Piano Days and Other Malec One-Shots

Black is the Color...

Black is the color of my true love's hair
His face so soft and wondrous fair
The purest eyes
And the strongest hands
I love the ground on where he stands
I love the ground on where he stands

Magnus was eternally grateful for his fingers. Losing any other sense would never been as devastating as losing his sense of touch. If there was a word beyond "love," that might be able to accurately describes his obsession with twisting his fingers into Alec's messy excuse of a hairstyle. He craved these quiet moments when his Alexander was on the verge of sleep; too tired to speak or move but just conscious for his face to react to every single movement of Magnus'. A smile here. A heavy exhale there. At the moment, the towering windows to the balcony were letting in a sharp pale moonlight, which casted on Alec's face, the white light against pale skin making him glow softly.

Heavenly.

That was what Alexander Lightwood looked like tonight.

His eyes were shut, his lips were pursed closed, but his chest still rose and fell steadily, the only sign that death hadn't snuck into the apartment and stolen Alec from Magnus. Alec's arm was thrown across his chest, his fingers resting hesitantly on top of his parabatai rune. It so eerily reminded Magnus of the way one might trace along the engravings on a tombstone.

One thing Alec and Magnus had in common was the deadly power trapped within in their hands. Magnus' blood ran mixed with magic, making every part of him powerful, but it all ended in his fingertips. It was where the blue sparks were created. Deadly little bursts of power and magic. Alec's hands needed no help; they could throw punches on their own. When a weapon was placed in his slender fingers though-- oh, he was just as dangerous as Magnus.

Black is the color of my true love's hair
Of my true love's hair
Of my true love's hair

The black caught the Moon's pearly white, shining and glittering effortlessly. Alec was so unaware of his ethereal beauty as he slept on his back, one foot dangling over the side of the bed, the other striving to reach the end of it. Magnus memorized his form, whispering compliments in airy breaths, too soft for Alec to even hear in the silent apartment.

"You're beautiful."

"You're mine."

"There's no one else--"

Oh I love my lover
And well he knows
Yes, I love the ground on where he goes
And still I hope
That the time will come
When he and I will be as one
When he and I will be as one

Magnus feared Alec's death more than his own and caught himself checking Alec's breathing obsessively on bad nights.

Bad nights were the ones were he worried about the uncertain future as Alec lay right beside him. When panic overtook him like a rip current, drowning him in anxiety until he could not breathe or even find the voice within himself to cry out for help. It hurt that as close as Magnus allowed himself to get to Alec, he could never let them speak about the unspeakable-- the tabooed topic-- without ending it in a heated argument.

Time, a mocking and heartless man, gave one wisdom as a consolation prize for watching those you loved die.

Time expected you to enjoy what he gave you, for while you had it. Magnus was savoring every moment with Alec. Tomorrow, Alec might not make it home. Tomorrow, he could be condemned to oblivion.

And Magnus would be staring at an empty side of the bed, picturing his black-haired Nephilim boy, asleep at his side.

In the end, they'd all be ghosts, but Magnus never wanted to know the ghost of his Alexander.

He wanted the real one, forever.

So black is the color of my true love's hair
Black is the color of my true love's hair
Black is the color of my true love's hair

Alexander Lightwood was finally asleep, despite the fact that Magnus' fingers were still playing with his hair and running along his jawline and collarbone, finding invulnerabilities and imperfections.

Magnus was still laying at a considerable distance, both physically and emotionally. It was amazing how little Alec knew about Magnus.

Alec couldn't do anything to prevent his own inevitable demise.

The Brooklyn skyline played itself out just beyond the window, lighting up the sky, dimming the stars with it's overpowering brightness.

Magnus pulled the thin sheet off of himself, his feet finding the floor, warm with summer heat.

He tiptoed through the bedroom, towards the balcony. Fresh air wouldn't do anything but the cross-breeze would cool him down.

His fingers found the wrought-iron railing of the balcony, wrapping tightly around it.

Magnus closed his eyes.

Time played a series of flashbacks on the back of his closed eyelids.

New York City when first arrived.

New York City when World War II broke out.

New York City in the 50's, coming off the high of victory and prospering stocks.

New York City in the--

Magnus jumped, his eyes flying open, as Alec's arms wrapped around him.

Neither said anything, Alec just tightening the embrace, sensing Magnus' panic.

His cat eyes were wild, searching for an answer among skyscrapers and the little lights that illuminated them.

Immortality had never been achieved. To live forever required a degree of living: adventure, love, spirit, joy--

Magnus would cease to be immortal after Alec. He couldn't see himself living in the way he had always picture himself as doing. To see the rest of history go by, with no drive to experience it.

Alexander had truly stolen his immortality; but it wasn't years ago in an abandoned subway station.

It was before that, at a party, when his sharp blue eyes and black hair put sparked an undying love in Magnus.

Song: "Black is the Color of My True Love's Hair" by Nina Simone.