Look at all that fluff... I love fluff. (Not that anybody needed further evidence of that...)

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Magnus stared out the windows at the loft, plainly refusing to turn around and face Alexander. He simply did not want know what his boyfriend's face currently looked like. How mad was he exactly? He just didn't want to know.

Magnus Bane was one of the greatest Warlocks there was: nevermind in New York City. The son of a Prince of Hell, he was powerful enough to summon any demon, cast any spell, brew any potion. He had gone alone to the lair of Valentine himself (albeit at some distance) and he had not been in the least afriad. Cautious, yes, one learned to be that through the centuries, but he had not been scared. He was now.

Alexander was asking questions. He answered them mostly nonverbally, his temporary likeness to Alexander in any conversation about emotions (or most anything else, for that matter) lost on him until Alexander lost his patience with the not even monosyllabic answers. That almost made him smile.

He let Alexander dictate the situation, not in either the mood nor the position to do much else, but helping him out as he realised Alexander did not understand. He was not sure exactly what it was his shadowhunter did not understand, but the insecurity of not knowing was there in his eyes, plainly, when Magnus finally did turn around to face him.

Alexander did not seem all that angry - yet anyway - which was a tad surprising he supposed. Then again, he thought he might have been mistaken on that when he was kissed with a passion which boredered on aggressive. Alexander had never kissed him like that before. Not that he minded or anything...

Whatever it was, anyway, it did mean that Alexander was not breaking up kind of mad. It was not so long before he finally realised that Alexander was not mad at all. He always was an absolute darling.

Alexander helped make some pasta and they ate mostly in silence, sitting in the same couch they'd been sitting in together on that very first night full of nerves and only grudging trust. This time, they were sitting there closely enough that their whole sides were touching, and Alexander was leaning ever so slightly into Magnus, as if needing the comfort of having him there. After a plainly very worring night, Magnus had concluded that he probably did.

When they finished eating, Magnus looped one arm around Alexander's shoulder, and felt the shadowhunter let out a shuddering breath and lean closer, resting his head against his shoulder. "I am sorry I oprried you," he told him, kissing the side of his head, just at the temple. That was the last thing they said for the rest of a very long period of time.

All through the afternoon, Alexander's phone went of with texts; updates from Lydia and the others about new information mostly, and they read them together. Clary and Jocelyn had reunited with Luke, Lydia and the surviving Clave member had sent a group to search Valentine's lair (Lydia had sent Alexander a text early on asking if he could ask "his warlock" where that was, and they had both obliged without any more persuasion) and there (amongst many other things) found evidence that Jace was, in fact, a Herondale. Magnus was not surprised. He was showing a lot of signs of being one, come to think of it. He had simply assumed that a Herondale had married a Wayland at some point (he had not, to be honest, spent a lot of time nor effort thinking about it), but this was another explanation.

The older Lightwoods had been re-examined and while not facing arrest, the Instiute had been willingly handed over to Lydia (who was really rising in the ranks today) and her "non-husband". The strangely open-minded surviving Clave member had agreed to another kind of partnership running the New York the institute than was the norm, letting Alexander be with Magnus instead of marrying Lydia. Magnus was happy he had chosen to make sure she was safe - she was really as solid as he had heard rumoured.