Alec isn’t really paying attention when Lydia throws the bouquet. He’d been cornered by one of John’s friends who’s freaking that the saying that ‘one wedding begets another’ is coming true all around them and now no man is safe. It was lucky that he looked up when he did, seeking an escape route because it meant he saw the bouquet sailing clean over the heads of the women who’d been rounded up to participate in the bizarre ritual. It’s more reflex than conscious thought that makes him pluck it out of the air moments before it would have smashed the other guy in the face. A reflex he sincerely regrets when he finds himself literally standing in a spotlight. There’s a moment of silence before what feels like all hell breaks loose.
“See! See! Look what I told you!” the man next to him says sounding like he’s about to explode.
Then there’s the wolf-whistles, the excited whispers of the gossipmongerers, the squeals of disappointment and surprise, laughter and applause - all of which increases in volume as an apologetic looking Lydia makes her way over to him.
“Glad to see you haven’t lost your touch, Lightwood,” Lydia’s eyes are dancing with amusement even though she is trying to look consoling.
“Yeah, unlike you who definitely miscalculated the trajectory,” Alec shot back snarkily, thrusting the bouquet towards her, “let’s try not to make it third time’s the charm, alright?”
But instead of taking the wretched flowers Lydia steps back out of reach, smirking at him, “all’s fair in love and war, Lightwood. You caught it, you keep it.”
“Come off it, Lydia, you and I both know I only did it to save whats-his-name from death by an anvil disguised as a bunch of flowers. Now take it back and let someone who actually - actually wants…” Alec’s voice trails off, the words sticking in his throat as he realises the person who’s just joined them is holding the garter-carrying-football that John had thrown earlier.
Alec swallows roughly as he sees glittery dark purple nail polish and bold rings adorning the fingers of the strong, capable hands holding it. He knows those hands, has admired their elegance in motion when he talks. Tamping down the swirling rush of panic Alec lifts his eyes to meet deep, dark brown eyes he knows so well.
“Magnus,” his name comes out sounding breathless even to his own ears and Alec can feel the blush staining his cheeks.
“You’re not going to turn me down with the whole world watching are you, Alexander?” Magnus asked, holding out his hand.