Some things can change

•chapter 6• Sweet Memories

[Alec's P.O.V]

Warmth. Comfort. Love. A spontaneous feeling of closure rushed throughout my body, leaving my fingers tingly, my brain rested, my heart awake.
I wake to a familiar surrounding, the subtle scent of sandalwood knocking me out of my daze, the evening glow of New York glazes the soft toned furniture of the loft I called 'home'.
Gentle murmurs echo through the loft as a whistle of wind brushes across my pale stature, igniting my heartstrings, pulling me to the familiarity of my past. Each footstep taken carefully not wanting the Oakwood floors to creak under my heavy-duty, demon-hunting, institute gifted boots, surprisingly unfazed the floorboards don't respond.

I follow the gentle murmurs through the amber and crimson tinted loft from the open aired design, taking in the clearly tidied kitchen, the peaceful sofas, the untouched surfaces. Subconsciously my feet pull my heavy yet relaxed stature towards the door. The deep brown mahogany door, with the glistening freshly polished handle, the one door leading to the golden room with silky light mustard sheets.
The urge to continue in my tracks dictates my mind, my calloused, masculine, battle-torn hands reaching for the cold metal handle, releasing the door from its position, opening it into the room I used to call 'ours'.

The blurred scene ahead, the sun shining through kissing the tips of every object, glazing the shadows away from the night, igniting the fresh New York morning. The murmurs now appear to be gentle whispers turned soft toned conversations. My eyes dance across the familiarity, the wardrobe supposed for two but only used as one, the desk of daily essentials for the high warlock of Brooklyn, the bed frame as a throne for the king, and the occasional sock, shirt, underwear aimlessly thrown onto the floor from the events of the previous night. My ocean blue orbs left the room, but only to be focused on the art of the man I once called 'mine', his soft caramel skin, brown eyes that reflect a sense of honey in the sunlight, deep black hair- sitting in random positions from the eventful night, with the lack of appearance of a grey hair- the perfection.

The memory. The tsunami of a memory rushing back to the shores of my mind, the night crystal clear as if it were only last night. The conversation. The precious moment shared between two lovers. I remember it perfectly, asking the peaceful, relaxed man about his fears. "Acid washed jeans" of course being his dear answer. I remember the rest, "the key to having no fears" the truth from a strong man to a feeble one in comparison stuck with me.
His touch. The deep conversation we had relaxed amongst his golden, satin, silky sheets became to much for the tinted morning glow. The warmth, of his soft caramel skin radiating off and straight into my heart, his gentle, manicured, untouched hands caressed my scarred cheek. His touch leavening impulsing vibrations of blood both to my cheeks alongside sending warmth to the rest of my body.

Yet it didn't carry on. The blurred scene, disappeared into the shadows, overtaking the morning glow of New York, darkness controlling fears taking over the images in front of me, whispers echoing throughout my head. Hateful words showing themselves, the thoughts I tried to push away come flooding back to the front of my brain, sending impulses throughout my body. Weak and feeble. Useless, trapped inside my own brain, my own body unable to be tamed. The whirlwind of emotions and darkness, the voices inside my head getting louder with every breath I take and every beat of my heart.

Uncontrolled. Dizzy. Trapped. Panicked. The shades of grey surrounding me blend into one sheet of black, darkness overwhelming the situation.

Yet out of all the voices in my head, it's the quietest ones that are the loudest.
The whispers of a voice I know, but unable to remember, deafen the remaining.
"Alec....."
"Alexander... please come back"
"I can't..."
"I'm sorry.... I can't carry on like this"
"If it's not for me... for Isabelle, for jace, max, the institute, New York..."
"They need you... I need you"
"Please.. baby, I know you're strong enough to pull through this"
"You're strong.. I believe you, even if I am the only one"
"Isabelle says there's a chance.... the chance you know what I mean... I don't believe it you know, I know you"
" I know you can do this Alec, fight your way to the surface.... once you're there I'll help with the demons, we all have them.. but some are stronger than others"
"I... love you"

Magnus,
My Magnus.
The familiarity of his soft gentle hands gripping onto mine, the feeling so strong, as if it were real, as if I was there with him holding his sweet hands.
But the demons, the demons just don't leave but I fight... I fight to the end until the energy is drained out of me. Until the scene I witnessed before became just a sweet memory.
His touch, becoming stronger with every battle, but I'm becoming weaker with every one, I don't give up, not for him, not for Jace, Izzy, Max, everyone.

But soon enough the darkness becomes overwhelming, once again corrupting my mind, filling me up.
But the demons don't come.
All there is, is the deep breathing of the person gripping onto my hand beside me. The warmth and coolness at the same time in correlation to the soft sobs remind me.
Remind me of the sweet memories of my past.
Magnus.