God, Alec just wants to not be here any more. He wants to scramble his way over there and grab Magnus’ hand and bury his face in Magnus’ shoulders and hold him close. He wants to tug Magnus by the sleeve of his jacket and head back down those steps and out into the morning, and just be Alec, a man who has not lost all that he has just found, and not be the Head of the Institute, or a Lightwood, or even a Shadowhunter anymore. He wants to feel Magnus’ mouth again, a grounding reminder of promises shared, because the world feels like shrapnel sometimes and it’s cutting him up the longer he stands here, buffeted by the pyroclastic fallout of the night suffered.