Oneshot Collection

On The Stool (Malec)

Prompt by @Lime_Kitty : (Malec) in which Alec tries to commit suicide after Magnus breaks up with him and either Magnus stops him or finds Alec’s dead body

Word Count: 1.6K

Warnings: Depression and suicide. I honestly have never written something that needed a warning before, and I almost forgot, but I want to make sure y’all are safe and happy and I don’t want to be the trigger to any of your pain. If you need to click away, first click on this link http://jasonlefkowitz.net/wp-content/uploads/2013/07/cute-cat-picture-wallpaper.jpg

Why You Should Read: For the feels and the tears. And because this was really fucking hard to write.  

To Enhance the Feels: Listen to All I Want by Kodaline. I would say it's from Magnus's perspective after the end of this fic. But you choose. {it's in the doobly-doo, note: don't watch music video it's not Malec and will confuse readers but watch it after you've finished because I actually love it}

His heart didn’t feel like it was in a knot, it didn’t feel tangled or confused or frustrated, instead – it was dying. Alec couldn’t move, his eyes blurred and his body shook.

Oxygen, he reminded himself. Breathing is healthy.

His hands softened his fall onto the cold cement.

 This is it, this is death.

It must be – how could anything else be so painful?

Heartbreak was supposed to look like sixteen-year-old girls in their rooms covered in tissues and wearing robes. It wasn’t supposed to look like a nineteen-year-old man whose body convulsed, his soul tearing apart piece by piece. 

Why was his body shaking? Was this even scientifically possible? How could the mind and thoughts of one affect its body’s movements?

Alec’s chest took a sharp intake of breath. Oh, yes, oxygen. Keep forgetting.

The walls around him were solid. It was so weird… they hadn’t changed since the last time he had seen them. At the time, his internal walls had peeling paint. Now, they were lying on the floor, separated rock by rock. His walls had changed, but the walls next to him and the roof over his head looked just the same.

Except this time, he noticed the cracks and imperfections and graffiti. He noticed all that made the walls ugly and all that made them boring.

One man had done this. Not even a man, a fucking warlock. The best warlock.

The warlock’s hair was black and soft, Alec would never stop running his fingers through it, even through the complains of the warlock. ‘Alec, you’re messing up my hair!’ ‘Now it looks like a nest!’ ‘This took so long this morning!’ ‘Aaaaallllecccc!’.

His skin had been soft, too, and tan. The warlock’s lotion had glitter in it, so when he put it on after each time he showered (once a day at 9:00AM) he would look fantastic and feel like a baby. Alec loved putting his head against the warlock’s bare chest, listening to his steady heartbeat. The warlock was his rock.

And his eyes, oh Angel, his eyes. They were a magnificent green-yellow, looking exactly like that of a cat. His pupils were even black slits. The warlock himself hated his eyes; he thought they looked creepy or unattractive. He would apply pounds upon pounds of eyeliner, eye-shadow, mascara, sparkles, and whatever the other stuff was called. His eyes themselves were pieces of art.

How could Alec live without the warlock’s kind voice making tea in the morning? How could he live without the warlock individually kissing his freshly cut wounds – made by either demons or Alec himself? How could he live without the warlock’s soft comforting whisper into the crook of Alec’s neck during a long conversation with others? How could he live without the warlock’s dilated eyes, due only to Alec, or his beautiful jeans? How could Alec live without the warlock making a bitter comment on his outfit of the day or the calming shoulder massages he received?