he figured there was no where else he'd rather be.
Except, you know. On the trip he booked.
They travel around the world and back, making deals in Paris, signing contracts in Berlin, placing orders in Beijing, and creating contacts in Sydney. They spanned the entire map, exploring and expanding wherever they could, and Alec came along for every trip, not missing a second. Ragnor, true to his word, became his disgruntled business partner, and Izzy insisted on consulting wherever she could. As a matter of fact, she was an excellent negotiator and brought in many a new client, and Magnus was incredibly fortunate that she was on his team.
Eventually he got involved with new people: Catarina, the awesome sales rep, Tessa, a brilliant model, and even Rafael, who was dragged in by Ragnor who insisted that 'if I have to cater to the whims of Magnus Bane on a daily basis you better suffer with me'. This also came with an expansion of the business.
"The new studio looks great," Alexander hummed, glancing over the new headquarters he bought out in the middle of the city. "No glitter moat, though."
"We'll just repave the parking lot with sparkly asphalt, you'll see," he had replied instantly, grinning all the while. "I think it's got some great potential."
And it did. It served them well.
After five years of name building, of company struggles, of properly establishing his fashion empire (and yes, it was an empire, and he was so damn proud of it), and of dating (the most important item on that list), they received a letter in the mail from their current travel spot in London.
"Magnus, it's addressed to me," Alec muttered, confused. "From our apartment." He squinted at the paper envelope. "Is that Ragnor's handwriting?"
"Huh," Magnus responded, leaning over. "Open it, then."
It read as followed:
Hi, Alexander,
So, if you are reading this, it means that Ragnor did manage to send this from New York once we left. I was hoping it would arrive before we went back because it's more thematically appropriate. Otherwise we're back at the apartment and I'll have to kill my other best friend for messing this up, and I kind of need him to help run my company so that would really be a problem.
Anyways, before I go into what I planned to talk about, I want you to know something.
You are the best thing that ever happened to me. You gave me my first friend, you never stopped believing in me, and you helped me build up to where I am today. You and your family really stepped up and got Ragnor and I settled into our first apartment (and it's crazy to think that we still live in that tiny little thing today) and you are the reason I have Chairman Meow, my pride and joy (I have no idea what I would have done without that cat. I love that cat more than I love most other people). My mom loves you, my best friend likes you better than me, and frankly you're the person that knows me best out of anybody else in the world. You're my partner in every single way and I've been in love with you for just short of forever.
So, with that said and done, how would you feel about getting married?
After all, letters are our thing now. You asked me out first, so it was only fitting that I beat you here.
Love you,
Magnus Lightwood-Bane (you know, hopefully)
Alec stared at the paper for so long and gripped the parchment so tight Magnus was afraid he would tear it in two. "Alexander? God, I didn't think it was that bad. You look like you've gone comatose."
"You thought you had to ask?" was all he replied with before crashing his lips onto the designers'. Magnus tried not to topple onto the floor.
It was a pretty good day, all things considered.
He is so, so happy he wrote Alexander Lightwood back, all those years ago. He has no idea where he'd be without him.
Hi, everybody. If you are reading this, you survived to the end.
And OH MY GOSH THAT WAS SO FREAKING CHEESY I cannot believe I wrote all of this. I just had this document in my files for almost six months and I figured 'oh maybe I should finish that sometime' and during last night and a little bit of this morning I finished it off.
This was only 1.5k before I resolved to complete it. Now it is an almost 10k beast.
I have too much time on my hands, somedays.
So I'm sorry if the story seems rushed somehow or if the ending was a little rushed. I wasn't really able to devote the same sort of time and attention to detail that some of my other fics possess, as I really just wanted to get this out and completed so I could say I did something.
Yes, yes, I am working on E,MDR, too. I've just been hitting a mental wall for months and it's about 10k already and I'm trying to do another murder mystery thing, but more in the style of a whodunit. There are multiple suspects, multiple small clues, and multiple scenes to explore and I haven't had the brain power to really explore it thoroughly. I'm so sorry about the wait, and the same goes for Transitions.
Everybody thinks I've abandoned it. I haven't, I'm just slow as hell and super busy. Summer work is a pain.
For those of you still here, if this is the first of my stories that you are reading and you liked this absolute fluff, please go check out some of my other stuff. I usually put more thought towards the development of malec oneshots and I swear the others are okay too.
Anyways, remember to leave feedback and have a great day!