Chapter Five

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It was a stormy morning, droplets gathering up on the foggy windows around Magnus' loft. The incense he had lit earlier stuffed up the living room, the air warm and smelling of soap. The warlock had relaxed on the armchair by the window, aged pages of a beloved book curling under his touch. He was meant to have an early day today, but his client canceled and offered him the perfect opportunity to escape the world for a while.

That was until his boyfriend had woken up. Magnus tried his best to keep his focus on the latin and not the man bustling around his apartment, who attempted to put on a shirt that had become tangled in his rush. The fabric rustled aggressively in his wake. "She's probably not even there," he mumbled as he found the fridge, opening it and staring blankly ahead of him.

Magnus hummed, shifting in his chair. His eyes were still glued on his book, having endured Alec's need to vent since the night before. "Let's go to sleep," Magnus had said. "We'll deal with it in the morning." He was expecting the man to have dropped it by then.

Alec swiftly abandoned his search of the fridge and went to the long cupboard across the kitchen. He fished out a box of cereal. "She hasn't even said sorry. You know that?" He chided, lip curled up. The plastic bag crackled horrendously as it was forced open and sifted through. 

Magnus bit his cheek. "Does she usually?" He offered dispassionately. Why did Alec have to choose the crunchiest breakfast?

Magnus put his book down with a sigh, reaching over to the warm ceramic mug beside him. It had been a gift from Raphael long ago, a burnt orange with yellow lines swirling all around into lotuses at delicate points. Something his sister had painted that, he insisted, was far too pretty to destroy with blood. Magnus had long since learned that arguing with the vampire about anything pertaining to family was a lost cause.

"Yeah," Alec's mouth-full-of-food answer finally gained Magnus' full attention. The warlock quirked a brow, wanting to know more. Alec obliged, thankfully after swallowing. "Every time. Usually before she's sobered up. Always promising to not do it again." He was fed up, that much Magnus could be certain of. The warlock hadn't received more than a single text from Andina stating she was okay after she had ignored his messages for days. He could entirely understand Alec's feelings on the matter.

Still, the warlock found his brow furrowing as he mumbled softly, carefully, "So why are you surprised?" When Alec had told him Andy had thrown that question at him in an argument, Magnus was beyond irritated. Yet he wondered the same thing himself as he dared to unravel the two tangled Nephilim.

Alec sighed, staring off at the brick pillar that separated the kitchen from the rest of the loft. His expression contorted into that of anger, ringing through his voice as he admitted, "I believed her." He pressed his lips together. There was no malice in his words, no desire to get back at the woman for what she had done. No, Magnus could tell; he was angry at himself.

The warlock sat there awkwardly, feeling bad for whatever he had conjured up just before his boyfriend had to go to work. He picked at the edges of his novel. He wished he knew what to say, but he barely knew what to think. The Andina he had gotten to know was so much different from the one he was seeing now. He was finding he didn't like this new her very much.

The crunching had resumed while he was lost in his thoughts, Alec trying to push past it all as he had learned to. The Shadowhunter resumed his day with haste, leaving the box on the counter and double checking his pockets for a moment. His venting soon returned. "Now I have to go to Idris last-minute. You want to know why?" Magnus really didn't. "They want to give her a medal of honour." 

Magnus bit his lip and watched him fix his dark and tousled hair in the reflection that was offered by the microwave's glass insert. "Are you okay?" The warlock double-checked, not knowing what else he could offer to mend the situation. 

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