but she's bringin' the moon and stars to me -
In so many ways, his son is his physical opposite. He is darkness and quiet and the brilliance of the stars and the first time that Magnus lay his eyes on him, it took his breath away. His gold-flecked eyes had widened just slightly as he had glanced up to catch Isle’s own gaze but he had quickly looked back toward the boy on the ground—the tangle of limbs and white hair and tattoos. So otherworldly and beautiful.
The moments that pass are sweet and precious.
The moments that pass are their own.
Magnus had never imagined that he would be given the chance to have his own family again; he had never thought that he would be given a chance to fall in love with the softness of a newborn’s face and the gentleness of cradling them to your chest. He had never known just how grateful one could be for a second chance. But he finds it with Isle and he finds it with their growing family. He finds it again.
He is quiet as he watches his son and his wife, that faint glow around him expanding slightly, filling the air with its golden warmth and somehow working perfectly against the silver sheen of his son.
“What should we call him?” he finally asks, when he trusts his own voice to not betray him—when he trusts that he will be able to speak without his throat closing up. Overwhelmed with emotion, he steps forward and presses his nose into the crook of her neck, breathing her in. “He’s so beautiful.”
A soft smile, a light laugh that he breathes into her.
“He must get that from his mother.”
- Magnus