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“Purple? Really?”
“Alexander, I’m in charge here.” Magnus raises an eyebrow at Alec, like he’s inviting him to challenge his authority.
But Alec obviously has no interest in doing that, so he tries to make his expression as un-challenging as possible as he settles back into the squishy armchair.
Magnus shakes the little bottle vigorously in one hand and grabs a few more things off of the coffee table with the other. Alec’s pretty sure you could open up a small salon with the amount of stuff littering the poor table. If all the bottles weren’t so damn tiny, he’d be afraid the old wood might buckle under all the weight. He really doesn’t understand why Magnus got out so many bottles when he was just going to choose one anyway.
But - as has been pointed out to him several times - this is far from his area of expertise.
And this has been a long time coming. Even though it shouldn’t have been, really.
Two weeks ago, when Magnus had painted his nails at the kitchen table after breakfast, and Alec had watched him with a little too much interest, Magnus had noticed immediately. And made the offer immediately. And, surprising both of them, Alec had accepted immediately.
It was like his brain had been on autopilot. Like he’d been hypnotized by the calm, comfortable image of Magnus brushing hot pink polish onto each of his nails, every brush stroke having that casual assurance of perfection that Alec had always envied. By the time Magnus had put away the little pink bottle and started doodling amazingly intricate designs on his perfectly pink nails with some sort of black pen, Alec had been almost desperate for it. For having that kind of artwork, right out in the open. Getting to see it every damn time he moved his hands. It wasn’t like makeup, where he knew how it looked but barely got to see it for himself, or like the secret, hidden beauty of his panties. This was right there. Right on his hands. Right where anyone could and would see it.
And Alec had wanted that. So much.
Magnus hadn’t said anything. He’d just gotten that little smile, the one that means he’s internally doing all sorts of cheering and backflips, but doesn’t want to show anything more than mild approval. And he’d promised to do Alec’s nails just as soon as he’d finished his own.
So of course, of fucking course, Alec had gotten the call right as Magnus was trying to pick out the perfect color for him. Jace had been trying to deal with some dumb territorial dispute between the werewolves and the vampires (and why was it always them? Why was it always, always the fucking werewolves versus the fucking vampires?). And since the pack apparently knows that Alec is the one Luke usually goes to, the werewolves had all refused to deal with any shadowhunter other than him. And while that’s certainly… flattering, in a way, it had also meant that his manicure had to be delayed.
That had been the first piece of unfortunate timing in the most unfortunately-timed two weeks of Alec’s life. Day after day, fuck, practically hour after hour, something happened that kept Alec away from Magnus’s apartment. And, by extension, Magnus’s nail polish. It hadn’t always been some emergency or crisis, and for that, Alec knows he really should be grateful. But it was non-stop. And any time he managed to scrape together a few hours of free time, Magnus happened to be with a client. Three days ago, Alec had come over unannounced just past midnight, hoping to at least crawl into bed with his sleeping boyfriend after a long day, only to find that Magnus’s breakfast meeting was with a seelie client in Norway, and the time difference meant he was already long gone.
And, as a cherry on top of two perfectly horrible weeks, all of Alec’s colossally bad luck had culminated today. Because it had seemed perfect. The stars had aligned, and everything had fallen into place. He’d spent the night with Magnus. Woken up early to make breakfast. Shared a ridiculously long shower where very little showering happened. And he’d had the whole day in front of him. Nothing was happening. Jace and Isabelle had things under control at the Institute. Magnus didn’t have anything scheduled. It was just the two of them. All day. And Alec was so fucking ready to get some pretty artwork painted his nails.
And then the text came in.
The fucking text from Isabelle. Like a lightning bolt from heaven, sent to smite him.
mom’s here
Just two words. Just two little words. And his perfect day had been burned to the ground.
Maryse must know, somehow. It must be some sort of twisted maternal instinct. ‘Hm, I sense that Alec is feeling good about himself today. Better go nip that in the bud.’ It’s the only explanation for her to deciding to sweep in from Idris, without a hint of warning, just hours before Alec was planning getting a pretty manicure.
Because now that idea’s obviously been shot dead.
It’s not like everything is impossible with Maryse around. No, Alec doesn’t wear makeup when she’ll see it, and he knows it’ll be a long while before he feels like he can. But some things are getting easier. He doesn’t bother coming up with excuses if she catches him leaving the Institute to spend the night with Magnus. He doesn’t awkwardly avert his gaze when he comes back in the morning. And when Maryse finishes her list of questions about his life and makes her omission so blaringly intentional, Alec will look her right in the eye and say, “Magnus is doing well, by the way. Not that you asked.” It’s small. It’s almost embarrassingly small. But it still feels like a victory, every time.
That being said, he knows damn well he’s not going to come home to his mother today with polish on his nails. He can’t deal with that. The disapproval and disappointment so plain on her face. The snarky comments when she can pretend he’s out of earshot. Not just about him, but about Magnus. Getting his nails done is all Alec’s been able to think about for two weeks now, but faced with Maryse’s scrutiny, it’s suddenly not worth it.
So he’d told Magnus he didn’t want it anymore. And he’d done his best to make it seem like he didn’t care.
But this is Magnus.
And Magnus doesn’t know how to take ‘My boyfriend is feeling bad about himself’ for an answer.
So he’d proposed the compromise. The compromise so unbelievably simple that Alec is still fucking embarrassed that he hadn’t thought of it himself.
And that’s how he’d ended up here, cozied into the big armchair (or at least as ‘cozy’ as he can be right now, since he hadn’t exactly planned for his morning shower to make it uncomfortable to sit down), feet propped up on the ottoman, with some sort of bright pink foam wedged between each of his toes.
Conceptually, he’d been vaguely aware that pedicures are a thing. He’s pretty sure that Magnus’s toenails are usually dark and/or covered in glitter. But it’s not something he’s ever spent any amount of time actually noticing, or thinking about. Which, he supposes, is why he hadn’t thought of this himself.
He doesn’t have any particularly negative feelings about his feet. And while that sounds downright sad, he realizes that it’s actually pretty good for him. But it’s only because he doesn’t really have any feelings about his feet. He clips his toenails when he starts to become aware of them, but apart from that, Magnus squishing his toes into these little foam holders is the most attention his feet have ever gotten. It’s… interesting. They’re not ticklish, which is nice? He suspects it’ll at least make this pedicure a bit easier for both of them.
Magnus had offered to give him a foot massage as well, before getting to the nail polish part of the afternoon. But that had been… a bit too much for Alec to process. It’s difficult enough to see the High Warlock of Brooklyn on his knees at Alec’s feet for any reason. It’s so humble and undignified, and it makes him look so ordinary and small. And why should one stupid little shadowhunter like Alec be allowed to see something like that? Having someone like Magnus offer to paint his toenails is incomprehensible enough; letting him rub his damn feet like some sort of servant is way more than he can handle.
But that small denial sure isn’t doing much to make Alec more comfortable with the situation. He has his legs bent at the knee, so his feet lie flat on the ottoman. And on the other side of the ottoman, Magnus is kneeling. On the floor. On the hardwood floor. He hasn’t even gotten a pillow or something to cushion his bare knees. He hasn’t done his hair or his makeup yet today. His face is completely clean, and he’s keeping his hair out of his face with a glittery blue headband. He’s wearing a white t-shirt that looks to be a dozen sizes too big for him (‘Say Hi if you’re Bi’, written across the front in the colors of the pride flag), and a pair of bright pink boxer-briefs that Alec didn’t even know he owned until today. He’s not wearing a single piece of jewelry. And so much of his silver nail polish has chipped away, it almost looks like some weird modern art.
Alec saw Magnus without any clothes on less than an hour ago, but somehow, this is the most naked he’s ever looked.
Magnus shifts forward a little, leaning over so his elbows rest on the ottoman. He’s getting himself closer to Alec’s feet. Alec has to look away, afraid that if he watches any more, he’ll have to call the whole thing off. He’ll have to tell Magnus to get off his damn knees. That it’s not worth degrading himself like this. That he’s not worth it.
Magnus nudges something against Alec’s toes.
Well, fine. He’ll look if he has to.
Magnus has an old washcloth laid out on the leather ottoman, and he’s trying to tuck it under Alec’s feet, presumably to catch any stray drips of polish. Alec obediently lifts the balls of his feet and settles them back down on the soft towel.
Then Magnus is unscrewing the cap from the bottle of nail polish, and Alec’s fascination becomes stronger than his discomfort.
It’s a deep, rich purple. Like eggplant. Or wine. Alec wonders what it’s called, but doesn’t want to ask, in case he sounds stupid (because knowing his luck, it’ll just be called purple and why couldn’t he have fucking guessed that?). Alec had kind of assumed that if he ever wore nail polish, it’d be black. But Magnus has this whole thing about getting Alec to wear actual color - because apparently “black is not a color, Alexander.”
Though, when he thinks about it, this shade of purple is a pretty decent compromise. It isn’t like it’s neon green, or something else Alec would never pick for himself. It’s dark. Subtle. And, the more he looks at it, he realizes that it’s really, really beautiful. It’s definitely something he wants to try on his fingernails once he gets the chance.
With a small pile of tissues and cotton balls and q-tips at the ready, Magnus leans a little further over Alec’s right foot, tiny brush poised and loaded with polish.
No matter how much he’s wanted this, no matter how he’d been unable to think about anything else for weeks now, Alec still feels a sharp twist of fear. That it’ll look dumb. That he’ll look dumb. That he’s trying to wear something too pretty, or too ornamental, and it isn’t meant for him. He takes a sharp breath in through his nose, feeling the sudden, sickening need to stop the whole damn thing before it starts, but Magnus is already brushing color onto his big toenail-
“You know, I bought this color in Paris, the last time I was there,” Magnus says, easy, light, and conversational. Just as he starts painting Alec’s nail. Just in time to distract him. “There was a little stand right outside Notre Dame.” Another brush stroke. “The woman who sells them makes them herself. But she named all the colors rather… inappropriate things, and they kept trying to get her to move away from the cathedral.” He re-dips the brush in the bottle. “So she started naming some of them after religious artifacts and saints instead. Just to piss them off.” He smirks as he moves onto the next nail. “And obviously, I couldn’t resist buying something so pettily blasphemous - as all good nail polish should be.”
Alec laughs, hypnotized by how steady Magnus’s hand is as it moves across his nails.
Magnus glances up at him, smiling that little smile, like he always does when he makes Alec laugh. Like he’s somehow proud of himself for it. He dips his brush again, and nods his head toward the bottle. “This is Vin de Messe. Sacramental Wine.” His smile changes into a wicked smirk, giving Alec the distinct impression that he’s used the origin of this nail polish as a conversation piece before. Then he focuses back on Alec’s toes-
And they’re almost all done. On his right foot, anyway. The color is a little thin, and Alec’s pretty sure Magnus is going to insist on more than one coat, but he’s still amazed at how quickly it’s going. Certainly quick enough that he doesn’t have time to let his dumb mouth try to protest it again.
“This is one of my favorite colors,” Magnus continues as he dabs a q-tip across the side of Alec’s little toe, where a glob of polish has started to drip off of his nail. “But I don’t use it very often. I’m afraid that the next time I’m in Paris, Notre Dame will have won, and I won’t be able to find that lovely woman again to buy more.” He sets the q-tip on the washcloth and picks up the brush again. “So I save it. For only the most important and special occasions.”
He doesn’t look up, but Alec can see him aim that little smile of his at Alec’s toes. Something squeezes in Alec’s chest, tight enough that he thinks if he tried to take a breath, he’d only wheeze. The air suddenly feels warmer against his skin.
After a moment, Magnus glances up at him, still smiling. And Alec has to look away, ducking his gaze down to his lap. He hears Magnus breathe out a little half-chuckle as he shifts over to Alec’s other foot.
Before he can start, he’s forced back by a sudden onslaught of fur and fluff, as Chairman Meow darts out from wherever he was hiding and jumps across the ottoman, right onto Alec’s legs. Alec winces a little as four sets of tiny claws dig right through his jeans and into his skin, but he can’t keep himself from smiling as the cat climbs his way over Alec’s legs and plops down into his lap.
“I don’t think you’re supposed to be up here right now, Chairman,” Alec says in the most admonishing voice he can bring himself to use on something so cute. But his scolding is rendered moot as he starts petting the cat with both hands, scritching through his fur and letting him smush his tiny head against Alec’s palm. The Chairman starts purring instantly, a clear sign that he has no intention of getting down.
Magnus gives a melodramatic sigh. “He can stay, so long as he doesn’t make you start squirming.”
As if on cue, the Chairman starts kneading his front paws into Alec’s stomach, which would be absolutely adorable if it weren’t for the fact that his claws are out and pricking through Alec’s t-shirt. He tries to conceal his wince, but he knows he can’t last an entire pedicure like this. So he picks up the Chairman’s front legs and tries to gently suggest that he might be more comfortable if he were stretched out and not doing that anymore. Chairman Meow gives a guttural sound of disapproval, but begrudgingly curls himself up in Alec’s lap, paws tucked away harmlessly. A few seconds later, he’s purring again.
Magnus rolls his eyes as he starts on Alec’s left foot. “You and that cat. He likes you more than he’s ever liked me. Which is hardly fair, considering that I’m the one who feeds him.”
“Well, you’ve said yourself that I wouldn’t even be in your life right now if he didn’t like me at least a little bit,” Alec points out, fingers rubbing between the Chairman’s ears.
Magnus hums noncommittally. “I suppose. But that doesn’t mean he needs to be all over you when I’m right here. That’s just rude.” He finishes Alec’s big toe. Then, he smirks a bit. “Though I can’t be too upset. After all, the Chairman was there when I first realized I’m in love with you,” he says lightly, still focused on his brush.
Alec sputters, choking on nothing. “Th-that’s…” He’s caught completely off-guard. He takes in Magnus’s amused smile. “That’s not true. You’re kidding.”
Magnus looks up at him, expression serious. “I never kid about cat-related epiphanies, Alexander.”
Alec’s mouth moves a few times, forming words that he hasn’t picked yet. Then, he sighs. “Fine. How did Chairman Meow help you realize… that?”
Magnus grins . “Well, since you asked,” he teases as he finishes his current nail. “It was back in that sweet spot, right after you started spending the night, but before we’d really started fooling around very much.” Alec feels himself blush from his stomach up to his ears, like he always does when Magnus brings up their sex life in casual conversation. But Magnus either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care, because he doesn’t even pause for breath as he dips the brush again. “We had both drifted off without meaning to. I woke up in the middle of the night because my jewelry isn’t exactly designed to be comfortable sleepwear.”
He stops, and it takes Alec a second to realize it’s because all of his toes are done. Magnus sets the brush back in the bottle. Then, he holds out his hands, one over each of Alec’s feet. Alec can see a brief little flicker of blue trail down onto his toes. He’s not really sure what happened… But then Magnus picks up the brush and starts back on his right foot again with a second coat, so he can only assume he’d helped the first coat dry a little faster.
“So I wake up, in the dead of night. I’m tangled up in my softest silk sheets, and sharing my bed with a gorgeous young shadowhunter.”
Alec makes a weird little sound, which he then tries to cover by clearing his throat.
Magnus takes a moment to smirk up at him before starting on the next nail. “Now, you’ve shared my bed many times. So you know that I am a wonderful sleep companion. I don’t snore, I don’t kick, I don’t hog the covers, I am excellent at cuddling, and I am, in general, adorable.”
Alec laughs, not just because it’s true, but because of how amazingly comfortable Magnus sounds saying those things about himself. If Alec ever tried to compliment himself like that, he’d probably pass out.
Once again, Alec’s laughter is enough to make Magnus smile. “Logically, what do you think I was expecting in that situation? Waking up in the middle of the night, in a comfortable bed, being so infinitely cuddleable, next to someone I’d come to believe was quite fond of me at the time?” He glances up, like he knows he’ll be able to see Alec blush. “Naturally, I assumed that said young man would be taking advantage of the excellent opportunity to snuggle the shit out of me. But what do I find instead?”
Alec’s not sure if he’s supposed to answer. He doesn’t know. This story is amusing, but in a distant sort of way where he’s not really processing that it’s actually about him.
Magnus smirks at Alec’s toes. “I find you, sound asleep in my bed, drooling on a silk pillowcase that cost more than your entire wardrobe… and spooning my cat.”
“S- that’s, s-s… No!” Alec stammers, eyes wide.
Magnus laughs, loud and deep, his head tilted back. “Oh, darling, I have photographic evidence.”
Alec whines out something that was supposed to be a word. “I… I was not spooning the Chairman!”
“Mm, all curled up, as far away from me as possible, Chairman Meow tucked up between your chest and your knees, your arm lovingly draped over him. It’s the very definition of ‘spooning’.”
Alec huffs out a breath, like that counts as an argument. He doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t know why he cares. But for some reason, he does. He’s Alec fucking Lightwood, and Alec fucking Lightwood does not spoon cats in his sleep. As if it’s not bad enough that Magnus saw him drooling (which he can’t even attempt to deny; he knows he drools like a basset hound), as if it’s not bad enough that he wasn’t cuddling Magnus when Magnus obviously wanted him to, as if it’s not bad enough that-
Wait.
“Photographic evidence?”
Magnus nods innocently. “It’s been your caller id on my phone ever since.”
“Magnus!”
He laughs again, which is infuriating. “Don’t worry, angel, no one has ever seen it. And no one ever will.” He looks up, eyes sparkling, showing Alec a tiny hint of the gold hidden behind them. “That’s just for me.”
Alec feels his face heat up again, and he doesn’t know why. And he definitely doesn’t know what to say.
But Magnus barely gives him a chance before he’s resuming his work. “That’s not the point of the story. That’s just the context. The point is that I took one look at you like that, and it was…” he looks away for a moment, like he’s trying to find the right word. “Overwhelming.” He smiles, so it obviously sounded right to him. “It looked so unbearably right. You, curled up in my bed, using my cat as a teddy bear, looking so comfortable and natural. Like it was exactly where you belonged. You were so peaceful. Content. It was absolutely… precious.”
Alec swallows. He doesn’t think… in all his life, he doesn’t think anyone has ever called him ‘precious’ before. He’s certainly… he’s certainly never felt it before.
Magnus is smiling to himself. “And I realized exactly how lucky I’d be if I could wake up to a sight like that every morning.” He puts the brush away, closes the bottle, and reaches over to set it back on the coffee table. He gives Alec’s toenails another soft touch of magic, before resting his arms on the ottoman, on either side of Alec’s feet. “And then… I just knew. I knew I was in love with you.”
“Mags-” Alec tries to start, but his voice feels too weak. He takes a deep, shaky breath, and tries again. “That was… that was a long time ago.” He can’t tell exactly, but from the sound of it, it must have been months ago. Hardly very long after they first started dating.
Magnus gives a slight shrug with one shoulder. “I know.”
Alec furrows his eyebrows, like that’ll somehow keep everything inside his head and away from his face.
Magnus never said anything. That was ages ago, and Magnus hadn’t said a word. Magnus hadn’t once said the word ‘love’ to Alec until a little over two months ago. And even then, it hadn’t been until after Alec had blurted out “I- I love. You. I love you,” while they were making dinner (exquisitely ruining his well-rehearsed plan to say it after dinner, in a much more romantic fashion, and without his goddamn voice breaking). And Magnus had smiled, like couldn't believe how lucky he was, and said it right back. “I love you too, Alexander.” Like it was easy. Like it was obvious.
And hearing it, hearing Magnus say it, had been so, so nice.
But Alec had been terrified. That he’d said it too soon. That Magnus didn’t feel the same. That he didn’t know what to say because he didn’t feel the same, so he’d just said it back without meaning it. That it was the wrong time to say it. That it was the wrong thing to say.
And it turns out Magnus had already known. For months.
Alec blinks a little too hard. He tries to watch as Magnus picks up one of his fancy design pens, but his vision’s going a little blurry around the bottom.
Magnus hadn’t said anything. For months. Magnus had been in love with him and known it and hadn’t told him. He didn’t say it until Alec said it. He’d waited until he knew Alec felt the same. So he didn’t move too fast. So he didn’t put that pressure on Alec.
He’s still breathing too hard. But if Magnus notices, he doesn’t acknowledge it. He just starts doodling some beautifully intricate pattern on Alec’s big toe, in an off-white color with a hint of shimmer to it. The pattern kind of resembles runes, but he can’t pick out anything specific.
It makes sense. That he’d know so early. So much earlier than Alec. Because Magnus has been in love before. Many times. Obviously, every time is different, and every person is different, and every love is different. But on some basic level, Magnus knows what it feels like to fall in love. What it feels like for him to fall in love. Even if he was just getting to know Alec, he’s known himself for hundreds of years. It makes sense that he’d be able to see the signs, and recognize them for what they were. He isn’t like Alec, who’d once googled the phrase ‘how to tell if you’re in love’ to make sure he was doing it right (though he’s sworn to never even think about that incident ever again for as long as he lives).
In one overwhelming moment, Alec becomes viscerally aware of where he is. Sitting in a comfy chair, with a cat purring in his lap, and with Magnus Bane kneeling at his feet, painting something pretty onto his toes… and loving him.
It’s not fair.
The loft still smells a little bit like coffee. They both smell like sandalwood. Under his sweatpants, he’s wearing one of his most comfortable pairs of panties (white, with a thick border of bright blue lace). He’s wearing a bit more makeup than usual - even though he knows he’ll have to take it off before he leaves. Petal-pink lipstick. Slightly thicker eyeliner. He’d even done eyeshadow, which he still doesn’t quite get. But he’s insisting on learning, and not just letting Magnus do it for him anymore. So even though his eyelids probably look a little wonky right now, he knows his face looks good. Pretty. He looks pretty. He feels pretty.
And now, even his toes are pretty.
It’s too much. He was never meant to have all this. Which means that now that he does have it, he doesn’t know what to do with it. How can one person process things that are this… nice?
Magnus finishes decorating both of Alec’s big toes, leaving the others just plain purple. “Done,” he declares, with a hint of a flourish. He carefully slides the foam holders out between Alec’s toes. And then he leans back, giving Alec space to look at his work. “What do you think?”
Alec wiggles his toes, watching the glossy polish catch the sunlight coming in through the windows. The pattern glitters, bright and beautiful.
He looks up at Magnus, and smiles softly. “I love it.”
Magnus smiles back at him, and Alec’s pretty sure nothing could ever feel as nice as this.
“Purple? Really?”
“Alexander, I’m not in charge here.” Magnus shrugs as he collects his own array of colors, a palette of blues and silvers.
Alec leans over the kitchen table, hovering over where his hands are both splayed out on an old towel. “I thought you said you wanted to do green this time, buddy.”
Max just shrugs, and Alec almost rolls his eyes at how horribly identical it is to Magnus’s shrug. Alec’s not sure he can handle having another Magnus Bane in his home, even if this one is significantly smaller.
Max hands the bottle of purple nail polish to Magnus, and waits patiently as Magnus gives it a vigorous shake, then unscrews the cap for him. Max isn’t quite old enough to be able to re-dip the brush in the tiny bottle without knocking it over at least once (well, really, he’s not old enough to be doing any of this, but that’s certainly never concerned Magnus or Alec), so Magnus sets the bottle in a little dish. That way, when Max inevitably does knock it over, it won’t tip far enough to spill all over the table.
As soon as he gets his chubby little fingers around the brush, Max gets down to business. He’s kneeling on the chair, and he’s still barely tall enough to comfortably reach Alec’s hand. So Alec reaches a little further, as far as he can while making sure he’s comfortable enough to stay like that for a good half-hour. Almost instantly, Max streaks a nice, fat line of purple down the center of Alec’s right thumb. He makes it three more strokes before Alec’s skin gets a nice glob of polish on it. Undeterred, he moves on to the next nail.
Magnus is right behind him, wiping off the worst of the errant polish with a q-tip. Max is just over two and a half, and things like coloring inside the lines are still foreign to him. When Alec thinks about it, it’s definitely unrealistic to trust him with nail polish at all, really.
But that’s just how it is. It’s a tradition now. Every Sunday, right after breakfast, they sit down to do Dad’s nails. Max gets the right hand, which is inevitably turned into a brightly-colored disaster. Magnus gets the left hand, because he likes making the perfect design to complement the ring on Alec’s fourth finger.
When Max makes a particularly extravagant mess on Alec’s skin, Magnus will clean it up, with either cotton swab or magic, depending on how engrossed he is in his own painting. But for the most part, Alec likes to leave it how it is. Because, yeah, it looks horrible. But Max did it. And when it looks a little rough, it’s obvious that Max did it.
And after all these weeks, Alec’s learned that there’s nothing he enjoys more in this world than being at a Clave meeting, and seeing someone glare accusingly from his made-up face down to his painted nails… and getting to look them right in the eye, and say, “My son did them for me. Don’t they look nice?”
Alec’s smiling just thinking about it. Or maybe he’s smiling at the way the pink tip of Max’s tongue is sticking out between his blue lips. It’s the look he gets when he’s concentrating as much as physically possible. And it’s sweet, it’s almost unbearably sweet, that he’s giving all the focus a toddler can muster to something as trivial as painting Alec’s nails.
“I can’t help but notice,” Alec starts, looking across the table at Magnus, “that Max has picked Vin de Messe. I thought you only used that on special occasions.”
Magnus looks up at him like he’s lost his fucking mind. His expression alone is enough to make Alec burst out laughing, though he makes sure it’s not enough to make either of his hands move.
Because, to Magnus, there is no occasion more special than Max Lightwood-Bane deciding he wants something. By now, Alec is certain that it’s physically impossible for Magnus to deny him anything. Which is endearing, to an extent. But it does mean that when things go too far, Alec has to put on his Mean Dad face and be the one to say that, no, Max is not allowed to have a pet tiger.
But Mean Dad still hasn’t built up a tolerance to his son’s precious little pout, so they’d gotten a kitten instead.
Luckily, Chairman Meow has been getting along just fine with George Bernard Paw.
But if Alec doesn’t learn how to withstand the power of his blubbering child, he’s pretty sure they’re going to end up with a tiger sooner or later.
Magnus gives Alec a truly admonishing look for suggesting Max isn’t special enough for his special nail polish. He shakes his head for added dramatic effect before starting on his half of Alec’s nails.
In the silence of intense concentration which follows, Alec hears the tv playing softly in the living room. He doesn’t remember when any of them watched it today. But he can hear that high, encouraging-yet-patronizing tone of voice that’s only ever heard on shows made for children under the age of five. He wonders if Max turned it on at some point, and then… if Max meant to turn it on.
Max doesn’t really understand magic yet, either Magnus’s or his own. And while Magnus and Alec are both so aware of how important it is that Max is being raised by a fellow warlock - someone who not only understands and accepts what he is, but can teach him, right from infancy - that doesn’t mean Magnus actually knows how to teach a toddler how to use magic. For the most part, Max does things by accident, most frequently when he’s scared or excited. Sometimes he can actively choose to make a few sparks appear, but they don’t usually do much.
That being said, if he really, really wanted the tv to be on, Alec’s pretty sure he could make that happen.
Max’s hand slips, and Alec’s middle finger gets coated in purple all the way up to his knuckle.
“Oh. Uh-oh,” he says in a tiny voice, looking up helplessly. He leans over and tugs on Magnus’s sleeve. “Papa?”
Magnus looks over, and smiles when he sees the mess. He holds up his free hand, and makes sure Max can see clearly as he snaps his fingers over Alec’s hand. The sparks glow a little brighter than usual as the nail polish vanishes off of Alec’s skin.
Max giggles before shoving the brush back into the bottle, threatening both the bottle’s balance and the structural integrity of the brush.
Magnus reaches out and ruffles his hair, then goes back to Alec’s fingernails. They’re each a different color, somewhere between dark blue and bright silver, with his ring finger being the brightest. He’s already halfway done with the second coat by the time Max is just finishing his third finger.
No one says much, but that’s kinda nice. It was a hectic morning, with Max fighting to stay in his bath until he turned into a prune, and then also fighting them on what he’d wanted for breakfast. Nothing had gotten out of hand, but after several hours of trying to politely argue with a snuffling toddler, it was nice to know that he’d run out of steam.
And Max must know that he was being too fussy, because he’s on his best behavior right now. The kind that’s usually reserved for visits to the Institute, or when he’s trying to charm Aunt Clary into giving him an extra cookie (which she always, always does, and isn’t it terrifying that their two-year-old already knows how to manipulate a full-grown adult?). He isn’t really saying anything right now, unless he’s quietly getting Magnus’s attention to fix a particularly bad mistake. He must have really tired himself out this morning.
Alec can only assume Magnus is enjoying the rare silence as much as he is. Because it’s nice. Shit, it’s unbelievably nice. To sit at the kitchen table on a Sunday morning, sunlight coming in through the windows, with his fiance and his son painting his nails.
They’ve had breakfast. They still smell fresh from their showers and bath (sandalwood for Magnus and Alec, and some sort of horribly sweet berry concoction for Max, because Cookie Monster is on the bottle and neither of them are strong enough to deny him a blue-themed bubble bath). They’ve all gotten ready for the day, Magnus and Alec standing in the bathroom mirror over matching sinks, each doing their makeup, with Max sitting on the counter between them with his plastic comb and toy lipstick, rubbing both across his face with devastating sincerity.
And now they’re doing Alec’s nails.
This can’t be real. Alec’s still pretty convinced that the universe has made some horrifically grand mistake, and to compensate for accidentally giving Alec this life, he’s going to burst into flames at any moment. Because none of it makes sense. Some days, Alec doesn’t even understand how he’d been allowed a son in the first place (who’d let him have a child? Wasn’t he supposed to get a hamster first to see if he could handle the responsibility?), much less a son and a gorgeous man who wants to marry him, and as if all of that weren’t already enough… he gets to have pretty nails, too.
Yeah, there’s no way this can be real. Alec’s doomed.
Max stuffs the brush back into the bottle just as Magnus is clicking the cap back on his black nail pen. Magnus looks over, making sure that Max is done, and then he holds up his hands. “Ready?”
Max sucks his lower lip between his teeth, nods, and holds his hands up like Magnus’s.
They each hold their hands over Alec’s fingers. Magnus slowly counts to three, and they both release a little wave of magic. Max’s sparks hit Alec’s nails, and while they pack more heat than Magnus’s, Alec can tell they didn’t really do anything. But, as always, Magnus surreptitiously sends an extra kick of his own magic with it, so Max can think he successfully helped dry Alec’s nails.
Alec holds up his mismatched hands, bringing them close to his face so he can examine the artwork. His left hand is pristine, with a design so elegant and artistic that he knows it’d cost a fortune to get something similar from a salon. And his right hand is a mess of purple, with little drips and splotches of polish staining his skin, and his actual nails bumpy and uneven.
Alec smiles. “It’s perfect.”
He turns his hands so his palms face him, splays his fingers wide, and leans in to show off his nails to Max. “Look how pretty this is!”
Max beams at him, and bounces a little in his chair, like he’s proud of his work.
Alec glances across the table at Magnus. Magnus is already looking at him, smiling that little smile. Alec’s smile. They waste a few moments like that, before Magnus claps his hands together. “Alright, now it’s time to put everything away.” He looks pointedly at Max. Because they’ve decided that there’s No Magic Allowed when it comes to doing chores around Max. They want him to get used to seeing the normal amount of effort before he learns all sorts of magical shortcuts.
Alec looks from Magnus to Max with comically exaggerated confusion. “Put everything away?” He scoots his chair away from the table and stands up. “Alright, I’ll take this.” He grabs Max under the armpits and scoops him out of his chair, slinging him over his shoulder and carrying him toward the living room.
Max shrieks, a combination of laughter and straight-up screaming. “Daddy! No, not me!” His legs waggle against Alec’s chest, and he pounds his tiny fists against Alec’s back, laughing hard enough that Alec can feel it on his shoulder. Alec can feel sparks of magic hit with Max’s fists, but they just give him a quick burst of heat before they tumble uselessly to the floor.
“Hm?” Alec feigns ignorance, then stops as they reach the couch.
“Down!” Max shrieks, breathless from laughter. “Down!”
“Ohhhhhhh,” Alec says knowingly, “you want ‘down’.”
Max realizes his mistake and gives a shout of protest right as Alec un-slings him and drops him gracelessly onto the couch.
Alec’s just about to drop to his knees and tickle the crap out of him when Magnus calls from the kitchen, “So I guess I’m cleaning this up all by myself? No, that’s fine. Don’t help.”
Alec rolls his eyes, but tries to make sure Max can’t see it. “Alright, let’s go help Papa.” He reaches down and picks Max up again, this time resting Max’s weight against his hip. He holds him up with one arm, so he can show off his right hand again as he walks him back to the kitchen. “Look how nice this is! You did such a good job, Max.”
Max beams, and grabs at Alec’s fingers. He looks them over carefully, like he’s double-checking his work. Then, he looks up at Alec, eyes wide and delighted. “Pretty!”
After a moment, Alec smiles. “Yeah, buddy. It sure is.”