The Words Across Your Lips

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This was written because I've been reading Take Me To My Fragile Dreams's fics and got inspired... Plus, I found a new was of setting up a plot and I wanted to see if it'd work. (I think it did. Otherwise this would've been under a thousand words.)

Alec tilts his head back, sighing as he waits for the euphoria to take him. As he waits for forgetfulness, as he waits for the menacing emotions to drift away for a while. As he waits to be numb, waits those two odd seconds where he wonder if he'll die this time before he forgets that, a chemical happiness tugging at his lips. A manufactured happiness, because he can't seem to make his own. But what's not to be happy about? He doesn't feel bad. He doesn't feel an impending sense of doom, there's no dread rawing his insides. There's just Alec Lightwood; sometimes even less. There's nothing, as it truly kicks in and tackles his brain. Alec's nothing, just like he always is. But this time, it's even to himself. It's even in his mind. He's nothing, and it makes him happy. Makes him giggle and want to dance, or more specifically, watch his body dance. He feels light, like he's in a dream.

There's nothing wrong with his life. He might not have friends who know him, who care, but that's alright. Everything is blurred, it's nice. When he moves to take the needle out of his arm, he's not really the one moving it. He's just watching it happen, because it's not him. Not anymore. He's a puppet, and tonight, no one gets to play with the strings but this person that's taken over for a while. Sometimes he wishes it were for forever, because when he's gone, he's happy. He's warm. People care about him. People who don't know him, well, they like to pretend they love him sometimes. It's enough. It doesn't really matter, though. Not now.

He's dreaming.

Alec darts past the students at the door, not wanting to be late to his first hour (again). He feels heavier than he should, and it takes more effort than it should, but he makes it to those black and dreary doors, pulling his ID out to show the guard, and hurrying past to his locker. He puts in the wrong password the first time, and has to do it again, making him even more anxious. The warning bell is about to go off.

He's climbing the steps to his first hour, to the third floor and down the hall. He get in the classroom just as the bell rings, and his efforts are rewarded by the nod of congratulations he gets from Magnus. The only reason he even keeps coming to classes, to school. Other than to buy his supplies, that is.

Alec sighs, tired, as he flops down next to Magnus, not bothering to get lunch. He's not too hungry, and if he goes for it now he'll be waiting fifteen minutes for his meal. Why waste time he could spend with his best friend?

"Tired?" Magnus asks, an eyebrow raised.

Alec nods silently, gazing up to stare at bright green eyes. He almost does, too, before guilt hits him and he has to look away. He feels bad about this. About hating himself because of Magnus. No, it's not Magnus's fault. It's his; Alec just screws everything up, just like a toddler with a crank-toy.

"Stay up late?" Magnus inquires, lifting a brow and snapping Alec out of his mind, only to push him back in.

"Sort of," He didn't stay up late, not really. He wasn't awake, but he certainly wasn't asleep. He just drifted in and out of consciousness, in a limbo between, images he's not sure existed flashing before his eyes, infecting his ears and burning at his skin. He could taste them in the air, like sandpaper on his tongue. He could see his brother, his small, little, baby brother, all cold and...

"Well, I'm sure if you let me sleep over it wouldn't be a 'sort of,' it'd be a definitely," Magnus winks, and Alec feels his stomach turn and mumble something discomforting.

It's things like this that get Alec, get Alec hoping. Hoping that Magnus is serious, but the knowledge that he's not is always tying him down. Always screaming at him, holding a gun at his head and slowly emptying the barrel. But it's all empty, and Magnus is shooting air. Alec wishes that his sparkly best friend would just kill him already, whack him over the head and be done with this guns business. He just wants it to end, he wants his emotions to crumple up and go away, or be replaced, like they do when he's alone in his room and a shoelace is tying off his arm.

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