Malec One-shots

Lost

Magnus sat on his sofa. The television was on, but he wasn’t watching. He hadn’t washed off his makeup in a few days it was smudging, his skin was greasy. His hair was wild, untamed, and he wore an old, holed black jumper. His slender hand grabbed at the jumped, and he pulled it up to his nose,  breathing in the scent. His scent. Alec. He breathed it in, and he felt the warmth around him, he could almost feel him in the room with him, around him, as he breathed it, he wasn’t lonely anymore. He pulled the jumper away, and reality came back. He was on his own again.

It was so painful. He wasn’t ready to lose him. He was never ready to lose him. It had come too soon, too fast. At least he didn’t suffer. Jace had said, sobbing as the shadowhunter’s body burned, turning to ash. But what if he had? In the seven minutes Alec had to see his life again after he’d been killed, did he suffer as he relived the Mortal War? Magnus had no doubt that he hadn’t suffered during his death – Jace would have felt it. But he worried for him after. Now he was gone.

Alec hadn’t suffered, but everyone else had. The boy had always been convinced of how unimportant he was, but yet the boy, so honest and kind-hearted and innocent had touched so many people’s lives, he’d warmed so many people, and to all those people, that left a mark on them that ached when he was gone. Alec was loved by so many, and he never knew it. He was never able to understand he was important. That he was cared for, and loved and needed.

It was his fault. He should have stayed with him, he should have taken care of him, no matter what. He should have taken him with him, taken him out of there. He was so stupid. How could he let him just leave? It didn’t matter what Alec said, it was dangerous, he wasn’t well enough, he wasn’t skilled enough to manage it.

Magnus put a hand to his mouth, sobbing silently. He missed him so much. He couldn’t move anymore. He couldn’t do anything anymore. He was lost without Alec.