The air was warm, and heavy, the sky painted a brilliant denim blue. How could things be so...perfect, when her world was tearing at the seams? Jace nudged her with his elbow. She stumbled over her own feet for a second before frowning up at him. He raised an eyebrow, his eyes melting to molten gold, but otherwise, said nothing - a feat which seemed impossible for Jace, once upon a time.
Isabelle, only a few feet away, was generously applying an orange, runny liquid over her skin. As she rubbed, it turned clear, her blemish-free, pale skin seemingly absorbing the fruity-scented substance. "Want some?" She shook the bottle in Clary's direction.
"I'll pass."
"But, Clary—you're so pale—" the raven-haired girl protested, dropping the bottle onto her Thor towel, so obviously borrowed - ahem, stolen - from Simon.
"And I don't tan—I burn, so, no, I will not put on tanning lotion." With that, Clary unfolded her own superhero towel, laying it down on the sand. She may be seventeen - nearly eighteen, but that didn't lessen her love for all things supposedly childish. Because superheroes were cool and awesome, and not to mention, certain superheroes looked super hot shirtless. It was a proven fact.
"Are you okay?" Magnus asked tentatively, peering out at her through lowered sunglasses. His long once-gangly limbs stretched out over his too-short towel.
"Fantastic, thanks for asking," Clary replied venomously. Where the sudden anger had come from, she didn't know, but judging from Magnus's reaction, he was just as surprised by it as she was. She felt remorse, but knew that if she were to open her mouth again, more venom would come rushing out, eager to poison her friends.
"Let's go swimming, I'm going to burn to ashes if I don't cool down," Isabelle whined. "Before one of you says something more idiotic than the last..." She finished, her tone low as she grabbed her brother's hand, dragging the tall, muscular boy into the water, Magnus got on their trail like a puppy. She could feel eyes weighing heavily on her, though she refused to look back—even when someone wound their hand in hers, pulling her out to the water.
XXX
She could still feel the water lapping at her exposed legs, the way her hair had pasted to her head and back as if the water were glue. Even more, she remembered the exact feeling of Jace's hand entwined with her own. Sitting, staring down at her phone now, she wished she were still sizzling under the blistering sun, she would even wish to be dunked under again if it meant that she did not have to make this call—but she did, and nothing could change that fact.
Summer was coming to a close, her birthday approaching rapidly, and it seemed even the usually noisy crickets knew it, somehow. Because tonight, they were utterly silent, almost as if they were holding their breath until Clary put the small device to her ear.
And it was with a shaky finger that she dialed that phone number, the one she knew like the back of her hand. Though, in all reality, she didn't know the back of her hand all that well.
The dial tone sounding in her eardrum like a warning signal: hang up! Hang up! Being the hard-headed person she was, Clary kept the phone stuck to the side of her face, waiting for her mother to answer.
"Oh, Clary! How are you sweetheart—"
"Mom, I know." Clary cut her mother off curtly, something she wouldn't typically do, but now was not the time for pleasantries.
"Know what?" Her mother must be feigning curiosity, the innocence in her voice. What else would Clary know? Perhaps that her mother liked to cross dress and was secretly a popular stripper at a local strip bar? Yeah, sure.
"That you lied to me about Jon: about the crash."
"Honey—what—what are you talking about?" Her mother laughed nervously into the receiver.
"My memories have been coming back, little bits here and there." Clary sighed, bringing her knees up to rest her chin on them. "Why did you do it?" She finally asked after the heavy silence pressed too heavily on her shoulders.
"I thought it'd be better that way. You always think you did something wrong, and I refused to let you take the blame for your father's death..." she trailed off, leaving a blank space in Clary's head. "The doctor promised me your memories would come back—but after three years, I gave up on the idea completely."
Clary choked down a sob. "I got a concussion, and it all came back like a tidal wave washing away a small town. Everything I knew these past three years has been a lie, Mom."
"Clary, I know it won't fix anything, but—I'm sorry."
XXX
As Clary sat staring blankly ahead of her, she realized her mother was right: nothing she could say would compensate for what she did—for what any of them did.
"Clary," Magnus crouched down beside her, pushed a piece of hair from her face. "You can't sit here all night, you realize. What Jocelyn said couldn't have been that bad—,"
"It wasn't," Clary cut him off. "Just..." She trailed off, at a complete and utter loss for words that could describe what she was feeling. "Awful." She decided—because it was awful; the raw ache and guilt lacing Jocelyn's tone had been too much. Her mother hadn't meant to put her through this confusion and pain—she didn't believe any of them meant for her to suffer like she was.
Magnus clapped a hand on her small shoulder. She could feel the evidence of recent glitter-use on his fingertips, the grainy scratch against her skin. If she closed her eyes, she could almost imagine that it were Jace's hand on her shoulder, his calloused fingertips tickling her skin ever so softly. But it was not Jace seated beside her on the cold floor, with his aureate pools staring at the side of her head worriedly. No—it was Magnus, with his black hair, tinted blue from when he'd tried to die it but forgot to bleach it first. It was Magnus, with his blue, glitter-coated, neatly trimmed eyebrows. It was Magnus with his tan skin and yellow and gold eyes, lined with a sharp cat's eye. It was her best friend beside her.
And she wouldn't have it any other way.
Because this was not some fairy tale, where Jace got to swoop in and be the night in shining armor. This was cold, cruel reality, where the good guys don't always win, and where you don't ever really get to live happily ever after. This was the reality where her friends stood even with the golden boy.
"Come on, Biscuit," Magnus wrapped a hand around her twig-like arm. "Let's get you upstairs to bed - you're falling asleep on me, and, no matter how much I love you, I absolutely, one-hundred-thousand-percent do not want your drool on my favourite metallic blazer." In response, Clary only giggled softly and allowed Magnus to pull her up the wooden stairs that, at some point, had started to creak.
How Clary secretly wished to be living in ignorant bliss again—even for just a moment.
XXX
Jace POV
He had paced the stretch of his small, boxy room for much too long before coming to a decision. Because he couldn't stand the idea of heading off the college without having taken her out at least once.
So it was with his heart violently hammering against his rib cage, on the brink of exploding out of his chest, and with shaky fingers, thrumming with nervous energy, that he clamped said hand down on her ivory shoulder, sprayed with a copper coating of freckles.
She mumbled incoherently in her sleep, jerking away from him, turning the other way. She tugged the blankets with her, exposing her milky legs—he wondered if they were as soft and smooth as they looked—Jace sucked in a sharp breath. Her shorts had ridden up her thighs, and if he didn't know she was wearing them, he would think she weren't wearing any pants at all.
"Clary," he said, barely keeping his voice a whisper—Isabelle was sound asleep in the bed next to Clary, and the last thing he needed was to wake her. "Clary—wake up," he squeezed her shoulder gently.
Her eyes fluttered open, exposing to him her beautiful eyes—sparkling like newly polished emeralds. "Jace?" She yawned his name, rubbing at her eyes with fisted hands.
He hummed a reply, brushing fiery strands of silky hair from he face. "Get up," he whispered.
"Hm—why?" Clary tugged at her blanket, tucking the material under her small, delicately chiselled chin.
Jace rubbed at her shoulder again. "Because we're going out." He let out a quiet, shaky breath—what if she flat out rejected him? He wouldn't put it past her, because she did hate him only a month and half or so ago.
"Where?" Clary sat up, something with a semblance to excitement burning in her dancing eyes.
Jace grinned at her in faint light of dawn filtering in through her bedroom window. "It's a surprise."
XXX
When Clary had bounced down the steps a few minutes after he had woken her, he noticed instantly her habitually-vibrant hair falling in thick, dark tendrils against her blue shirt, and her legs on display in denim cut-off's, he very nearly had lost his breath. Never had Jace seen a girl the was he saw Clary, and quite frankly, it scared the hell out of him.
He remembered her smiling softly at him, "where are we going?"
"Patience," Jace had shot her a crooked grin in return, showing off his chipped incisor.
Clary hade made a whine-like noise, coercing him to smirk—just a little.
And now as they walked down the side of the road into the small town, he debated furiously with himself on whether or not he should take her hand in his own. They were walking close together—it would be so easy to just grab her hand and cover it with his own. But he was nervous and it was not, by any means, natural. He was a natural ladies-man, a flirt, and he could woo a girl like it was nobody's business. And yet he couldn't work up the nerve to take the hand of this petite red-haired beauty walking beside him.
Jace led them into a bakery—the bakery he that she knew loved—only to discover it the most crowded he'd ever seen it since the first time he had been inside nearly a month ago. Clary turned to beam up at him, and it all but made him melt before her into a sappy puddle of adoration. He was lost in the tiny gold flecks within her eyes, lost in the small dimple she got when she smiled so brightly, lost in trying to figure out what she was thinking, he was lost in her entirely.
That is, until Jace caught sight of a few gangly, leggy kids eyeing her up and down. Jace gabbed her hand, tugging her towards the counter—but not before, of course, sending the group of gawking boys a lethal glare that would have had them lying on the tile floor of the bakery, skin icy and without the privilege of a heartbeat.
When Jace returned his attention to Clary, she was chatting up the boy behind the counter, his black apron and hair covered in flour. He wasn't sure what the two were talking about, just that Clary was laughing at whatever the boy was saying, and that the boy was grinning at her happily as she laughed. Her laughter was a musical sound, and he loved it—he just didn't love that it wasn't him that had caused the noise to erupt from within her.
Was he—was he jealous? The last time he'd been jealous over Clary was when she...dated rat-boy. Given, it only lasted two weeks, but it had still turned him green with envy and made him see red whenever he saw them together. And now to see this boy—who had obviously treated her with nothing but kindness—
He squeezed Clary's small hand in his own. She returned the pressure, still talking animatedly with the boy—when a tan-skinned girl with tightly-wound curls and deep pink lipstick pushed through a side door, handing the boy a box. She looked from the boy, to Clary, to Jace, then back to the boy, pursing her lips before slipping through the side door once more.
"Thanks, Seb," Clary smiled at the boy. "You did an amazing job on the cupcakes."
"You haven't even tasted them," the boy—Seb—raised an eyebrow at Clary.
Clary rolled her eyes at the charcoal-haired boy. "Shut up, Mister I-can't-bake. I'll be back for more," Clary warned him, turning back to Jace—to his relief. She held up the white box, as if it were supposed to mean something to the tawny-eyed boy. Seeing that he wasn't going to say—or do anything, she sighed, pulling him from the bakery.
"They're red velvet," she informed him. "The kind you seem to love—considering you ate the whole last dozen I bought," the petite girl grumbled. He chuckled at her, resisting the urge to ruffle her hair affectionately—something he would have done without hesitation three years ago. But things were different now—they were different now.
And I am so screwed, Jace thought, though he couldn't bring himself to frown or even lessen the crooked grin he had on display for the redhead to see.
XXX
He took her down to the park, where he discovered she could still climb trees as if she were Katniss Everdeen—yes, he had read the Hunger Games, and loved it for that matter.
"Wow," Jace laughed brightly, holding up a cupcake to her where she sat on one of the lower branches.
"What?" Clary challenged, gently taking the cupcake from his hand, proceeding to lick the cream cheese frosting from the summit of icing on the dessert. He smiled at the sight—some things never changed.
"Nothing," Jace shook his head, in the same that he always used to attempt to clear his mind of a certain subject—or person. But in this instance, the person would never leave his mind completely. She would always be there, whether he liked it or not.
"Liar," Clary mumbled around a mouthful of cupcake.
Jace, leaning against the trunk of the tree, called up: "did you just call me a liar?"
"Absolutely," Clary's voice bounced around the interior of his skull. He had never met another girl—besides Isabelle, of course—who would say whatever they pleased, when they pleased around him. Normally, he could turn girls into a stumbling, stuttering puddle of nervous goop with a single look. But Clary was someone else—someone special. The thought that he would have to give her up in a sense when he went to college was—it just wasn't something he favoured pondering over, even if he did do it a lot.
The breeze blew around Clary's hair, and the rustling green leaves brought out her eyes, somehow making even more beautiful—and when her eyes sparkled and shone the way they were at that moment—he wanted to kiss her. He really, really wanted to kiss her.
Christ—he was starting to sound like on of those sappy guys in romance novels. Though, if he were in a romance novel, he'd definitely be the one every girl fell for—and not to mention, he'd be buff beyond belief...not that he already wasn't—
"Jace, did you hear anything I just said?" Clary raised her copper eyebrows at him, swinging her legs back and forth.
He looked up at her apologetically. She sighed, feigning exasperation, and rolled her eyes. "I asked if this was supposed to be a date. So...is it?" Jace swallowed, the same nervous energy he'd felt earlier pumping through his veins. His heart beat erratically in his chest cavity, and his hands shook so badly he tucked them hastily into the pockets of his jeans.
"Uh—um...Maybe?" Jace stuttered, his cheeks lighting a bright crimson. Clary cocked her head to the side ever so slightly, smiling in that adorable way of hers—the way she does when she's staring at something she loves—the way she smiles at Jonathan, at Simon, at Isabelle, at Magnus, even at Alec. The thought that Clary loved him made his hands shake more, if possible, and made his heart beat so strongly in his chest he was almost positive there was someone in his chest with a jackhammer on high power.
Clary was giggling, wind blowing fiery curls into her face. "Jace Herondale—," she cut off, launching into yet another fit of those giggles that Jace could have listened to for years without tire. "And Clary Fairchild—," she giggled a little more at her name, burying her face into her hands, leaning so forward on the tree branch Jace feared she might fall off. "Dating?" She finally finished, face matching Jace's own, eyes glossy with tears.
"Who would've ever thought, huh?" His Adam's apple bobbed. Clary watched as he slunk into the tree, and for the first time probably ever, he wished he could disappear completely.
"Everyone," Clary whispered, and Jace knew she was right, he wasn't sure how he knew it, but he just did. He watched with interest as she gripped her hands tightly on the rough bark of the branch she was perched on, and pushed off. She landed on the ground a few feet away from him, hair flying willy around her face, green eyes wide, and knees braced apart, like a fighter ready to spring at their opponent. Some part of him—that part that was becoming an annoyingly, infuriatingly normal part of him—found it kind of hot.
She brushed her hair away from her face with a rushed hand, walking over to him, and sliding down the tree next to him. Hesitantly, he wrapped an arm around her, the gold of his skin contrasting greatly against the pallor of hers. And to his surprise, she didn't push him away—she snuggled more into his side, her cheek resting just below his collarbone. He rubbed his hand up and down her spine, fingers splayed out across the small surface.
They sat in silence, though it wasn't pressured or heavy, or anything along those lines. And he enjoyed it immensely.
"Jace?" Clary piped up, interrupting said silence.
"Hm?" He hummed, kissing the crown of her head.
"I think—I think I love you."