Title: Always

Character(s): Alec and Magnus


Rating: PG-13 (language, hardcore angst)

Word Count: 968

Disclaimer: I do NOT own Alec and Magnus. Not at all. I don't own Saliva's song 'Always,' either. Both The Mortal Instruments and Always were used purely for recreational, inspirational (in the case of the music, anyway) purposes.

Summary: I love you, I hate you, I can't get around you. I breathe you, I taste you, I can't live without you. Alec/Magnus. Rated for language.

A/N: I've been wanting to do something like this for a while now. I wrote this while I was procrastinating on my Ben/Thea 1sentence, and possibly smoking lots of crack.

With each little section, the POV alters. First one is Alec, next one Magnus, next one Alec, Magnus, so on until it ends. (Poor Magnus is hearing voices in the rain! D= And if anyone spots a Paramore reference in there… well, I don't have a prize or anything if you find it. But if you do, let me know, 'cause that would be really cool if someone saw it. xD)

I hate most of this thing and I'm not even exaggerating/joking. I'm quite disappointed in it. (And sorry if I missed any errors.

I love you, I hate you
I can't get around you
I breathe you, I taste you
I can't live without you
I just can't take anymore, this life of solitude
I guess that I'm out the door and now I'm done with you…

Saliva, Always

It's an indictment, a confession, a despondent apology. Blue eyes are downcast and green and gold are relentless, saturated with fury.

It's a horrific snarl, "Go on then, if you want to leave so fucking badly, get the hell out!"

The apologies don't stop. The apologies never stop. They keep tumbling from his mouth, awkward and fast-paced, the most vocal he's ever been about anything ever to him. He keeps apologizing, one long slur of nervous words.

"i'msorryi'msorryi'msorry" as slanted eyes narrow accusatorily.

"ireallyamsorry" as both boys get up from their chairs and take steps toward the door, one whispering while backing up and one screaming while walking dauntingly forward.

"magnusidon'twanttohurtyoui'msorryi'msorryi'msosorry" barely audible under the combined sounds of the wronged shouting in impossible octaves, the door swinging open and the guilty being shoved through it.

"DAMNITI'MFUCKINGSORRY!" as it's his turn to yell through the door, slammed in his face with so much sheer power that only a warlock's door could hang onto its hinges after that kind of abuse.

And the apologies don't stop there, not even after he's forced out. Because being forced out of a room has nothing to do with being forced out of someone's life. He stands outside the door and he screams, he screams about how sorry he is and how it just wasn't going to work and this whole thing was only hurting both of them because it was all a Lie and a drug. He stands there and he apologizes and apologizes until his throat is telling him to go home and give up by the means of throbbing in pain.

He doesn't go home until he's sure. It takes hours, hours of standing outside, but he finally hears it.

After he finally hears a raw sob come from the High Warlock's apartment, he closes his burning eyes and turns to leave.

The rain is cold for the most part, but when it falls in little droplets from the tips of his unspiked hair down to his face it feels warm. Warm like the world never was (and good God, that's cliché).

It's whispering in near constant splash or pitter-patter or violent whack bang. But the softest sounds of the rainfall are the loudest, the ones that scream at him, the ones that say he's so close, Magnus. So. Close. Go to him.

But he's louder, even if his lips are barely moving, even if no sound but his breathing is escaping them. He's speaking to himself of betrayal and hurt and lies and unrequited love and desire and nonono I won't. He made his choice.

Then change his mind.


You know you're addicted to him. You know you need him back. You know.

No. I'm done being weak. I'm done. It's over. I'm glad he left, it needed to happen.


No. I don't need him anymore. I'm not going back.

What, are you scared to go to him?


He won't speak.

He fucked things up by speaking.

Hell, he fucked things up by existing.

He shouldn't exist.

He couldn't think. Not wouldn't. Really couldn't, at least not at any effective rate.

Did Magnus want the Lie?

Did he want the truth?

No. He wanted (wants?) Alec to love him, and it didn't matter if that love was real or not. That's the closest he can come to understanding.

But he can't love him. He can't bring himself to lie about something that meant so much to one person. He couldn't give him what he wanted because he knew that in this scenario he was the drug, the one slowly taking control, becoming an addiction, the one thing it was impossible to go on without and drugs kill people, right?

He's starting to think that maybe it was him who screwed it up. Maybe he should have looked him in the eyes pleadingly, begged him not to go, begged him to stay and love him. Regardless of whether it was real love. It counted for something. Alec did his best to show him love, but he didn't know what love was.

Not yet.

Then show him.


He wants desires NEEDS him to knock on the door again. Two times, softly, without even bothering to press the buzzer. Come on, Alec. Come say you were wrong and you love me and you can't live without me and just KNOCK ON THE FUCKING DOOR!

But no, he's gone. And it's either because Magnus couldn't swallow his pride or couldn't lie. He isn't sure which.

Either way, it's fucking pathetic.

It's pathetic that he drove him away and it's pathetic that it hurt and it's the most pathetic emotion ever, that he wants him back in his arms after he tried to slip away (and who let him?).

It's pathetic that he thinks he's going to die if he doesn't see Alec Lightwood again, and that he can't go to him himself.

He's addicted, and it's pathetic.

He's expecting resentment to greet him at the door when he knocks, two times, softly, without even bothering to press the buzzer. When he gives in to the feeling of needing to make things right, because somehow the Lie is the right choice even though it's messed up, damnit! If the warlock is going to die, he might as well die happy, on his drug of choice.

But maybe he doesn't want me back. He didn't seem to want me when he threw me out last week.

The apologies are on his tongue once more as the door flies open but his throat chokes them back down again because arms are wrapping around him tightly, and a shaky voice is whispering madly inside his ear "don'."

So he submits to the lie. He promises to stay.