Archive of Our Own ^beta

The apartment was enveloped in a welcoming silence, the kind that only exists between friends who have already said everything that matters. The city light came in through the tall windows in golden beams, cutting the room into soft angles. A magic kettle whistled softly on the stove, as if reminding them both that there was still warmth in the world, even when everything seemed to be spinning too much outside. Catarina Loss sat on the windowsill, her bare feet crossed on the cool wood. She wore a yellow sweater, contrasting with her blue skin, which she rarely showed, and which looked like it belonged to another century—maybe it really did. In her hands, a porcelain mug was steaming with chamomile tea with ginger—not because she needed a cure, but because the aroma always reminded her of home, wherever that was, so many years later. Magnus Bane, meanwhile, floated around the kitchen with the meticulous grace of a sorcerer and the slight exhaustion of someone who has saved the world too many times to count. His eyes, however, remained alert. Elegant, sharp. And, most importantly, with his wizard mark on display, just like her best friend’s, golden as a cat’s eyes. With fingers covered in rings, he handled magical ingredients as if he were choreographing a dance—angelica root, amethyst powder, something translucent that seemed to contain pieces of bottled heaven.

“If I mix angelica root with this,” he murmured, more to himself than to her, “maybe the elixir will stop trying to kill me.”

“I think it’s more likely that you’ll blow up this kitchen first,” Catarina replied, without looking up from her cup.

He laughed. A clear but tired sound. Catarina smiled at the corner of her mouth. It was good to hear that. Both of them together, without any protection or disguise.

Magnus’s cell phone vibrated on the counter, breaking the comfort of the routine. He picked up the device with the familiarity of someone who had been expecting it. He read the message. His expression softened instantly. A subtle glow appeared in his eyes, different from the magic that filled them—something rarer. Something that couldn’t be conjured. Catarina watched in silence. She saw the smile that formed effortlessly, saw the brief hesitation before typing his reply. When Magnus came to, he seemed embarrassed for having let himself get carried away. “Sorry,” he said, putting his phone away. “Alec.” Catarina turned her face to him with a sincere smile, still warm from the tea. “No need to apologize. I like seeing you like this.” “Like what?” She stared at him for a second, then looked back out the window, as if organizing thoughts that had been stored for years. “Human. Happy. Real. I like seeing how you make yourselves better.” She paused, biting her lower lip lightly, as if testing the taste of the truth. “How you light up with him.” Magnus arched an eyebrow, exaggerating his arrogant pose.

“Look at that. A relationship of mine getting approval. That’s practically a milestone.”

“Oh, please,” she laughed, shaking her head. “The others were fireworks. Pretty, loud, quick to disappear. This one is… a bonfire. Stays. Warms. Survives the night.”

Magnus walked over to the couch and threw himself down on it with a sigh, his arms stretched out along the back. His eyes were fixed on the ceiling, but he clearly heard every word. Catarina knew he was disguising his fear and desire; he had always been like this: hopeful, fiercely desiring love, but so afraid of the feeling and its consequences.

“Do you really think so?”

“I know. I saw it. Even before you two got together, when you came back from dates with him, you were different. More centered. As if some part of you had finally been seen.” And when I saw you two together for the first time…” she took a deep breath, “I knew. He’s not scared of you. Of who you are. He doesn’t walk away. He chooses to stay.” Magnus turned his face toward her. There was something disbelieving in his gaze. Not because he doubted what she was saying—but like someone who hadn’t yet allowed himself to fully believe it. “He says I do the same for him,” she murmured. “And he does. But for the first time, it’s mutual. You’re not carrying the relationship on your shoulders. You support each other.” She stood up, crossing the room in slow steps, and stopped beside him. Her blue eyes were softer now, more fragile. “Remember when you were with Camille? Honestly, if I had a nickel for every time she broke your heart with that elegant coldness of hers, I would have bought my own hospital. Or Kitty… Dot? Kitty… Oh, Kitty. All that adventure, that delicious chaos. But you both knew you were just playing games—stealers of trinkets and time. There was never a future there, only escape. And Dot... well, she was always more faithful to her own solitude. You loved her, but she never knew how to truly share life, only moments. Or that disaster with Imasu? He left you because he thought you were too ephemeral. Little did he know that you You were the only permanent one in the whole thing.

Magnus groaned theatrically.

“I beg you, don’t mention the vampire.”

“The point is: in all of them, you were the giver. The enchanter. The one who loved the most. You charmed, protected, molded. It was never about you being taken care of. You fell in love with people who loved parts of you but didn’t know or couldn’t embrace the whole. Your past. Your magic. Your pain. Or what was loved for the wrong reason. And you accepted it, because you thought it was that or nothing.”

She sat down next to him on the couch. She touched his hand lightly, almost without him noticing.

“But then along came that stubborn guy, all tension in his shoulders and the look on his face like he’s carrying the whole world… Alec Lightwood. Alec… he sees you as whole. Not as a mystery to be deciphered or a flame to be controlled. And he… he didn’t just want the shine. He wanted the background. He wanted to stay. He wanted to learn.” He cares for you, Magnus. Really. He listens. He holds your hand in wars and in silence. He doesn't want to possess you. He wants to accompany you. And he also gives. He also cares. That's rare, Magnus. And precious.

Silence.

" I look at you and... there's a difference. He doesn't consume you. He sustains you. And with him, you seem more whole. As if there was finally someone playing on your side of the table, and not the other."

She stops, looks at him with an expression that mixes pride, nostalgia and a hint of pain.

" Loving someone who isn't made to last with you is a choice. Loving someone who sees you whole and still stays... that's luck. Maybe even destiny."

Magnus closed his eyes for a moment. The truth was something difficult to bear when you lived centuries accumulating layers to protect yourself.

Catarina stood up again and went to the window. She stood there, the steam from the mug still rising in the air between them.

'' I was engaged " she said, her voice lower.

" I remember. The mortal with the flowers in the hospital."

She smiled, nostalgic.

" He loved me. I loved him too. But he always said “later.” After the plague. After the war. After the next shift. And he waited. Until he couldn’t anymore. He died old, with his hands still warm, and I… was left with all the things we never lived."

Magnus stood up. There was a silent melancholy in his eyes.

" Do you regret it?''

" Not love. Never love. But time. What I let pass, thinking there would be more. And that’s why I tell you… don’t wait. Don’t let it pass. Cherish every now. Every morning with him. Every message. Every touch. Because you may be centuries old… but love, Magnus… love has the time we give it."

He came closer. He took her hand gently, as if each gesture were a promise.

" Thank you, Cat."

She took a deep breath. Then she adopted her usual tone—lighter, more provocative.

" If you ruin this, I swear I’ll show up at the wedding just to raise objections."

Magnus smiled.

" So you think there’ll be a wedding?"

" With you? All that’s left is for him to show up with glowing runes and a ring forged in celestial steel."

They laughed together, the sound echoing softly between the walls full of history. Magnus tilted his head to the side, his eyes sparkling with gentle joy.

" Hm. I admit I’ve never been much for ceremony... but with him... " He sighed, his smile widening slightly. " With him I think about these things. And it doesn’t scare me."

" Nor should it. " Catarina raised her eyebrow with a mischievous expression. " In fact, just for the record... I already have my speech ready."

Magnus arched an eyebrow.

" Speech?"

"Sure. Because it's obvious that I'm going to be one of the bridesmaids. " She crossed her arms, her tone mock-stern. '' And woe betide you if I don't go."

He laughed, throwing his head back.

"Seriously? Do you have the speech yet?''

' Of course. With literary references, quotes in dead languages, and maybe a veiled threat or two."

Magnus shook his head, trying to contain his laughter.

" You're terrible.'

" And you have terrible taste when you don't listen to me. " She pointed at him as if sealing an oath. "Then make sure you put me in that ceremony. With decent flowers. And no weird color palette. And the open bar has to be magical, or I'll bewitch the waiters myself."

Magnus raised his hands, surrendered.

"I promise. Bridesmaid Loss, in the spotlight. Red carpet, golden lights, and speech at midnight."

" That's how it's said."

Catarina smiled. But only on the outside.

On the inside...
The speech she would give would never be all jokes and threats.
It would be about a night in 1600, when she was about to die burned in Steinhaus.
About how a foolish wizard with golden eyes and a huge heart saved her, even against common sense and against Ragnor's voice echoing "don't get involved".
It would be about how they laughed together hours later, with the smell of smoke still clinging to their skin, and how she promised to be his second friend - even though she already knew, deep down, that it would be more than that.
It would be about Peru and the absurd ideas the two idiot magicians had, like founding a a cult just for laughs. She warned them not to do it. They did it anyway.

It would be about consistency. About connection. About family.

And how seeing Magnus finally find something real, something reciprocal, with Alec—something she herself had lost so long ago—hurt and healed at the same time.

But she wouldn’t say any of that.

She would just drink the last sip of her tea.

And smile.

“That’s the way it is,” she repeated softly, tapping her finger lightly on the cup.

In the silence that followed, she felt the soft weight of memory on her shoulders—and she let it stay.

And Magnus, with a lighter heart, looked out the window at the sky and thought that maybe, for the first time in many, many years, he was exactly where he was supposed to be.