Like a Moth to the Flame
After stretching the tension of yet another sleepless night out of his aching muscles, Alec's started up the winding trail leading to the hilltop. At first, he run at an easy pace, synchronizing his strides with the rhythm of his breathing. The early morning was clear, calm and quiet, and the trail was completely deserted, the only sounds came from the call of birds, the occasional tapping of woodpeckers on the tree trunks, and the odd rabbit or squirrel rummaging for food in the undergrowth. He breathed in deeply and the aroma of the spruce and oak trees under which canopy he run, of wet earth, and of the first wild flowers announcing the imminent arrival of spring reminded him of how far away from home he was. The morning was cold, winter had yet to completely surrender, and he could see his breath coming out in puffs of steam. The chill threatened to penetrate his light jacket, and the breeze felt icy against his face, but he felt no compulsion to use a warming rune. He wanted to feel the morning chill against his skin and wished the cold to push away the memories that never seemed to be too far away from his mind.
As he pushed up towards the summit, Alec's muscles begun to complain, and keeping an even rhythm in his breathing became more of a struggle. Still, he pressed on, increasing the pace, his feet hitting the ground harder and harder with a determination that at times felt like anger or desperation. He forced his mind to abandon all other thoughts except for those needed to keep the rhythm of his running, determined to be no more than movement, just the sinuous stretching and contracting of muscles, no thought, no past, not future, just this moment and the mindless exertion of his running. As his mind became singularly focused, a gust of emotions suddenly washed over Alec and his eyes filled with tears, the result, perhaps, of the adrenaline coursing through his system. It was as if the efforts to run weakened the control he constantly kept on his emotions, and the feelings he kept bottled up began to flow unrestrained and unchecked.
By the time he reached the summit, the muscles in Alec's chest and legs were screaming in pain, his face was washed in tears and sweat, and his breathing was ragged and laborious. When he reached the lookout that marked the end of the trail, he bent down and put his hands on his knees, gasping for air, his heart threatening to jump out of his chest. He tried to rein in his unruly emotions by taking a few deep breaths, inhaling through the pain in his chest and the burning in his throat. He dried the tears and sweat with the hem of his t-shirt and, reaching for the water bottle attached to his belt, took a couple of sips, the cold liquid tasting a little bit salty as it run down his throat carrying with it the last of the tears.
When his breathing had settled somewhat, he finally straighten and looked around at the magnificent scenery unfolding before him. This was one of Alec's favorite spots in Idris. From this lookout, he could clearly see the glass city below, a city that, except for the demon towers that kept constant watch, appeared still dormant this early in the morning. Alicante extended like a blanket from the foot of the hill towards the lake, as if it was permanently looking towards the water waiting perhaps for the return of the Angel. From this distance, the canals that run through the city resembled embroidered blue and green lines on that blanket, or perhaps even veins carrying life from the mountains towards the lake. In cloudless mornings like this one, Alec got a 360-degree view of the mountains far in the distance, their peaks permanently covered in white; of the dense forest that surrounded Idris with its magnificent and ancestral trees; of the lake with its crystalline waters; and of the farmlands that provided food to Alicante's residents. 'Nobody looking at this scenery should be unhappy,' he thought. Yet, despite all his attempts at concealment and the hard exterior he projected to others, Alec still felt as unhappy, miserable and heartbroken as he had been when he arrived in Idris six weeks ago.
"You cannot go now," Izzy had said when he suddenly announced that he was leaving for Idris. "You must stay and work things out with Magnus."
"There is nothing to work out," Alec had replied. "Magnus doesn't want to have anything to do with me. He told me to leave."
"But you have to work things out. Your guys love each other," she had refuted. "If you want, I can go speak with him. Tell him that you are sorry for whatever he thinks you did."
"No Izzy, just leave it," he had pleaded with his sister. "My mind is made up; I am going to Idris." He had felt a need to put distance between him and Magnus, leave the city to avoid the temptation of going to the warlock's apartment and once again beg forgiveness. Magnus needed time and he had to give it to him, even if that time turned into an eternity. Magnus had all the time in the world, after all, and weeks, months or years might mean little to someone who had all eternity to get over a broken heart. Alec wasn't fooling himself; he knew he had broken Magnus' heart, betrayed his trust. He had seen it in the depth of the warlock's eyes. Magnus was likely having as hard a time with Alec's mistake as he, Alec, was having.
"But what are you going to do in Idris and who is going to lead the Institute while you are away?" Izzy had asked.
"You know all the Institute Heads must take special training, and since we do not have a former Head to train me in New York, I have decided to go to the Idris Academy," Alec had explained. "Besides, things are quiet now and you and Jace can keep an eye on things while I am gone."
"But that training is more than two months long!" his sister had complained. "You cannot leave for that long! What is going to happen with you and Magnus while you are gone?"
"Nothing will happen, as nothing is happening now. As I told you, Izzy, Magnus doesn't want to be with me anymore." The statement had had a ring of finality and its truth pressed against Alec's chest and made it hard to breath, but there was nothing that Alec could do, except to honor Magnus' request and stay away. So, he had packed a bag and had arranged for one of the warlocks in Idris to open a portal for him. He had run into Underhill on his way out, and the young Shadowhunter had stopped, smiled and shaken his hand, not a thread of resentment in his expression.
"I will be completing my training here in the next few days and I will then head to the Sydney Institute for a few months before going to my new post in Mexico City," he had informed Alec, and Alec had congratulated him, apologized once again for that night at the bar, and wished him well. "You are a good Shadowhunter," he had said and meant it. As he watched Underhill walk away, Alec couldn't imagine what could have ever made him step over the line with the young man.
He had hoped that time in Idris would help heal his wounded heart, or at least grow a scab over the wound, so it could stop bleeding. But no matter how much time passed, how much training and studying he did, nothing helped. His heart hurt as much, or perhaps more as the first day. His first thought every morning was of Magnus and despite the long hours of combat training, lectures in Downworld diplomacy, Nephilim history, law, weaponry and strategy, the memories of the warlock still kept him awake at night. During the day, he struggled to keep his mind on his work, and found himself thinking of home, missing the feel of Magnus' arms around him, and his smile welcoming him at the door of his apartment. To keep his mind occupied, in addition to the grueling physical training expected of him, he had begun to run every morning, getting up at the crack of dawn, in an effort to tire his body and cure his insomnia. At first, he had run in the training center, but as soon as the snow began to melt, he decided to run outside, despite the cold, the rain and the wind. He had never spent too much time away from New York. As a result, except for the occasional run through Central Park, his feet were mostly accustomed to even pavement and asphalt. Thus, running on soft mulch and uneven terrain had added a new challenge and more than once, he had returned to his room with scratches and sore ankles. He avoided healing runes though, relishing for a while in the sensation of physical discomfort joining the constant aching of his soul.
Alec had also started spending his free time in the Academy's library going through its extensive collection of personal diaries and mission reports from former Institute Heads from all over the world, including those belonging to some of his ancestors. He had always liked history, but as he read those diaries and reports, he found himself searching for clues of Magnus' past relationship to the Nephilim, hungry for some knowledge about Magnus' past, some connection to the man he loved, even if it was across time, across decades and centuries. He missed him, with a yearning that pierced his heart and left a hole in the pit of the stomach. He missed Magnus with an intensity that left him breathless and adrift. He dreamed of him every night and every time his mind was idle, it inevitably went back to his memories of Magnus.
Now as he looked out towards the mountains and the forest in the distance, and at the deep blue morning sky, his mind begun to replay the memory that had awoken him this morning with Magnus' name on his lips. Despite its innocence, the memory was filled with sensations, as if it was not just his brain remembering it, but rather the memory was written in every cell of his body. It was the memory of the first time Magus looked at him, that sparkle in the warlock's eyes that despite being glamored, shone like beacons in the dimly light room of his penthouse. Alec had begrudgingly accompanied Clary and his siblings to the party and all the way there he had complained about the recklessness of the enterprise. As usual, he had stayed in Jace's shadow, ready to defend or support, content with his condition as the invisible brother, the one that never spoke, the one no one noticed. It was safer that way, easier to remain undetected, to conceal his insecurity behind a taciturn and impenetrable exterior. Alec knew there were things about him that not even he understood: feelings, emotions that always caught him by surprise and made him feel ashamed and different. Thankfully, Jace's golden personality created a shadow big enough for Alec to hide under, allowing him to go unnoticed and unquestioned.
Yet for some reason he could not yet explain or believe, Magnus had looked past Jace and his eyes had rested squarely on Alec's face. At that moment, Alec had felt like a spotlight had been shone on him, like a hand was pulling him out of the darkness and into the light, and for a split second, nothing and no one else existed but him and Magnus, his intense gaze on him, recognizing him, unveiling him, peeling the cloak of invisibility under which Alec hid. Magnus' gaze had been curious, searching and full of mystery, and its piercing intensity had awoken something fundamental in the center of Alec's being. It had been a brief moment, Magnus' eyes warm on his skin, seeing him in a way that no one had ever seen him before, and then his eyes looked away and Alec felt cold all over, as if the sun had set plunging him into darkness.
He had gone home that night with the memory of Magnus' gaze on him, warm, piercing and searching. For days afterwards, the memory of those eyes had haunted Alec, jumping out at him from dark corners as he walked along the Institute's corridors, waiting for him when he went back to his room at night, furtively peeking at him from half-closed doors, and out of the pages of books. Alec had found himself smiling every time he thought of those eyes and had yearned to experience that moment in the light once more.
He had returned to Magnus' apartment a few days later, when he could no longer stand not knowing the meaning of the warlock's gaze. He had told himself that the visit was a way to exorcise the demons that were keeping him awake at night unable to erase Magnus' face from his mind. As he waited for Magnus to open the door, Alec wished with all his heart to find nothing unusual in the warlock's eyes; he wished to confirm that the whole thing had been his imagination. That would be easy, he told himself, he could go home and forget the whole affair, and he could go back to his place in Jace's shadow. But then Magnus had opened his door and those eyes had rested once again on Alec, first with surprise and then curiosity before a coy and seductive smile lifted the corners of Magnus' lips and his eyes sparkled with renewed recognition. And that was all it took for Alec to realize that there was no going back, that that moment at the threshold of Magnus' home would forever be engraved in his memory.
"What a pleasant surprise young Nephilim," Magnus had said in a playful tone, a drink in his hand, the glitter in his hair reflecting the light from the hallway in tones of red and purple. "I was hoping to see you again. To what do I owe this visit? Are you in search of a love potion perhaps, or more missing memories?" Magnus had asked in a jaunty and flirtatious voice that had caused the color to rush to Alec's face.
Alec had shifted his weight from foot to foot unable to think of what to say, all the excuses that he had made up in his mind suddenly forgotten. He looked away from Magnus' blinding stare and involuntarily shifted his gaze downward, past Magnus' silk shirt, its deep red color a perfect match for the deep brown that glamored Magnus' eyes, and down towards his own boots. At that moment, Alec wasn't any longer a man in his mid-twenties, no longer a veteran of countless battles, no longer an experienced Shadowhunter. He was a child caught in mischief he couldn't explain, a child naked under the sun.
Magnus would tell him later that in that short moment of silence and hesitation, he had realized just how inexperienced Alec was, and that his nervousness and the look of open anticipation had softened somewhat the hard exterior Magnus usually wore as an armor. He had realized that open flirtatiousness was not the right approach, and that he needed to be gentle and give Alec space and time.
"I was about to make myself another drink, would you like one?" Magnus had said opening the door wider to let Alec in.
Alec had wanted to turn and run away, take one step and then another and forget that he had ever ventured to the warlock's apartment. But then Magnus had turned and had walked back inside and before he could stop himself, Alec had taken a step across the threshold following him in. He had promised himself that he would have just one drink and then leave. That had been the first of many such promises he would make, promises to stay away from Magnus, promises that for some reason he couldn't keep. That night, Magnus had not asked again for the reason for his visit and had behaved as if having a Shadowhunter sitting in his living room, a drink in his hand, was the most normal thing in the world, something perhaps even planned. They had talked about inconsequential things, their lives in New York, the food they liked, Magnus' latest mishap trying to create a magic potion for a client. He had asked Alec about his family, his plans for the future, the books and music he liked, and Alec had found himself relaxing and even having fun. Magnus behaved like a perfect gentleman and made no attempt to flirt again, and Alec was surprised to feel safe and content. At the end of the night, Magnus saw him off at the door and told him that he had enjoyed the evening and would not mind doing it again.
That had been the first of many nights that Alec showed up at Magnus' apartment. He couldn't stop himself, his feet seemed to behave of their own accord and insisted in taking him back to Magnus'. Sometimes, he called from the street outside Magnus' apartment; sometimes he just rung the bell, and Magnus always greeted him as if Alec being at his door was the most common of occurrences. Alec told him of his life, his dreams, the things he liked, his relationship with his siblings, his missions, and Magnus never pushed and never gave him any indication that he wanted anything more than just friendly conversation over a shared drink. Alec felt like the moth that despite the danger keeps coming back to the flame, and as days went by and spending time with Magnus became almost a routine, he began to imagine reaching and running his fingers through Magnus' hair, or holding his hand. It was as if a magnetic force kept him in Magnus' orbit, and he didn't know how to break away from it, or how to break through it and finally close the distance between him and the warlock.
"What are you doing?" he had kept asking himself. "This is dangerous. What would you family say if they found out?" Still, he couldn't stop thinking about Magnus, the shine in his eyes, the weight of his gaze, his coy smile, the openness and sincerity of his laugh every time Alec said something funny. And then one night, as if by accident, Alec had touched Magnus' hand when the warlock was handing him a drink and the touch had been electric, sending shivers down Alec's spine, as if through the touch, Magnus had transferred some of his magic to Alec and it was now coursing through his veins and wracking havoc with his self-control. It had been just that: a fleeting touch, less than a second, but full of danger, promise and possibility. That night Alec had dreamed of the touch of Magnus' hand and the scent of his skin, and he understood that he was standing at another threshold, and that if he took a step across it, there would really be no going back. He had hesitated because he was afraid. The Nephilim could be judgmental, bigots, conservative. He was not only having feelings for a man, but also for a Downworlder. If he crossed that threshold, he would be breaking moral conventions as much as Nephilim's rule to keep the Downworld at arm's length. And, he would be putting Magnus in danger of being hurt by his people's bigotry and rejection. Alec knew that Magnus was hundreds of years older than him and was likely used to Nephilim closemindedness, but he felt unaccountably protective of Magnus. He did not want to be the reason for his suffering.
So, he had told himself that he would stop, that he wouldn't return to Magnus' apartment, that he could not disappoint his family, that a life in secret was a better option. For three days he had stayed away and had not called Magnus, and Magnus, respecting his space, had not called him either. For three days, he had lived with a permanent knot in his throat, and with the feeling that he was forcing something that had been square but that was now round back into a hole that no longer fit. By the fourth day, he couldn't stand the absence or the yearning anymore and he knew he had lost the battled with himself. Defeated, he had surrendered and had made his way back to Magnus'.
Magnus had opened his door, and for a split-second Alec thought he saw surprise and perhaps relief in the warlock's eyes. But then Magnus reined in his emotions and greeted him as if it had not been four days since the last time he had seen Alec. And without giving it another thought or saying a word, Alec had reached and taken Magnus' hand in his. He had then shifted his gaze from Magnus' eyes down toward his lips. For a suspenseful moment, he had gazed on those lips with an unreserved desire that surprised even him, before closing the distance that Magnus had respectfully kept between them to give Alec space and had kissed him. Alec had never kissed anyone before, he had never desired to kiss anyone, and now he was glad he had waited, for the taste and feel of Magnus' lips on his were like nothing he had ever experienced. The kiss had been gentle, sweet and full of promise, and it was as if every nerve ending in his body had concentrated in his lips, as if he could feel the touch of Magnus' lips in every cell, as if every inch of his skin was coming alive in millions of goosebumps.
Magnus had initially been surprised; Alec could tell in the way in which his back stiffened as if a gush of cold air had suddenly blown in his direction, but then his posture had softened against Alec, and his other hand, the one that Alec wasn't holding, was suddenly making a slow and gentle journey along Alec's arm. Alec broke contact for a second, wanting to gaze upon those enticing and inviting lips once again, wanting perhaps to catch his breath and to give Magnus the room to decide whether he wanted to pull away, but then those lips were like magnets pulling him back and he had, once again, surrendered to their pull. This time and as if by instinct, he had enticed Magnus to open his lips for him, and Magnus had done as he silently asked, and Alec thought he would die of surprise and pleasure as the taste of Magnus' lips invaded his senses and clouded his mind. With the tentativeness of those who for the first-time venture into new territory, Alec had let his tongue leave his own mouth and with a careful and gentle motion he had run it along Magnus' lips, and Magnus had rewarded him with a loud intake of air and his hand had fisted on Alec's sleeve, as if wanting to make sure that Alec would not fly away.
Alec had never imagined that a kiss could contain so much emotion, so much tenderness, so much promise, so much. He never imagined that a kiss could have the power of erasing all doubts, and to change him forever, altering his life course, and opening a whole new universe for him to explore and experience.
"Alexander," Magnus had whispered after a minute or an hour, Alec didn't know, and the name, his name, had sounded new in Magnus' lips, as if by calling him by his full name, Magnus was beckoning him to become a new man. Wanting to extend the moment a little longer, Alec had brought his lips to Magnus' mouth once again, and this time he lifted his other hand and entangled his fingers in Magnus' hair the way he had imagined doing so many times. At that moment, Alec realized just how limited his imagination had been; for the feel of Magnus' hair between his fingers, the sensation of his body leaning against his own, the soft feel of his lips and the way his breathing seemed to catch in his throat was like nothing Alec could have ever imagined or predicted.
"Alexander," Magnus had said again, a little bit more determination in his voice this time, and fear had suddenly creeped into the state of bliss Alec had been in a second ago. Perhaps, he though, he had made a mistake and misread the signals; perhaps the kiss was unwelcomed; perhaps the kiss had been unpleasant to Magnus. After all, he had never kissed anyone before. But then rather than pulling away, Magnus had rested his forehead against Alec's, as if not wanting to let go, and he had regaled him with a dazzling smile, a smile that had quieted Alec's apprehension.
"Was that okay Magnus?" Alec had asked wanting reassurance, his voice breathy and no louder than a whisper.
"It was the most perfect kiss in the history of kisses," Magnus had replied, his voice husky and deep. "But are you sure of what you are doing?" he asked, and his smile faltered momentarily, as if afraid that Alec would change his mind and pull away. Even at that moment, like at every moment before and after their first kiss, Magnus had given him the freedom to stop, to walk away, to set the terms and pace of their relationship.
"I want this Magnus," Alec had replied. "I have wanted it since the first time you looked at me."
Thinking back to his months with Magnus, Alec realized how much he had learned from the warlock, how little he had known and how much he had discovered about himself and about the world with Magnus. Yet that first kiss remained the most perfect of moments, as if Alec had known precisely what to do, as if he and Magnus had invented a new art of kissing. And now, Alec thought as he sighed loudly, the morning chill seeping into his bones and bringing him back to reality, he had lost Magnus, and all he had left was the memory of that first kiss forever engraved in his mind.
"You taught me so much Magnus," Alec whispered into the wind as he gazed towards the distance, "from world history to how to touch you; from literature to the art of kissing you. You taught me so much, but you didn't teach me how to live without you."
After a last glance towards the beautiful landscape that had become his refuge for the last six weeks, Alec turned and started back down the hill, running once again, hoping the exercise would quiet the memories; resigned to spend another day in a hopeless battle with his own despair.
Guinevere, the young Shadowhunter who acted as the Inquisitor's assistant, approached him as Alec was making his way towards his bedroom to take a shower before his first morning class.
"A fire message addressed to you passed through the wards this morning," she said handing him a folded piece of paper, a sigil on its front acting as a seal that only his stele could unlock. "You know that magical forms of communication need to be approved by the Inquisitor," she added in a stern tone that contrasted with her youthful demeanour.
"I apologize; I will make sure it doesn't happen again," Alec replied, taking the message and heading for his room. He didn't recognize the hand that had written his name on the message, and he was certain that it was not from his sister or brother. He had scheduled teleconferences with them every other day at the communications room, and they were unlikely to use unauthorized fire messages even if there was an emergency. There were other more efficient and less troublesome forms of communication nowadays between Idris and the Institutes. As soon as he got to his room, he took his stele from his night table and applied its tip to the sigil that sealed the message. As if by an invisible hand, the paper unfolded and a single sentence in a neat cursive handwriting that reminded Alec of times gone back, appeared on the page:
Alec, please come to New York; Magnus is in terrible danger and needs you.
The note was signed by Catarina Loss.