CHAPTER TEN: Take My Breath Away

Manhattan Psychiatric Center was Alec's most despised place. It was full of people, just like him, whose sanity had faded just a bit too much, too far beyond restoration. There was a part of him, and he didn't know how dominant that part was, that knew and related to these people so well. They were children, adults, elders, anyone with a beating heart and blood in their veins, and they were all gifted with the gift of not being gifted. He only had so much time left before that happened to him.

The walls of the center, which was right off of the East River, were high and white, the floors glossy and plastic-glass-like (to avoid injury of course); it smelled strongly of anesthetic and sickness, the influx of humans, misery and vomit, stale coffee. The nearly LSD lights gave an unrealistic glow to the silent asylum—it was too bright; there were too many reflections, not enough dark spots.

The drive to the center had been short enough, for the most part quiet. It was still drizzling but the sun had finally breached the clouds, rays were striking through. He was lucky the center didn't have windows, or else he would have been blinded.

Alec wandered the empty halls now, seeing the occasional passing nurse or doctor, and they would wave at him, or smile; he knew the layout like the back of his hand because he'd been there so many times. It started when he was a kid. Now he was an adult. The staff knew him, he knew the staff. They were friends, almost, besides the part where they gave him drugs and use to tell him bedtime stories.

The Disney ones, he remembered. The one with the princess and the frog.

He walked slowly down the continuing corridor, metal tables fixed up the walls, locked doors with 'do not disrupt' written in black marker on the glass windows. He knew what that meant. He'd had that on his door when he was six.

Continuing on he turned a corner, into a different wing now. The, what he called, Defunctionalized Wing. Maybe the rest of the building was quiet, the only sounds heard murmurs and footsteps, but this wing, The Defunctionalized Wing, it was like being deaf. Once you entered, the quietness was overwhelming. It was too much. The silence was so big and seemed to creep under every crack and tile and hole in the wall. It was like being in a room full of dead people. Suddenly your heart stops, your breathing recedes, your footsteps become so soft they become indefinable.

It was a quiet-game worthy of cringe.

There were no beeping heart monitors. No squeaking wheels of the medicine carts, no sounds of calming breaths or sobs. Just utter stillness.

Alec knew he wasn't supposed to be in here—it was reserved for those patients that went overboard insanity, the ones that had to be sedated and put under to be mediated and calmed down. And when they woke up the shrills would echo down the halls, and moments later it would be put out again, the doctors injecting fluids and medicines under their skin. These patients weren't just insane. They were gone. Their minds had blacked out. There was no bringing them back.

But there was no warning sign that read 'Keep Out'. The doors had been wide open, no chains or barriers to block him. And he needed somewhere to go. He couldn't just sit in the waiting room with Magnus. Too much had happened in the past twenty four hours and he needed a distraction. This distraction. A silent one.

After all—he had once been in The Defunctionalized Wing before. Only for one night, when he was twelve. But still. He thought he deserved special privileges when it came to the quiet things.

He stopped and turned his head to look at the one of the doors. This one was different—it had a black board hanging over the top, chalk and an eraser in a container beside it. Written on the board was a quote, a set of words he recognized from somewhere. 'And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon that is dreaming'.

He tilted his head. How peculiar. How ordinary. He peered through the window (the black wires in the glass were making it hard to see clearly, which was probably the intent) and saw a man inside, standing in front of a bed. The curtain was pulled over it, so he couldn't see who was in the bed, but there were pale feet sticking out from the sheets.

The man had thick grey hair, and withered skin, wrinkled and pulled tight in the wrong places on the exposed areas, the sleeves of a lab coat rolled up to his elbows. A bright green broach was clipped to the pocket. He was speaking softly, mouth moving without rest.

Axel Mortmain—he was an angry man, with what Alec's guessed to be a lot of issues. He was cruel, demanding of patients that couldn't help but be useless and lagging. Wasn't that why they were called patients? Alec remembered dealing with him once...

"Alexander Lightwood? Is that you?" Alec jumped at the break in the still-air, like a knife cutting through bone, tripping over his own feet as he turned around.

"Mr. Herondale," he shied back with tingling fingertips, nerves rushing up him. Edmund Herondale was a tall man, thin and scrawny. Black hair prickled around the top of his head and around his face. Blue eyes like his shined white in the lighting. He was Will's father, and on more than one occasion had filled in for his therapist, who'd he'd stopped seeing before summer.

"Mr. Lightwood, I'm sorry but you aren't allowed to be back here. This is a private wing—"

"I know, I know, I'm sorry. I was just—the waiting room was stuffy, and I needed to stretch my legs, that's all—" he rambled.

"In the abatement unit?" Mr. Herondale looked at him doubtfully. "Come then," He turned and began to walk the other direction, motioning for him to follow. Alec knew he would be in trouble if he didn't.

He took one last glance into the window. Axel Mortmain wasn't there. Neither were the feet. The curtain was pushed back and there there was a bed. The sheets were made, straight, pillows kept clean. There was nobody in the room. The black board didn't have a thing written on it.

Mr. Herondale led him out of the wing knowing perfectly fine that Alec knew the way out. Alec followed him numbly. Maybe it was time to burn his bloodstream again.

. . . . . . . . . . . .

The morning was a daze; Alec remembered it in bits and pieces. Dark and bright hallways, another hospital bed, pills. The smell and taste of alcohol and medicine and blood and white cotton—that oily stuff that nurses rub on your skin to let you breathe. It was static and inert. He was stoic and indomitable; it, the hospital, was a frozen timeless box of nothing absolute, and he was part of it, circumscribed, barred off from everything else that wasn't.

Then they left; silent. Magnus hadn't said a word. He handed him a dull foil bag, the one that had his self-destruction, at the moving doors and motioned to the car. It's purple, like Magnus after he'd gotten dressed. Cerise leather pants, black shirt, platform boots, also illuminant violet.

And blue glitter.

Cerulean shredded diamonds.

Magnus knew Alec's favorite color was blue. Blue was addictive and ornery, two things that Alec wholly was. Magnus adapted that unknowingly, until he'd reached for the blue glitter this morning without thinking. Blue was his favorite color.

Now in the car, black interior, Alec had blue spots dancing in front of him like stars. Is this real?

It was real—glitter in the air. Magnus was shedding. Finally something tangible that's of the non-demented sort of beauty.

"Are you all right?" Magnus asked him, starting the engine.

Alec crossed his legs. There was something now that he was finally starting to notice, like the rest of the small things he'd picked up on after they kissed. Magnus' voice sounded like honey, dripping and sticky but also like ancient violin strings, like a different language but still lucid. Like singing, all the time.

"Fine." he said, brushing off Magnus' concern like nothing. He felt something tugging in the back of his mind, trying to make him remember that it wasn't nothing.

It was real. Like everything else.

. . . . . . . . . . . .

They sat in a cafe, Alec waiting for a silence; Magnus waiting for a word.

The worse god damn part was being a thing to contain. A robot to disconnect. A monster to control. He couldn't feel anything. He was numb. Fucking antipsychotics (all the doctors that gave them) could do that to you. He twirled the small plastic bottle between his hands, biting his lip.

Side effects: Fever, confusion, uncontrollable vomiting, severe headaches, fainting, lightheadedness, unusual bleeding, swelling of throat, prolonged erec—

Oh. Alec pulled it under the table and read it again. Red suffused through his cheeks. At least he felt something.

"You're blushing," said Magnus from across the table, a tiny smirk pulling at his lips. "Why are you blushing?"

Alec jerked his head up, hitting his hands on the wood underneath the table, fumbling with the container so he didn't drop it. After getting his hands under control he set it down on the plastic-y material of the booth.

"I'm not," he muttered, returning back to his menu.

Taki's was the reminisce of what once was going to be a prison. High iron bars guarded the window, strips of shadows cast over the walls; the floor, while black and white, had raised metal crosses to prevent running (from guards, he supposed), and the door to the kitchen was actually the door to a prison cell, where they had installed stoves and counters, steel bars on the freezer door and all. Taki's embraced the reputation, putting things like 'Handcuffs are not all that bad, trust us.' in their fortune cookies.

Alec, not really alive enough yet (monster, robot, thing)—empty—heard Magnus ordering coffee—oddly with cream—and some strange-sounding vegan dish. Alec told the waitress the first thing he saw on the menu, and he wasn't sure what it was, but again, not alive yet. She looked at him strangely, winking still, and flipped her hair and left after he glared at her with dark eyes.

He was tired. He was numb (feeling was beginning to regain in his head though, like squeezing red dye into water, slowly, drip by drop, tick by tock).

This was real.

What were they going to talk about again?

"You,"

"Did I say that out loud?" Alec asked, sinking back into the sticky leather.

Magnus made an acknowledging sound in the back of his throat.

"I thought you wanted to—"

"Today isn't about me." Magnus said, his voice monotone, but his eyes softer, face relaxed. "We can't very well discuss us until we can openly talk about you."

"Oh."

Magnus leaned forward on his elbows, bracelets clinking together.

Now the dripping dye was a steady stream, warming and making his vision sharper. Damn risperidone—they were like hormone dimmers, except in this case brighteners.

The waitress came back to drop off the coffee, with a little glass pitcher of cream. She winked at Magnus, and threw a teasing grin at Alec; he wrinkled his nose when she walked away.

Alec watched as Magnus tipped the cream into the black coffee. Swirls of white spun around, blending and diffusing with the bitterness. The final color though wasn't the color it should have been, with the sun pouring into the room. It turned a shady orange color, drinking in the shadows and sunlight. It was close to the color of Magnus' own skin, which Alec saw now that his hand rested on the handle of the cup.

For a moment Alec closed his eyes and remembered kissing that skin, salty and oil-like, the taste of all human skin. Alec wondered if that's what his own skin tasted of, sea water and colored candle wax. Magnus' lips closed around the rim of the mug when Alec opened his eyes, and he couldn't rip his eyes away—angel lips, that were glossy purple today, and that left an imprint on the white glass when he pulled away to swallow and that tongue that just barely peaked out to lap the remaining drip—

"You're staring," Magnus said, hitching an eyebrow. There was an almost smile on his lips; it was confused.

Alec gasped back softly, heart racing like a monitor. Yes, the dye was a river now, a fast flowing one. Monster, contained, just like always. Real, real, real. Magnus chuckled behind a hand that was cleaning his lips—angel lips—of excess coffee.

"So," Magnus sat the mug down, wiped the back of his hand on the leather of his pants, and picked up the coffee again. "Your parents,"

Alec sat up, rather surprised. "My parents? What about them?"

"You aim to please them, don't you? They're obviously a part of your..." he searched for the right word, taking another sip. "restricted self," he said, muffled, into the mug.

"I..." Alec was at lost for words. "They like order," he said slowly, considering. "A...straight path, to speak,"

"Straight," Magnus approved under his breath smugly.

"They—don't really like—abnormal things," Alec was beginning to stutter again, which was completely counter of what Magnus wanted.

"So you try not to be abnormal." Magnus guessed (knew, more so).

Despite all he knew about his best friend, if he could even call him that, Magnus didn't actually know a whole lot about Alec's relationship with his parents. He knew the Lightwoods worked with the government, and that they were never around for their kids, but that was basic knowledge, he supposed. There had to be more than that—after all, all families had secrets.

"I guess so," Alec shrugged. He felt looser. The red dye maybe? "Even though they aren't really ever around, it's sort of an unspoken punishment if we break their normality."

"There isn't anything wrong with breaking the rules every now and then, Alexander." assured Magnus, watching his motions.

Alec flushed at the intensity of his stare. His own eyes jumped around.

"Who's to say what is or isn't abnormal?" he solicited, remaining ignorant.

"Haven't we already had this conversation? Psychotic father, witch aunt, wears things not even a stripper would go near...? Ring a bell?" Magnus said in a—as always—instrumental-like voice. Where were those violin strings again?

"Yes Magnus," Alec said, irritated. "but brushing off your own problems because someone else has it worse doesn't mean your own don't exist. It's just as bad, in my parents eyes. Being," Alec cringed slightly, but just enough for Magnus to notice. "gay, living off of medicine and growing up in hospitals...it's abnormal, to them. And they're my parents, and I'm suppose to be able to make them happy, so...what I want doesn't really matter,"

"That's so untrue," Magnus argued immediately, sitting forward and laying his arms flat on the marble surface, pressed against each other. "and you know it. That's the whole point, Alec, to get you to understand that being gay," Magnus put emphasis on the word. "isn't bad; that being schizophrenic doesn't make you a horrible person. You are you, and if your parents want you to change that, then they don't deserve to be your parents."

Alec clenched his fist, trying to calm his breathing. The waitress came around again, this time with their food. They both ignored her flirty little "Can I get you anything else?" and the plates in front of them. She walked off with a huff.

"My parents have a place." he said, bringing his voice to almost a whisper. "They're successful and known. Isn't that the kind of thing everybody is suppose to want to look up to? Even if they don't deserve to be my parents, they are still my parents, and they'll always have expectations that I won't be able to reach—"

"Then ignore them," Magnus cut in. "You don't need to make them happy because this isn't their life. Okay? Blood isn't love. If the only connection you have is your relatability then don't try to make one. It'll only fall apart in the end."

Of course Magnus would know all about that.

An odd kind of quiet descended over them, one that Alec hadn't touched before. It was the kind of silence that he was waiting for, but the kind he didn't ever want to set eyes on. It was the kind that didn't need words at all; a finished conversation. He pushed his untouched plate away and looked down at his hands, back to twirling the pills around under the table.

The door chimed. Alec felt numb again. Drip, drip, drip, drip...drip...drip...

...drip.

"Look," Magnus sighed out of annoyance and frustration. "Abnormal just means..." He tugged on one of the spikes in his hair, so painfully hard. "Abnormals are the misfits, the bad kids. That's why they call them teenagers. The ones that don't fit in exactly, the strange ones, the ones that break the rules but stay totally in line. It's a hard line to cross, and...I don't think you have, not yet. I don't care what your parents or anyone else tells you. You're perfect, alright?"

"There isn't a single part about you that isn't perfect to me."

Alec shut his eyes again and let out a shaky breath. "Can we get out of here? I'm not really hungry anymore,"

Too real.

. . . . . . . . . . . .

They were in the car again; Magnus drove aimlessly in circles around the block, half listening to the golden boy.

"Where is he, Magnus?" he was demanding. Magnus could hear the clashing of symbols in the back, fuzzed yelling across the phone line. Eric?

"He's with me. Didn't Simon tell you?" Magnus said dismissively, balancing the phone between his shoulder and cheek. Alec watched the exchange from his spot in the passenger side.

"Yeah, and there are no showings for Wicked today, jackass."

"I assure you, he's fine." He held his finger over the disconnect button.

"He hasn't come home in a day and a half; how am I suppose to know that?!" Magnus pressed down on it, delightfully more amused than in Taki's. "Don't you dare hang up on me Magnus Bane—"

The triple beep.

Magnus smiled over at Alec, who had his knees up to his chest in the seat. He wasn't nearly as amused as Magnus appeared to be.

"What'd he say?"

"He swore me out for kidnapping you. At least he cares." Magnus shrugged, tossing the phone into the cup holder.

"Where are we going?"

"Where do you want to go?"

Alec paused, chewing on his bottom lip. "I don't know."

"Do you want to go back to the apartment?"

"So we can talk?" Alec said sharply, mimicking Magnus' earlier voice.

"So we can talk,"

"I'm sick of talking,"

"Too bad. We're doing it until—"

"Yeah, I know."

Magnus watched Alec in the corner of his eye a little dolefully, sad for himself but more sad for Alec, who was clearly struggling. Maybe he's right. Maybe we shouldn't be doing this—

Alec turned away from him and laid his head against the cold glass, shutting his friend out. He was tired—of moving, of breathing. He wanted to go home and sleep (and hopefully not wake up). He didn't tell Magnus this because: real.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

BANE 483, on a gold plate.

Something about living in Greenpoint was rare; in fact, living in Greenpoint at all was rare, unless you were Polish and in dire need of a job. It was old abandoned factories and everything was made of rusting metal; like some weaponry carnival of dissonance.

Everything was metal.

The two entered the complex (which was only inhabited by a few residents, mind you, because of the metal flakes that constantly ended up in the air) through a faded purple metal door, and climbed a faded green carpeted staircase, and brushed their finger along faded carmine wall—the railing, of course, was metal.

When once the apartment was filled with the aroma of roses, now these roses were burning. It was dusting snow, a cold, wet, cobble street lit by gasoline lamps and jars of fireflies, if it had a smell. The lights were low when they entered, but other than the stench (Ignore it, Magnus had told him when they took a few steps into the flat. It was hard to do; it made him dizzy, lightheaded (or maybe that was the pills?); he stumbled once, but Magnus caught him by the arm and pulled him into the kitchen) and the dim lights, everything seemed quite ordinary.

Alec must have realized sometime after Magnus disappeared into his room that Chloe was here. The office door was closed. He wondered why Magnus didn't say anything, but pushed the thought aside when he remember what Chloe actually did while the office door was closed. Construction, potion, magic. Dim lights, burning roses.

He caught his reflection in the metal paneling above the ironwork stove.

He was a mess with wide eyes; somehow, a newer lineament. His expression was...for once, nonchalant, like he was more calm than before. Which he was, in a way. He was speaking, if only a little, about a hidden part of him, to someone, no matter how intrusive, that he really cared about. It was new, and made him new. Tendrils of green fluttered across the top of his thoughts, like smokey tentacles waiting to entice him to someplace dark—or in this case, somewhere light.

"Here. I was looking for this." Alec twisted his torso to see past the bar. Magnus emerged from his room, holding out a small black device in his hand. It was his phone. He pushed his elbows off the island when Magnus came into the kitchen and took it back.

"Thank you. I was wondering..." He trailed off. There were several missed calls, three from Jace, and four from Isabelle. Isabelle's messages were more casual (Please text me back so I know you're okay), and Jace's were a bit harsher (Call me back you ass), but Alec couldn't care less anyway.

He threw the phone down next to him; it landed with a thud on the cold marble. He tried to smile at Magnus, but he was looking away, and must have missed it.

A gingering thump broke out. Alec wasn't sure what was causing it, but it stimulated his mind; there were now tiny alarms going off in his head, a tiny drip that wasn't red but orange; it was changing the risperidone chemical in him. The roses went away, and was replaced with a coppery tint. Smoke and thumping—next what? Those violin strings again? Not the place for that. Magnus looked up too, eyes lingering on the office door before returning to Alec. He leaned backwards over the bar top hands gripping the surface.

"Chloe knows, by the way. I told her, about...Friday."

Eyes fractionated, becoming blank-like after a held down flush, Alec said, "Oh. That's...um, what did she say? I mean, did she—was she..." His voice was daunted, and he held his hands together below his waist. His fingers began scratching at the skin there on his palm—a bad habit, that often induced bleeding. He forced them apart.

"She," Kind of freaked out, Magnus thought, wetting his lips. A bit of purple smeared off onto his teeth. "She was, er, a bit surprised, I suppose. She has reason to be." he shrugged. "But I think she accepted it, although not without a bit of questioning."

"What kind of questioning?" Alec said, a bit hesitatingly. Chloe was...not a friend, but someone he had known for a long time, and someone he knew on a personal level. Actually, not too personal, but still. He related to her—to her outcasted-ness. He recognized her as someone like him.

Magnus almost flushed. "Oh, only simple things. It doesn't matter."

"You don't really understand how real this is for me."

"Okay." Alec diverted his eyes awkwardly back to the office door. The thumping was steady now, low, like distant thunder even. What was she doing in there?

That thumping though...it was doing something to him, making his heart beat faster.

When Magnus didn't say anything else, Alec then ventured around the bar, past Chairman sleeping diligently on the floor (poor guy was almost stepped on—twice) and pushed the cream-and-rot-colored door to Magnus' room. He could feel Magnus' eyes on him, narrowing but not moving.

Just through the opening was the bed (that bed) which he strode to before he could change his mind. He sat down on the edge, the sound of the familiar spring creaking filling his ears. He sat there, fumbling with his hands until Magnus stood back in the doorway a few minutes later, eying him skeptically, just like this morning, just not like the other night, when they both were on the bed.

"What are you doing?" Magnus asked. Alec continued to stare down at his hands.

"You said earlier...that you shouldn't be spontaneous unless you know what it is that you want." he said, laying back carefully, head just barely missing the wall. Magnus would say his eyes were relaxed or even dreamy (in the sense that he was, well, relaxed) but he saw the barest amount of red pricking from his hand, just under the knuckle. He sighed and grabbed a washcloth from the bathroom, sitting down on the side where Alec had been moments before. He picked up the hand without resistance from the blue eyed boy and clotted the fabric over the ripped skin.

"You have to stop doing that to yourself."

"It's a bad habit. I know."

Looking at the same ocean-colored eyes as someone else, Magnus remembered a puff of smoke, and a cough and a police car. "Remember when Will came back from England, like, five years ago? And all he could say was bloody this bloody that. Bloody hell and bloody habit." Magnus chuckled, despite the bad feelings that came with talking about it. Alec didn't laugh.

"Did you love Will?" Magnus, not having been asked this before, was was a bit startled; it was not the point he was trying to make. He recovered quickly, and pressed the material harder into Alec's hand.

"I thought I did. Everyone thinks they love the first person they have sex with. It's a human thing, I guess," he shrugged it off, not really sure why they were talking about this. Or how it even came up. Why was he thinking about Will just because—oh. Right. Black hair, blue eyes, bad habits. Smoke with one and blood with another.

"Alec..." his eyes wondered off to Alec's face. So beautiful, like always, even with tired eyes and a frown. "Have you figured out what you want?"

Alec stared up at the ceiling, feeling numb once again. The thumping was through the walls now. Sunlight streamed into the room, pushed around the clouds. It hurt his eyes.

"I want someone."

"I'm not—"

"I'm talking, right? That's what you wanted? Well, did you know that I use to like Jace. Like, like like Jace. More than a brother. I think it started when I first met him, just something about him was charismatic and magnetic. I didn't start to notice until I was thirteen, or fourteen maybe, but I kept it to myself. He started dating that girl, and I got over it. But I guess that's how I knew I was gay. Watching him."

Magnus dropped the washcloth, but not Alec's hand.

"That's..." Magnus was kind of aphonic. He didn't know exactly how to process anything Alec had just said. So while I was in love with him...he was in love with...someone else? "I think...I think the pills are making you sort of high. Maybe we should—"

"Yeah, I kind of can't think feel anything right now, but my head's on straight, I'm sure. I know what I'm saying. You don't need to undermine me, like everyone else does. Weren't you the one saying that my parent's shouldn't do that?" Alec had one of those smiles on his face, where you tried to be happy so you wouldn't cry.

God, he's never been so snappy before...

Alec sat up, pulling his body away from Magnus'. Bolts of something rippled into his head. The thumping got louder. Magnus got up, and shut the door. For a fast second he desperately wanted to show Magnus exactly how he felt—other than nothing—, to rip off the maquillage on his arm. Cuts, runes.

And then the thumping stopped, and it was like taking off on a runway, and he was thrown back into his head. He gasped softly, and Magnus still stood by the door, looking at him. It's the thumping. Chloe was doing something, with the thumping, that was making him crazy. Some sort of fuse or charge...

Alec dizzily leaned his head against the wall. "I—sorry. Something came over me. I...I snapped, or something." He breathed in, and out, shakily, hands scratching again.

Magnus took a few steps forward, studying him. "It's alright. Everyone snaps."

"Not me. I'm not suppose to—to—to—" Tears welled up in Alec's eyes, the blue shimmering in the newly found sunlight, swimming in salt. Stop stuttering, he told himself, and he felt a crack. He hadn't cried yet, not yet, wasn't suppose to, and now...he couldn't stop. Waves of images crashed all over him, his parents, and Will, who wasn't even a part of this, but Magnus was...always did...talk about him...and—

Magnus strode to the bed, kneeing his way across the mattress, and held the crying boy, sobs wracking his body, crying everything away—the (his) insanity, the pressure, and the pain. And then he fell asleep, however long later, and Magnus still held him.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

By the time the sun was setting, Alec was awake. Embarrassed, ashamed, and completely awake. Magnus, oddly enough, had fallen asleep as well, holding him. He fell asleep, with someone holding him, like he meant something to someone.

They'd been lying back against the headboard, Alec small and confused when he woke. Magnus' arms enveloped him; they were thin and vine-like, but strong, and it took him a while to unwind himself from them. Somehow he'd managed not to wake Magnus, and he left the room. Chloe was out then, rustling around in the kitchen. His phone was laying out on the coffee table.

Then he stood at just outside the door until she noticed him. She did, eventually, and apologized for the strange thumping that was occurring earlier (which as it turns out was fire burning without oxygen which didn't make any sense to him). She didn't question why he was here, or where Magnus was, or why they hadn't gone to school.

She then proceeded to stick a candy cane (Isn't it September?) into his mouth and shove him in the bathroom to "wash up". He saw what she was talking about; bed hair, puffy eyes. Why did he start crying again? And oh god. The makeup had smudged on his arm. Tiny white lines began to poke through. He nearly had a panic attack, another one, until his eyes landed on something in the mirror. His clothes from yesterday, sitting on the edge of the shower, a long sleeve shirt among them.

Now he sat on a park bench near the edge of a small, secluded park close to Magnus' flat, mouth still tasting of peppermint, phone in hand, pressing ignore on another one of Jace's panic calls. Apparently his mother was home early. Alec didn't have any care to pay attention to his mother right now. He would take Magnus' advice—loosely, though.

Magnus returned to him a few minutes later, balancing two cones of ice cream—chocolate and strawberry—in one hand, and surprisingly handed the pink one to Alec, who was a lot more colorful when it came to foods than fashion.

"So, were you serious? When you told me that you use to like Jace?" Magnus brought up, voice light and airy, once they started walking down a stranded path that led to an opening of trees. The path was made of cobble stone, ever so coincidentally.

Alec wrapped the napkin around the cone higher, and gingerly started to lick around it. The fruit flavor over the peppermint was harsh. He lowered his head, flushing. "Er, yeah. It was...kind of just a crush, but...you know. Jace is—"

"Jace." Magnus grinned. "And despite everything masochistic about him he still looks like a fucking model." Alec flushed deeper. Magnus was not at all trying to keep his mouth subtle around the ice cream; in fact, he bet that Magnus was doing it on purpose. "So I get where you're coming from."

"I'm over it, though. I mean, it was, a long time ago, but—"

"Doesn't he like that little red-head now? The feisty one?"

"Clary?" Alec confirmed. "I guess. Maybe."

"That's odd." Magnus commented. "He usually goes for the boob-y ones."

"I—" Alec trailed off awkwardly. "I wouldn't know much about that."

Magnus grinned again. "Of course not."

And then the sun hit the trees ever so slightly, and Magnus' eyes lit up, a fire of liquid ember and lime, viridian and apple, lava next to the greens and yellows of a peacock's feather. Alec saw the universe in those eyes—the blue glitter glinted purple, illustrious and bright—and he saw the starlight, just for a moment, while the sun finally sunk below the surface, and darkness overcame the grass, and night befell. It was breathtaking, not for the first time either. He always noticed little things like this—didn't pay attention to them, but he noticed, he saw what he was always so desperately trying not to—trying to stop what had already started.

"You're staring again," Magnus teased, and the smile that he so often compared to a Cheshire was more actually that of a tiny sliver of the moon.

Alec tossed the ice cream into a passing trashcan, and stuffed his hands in his pockets, glancing away.

"Hey," Magnus keened, bumping him with his shoulder. "Stop hiding from me. I want to talk to you."

This time Magnus wanted him to smile, and he would have, but he couldn't.

"This is going to so fun," Magnus said, either ignoring or oblivious to the sudden change of moods. "We can tease him now, and he'll be—"

Alec stopped walking, eyes wide with realization—he was in a box, stuck in this box with Magnus. There was an entire other city beyond that, one that didn't know what was happening to him.

The path broke out just a little around a fountain. No water leaked from the top, and it was crumpled, sideways, the concrete on one half completely broken. "No."

"What?" Magnus turned around, looking at him oddly, confused. He frowned, and ice cream dripped from the cone onto his hand; he didn't move to wipe it away.

"I can't tell him. You can't either,"

Magnus hitched both of his eyebrows, if not confused before, now more than ever. Alec legitimately looked scared of the thought. "I thought that...that you were...We're talking, aren't we? I mean, you've told me that—"

"I'm telling you because I kind of have to. I don't need to tell Jace. He doesn't need to know." Alec felt a jolt of apprehension (and maybe even a little regret).

"Oh," Magnus said tautly, understanding what Alec was trying to tell him, in a sort of sadistic way. A bit of anger even, sparked in him. He took a step closer to Alec. "I get it. You don't need to tell Jace because you didn't make out with Jace. Yeah, totally understandable. I get that you couldn't just tell him, and rely on him like a brother and a friend."

Alec almost stumbled back. It was a slap in a face. "No. That's not what I—"

"Mean? Because basically, what you're saying is that you never would have told me, if we hadn't kissed." In a fit of anger, his hand clenched around the cone, and it was crushed. He dropped it to the ground, breathing hard. "God damn it." he swore under his breath, shaking his hand off. "God damn it."

"Magnus," Magnus turned his head away for a moment, blinking rapidly, and Alec couldn't see his face, but he heard the cracking of fingers and a number of hushed curses. "I'm sorry."

Why do I keep breaking this? Every time there was a spark of humor it was replaced with another pitchfork. Magnus had fixed them so many times, and not just now—other times too, when they were younger. It was time for him to fix something. To explain? Had he done that yet?

When Magnus turned back there was a smile plastered to his face, straining, oh so obviously trying not to lose it. "Oh no. You aren't apologizing." He keeps doing that. "I keep forgetting that this is new for you. I just need to..." Magnus let out a struggling breath, regaining his temper (which was typically this narrow).

"But...everything you just said, what you were saying, about me never—never—it was true, wasn't it? I wasn't going to..."

Magnus saw Alec face; it was a sort of tragedy.

"Stop that. Stop blaming yourself. Nothing is your fault. You didn't do anything."

"But I did," Alec said, taking a step back. His eyes flew down to Magnus' lips. "I did do something. Kissing you. I—I did that—twice. I kissed you, remember? We're here, because of me. But that—that—that—isn't the worst part is it? Because I liked it. It felt...good." He stammered. Is it time to talk about us?

Magnus was listening, at first. Then he just kind of...blurred it out. "You liked kissing me?"

Alec shook his head. "Unbelievable. That's all you got from that?" His nerves were pushed behind annoyance. "I'm trying to tell you—you won't listen to me!"

"Do it again." Magnus said, an unheard demand behind his words. Alec stared at him, shivering from the cold.

"I—what?"

"If you liked kissing me, do it again."

"Excuse me?" Alec exclaimed. "I'm trying to talk to you—which is something you've wanted me to do all day by the way, and you want me to kiss you?"

"You don't like something," Magnus hissed. "And not want to do it again. You kissed me this morning. You had to have wanted to do it."

Alec stammered. "Well—that was—that was different. I wasn't...right—then."

"You don't do something if you don't mean it. I know you, Alec. You don't do unnecessary things. If it doesn't have a purpose you won't do it."

That's it. That's all it takes. If he can kiss me completely aware of what he's doing and know the consequences then he'll know what he wants.

He was going to say more, but the words on his tongue were eaten—literally. There were sudden messy lips on his, those soft, unpracticed, and absolutely devouring lips sinking through his, shaping and conforming to the outline of his mouth. These were kisses out of anger, unsettled nerves looking for a release. The breath caught in his throat, and before Alec could pull away he moved a hand to his waist, and the other around his neck, pulling the boy closer. He fell forward as Alec fell back, and they held each other, minds blank like paper, crinkling and burning with heat.

"Three," Magnus said when Alec finally let go, a playful grin faulting on his lips.

"What?" Alec whispered, trying to regain coherence. The fire in him was stable but kindling.

"Three times, that you've kissed me now. All on your own."

Feeling daring, Alec bent up again, only for a second.

"Four."

Again.

"Five."

Again. And again. Seveneightnine until Alec was stumbling back, they were tripping over each other's feet, and his back finally hit something hard; a tree, from the scratchiness on his neck.

Alec's hands tangled themselves in Magnus' spiky hair, pulling them out of place and glitter rubbing off onto his skin. Their lips were pushed together with such a force that Alec was sure he had purple smeared on them.

And there he was, thinking all by himself. Knowing just what was happening.

Magnus took both of his hands to Alec's hips, working his leather-clad legs in between Alec's denim ones, so that they're bodies were pressed together fully. They—his thumbs—pressed into the skin of his lower stomach, filling each muscled notch there, and Alec shivered even more.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

The streets of Manhattan were rarely as quiet as they were that night; the sky shone orange and green with lights but there was barely anyone out to see. Isabelle walked soundlessly through the veil of wet air, merely a silhouette against the brick buildings, in a dark trench coat and high boots.

Where are all the damn taxis?

After an hour more of wandering, she gave up and willed herself to walk the rest of the way home; she was tired, she was drunk, and nobody was answering their phones.

Isabelle had been invited to a party in the East Village, to some bar that she couldn't remember the name of. Alec wasn't there to stop her, Jace didn't care, so she went, and now after being forced drinks and being pushed around by guys she had escaped.

Into what?

Empty streets, foggy air, tripping and stumbling over herself...where was she even?

Her phone buzzed in her pocket. She mumbled more curses and tried to get it out. It slipped right out of her hands; the screen cracked when it hit the payment. She didn't pick it up, too dazed, but tilted her head to look at it. The screen was frozen, and a name was stoic on the shattered glass. Simon. Simon had been calling her.

Something about the name shook her out of it, her drunken stage, sort of. The name rung a bell in her head. Simon, Simon, Simon. Who was Simon? She wished she weren't drunk.

Oh well. She continued to walk on, pulling the coat around her tighter. A taxi pulled up next to her and she sighed in relief. But then the door opened and someone climbed out, someone she recognized, and called her name.

I know that person. Who is—

The person, the man (most definitely a man, very tall, and very shiny), grabbed her arm, but before she could protest, she was out.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Alec had walked home alone that night in the cold, and Magnus had caught a cab going the other direction with promises of seeing each other at Alicante the next morning; there was no word between the two of how they stood, friendship-wise, or how Alec would act around him in public, but hopefully there was also an unspoken truce of hope.

Now, less than an hour later he stood back at the Lightwood Mansion, handing a drunken brunette over to her brother, who was shirtless and smelt suspiciously of tequila.

"Thank you," Alec said, pushing Isabelle inside and shutting the door behind her, so that he and Magnus remained alone out on the porch. Magnus leaned against a pillar and crossed his arms. "for getting her. She comes home drunk a lot now and...well, I worry about her."

Magnus gave a small smile. "You're suppose to. She's your little sister, and while I may not have one, I know what it's like to worry."

"I just..." Alec put his weight on the door, tilting his head back and running his hands, scabbed and scarred, through his hair exasperated. "I don't know what to do with her! She won't listen to me, or Jace, and she won't stop the drinking. I thought that Meliorn guy was good for her, but she barely sees him anymore..."

"Alec," Magnus put a hand on his shoulder, slowly massaging the exposed skin. "Your overwhelmed right now. Breathe."

"Sorry, I...I'm a little drunk, I think. My mom left a bottle of something out after she went to bed."

Magnus scoffed, excepting as much. "I'm a reason to get drunk over?"

"Sure."

Magnus flinched and moved his hand away. "Hey..." he startled, his resolve crumbling a bit. "I know we'll be okay, alright? I'm sure Isabelle will be too..."

Alec's eyes caught his, and even though he claimed to have drank, the blue was clear, and more focused than they had been at all today.

"Are you going to be okay?" he asked finally.

Alec opened his mouth to respond, the obvious lie coming out of his throat, but he swallowed it. Magnus saw through all his lies, and by the concern in his eyes...he didn't know. He didn't know if he would be okay. Too many kisses and too many break downs had un-functioned him.

"Ask me tomorrow." He said. He wanted to sleep (and hopefully not wake up). "Goodnight, Magnus."

A/N: I don't know if I like this or not.

I suck. That's nearly two months now, right? *gaahhhhh* This is one of those chapters full of metaphorical shit that doesn't make any sense by the way.

To be totally honest I think I'm going to take a break from this. I had a plot—it fell apart. I've got two other Malec fics I want to start working on too, so...I don't know. I probably won't abandon this, but it'll be a while before I update. So...hiatus? Not officially, but don't expect an update soon.

xxShar [is thinking: It's...2013? By the way, sometime I'm going to rewrite chapters one and four. My god I hate those chapters.]