Words That Needed to be Said

Hello everyone! After a school-induce hiatus I'm finally back!

Okay, I want to begin by saying that probably half of this story makes no sense, but you know how much of a sucker I am when it comes to vulnerable!Magnus. Like, c'mon, just imagine this wonderful, gorgeous, strong warlock back to when he was nothing but a scared child -scared from himelf, from his stepfather, from magic- and tell me that it's not heartbreaking. C'mon, I dare you.

Imagine him learning to be aloof and to laugh of his own fear as he grows up because he's been told that he shouldn't be weak, because, if he allows himself to be, he'd lose the reputation he's worked so hard to get.

Now imagine him letting that tough acting fade away because this is his Alexander and tell me that's not true love.

Like, really, I get too many feels for this chip and I've sold my soul for them, please hang on with me and enjoy the ride to madness.

Words That Needed to be Said

If Alexander Lightwood had learned one thing after the months he'd spent living with Magnus Bane, then that was to expect anything―not a thing was too bizarre when it came to his warlock and, in honor of the truth, there were occasions in which the son of Asmodeus was not even to blame for the odd situations they got involved in. As an example the time Maia had brought a recently bitten mundane to their apartment ―same who had then tried to change in their living room, causing a disaster― could be quoted.

That day, however, the reason as to why the atmosphere of the apartment turned tense wasn't a loose werewolf. In fact, it wasn't even Magnus' fault, even if it was indeed related to him. Perhaps, had Alec known better, he wouldn't have asked.

It occurred that, after losing a bet to Alexander the previous night, Magnus was trying to actually cook something for breakfast instead of simply summoning their food from the small restaurant down the street.

"Alec, are you sure this is how they are supposed to look like?" the warlock inquired, raising an eyebrow as he fumbled over a plate in which he had recently poured the supposedly cooked pancakes into.

"You are deliberately trying to do everything wrong to exasperate me and make me do the things for you, I know that," Alec answered rolling his eyes as she approached Magnus, who stared back at him with a guilty expression. "But, oh no, mister, there's no way out of this, you're cooking. Enjoy the experience."

"Well, at least I tried" the warlock chuckled, returning his concentration to the somewhat prepared pancakes he still had at the pan.

"My angel, Magnus, you're not even holding the pan correctly! Don't you know that you're supposed to put the handle facing to the back so that if―Magnus, did you burn yourself?" he trailed off, his bossy attitude shifting to a worried one immediately as he closed the stove's valve.

"What? Of course not," Magnus brushed off mindlessly.

"Magnus, give me your hand," Alec commanded, extending his right hand to him with a furrowed brow, not quite convinced with the warlock's careless answer.

"What?" Magnus inquired, dropping his gaze to his hands in confusion―that was when he saw it, the dark, long-scarred mark that ran from his palm, along his wrist and then went up until it reached the middle of his forearm.

And then it dwelled on him―it was that day.

"Magnus," Alec snapped, his voice strained with worry, successfully interrupting his boyfriend's train of thought.