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The bloody arrow in his hand drops to the ground as his fingers twitch, sore and bruised from shooting dozens, maybe hundreds of arrows and gripping his seraph blade while sending so many of the creatures back into hell.
His jacket is torn in places, blood seeping through from minor cuts and scratches, the wound on his left temple the worst of it, but even there the blood flow has stilled by now and he knows the bruises will fade, the cuts will close, and remaining won't be but the memories of the fight.
So many fights, so little respite.
And yet, he is grateful. Grateful that his siblings, his friends, his loved ones, are still alive, still fighting, still together.
Many have died, many he couldn't save, being just too late, often mere seconds, one fateful moment and he was forced to watch them fall, a last breath leaving their mouths, their eyes turning shrouded and barren.
And he never forgets a single face, a name, their last moments, the way they fought so bravely, strong-minded and fiercely.
And every day his comrades die and he lives, he vows to fight harder, become stronger, faster, more focused, more tenacious, with every pore of his body, heart and soul.
Until the day he will breathe his last breath and someone might do the same for him.
More than ever before he hopes that day will be far, very far in the future, because more than ever he has reason to want to live.
Despite his dreadful fatigue, strained muscles and burning wounds, his lips quirk up into the softest smile as he hears footsteps approach.
He knows them by heart. His sister's proud, ardent steps. His Parabatai's confident, purposeful strides, and these ones.
Audible only if he wants them to be. Graceful, yet strong, cautious, yet brisk.
Alec knows them by heart, as he knows most everything about him.
The man, slightly shorter than himself, halts by his side, not making any sound.
Alec takes in the smell. Smoke, demon ichor, sweat and blood, a faint scent of ginger and lemon – his current bodywash, almond-vanilla – his shampoo.
Maybe he can only tell because he was with him this morning, watching him wake up, sharing his shower, soaping his body and washing his hair, watching him dress and fix his make-up.
Maybe it's still too clear in his mind, even though it feels like days have gone by since the comfort and safety of their home.
Alec's hand moves, grasping long fingers, interlacing with his own as they stand there quietly, watching the sunset.
“You're hurt.” Magnus states, his body turning slightly towards the other man.
“Nothing major, just some cuts and scrapes.” Alec answers, his hazel eyes finding Magnus' golden ones.
The warlock takes in the Shadowhunter, the dried blood, his weary eyes, his overwrought face.
His hand comes up to Alec's head, a spark of blue in its palm.
“Magnus, don't waste your magic on me, I'm good.” Alec protests as Magnus knew he would.
“I have more than enough magic to heal just some cuts and scrapes.” He deadpans, his eyes sparkling with amusement.
Alec rolls his eyes just slightly, the movement worsening his headache, and he lets Magnus proceed with healing the cut on his head. The headache is gone in an instant.
“Better, love?”
Alec smiles at the gentle concern in his boyfriend's voice. “Much, thank you.”
Magnus shakes his head, his hand finding Alec's cheek, cradling it.
He leans into the touch as if he were starved of tenderness, his eyes closing for mere seconds, knowing he can allow himself rest now Magnus is here.
A sigh escapes Alec's lips, releasing the harsh torment of today's battle, promising luscious relief all in one.
Magnus smiles, his heart swelling with bittersweet aching wonder.
He hopes, like every single day, that his Alexander knows how very loved he is, so completely, vigorously, heart-wrenchingly adored.
Every day they fight he knows it could be their last, because the day Alexander dies, so will he.
But he won't succumb to despair and agony.
Instead, he will strive against demons, all enemies, fate, death, every and any obstacle he has to overcome, to keep his Alexander free from harm. Keep him alive, keep his heart alive, meaning his siblings and friends, too.
He can never quite save everyone, and though it pains him deeply, he will take those brave souls' sacrifices if it means that those he loves the most, those Alexander loves the most, with all of his being, will survive another day, and another, and another.
And maybe, one day, they can lay down their weapons, he can rest his magic, and they will be able to just be. Be happy, and in love, and free from worry and pain and guilt and grief.
He knows how unlikely it is, and yet he keeps a place in his heart for his dream to grasp in rare moments like this one.
When they live to fight another day, together, so in love.
Alec's eyes have been watching him again, for the longest moment, conveying all that words cannot.
Magnus knows, understands perfectly, can feel it in his center and core. All that Alexander feels for him, emotions so overwhelming they're all-consuming.
Magnus closes the distance between them, pressing his body against Alec's, cupping his neck and embracing his waist as Alec's arms enclose around him, providing warmth and solace.
Their lips brush feather-light in greeting, sending delicious tingles along their skin.
Followed by gentle pulling, soft nibbles and mouths parting, tongues meeting and grazing, making sure of each other's presence and well-being, sharing anticipation, alleviation and joy at being united and granted to feel each other another night.
Their hearts swell and light up, warmth fills them into the tip of their toes, every burden and pain forgotten as long as they're physically and soulfully intertwined.
Breathless they part, noses softly touching, every caress speaking of infinite affection and devotion.
Blissful smiles are causing their faces to glow. They're alive to fight and love another day.
Their arms stay around each other, holding on tightly as their heads lean on one another, their eyes watching the sun setting in a crimson sky, layered in ruby, scarlet and merlot blushes, woven with blue and black streaks.