Hard Candy

It wasn't until mid December when Their Creek got around to freezing over completely.

Well, not completely. As Alec paced the stretch of bank between the bridge and the pigeon feeder's bench, he spied several cracks aside the shore that the snow and frost had yet to scab over. Places where he could see the steady flow and feel the sluggish pulse of the brook pushing forward through the slush, occasionally causing its life water to spray out and congeal into ice across soaked soil.

Such spots frustrated Alec, more than any sloppy state the creek had been in the various states of freeze. As ugly as the solidifying slush was, in a way it was complete in how open and vulnerable it was: it took the stone you hurled into it and kept sloshing on in its ruddy beauty. Then on the opposing end, having a solid sheet of crystalline armor to coat its surface... a fortress of ice. One that could take on snowmobiles and none-too-cautious boys like himself weighing down on it and it'd still keep its form; and under the solid enamel white, the undercurrent still ran whatever way its will pulled it.

But this... this hideous wish-wash. This half-assed attempt at a pretty sheen while still leaking a pathetic ooze; no better than a poorly healing wound. This flimsy mask he knew couldn't take a single blow without buckling in on itself, becoming the clot that could stop up the creek's will and flow all together.

Earlier in the year, when everything was lively and thaw, He would compare the two of them to an attribute of the stream. Of course most of them were incredibly corny like "You're the water that fills my banks" and the near-to-not-romantic "See those two minnows swimming upstream? That's us running against every naysayer and Clave Zealot, not giving a single damn what they try to do or say to stop us. Of course, we'd be making love constantly and not be submerged in polluted creek water... but still. It fits." But that was Magnus, being brilliantly off-beat and unafraid to do or say anything. A knight in glamorously tight-fitting armor, confidence as untouched as a perfectly frozen river.

Then there was Alec, standing in his shabby jeans and hair in disarray. Half petrified after years of shielding himself from his parents and the remainder slowly bleeding out in gashes he vigorously denied existed. He never had the right words to say or the right smile to flash. Hell, he can't even stick so much as a toe out of the closet in front of anyone who wasn't his really-but-not-boyfriend or sister.

After the umpteenth trip on his little stretch of bank, he finally slumped against the base of the bridge positively dripping with self-loathing-pity. Out of pure habit, his eyes turned to the sky and his lips formed a flighty word he was sure God had become sick of hearing: Why?

Why do I have to be gay? Why do I have to be gay and a shadowhunter? Isn't it hard enough just being either or? Why do I have to be a gay shadowhunter who belongs to a Clave that would rather see a greater demon honored than someone like me?

And, finally;

Why does it have to be Him?

Magnus was a warlock. A very flamboyant, impossibly loud warlock who somehow found his way onto every dancefloor and was the life of every party. He was nearing his three-hundredth birthday, but he didn't look a day over twenty-one. ("But that doesn't mean I shop at the store. By God, I have some standards, Alec.") His only constant companion, aside from Alec himself, was a surly once-stray cat by the name of Chairman Meow. He was weird, hilarious, off, wise yet somehow bitchy at the same time, and above all things... absolutely astounding.

But even if the Clave somehow saw past the whole guy-on-guy issue, they would never know him for all the crazy wonderful things he is. Instead, they'd stop at fact number one: he is a warlock. And warlocks, being basically the mutts of downworld (even in contrast to werewolves), aren't exactly high on the average shadowhunter's "To Marry" list. Sure, they're great when you need a portal or a quick potion fix, but anything beyond business? Out of the question.

Affection shouldn't even compute between shadowhunters and warlocks.

This frightened Alec to no end, and what's worse, his fears weren't unfounded. The whole reason why he had fled to the park in the first place was because of a particularly nasty storygem he had picked up on at the family dinner not a couple hours earlier. It was one of those half-rumor half-newsreel tales that wove itself around a seed of debauchery and scandal. Apparently, according to what his mother had heard, a shadowhunter woman had recently renounced her duties in favor of eloping with, of all things, a fairy.

Now, stories of shadowhunters flaking for the sake of love are a dime a dozen. It happened here and there; every family has one shameful recollection of kin packing up to live like a mundane. But... a downworlder... not only that but an immortal one, that was hot gossip.

Scorn was flung at her openly and at high volume. It wasn't right, it wasn't natural for a shadowhunter to be rubbing elbows with a downworlder. And besides, fairies and warlocks, what do they know of love? Their entire, too-strung-out lives have made it impossible for them to uphold anything more than a series of flings; no way they would invest in a relationship with someone that would die in a few short decades. She was an idiot for thinking otherwise. Even Alec's parents, who tended to be on the more accepting side, had a jab or two to take at her over dinner.

Oh, if only they knew what their son had on his heart!

Alec buried his head in his hands. What am I going to do?

"Someone's looking awful glum this evening."

Of course Magnus would find him here. Actually, he was shocked the warlock hadn't tracked him down sooner- he had been brooding out there for a good hour. He didn't bother to look up, instead muttering into his gloved hands. "Not glum. Just... thoughtful."

There was a chuckle. "Uh-huh. That explains the fetal position in the snow bank."

"It's not the fetal position."

"Is it?"

"It's the..." Alec mulled around for the right word. "...secure... position."

The chuckle peeled into a full-blown laugh, and Alec couldn't help but smile a little. It was nothing if not dulcet. "Of course, how did I not know?" A wonderfully warm, long-fingered hand wrapped around one of his, giving it a tug upward. "Come now, before that beautiful backside of yours freezes off."

Alec finally looked. Snow dusted surprisingly un-gelled ebony hair, slightly shaggy but in the perfectly untidy way. But even if it wasn't, it was made gorgeous by framing those feline eyes. His dress was similarly down-played: an ash pea coat, knit scarf, and matching skinny jeans. Pretty Boy, Alec would have called him if they were strangers. The kind that sucked away any self-confidence you had to fuel their own assured glow. Although with Magnus, it wasn't like that. Yes, he was terribly vain and dressed strikingly, but somehow instead of making everything (and every-Alec-one) pale in shameful comparison, he superfueled his surroundings making Alec feel like an equally important stroke in a painter's masterpiece.

"You..." Alec smirked, "...look like a hipster."

The warlock rolled his eyes as he pulled him up. "Oh, you're blindness to fashion is adorable. It'd be hipster with horn-rimmed glasses. Without, and on me, it's actually tasteful."

There was a brief pause, one of those I-know-there's-something-on-your-mind silences that hangs there, pulling you down. Alec supposed this was the moment in all the romance movies where the ailing lover vents all their troubles and worries to the other half's willing ears, at which the both of them share an exceedingly verbal but heartfelt revelation, and their feelings are validated and renewed. The one with the crying, and the laughing, and the kissing.

Magnus reached into his pocket, fishing around a bit before pulling an item in a brightly colored wrapper. "Hard candy?"

Alec nodded. "Sure."

They continued on, strolling away from Their Creek and onto one of the park's many paths, only chatting here and there as they steadily worked through Magnus's supply of jaw breakers. And in its own way, it was as perfect as any venting, any confession. Alec didn't need to tell Magnus what was troubling him- he already knew. A glance, a touch, a smile; this was how they conveyed ideas too heavy, to precious for words. It's through this Magnus holds him close and whispers sweet somethings, through this Alec knows He's there for him as well as vice versa.

Sometimes, love is like hard candy; you can't describe it and be done. You've got to taste it for yourself.

A/N: Just a silly little idea I had on my mind while enjoying a jaw breaker. Hope you enjoy it as much as I did. :)