Kurtsie. Kadam shipper. Shameless Chris Colfer fangirl. Frustrated Gleek.
Disillusioned Teen Wolf fan, but Sterek shipper forever. Derek Hale is my Alpha, no matter the color of his eyes.
Obsessed with Shadowhunters's Alec Lightwood. Malec? Jalec? Both, please.
Shadowhunters fic. My turn at the Jalec Round Robin #1.
"With Alec it had been more like a key fitting into a lock, a click of recognition. Something that whispered,Here is someone you already know. Jace had never thought much about reincarnation, though Jem talked about it all the time. But he did sometimes wonder if he'd known Alec in another life."
- Queen of Air and Darkness, Cassandra Clare
Chapter 3 - Jed & Alastair
Chapter summary: He owns so little and, thanks to his father, he’s about to lose most of it. Worst of all, he’s about to lose the one who matters the most.
Read it here or on AO3 (this chapter or start from the beginning).
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Alec held the secret belief that all books were magical. Not in the sense that all of them were about magic. Not even in the sense that all of them were capable of transporting the reader to other worlds and other times—accounting books, for example, were hardly inspirational. No, they were all magical in the sense that you would put them somewhere, and they would magically disappear when you weren’t looking and materialize in a different room altogether, sometimes vanishing entirely for years, only to reappear in the most unexpected of places when you had entirely forgotten about them.
The Complete Works of the Seelie Idulalin. It was a misnomer for sure. A more adequate title would have been A Small Fraction of All the Poems Written by the Seelie Idulalin, Which Was All She Was Willing to Share with the Rest of the Shadow World, While Most of Her Work Remains Known Only to Her Own People. It was an old Nephilim edition, though, and Nephilim overall were not the best to admit that there were things about the Shadow World that eluded them. Which was painfully ridiculous, considering how little they truly understood the Downworlders.
Since Alec took over the New York Institute and formed the Downworld Cabinet, it dawned on him that he had to learn much more in order to bridge the cultural gap between him and the other members of the Cabinet. Especially the Seelies, who literally lived in their own world apart from everyone else’s. Perhaps it was silly to imagine that reading Seelie poetry would help with interspecies politics, but it was a glimpse on the way they saw things, on what they longed for and what they feared, on what truly inspired their awe and stirred their emotions. Given how cunning and guarded Seelies were during practical negotiations, maybe understanding their art was the way to go.
Also, from what Alec remembered, the thick book contained a handful of poems about dreams and shared minds that… well… it was probably irrelevant. He wasn’t even sure if that was what had really happened the last two nights. Still, he wanted to reread those poems most of all.
There had been something both new and infinitely familiar in those tugs he felt through the parabatai bond as he woke up. Jace was in the City of Bones looking for answers. Maybe Alec should do his part up here, too. After all, even if this dream thing was just his imagination, ultimately whatever affected one of them was bound to affect the other. If Jace was fighting for his peace of mind, Alec would fight alongside him, regardless of their physical distance.
Where was that damned book, though? It was not in the Institute’s library, at least not where it was supposed to be, and if it had been misplaced, it might take months for it to turn up again. Alec had his own copy, but hadn’t seen it in a long while. After a thorough search, he was reasonably sure it was not in his bedroom. There was little chance that it was in his office, given that it hadn’t been his office for that long, but he still checked every shelf and every drawer, without luck.
Could Jace have borrowed it?
Maybe he had tried to find some quotes with which to impress his… ‘book club’?
Alec rolled his eyes. At Jace, because he would totally do that, and at himself, for still letting it bother him after all these years.
As he stepped into Jace’s bedroom, he glanced around at its ample space, the tall windows, the huge Persian rugs, the hefty walnut desk in the corner, and the ornate fireplace beside the large, luxurious bed, and he couldn’t help but wonder how his parabatai was dealing with his current accommodations. Even if this time he was a guest and not a prisoner, how much in the line of comfort did the Silent Brothers have to offer? Alec hoped Jace was warm and eating well, treated properly not only mentally but also physically. He supposed he would sense if Jace were in distress, but small annoyances might pass unnoticed.
Alec had little trouble finding the book, on the bedside table, next to the alarm clock. It was bookmarked, and he opened it on the indicated page, curious to see which poem Jace had read last.
However, his attention immediately turned from the tome to the bookmark itself. It was a printed photo of Alec and Jace from when they were kids, probably not long after Jace had come to live in the Institute. Jace was smirking at the camera, one elbow propped on Alec’s shoulder, clearly pleased with himself for being tall enough to do that, even though Alec was a couple of years older than him.
Alec smiled. Yeah, that didn’t last long. By the time they made their oath, they were about the same height, and nowadays… Alec’s smile transformed into a smirk that most likely mimicked Jace’s on the picture. If he wanted, he could easily prop his elbow on Jace’s shoulder now, maybe even on his head. Oh, that would peeve him for sure!
They looked so young in that photo. Not innocent, but… untested. They both carried their share of inner demons, even then. And if Alec's had been, relatively speaking, tamer than Jace's, at the time they had been scary enough that he had feared he would never master the fortitude to face them, let alone defeat them.
‘Same side.’ Those were the first words Jace had ever said to him. Oddly prophetic, considering how entangled their lives—their souls—would soon become.
Or maybe they were less a prophecy of things to come than a simple statement of the truth. In all honesty, his first impression of Jace was that of a cocky, tactless, arrogant little brat, qualities that Alec usually didn’t find remotely endearing. But there was something about the blond boy that made him instantly realize that there was more there than boldness and over-confidence, something frail and familiar, hidden under layers of protective armor. Perhaps Jace had seen something similar in him in that very moment, too. Perhaps he had understood, at one glance, that they were indeed on the same side, and always would be.
“Sweetheart, are you done back there?”
Jed took the last item left in the battered dresser—his Sunday trousers—and dumped it carelessly on the top of the pile on the bed. All his clothes were there on that pile now, on the bed where he had slept all his life, and where he slept for the last time the night before. Slept poorly, knowing that he would never lie on the familiar cot again. It was small and lumpy in uncomfortable places, but it had been his. And now he had to say goodbye.
“Sweetheart?”
“Almost done, Mum!” he called back.
He grabbed the corners of the bed sheet under the pile, pulled them up and tied them together, wrapping his belongings in a large bundle. With a grunt, he hoisted it up and set it on his shoulder, and took a last look around. Nothing left behind except for his books.
His dear books.
Now also a thing of the past.
Jed closed his eyes tight, hardening his jaw. He would not cry. He was twelve, far too old to be bursting into tears like a baby.
Life wasn’t fair. He had known that for a long time. Poor children didn’t have the privilege to assume that life would ever be fair for them.
That was something Alistair would probably never understand.
Alistair…
Alistair wasn’t here in this room right now, but a thousand memories of him were—and that was something else Jed was saying goodbye to. For good. It would be futile to pretend otherwise.
“All for some bloody, stupid birds,” he muttered bitterly.
Adjusting the heavy bundle more firmly on his shoulder, he turned to the door and left the room towards the kitchen.
He found his mother fussing over a box, arranging its contents with a level of care and tidiness that Jed could not find in his heart at the moment. Unlike Jed, who had never traveled anywhere and thus had never needed a proper luggage container, she did own a couple of boxes—well, one of them technically belonged to Jed’s father, but it wasn’t like he had any use for it now. She also had a carpet bag on which she had embroidered her initials, CC—for Candace Clifford—near the clasp.
It was fortunate that she didn’t have to rely on sheet bundles, as she certainly had more to pack than he did. Dresses, petticoats and skirts, even though she didn’t own many, took more space than a boy’s clothes did. And she was probably taking with her more mementos and knickknacks than he owned, being fifteen years older and more sentimental than he could afford to be.
He was the man of the family now. No one would condemn his mother for grieving, as long as she didn’t make a spectacle of it and did her job properly without inviting rebuke. The rules were different for Jed. Now he had to do twice as much to prove himself, to make up for his father’s misdeed.
Jed glanced around at the kitchen, which looked mostly unchanged. His mother was only taking with her a blue opaline glass vase, chipped at the rim—a gift from her late aunt— and a china fruit bowl his father had broken, hurling it on the floor in a fit of temper, and that Candace had patiently glued together. All the pots, pans and plates would be left behind, to serve the cabin’s future residents, whoever they might be.
And it was much the same in the rest of the cottage, still cozily furnished and decorated even after Jed and his mother had taken all their stuff. It all belonged to the Halsey estate, to the family in the manor, and would soon be placed in the custody of the next gamekeeper.
Jed sighed. It was strange to realize how little in there actually belonged to them.
“Did you get everything, Jed?”
Jed gazed around once more, this time more attentively. Still, he made a point not to look at the table beside the door, where most of his father’s tools lay. He supposed the new gamekeeper would discard at least some of them, bringing in his own. It made no difference to Jed. They could all be dumped in the bin for all he cared.
”All that matters, yes,” he replied.
“I suppose if we forget something, Lady Halsey will let us come back for it. But I’d rather not have to ask. We’re indebted enough to her generosity as it is.”
“Her generosity?” Jed spat. “They’re throwing us out of our home!”
“That is not true, and you know it. The Halseys would be in their right to throw us out of their property altogether, without character or any means to support ourselves, to live God knows where. Be grateful that they’re not judging us for what your father did.”
“Why should they judge us? We didn’t eat any of the game he poached. You refused to cook a single partridge he brought home without permission,” Jed reminded her, trying to ignore his mixed feelings about that. He almost wished his mother had not been so righteous, that he had gotten to savor the meat of at least one of the stolen pheasants Farley Clifford had been caught with, if they were all going to be pay for them anyway.
“He made money selling them, and that money probably paid for the new boots he gave you. We are hardly innocent.”
Jed gazed down at his boots, new only in the sense that he had had them for only a couple of months. They were in decent condition, the old leather a little scuffed on the heels, but they had obviously been remade from someone’s castoffs. Jed was sure that his father had invested much of his illicit profits in businesses and ventures unrelated to his family. In consideration of his mother’s feelings, the boy had no desire to find out where the money had gone. The answer could not be good.
He set the bundle down and gazed sadly at what their lives in that cottage had amounted to: two medium-size boxes, one large carpet bag, and one makeshift bundle. That was it. Everything they were worth inside four shabby containers.
“I hope this isn’t too much,” his mother murmured.
Jed frowned. “What?”
“We won’t have much space up in the manor. The servants’ rooms are much smaller than this place.”
That was true. In his lifetime, Jed had seen a few servants come and go: the scullery maid who got married and left, the valet who decided to emigrate to America, and the house boy who was called back to his hometown when his mother got sick—all of whom had to be replaced—and the nanny that was dismissed after the youngest of Alastair’s siblings was deemed too old for her services. From what Jed could remember, most of them had carried only one box or bag with them in their way in or out.
With all basic needs provided by their employers and very short time allowed for leisure, one might say the average servant didn’t need to own much anyway.
Of course, one might also question if anyone really needed a manor like the Halsey’s, with more bedrooms than Jed had fingers, each one crammed with pictures, rugs, vases, pillows, and an abundant assortment of precious ornaments, many of them ridiculously old and worth more that this entire cottage. Lord Halsey proudly showed off his snuff box collection to his friends, he who never sniffed tobacco at all. And every year, when the family left for London season, a separate coach was necessary to carry their luggage to the train station—and that was just for their clothes and toiletries, since the Halseys’ town house was just as opulently furnished.
Or so Jed assumed. He had never been there, of course. And Alastair was not one to brag about material things. Alastair cared only about being as fast, deft, and smart as Jed, and about not giving anyone the chance to patronize him.
It hurt so much to think of Alastair now. He had been away, visiting cousins, when Jed’s father was arrested. Judging from his letters, no one had bothered to tell him about the ‘sad trouble’ with the gamekeeper. Jed had actually started a letter of his own, telling Alastair about everything that had happened... but he scrapped it after half a paragraph and ended up not sending any replies. The silence had enervated Alastair, his growing concern evident both in his tone and in his handwriting. But Jed was sure that soon enough Alastair would be informed of the facts and of the unsuitability of having any connection with the son of a convicted felon.
Jed could not imagine what his friend’s reaction would be. He dared hope that Alastair would rebel against his parents’ instructions just a little, at least for a moment, and maybe feel a fraction of Jed’s chagrin at this new reality. He dared hope that everything the two of them had experienced together had really meant something, and would not be forgotten at the drop of a hat. The end of their friendship—and of everything they had been to each other—might hurt a tiny less if Jed could be sure that Alastair would at least cherish the memory of their days together. And maybe miss him. Just a little bit.
Jed pressed his palm against his chest, right over his heart, feeling the bulk in the inner pocket of his jacket. Every single one of Alastair’s letters was there, plus some random notes they had exchanged in class over the years. He didn’t want to put them in the bundle with the rest of his things. There probably wasn’t any reason to be so territorial about them—his mother couldn’t read, after all. Still, he couldn’t bear the thought of being parted with them.
“I wonder if we can manage in one trip,” Candace murmured, considering their combined luggage. “I’m afraid the boxes are heavy. I tried to divide the weight evenly, but...”
She was interrupted by a knock on the door.
“It seems like they’ve sent someone to make sure we won’t steal anything,” Jed grunted.
“Jed!” She gave him a reproving glare before opening the door.
Outside, there was a boy in neat, tidy clothes, his blond hair meticulously combed back and plastered down with macassar oil. The blush in his fair cheeks and his quick breathing, however, betrayed the fact that he had most certainly come running, with no regard to what people might think of the Halsey heir dashing through the fields in a way most unsuitable for someone of his status.
Jed felt the air catch in his throat.
Why? Why was Alastair here? Couldn’t he just have vanished silently from Jed’s life, keeping his distance, turning the other way if he happened to glimpse Jed in his surroundings, not talking to him unless to give him instructions? Yes, he had wished for Alastair to resent their new circumstances, but there was nothing to be done about them, and seeing him here, showing up in his door like this, looking as bright and handsome as ever… It just made everything worse.
Losing the cottage and his name’s reputation didn’t hurt nearly as much as losing him.
”Good morning, Mrs. Clifford,” said Alastair. “May I come in?”
Jed felt a flash of irritation at the question. Were they going to pretend that she could say no?
Alastair was being polite, though, and he didn’t have to be. Jed breathed in deeply, trying to reign in his temper.
Candace stepped back so Alastair could come inside. The two boys’ gazes met a moment later, and Jed felt his heart skip a beat.
“Master Alastair, what can I do for you?” asked Candace. “I’m sorry I can’t offer you tea. I’m afraid I’ve already put out the fire in the stove.”
“Please don’t trouble yourself, Mrs. Clifford. I’ve come to help. What can I do?”
Candace’s eyes widened in astonishment. “H-help?”
“With the move.”
Jed could tell his mother was uncomfortable. Frankly, she would have been even if the offer had been made before her husband had been arrested for betraying Alastair’s father trust. Gentry did not usually thank servants for doing their job, let alone offer them help. But Alastair had always been somewhat unusual.
The Halsey heir had been a constant presence in the cottage since he had been old enough to come on his own—quite often sneaking out of the manor without permission, at all hours of the day. He was only a few months younger than Jed, who really didn’t remember a time when he hadn’t known Alastair, or when the two boys had not been the most inseparable friends. He could not explain how that relationship had started, because as far as he was concerned, Alastair had always been there.
It had sometimes felt like they had been living a double life, though. Candace would urge him repeatedly to show Alastair the utmost respect, be mindful of their social differences, and never take any liberties. And mostly they had played by those rules when there was anyone watching them. But whenever they had found themselves alone, the norms and conventions went out the window. They had talked as equals, shared intimate secrets, and been brutally honest with both praise and criticism of each other. And they had run together all over the estate, fished in the pond, played with the dogs, and laid on the grass side by side, telling each other made-up stories illustrated by the changing shapes of the clouds.
When Lady Halsey invited Jed to sit in the schoolroom with Alastair to be taught by Mr. Bennett, the tutor, Candace had been beside herself with happiness. An education would open so many doors to her son when he became of age. He wouldn’t have to be in service. He would be allowed to aim much higher. Maybe even become a teacher himself someday.
While Jed had been aware of the privilege he was bestowed, he didn’t think much of the future. He was just glad for the extra hours he got to spend next to Alastair, both studying and playing pranks on Mr. Bennett.
Maybe it was a good thing Jed had not entertained many dreams about professional careers. It would have only been something else to say goodbye now, thanks to one Farley Clifford, accused at the assizes of poaching the game whose care he had been in charge of, and condemned to seven years of hard labor. Jed had heard enough stories about jail to expect that he would ever get to see his father alive again.
Quite frankly, he wasn’t sure he even wanted to.
Candace was humiliated. She did not sugarcoat the situation to Jed: his father’s dishonor was theirs as well. They could not run from it, it was a stain that would taint their name forever. Jed had to accept it, and become the best man he could be in spite of it.
They had considered vague plans to move to Leeds and try their luck at the textile factories, when Lady Halsey had surprised them by asking them to remain on the estate, hiring Jed as a boot boy and his mother as a housemaid. As much as it pained Jed to admit, it was a generous offer, which might even earn the Halseys some ill feelings from their friends, if they came to find out.
And it wouldn’t just be the gentry that would have an opinion about it. The other servants would most certainly look down on the Cliffords, wary of their connection to a thief. It was doubtful that anyone would ever trust them up in the manor.
And yet, here was Alastair. Offering this disgraced family help to move to under his parents’ roof.
He was not supposed to be here. And most definitely, he was not supposed to be here now, being all solicitous and nice.
“What else is there to pack?” asked Alastair, glancing around.
“Oh, I reckon we’re all set here,” said Candace quickly. Then she seemed to realize that her refusal might offend him, and added in a quieter tone, “Thank you. You are very kind.”
“Then let me help you carry your things up to the house.”
“Oh, Master Alastair.” Candace flustered. “That really is not necessary.”
It was also inappropriate, but she wouldn’t dare tell him that. A servant did not tell their masters what they could or could not do.
And the fact was that Alastair had never cared about such things, and had often helped Candace carry coal or firewood or even the laundry basket, simply because it mattered more to him to be considerate than being a gentleman.
“Please, I insist,” said Alastair. He looked down at the luggage, his face clear of any judgment about the leanness of their belongings. “If you take the bag, Mrs. Clifford, I’m sure Jed and I can manage the rest.”
Candace hesitated. “Please, Master Alastair. If Lady Halsey sees you...”
“Oh, Mother knows I’m here. Don’t worry about that.”
“She does?” Candace’s surprise was not unjustified. Alastair was not exactly strict when it came to asking his parents’ permission before acting.
“I wouldn’t want you to get in trouble because of me, Mrs. Clifford,” said Alastair with that gentle smile that always made Jed’s knees a little weak.
It was as if Alastair was determined to make this goodbye as torturous as possible for Jed, reminding him of every little thing he was losing.
Maybe that was the whole point of his presence here. Revenge for every bird Farley Clifford had stolen, by stealing Jed’s heart and crushing it to smithereens.
Unaware of her son’s misery, Candace stared at Alastair with trepidation, still unsure what to do.
Jed couldn’t stand the tension anymore. He picked up the carpet bag and handed it to her. “Go, Mum. We’ll deal with the rest.”
“The boxes are heavy,” she said, and lifted up Jed’s bundle as well, adjusting it against her hip. “Thank you, Master Alastair. I... I don’t know yet where our new quarters are, so...”
Jed could already see the bemused look in the butler’s face. The man often seemed to care way more about social class and propriety than the Halseys did. And he didn’t hide his disapproval of Jed’s outrageous arrogance in acting like he was friends with the heir of the estate. After his father’s arrest, Jed had even overheard Tyndale talking to the housekeeper, lamenting that the transportation of convicts to Australia had ceased two decades earlier. ‘Britain has no place for crooks,’ he had said haughtily.
Jed had almost succumbed to the urge to kick the man in the shins as hard as he could. It wasn’t even personal. Tyndale’s pompous airs inspired that urge in him all the time.
“By the way, Mother met with the whole staff this morning,” Alastair continued. “She told them unequivocally that you and Jed must be welcomed warmly in the manor and offered any aid you might need.”
Candace’s face lit up in gratitude and tenderness. She opened her mouth, but words seemed to have deserted her. So she just nodded, almost curtsied, and left. Jed gazed at her as she climbed the road to the manor, carefully balancing the two loads, not once looking back.
For the first time in his entire life, Jed felt uneasy being alone with Alastair. He knew he had to apologize. It didn’t matter that it had been his father who had committed the crime, Jed was guilty by association, as his mother had already pointed out. He took a deep breath, and braced himself for whatever response he might get.
“I’m sorry.”
Jed blinked in confusion. The mumbled words had come from the boy in front of him, who stared at Jed with eyes full of contrition. “What do you have to be sorry for?”
“I should have been here for you.”
Jed was floored, less by the words than by the stark sincerity in them. “Don’t be daft! You didn’t know what was going on!”
He remembered too late that insulting Alastair was absolutely forbidden now. Their entire dynamics would have to change.
Alastair didn’t react at all at the abuse. “It doesn’t matter. That whole trip was stupid. My cousins are insufferable. All I wanted was to be back here with you.”
Jed clenched his fists. “Don’t say things like that.”
“It’s true, I promise!” vowed Alastair, as if scared that Jed would doubt him. “I’m furious at my parents for not telling me what happened. I swear to you, I would have come back on the first train.”
“To do what?” Jed growled. “To cheer on the police when they dragged my father away?”
Alastair’s remorseful expression turned into an impatient glare. “Now don’t you be daft. You know me better than that, Jedediah Clifford.”
Jed looked away, unable to hold Alastair’s gaze. Now he owed his friend another apology. He would be apologizing forever. And it would never be enough.
Alastair stepped closer. “You must be so angry,” he murmured. “This is all so unfair.”
“Farley is guilty.” Jed couldn’t stomach calling him ‘papa’ anymore.
“He was a dishonest employee, but worse than that, he was a wretched father to you,” said Alastair with his usual bluntness. “And don’t you dare deny that last part. He doesn’t deserve your loyalty.”
Jed didn’t bother to argue. It would be pointless, after all the stories he had confided in Alastair about Farley Clifford’s poor temperament.
“Mrs. Clifford is a good, exemplary woman. It really took me less than ten minutes to convince Father that she… and you, obviously… should be allowed to stay on the estate.”
Jed gasped. “It was you who…?”
Alastair shrugged. “It was much too easy. Chances are he had already made up his mind about that, and he just wanted to hear the strength of my arguments. I tell you, sometimes it feels like he is constantly testing me, prodding me to see if I measure up to his expectations.”
The urge to apologize returned, this time genuinely. How could Jed have ever believed that Alastair would not have fought for him? For them?
Even if there was no way to salvage what the two of them had had, it was thanks to Alastair that Jed and his mother still had a place, would have food and work, and maybe even respect among the rest of the staff. It would be a hard adjustment, but much better than the alternative.
“By the way, I apologize in advance for my older sisters,” Alastair went on, his lips twitching in bemusement. “I fear they will prove to be less than pleasant. If they bother you or your mother, send them my way. I’ll deal with them.”
Jed snorted. “They never liked me anyway.”
Alastair rolled his eyes. “I don’t know what they think gives them the right to be so judgmental. Most likely, they’re just jealous of us.”
Us.
Jed closed his eyes, struggling to hold back the tears. Hearing Alastair say that word now was both heaven and hell. Heaven that Alastair acknowledged that there had been an ‘us’. Hell that they would never be an ‘us’ again.
“Are you all right?” Alastair asked softly.
“I...” Jed was about to say that everything was fine, but when he opened his eyes, he found Alastair staring at him too closely for any lie to pass unnoticed. “I don’t know. I don’t think my mind has fully grasped yet what’s happened... what’s going to happen. Everything will be different now.”
Alastair reached out and took Jed’s hand in his. “Not everything.”
Jed felt his heart galloping in his chest. He needed to take his hand away from Alastair’s. He had to. This was not acceptable anymore. In all truthiness, it had never been, but he hadn’t cared before. Now he had to care. For his mother’s sake, and for Alastair’s sake as well. He had to free his hand. Now.
But maybe he could savor the contact for a second more.
Just one more second.
Well, maybe two.
Or three.
Or ten.
“Did you get your books?” asked Alastair, his words as warm and mellow as if he were reciting romantic poetry.
Jed blinked out of his trance. “What?”
“Mr. Bennett wanted me to make sure that you wouldn’t forget to bring your books.”
“The books?” Jed sighed. “Oh. I guess he wants them back. For his future students.”
Alastair frowned. “What are you talking about? Those are your books. You’re going to need them to keep up with your lessons.”
Jed stared at his friend in shock.
Alastair mistook his silence for refusal. “Wait. You’re not giving up your studies, are you? I...” He looked crushed. “Please, don’t. You and I... You can’t give up. I made Mother promise me...”
“I didn’t think your parents would let me continue…”
The relief in Alastair’s face was almost comical. “You dolt! Don’t scare me like that!” He laughed. “You are not escaping school, Jed.”
“I doubt I’ll have the time for lessons.”
“Of course you will. Tyndale will make sure of that. Per Mother’s instructions.”
“But Mr. Bennett…”
“Would be happy even if he had not been ordered to keep on teaching you. He was never good at hiding that you’re his favorite.”
“I am not!”
“Are too.” Alastair’s thumb caressed the back of Jed’s hand, softening the teasing in his words.
Jed looked down at Alastair’s hand, its soft, unblemished skin still wrapped around Jed’s dirty calluses.
It was wrong.
It was perfect.
Either way, it couldn’t go on.
“Alastair...” How could Jed make him understand...?
“You won’t call me Ally anymore?” Alistair whispered, his voice breaking.
Jed raised his gaze and found a whirlwind of emotions clouding his friend’s face.
Ally…
Since his father’s arrest, Jed had been making a herculean effort not to use the old nickname, not even in his private thoughts. “I no longer have any excuse to call you that.”
“Fool,” Alastair snickered. “You never had an excuse, not since we were older than toddlers, and you learned to say my name without stumbling.”
It was true, Jed couldn’t deny it. And he had been told repeatedly by dozens of people not to be too familiar toward Alastair, even while they studied and played together. Which was why Jed had only called him that when he was sure they were completely alone.
“It was my wish that you would call me so,” Alastair breathed. “It is still my wish.”
Jed’s heart thudded in his ears, and he could feel his entire face burning red. He tried to speak, but his mind was a mess of sweet memories, bleak thoughts, and fear.
The two of them against the world. It had felt like that was the case sometimes, and Jed had savored the challenge, the thrill of defying the rules for the sake of a connection that meant everything to him, even more than blood. The stakes were so much higher now, though. Or perhaps he hadn’t quite realized before how easily he could lose the little he owned.
As the silence persisted, Alastair’s expression grew forlorn. “Unless that is not your wish?”
“I…”
“Jed, I would never force you. You know that, right?” Alastair’s eyes glistened. “I would never command you to be my friend. It would be meaningless. If I haven’t rightfully earned your friendship…”
“Ally, shut your stupid mouth.”
Alastair gasped.
And the next moment, his face lit up in a joyful smile.
“‘Command’ me,” Jed snorted. “Really? When have I ever followed your orders?”
“Never,” Alastair admitted.
“And just so we’re clear, when I carry your books, it’s not because you’re my better, it’s because I’m trying to be nice.”
“I know,” Alastair giggled.
It was the most wonderful sound. Jed would never tire of hearing it.
“Go fetch your books, Jed.”
“Is that an order?
“I just want to carry them for you. It’s my turn.”
Jed nodded. However, he made no move towards his old bedroom. Instead, he stayed where he was, staring into the warm shades of Alastair’s eyes.
“Jed?” Alastair’s voice was full of laughter. “Are you going or not?”
“I am.” Jed took Ally’s other hand in his, squeezing his friend’s fingers lovingly. “In a moment.”
Jace reached out with his hands as he woke up, in search of the fading contact. He would have sworn that he could still the feel the warmth of someone else’s skin against his palms.
He felt bereft now, with nothing to hold on to, as if something treasured had been suddenly robbed from him.
Without opening his eyes, he brushed his fingertips against his parabatai rune, blindly drawing its lines as carefully as Alec had when he placed the mark there all those years ago. The touch brought him solace. And the gentle tug he sensed in reply from the other end of the bond cleared his troubled heart for a moment and brought a sleepy smile to his face.
You are never alone.
Startled, Jace opened his eyes and found Brother Zachariah standing by the foot of his bed, holding a witchlight in a way that brightened the room with no more than a dim luminescence.
“Whoa! Creepy! What the hell?!” He cringed then, remembering that the Silent Brother was there to treat him, not to spy him in his sleep. “Uh… I mean…”
Jace wasn’t entirely sure, but he thought one of Zachariah’s brows might have arched a fraction of an inch. I was referring to your bond.
“Oh. Right. Of course.” Jace wondered if the red in his cheeks was visible in the pale light. Not that it mattered. Zachariah would be able to read his embarrassment in his thoughts.
Jace did his best not to cower before Zachariah’s penetrating gaze, which somehow spooked him so much more than the stitched eyelids of the other Brothers.
What is the color of your parabatai’s eyes?
‘Blue,’ was the answer Jace’s brain supplied automatically, before his synapses woke up properly.
Blue? What?!
It was absurd, but the face filling Jace’s mind now had very fair skin, blond hair, and light blue eyes. And a tiny birthmark on a cleft chin.
“Hazel,” he murmured hoarsely. He cleaned this throat and repeated, “Alec has hazel eyes.”
Zachariah did not reply, merely nodding minutely, before leaving the room.
There was no question, though, that he had seen the image Jace’s mind had produced.
What did it all mean, though? What did any of it mean? Did Zachariah know? Or at least guessed? And if he did, would he tell Jace, or was it one of those things one had to work it out on their own?
Jace sighed. Three nights in this place, and so far he hadn’t found any concrete answers, only more exasperating questions.
The dream in this chapter was inspired by Thomas’s childhood as described in the Charlotte and Thomas Pitt Series of detective novels by Anne Perry.
hi! i just wanted to pop in to say how much I love your writing. i've re-read all of your jalec fics so many times, they're all so good! also, i wanted to know if you're going to write part 2 to rarely pure, never simple? it's one of my favorites for young jalec <3
THANK YOU!!!
Yes, half of part 2 is written already, and I definitely want to finish it. I’m just crazy busy with work right now, but I promise I’ll get back to it as soon as I can. I really miss writing jalec.
The Thunder Moon Chronicles are on Goodreads (for reasons yet unknown to me) and it looked so boring when they were without covers, so I drew some. I based them off the banners I use on AO3 and I’m really quite pleased with how they turned out.
I like drawing in this style. It’s simple yet very effective.
This series is one of the best stories I’ve ever read, period. I rec it every time I have a chance, and this seems like another great opportunity. This is Teen Wolf as it should have been, a spectacular example of slow-burn fic and character development. (And the art is so pretty, as you can see.)
Shadowhunters fic. Jalec fic. Fluff.
Written for the Jalec Secret Santa.
For @lightwoodizm. I hope you like this. Happy Holidays! <3
Read it here or on AO3.
-
Summary: A silly conversation as Jace and Alec walk the streets of New York on a chilly winter evening.
-
“Wow.”
“Don’t say it.”
“That was…”
“Please don’t say it.”
“I mean, let’s face it…”
“Come on, Jace...”
“You can’t drag me to watch a movie like that and not expect me to say something!”
“I didn’t know it would be like that!”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“It’s the truth!”
“Alec, you do nothing without planning ahead. You’re telling me you just randomly picked a movie, and you didn’t bother to check what it was about, and it just happened to be the most ridiculously sappy thing ever?”
“It wasn’t random. My plan—in hindsight, an admittedly terrible plan—was to trust Isabelle.”
“Izzy picked this?!”
“I thought she understood… you know… the importance of this. But I guess she couldn’t pass the opportunity to sabotage and embarrass her big brother.”
“Don’t be silly, she would not sabotage you.”
“Then maybe she wanted to sabotage… us.”
“You’re being paranoid, Alec. She’s been nothing but supportive so far.”
“How do you explain this, then? Because I’m pretty sure she knows you well enough to know that that is not really your kind of movie.”
“Well, did she say anything about it when she recommended it?”
“Only that it’s from a couple of years ago, but that this theater is offering special screenings because of the holidays.”
“It’s not really a Christmas movie.”
“It’s… seasonal? Anyway, Clary and Simon found out Izzy didn’t know one of the songs in it, and they were somehow absolutely appalled by that, because apparently it’s a song everyone knows.”
“Meaning all mundanes know?”
“Probably. So they took her to watch it. ‘To introduce her the song in context,’ they said.”
“There were a lot of songs…”
“Izzy also said something about how… the characters reminded her of us.”
“Huh. Really?”
“Yeah.”
“Can’t say I see it. I mean… I suppose there’s some resemblance between me and Kristoff, but…”
“Uh, no. I’m pretty sure she meant the two sisters.”
“Okay, that is just silly.”
“Is it?”
“Do I look like a warlock with ice-based powers to you?”
“I was thinking you look more like the other one.”
“Yeah, right.”
“No, really. As soon the movie started, sure, I thought little Kristoff kind of looked like you when you came to live with us. But right afterwards, the sisters appeared… and yep, little Anna was just like you.”
“Oh, this should be interesting. How so?”
“What, you don’t remember how you used to wake me up and drag me out of bed all the time? ‘Come on, Alec, wake up! Let’s have some fun!’”
“I wanted to train with you. You know, alone, without Hodge pestering us and telling us to take it easy.”
“That used to be your very definition of ‘fun’ back then.”
“Whatever. I am damn sure I never woke you up with the line, ‘Oh, the sky is awake, so I’m awake, so we have to play!’ Little drama queen…”
“I remember you waking me up and saying that sleep is for sissies and mundanes, and that real Shadowhunters are above such weaknesses.”
“Hmm. Okay, sorry for that. I was parroting Valentine.”
“Well, I suppose he was a real drama queen.”
“Anyway, just because I dragged you out of bed to train a few times when we were kids…”
“All the time. All through our teen years. And you did it again last week.”
“…does not mean I’m Anna. In fact, the way she blushes and stammers…”
“Don’t go there.”
“…and is totally awkward around handsome men…”
“Jace? Please shut up.”
“What? It’s so endearing! And very much you.”
“Anna is all… bubbly and perky and feisty… No one has ever accused me of being bubbly. Izzy would never see Anna singing to the pictures in the castle and think, ‘Hmm, that girl reminds me of my brother.’ She used to call me an obnoxious wet blanket, remember?”
“Yeah. Used to. You’ve changed, Alec.”
“Still, I have much better evidence that you’re Anna.”
“Like what?”
“…never mind. Forget it.”
“What? No, tell me.”
“It’s not important. What do you want to do now? Should we go straight back to the Institute, or do you want to have something to eat?”
“Don’t change the subject. What were you going to say?”
“Nothing. We’re having fun. I don’t want to bring the mood down.”
“Okay, now you really have to tell me. Come on, parabatai. In good times and in bad times.”
“…fine. You know, in the beginning, when little Anna started jumping from one snow pile to the next? Jumping and jumping and never looking down, just going higher and higher, faster and faster…”
“Trusting Elsa to keep creating new snow piles to break her fall?”
“Yes.”
“Like you, shooting arrow after arrow to kill the demons that come after me as I jump headfirst into danger, trusting you to watch my back?”
“You don’t deny it, then.”
“I suppose there were times when… maybe… the similarities were not that far off.”
“When Elsa slipped and hit Anna… I think my heart stopped for a moment.”
“You would never hit me. Not even by accident.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Yes, I do. For a fact. So get that out of your mind. And let me tell you why you’re Anna.”
“I thought you said that idea was silly?”
“Well, it is. But… why not explore it?”
“Okay. Bring it. How am I Anna?”
“For starters, she kept feeling guilty for things that weren’t her fault. Her memories of Elsa’s powers were wiped and altered, and she didn’t even mean to take Elsa’s glove off. So it’s not like she could predict that a simple argument with her sister could lead to the whole fiord freezing into perpetual winter. And yet what did she do when it all went to freezing hell? She immediately called all the blame to herself.”
“If you’re referring to what happened to Jocelyn…”
“That was definitely the worst point of your tendency to blame yourself for things entirely beyond your control. But it was hardly the only time it happened.”
“A leader takes responsibility for all failures. His and his team’s.”
“Alec, sometimes bad things just happen. You can’t be prepared for all contingencies. You can’t predict all possible outcomes. Other people will do stupid things and cause trouble, and that’s not on you.”
“Okay. I can accept that.”
“Really?”
“Yep. Sometimes it’s Clary’s fault.”
“I should know you’d go there.”
“And sometimes it’s your fault. But usually when you’re following her lead.”
“I thought you two had made your peace.”
“We have. But… you know. She’s still Clary. And you know what? I put forth the hypothesis that Clary is Anna.”
“Because of the hair?”
“Because she asked for Kristoff’s help to find her sister, just like Clary asked for our help to find her mother, and where did that lead? Colossal amounts of deadly danger. Monsters. Impostors. The threat of a coup d’état.”
“Hey, you can’t blame Anna… or Clary… for all that!”
“I can blame Anna for almost setting Kristoff on fire when she saved him from the wolves. Or almost hitting his head with an axe when she threw that rope so he wouldn’t fall off the cliff. And I can blame Clary for all the times her feisty, impulsive decisions endangered my parabatai’s life.”
“What did Kristoff’s say? That she ruined him for helping anyone ever again? Is that how you feel?”
“…of course not. I mean… I won’t say the thought never crossed my mind, but…”
“Liar. Clary could have caused you ten times the trouble she did, and you’d still be helping people. Although you’d probably have grown twenty times surlier in the process.”
“You have such a sweet way to praise me, Jace.”
“It’s not praise, just facts. You’re an inherently generous and cantankerous man.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
“You do agree with me about Clary and Anna, right?”
“Hmmm…”
“When Feisty-Pants Anna decided to pick a completely unnecessary fight with the giant snowman? By throwing a frigging snowball at him? That was so Clary!”
“But dropping all the snow from that tree on the giant snowman’s face? Clever, and also very Clary.”
“What about when she tried to climb the mountain, not listening to anything Kristoff was saying? I could practically hear Clary’s voice then.”
“Granted, there are similarities. But I still think Anna is a lot more like you. Down to her decision to get married to a complete stranger, totally out of the blue.”
“Mine was a strategic decision! I didn’t think I was in love. Also, I’m sure Lydia would resent your comparing her to that backstabbing Hans!”
“No, Hans was Jonathan for sure! The fucking traitor who we trusted with safe-keeping our kingdom.”
“And I guess you’ll say that makes me Anna, too, because I was the one who put Jonathan in charge of security.”
“No, you’re Anna because you’re blaming yourself for it, when it was Izzy and I who pushed you to open our doors to that creep, in spite of all your suspicions.”
“Well, it was my fault for letting myself be convinced, wasn’t it?”
“Right. Whatever you say, Anna.”
“Boy, you are relentless!”
“Speaking of relentless, how about when Elsa went away? Anna made it her personal mission to find her, no matter what obstacles were put in her way, even defying Elsa herself. Just like you’ve done for me over and over.”
“I suppose there was a sort of ‘whither thou goest, I will go’ thing between them.”
“And even though the entire kingdom thought Elsa was an evil, demonic creature, Anna never failed to see the good in her. Sounds familiar?”
“Come on, I wasn’t the only one who stood by you when people thought you were the enemy.”
“Pretty short list, though. And your name was always on top, and everyone knew it.”
“Anyway, I’d say that hardly counts, since I was only being Anna because you were being completely Elsa!”
“How so?”
“Shutting people out, believing you were better off alone. If your special powers had included building ice castles on top of insurmountable mountains, I’m pretty sure you’d have done it.”
“I thought I had demon blood. I didn’t know what I was capable of. I was afraid people… you… might get hurt if I let you too close. No matter what, I had to keep you safe.”
“In other words, you were being an idiot.”
“You say that, Alec, but if one of us did his best to live in a remote ice castle, I’d say it was you.”
“Me?”
“You did everything you could to suppress who you really are. ‘Emotions get in the way,’ you’d say. You locked yourself up, too.”
“So I’m Elsa now?”
“Only on this issue. And you noticed how when she was pacing around after she threw Anna and the others out, she kept telling herself, ‘Don’t feel! Don’t feel!’ and all it did was to make her castle grow darker and eerier and more hostile, forming all those sharp spikes of ice?”
“You’re saying I’m… cold and prickly?”
“I think you know by now that your habit of bottling things up doesn’t make things easier… for you, or anyone around you.”
“Please! ‘Conceal it, don’t feel it, don’t let it show’? That could very well be the Shadowhunter motto.”
“Heh. True. So we’re both Elsas in that regard.”
“There’s something else that makes me Elsa and you Anna.”
“What?”
“…”
“What, Alec?”
“Argh. Forget it. It’s like my mind is determined to ruin the mood.”
“You won’t. Just give me your hand and tell me.”
“…You know, at the end? When Hans found Elsa fleeing on the frozen ice?”
“Is this about Anna sacrificing herself for Elsa? Yeah, I’d have done it for you. And you’d have done it for me. That’s practically part of the oath we took.”
“Yeah, but…when Hans told Elsa that Anna was dead… Did you notice? Everything just… stopped. She fell on her knees, her powers shut off, the storm vanished. Everything went suddenly silent and still.”
“Alec…”
“When I felt you die… that’s exactly how it was for me. The world stopped. I couldn’t move. Nothing mattered anymore.”
“Hey. I’m here. Feel my hand in yours?”
“…yes.”
“Feel my heart beat with yours?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I do. You’re here.”
“I’m okay. We’re okay. Don’t think about that.”
“All right. All right.”
“Good.”
“…What else do you have, then?”
“What do you mean?”
“Your list of reasons why I’m Anna.”
“Huh…”
“Yeah?”
“Nah, I think I’m done.”
“Come on, Jace, you were on a roll when I interrupted you. How else do I remind you of her?”
“Listen, it’s cold out here. And I think you offered me food? How about that diner you like on 62nd street?”
“Are you dodging the subject now?”
“No. Just hungry. And cold. I think it’s gonna start snowing soon…”
“Jace…”
“Fine. I was just thinking… you know. About you and Magnus. And Anna and Hans.”
“You’re comparing Magnus to Hans now?! I thought we agreed that Hans was Jonathan.”
“No, it’s not that. But the way you jumped into a relationship with Magnus… You were acting like a married couple two months after you first met the guy.”
“So… you’re saying that I was so desperate for love that…”
“No, no. Well… yes. Anna thought that that was her one chance at happiness. She had been lonely all her life, and then one day the gates opened, and a charming stranger came in, flirted with her, made her feel appreciated and cherished, and she was terrified that the gates would close again and her chance would be gone.”
“That’s all too dramatic. It’s not like the doors of the Institute were about to close forever or anything like that.”
“But you were convinced Magnus was your one and only chance. Weren’t you?”
“…maybe. I don’t know. I was sure I would never find anyone inside the Institute, that’s true enough.”
“Guess you were wrong about that, huh?”
“Hmm. I still can’t believe…”
“…that we’re here?”
“I never had much reason to hope that you’d have a change of heart about me.”
“The heart always loved you, Alec. Right from the start. Trouble was getting my mind in sync with it.”
“Meaning… ‘the heart is not easily changed, but the head can be persuaded’?”
“Those rock trolls kinda knew what they were talking about, eh?”
“Man, what is it about mundanes that they can think ‘rock trolls’ and picture cute balls of stone and moss rolling around, singing, and giving relationship advice?”
“Well, we don’t know for a fact that rock trolls can’t sing or aren’t experts on love. Just because it’s not in the Codex…”
“They’re definitely not cute. Or small. Or friendly to outsiders.”
“Which is why I prefer the movie’s version.”
“Even though it bears no resemblance to reality?”
“Verisimilitude is overrated. And I wasn’t in the mood for a documentary on demonic creatures of the Nordic region anyway.”
“But you were not expecting an animation for kids with a singing clueless snowman, a singing tribe of cute rock trolls, and a non-singing, possibly-telepathic reindeer named Sven.”
“No, I was expecting something more like a new adaptation of Henry IV. Or Twelfth Night. Depending on your mood.”
“I do have other interests than Shakespeare.”
“Yet you do tend to frown at any story written after the seventeenth century.”
“Not true!”
“Uh-huh…”
“You make me sound so dull…”
“Hey, I’m just teasing you.”
“I’m sorry, okay? I should have done better for our first date.”
“What?”
“What what?”
“Huh. Nothing.”
“What, Jace?”
“I guess I didn’t think of today in those terms.”
“You mean… this isn’t a date?”
“Oh, it’s a date, definitely. But… the first? We went to the movies lots of times before.”
“Not like this. Not since… you know.”
“Yeah, but… in my mind, first dates are all about trying to impress someone who doesn’t know you well, and trying to make that person think you’re better than you actually are. And that train has left the station years ago.”
“What, you, Mr. Hotty McPerfect, having to work to impress a date? Certainly not!”
“For the record, making fun of your date? Not advisable.”
“I’d have said that bragging shamelessly about your own good looks and skills during a date was also not advisable, but Raziel knows I’ve seen you pull it off time and time again, so what do I know?”
“You know me. You know that’s mostly crap. You know I’m a… Heh. A bit of a fixer-upper.”
“You did not just say that.”
“It’s true, though, isn’t it? You always knew I was a fixer-upper. Since we were kids. You’ve always seen right through me. All my flaws and missing parts. That’s why I needed you to be my parabatai.”
“To fix you with true love?”
“And healing hugs. So said the song.”
“So sang the rolling mossy rock trolls.”
“The source doesn’t make their words of wisdom less accurate, Alec. Oh, if only there was someone out there who loved me…”
“Idiot...”
“Don’t be cruel. Am I not worth melting for?”
“You’re gonna be quoting this movie for the rest of our days, aren’t you?”
“Probably.”
“Just to punish me.”
“Punish you? Why?”
“For making you watch it, of course.”
“Well, it really was the sappiest movie I’ve ever seen.”
“Right.”
“And I’ll love it for the rest of my life.”
“…oh.”
“Yeah. Oh.”
“But you won’t start singing, right?”
“I don’t know. I mean, if it does snow tonight, as the forecast said…”
“Oh, crap…”
“‘Do you want to build a snowman?’”
“Jace…”
“‘It doesn't have to be a snowman…”
“Raziel, please strike me down now…”
-
The movie discussed and quoted above is obviously Disney's "Frozen" (2013).
Lightwoodizm asked for “a mundane holiday, ‘this is a ridiculously sappy movie you dragged me to watch. I love it for the rest of my life...’, first time/first kiss, happy.” I tried to fit as many elements of that as I could in this. ;-D
I was tagged by @shirasade, @darknesshadows, and @sapphicalexandra *hugs*
1) How many works in progress do you currently have in progress?
Uh... oh dear. I’m gonna stick with “things I realistically think I’ll be able to finish”, otherwise the number will be embarrassingly high.
So, uh... seven.
That’s not too high, is it? ^^;
2) Do you/would you write fanfiction?
I write lots of fanfiction.
3) Do you prefer paper books or ebooks?
The are pros and cons for both.
4) When did you start writing?
I wrote my first fanfics when I was 11. But before that, when I was 9 or 10, I wrote a lot of poetry, including sonnets.
5) Do you have someone you trust that you share your work with?
Before it’s ready to be posted? My best friend, Teka Lynn, who’s been my beta-reader for years.
6) Where is your favorite place to write?
My PC at home.
7) Favorite childhood book?
Sandra na Terra do Antes by Fausto Wolff.
8) Writing for fun or writing for publication?
Fun.
9) Pen and paper or computer?
Computer, mostly, but I have lots of notebooks and loose sheets and even napkins full of notes or scene excerpts where I wrote down when I was away from my computer.
10) Have you ever taken any writing classes?
Uh... I think I did, actually, some 25 years ago, but to write essays, not fiction.
11) What inspires you to write?
Most cases, either canon leaving a gap in the narrative that I feel an urge to fill somehow, or me wishing to explore an “what if” scenario.
Damn you and your angsty prompts, but this time you inspired me to write something that fits in my verse It Comes and Goes, as a second chapter to ‘Oceans Between You and Me’. 400 words.
“Why can’t I feel you?”
Jace jumpedat having a tall shadow approach him with that sentence, but his eyes were soft,seemingly oblivious, as he looked up at Alec and replied, “What? Why? I thoughtyour rune had come back?”
Alec sighed,touching his side lightly. All those questions had plagued him the entiremorning, too, and that was exactly why he’d just had to bring himself to confront Jace. “Yes, I can feel that you’rethere, but…it’s not the same. Jace,something happened, whether you wantto admit it or not. If you really have no idea what it could be, then we betterget on doing some research or somethingstraight away. But if you do…please,just tell me. Whatever it is, I’m your parabatai, we can sort it out together.”
Jace pausedfor a long while, during which Alec couldn’t help but hope that they were truly together against anything that might comebetween them and their bond. That was the whole point, right? Entreat me not toleave thee…
But Jace, inthe end, only clapped Alec’s shoulder with a sonorous sound. “I think you’reworrying for no reason, Alec. It might just be that nothing’s happening, that’s why you don’t feel anything! The bond does allow us to have some privacy,doesn’t it? C’mon, relax, the war is over.I’m fine, you see?”
Jace smiled,pointing at himself and his apparent solidness. Alec only felt disappointed; hecouldn’t help but think that Jace was lying.
If Jace didn’twant to talk to him, though, then Alec could only retreat. He wouldn’t want to overstaywhere he wasn’t needed.
“Yeah, you’reright. I’m worrying too much, as usual,” Alec relented, trying to ignore hisheavy heart that told him exactly the opposite. He wasn’t worrying enough.
“Okay, then. I’ll go, I guess,” Jace said.
“Where areyou going?”
“Oh, on adate with Clary. She has this notion that we should have a proper one, at somepoint.” Jaceshrugged, as if to say women, right?
Alec nodded,planting a smile on his own face, “Yes, she’s right, you should do that. Havefun.”
Alec wavedat Jace, then, before turning around to get back to his office. There was notmuch lightness in his steps.
He didn’tlook back, or in that case he would’ve noticed Jace’s eyes pointed fixedly, miserably,on his back.
Jace laughs,the sound echoing in Alec’s mind as if coming from another world. Jace,however, doesn’t care about the way he’s shattering Alec’s heart; he only drawsClary to himself further, letting her lips drown his laughter.
When Jacebreaks away, the new sound is even worse. “You really think you could ever bein her place?”
Alec feelssmall, as if his long legs had just been swallowed into the ground. “No, ofcourse not.”
Alec wakesup with a start. Jace’s head laying on his shoulder is the first thing hesees.
izzy806
dailybridgerton
