Magnus lay in his bed, back turned to face the wall of his room contrary to the side of the bed that he used to sleep on.
The warlock fisted the canary yellow comforter in his hands tightly, making his knuckles white with effort. Why did he think about this again? Why must he torture himself with the memories?
Magnus jerked back the blanket, a decision that he soon came to regret as the icy air made contact with his semi-warm skin. He hasn't really been warm since it happened. Maybe it was because he was always endearingly cold and Magnus had to cuddle with him, and as a result, produced an astounding amount of body heat. Maybe it was because of the lack of smiles that always made Magnus feel warm on the inside.
"Or maybe, Magnus thought, now that my heart is stone-cold, everything else is too."
The man begrudgingly pulled himself off of the soft, inviting bed and into the bathroom. He flipped on the lights, instantly blinded by the suddenness of it. He hadn't gotten out of that bed in days, and he certainly hadn't gotten up to turn on any lights.
He turned on the faucet, making a point not to look at himself in the mirror. He didn't he could look himself in the eye anymore.
He brushed his teeth slowly, accidently getting caught up in thought every now and again.
He rinsed out his mouth, swishing the water around and just letting it roll down his chin uncaringly. He wiped his face with a towel and snapped the watery mess on the counter away.
As he was stepping out of the bathroom, only one look at the bed was all it took for Magnus to crawl back into it- this time on the other side.
Magnus knew that every time he cried into the pillow case, it just got grosser, but he couldn't bring himself to wash it. He knew that every time he laid in his spot, the body divot he left slowly but surely lost its shape. He knew that each time he buried his face in the pillow and tried endlessly to catch of wiff of his love's scent, the sandalwood and vanilla he longed for so much became more of his own sandalwood and ash.
But, as always, Magnus couldn't find it in him to care at that moment.
So he climbed into the opposite side of the bed and buried his face in the pillow, searching for anything that even slightly resembled the smell of his love.
He felt like crying—he really did. He could feel the knot in his throat, the sting in his eyes and the slight pain in his nose, but the tears never came. He guessed that he didn't have the energy to cry anymore, or he'd used up all the tears in his "tear bank" because surely there was a limit to how much one person is allowed to cry.
He clutched the pillow tightly—tighter than he did the blanket earlier. He tried to calm his breathing as he breathed in and out slowly and deeply.
He let himself be lulled to sleep with the hopes that he'd at the very least have a fleeting dream about Alec. He just needed a moment, even if it wasn't real.