Between Magnus Bane and Alec Lightwood as romantic.
The air crackled with a taut tension that even the mundane citizens of New York City could feel pricking at their consciences, seeping into their dreams. It was as though the sky itself was holding its breath, waiting for something cataclysmic to happen. Underneath that vast expanse of churning dark clouds, on the 57th floor of a luxurious penthouse, stood Magnus Bane—High Warlock of Brooklyn—and Alec Lightwood, Head of the New York Institute. They were locked in an embrace, weary from battle but victorious, the remnants of once potent spells dissipating around them like the shadow of a nightmare at dawn.
"That was too close," Alec exhaled, his voice still echoing with the remnants of adrenaline. Blue eyes observed Magnus with a reverence that bordered on awe. The warlock, with his flamboyant blue and purple robes now darkened with the dirt and debris of combat, offered a tired but triumphant smile.
"Close is my middle name, darling," Magnus replied, fingertips grazing Alec's jawline tenderly. "But even I must admit, that spell backfired more spectacularly than I had anticipated."
The moment was tender and fragile, a choice instance amidst chaos where the world seemed to align perfectly for the two lovers. However, as with all tranquility in the life of a Shadowhunter and a warlock, it was not destined to last. With a suddenness that jolted them both from their shared solace, a surge of untamed magic burst forth from the center of the room—the aftermath of their vanquished foe's last desperate curse.
Magnus barely had time to shout a warning before the magic had enveloped them both, a whirlwind of colors and sensations that was as beautiful as it was terrifying. Alec's hand gripped Magnus's with a strength born of both fear and determination, the familiar reassurance of their connection an anchor amidst the maelstrom. And then there was silence, an emptiness that buzzed in their ears.
When the world stopped spinning and the light dimmed to a bearable level, it became painfully apparent that something was very wrong. The luxurious penthouse had vanished, replaced by the gloom of a city unfamiliar yet hauntingly similar to their own. It was a darker New York, its skyline marred by the marks of war, of a conflict that seemed to have torn through the very fabric of the world they knew.
"Magnus?" Alec's voice was uncertain, a reflection of the strangeness that now enveloped them. But when he turned to look at the warlock, the sight that met his gaze sent a cold shiver down his spine.
Magnus Bane stood before him, but not the Magnus he had known. This man had no flourish of magic weaving around his fingers, no sparks of arcane power lighting up his eyes. He appeared younger, undeniably human, and with a fearful confusion etched across his features that Alec had never witnessed before.
"Alec?" The voice was Magnus's, but it trembled with a vulnerability that was foreign. "What...what happened? Where are we?"
The world as they knew it had shifted, the rules had changed. They were no longer just a Shadowhunter and a warlock; they were two lost souls, clinging to each other in a city that seemed to mirror their own, yet was fundamentally altered. How could their love survive in a place where one of them didn't even remember who he was?
The battle was over, but a new challenge had begun—a quest to reclaim a stolen identity, to heal a fractured reality, and to prove that true love could prevail, even in the bleakest of shadows. And so, in the heart of this unforgiving alternate New York, Alec Lightwood and a mundane Magnus Bane took their first uncertain steps towards an unknown future, their hands clasped tightly together, unwilling to let go.