Chapter VII

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Kit feels like he may have a problem of sorts.
Just slightly.
Or maybe a bit more than slightly.

He couldn't help it, he knew he couldn't. He wasn't quite used to the Shadowhunter lifestyle of everyone around you possibility dying at any moment.
It's true, he was smoking before his dad died. But that was for fun, and to fit in. Now he needed nicotine to keep him calm, to destress. To cope.

To cope with this strange new world. To cope with the death he's witnessed. To cope with losing his dad. To cope with all the lies his father fed him. To cope with a childhood filled with living in fear, moving around, lying to everyone. To cope with the aftermath of that loneliness. To cope with coming to terms with his sexuality.
And Ty.
To cope with his feelings for Ty.

God, he thought. The list goes on and on doesn't it.

Mundanes would go to a therapist for this. The closest Kit has to one is Dru. Mental health and substance abuse isn't really discussed often amongst Nephilim. Unfortunately. What's discussed even less, much to Kit's annoyance, is autism. The Blackthorns, and Kit and Cristina (who at this point, let's be real, are honorary Blackthorns), know this is what Ty has. What makes him just the slightest bit different to everyone else. What makes him stand out, with his headphones. What makes him unique. But the Clave can't deal with that, can they? A perfectly capable and incredibly talented Shadowhunter with sensory issues, who wears headphones in battle- but can kick ass ten times better than Kit thinks he ever could.

Kit lifted the mugs, three mugs filled with boiling hot coffee carried by two hands didn't sound like the best idea.
He shook his head.
How the fuck does he always end up thinking about Ty?
He looked at the mugs, half smiling.
Ty's mug was covered in miniature magnifying glasses and deerstalker hats.
Kit's had the bisexual flag on it. Julian bought him it when he came out, as part of a strange gift box that Kit was almost positive would contain a poisonous snake. But there was no catch. Just support. The memory made him happy, knowing he's accepted here. Knowing he's safe.
Dru's mug was as odd and slightly morbid as expected. It had a photo of Marilyn Manson with 'God of Fuck' written on the back. Julian didn't approve of that, which is probably why Dru loved it so much.

Careful not to spill a drop, Kit slowly made his way out of the kitchen.


Ty had just managed to climb the rope up to the top of the rafters before he heard Dru's rapidly approaching footsteps.
"Ty? Where the fuck are you?"
He made an unintelligible noise in response.
"Can you come down here then?"
He sighed and dropped down, rolling on impact to land in a crouch.

"You better have good reason for this," he muttered.
"Yeah? Is you wanting to fuck Kit a good reason?"
Ty's plan of acting nonchalant and calm was quickly backfiring as he felt his usually pale cheeks go red.
"I... I don't know why you would think that," Ty replied, staring down at the ground.
"Oh please, it's obvious to everyone but him. Besides, I walked into your room to see you two cuddling each other earlier. Care to give me a 'no homo' ass reason for that?"
"I was cold and drunk?"
"Is that why you kissed him too?"

Ty didn't think his cheeks could go any darker than this. He was wrong. In fact, he was pretty sure by this point they had to be a nice shade of purple.
"I don't... know what you mean."
"He told me, dumbass."
"Oh. Oh no."
"I wouldn't say 'oh no.' I'd think of it more as an 'oh yes.' Seeing as its pretty clear that you're both infatuated with each other."
"I never said that I-"
"You don't need to," Dru interrupted. "Like I said, it's obvious. You like him. He likes you. And that's as far as my matchmaking goes. It up to you now."

A voice from outside the door saved Ty from stammering out an answer.
"Will one of you crackhead looking fuckers open this fucking door before I kick it down and throw coffee over the both of you?"
Ah, Ty smiled. The voice of an angel.
Dru clearly caught the smile, as she smirked a bit before getting up and opening the door.
"Just because you're the lost Herondale doesn't mean you get special treatment."

Ty was still lying on the ground. Staring at the ceiling. Kit moved across the room to stand over him.
"If you don't get the fuck up I'm pouring this over you."

Ty sighed. Why did he have to fall for THIS one?


Cristina knew something was up. Even Mark looked like he was forming some sort of realisation, deep in thought.

She aimed a kick at Mark's shoulder.

Kit and Ty. The Sherlock and Watson of the Los Angeles Institute.
They usually kept to themselves, stuck together as if with glue. But this? This was new. This was unusual. This was different.

She wasn't blackout drunk the previous night. She could remember a fair bit. One of the clear memories is Ty dancing rather.... closely to Kit, with Kit's arms around his waist. Cristina is convinced she saw them making out at a point, but wasn't positive. It's unlikely they remembered it anyway.
Cristina frowned.
Very odd indeed.

She dodged one of Mark's blows, jumping to the side.

"Hey... Mark?" she asked.
He stopped.
"Do you think Ty and Kit are acting... unusual?"
"They always do, do they not?"
"Yeah... but last night..."
"Young love, I can guess. Kit has a sort of Fae look to him, maybe Ty is attracted to that? Although Kit appears to feel the same."
Cristina faked shock. "So you've noticed this for a while and said nothing?"
"I though you had worked it out."
"Not until I saw them last night."
"I thought you were sharper than that?" Mark teased, tucking a lock of hair behind one pointed ear.
She stuck her tongue out in response, and raised her fists- ready to continue.

"How long do you give it?" Mark asked after the pair had finished training. They were sitting on the steps of the Institute, Mark having decided it was best after witnessing Ty's discussion with himself hours previous.
"How long do I give what?" Cristina questioned, taking a swig of water.
"Until Kit and Ty stop being so oblivious."
"Oh normally I'd say a solid few months. But if we've noticed, Dru's noticed- so i say a couple weeks."
"I'd stick with a couple months." Mark mused, staring towards the sea.
"Oh really?" Cristina stood up and walked in front of him, with her hands on her hips. "Is this a bet, Mark Blackthorn?"
"It is if you want it to be," he responded, one eyebrow cocked.

"Loser patrols the perimeter and the beach, hungover, after Dru's next clubbing night." Cristina smiled, holding her hand out.
Mark took her hand and kissed it.
"It's a bet you'll be sorry to lose."

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