He knows – Raziel, does he know – that Magnus doesn’t need protecting. He’s one of the most powerful warlocks – the most powerful people – in the world. He’s four centuries old. He doesn’t need a Shadowhunter to defend him against the sadistic cruelties of the universe. But Alec wants to anyway.

Someone very wise with horrible hair once told me that the world is not black and white, that people are not black and white, and that to see the world and its inhabitants in monochrome does the universe a great injustice. That our world isn’t just shades of grey, but a technicolour display in a thousand tones. People can never agree because issues are never simple, and to oversimplify a situation is often to lose essential aspects.

Magnus is the most beautiful man he’s ever had the privilege of seeing. And he’s staring at Alec like he’s the wonder in the room.

Whatever idiotic creature Alec looks like, it’s worth it for the laugh that spills out of Magnus. Bright and carefree and joyous, as he throws his head back and laughs, chest vibrating and shoulders shaking, a smile that could fuel the world stretched across his face, eyes sparkling with mirth. Alec can’t find it in himself to be ashamed of his staring. Right now, he doesn’t give a shit about the Taj Mahal or Stone Henge or the fucking Great Pyramid of Giza, because the only wonder of the world he ever needs to see is Magnus Bane laughing like that.

It’s too easy to judge a book by its cover, to judge a person by their past, without asking why. And even the most atrocious people and the most horrific actions must be understood, if a repeat is to be prevented.

‘I can’t even remember the last thing I said to him.’ ‘Neither can I. […] But it’s okay. I don’t really remember the first thing I said to him, either. But I remember lots of things I said to him in between, and those were the important bits. Those were what defined our relationship. Beginnings and endings aren’t always as important as people make them out to be.’