The sun is nearing the horizon, filling his bedroom with brutal, golden light that makes the glitter under his brow bones shine like diamonds. He has been getting ready for an hour now and he likes what he sees in the mirror. Nothing too extravagant, like that day when the boy and his friends came around to crash the party, but still something special. It is a date night, after all. Is he really doing all this for himself, like he has been doing for the last century? Or is there something about the boy that makes him try even harder? He really can't decide.
He laughs and runs his hand languidly over his clean-shaven chin. Wouldn't that be something? Being head over heels for a barely grown-up man who's probably just testing his wings in the gay scene and has a serious case of sadly unrequited love for an adoptive brother. Then why is he feeling so uncertain about the whole thing? He knows that he could take the boy and spend a couple of meaningless, yet heated nights, mess the boy's head properly and afterwards toss the poor thing out without so much as calling a taxi. But the thing is, he would have done it already, if that's what he really wants. He could have pulled the blue-eyed gorgeousness into his bedroom right after that kiss and do all kinds of everything.
However, there is something different in this one. He is beginning to take notice of it, especially now after these incidents. First the actual blonde trouble decided ring his doorbell and made his heart jitter so bad that he thought his final moment had come only to plunge it into dissappointed halt once he realized it wasn't the Shadowhunter with jet-black hair and eyes like a frosty river. That one-time letdown was nothing, nothing compared to the second time. The second one he didn't expect and now he would be willing to put up with any annoying wrong alarm on his threshold if that meant nothing like that would happen again. He received a message about the foolish boy's idiotic adventure moment with the Greater demon and that second the river as cold as the boy's eyes washed through his body, leaving every inch of him stunned for a while. It took close to a spell to uproot his legs from the ground and set him almost flying to the Institute.
He shakes his head, as if the picture of the pallid, fragile boy lying on the bed would fall off of his mind just like that. The genuine worry and relentless will to do everything in his power to fix things. He has not felt such emotions in a very long time. And to be frank, he doesn't know whether that's good for him. If the mere sight of the boy covered in blood could submerge him into such despair and if the kiss from those lips could transfix him so that he found it difficult to breathe, their thing, no matter how brief or long, could only devastate him in the end.
But there is the other side of it too. Having lived 800 years, the time has stopped for him. It is as if everytime he blinks the days move forward faster than he is able to process, like he is stuck standing in the middle of everything while all the world passes right before his eyes. The vertiginous pace that is only divided by lavish parties and some interesting gigs is wearing him down and the last decade he has done his best to hold onto something, anything really. Before, the only thing that he had been able to grasp in all the chaos were his memories of a life already lived . Surprisingly, he has not felt the vertigo lately, not after the boy stumbled into his life. Now everything is, not slow, but steady and touchable and he is able see beyond his endless past to the present and even at times catch a glimpse of the days to come. There's a clear focus in his days and the power of it makes him dread the time the focus shifts its angle or disappears altogether.
Chairman Meow nudges his hand, as if the cat senses his confusion and frustration. The clock is ticking and soon he has to decide what kind of game he is willing to play and how far he wants to go with the innocent creature. The boy who held onto his wrist through one hellish night and looked deep into his eyes feverishly and pleading, as if the boy too had seen the frightening stream of life passing right by, despite the young years. The boy who had gathered all his courage, no matter how unwavering it was when facing demons and monsters of other worlds, to ask him out. The boy who confessed to having never been kissed before, only to crash those inexperienced lips against his with a desire and lust that found their match only in him.
He glances out the window and sees a tall, dark figure stalking insecurily towards his front door – his skipping heart crumbles his resolution to stay calm. He puts his golden jacket on, mind deep in thought and fondly pets the cat who has come to the apartment's door to see him out and make sure he doesn't have second thoughts. Cheeky cat. Magnus inhales, enjoying the serene rhythm of life that encompasses him when he sets out to meet Alexander Lightwood.