magnus remembers the last time he was at a wedding. that feeling of loneliness. fear. that hollow, echoing cavern in his chest as he stood in front of the chapel door, nails digging crescents into his palms, the sound of music washing over him like a death sentence for a heart that had just started to beat again.
he remembers throwing the doors open in a moment of bravery, striding in with his spine held straight even though all he wanted to do was run away. he can still recall the sharp prick of all those eyes on his face, on the severe black suit, on the pink in his hair, condemning him for his presence at an event heās not invited to by virtue of the blood he was born with. he remembers feeling stupid and young ā if ignorance is bliss, wouldnāt it have been easier on him to forget he ever knew alexander lightwood? alec, with his wide smile and his kind eyes and his inexplicable trust. alec, who stuttered with confusion because, even as everyone was pushing him in one direction, he kept turning back to look at magnus.
that breathless moment when the stele was an inch from alecās wrist, hovering in interminable wait. that moment when magnus was the only one standing in that aisle. humiliation and heartbreak had crept up his spine because some small, stupid part of him had thought maybe, just maybe, alexander would realize that his happiness was worth it, that magnusĀ was worth it, worth taking a chance, worth breaking from the nephilimās grasp. god, he shouldāve known better, he shouldāve known that shadowhunters wouldnāt care for a warlock, that not even this beautiful man staring at him would ever pick him, choose him ā
except alec hadĀ picked him. alec had chosen him. alec had looked him in the eye and decided yes, yes, youĀ and all magnus could do was stand there on the receiving end of the hurricane that was alecās love, because thatās what it was from the start, wasnāt it? they might not have had the words for it, not known the depth of it all, but from that first glance, from that first touch of hands, it had been love. the love magnus dreamt about, the love magnus never believed heād had, ever since his mother and his father and axel and etta and imasu and camille and the lifetime of rejections heād faced when heād laid his heart on the line.
and now, magnus is walking down the aisle again. this time, there are no frowns from the people around him, only warm smiles and the occasional tear. heās trying to concentrate on his steps and the altar thatās waiting for him, but his entire body is honed in on the man at his side. this man, whoās taking this journey with him, whose fingers are wrapped in magnusā own, whose thumb is stroking the knuckles of magnusā hand, simultaneously reassuring and thrilling in the moment, because this is his wedding. their wedding.
when they reach the dais together, they stop. chancing a glance, magnus meets alecās gaze, inhaling sharply at the pure, undeniable reverence on alecās face or the irrepresible smile that stretches wide.
āyou ready?ā alecās voice is rough with feeling, a quiet question meant for the two of them only.
magnus takes a deep breath. he squeezes alecās hand, carefully noting the space where alecās ring will sit for the rest of his life.
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