Malec One-Shots (The Mortal Instruments)


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26. Nevermore

Magnus took off his coat, viciously throwing it down. He sank down onto the sofa, his head in his hands. And he sat there, for the longest time. His cat circled around his ankles, but all he did was sit there. Alec’s jacket was hanging across the kitchen counter, and the warlock was filled with endless sadness, loss and lust. He wanted his lover back, he wanted to lie with him, and to talk with him once more. Alec was so smart, he had such a wonderful mind to talk with, once you got him out of his shell. And now it was gone. He sat with his head in his hands for some time, his eyes kept wandering to Alec’s jacket. Reluctantly, Magnus stood up, and wandered over to pick it up. The cuffs were fraying, there were moth holes in it, as usual. He picked it up, and brought it over to the settee, where he laid it over his lap.

He missed him. He was angry at him, furious, for what he had done. For trying to make him a mortal, like him. And he was so angry at him for that. But it still hurt. It fucking sucked. Magnus sat there, thinking about the boy. There was a knock at the door. Magnus ignored it. But then it came again, more frantic, more desperate. Sighing, he stood up, and marched to the door, “The High Warlock of Brooklyn is not-”

The body fell against him, gasping and groaning and Magnus went rigged. The hands gripped at his shoulders, bloodying his shirt. And their knees buckled, and they fell down, gripping madly at Magnus’ shirt. And they turned their head up, gasping and crying and pleading. “Alec?” Magnus questioned. His blue eyes stared vacantly up at him, and he kept whispering something that wouldn’t come out right. Magnus sunk to his knees beside him. Alec was convulsing and shaking and choking as his hands frantically moved trying to stop the bleeding. His neck was almost spurting blood.

Magnus ran bloodied hands through his hair, his breathing speeding up. He was close to tears already, “oh god, oh god, oh god, what do I do, what do I do?” he wheezed, and Alec reached out for his forearm, his fingernails digging in. “M…M….Mau…” He began spluttering, choking. Magnus leaned close, “Alec, I can’t hear you,” he whispered.

“Maurrr… Mauree-n. Maureen.” He he he coughed, blood dribbling down his chin. Magnus pulled him close to his body, lifting his head up. “Alec, I’m going to try and stop the bleeding, okay? I need to leave you here to go get something.” He set Alec up against the wall, as he reached for the jacket on the couch, and he bundled it up and pressed it to the wound. But there was so much blood. It seeped onto the floor, through the floorboards, and Magnus knew he would never be able to remove the staining. “Alec, I can’t…I don’t know what to do.” He finally spluttered, a tear rolling down. Alec was getting paler, convulsing less. His eyes were fluttering, their blue extraordinarily bright. He reached out one bloodied hand feebly, and Magnus just looked at it.

 

Alec smiled softly. “Hoh…hol…hol-dd.” He muttered, and Magnus instantly got what he meant. He grabbed it. Cold to the touch. But he held it, his tears dripping onto the hand. He leaned close to him, and rested his forehead on his. He sobbed slowly, feeling Alec’s breath on his lips, until he couldn’t feel it anymore. Alec’s head lolled to the side, and Magnus took his forehead away, studying his face, the delicate web of veins through his face, on his eyelids. He was beautiful. In life, and in death. And the void of loneliness opened up again in Magnus. Bigger than ever, as he looked around him in total defeat. Nobody was there to help, nobody was coming anymore. No one knew. And he sat there, so close to his partner’s dead body, and so totally alone.

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