Invictus

Charcoal

Magnus felt like every day was a long, agonizing hangover for the following two weeks.

Which was only technically true for five or six of them. Maybe seven.

Ragnor was visiting from England, which meant spending evenings in bar getting trashed while Magnus had to suffer through his friends’ never-ending teasing and terrible fashion tastes.

He tried to text Alec and to call, but every attempt had remained vain until Alec finally replied two days after the session, “ I’m sorry. I crossed a line. Just give me some time and we can be friends again. ”

So Magnus left him be, guilt lurching in the stomach at the thought that he had foolishly wasted a valuable friendship because he couldn’t keep his feelings in check.

His mother, perspective as always, was the first one to pick on his degrading mood. She had been peeking over his shoulder as he drew in his sketchbook, slouched in his favorite spot on the couch of her living room, waiting for Charles to finish cooking their bi-weekly dinner, when she spoke, making him startle.

“What’s wrong, pumpkin?” she muttered, low enough so that Magnus was the only one to hear.

“Nothing’s wrong,” he lied immediately, in a distant voice that he didn’t recognize himself.

Barbara scoffed in indignation. “You’re drawing with charcoal,” she pointed out. “You only do that when you’re sad.”

Magnus sighed in defeat, his shoulders slouching. “I’ll be okay, Mom,” he said in a whisper. “I just need some time.”

She frowned, her beautiful features contorting into a grimace of concern, but she simply kissed his forehead, tearing a small smile out of him.

“I love you,” she said.

“I love you too,” Magnus said.

She had been right. He had too much love to give.