summerdude | I Have GOT To Pick Better Habits [semi-closed post]

The corpses have stopped coming, and Wei Ying is safe¹, and Lan Wangji is making one final sweep of the mansion. He has ensured that Claudius is still unharmed, that the grounds are clear of any further threat, that no one is in any persistent need of spiritual energy or transport or protection.

He stops dead when he sees Magnus sprawled across the hallway, his blood running abruptly very cold. Lan Wangji had thought Magnus could care for himself. He will not forgive himself if he was wrong.

In short order, he kneels and bundles Magnus into his arms. Magnus is, at the least, breathing, and this allows Lan Wangji to breathe more easily as well. He resettles Magnus' weight so that one hand is free to grasp Magnus' limp palm and pass him spiritual energy even as Lan Wangji is on the move, searching the mansion for the closest open room with a couch.

¹And very well tended to.

Magnus awakes in fits and starts, jolting from a dream about Samirah and Amir talking through their wedding plans. The first thing he notices is that he's warm and safe, held tightly by some mysterious person. The second thing he notices is that the person holding him seems to be healing him. It doesn't feel like the summer he's used to, but it still crackles through him like electricity and warmth.

The third is that the person holding him is strong and, like, totally jacked.

These three pieces of information coalesce into the only possible explanation: somehow, improbably, one of his prayers got through. He turns his face into the hold, allowing himself the luxury of being truly cared for. Voice muffled by clothes, he says, "Dad?"

Something cracks open silently in Lan Wangji's chest, a feeling like the first time A-Yuan wedged himself into his lap at a restaurant in Yiling. He gives Magnus' hand a gentle squeeze, not stopping the flow of qi. "Magnus," he says quietly, reluctant to dispel Magnus' illusion but equally reluctant to let it continue. That would be cruel.

Spotting an innocuous and empty sitting room, he steps aside and into it, but doesn't release his hold on Magnus quite yet.

Not Frey's voice. Magnus lets the sound of his name, and the vibrations of the man saying it, rumble through his body down to his very bones, and nuzzles closer.

Then he places the voice. "Hanguang-jun," he says, relieved and, to his own surprise, happy. That makes a lot more sense than his dad, who isn't really the carrying type. His eyelashes flutter and he squints his eyes open, briefly -- ah, yes, there's the familiar white robes with their heavy embroidery. He relaxes further, and only then begins to wonder why Hanguang-jun is carrying him in the first place. "What ... ? Why ... ?"

There comes a fresh flood of weakening relief, although Lan Wangji doesn't allow it to touch his bearing. He thinks that this must be part of why he guards his heart so closely. There is always the possibility of pain tied up with the business of love.

"You lost consciousness." Magnus seems comfortable, but Lan Wangji would like to assess him more thoroughly, so he arrays Magnus on the nearest couch with his head on Lan Wangji's lap. He does not let go of his hand.

"Did we win?" It's a standard question, after battle-induced passing-outageness or revivification, more from rote than from difficulty remembering the specifics.

"Mn. There are no more corpses. Everyone is safe and well." Lan Wangji is glad to be able to deliver this information truthfully, glad that he took the time to determine its veracity.

Magnus scrubs his free hand over his face, and then feels the weight of the pendant on his neck. "Oh," he realizes. "Shit. I picked up Jack."

Immediately, Lan Wangji recalls what Magnus told him the second time they met about how this works, the way that Jack can drain him. He frowns, but at least this is a situation with understandable precedent. He lets the passage of qi between them slow and stop, but continues holding onto Magnus' hand. "How do you feel now?"

"Drained," Magnus says, with a rueful smile. "Between the energy drain of Jack flying me through the window and mowing down thousands of zombies on his own, plus all the sunlight and healing and fighting I did... It's been a while since I've fought like that." His smile dims. "Hanguang-jun?"

Edited 2023-11-20 23:12 (UTC)

"I'm here." Convinced finally that Magnus will come through this, Lan Wangji lets the tiniest amount of his tension fade away.

"I think," Magnus says, slowly, testing out both the thought and the act of sharing it aloud, "I don't like it."

Lan Wangji is silent in answer to this, his hand around Magnus' gentle but unyielding. He gazes at Magnus' face, the untidy fall of his hair and how tired he looks, too tired for a teenager. A teenager who died, and whose reward for that brave death was to die again and again, to fight again and again. Surely he has given enough.

"Then rest," he says finally, "and don't fight again. I can fight for you if it is necessary."

Magnus sniffles at that, which is so embarrassing -- why does he keep crying in front of Lan Wangji! "I'm already, like, Peace Guy," he says. "Moderation Dude. The healer of the party. My friends usually pick up my slack in, like, battles, and I get to have the creative wins. Like a fight of insults instead of swords, or trying to come up with, like, any different path to achieving a goal that most einherjar would respond to with violence." He doesn't even mind standing out in Valhalla for this reason, because his friends like him and that's what matters. "But even though I've been training, I haven't had to really fight since I got here. I'm glad that I can hold my own now, I guess."

Again, Lan Wangji is quiet for a time. He was seventeen when the Sunshot Campaign began, seventeen the first time he found himself wading across a battlefield with bodies falling left and right. It is impossible to imagine the person he might have become otherwise, but he has always wanted Sizhui and Jingyi and their classmates to have the chance to find out.

"I am glad that you can hold your own," he says carefully, "but you should not have to."

Edited 2023-11-21 00:21 (UTC)

"No," Magnus agrees, somewhat miserably. "But I've got to."

"No." This answer requires no pause or thought. Lan Wangji's voice is calm but brooks no argument. "You are here now, not in Valhalla. And I'm here, too."

For now, Magnus doesn't say. He knows he'll end up back in Valhalla. It's foretold. He can't die in Ragnarok if he's not in Valhalla. "Okay, Hanguang-jun," he says, voice trembling a little. And then, bravely: "Would you, um. Maybe. Stroke my hair? ...Is that weird?"

There is a tiny pause, but only because Lan Wangji is so surprised by the request. Not because it is, as Magnus says, weird, but only because casual physical intimacy of this kind of is so rarely requested of him from anyone but his husband. Sizhui has mostly grown out of it, although not entirely. Lan Wangji hopes he never does entirely.

If it will help Magnus, he will do it. Weirdness is irrelevant. With the hand that isn't holding Magnus', he brushes the hair back from Magnus' forehead and does as he is asked. He is, as with most things, methodical and measured but far from cold about it as he smooths Magnus' hair as gently as he has ever stroked the fur of the Cloud Recesses' many rabbits.

Magnus sniffles again, and a tear (or two) leaks out. "Sorry I keep crying in front of you, Hanguang-jun," he says.

"Do not apologize to me," Lan Wangji answers, and it is, technically, an order, but he means it gently, and that is how he says it. He diverts very briefly and wipes Magnus' cheek for him with the soft edge of his sleeve before returning to his task.

"Yessir," Magnus says, with a shaky breath. For reasons he can't fully divine, through the ache in his chest and the lump in his throat and the slow leak of another tear, something about this makes him realize: "I really miss my mom."

Edited 2023-11-21 02:09 (UTC)

Lan Wangji knows his answer to this immediately, but it takes him some time to dredge the words up from within the depths of himself. It should be a simple sentiment, but it is, in fact, one of the handful he keeps buried the deepest, one that colors nearly everything else, one of the most precious and fundamental. It was only the other day that he spoke, without meaning to, of kneeling outside the jingshi, waiting and waiting for someone he knew was not coming, surrounded by gentians and falling snow.

"I miss my mother as well." He shuts his eyes, but only for the time it takes to exhale, once. Then he returns to watching Magnus' face.

"Yeah?" Magnus asks. A tiny voice in the back of his mind says, dead mom club!; he ignores it. "I bet yours was as nice as you." He closes his eyes, too, but mostly so he can lose himself in the feeling of Lan Wangji's hand on his hair. "Mine would take me camping every weekend. So we could sense my dad, she said, but also because I... struggled, being inside. We lived in an apartment over a really good Korean barbecue restaurant. I think she knew something was going to happen, the day she died? She knew the truth about my dad. And..." His voice wavers, and he sniffles. More tears trickle out even though he's squeezed his eyes even tighter shut, trying not to remember the blue glow of the wolves' eyes as they crashed into their apartment. "She didn't make me fight, either. She told me to run when the wolves came, that she would find me later. But they murdered her. The building exploded. The police thought I did it."

Some of the details of this story are lost on Lan Wangji, but he doesn't consider it important to question or pursue them. He can understand the meaning. Gently, he continues to dry Magnus' tears where necessary, but otherwise keeps the hand in his hair where it is, its movements unceasing. Magnus' mother wanted to protect him, and she succeeded, to some extent -- but she gave her life for it. Lan Wangji has a golden core and a sword and a qin that responds to the slightest touch of his qi. He can take up this mantle on her behalf. He is quiet as he says, "Your mother wanted you to live in peace. So do I."

Magnus sobs at that. He turns his head into Lan Wangji's touch, his tears sinking into Lan Wangji's robes (again), where they spread slowly. "I don't want you to die," he says. For me, he means. Because Ragnarok is my future, he means. Because people I love get hurt when they try to help me, he means. He is fourteen again, hiding in a dumpster, given no time to process his mother's death; he is fifteen, alone but for two weird also-homeless guys (Hearthstone and Blitzen) who have an unexplainable interest in his well-being and who the other street kids laughingly call his mom and dad; he is sixteen and dying for strangers as a fire giant targeting him is hurting everyone else in the area, too; he is sixteen forever and his uncle is trying to sacrifice him to bring his own children back and nearly destroying both Samirah and Alex in the process. He is sixteen and twenty-four and alone in a strange place; he is sixteen and twenty-four and none of the people who make him feel less alone truly understand what it takes to be an einherji. He doesn't want them to know. It's not their burden. It shouldn't be their burden. He should have done more today. He wishes he didn't have to do anything.

There is nothing Lan Wangji can do but pull Magnus up, easily enough with their hands still linked, and fold him into a proper embrace, Magnus' head tucked into his shoulder and both of Lan Wangji's arms around him. It's a little less tidy than those first two, outside on the grass, because Magnus' face is so damp already and because of the way they're sitting, but Lan Wangji doesn't allow that to deter him. He cannot promise not to die. Magnus has seen him in battle now, and knows that he would be very difficult to kill -- but that is no guarantee, and Lan Wangji would prefer not to make promises he can't be sure of keeping. So he only holds onto him, steady.

Magnus clings. He barely has the presence of mind to moderate his strength. "Do you think it's because my dad is the god of peace?" he asks, muffled against Lan Wangji's chest. "That I don't like it?"

The force with which Magnus holds onto him is surprising, but not unwelcome. Lan Wangji tightens his hold in turn. "No. You are your own person." Magnus is not his father, just as Lan Wangji is not his.

"I feel guilty," Magnus tells him then. "I shouldn't... I chose this."

Lan Wangji has to consider this, because he suspects his answer might matter, and because Magnus is worth the time and thought. He doesn't release or loosen his arms around him. It would seem that Magnus, too, can withstand him. "You are permitted to choose something new."

"I was the only one who got a choice," Magnus says. "Everyone I love is in Valhalla." He shakes his head, hiding another flush of tears against Lan Wangji's front, and corrects himself: "Everyone I love from before I came here, I mean. I -- I'm the last hope. The harbinger of the last gasp of summer before the final winter. I keep it, the world, alive for longer. Frey... Dad... he said... I can't just ignore that, Hanguang-jun."

Edited 2023-11-21 05:50 (UTC)

Now Lan Wangji does, again, hold Magnus to him with slightly greater force. He could modulate himself, could keep his strength further at bay, but it doesn't seem necessary. What Magnus describes is an undue burden to put on a child, particularly one as sensitive and kind-hearted as Magnus. He lifts a hand back to Magnus' head, just cradling it for a moment before he resumes stroking his hair, working out its tangles.

If what Magnus says is truly foretold, Lan Wangji cannot stop it for him. He would like to. He is no longer so interested in these visitor's passes. He would like to storm his way into Valhalla regardless and demand that whatever powers govern Magnus' world release him. But he has not even managed to leave this tiny world. And he is not a god after all.

All he can offer, then, his voice still steady, is, "So be it. Then you will not be alone when it comes time to face it."

Words bubble up on Magnus's tongue. It's not your battle, he wants to insist. Stay safe. But maybe he shouldn't take Lan Wangji so literally, and he should instead listen to what the man is trying to communicate underneath it all?

He melts into Lan Wangji's hold, letting some of the fight drain out of himself. "It's not all bad," he admits, muffled. "I do like some of it."

When Magnus' tension drains away, Lan Wangji takes the opportunity to rearrange them, pulling Magnus more firmly onto his lap so they are not sitting so awkwardly. He does not let go.

"Mn." In this, he means both approval and mild interest. Magnus is welcome to tell him of the things he likes, or not. Lan Wangji can sit in silence without objection. He will hold onto him either way.

"Like," Magnus says, trying to clarify what he means for the both of them. "I'm Peace Guy in War Hotel, but that's... relative. I guess. Because sometimes violence is the solution. Not as much as the other einherjar want it to be, but... sometimes. And I did have a little fun with Gu Xiang today, when we made it a competition, and I have fun when Valhalla does tug-of-war into a chocolate lake instead of tug-of-war to the death, and I really like watching Alex do violence on everyone around her. She's so good at it," he explains.

Lan Wangji makes another low sound of agreement. Violence is, indeed, the solution at times. He knows that well enough. "Battle is a means to an end," he says, "but there is beauty in it at times. You already know that I cultivate the sword path." He couldn't say that he enjoys the violence itself specifically, but the beauty of sword forms, the clarity of Bichen in his hand and the way that everything in him can be honed to one wordless purpose -- he does, truthfully, love that feeling.

"There is beauty in it," Magnus agrees, thinking again of Alex wrecking devastation on an entire battlefield. "I just... I wish there was, like, a sub-path, you know? I don't want to turn my back on my duty, but I also -- I don't want --"

He doesn't know how to articulate what he wants; so much of it involves coming harrowingly close to turning his back on the duty he's accepted.

"I relaxed too much, and now it's not fun." It was never fun; fun was never the point. But he could find more highlights, before.

Edited 2023-11-21 20:03 (UTC)

Lan Wangji's hand in Magnus' hair stops, although he does not move it away. He only wants, for a time, to hold Magnus' head to his shoulder and chest, to be still with him. "There are several paths," he says slowly, "and duty taken unwillingly is not duty worth fulfilling."

He thinks again of their second meeting. Did Magnus believe him a god then? He must have. "I have seen how you can heal wounds and enforce peace. I read of your father's nature." Again, he says, "There are several paths."

A mental image comes to Magnus, and he gives a single huff of laughter, relaxing against Lan Wangji. "It's like an Onion headline," he says. "'Apocalypse Averted on Account of One Guy Who Kept Casting the Same Peace Spell Over and Over Until Everyone Got Bored And Went Home. 'We kept waiting for our foretold deaths and victories to arrive, but he wouldn't fucking quit,' complains Thor.'"

Fondly and quietly, Lan Wangji tells him, "I can barely understand you at times."

"Oh." Magnus blushes. "Sorry. The Onion is like, this satire newspaper? Wait, do you know what either of those things are? They do fake funny news stories. Some are really bizarre. Like if I stopped the apocalypse -- Ragnarok -- by just doing Peace of Frey all over the place."

This is enough information to glean what Lan Wangji needs to know. "Mn. Why not try?"

"It's not prophesied," Magnus says, and then thinks about himself telling Galahad how much he hates prophesies. "I guess I could try?"

"Try, then."

There is one more matter he intends to address with Magnus, but it has been a long and bloody day, and the days immediately prior even longer. Lan Wangji's body has not tired, but the rest of him has. He lapses into silence. The slightly excessive strength with which he is embracing Magnus has not ebbed.

"Okay, Hanguang-jun," Magnus says. He's so comfortable and so, so tired. He snuggles closer to Lan Wangji's chest. "I'll try. But you don't have to fight for me, okay?"

If Magnus is in danger and it is within Lan Wangji's abilities to protect him, of course he will fight for him. But Lan Wangji says nothing on that tonight, opting for another comfortable moment of silence before he says, "I spoke with Peak Lord Shen Qingqiu. We agree that it was Luo Binghe who wore my face in your dream."

"Huh." Magnus blinks, processing this. "That's weird of him."

"It is," Lan Wangji agrees. "Take care around Luo Binghe." His arms tighten for a fraction of a moment as he can't help but imagine the icy depths of his own rage if any harm came to Magnus at Luo Binghe's hands. He reminds himself that, supposedly, Shen Qingqiu and Magnus are friendly, and that Magnus is safe.

"I promise," Magnus says, tilting his head back so he can see the side of Lan Wangji's face.

With some care, Lan Wangji relaxes his hold, though he doesn't let go. It is just enough that he can look properly at Magnus, serious as he always is as he accepts that promise. It eases him a little, and despite his weariness and the grimness of the preceding days, his expression is terribly soft in its solemnity.

"Hanguang-jun?"

Lan Wangji does not actually answer aloud, but there is a small shift in his expression that speaks to attentiveness. It serves as his version of asking, Yes?

"I know you said not to say sorry to you," Magnus says. "So instead I'll say thank you." He indulges himself and his discovery of his growing comfort with physical touch by resting his cheek against Lan Wangji's shoulder. "You're really great." He kind of wishes... but that's dumb.

The weight of Magnus' head on his shoulder is a sweet small comfort, and Lan Wangji takes a slow breath. His chest aches, just a little. There is truly no reason for Magnus to thank him, either, but Lan Wangji accepts it. "It is my pleasure."

"That, um." Magnus blinks. His eyelashes feel heavy, damp against his cheek. He stifles a yawn. "That disciple of yours that you told me about is really lucky."

Lan Wangji has to shut his eyes. Sizhui is old enough now to get by without his supervision, and they have been apart for longer stretches than this. Lan Wangji, improbably, trusts the Ghost General to care for him in his absence. And yet not a day has gone by without Lan Wangji thinking of him, longing for him and hoping that he is well.

It does Magnus a disservice to compare the two of them. They are not the same person. Magnus is more talkative, quicker to laugh and quicker to cry, not so honed by years of Cloud Recesses discipline or by half-forgotten years of every Wen uncle and auntie passing him around the rocky soil of the Burial Mounds like the most-beloved sack of radishes in the place. His pains are his own, and the people he has lost cannot be replaced by one cultivator who has known him for a handful of weeks.

Still. Lan Wangji carefully draws in another breath. He flattens a hand between Magnus' shoulder blades, cognizant of the strength and fragility of him, the shape of him caught between childhood and adulthood. "Sleep," he says gently, punctuating this directive with a single kiss dropped to the top of Magnus' head.

Magnus doesn't, though; he's distracted by the kiss and by the thought that he hasn't really had an adult in years. Sure, he's maybe old enough not to need one, now, and he hasn't really been in the market for one in ten years, but also... Hearthstone and Blitzen are great, and he loves them, but now that he's an einherji they're more friends than his inexplicable street-uncles, and they've never been touchy-feely, just attentive and helpful.

It's only now, being held by an adult-shaped adult who feels like a real adult to Magnus -- rather than a god, or an ageless einherji, or someone who's just a friend and who maintains careful friend-shaped boundaries -- that he lets himself acknowledge that he wants one. Even his dad is at a remove: Magnus may be semi-immortal now, but dead demigods don't make it into legend as beloved children of their parents. Frey is a better dad than the rest of the gods, but he can, at best, be described as 'occasionally helpful, and with a calming aura.' Frey might have the best, most peaceful and summery energy of anyone in the world, but that doesn't mean he's involved.

Lan Wangji's energy is different. It's no less peaceful -- there was a reason Magnus wondered, briefly, if he might be a god of peace -- but it's cooler. Quieter. Less eau de unbridled natural growth. More... steadfast, and reliable, and committed, and sharp, like curling up with a good book on your favorite bench on a beautiful winter day.

Magnus is a decisive guy, when it comes to picking his people. He's been a little slower about it in the past six-odd weeks, because the shorthand he's grown familiar with (battle companion/comrade in arms, helpful on a quest, runs away from certain death with him) is so much harder to parse here. He's picked Galahad, though; even though they spar somewhat regularly (read: Galahad wipes the floor with him over and over while Magnus tries to learn), Galahad is the first friend he's made since childhood without any kinds of prophecy-strings attached. He's picked Shen Yuan, too, and he's pretty sure he's picked Gu Xiang even though her friendship is a lot more like the ones he has with his hallmates (he loves, and misses, his violent and unpredictable hallmates). He likes almost everybody he's met, except Lancelot; he doesn't even have particular issues with Luo Binghe outside of the weird dream thing. He's pretty sure he could pick any of them. All of them, even, once he starts to relax into figuring out his role here better.

He's picking Lan Wangji. He doesn't have to tell him yet; Magnus knows he moves fast when he makes up his mind about something. He does wish there was a term, for an uber-adult who is an adult to you even though you're grown up too, who's soft and holds you when you're sad and strokes your hair and actively listens to you ramble instead of thinking about his own things. He knows what he wants that word to be, too, even though he's had bad experiences with most of the people who fit into that label before: family.

He keeps it to himself, this bright hope that's been kindled in his chest, burning away some of the darkness of the day. He snuggles against Lan Wangji's chest. Family, he thinks, trying the word on like an old well-worn sweater, seeing how it fits.

Edited 2023-11-22 15:49 (UTC)

Magnus doesn't sleep -- Lan Wangji would be able to tell -- but he does settle, and that will do for now. His breaths are slow and steady, his limbs all neatly tucked into Lan Wangji's lap. There is a certain base comfort in that, in having Magnus enfolded entirely within his arms, like a confirmation that as long as Lan Wangji has him, he will be shielded from the things that have hurt and disappointed him. The things that have killed him. If Lan Wangji has his way, that will never happen again.

After the death of his mother, Lan Wangji shut himself away. His brother worried, and said so, but made no insistences. If a night-hunt came calling, Lan Wangji answered. Otherwise, it was himself and his books and his qin and his cold, silent, unoccupied heart. Wei Ying shattered it open, in defiance of every one of Lan Wangji's defenses, and then left him aching, and then laughed at a marketplace in Yiling and told Lan Wangji that the small, hot, grubby body clinging to his leg liked him. Lan Wangji told A-Yuan to be quiet at mealtimes, and A-Yuan nodded with wide solemn eyes and obeyed, Wei Ying sputtering with indignation in the background. Lan Wangji should have known then that he would never again be able to shutter himself against this or any other kind of love.

Lan Wangji is not stupid. He can read people, not always but often. When Magnus accused him of neglect, no longer summery so much as fiery, the tears in his eyes and the absolute earnestness of him spoke to the empty places within his own heart. The people who were meant to care for him have let him down. That, too, will not happen again.

Lan Wangji sighs, very quietly, and relaxes where he sits. He will hold Magnus until sleep comes for him.

It's hard, for Magnus to get himself to settle down, even with Lan Wangji holding him. He feels limp with the exertion of the day, but now that he's been roused from his post-Jack pass-out, he's still wired with it. But he wants Lan Wangji to think well of his effort, so he closes his eyes and tries. And at least if he's focused on calming himself, he won't do something silly, like blurt out all the thoughts bubbling up underneath the surface.

But something important -- more important than joking that he got it right the first time, actually; a maybe-parental figure did answer his prayer to his dad -- occurs to him. "Will you help me?" he asks, quietly, not wanting to interrupt the hush surrounding them. "Think of other paths?"

Lan Wangji's answer is slightly slow to come, only because it takes him a moment to rouse his thoughts out of his increasingly meditative breathing. Once he has registered the question, however, it is of course an easy response. "Whatever you need."

Magnus nods. He kind of feels like crying again, not because he's sad, but because he's relieved. "I'm really glad I know you."

Feeling dangerously fragile with affection, Lan Wangji rubs the hand at Magnus' back in a slow circle, palm still flat to his spine. "I am glad to have met you, too."

Magnus yawns. He has so many questions he wants to ask Lan Wangji -- what age he should consider himself to be, if he can stay here a little while longer, if Lan Wangji will teach him about cultivation, if Lan Wangji has guidance about how to tell your boyfriend you love him -- but maybe that can wait till later. Lan Wangji isn't going anywhere, he's pretty sure.

"Sleep," Lan Wangji says again, a little more firmly this time. "You are safe." He doesn't care to make promises he cannot be sure of keeping, but this one he believes he can.

"Okay, Hanguang-jun," Magnus says. He encourages himself to relax further. He doesn't put much stock in other people telling him he's safe, generally, so that particular statement doesn't ping, specifically, for him. But Lan Wangji is safe, in a way that adult-shaped adults who feel like adults rarely are, and so Magnus feels it, deeper than the words he's saying. Magnus can sleep here, held like this. It'll be good. Restorative. He wants to. He--

--nods off.

Magnus sleeps, and Lan Wangji rests. He doesn't sleep himself, because he said that Magnus was safe and because he intends to see that through. He keeps his eyes open and he breathes, holding Magnus. He has been, until this night, on the precipice of something irreversible. Now he has jumped willingly over that edge, and it's as Lan Wangji said himself, compelled to speak the truth: I have also never known how to take back my love once it is given away.

For a shichen or more, he sits, unmoving aside from each deliberate breath. Magnus breathes, too.

With time, Lan Wangji must reluctantly admit that a bed will serve as a better place for a teenager to rest after a long battle hard-fought, and that he has a husband who is expecting him and who is feeling fragile himself. Careful to jostle Magnus as little as possible, he stands, cradling Magnus in his arms. He is observant. He knows where most of the residents' quarters are, provided the mansion does not indulge in excessive mischief.

A subtle gesture of two fingers opens Magnus' door, but then Lan Wangji pauses. It is too cold in here -- too cold for anyone, but especially too cold for Magnus. There is broken glass on the floor. Remaining careful to move only the fingers of one hand, to leave Magnus undisturbed, he uses his qi to gather up the glass and send it flying far out the window where it will shatter harmlessly into infinitesimal pieces across the grounds. The window itself will need repairing later, however.

For tonight, Lan Wangji will find another bed. There is an unoccupied room across the hall: nondescript, but undamaged and warm. He pulls the covers of its bed back and arranges Magnus beneath them, removing his shoes gently for him as well. He will get dirt and grime on the bedding, but that is irrelevant. Finally, Lan Wangji pauses and looks at the sleeping boy before him. Magnus needs to know he has not been abandoned afresh. Lan Wangji removes the jade token from his waist and sets it next to Magnus' head on the pillow.

Magnus wakes up in a dark, unfamiliar room, alone. The comforting memory of Lan Wangji holding him for hours stays the swelling disorientation and fear, so while he sits bolt upright, breathing heavily, the breath doesn't catch in his throat.

That's when the heavy jade token slides from the pillow and knocks into his hand. He picks it up, gripping it, willing himself to calm down. This room is dark, which is good, and close, which is not. He stands up, finds his shoes, and slips into the hallway.

Someone has cleaned the glass from his own room, but the window yawns open, its jagged edges scented with the faintest tinge of blood from some cut he must have healed before he even realized it happened at all. The room feels... bad. He clutches the jade token more tightly, giving himself the space of a few minutes to take everything in and think through his options.

Then Magnus is leaping into action. He takes a long, hot shower, scouring the dust and grime from his skin and his hair. He waters his plants, and then scrawls a quick note to slap on the door -- a request for others to check in on them over the next few days. He dresses, simply, in a green t-shirt and jeans. Then, finally, he grabs the go-bag from under his bed -- a habit from his time in Valhalla, back when Loki had just escaped.

He can't stay in this room right now. The cool, slick surface of Lan Wangji's jade token feels good in his hand. It feels like a hug; like being loved; like the way his mom would sling her arm around Magnus's shoulders when they came to their favorite clearing in the Blue Hills and point silently at a baby deer nosing through the underbrush, or the smile Hearthstone would get in that first year Magnus was homeless, whenever he found a new source of food, or the expression in Blitzen's eyes the first time Magnus picked out an outfit at his store to wear when taking Alex on their first real date.

Even that comfort can't drown out the sense of danger Magnus is getting from this room, now. This room where he first saw the zombies; this room where he leapt from the closest exit like an einherji marching to Ragnarok.

He shoulders his go-bag, and tacks the 'please help my plants!' note to his door, and leaves it ajar.

Standing in the hallway, barefoot, wet hair soaking into the thin fabric of his t-shirt, Magnus hesitates for a moment. Jack is sleeping, currently, on his chain; he can feel the vibration. He doesn't want to wake Jack up, and even though Hanguang-jun told him he could find another path, it's probably not smart to strike out without any form of protection. He leaves Jack in pendant form, but he does unlatch the necklace so he can slip Lan Wangji's jade token onto it, too. When he puts the necklace on again, it's much heavier. The token rests, warm, against Magnus's chest, close to his heart. It stays there, comfortable and impossible to ignore, as Magnus slips out of the Mansion and into the woods.

Galahad has done an admirable job today of leaning in to the ways combat is easy and letting himself be led by his sword. He doesn't have to think to be a weapon. But now that it's over and Claudius is safe, some of that distance is leaving him.

When he sees Magnus on the floor he drops instantly to his knees beside him to check him for injury. Magnus doesn't seem hurt, and he vaguely remembers in the vast quantities of things Magnus has said to him that this might be normal? It might be something that happens after battle? He doesn't remember exactly, but--

He moves Magnus' body out of the middle of the hallway and sits beside him stubbornly, waiting for him to wake, however long that happens to be.

It takes Magnus some time. He's trapped in a dream for a while -- Hearthstone and Blitzen in the Chase Space, looking worried but focused as an unfamiliar kid comes in with concerns, communicating with muted sign when the kid is turned around, rummaging through their backpack. Magnus catches his own name, and Frigg, and Alex, and quest. Which is weird, why would Frigg want Magnus and Alex for a quest? She's an extremely capable goddess and rarely even calls on her own daughter.

But eventually he twitches and then sits bolt upright, eyes wide, hand grasping at his throat. Jack's there, good; there was a fight going on outside, he has to get up and help his friends --

Galahad grabs his arm. "Magnus." It's that severe tone he uses when he's giving an order, when he's trying to stay in control.

Magnus's throat works, but no words emerge; just an embarrassing little croak. Galahad, he signs instead, his hands clumsy and slow. What happened?

Edited 2023-11-20 19:02 (UTC)

Found you, he signs back. Hurt?

Magnus considers this carefully. He has a hell of a headache, but it's unclear if that's from banging it on the floor or from all the exertion or both. But other than that... he shakes his head 'no.' Disoriented, he signs. Embarrassed.

Carry you? Your room?

This, too, requires careful consideration. Magnus is about to sign his agreement, but it occurs to him that the idea of going back to his room -- with the broken glass from leaping through the window at the start of the day -- kind of makes him want to puke. He shivers. Would outside be better, or would it remind him of the battle, too? He wants his clearing in the woods. I don't know, with hesitant hands.

My old room? Quiet. He's thinking of the room he picked as Damien, not the one where Magnus found him dying, not that there's any reason for Magnus to know that.

Magnus nods. Thank you.

Galahad carefully lifts Magnus up in his arms. He's stronger than he shoulder be, for a man of his height and build, and he carries Magnus with very little effort.

He wasn't Damien for very long, altogether, but there are a few touches in the room that give away the thru-line -- on the bedside table there's the crown of columbine and rosemary he made for himself the first time he met Claudius in the gardens, when Claudius held him, and two or three books of dance steps, because Laertes was teaching him to dance and he'd wanted to learn more. There's also a napkin full of sugar cookies that are essentially petrified by now.

He puts Magnus down on the bed and goes to the bathroom to get water (he closes his eyes and wills a glass into existence and when he opens the medicine cabinet there's a little paper cup there), which he brings back.

Magnus curls up on his side. He's in a weird mood, emotionally torn in like six different directions. And that's on top of the adrenaline drop following a marathon of a fight. Usually when he passes out after taking Jack back in hand, he's doing it on purpose, at a specific time -- right before bed, for example, so it just turns into sleep after, or else he's in Valhalla and dead on top of taking on the strain of the fight. And something about resuscitating after death makes him more glad to be alive again than anything else. What he's learning here at the Mansion is that regular old passing out without dying first has a different emotional spectrum associated with it... and not a particularly pleasant one.

When Galahad hands him the cup, he takes it, because he's been the guy forcing water on friends plenty of times in the past and doesn't want Galahad to have to insist. He half-sits, chugging it, and then curls up again. He thinks he has his voice back, but sign still feels easier, so he sticks with it. Thank you, again.

While Magnus drinks, he watches; he signs too much?

Magnus nods. Not you, he clarifies. Today.

Galahad nods. Stay with you?

Please, Magnus says. Unless you have to go. That's okay.

He shakes his head, and lies down beside Magnus, slipping his arms around him.

Magnus trembles at the touch, curling even harder -- this time, into it. The day is catching up to him. Not just the exertion he and Jack both spent, and the desperate terror of fighting zombies and trying to heal what he could while convincing himself that the fight was a good thing, but his confusion about where he really belongs, and the poignancy with which he misses his friends, and the desperation with which -- if it weren't for them and the Chase Space -- he's realizing he'd never want to go back to Valhalla again. Too much, he thinks, and then Galahad's safe, and then he's bursting into tears. It's ugly crying, too, loud and messy, a jarring counterpoint to the silent way they've been communicating since Galahad found him.

Galahad doesn't have the words for this, but he pulls Magnus close against himself and just holds him. If Percival were here, he'd know what to do. Percival is as certain as the path of the sun. Percival is so like Magnus, bright and shining, and he would know what to say, he'd know how to make this better.

He has no idea what to do. He just holds his friend.

This, as it turns out, is exactly what Magnus needs. He cries for a good few minutes, deep, body-shaking sobs, and then he hiccups on his tears, and then he snorts at the sound and hiccups again.

"Do you know what bowling is?" he asks against Galahad's shoulder, voice thick with tears, hitching on the words, and hoarse with disuse. He clears his throat and hiccups halfway through. Fuck, he's a mess.

"I know what a bowl is," Galahad says tentatively.

Magnus snorts once more. "It's a game," he says. He clears his throat again, and his voice comes slightly -- but only slightly -- easier. "There's a bowling ball, which is really heavy, with finger holes, and you launch it down a slick, narrow wood surface called a lane. You're trying to knock down ten pins at the end... they're like, wood cylinders that are shaped like wine bottles?" He gestures with his hands, but doesn't bother moving back from Galahad's hold, so it's doubtful Galahad can see the shape he's making. "And they're arranged in a triangle. If you don't aim right, the ball will fall into gutters... troughs?... on the side of the lane, and you won't get any points."

Edited 2023-11-21 05:49 (UTC)

He can only half imagine it, but he nods. "Do you want to play?"

Magnus shakes his head, and then considers. "Maybe," he says, and shakes his head again, hiccuping. "Jotunns -- giants, especially mountain giants, really like illusion magic where I'm from. This one time, me and my friends were guided to a jotunn bowling alley," (Magnus had had a series of visions leading them there) "and we had to compete against them in a series of rigged contests for quest information and also a five-minute head start on running for our lives. Sam beat Fear in an axe-throwing competition; Hearth set the new world pinball record; Blitz did extreme makeover: drunk giant edition, and me and Alex had to bowl for our lives. I'm okay at it, but I hadn't bowled in years, and Alex never had before. Plus they were cheating."

Edited 2023-11-21 14:22 (UTC)

"Do you want to try it now it doesn't matter?"

"With you?" Magnus asks, and nods. "Yeah. Someday. But --" A shaky breath, deep enough that it almost dislodges another spate of tears. He lets it go slowly. "The giants set up a magic portal on me and Alex's lane, so that our balls were traveling, basically, this really long road that was impossible for a bowling ball to get down, while their lane was normal and they could play normally. I had to burn away the illusion with my, my summer." His fingers twitch with the memory. "Alex had to turn into an bear and destroy their lane and then turn into an elephant on her next turn and throw her ball with so much force that all the pins in the entire place, in all lanes, fell over. And then we still barely got away with our lives." His breath hitches. "That's what today felt like. Pointless and rigged." Another tear leeches out, despite himself, and he sniffles. "Galahad, I'm so tired of fighting."

Oh, he thinks, as something seems to slot into place. He was asking the wrong questions.

He pulls Magnus against his shoulder and rubs his hand in slow circles on Magnus' back, the way Shen Yuan would have, touching without being asked, with all the gentleness in the world. "No more fighting," he says into Magnus' hair. "It's done." He doesn't mean this, today, though there's no telling whether Magnus would understand that. He means at all. No more sparring, no more of either of them leaping into someone's hand to be wielded, no more prophecies. They're in a new place; their Gods don't speak to them. It's over.

Magnus falls easily into Galahad's grip, shaking against him as Galahad strokes his back. That's another thing, too: he's told Galahad about how he used to be Personal Space Guy, but it's feeling easier and easier to let himself be held here in the Mansion, and let it be soothing instead of something he has to escape from or leverage to try and kill someone or something. Galahad in particular, with his quiet intensity and careful reserve juxtaposed against his seemingly-effortless and frequent handholding has been doing so much for making Magnus feel like he can be someone who touches other people without any intent but the joy of closeness.

"Really?" he asks, voice tiny.

"It's finished." Into thy hands I commend my spirit, he thinks, and doesn't know whose hands except that they're not God's.

Magnus sighs, a deep, shuddery exhale. He wants to believe Galahad. He knows this is mostly just a bad day, and that he'll probably feel better tomorrow, but he's so bone tired and feels so let down by the whole affair.

So Galahad doesn't say anything, but he doesn't let Magnus go and he doesn't stop rubbing his back.

Magnus indulges himself and has another little cry, quieter this time, letting himself actually feel some of his feelings. "I did like fighting next to you," he offers, eventually. "Before it got bad. When I have to fight I like doing it with friends."

"I liked that you were there," carefully. "I didn't miss fighting."

"Same," Magnus says, so relieved that his lip starts trembling. Again. Gods, he's such a mess! "Galahad?"

Here, he signs against Magnus' back.

"I'm really glad I met you." There are layers to the statement beyond his general appreciation of the guy -- primarily, the implication that he's glad they're both here, in this weird little pocket dimension.

Galahad is quiet for another long moment. Then: "I'm glad I met thee too."

Frankly, since Galahad always talks like a normal person all of the time, Magnus sometimes forgets that he's from a different part of history -- or at least that he's from a different part and hasn't also grown up with the world, like Halfborn. He casts his thoughts quickly over what Aziraphale and Claudius have taught him about non-gendered pronouns; warmth floods his chest as he takes a stab at guessing what thee might mean in this context.

He hesitates for barely half a second, then figures -- Galahad's boyfriend knows this already, and also, it's not weird to tell your bros you love them, so why not just come out with it? "I don't know if you used this term back when you're from," he says, tilting his head back just enough so that he can see the edge of Galahad's jaw. Slightly nervously and a little more rushed: "And you don't have to feel the same way, that's fine. But I want you to know, man, you're like... my best friend."

Six months ago he would have said Percival was his best friend, but Percival was also his only friend, the only person in his life -- the world was drawn small, God and Percival, Percival and God, the demanding father whose every word he obeyed and the friend who he'd have followed anywhere, and no one else besides them.

Here he has choices, and in the face of those choices he makes another one. He loves Percival, but Percival isn't here, and it's not a betrayal to have another friend who (he takes a breath) matters more now.

"Thou art mine," he says softly.

Magnus smiles fiercely at that, face still mostly hidden from Galahad's view. "Really?" he asks, without even meaning to. This is a happy 'really,' though, not the tiny way he said it earlier.

"Yes. I'm glad thou art here."

Magnus, meanwhile, is so glad he's started reading Aziraphale's pronouns book. "I don't know how to say, like, thee and thou and all that stuff the right way," he says, because he doesn't want Galahad to think he's refusing to do it back for any reason but ignorance. "It's one of the things I'm learning about."

Startled, "You don't have to. It's-- you speak differently from me. I didn't expect--"

"Okay," Magnus says, smiling again. He uncurls a little, scrubbing the back of his hand over his face to wipe away some of the mess from his crying jag, then catching Galahad's eyes. "Good, because I think I'd suck at it if I tried. I just wanted to make sure."

"No, I know." He digs in his pocket for a handkerchief (he's started carrying one with him, like Claudius does) and offers it.

"Thanks," Magnus says. That's helpful. He's still so gross from all the zombies, and it's definitely going to get all over the handkerchief, but he won't let himself worry about it now. He mops his face and twists slightly away so that he can blow his nose without getting it on Galahad, and then he lays back. "No more fighting," he repeats, trying out the words. "That's, like, a good chunk of every day freed up." He turns his head and looks at Galahad. "What do you want to do instead?"

"Bake more pies," immediately. "Draw. Read. Learn games with you and Shen Yuan. What do you want to do?"

"I don't know," Magnus admits. "I've been so locked in to this for so long -- like, even before I knew the prophesies, when I was homeless and on the run, I was still fighting -- that I don't know who I am without it as the backbone." He considers. "I like reading. And learning new skills. And hanging out with friends. I've been trying to fill my days up here. Lan Wangji said I could find a different path."

Galahad nods. "I was the same before. It's all right not to know. You can just be, first."

"Will you teach me how to draw?"

"Yes."

"Thanks," Magnus says, pleased. Then he sighs. "I'm worried that finding a different path will be a lot harder than just trying to live in the moment and focusing on, you know, smaller purposes."

That seems entirely likely. Galahad himself doesn't have a new path beyond the littler purposes Magnus suggested to him. But he says, "It doesn't need to be right away? Does it?"

Magnus shakes his head. "I think I'm gonna find it really hard to live in the moment for a while," he admits. "I think I was doing okay before this, but it doesn't come easily to me." He closes his eyes; his voice wobbles a little when he says, "I really wish Alex was here. I'm worried I'll forget how, without him."

Galahad wishes Alex were here too, so hard and sudden that it shakes him; he's suddenly certain that Alex, even more than Percival, would be the person who could help. He gives Magnus a squeeze.

"I'd like you guys to meet, too," Magnus says. He still can't decide exactly how they'd get along, but they're both so important to him now. "At first, when we were first starting to get to know each other, I was like, wow, it would be so cool to watch Alex and Galahad fight, because I think Alex would have fun with how good Galahad is, and Galahad would have fun with Alex shapeshifting into different animals every minute. I think Alex genuinely likes fighting; she's like, the ideal einherji. But you don't, so maybe she could just show off." Alex isn't typically a big show-off, but maybe if she misses Magnus as much as he misses her, she'd indulge him.

"I still would. I don't mind, I just don't want it," hoping this makes sense. "Or we could watch her. I'd like to see her shapeshift."

"You don't want it to be your thing, but it's okay as recreation?" Magnus asks, checking. He wonders if he'd like fighting as recreation. Not now -- not anytime soon -- but someday.

Ugh. He probably shouldn't write fighting off yet, not until he's figured out an alternate path. If he gets spat out back at Valhalla the same way he stumbled into this place here, he'll be right back in the thick of it unless he comes up with a workable contingency plan. The thought fills him with more dread than he'd anticipated.

Galahad nods. "Yes."

"Cool," Magnus says. He refuses to let himself think about the possibility he might not see Alex again -- that's way too much, on top of everything else. He does feel a little self-conscious, though, now that it's crossed his mind. "I'm sorry I'm such a mess today. It's not usually like that when I pass out."

"It's all right."

"Thank you." Magnus swallows, blinks. "For being here anyway."

Galahad squeezes him again, holding him close.

"How are you doing, by the way?" Magnus asks, after a few minutes, guiltily remembering that he's not the only person who had a big weird day. "And, um -- Claudius? I know I healed him, so physically he should be fine, but -- emotionally, after getting bitten?"

Galahad flushes. "It's-- we're-- we're all right."

"Oh, good," Magnus says. He doesn't see the flush, given the angle of their cuddling, but he does know best friend code just as well as he understands bro code and girl code^*, and it occurs to him that they haven't discussed Claudius at length yet. As Galahad's best friend (it's mutual; they've discussed it⁺), he should probably offer up his opinion. "He's really cool, dude, good choice."

*The three codes: hating a scrub your friends love (girl); casting judgement on someone your friends love (best friend); not sleeping with someone your friends love (bro).
⁺Regrettably, Magnus's typist has been waiting weeks to make this One Direction reference.

Edited 2023-11-24 03:18 (UTC)

"He understands me," Galahad says, because as it has been from the beginning this is the most important thing, encompassing all of the other things: because Claudius understands him, he's made the space for Galahad to trust him and be trusted; he's been patient, he's been kind, he's spoken into the silences when Galahad is listening. He's shared himself like the body and blood of Christ, held the cup of himself to Galahad's lips.

"I love him." Relief and joy. He hasn't said it since he signed it to Claudius in their room. He says it again. "I love him."

"He loves you, too," Magnus says, with great conviction. After the conversations they've shared and the memories Magnus has seen, there's absolutely no doubt about that. He's grinning; he's thrilled for his friend. "Being understood is so important." It's one of the reasons he picked Galahad as a friend, after all; he's pretty sure they have a fundamental understanding. A different kind of understanding, surely, but still.

"It's good," he agrees; there's a faint tremor in his voice.

"I'm so happy for you," Magnus tells him. He's been mostly curled up and letting Galahad hold him, but he works an arm free so he can use it to cuddle Galahad harder, as emphasis.

Happy. He's happy, too. He tucks his face into Magnus' shoulder.

"Maybe," Magnus says, and now he's thinking out loud, distracting himself from the lingering badness of the day by focusing on an impossible, unlikely goodness. "If Alex ever came here, we could go on, like, a double date." He's trying to picture what that would look like. He just knows that's a thing you do, when you and your best friend both have really cool boyfriends. He hasn't formally tried it before with any of his coupled-up friends. Double dating with Halfborn and Mallory would definitely end in someone's bloodshed (probably Magnus's), and with Hearth and Blitz it would mostly feel like being chaperoned or pulling a shift in the Chase Space. He guesses they've done it with Samirah and Amir, but Alex (child of Loki) technically was serving as a male chaperone from Sam (daughter of Loki)'s family every time, and it always felt like it would be too unbalanced if he tried to hold Alex's hand when Sam and Amir couldn't.

Of one thing, though, he's relatively certain. "I think Claudius and Alex would be really funny together," he adds. "We could just watch them be extremely clever at each other and exchange smug glances about our excellent taste every few seconds."

"What's a double date?" And then, to his astonishment, he laughs. He can almost imagine what Magnus is describing, Claudius and Alex speaking cleverly while he and Magnus admire them, the pleasure of knowing that they both chose well. It feels good to imagine, it feels warm and conspiratorial in the best way. "Yes," he agrees.

Magnus grins. He loves Galahad's laugh. "A double date is -- wait, do you know what a regular date is?"

"A fruit," still smiling. He knows this is the wrong answer -- he's trying to make Magnus laugh.

Magnus does laugh. "I see we have a comedian in the house," he says, between chuckles, squeezing Galahad's arm mostly-reflexively.

"What is a regular date?"

"It's when you take someone you like -- a boyfriend, or a girlfriend, or even just a crush -- to do activities together," Magnus says. "Or share a meal. I think the point is to spend time together, like, romantically, but in a place where you can have fun and get to know each other better, too?"

"The dance will be a date, I think."

"Dance?"

"For Sagramore and Laertes, because they were married."

"I knew they were married," Magnus says. He flips through his mental notes. "I didn't know there was going to be a reception though; that's cool."

"Claudius is planning it. I've been helping when he asks." There's a subtle trace of pride in his voice when he says it: he likes helping Claudius.

Edited 2023-11-25 04:28 (UTC)

"You like helping Claudius, huh," Magnus says, picking up on the pride in Galahad's voice.

"He's my boyfriend."

"He sure is," Magnus says, giving in to sudden whim and moving his hand up so that he can tousle Galahad's hair, playfully. Then, thoughtfully, he adds, "I haven't been to any weddings," yet; but even though he kind of like it here better than Valhalla, he's going to be so upset if he misses Samirah and Amir's because of being here, "but from what I understand, you can bring a date to a wedding -- like, the person you're seeing, so you have someone there with you -- but I don't think most people think of that as a date. They're usually separate events." He frowns. "I don't know why weddings aren't considered group dates, actually. Maybe because single people go, too?"

He smiles again at having his hair tousled -- he likes it. "Is it because everyone should be thinking of the two people who're getting married? Instead of each other."

"You know what, probably," Magnus says. Galahad's hair feels nice under his fingers, so he keeps touching it. "I've heard it's really bad to do anything to upstage the main couple at their wedding, so that would make sense."

"We'll have to mind ourselves."

Magnus laughs again. "Yeah," he agrees. "I know how you love to be the center of attention. You'll really have to rein it in."

"I'll be modest. You won't recognize me."

"I'll believe it when I see it," Magnus says, in a highly-affected tone of great doubt. "I know it will be very difficult for you to keep from, like, swinging on the chandelier declaring your eternal love in the form of a handwritten ballad."

He can't help it (he doesn't want to help it) -- he just starts laughing, quiet but sincere, his shoulders shaking with it.

Magnus is surprised, at first, by Galahad's laughter, and then he starts laughing, too, a full-bellied sort of release. The stress of the day is draining out of him at last, between the marathon cuddle session and his best friend's joy, the dull dread of picking up his sword again settling somewhere off-screen, in his mind. He knocks his head against Galahad's shaking shoulder, feeling the smile stretch across his own face.

It takes a while for the laughter to work its way through him; it's a new sensation, laughing like this, and Magnus laughing too makes it hard to stop. Eventually, though, it does, and he lies back, wiping tears out of his eyes with the heel of his hand.

"Maybe save the theatrics for our double date," Magnus suggests, once he, too, has managed to contain himself. He feels so -- loose, like this. Like the day isn't a total wash. "When it's you and Claudius, and me and Alex, doing some activity together." He snorts. "Maybe even bowling. You can get into a lot of shenanigans in a bowling alley."

"Shenanigans," he echoes, feeling out the shape of the word on his tongue. "We should."

"Good," Magnus says. He wonders what Alex will have to say, if/when she learns that he's putting down the proverbial sword for the time being. Oh, but that's a future worry; he should try not to dwell. "It's a date, then."

Galahad squeezes him again and says, "It's a date."

I Have GOT To Pick Better Habits [semi-closed post]

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