"Love never dies a natural death. It dies because we don't know how to replenish its source. It dies of blindness and errors and betrayals. It dies of illness and wounds; it dies of weariness, of withering, of tarnishing."
~Anais Nin
Restless Heart Syndrome Chapter 6 My Lovenote Has Gone Flat
Alec's sides hurt, but not in an immediate way. It's an ache, something he's constantly rubbing at, hoping he can rub it away. It's just one of the changes he's found himself afflicted with.
He's also become somewhat of a neat freak, tidying up this and that. Organizing the couch pillows from smallest to largest, getting annoyed at Magnus's customers for tracking mud into the apartment. He remembers when Magnus used to get mad at him for the same reason, but he never really got just how annoying it was until recently. Maybe his cleanliness started because he wanted to make it up to Magnus for when he behaved awful, and about how he said he'd rather live and depend on a different warlock if he could. He doesn't want to anymore, not after thought.
He's been with Magnus at a near constant for the last three months, and though it can be depressing Alec doesn't dislike it. Magnus puts up with his moods, he keeps Alec alive in a less metaphorical sense than he used to. He'll magic in mouthwash when Alec's used the last of it up, something that happens at a much quicker rate than it did before Alec was vomiting so often. It's actually begun to decrease, how often Alec finds himself running for the toilet, but it still happens every now and then.
The Silent Brothers haven't visited him since that first time. Busy with Jace, and their attempt to rid him of the Heavenly Fire. It didn't work, so they're back to their books, ignoring the ill adult for the golden boy, the one with angel blood humming strong I his veins. Alec would be lying if he said he didn't expect such discrimination, but he's trying to stop lying. It's what got him into such a mess with Magnus in the first place, and he doesn't need a repeat of such an episode. Not that they can break up, or even stop getting along, because they're neither dating nor getting along.
They fight constantly, over the smallest things, and it's awkward to be around one another and not say anything. They're brewing their own apocalypses, and it would be something either one of Alec's siblings would love to watch in the cinema if it wasn't their brother playing one of the leads. But it is Alec playing the ill character who is shoved together with his ex-lover, both of whom want nothing, yet everything, to do with each other.
It's a bad predicament all around, especially with the anxiety of the Silent Brothers calling to have him moved weighing in Alec's mind.
Alec wants to make whatever he has with Magnus better, but he doesn't want to get hurt. Magnus just wants to forget about what he had with Alec and move on, but he can't. They're screwed, but not in the literal sense of the word. Maybe if they were screwing their problems would go away.
Alec's never been one much for mirrors, or at least not exuberantly so. Isabelle might have commented on this, or complained, but it wasn't something that had ever really changed. Alec was used to pulling on an oversized sweater and running a hand through his hair and then being out the door. He'd never felt an overwhelming urge to stare at his reflection for what seems like hours on end.
Now, though, he can hardly look away from the plate of glass that will show him the backward image of himself. Tilting his body from left to right, trying to get as many angles as possible, he stares at his body in the mirror. Sometimes he'll wear grey sweaters that used to be three sizes too baggy but are now only a size or so off. Sometimes he won't wear his shirt, and he'll gaze, transfixed, on the protruding skin of his abdomen. The skin isn't pale, like it used to be, but yellowy brown, similar to a healing bruise. It's ugly, the line that runs from the end of his sternum to his bellybutton. It cuts him in half, making him think it could be a prelude of what might be coming.
Maybe this disease, this infection, whatever it is, will rip him apart with no remorse like this line suggests in a very loud subtext. He's afraid of it, whatever it is. It could kill him, and it would have already if Magnus hadn't been giving him magic to regenerate his battered insides.
It's a fear that keeps him in front of the mirror. It's fear, a terrible weight on his mind and body, that makes his heart stop every time he so much as gets an ache in his abdomen. It's fear, something that he finally stopped being a constant when he kissed Magnus in the Clave's presence, that returns with a renewed weight to gnaw on every idea he holds firmly in his calloused hands. Hands that used to be rougher, more fitting of a man in his profession. A profession that he hasn't had anything to do with in far too long.
Alec's making himself breakfast, a cup of tea and toast smeared with Jam. He hasn't much been a fan of coffee recently, the smell causing his nose to wrinkle in disgust. Too strong, but tea is a good substitute. It's odd how he can't help but drink caffeine, when all he wants to do is sleep until someone can figure out what's wrong with him. He'll probably lie in bed and read all day, or continue to teach himself to cook with one of Magnus's cookbooks. Anything to cure him of his boredom, this restlessness. Magnus seems to appreciate the smell of baking, and occasionally the taste when he gets it right. It makes Alec feel guilty that it pleases him, but it hardly seems as though he can help it.
This odd kitchen thing, baking and cooking, seem to be helping them get along. Ever since Alec cracked open a cookbook and came bounding across the hallways, laughing, with a bowl of correctly made, not-burned pasta with correctly colored sauce, too proud of himself not to tell Magnus in the moment of happiness, there have been fewer fights. The look on Magnus's face when he first saw Alec in that burst of happiness lingered in Alec's mind, and he wanted to see it again. It didn't matter if they weren't dating, in that moment, because his love for the warlock would still exist and of that he was sure.
The surprise, then the amusement and a chuckle. It was a perfect moment, and it reverberated in Alec's skull, made him realize that it was how he wanted to live. He didn't want to be at odds with Magnus, not in the least. He wanted them to get along like butter on the bread Alec didn't set on fire with his culinary skills (or lack thereof).
He didn't even feel sick from bouncing around in the halls like a Mundie child on Christmas morning. He was too distracted by the moment he'd had with Magnus, who agreed to eat a helping of his first culinary success.
"Not bad, for a shadowhunter," The words made Alec light up. They weren't mean, they were a sign of approval. Even the next bit, "maybe less salt in the future," hardly made a dent in the happiness Alec's brain was providing. It was just… perfect, for a second.
For a moment, there was no one with glue-covered hands trying to shove his life back together, and he could hardly remember that he'd fallen apart in the first place. You couldn't see empty spaces, or the cracks where a piece was still missing. It made him want to keep coking for Magnus, to keep a nice attitude between them.
Alec found it hard, he discovered, on later attempts, for him to work with certain things. Anything too strong and bitter smelling could send him to the bathroom, puking. Things smelled stronger than they used to, and sometimes Magnus was one of those things. Sometimes he just couldn't stand the Warlock's smell, and had to shoo him away.
Magnus was nearly offended at first, Alec could tell, but left it, likely assuming it was just more mood swings. It was later, when Magnus found Alec running from a tin of sardines he had opened, intent on making this 'Canned Sardines and Mango Sprout Frittata' recipe he had found, whatever that was, in one of the cook books that had appeared in the library recently (Coincidence? Alec thinks not.), that Magnus started to suspect Alec's occasional aversion to him could be more than just mood swigs. He asked, one night, over a meal Alec had made, and Alec confirmed it, throwing both of their minds into the whirl with the realization of an added symptom.
What could be wrong with the shadowhunter?
Sometimes Alec wonders if Magnus has any friends. Not in a cruel sort of way, but more in a general curiosity. He should probably know better than to be curious, but he hasn't seen anyone but clients in the time Alec's been there. There were never really friends before, either, just people he would talk to more than the others at parties.
Parties that Magnus doesn't throw anymore, parties he doesn't go to.
It's odd to Alec, looking back, to see the lack of festivities his host is providing. When they were dating, Alec was used to sometimes finding the apartment filled with bodies he didn't recognize and music that was even more alien. Now, the only bodies that come through the door that door are people looking to employ the High Warlock of Brooklyn and Alec's own relations, when they could spare the time, which was rare enough. They're still dealing with the aftermath of the mess in Idris, then with Sebastian… Who is still, regrettably, absent from the executioner's block.
No bright lights, less sparkle, no transformed apartment. No accidentally drinking the aftermath of the bar in the morning and having to stay over until he can se straight. No one to care if he's Magnus's boyfriend, because there's no one around to watch him with judging eyes.
Not a single party in a span of three months.
"Why don't you throw parties anymore?" It's decidedly the best way to figure it out. Ask