Chapter Text
Winter in New York had a way of frosting everything with a kind of fragile magic—icy edges on railings, glittering rooftops, and the soft hush of snow that made the city feel almost gentle for once. Magnus Bane loved it. He loved the excuse to wear long coats lined with velvet, scarves that swirled like painted ribbon, and boots that clicked with purpose on the pavement. And tonight, he loved it even more—because he had managed to finish work early.
Which almost never happened.
The law firm of Morgenstern & Pierce—too sharp of a name for how painfully dull their cases usually were—was buried under paperwork as the end of the year approached. People liked to settle disputes before the holidays, apparently. But Isabelle Lightwood, paralegal by day and unstoppable force by nature, had burst into Magnus’s office fifteen minutes before closing with a smile that meant trouble.
“Magnus,” she’d said, leaning dramatically on his doorframe, “you’re coming out for food with me.”
“I’m buried,” he’d replied, gesturing to the mountain of files on his desk. “Consider me legally dead.”
“You have to eat eventually.”
“I had a muffin at noon.”
“That was six hours ago.”
“And it was blueberry.”
“Not a meal.”
Magnus had opened his mouth to argue but she’d already grabbed half the files and dumped them in her bag.
“Illegal,” he’d said.
“I know,” she’d grinned. “I work in a law firm. If I do it fast enough, it’s fine.”
He’d sighed, put on his coat, and let Isabelle drag him out into the cold.
Now, as they stepped into the warmth of the small café off Tenth Avenue—The Blue Lantern, smoky windows and orange lighting—Magnus felt grateful for the break. It smelled like cinnamon, espresso, and melted chocolate, which felt infinitely better than printers and stale office air.
“It’s so quiet,” he said as they shook the snow from their coats. “Did we accidentally step into a romance novel setting?”
“We might have,” Isabelle said mysteriously. “Actually, we’re meeting someone.”
Magnus looked sharply at her. “Isabelle Lightwood, if you have arranged a blind date for me—”
“Nope,” she said, throwing her coat over the back of a chair. “Not a date. I swear. Just my brother. He’s been shut in his apartment coding for eighteen hours straight, and if someone doesn’t force-feed him pasta, he’ll die.”
“Oh.” Magnus relaxed. “That’s fine. I like your brothers.”
“You like Jace,” Isabelle corrected. “You tolerate Max because he’s cute. You don’t know Alec.”
Magnus opened his mouth to respond—but the bell over the door chimed. Isabelle’s face lit up.
“There he is.”
Magnus turned.
And his world did a very inconvenient thing—it narrowed.
The man who stepped inside was tall, shoulders broad beneath a navy wool coat dusted in snowflakes. Dark hair, messy from the wind. Eyes an incredible hazel, bright even in the dim café lighting. His scarf was crooked, as if he’d knotted it while running out the door.
Magnus felt the jolt like a pulse under his ribs.
Ah. Damn.
Isabelle waved him over. “Alec! Over here!”
Alec walked toward them, the slightest pink on his cheeks from the cold. Up close, he was even more devastating—hands shoved awkwardly into his coat pockets, lashes long enough to cast tiny shadows on his skin.
“Hey,” Alec said, giving his sister a quick, warm smile. Then he turned his attention to Magnus. “You must be Magnus.”
His voice was low, a little shy—and Magnus’s brain short-circuited for a second.
“I am indeed,” Magnus said, recovering smoothly. “And you’re the brother Isabelle speaks about in tones of exasperated affection.”
Alec huffed a soft laugh—beautiful, Magnus thought unreasonably—and shook Magnus’s hand. His grip was warm, firm, hesitant at the ends.
He’s adorable.
“I don’t know that I’d call it affection,” Alec said, throwing Isabelle a look.
Isabelle threw a sugar packet at him.
“Sit,” she commanded. “Both of you. Before I order for you.”
Magnus slid into the seat across from Alec, shrugging off his coat. Alec sat with the kind of careful posture that suggested he didn’t quite know what to do with his height. Or his limbs. Or Magnus’s very direct attention, which Magnus attempted—and failed—to tone down.
“So,” Magnus said as Isabelle went to place their order, “you’re a game developer.”
Alec nodded. “Yeah. I work at an indie studio in Brooklyn. We’re finishing our winter release, so things are… hectic.”
“Hectic is one word,” Isabelle said from the counter. “Unhinged is better.”
Alec ignored her. “It’s been a long week.”
“You look like you could use sleep,” Magnus said gently.
Alec blinked, startled—clearly not expecting kindness from a stranger—and then ducked his head, ears pink. “Probably.”
Magnus felt his heart do a disastrously soft thing.
He’s charming without even trying.
“So what do you do?” Alec asked, shifting the focus away from himself.
Magnus leaned back, folding one leg over the other with practiced ease. “I’m a junior attorney at the firm where your sister and I mutually suffer. Employment law, mostly. Very glamorous. Everything you imagine, just with more existential dread.”
Alec laughed again—quiet, but real.
“Isabelle told me you’re good,” he said.
Magnus arched a brow. “She must want something.”
“Probably,” Alec agreed.
When Isabelle returned with three steaming cups of hot chocolate and a plate of pastries, she found Magnus and Alec already deep in conversation—about games, oddly enough. Magnus knew enough to appear competent, and Alec lit up when he talked about narrative design, his hands moving as if sketching ideas in the air.
It was… lovely.
Magnus loved passion in any form, and Alec’s was bright enough to warm the entire table.
“So wait,” Magnus said, leaning forward, chin resting on his knuckles, “you coded an entire NPC behavior system because you thought players deserved ‘companions who feel alive’?”
Alec flushed. “It sounds ridiculous when you say it like that.”
“It sounds brilliant,” Magnus corrected.
Alec looked at him—directly this time—and something softened in his expression. Magnus felt his breath catch. Then Alec dropped his gaze again, missing entirely the way Magnus was staring at him as though someone had written a sonnet on his skin.
Snow continued to fall outside the café windows. Inside, the warmth grew easy, familiar.
By the time they finished eating, Isabelle was lounging back in her chair, rolling her eyes at both of them.
“You two,” she said, “are officially insufferable.”
Alec blinked. “What? Why?”
“You’re talking about branching dialogue like it’s a love language.”
Magnus smirked. “Isn’t it?”
Alec rubbed the back of his neck. “I… guess?”
The blush was back. Magnus adored it.
When they finally bundled back into their coats, the sky outside had deepened to navy, streetlights blurring in the falling snow.
Alec shoved his hands in his pockets. “Thanks for inviting me. The food was good. The company was—” He faltered, glancing at Magnus. “Um. Nice.”
Magnus smiled slowly, warmth blooming beneath his ribs again. “It was lovely meeting you, Alexander.”
Alec’s head snapped up, eyes widening slightly at the fuller version of his name.
Isabelle mouthed oh my god behind his shoulder.
“Uh—yeah. You too, Magnus,” Alec said, shifting his weight like he didn’t quite know what to do with the compliment.
Magnus pulled his phone from his coat pocket before he could overthink it. “I’d love to hear more about your work. And perhaps send you recommendations for better coffee than the sludge at your studio. Mind if we exchange numbers?”
Alec blinked again—slow, like the thought hadn’t even crossed his mind.
“Oh. Sure. Yeah.” He pulled out his phone, nearly dropping it in the process. Isabelle caught Magnus’s eye and tried not to cackle.
They exchanged phones, fingers brushing briefly.
Electric—Magnus felt it clear to his spine.
Alec didn’t react, or didn’t notice, or was too shy to show it. Probably the first one.
When they handed the phones back, Magnus saw his name saved in Alec’s contacts as simply “Magnus.” No emojis. No embellishments. Somehow it felt charmingly sincere.
“Text me,” Magnus said.
Alec nodded once. “Okay.”
Isabelle looped her arm through Alec’s. “Come on, big brother. Home. Shower. Sleep.”
Alec groaned. “Stop mothering me.”
“If I don’t, who will?” she said, dragging him toward the sidewalk. Snowflakes caught in Alec’s hair like stars.
Magnus stood in the doorway of the café, watching them go until they turned the corner.
Only then did he exhale, breath curling in the cold. He pressed a hand to his chest.
Well.
That was unexpected.
He turned and started down the street, boots crunching softly over fresh snow. The city hummed with distant car horns, laughter from bars, music drifting from open doors.
Magnus barely noticed any of it.
He was too busy replaying the way Alec smiled.
Too busy feeling something spark alight—quiet but certain—beneath his ribs.
❄️
Magnus awoke the next morning to the pale glow of winter sunlight creeping through his curtains and the distant hum of traffic below his apartment window. He was warm, comfortable, and completely unprepared for the sharp memory that hit him the moment he opened his eyes.
Alec.
Soft eyes. Snowflakes caught in dark hair. Shy smiles that did unspeakable things to Magnus’s heart.
“Oh no,” Magnus muttered, flopping dramatically back against his pillows. “Absolutely not. We are not crushing on the brother of our coworker.”
His phone buzzed.
Magnus snatched it up instantly—then forced himself to pause, inhale, and exhale, because he was a grown man and not a teenager waiting for a message from a crush.
He checked the notification.
Alec Lightwood:
Hey. Thanks again for last night. It was nice getting out of the apartment.
Magnus’s stomach tightened—and then somersaulted straight into ridiculous giddy territory.
He typed a reply, erased it, typed a different one, deleted that too, and finally settled on something that felt like him.
Magnus:
My pleasure, Alexander. I enjoyed your company immensely. I’m glad you survived the snowfall without freezing solid.
A moment passed. Magnus stared at his phone like it might reveal the mysteries of the universe.
Then Alec responded.
Alec:
I didn’t freeze. My building’s heating is decent.
Magnus smiled. A thoroughly unhelpful, fond smile.
Magnus:
Good. I’d hate to learn you’d turned into a popsicle. I’d have to lecture you about proper winter attire.
Alec:
I wore a coat.
Magnus laughed out loud, sprawling across his bed. Alec’s texts were short, straightforward, and painfully earnest. Was that intentional? Did he truly not realize Magnus was flirting?
…Or was he simply not interested?
Magnus chewed his lip. He didn’t like not knowing. But he did like that Alec kept responding.
He typed again.
Magnus:
I concede, you did wear a coat. But your scarf was an artistic tragedy.
Three blinking dots appeared. Magnus’s pulse jumped at the sight.
Alec:
Is that bad?
Magnus:
Only if you care about aesthetics, which I absolutely do. I volunteer as tribute to teach you proper scarf tying.
A longer pause this time.
Magnus frowned. He knew his flirting could be… let’s call it bold, but he’d kept things gentle. Suggestive. Playful.
He hovered over his phone—until it buzzed again.
Alec:
I didn’t know there was a wrong way to tie a scarf.
Magnus dropped his head onto his pillow with a groan.
“He’s either adorable or oblivious,” Magnus told the ceiling. “Or adorably oblivious. Or tragically uninterested. Fantastic.”
He texted back quickly before he could overthink.
Magnus:
There absolutely is a wrong way, and you’ve mastered it beautifully. We’ll fix that.
Alec:
…Okay?
The little question mark nearly killed him.
Magnus sat up, tousling his own hair in exasperation. “Do you even realize I’m flirting with you?”
His phone buzzed again.
Alec:
I’m working today but I can text during breaks.
Magnus blinked. That… sounded like interest. Not romantic interest necessarily—but interest in Magnus specifically.
He typed.
Magnus:
I’d love that. What are you working on today? More coding wizardry? Saving the gaming world one line of code at a time?
Alec’s response was almost immediate.
Alec:
Bug fixing. So not wizardry. More like damage control.
Magnus could imagine him saying it—quiet, self-deprecating, earnest.
He propped himself up on his elbows, smiling.
Magnus:
I’ll consider it heroic nonetheless.
A longer pause. Then:
Alec:
It’s… not heroic. But thanks.
Magnus stared at the text for several seconds, something warm curling in his chest. Alec’s humility wasn’t performative—it was who he was. Sweet, quiet, down-to-earth.
Deadly, Magnus thought. Utterly deadly.
He spent the rest of the morning hovering between chores and checking his phone more than strictly necessary. Alec texted between bursts of work—rarely long messages, but consistent. Always responding. Always engaging.
Magnus made coffee.
Magnus:
I’ve decided you need better caffeine in your life. The sludge at your studio should be outlawed.
Alec:
It’s not that bad.
Magnus:
It tastes like betrayal and burnt dreams, Alexander.
A pause.
Then:
Alec:
You’re dramatic.
Magnus placed a hand over his heart. He texts like this? Truly?
Magnus:
And yet you continue texting me. A mystery for the ages.
Alec:
…I don’t mind it.
Magnus froze, breath caught in his throat.
His fingers flew over the keyboard.
Magnus:
I’m honored.
Alec didn’t reply immediately—which Magnus tried desperately not to take as a sign of… anything. Alec was working. Alec was busy. Alec probably wasn’t staring at his phone the way Magnus was.
Magnus went to the grocery store for holiday ingredients. Christmas was creeping closer, and he’d volunteered to make mulled wine for the firm’s office party. He tossed oranges, cloves, and cinnamon sticks into his basket while checking his phone every few minutes.
He was halfway down the baking aisle when it buzzed.
Alec:
Sorry, got pulled into a meeting.
Magnus smiled so hard a nearby elderly woman gave him a suspicious look.
Magnus:
You’re forgiven. Meetings are evil enough without demanding apologies.
Alec:
Agreed.
Magnus hesitated—then decided to go for it.
Magnus:
Tell me something about yourself, Alexander. Something not work-related.
He held his breath. Moments stretched. He worried he’d pushed too far—
Then:
Alec:
Uh… I like winter.
Magnus blinked. Unexpected, but charmingly simple.
Magnus:
Because?
Alec:
Snow makes everything quieter. Easier to think.
Magnus’s heart clenched. He typed before he could stop himself.
Magnus:
I like winter because of the lights. And the way the air looks like it’s full of glitter.
A beat.
Alec:
That sounds like you.
Magnus stopped walking entirely, frozen between shelves of flour.
That sounds like you. A warmth bloomed so suddenly in his chest he pressed a hand against it.
This man. This quiet, literal, accidentally devastating man.
Magnus:
Is that a compliment, Alexander?
Alec:
I think so?
Magnus laughed, soft and helpless.
Magnus:
Then I’ll take it.
By the time Magnus was heading home, the sky had shifted to that pale pre-dusk grey, the kind that promised more snow. He wrapped his scarf tighter and pulled out his phone again.
Magnus:
Are you surviving the endless bug fixing?
Alec:
Barely. One of the AIs is doing something it shouldn’t.
Magnus:
Is it trying to take over the world?
Alec:
No. It just won’t stop spinning in circles.
Magnus laughed out loud on the street.
Magnus:
I understand completely. Mondays make me do the same.
Alec:
It’s Thursday.
Magnus:
Every day feels like Monday in December.
Alec:
…Yeah. True.
Magnus reached his building, stamping snow off his boots. The lobby smelled faintly of pine from the wreath hung on the wall.
Once inside his apartment, he shed his coat, set down his groceries, and flopped onto the couch.
He stared at the ceiling. And then at his phone.
Should he text again? Let Alec text first? Was he being too flirty? Too obvious? Too subtle?
He huffed a sigh. Then typed anyway.
Magnus:
If you ever want a break from coding, I make an excellent cup of hot chocolate.
He regretted it instantly. Too forward? Too suggestive? Too soon?
A full minute passed.
Then two.
Magnus buried his face in a pillow.
This was it. He’d scared him off. Alec was polite, maybe a little shy, definitely introverted—and Magnus had basically extended a near-date invitation twenty-four hours after meeting him.
Brilliant.
He was about to turn off his phone when it buzzed. Magnus shot upright.
Alec:
I like hot chocolate.
Magnus blinked. Stared. Read it again.
Then it buzzed again.
Alec:
I mean—yeah. Maybe. Sometime.
Magnus felt it—not dramatic, not explosive—just a warm, spreading glow under his ribs. Hope, gentle and unexpected.
Magnus:
Then sometime it is.
There was a long pause before Alec replied one last time for the evening.
Alec:
I should get back to work. But… I’ll text you later.
Magnus sank back into his couch, hand over his heart, smiling like a complete fool.
He didn’t know if Alec was flirting back, or if this was just Alec being polite. He didn’t know if Alec was oblivious or inexperienced or simply cautious.
But Alec kept replying.
Alec kept talking.
Alec kept reaching back across the snowy space between them.
And for now—for this quiet, winter-lit moment—that was enough.
❄️
Magnus had drafted exactly thirteen different versions of the same text message.
Twelve were too dramatic. One was too blunt. All of them felt too vulnerable.
He groaned into his pillow. Chairman Meow blinked at him from his perch on the windowsill, tail swishing with feline disapproval.
“It shouldn’t be this hard,” Magnus whispered to the cat. “Adults ask each other out all the time. I can handle complex legal negotiations, but apparently inviting a beautiful man to dinner is where I fall apart.”
The cat yawned.
Magnus sat up, ruffled his hair, and grabbed his phone again. He didn’t need to be perfect—he just needed to be brave.
He tapped out:
Magnus:
Alexander, are you free tomorrow evening? I’d love to… take you out to dinner. Just us.
He read it once. Twice. Three times.
It was clear enough. Not too much. Not too little. Before he could chicken out, he hit send.
His stomach immediately curled into a knot.
It didn’t take long—just a handful of seconds—before Alec replied.
Alec:
Yeah. Tomorrow works. Dinner sounds good.
Magnus’s pulse jumped.
He said yes. Not “sure.” Not “maybe.” Not “I’ll see.”
Yes.
Magnus grinned into his empty apartment, giddy and relieved.
Chairman Meow meowed judgmentally again.
“What do you know?” Magnus said, scooping him up for a cuddle. “Your father is going on a date.”
Magnus dressed like a man with purpose: velvet blazer, emerald shirt, tailored trousers that fit like a promise, a touch of shimmer around the eyes, perfect hair, confidence cologne.
A date required presentation.
And this—this felt important.
He arrived outside Alec’s building at exactly 7:00 p.m. Snow was falling again—soft, dreamy flakes that turned the winter air into a glittering haze.
He texted:
Magnus:
Outside whenever you're ready, Alexander.
The door opened a minute later.
Alec stepped out, brushing snow from his hair. He was wearing a navy sweater that made his shoulders look unfairly broad, jeans that did even worse things to Magnus’s self-control, and—of course—that impossibly crooked scarf.
Magnus’s heart did a slow, dramatic swoon.
Alec walked toward the car with a soft smile that hit Magnus like warm light. “Hey,” Alec said.
“Good evening,” Magnus replied, trying to sound calm and not like he was about to float away.
He hurried to open the passenger door. Alec looked faintly surprised but didn’t question it. He slid inside with a muttered “Thanks,” and Magnus circled to the driver’s side, cheeks warm.
Once they were on the road, Alec glanced at him. “Where are we going?”
“I thought we could try La Belle Lumière,” Magnus said. “It’s lovely. Warm. Candlelight. They do amazing winter dishes.”
Alec nodded, expression unreadable but… content. Relaxed. He looked out the window, watching snow drift across the glass. “That sounds nice.”
Magnus smiled. “I hoped you’d like it.” He meant it. Felt it.
And Alec didn’t say anything that countered it—no “you didn’t have to,” no “isn’t that too fancy,” nothing distancing himself from the intimacy Magnus was weaving into the evening.
If anything, Alec looked quietly pleased.
Magnus’s heart soared.
La Belle Lumière was glowing when they entered—lamps on the tables, flickering candles, soft music floating from the quartet in the corner. A few Christmas garlands hung along the walls, understated but elegant.
Magnus watched Alec’s face as they stepped inside.
Alec’s eyes widened, taking in the warmth, the gold tones, the beautiful atmosphere.
“It’s… wow.”
Magnus’s chest tightened. “I’m glad you like it.”
The waiter seated them at a table near the window. Snow fell behind the glass in slow, silent flakes, the city lights turning it silver.
Magnus ordered a bottle of wine before Alec could protest.
When the waiter poured, Magnus raised his glass. “To a wonderful evening,” he said softly.
Alec hesitated, then lifted his glass too. “Yeah. To that.”
Their glasses clinked gently, candlelight flickering between them.
Magnus felt it like a spark. A connection. Warm and promising.
Dinner flowed easily.
Magnus talked about holiday traditions, about the firm, about the ridiculous number of office parties he was forced to attend every year. Alec listened with quiet attentiveness, occasionally smiling, occasionally offering small stories in return—memories of chaotic Lightwood Christmases, how Max once tried to build a snow fort inside the living room, the way their mother always burned the first batch of cookies.
Alec laughed more than Magnus had ever seen him laugh.
He leaned in when Magnus spoke. He relaxed into his chair. He looked—not nervous—but comfortable. At ease. Authentic.
Magnus’s heart kept jumping without permission. The more Alec talked, the more Magnus felt the slow, sure slide of affection rooting itself deeper.
And nothing Alec said or did contradicted Magnus’s belief that this was mutual.
Alec didn’t flirt—but Magnus told himself he didn’t expect him to. Not yet. Not when Alec was new to this kind of connection. Not when he was shy. It was enough—more than enough—that Alec was here, sharing this with him.
When dessert arrived—a shared crème brûlée, because Magnus insisted Alec “deserved to experience perfection”—Alec took one bite and made a soft, surprised sound Magnus absolutely should not have found that attractive.
“Oh,” Alec murmured. “Wow. That’s… really good.”
Magnus laughed. “You should see your face, Alexander.”
Alec gave him a quiet, almost bashful smile that made Magnus’s heart do gymnastics.
Everything about the night felt like promise.
When the bill came, Magnus reached for it instantly. Alec reached too—reflex, polite instinct—but Magnus’s hand was there first, solid and certain.
“I’ve got it,” Magnus said gently.
Alec looked uncertain for half a second—just half—before nodding once.
“All right. Thanks.”
His voice was quiet. Warm.
And Magnus knew—knew—that sharing a meal like this, in a place like this, meant something. Even if Alec wasn’t saying it aloud. He didn’t need to. Magnus felt it.
The car hummed softly around them, warm against the cold night. Alec rested his hand near the window, fingers tapping lightly to the music on the radio.
“That was… really nice,” Alec said suddenly, voice low.
Magnus’s chest tightened. “I’m so glad.”
Alec nodded, gaze drifting to the window again. “I don’t… go out much. Not like this. But I liked it. I liked being here.”
Magnus’s breath caught. Here. With him.
“That means more than you know, Alexander,” Magnus said quietly.
Snow drifted past the windshield, glowing under streetlights.
They stopped in front of Alec’s building.
Alec unbuckled his seatbelt and turned to Magnus. “Thanks again. For tonight.”
“It was my pleasure,” Magnus replied, voice softer than he intended, heart louder than he wanted and leaned it to place a soft kiss against Alec’s cheekbone, watching carefully Alec’s reaction.
Alec opened the door—paused—then leaned down to meet Magnus’s eyes again. “I’ll text you when I’m inside.”
Magnus felt warmth bloom, deep and certain. “Please do.”
Alec gave him one more small smile before heading in.
Magnus stayed still. Didn’t breathe. Didn’t move.
He could still feel the lingering warmth of Alec’s gaze, the way his voice had softened, the almost—but not quite—lingering moment before he got out of the car.
This was a date. A real date. The start of something fragile and bright.
His phone buzzed.
Alec:
Made it in.
Magnus smiled slowly.
Magnus:
Good night, Alexander.
He drove home through the snowy streets with a heart full, certain, hopeful.
❄️
Magnus Bane woke up smiling, which wasn’t rare for him, but it was rare for a smile to linger this long.
Last night—their night—had replayed in his mind on loop. Alec sitting across from him in the restaurant, listening so intently, his eyes softening every time Magnus said something even remotely funny… the way he’d let Magnus pay without making it awkward… the long walk they’d taken afterward, hands brushing just once—accidental, but Magnus had replayed that touch in painfully vivid detail…
And the cheek kiss.
Oh, the cheek kiss.
Magnus pressed his palms to his eyes and groaned into his blankets. He hadn’t planned the kiss, it had just… happened. It was a tiny thing, a soft brush of lips against Alec’s cheekbone, but Magnus might as well have kissed the sun with the way he felt. His heart had thumped like it was trying to break out and personally inform Alec of its feelings.
Which was why Magnus was currently lying on his stomach, kicking his feet behind him like a teenager as he drafted a new text—one that would secure Date Number Two.
He needed to keep it casual… not too eager… but eager enough Alec knew Magnus was invested… but not too much so he didn’t look desperate—
He threw his phone down and groaned at himself.
“This is ridiculous,” he muttered into his pillow.
His phone chimed.
He jolted upright so quickly Chairman Meow, who had hopped onto the bed earlier, hissed and abandoned him entirely.
Alec:
Morning. Thanks again for last night. I had a really good time.
Magnus clutched the phone dramatically to his chest.
He had a good time. He texted first. He had a good time.
Magnus practically levitated as he typed back.
Magnus:
I’m glad. I did too. More than you know.
He hovered over the send button for a good five seconds, then pressed it before he could chicken out. Maybe it was too much. Maybe not enough. Maybe perfect.
Alec’s reply came faster than Magnus expected.
Alec:
More than I know? How much is that supposed to mean?
Magnus blinked at the screen.
…He couldn’t tell if Alec was teasing or genuinely confused.
Knowing Alec… probably the latter.
Magnus:
Just that I enjoyed myself. A lot. And I wouldn’t mind doing something again. Soon.
He added a winking emoji. Then immediately panicked and deleted the message, retyping it without the emoji. Then panicked again and added a more subtle one. Then panicked less and hit send.
Alec:
Yeah, doing something again sounds good. What did you have in mind?
Magnus didn’t even try to hide his grin.
Magnus:
Dinner again? Or maybe something a little more interesting? I can plan something. I’m very good at planning.
He paused, then added:
Unless you already have something in mind. In which case, I’m very good at following.
Alec took a moment to answer. Magnus used that moment to lay face-down and shriek into his bed in mortification. Why did he write like that? Why was he like that?
Finally, his phone buzzed.
Alec:
I don’t really have anything planned. You can decide. Just tell me when to show up.
Magnus’s smile went soft.
He doesn’t question it. He doesn’t hesitate. He wants to see me again.
He typed:
Magnus:
Perfect. I’ll text you the details.
He paused.
Added:
Can’t wait.
And hit send before he could lose his nerve.
Magnus spent the next three hours pacing his apartment.
A second date. A second date. Alec wanted a second date.
He checked his phone again. Alec hadn’t sent anything else, but that was fine. Alec wasn’t a rapid-fire texter. Magnus had learned that fairly quickly. Alec texted when he had something to say. It was… oddly endearing.
But now Magnus had a plan to make.
He mentally catalogued every winter activity in the city: ice skating (romantic, but Alec seemed like he might break something), Christmas markets (crowded, but picture-perfect), reservation-only seasonal pop-up restaurant (expensive, but Magnus had no qualms about spoiling him), a cozy rooftop lounge with heated igloos—
Perfect.
Alec would look stunning against the soft golden lights. And Magnus would “accidentally” sit close enough that their shoulders touched. And maybe this time, the cheek kiss would turn into something more—
Magnus abruptly pressed a hand to his chest.
He would combust if he kept thinking like this.
He finally texted Alec:
Magnus:
I hope you don’t have plans Friday night. I’ve got something special in mind.
Three minutes later:
Alec:
Friday works. What time?
Magnus:
I’ll pick you up at seven.
Alec:
Okay. Should I wear something specific?
Magnus nearly dropped his phone.
Oh. Oh, he was so in.
Magnus:
Just something warm. And something that makes you feel as good as you look.
He fully expected Alec to ignore the flirting—he usually did—but it didn’t matter. Magnus was patient. Alec was worth being patient for.
Alec eventually replied:
Alec:
Uh… okay. Warm it is.
Magnus laughed under his breath.
He was adorable.
Hopelessly oblivious.
But adorable.
Friday couldn’t come soon enough.
Magnus dressed like he was attending a romantic winter gala, because that was what his heart insisted this was. Black coat, deep emerald scarf, subtle shimmer along his cheekbones, hair perfectly styled. Not too much—just enough that Alec would notice.
When Magnus reached Alec’s address, he took a moment to steady himself.
This was it.
Second date.
Alec opened the door wearing a navy sweater and a scarf that looked like Isabelle had forced onto him “for the aesthetic.” His hair was windswept despite being indoors. He smiled faintly.
“You look… uh…” Alec gestured vaguely. “Nice.”
Magnus could have melted right there.
“And you,” Magnus said softly, “look beautiful.”
Alec blinked, clearly unsure how to respond.
“Thanks?” he said slowly, pulling the door shut behind him. “Ready to go?”
Magnus nodded and led them to the car, heart doing dangerous somersaults.
This would work.
Alec would see, eventually.
Magnus wasn’t imagining this connection. He couldn’t be. Not when Alec kept showing up. Not when he kept replying. Not when he kept saying yes.
Tonight is going to be perfect.