After Magnus loses his magic it comes to his attention that maintaining the upkeep of his glamourous facade is actually a hell of a lot more work when he can't magically cut corners (Who knew that glitter was actually impossible to remove? Every cursory glance in a mirror revealed another damnable glinting spec heâd somehow missed!). Add to that the stress of trying to undo hundreds of years of habitually using magic for a myriad of mundane tasks and trying to remember to actually do them? Well... he eventually finds himself letting go of several fastidious routines he'd previously never be caught dead doing without, like maintaining his meticulously painted nails.
He and Alec train for hours in the institute. Alec is adamant, determined to ensure Magnusâ safety the only way he knows how. Magnus is no slouch, he's made it a point over the centuries to learn everything about anything that's ever interested him, and that includes various martial arts. Even so, he finds himself on his ass more than once, the lack of magic guiding his limbs making him feel sluggish and awkward.
Afterwards, while tending a sprained finger (healing the long way!) he notices the state of his nails. His cuticles have grown out, and if that wasn't bad enough they're chipped all over, dull from manual tasks and labourious bouts of sparring. That simply wonât do.
Before his next shower he sets about removing the polish, gently removing every trace of colour. He trims his nails right down, gives them a quick filing and buffing then hops into the shower. When he gets out he trims his cuticles, and moisturizes with some emu oil he picked up on his last trip to visit the High Warlock of Australia (Who he soundly beat in Catan, by the way. Donât listen to her ridiculous untruths). Â
There. Shorn and neat, a little less fabulous but still capable and strong. He allows himself a small, sad sigh and goes to join his tall, dark and handsome Shadowhunter.
He finds Alec in the kitchen, pouring tea into a set of mugs. Magnus would honestly prefer a martini at the end of a long day, but sadly even his alcohol tolerance has suffered from his magic loss, and heâd learned the hard way what kind of ghastly infirmity awaits him if he is to overindulge.
Alecâs back is to him when he comes in and he uses the opportunity to admire his love. Relaxation looks good on him, his long limbs loose, legs clad in soft black jogger pants revealing narrow ankles and lovely bare feet. Heâs wearing an old worn sweater, holes worn into the cuffs of the neck and wrists. Heâd run his hands through damp hair after his shower and itâs a dark shaggy mess.
He looks adorably rumpled, and more importantly, incredibly inviting so Magnus reaches out and strokes along the line of Alecâs broad shoulders as he circles around to stand in front of him. His hand slides over itâs favoured spot on Alecâs neck stroking gently over his deflect rune, before coming to a stop against his cheek.
âThank you, darling.â He murmurs before pressing his lips to the side of Alecâs lopsided smile. Alec leans his cheek into Magnusâ hand, cupping it with his own. He turns his head to press a gentle kiss on the warlockâs palm. He interlocks his fingers with Magnusâ, giving them a tight squeeze. As he does he takes notice of the fingertips bereft of colour. Alec sweeps his finger over the nails and hums thoughtfully. Once again bringing Magnus' hand to his lips, he brushes a light kiss along the knuckles. "I'll be right back."
Magnus bemusedly watches him go and busies himself finishing the tea to their liking. Heâs just setting the cups down when Alec reappears with a bottle of magenta nail poilsh in his hands. Alec settles into the chair next to Magnus, who raises his eyebrows in question. Alec gives the polish a quick shake and then holds out his hand expectantly.
Quietly, Magnus slides his palm into Alecâs, then blurts out before he can help himself, âWhy that colour?â
Alec pauses in opening the bottle and glances up from under his eyelashes to hold Magnusâ gaze. âItâs the same colour you had in your hair when you crashed my wedding and changed my life.â he says matter of factly.
Centuries old, and Magnus finds his cheeks warming in a blush. Alec misses it, having bent his head to begin working. Ridiculous! How was he to remain calm and collected through this mundane transition when he had this.. this beautiful nephilim just casually uttering the most romantically devastating things heâs ever heard in his long life?
Alec has his brow furrowing, a look that usually only appears while negotiating a complicated diplomatic contract or while targeting an enemy along his notched arrow. Now all that intensity and concentration is focused on the small brush held expertly in his large hand, deftly stroking even swathes of colour on Magnusâ nails.
Magnusâ heart lurches in his chest, a lump rising in his throat so quickly he has to swallow several times to prevent himself from crying. Still, his eyes go slightly blurry with tears and he smiles helplessly at the top of Alecâs head, still bowed over his hand.
Maybe he couldnât magic his makeup on, or summon lattes from his favourite cafe in Vienna, or take Alec on lavish romantic dates to Equador (Peru adjacent was better than nothing). Maybe nothing would ever stop being hard and start being easy.
It was possible that nothing would come to him as easily as loving Alexander. But... thatâs fine. As long as he gets to come home and sit knee to knee with this beautiful man, hunched protectively, lovingly, over him as he pampers him?
Well... thatâs more than fine.
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