Hello everyone! Well here's a little one-shot for you. It was kind of meant as a cure for my writer's block concerning MLG. This is AU, and is in no way affiliated with MLG or any of my other stories. But that should be blatantly obvious.

I don't own the characters, just the plot/situations. All praise be to Cassie.

Warning: there is a racist remark or two in here, but please know that I was simply trying to keep with the time period and I in no way mean any disrespect to anyone. I love you all!

This story was Beta'd by the ever amazing StarryOwlEyes. Go check out her stuff, it is simply breathtaking :)

If you want a song to listen to, PLEASE listen to Billie Holiday: Pennies From Heaven. It totally got me in the mood to write this.

Onward! Bring your tissues!

For nearly three years, he'd received seven letters every Wednesday. One written on each day of the week, and all sent in a bundle whenever the weekly express came. Sometimes the mail truck didn't come, and the next Wednesday he would receive fourteen letters. The latter seven would all hold several lines of apologies about how the roads were treacherous and it was hard for the postman to reach camp. One time, they'd said that the postman had been found beheaded in a gully, and they'd had to procure a replacement. But the letters always got here; there was one for each day they'd been apart. He'd cherished every single word on every line of every page, read them until the ink would run together in his tired eyes and he couldn't make out the script any longer.

But the letters had stopped months ago.

He'd tried to tell himself it was just another problem with the post, and that his letters would get here eventually. A week went by, and he didn't think much of it. Then two weeks, then three, then a month without a word. He began to question things, but always stopped himself short of thinking the unimaginable. In those first weeks, he was still capable of convincing himself that it was just a fluke. The letters had never failed him, and they weren't about to start now. His Alec would find a way to tell him everything was okay.

His Alec.

But now, those comforting thoughts were less than dissipated air in his heart. Today is August 6, 1945. Magnus picked up one of the many stacks of letters and pulled out the last one he received, reading a few lines here and there.

January 27, 1945

We received word that the Russians took Auschwitz today. We are getting closer to victory, which means I am getting closer to you.

Sometimes, when it rains here, the sky turns the pale green of your eyes, and my heart yearns to see the smile I remember residing in them.

The post here near the border is getting shoddy. I apologize in advance for any lateness in my correspondence. Always know that my word will get to you, somehow. Remember that, and keep my heart safe inside your soul, for I am empty here, having left it with you.

I love you.

That sentiment closed every single correspondence from the first to the last. It had yet to become monotonous, however. Every time Magnus read those three words from the pages, sometimes in Alec's customary elegant hand, sometimes scrawled hastily in fear of some interruption, they never failed to hit home in his heart. He knew Alec loved him, and he loved Alec, even if the world said it was wrong and sick. What did they know of love? They couldn't recognize it when it was right in front of them.

There were hundreds of other letters just like the last one, and he pulled them out every day. He would select one at random and read through the sentences haphazardly, since he had most of them memorized by now. His long, delicate fingers would caress the worn paper, trying to soak up whatever of his lover that was left behind. When he was satisfied, or had grown weary with months-long heartache, he put them away beneath his chest of drawers in his small apartment. He made sure they were hidden and safe, threw on his shoes, tightened his suspenders, and whisked out the door.

Magnus attended the local college, studying history simply because his mother had always called him an old soul. He was 24 years old, but he hadn't seen her since she'd packed him up with what was left of their money and sent him away from the poverty in Indonesia. He had been 16, and she told him to do what he could to save up and educate himself. Knowledge was power, and ultimately freedom. So, he'd worked himself to the bone on the wharfs of South Carolina, saving up enough pennies to take a few classes each semester, and buy books.

He was 19 and Alec 17 when they met in the commons one late summer day. Magnus had been shuffling by on his way to a class on Medieval warfare, and wasn't paying attention. Books and papers went flying, and the two nearly clashed skulls in their hurry to retrieve their belongings. But the moment their eyes locked, Magnus suddenly understood what destiny was. It was ocean blue eyes and a tight, blushing smile. It was jet-black hair coming loose from its pomaded style, and casting late afternoon shadows across high angelic cheekbones. It was beautiful.

"Sorry about that," he said, shoving his books under his arm and holding out a hand to help the boy up.

"No, no! I…should really pay attention. Uncle says I spend way too much time in the clouds. Must be why he's proud that I want to be a pilot," the boy rambled. He finally shut himself up when he saw Magnus' smirk spreading.

"You're a little young for college, aren't you?" Magnus inquired, hoping it was only barely, or that he was mistaken.

"Well, yes. I'm seventeen. But I help my Uncle now and again with various errands and the like," he said cordially, standing up straighter. Magnus thought he might be trying to appear larger or more formidable. It was cute, considering he was rather slight for his tall frame. As an afterthought or explanation, he added, "My uncle is Professor Starkweather. Do you know him?"

Yes, Magnus knew him. "I'm actually heading to his Medieval studies class right now," Magnus said, trying to suppress the giddy smile that was threatening to break forth.

"Oh! Well, now you have a companion for the journey," the boy intoned cheerfully. A half second later, he must have realized what he said, because his high cheekbones took on an impossibly deep shade matching some of the early changing oak leaves. "Uh, I'm Alexander, by the way. But you can call me Alec." Again, he seemed to reconsider the way his statements would be received. "Everyone does," he added hastily.

Magnus smiled warmly, trying to control the fluttering in his stomach that the boy's tentative smile induced. "Magnus," he returned, holding out his hand again to shake. As soon as their fingertips touched, both felt a spark that couldn't have been anything but destiny.

It was hard, and awkward at times, revealing their deeper feelings for one another. After all, in 1941 there wasn't much public, readily available precedence for two men feeling this way about one another. Sometimes they would brush fingertips, or elbows, or shoulders when they walked down the pathways on campus. Alec was still in high school, but he got out after half a day to work with his Uncle. He would sit in the front corner of the lecture hall, and every now and then would slyly turn to catch Magnus' eyes on him and not on the professor.

The two grew inseparable, sharing penny shakes at Taki's Diner on warm Saturdays, and cruising in Alec's father's old Plymouth. Once, when they had parked out by the docks in the quiet twilight of a cool November evening, Alec grabbed Magnus' hand and twined their fingers. Magnus' heart nearly burst at the gesture, and his head darted around to make sure they were alone. There was no telling what small Southern townsfolk would say about such a sight. But they were nestled in a deserted lot; it seemed there was no one for miles in each direction.

Magnus relaxed into Alec's side, their shoulders nudging together, and causing that ever-present spark that seemed to make itself known every time they touched. When Magnus felt Alec's body move away from him, his breath hitched, thinking they'd gone too far. But he noticed Alec was turning to face him, a serious look taking over his angelic features.

"Magnus, what is this that we have?" he asked bluntly. Magnus had come to find that an endearing quality in the boy. Whenever something was on his mind, he came right out with it.

"I'm not sure. I mean, I feel a…certain way about you…" he began, not really knowing how to phrase his response. This was entirely new to both of them.

"And I, you. Magnus, I…I like holding hands with you. I like your eyes when you see me. They get very bright and sometimes they glow in the dark." Magnus, growing bashful, looked down. His heart did a double flip-flop when he felt Alec's gentle fingertips lift his chin, urging him to keep eye contact. "And I like the electricity between us whenever I touch you. Do you feel it? Tell me you do," he pleaded, as if Magnus could answer in the negative, as if it were possible.

"I do," he said earnestly, feeling so lost and so found, so high and so grounded that he wanted to cry out. What was this feeling he felt? "Alec, I think I…" but he couldn't put it to words.

"I love you," came the short and blunt statement from Alec's lips. As soon as the words drifted into the air between them, Alec sucked his bottom lip in, chewing on it self-consciously and casting his eyes down to their entwined hands. For a moment, Magnus was completely speechless. This was all kinds of wrong. Two men didn't feel this way about each other. It was blasphemy; at least, that's what they'd been taught their entire lives. But why, then, did it feel like the world shifted into its rightful position as soon as the three words began to sink in? Why did it feel like coming home, sitting here in the night, serenaded by the crickets and the low hum of the radio? It could only be because it was right. This, what he felt, was the most right thing in his life.

"I love you too, Alec," he returned, and those blue eyes shot up to his so fast, he thought they'd get whiplash. All at once, he felt Alec's grip tighten on his hands and it had the same effect on his heart. His breath hitched again like before, but this time it was in pure anticipation, the feeling one gets when standing at a gigantic precipice, fighting the urge to just let go and leap. But it seemed he wouldn't be leaping alone.

"Magnus…" Alec began in a whisper, his body moving ever so slightly in the direction of the passenger side of the bench seat. His hands gripped Magnus' a fraction tighter.

"Alec…" Magnus returned, following his lead, somewhat of his own accord. His body didn't seem to need any prodding; it was pulling them closer on its own. Good thing, since his mind was in about a million places and yet completely focused on Alec's ocean eyes. It seemed blue and green were going to collide when at the last second…

His eyes slipped shut and he felt soft, pliant lips brush his with the slightest of caresses, fleeting and light. They both sucked in a strangled breath at the contact, pulling apart no more than an inch to gaze into each other's eyes once more. Magnus felt Alec's hands leave his own, snaking up to cradle the back of his neck, pulling him close again. Their lips met full on this time, dry but pleading. Magnus' heart was so far gone, he was afraid it would beat out of his chest. He found his hands worrying Alec's hips, sliding tentatively inside the thick leather jacket he wore all the time now that the weather had cooled.

The kisses stayed chaste that night, the furthest step being a graze of the tip of a tongue on a swollen bottom lip. They continued this way for hours, serenaded by Billie Holiday's sultry alto, the smooth notes of Pennies From Heaven filling the interior of Alec's father's car.

Their encounters were many after that first kiss, and they progressed to more sensual levels including sliding, massaging tongues and wandering fingers kneading and stroking through thin fabric, but they never went further than that. After all, they were moving fast as it was, and they had no precedent to go on for their "relationship" concerning levels of intimacy. Magnus knew he wanted to be intimate with Alec someday, and Alec had expressed the same, but they were allowing the pace to continue languidly. They thought they had all the time in the world.

And then, a month later, there was tragedy in Hawaii. They'd heard it on the radio, so many men dying in the early morning attack, some still unaccounted for. They'd thought the US had squeaked by without taking part in the big European war for power, but here it was, in their own backyard. But, oddly enough, that wasn't the most heartbreaking day of Magnus' life. No.

The most heartbreaking day of his life was two weeks later, on December 23, 1941. That was Alexander Lightwood's eighteenth birthday.

And he enlisted, bent on doing his duty for his country.

At 20, and also being a college student, Magnus had obligations that rendered him safe from taking part in the barbaric war that was raging overseas. But Alec had always had a dutiful, fighting bone deep within him. His father had fought in the Great War, his great-grandfather in the Civil War. He had been raised patriotic, and no one attacked his country and got away scot-free.

So, the next day, Magnus and Alec had a tearful, hugging goodbye at the train station. Alec was being transported to New York, where he would then be shipped off to Warsaw. There couldn't be a worse place to go at the moment, but Alec put on a brave face.

"Be strong, Magnus," he said into his ear as they embraced on the platform, Alec's sister Isabelle standing a few feet away, already having had her tearful goodbyes. "I'll come back to you, I promise." And with that, he leaned back to look Magnus straight in the eyes for a good long minute. Magnus wanted so bad to place his lips against those soft pale ones, to feel their breath mingle one last time, but alas, they were on a crowded platform. It was impossible. So Alec settled for another tight embrace, both of them fighting back the wetness that threated to spill over unchecked. They parted, and Magnus watched as Alec climbed the step into the waiting train car. One last look behind him, and the engine pulled him away.

Magnus felt Isabelle touch his hand, pulling it into her own. "I know you have…more with him," she said. He looked at her incredulously, but relaxed at the look in her eyes. It was kind and unwavering. "I don't care. As long as someone loves my brother, he'll be safe," she said.

"Dirty Jap!"

The exclamation pulled Magnus back to the present with a vengeance. Not that he wasn't used to it by now, however. He was half Indonesian, and his Asian features simply marked him as the enemy. Shortly after the attack on Pearl Harbor, the college had asked him to provide proof of his non-Japanese heritage. It had been a month-long ordeal, but finally through the immigration office, he obtained his birth records, certifying him as half Indonesian and half Dutch and thus saving him from being shipped off to the containment camps in California. He couldn't blame them; America had become quite paranoid of those who in any way resembled the race that had rained destruction upon them and taken so many unsuspecting troops.

The days passed in a numb kaleidoscope of classes and work at the wharf, but it did nothing to relieve the constant thought of Alec from Magnus' mind. Eight months and no word. He'd resigned himself to the fact that he would never, ever get that last kiss.

Isabelle had tried to comfort him in the meantime, telling him the news she heard occasionally on the radio. For a while, both her brothers were in Europe fighting for the freedom of the oppressed. Alec's middle sibling, Jace, turned eighteen 6 months after his older brother and had eagerly been deployed to England to fly alongside the R.A.F. Both brothers, it seemed, liked it up in the clouds. However, in December of '43, Jace's P-51 fighter was shot down over Germany. The day his spare uniform, belongings, and tags arrived at the Lightwood home was the day Magnus thought Isabelle would break.

However, the girl had a lot more fight in her than he gave her credit for, and she ended up being the one who kept him going most of the time. Sometimes, he shared Alec's letters with her and they would smile over some of the antics his battalion would get into on uneventful nights. Sometimes the letters were more ominous, speaking of fallen comrades and his misery and sorrow upon hearing about Jace's death. But in every single one, he promised he'd be home, and he told Magnus he loved him. And Alec's belongings hadn't arrived in a plain box like Jace's yet. That and Isabelle's encouragement had kept Magnus going about his daily routines for a long while now.

When Magnus finally arrived to his class on the Roman Empire, he noticed a strange dynamic about the room. The entire lecture hall of students was gathered tightly up front, surrounding the professor's small AM radio. He walked cautiously up to the crowd, staying as silent and unassuming as possible so as not to invite more racist jabs. He found a nice boy whom he'd talked to once or twice, standing on the periphery, and decided to approach him.

"Simon, what's going on?" he asked quietly.

"Man!" Simon whisper-yelled. "We bombed Japan! Completely wiped out an entire city! They'll have to shut their traps now!" he said with glee. And as Magnus listened in to the broadcast, he found it was true. The US military had dropped an atomic bomb on Hiroshima, Japan, leveling the city. It sounded horrid and barbaric, but he couldn't help but think it was the beginning of the final end. Maybe Japan would surrender and it would all finally be over.

And surrender they did. It took another atomic bomb on Nagasaki three days later, but Japan finally gave up arms. World War II was finally over. Magnus smiled for the first time in almost a year that day. He tried his damnedest not to, but he let the thought slip in that maybe, somewhere, Alec was still alive and now that everything was done, he could come home.

That thought started fading after the first week. By the second week, it was growing transparent. By the third and fourth weeks, the numbness had returned and he resigned himself once again to the fact that should have taken that last kiss.

Now, he'd never have the chance.

Well, I hope you…enjoyed…that. Please Please Please Please Please review? I really want to know what you guys think. Like, seriously, I'll reply to EVERY SINGLE REVIEW I get on this.

Also, it's not over. There's one more chapter, which will be up tomorrow afternoonish. Love you all!