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you're my all and more

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It feels wrong for Alec to be standing here, miles away from the loft. Miles away from the gentle breeze as he stands on the balcony, enveloped in light from the setting sun, a hand pressed to the small of his back and slipping under his shirt, Magnus’ voice quiet and calm. Polished tables and shower steam, late night tea and early morning coffee, hoarse voices and kisses pressed to his shoulder and the nape of his neck. Silky sheets visible in the golden morning light as he exchanges small, shy touches with the gorgeous man next to him.

Magnus’ skin burns so hot it makes Alec shiver, and he presses his hands to Magnus’ waist, thumbing over his collarbone, lingering just a little too long over his heart. Sleepy smiles as eyes blink open, drinking in the surroundings and the bliss of it all, snuggling just close enough to share one pair of lungs and one beating heart.

Some days, all they do is stare, trailing their eyes over each other’s features, committing them to memory. Other times, skin contact is all they need; legs tangled, Alec presses his head into Magnus’ shoulder, as Magnus runs a hand through his hair. It seems on the mornings when they sleep and wake to the gentle drumming of rain against glass, they decide to have missed each other just a little more in the few hours they spent dreaming.

It begins to rain merely minutes after Magnus leaves, a sudden downpour that feels all too coincidental. Water seeps into Alec’s skin and makes him shiver without having to even step outside.

His room is more abandoned than not. A thin layer of dust has settled over the desk, the dresser, the mirror. The comforter feels stiff, foreign to touch, and the pillows are no better. His closet is half empty, and he hates the clothes he knows he never bought; the pale blue sweater from Tokyo, the denim jacket from Berlin. He remembers his brief looks of distaste, and Magnus’ not-so-silent approval as they stood together in the reflection of a mirror. He catches a glimpse of a scarf, woolly and soft; remembers the way Magnus helped him tie it with a blistering smile, and silences the urge to destroy it, wash away the smell of home, like it would do him any good.

He thinks of home, and takes a look around this room, realizing that home has never truly been here.

Sleep doesn’t come easy. The sheets feel heavy, trying to replace the warmth he’d usually feel by his side. The bed feels too small while his heart is too big for his chest, and he pulls up the covers, throws them off, paces from wall to wall. His phone sits on the bedside table and he resists the urge to check it, to reassure himself that there’s no goodnight, no I love you.

Shoes are beginning to click against tiles in the corridor when Alec, at last, finds sleep. Perhaps he dreams of necklaces trailing over bare skin and foreheads pressed to the bare skin of his back, but he doesn’t rest for long enough to reminisce.

He wakes to a dark room, with only a sliver of white light creeping in under the door. He throws out a hand at his side like a habit. It curls into empty sheets.