#also hopefully another chapter of head above water will be up by september too because it’s arya’s turn and i wanna write ittttt | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lifeinahole27 · 4 years

Text

CS ff: “Walking the Tightrope” (Chapter 1/10) (au)

Summary: Killian's daily routines are a matter of habit. When he wakes up late one morning, his routines all change for the better. Emma doesn't care about routines, but she does care about Killian, no matter how reluctant she is to admit it to herself.

Rating: E (much later in the story)

Content Warnings: There will be a part where pictures are posted without permission. It happens much later in the fic but if that’s not your thing, I want to put it out there now. And, of course, sexual content will be present. I will update these warnings for each chapter to pinpoint those sections!

A Special Thank You: Oh man, how do I put my gratitude into words? There are two constants in my CS fic writing life that I am so incredibly lucky to have. Thank you @captainstudmuffin for just downright prodding me in the ass to keep me moving when I wanted to give up. You were always there in the right capacity to keep me going. You did that reverse psychology thing with me that I always do to you with “Well, if you want to give up, that’s your choice...” and it worked. And then there’s @phiralovesloki who has listened to me self-depreciate for hours on end and still keeps me moving forward. And then you both turned your attentions to helping me get this thing edited and proofread. You handled all my tantrums, all my fits, all my problems. I love you both to the moon and back.

And of course, thank you to the @captainswanbigbang for going with this rewrite idea. All of you modding this and putting shit in line and answering questions and being awesome and informative and helpful... my eternal gratitude for helping get this, my possible magnum opus, finished and out to the fandom. Much love to you all!

A/N: I wrote a lot of notes above here to start. Because of that, I’ll keep this line brief. Enjoy!

Find it on Ao3 & FFN!

-x-

Chapter 1: The Art of Routines

September 30: Monday

Every day, Killian Jones walks from his respectable dwelling by the Storybrooke Harbor to where he works, located right off the main drag. Storybrooke is nearly the definition of small-town America, but it houses a quaint-sized office of a British publishing firm that opened a branch over here last year. Three months ago, Killian took a chance to upend his whole life and applied for a junior editing position.

From a life in the Navy to a redirection of passions towards the fine art of literature, Killian has used a rigorous set of routines to get through every major upheaval in his life, including but not limited to the aforementioned relocation from London to a small speck on the map.

He uses his daily habits from the moment his alarm sounds in the morning until he shuts his eyes at night – operating his life in a tidy way and controlling what he can control while doing his best to accept whatever tries to throw him off.

Because of his method to build up his regimens, he knows that anything that lasts beyond two weeks becomes more likely to stick.

And for six weeks, Emma Swan has been part of his routines. Monday through Friday they cross the street together. They never speak. Sometimes they’ll smile and nod in greeting, but it’s enough in Killian’s book. Or at least, they’ve come to some unspoken agreement that it’s enough. Since the middle of August, this has been his norm, and thus it is now just another thing that marks time throughout his days.

The only reason he knows her name is because of the star-shaped badge she wears on her hip. That and being the sister of the sheriff are dead-giveaways to an identity. He’d heard of Emma long before he saw her as Will Scarlet filled him in on the townies. She, on the other hand, probably doesn’t even know his name. But he’s okay with that. He’s not out to meet the love of his life – not after what he went through with his last major relationship – but to enjoy a walk across the street with an ease he doesn’t understand and doesn’t have to.

Day after day, he continues on, never looking back to see if she’s still looking at him. He’s afraid of what he might find if he does: either she’s also glancing back and this immediately becomes something different, or she isn’t and he’s effectively found himself with some kind of rejection complex. Both ideas are ridiculous. At the mere thought, Killian snorts and picks up his pace.

On October 1st, Killian discovers how easy it is to throw off the delicate balance of a routine as strong as his. The alarm never goes off, or if it does, Killian either doesn’t hear it or turns it off in his sleep. He wakes, instead, to the sound of his text messages going off in quick succession, followed by the phone ringing and Will’s chirpy voice alerting him as he answers that he’s going to be late.

With that, his eyes shoot fully open and he throws himself into action, hoping to get out the door in record time. He skips the coffee and the shower, throwing on the clothes he set out last night and hoping his hair stays in place with the water he combs through it. He’s out the door fifteen minutes late. His boss, Robin, will hopefully understand - he’s one of the most easy-going people Killian has ever met. Will is going to take the piss out of him, but that’s no different from any other day. Killian knew it was a mistake to share his location with his friend but in this case, with Will able to see that he was still at home when he should already be making his journey, he wasn’t going to complain about it.

Instead, what he’s most upset about is that he’s going to miss Deputy Swan standing at their corner.

And he’s right: she’s not there when he gets to the intersection. He pushes the button and diligently waits until it turns before crossing, just as he always does. It’s when he gets a full view of the patio in front of Granny’s that his steps suddenly halt. There she is, checking her phone and sipping from a to-go cup, standing at the table closest to the entrance. She glances up and sees him on the other side of the small fence that surrounds the front of the patio, and her eyes go wide.

Quickly, she jams her phone in her pocket and exits the patio with two cups in hand, heading towards the sheriff’s station and away from him until she stops just as suddenly. She turns around to where he’s still glued in spot, knowing that each extra minute is asking for more torture from Will, but she walks up to him and he wouldn’t move if a bus came careening down the sidewalk at him.

“Hi. This might be weird but… nevermind. Forget it.” She turns again, but Killian hastens after her.

“What seems to be the problem, love?”

She spins around to face him again, a perturbed look on her face. He doesn’t know if it’s at him or herself, though, so he waits for her response.

“I’m not…” The words trail off, but she redirects. “I thought you might need coffee. You’re always so punctual. Figured if you were running late, you didn’t have any. But that’s probably ridiculous and just…” she trails off again, turning to dump the to-go cup into the bin nearby but Killian lunges for it.

“No no, wait!” He catches the cup just before it leaves her grip, smiling wide when he successfully rescues it. “Thank you, Deputy. I appreciate it.”

“Swan. Emma Swan.”

“Oh, I know,” he responds, surprised at the devilish tone to the words. The only time he flirts anymore is when he’s two pints in at The Rabbit Hole on a rare night out with Will, and even then it’s with no intent behind it. His watch buzzes and Killian glances down to see Will is calling him again. When he sees the time, he can understand why. “Bloody hell. I’m incredibly late,” he says quickly, moving to continue his journey to the office and forgetting all his manners.

“Is there something else I can call you, Incredibly Late?”

“Killian Jones!” he calls out as he gets to the corner by the post office. He spins on his heels to turn back to her, lifting the coffee again in thanks.

There’s an odd little smile on her face when he says it, but he’s still moving and has no time to wonder what it’s all about. “See you tomorrow, Jones!”

Her words follow him around the corner and he grins as he picks up the pace to the office.

He’s amazed at how quickly his day turns around after officially meeting Emma Swan. Robin isn’t even mad when he shows up late, just happy that he’s finally sitting in front of his computer working on the endless edits he’s been helping with for a new book by an established writer. One that has terrible punctuation skills, apparently. And spelling. And grammar.

It’s barely been a half hour when he finds his thoughts drifting to the woman he only knows by name and reputation, and knows that somehow, his daily routines will never look quite the same. He wonders how much this little interaction means to her, too, if she looked so out of sorts when he was late today. And startlingly, he realizes that it did turn into something.

Running a hand over his face, Killian looks back at the page he’s supposed to be proofreading. He’s read the same sentence at least three times and still can’t figure out why it doesn’t feel right. It’s too early in the day to shut his office door and start reading everything out loud, however, so instead he saves his changes and closes the file, opening up a rain app on his phone and letting the sound soothe him while he stands up and stretches.

“If you’re playing the calming sounds, I feel like you’re ready for more coffee,” Will says from his doorway.

“You’re probably right,” Killian says, finishing his current stretch and turning off the app. “Shall we?”

“Ask Robin what he wants. Your treat since you were so late this morning,” his friend adds as he turns from the doorway.

Killian makes a noise of aggravation, but still walks the short length to Robin’s office to inquire.

Robin is locked in his own work, looking back and forth between three cover mockups that Will’s department would’ve sent over when they were ready. He glances up when Killian enters but only barely. “Coffee run?” the other man asks as he nudges each design around.

This, too, is like clockwork in his life, which is why Robin already knows why he’s standing in his doorway. “Aye. Would you like me to bring back the usual or will you need something stronger today?”

“The usual is fine. Else I’ll be tempted to add liquor to it and no one at the home office will appreciate what I think of their last company email.”

“I have that whole rant recorded. You’d better make sure I don’t have anything stronger today or else they’ll get it verbatim.”

“Remind me to have you killed later this week after that chapter is edited.”

“I’ll pass it on to your secretary to be added to your calendar,” Killian mentions offhandedly while he leaves Robin’s office. This isn’t the first time Robin has scheduled to kill him for information he has on his superior. Killian’s sure it won’t be the last, either.

As he leaves, Killian catches sight of the pictures on the wall. There’s a few scattered around his office, mostly of Robin’s adorable son Roland and his late wife. Marian passed just after Roland was born, making Robin’s decision to head up the American branch of NeverEndings Publishing House an easy one. The reason he’s stayed so long is also evident in the pictures of Regina Mills, the mayor of Storybrooke, scattered among the others. Regina was his “diamond in the rough” - the woman he never expected to meet and fall in love with shortly after he set up shop here.

Along with pictures, there are paintings and his degrees, an antique wall clock that matches everything else, and a vintage bow and arrow hung behind the mahogany desk he nearly lives in some days. The whole thing feels like the den of some expensive cabin in the woods, but Killian knows for a fact that Robin put most of this together on the cheap.

He passes his own little office again, noting the blank walls, the tidy desk, the single chair on the opposite side for small one-on-one meetings. He’s never really gotten around to decorating his work area. His degrees are still in one of the boxes in his flat, as are all the pictures of his friends and family from back home.

There’s a single frame on his desk - just a picture of him and Liam at graduation that was packed into his luggage when he moved. Liam is beaming with pride while Killian looks like he’s about to bolt from the courtyard they had all gathered in after the ceremony. His left arm is tucked close by his side, and he knows for a fact it’s because he was trying to hide the prosthetic hook he wears from being in the pictures.

“So, why were you late today?” Will asks when they reach the doors and head outside.

“Alarm malfunctions,” Killian responds, as if there could be something besides human error to blame. Will just nods as they make the short trek down the street to Granny’s. Foolishly, Killian hopes to find his favorite deputy out patrolling or stopping for her own midday caffeine, but the only blonde in the diner is Ashley, the attentive but clumsy young server.

Well, the only blonde woman. Dr. Whale, trying his best to flirt with Ruby, doesn’t count.

“Have you heard anything I’ve said in the last three minutes?” Will asks, a touch of exasperation in his voice but humor lighting up his eyes. Instead of answering, Killian just pushes him forward to place his order. He pulls Killian up next to him and presents him to Ruby. “Tell Jones here that he has to come out with us on Friday.”

“The only thing I have to tell Jones is to place his damn order,” Ruby responds, her expression challenging Will in the way that only Ruby can. She looks back to Killian with a sweet smile. “You paying for all three?” He nods as he hands over the cash. Ruby winks at him, processing the change and handing it back before spinning from the register to make their drinks.

“Come on, mate. Come out this Friday.”

“I still have things I’m trying to unpack.”

“You’ve been saying you were going to unpack those things for the last three months.” He throws air quotes when he says “things” as if they’re fictitious items Killian invented for the sake of an excuse. He almost invites Will over to see what he’s talking about but feels like that would somehow turn into a standing invitation for his colleague to come over whenever he pleases.

“Yeah? And now I might mean it,” Killian retorts instead. Ruby places their drinks down on the counter before Will can press any further, and Killian spends an extra moment thanking the younger Lucas for exceptional service, as always.

“Kiss ass,” Ruby says as they gather their drinks and leave. There’s a smile on her face, though, and Killian knows that her days would be infinitely less exciting without him and Will pestering her at least once an afternoon.

When they get back, Will takes Robin his coffee without having to be asked, which Killian is grateful for. But he’s barely seated in front of his computer again before Will is popping back up in his doorway.

“You’ve been summoned to the dungeons, mate.”

Killian drops his head for a second, trying to gather the energy to just… get up and go see if suddenly his benevolent boss has had a change in heart regarding his tardiness this morning. But Robin just waves him in and motions for him to sit down.

“As you know, we originally hired you to be a junior editor to collaborate on projects.”

“Aye, that was the explanation I was given when I interviewed.”

“Well, we’ve gotten a new project that I’d like to see you take on. This isn’t quite a promotion, but it’s a test to see if I can trust you with something bigger than just standard edits to a pompous arse that doesn’t know his p’s from his q’s… literally.”

“I’m definitely interested. What is this project?”

“A young author has written a novella that twists fairy tales. It’s short but it’s deep, and I want your best on proofreading, but also on suggesting edits. He’ll be in to discuss the project at the end of this month, so keep working on your current progress until then. I’ll send all the files your way this weekend so you can start reviewing them whenever you’d like. Sound good?”

“Sounds excellent,” Killian says, genuine enthusiasm coloring his answer. “I look forward to it.”

Another disruption to the orderly life he’s been living, but honestly, this is almost as good as meeting Emma Swan. At least this feels like his disastrous start to October is no indication on how the rest of the month will go.

-x- October 2: Wednesday

The next morning, Killian is back to his impeccable schedule, so he’s calm and collected when he strolls up to the crosswalk. Only minutes later, Emma walks up, eyes trained on her phone, earbuds playing music that she nods her head in time with. He takes a moment before she notices him to appreciate the view, to take in the dark jeans she likes to wear instead of a uniform, with black boots up to her knees. Her red leather jacket is half-zipped. Soon the weather is going to grow colder and he wonders if she’ll be warm enough on her walks.

She looks up, then, and smiles at Killian while he raises a hand in greeting. She hesitantly waves back, moving to stand next to him while they wait.

“Good morning, Swan,” he greets just as the light changes and they start to cross. Her response is mumbled as she pulls the earbud from one ear.

“Have a good day, Jones,” she says, dipping her head as a parting gesture. There’s a smile pulling at his cheeks, and he turns to look at where he’s going instead of risking the possibility of running into something and ruining his mood.

For the rest of the week, they get to the crosswalk and he greets her. They part ways at the diner with her sending salutations before she walks up the path. In a way, it becomes a new routine for them. It’s one of the only changes to his days that he’s accepted as a normal progression instead of an uninvited intrusion.

On Friday, hours after his daily dose of Emma, he’s in the middle of the last chapter he has to edit when Will pops into his doorway in the afternoon. He goes to save the files and start the coffee routine, but Will enters the room fully and places two coffees and a bag with lunch on the corner of his desk.

“I hear you’ve got a bigger project coming up. Figured I’d be a good mate for once and encourage hard work instead of mucking around like we usually do on Fridays.”

The times that Will has been genuinely kind to him are definitely countable on his hand, so he’s almost afraid to ask if there’s a “but” included somewhere in there. However, Will just gives him a cheeky grin and heads right back out the door.

When he’s made the final change and checked over the whole chapter again, it’s beyond the time that he normally leaves, even when he stays late. His eyes are burning and his stomach is growling again, but there’s a sense of victory when he sends the files back to Robin and shuts down his office for the weekend.

He’s surprised to find Will on the couch in the reception area, asleep by the looks of it, and Killian is this tempted to leave him there because he knows exactly why his friend is still there. But the man brought him lunch and still owes him a beer for repayment of some good deed or another, so he knocks into one of Will’s shoes and snorts as he startles awake.

“Come on, then. Sorry to have kept you waiting.”

“Damn right, you are.” Will’s response is groggy and expected.

Killian makes sure the building is locked up tight before they walk the few blocks over to The Rabbit Hole. He’d rather be in bed, or watching whatever his neglected Netflix queue has in store for him. While Will obviously went home and changed into something more casual, Killian is still stuck in his suit from work. It’ll have to do.

One drink, that’s all he’s promised, and then he’s going home to get the sleep he deserves and return to his normal order of events.

They’re barely through the door when he realizes his plan is going straight into the bin. There, in all her blonde glory, is Emma Swan. She’s parked near the end of the bar waiting for Jefferson to take her order. As he moves towards her, he hears Will greeting other acquaintances, but he’s too focused on getting to interact with Emma outside of their usual crosswalk that he doesn’t veer off course.

“Fancy meeting you here, Swan,” he greets as he props up next to her.

She jumps a little, clearly not expecting him to be there beside her, but regains her speech far easier than he would’ve if the situation were reversed.

“I’m sorry, you’re that figment of my imagination that only lives on Main Street. What are you doing here?”

He chuckles at her description of him and rubs behind his ear in a nervous gesture. Two more sentences and this will officially be the longest he’s ever spoken with Emma, and he’s enjoying it far more than he should.

“Out for a drink with my mate Will to celebrate a project ending.”

“Scarlet? See, I always thought you had better taste than that,” she says, a smirk on her face and her eyes shifting over Killian’s shoulder to where Will must’ve come up behind him.

“Oy, just because I’m romancing your friend doesn’t mean you have to insult me.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s exactly what it means,” Emma responds to him, but there’s lightness and sarcasm in the whole exchange.

“Romancing? You mean you finally worked up the nerve to tell Belle you fancy her?”

“Like three weeks ago, mate. This is why I tell you to come out more often.” Will claps Killian on the shoulder with those words, accepting the beer that Jefferson deposits on the bar for him, and walking back to the large gathering of people in the middle of the room that Killian is just realizing are mostly people he knows.

“Not one for socializing very often?” Emma asks, following his line of sight and waving to her brother at the table. Killian swallows a little harder when David sizes him up, eyes scrutinizing the whole time.

“Not as much as I used to. Will and I usually make our ventures out earlier in the evening and in the middle of the week when we do.”

“So is it the expat club or something? You and Will, Robin, Belle. I think Tink stops in and drinks with them every couple weeks or so, too.”

“Will and I work at NeverEndings with Robin. The rest is all just coincidence.”

She hums in consideration, sipping slowly from her drink. “There’s room at the table. Wanna come join us, too?”

“That depends.”

“On?”

“Is your brother going to murder me for speaking to you for longer than three and a half minutes?”

She glances back at David, who turns back to the group suddenly, clearly pretending he wasn’t watching them.

“Listen, he’s overprotective but he’s yet to kill anyone I had a conversation with. People I’ve dated, on the other hand…” she trails off, lifting her eyebrows to emphasize with a little shrug.

He can’t help the laughter that erupts from him at that. She’s delightful. He could spend all his days having frivolous conversations with her and probably never grow tired of it.

“Come on, I promise he doesn’t bite unless you ask. Which is unfortunately more than I ever wanted to know but that’s what happens when you become best friends with your brother’s wife.”

“Thanks for sharing your pain with me. I hope it eases the burden of your knowledge,” he says low enough so only she can hear as he pulls out one of the remaining chairs for her. Her thank you is a quiet and pleased murmur, and he has to remind his heart to stop the constant drumroll so he can get through this evening with his dignity intact. He drops into the seat next to Emma and tries to bury the way his skin itches at the sudden change in his routine.

A chorus of introductions goes around, with Emma giving names to random faces as she goes. He does know a majority of the people at the table, even if just by reputation. It’s nice to meet the kind schoolteacher that is David’s aforementioned wife, though he’s seen her in the library more than a handful of times since his arrival in town.

“Everyone calls me Snow,” she explains after Emma calls her Mary Margaret. “Less syllables, more Disney Princess-ish.” When the topic shifts from greetings to the usual breakdown of everyone’s days, Killian seizes the moment no one is paying attention to them.

“A Disney Princess that enjoys a little kink in the bedroom. Good to know,” Killian whispers in Emma’s ear, and her hushed laughter is music he wants to play again and again.

When the conversation really starts flowing, he finds he’s less interested in drinking away his week and happier to engage with the people around the table. David still regards him with suspicion, but it probably helps that he doesn’t look like he’s trying to crawl into Emma’s knickers as the night continues on. He finished his singular beer ages ago but opts for water during his next trip up to the bar, along with food because Emma bursts out laughing when his stomach growls in the middle of her talking about a digital filing system they’re implementing.

Emma nurses her one drink, and so he’s relieved to find her willingness to talk is due to genuine interest instead of alcohol’s influence. Of course, it may be because he’s supplying her in onion rings until she finally orders her own.

Their group slowly begins to break up, starting with the people who have someone home waiting on them. Then the couples start to leave, and Killian is pleasantly surprised when Emma all but shoves David out the door with Snow, insisting that she’s more than capable of taking care of herself.

They talk of all things small: she tells him about working law enforcement in a small town, and he shares his experiences in Storybrooke since moving. She asks about his job and actually listens when he starts talking.

“What’s this then?” Killian asks when Emma pushes up her sleeves.

She looks down at it, scoffing a little. “A dumb symbol of youth and rebellion,” she replies. “I got it when I was sixteen because James and I got in an argument about how perfectly behaved I was.”

“James?”

“Oh, David has a twin brother. You know how people joke about having an evil twin? David actually has one.”

“Your family is delightful,” he comments, wanting to reach out and touch the heavy lines of the flower on her wrist. “Why this?”

“Buttercups are my favorite flower.” He’s learned so many new things about her so very quickly, but he files this information away in the event he has a chance to use it.

It’s when their whole group has officially departed that they realize the rest of the establishment is similarly abandoned, with only Jefferson wiping down bottles behind the bar.

“Sorry about that, mate. Time for us to clear out?”

“I was gonna wait until I was done cleaning to see if you even noticed the place was empty,” Jefferson responds when Killian sets the last few glasses on the counter. Emma is behind him at the table still, gathering the smattering of bottles and the rest of the stuff to be washed. “Been a while since I’ve seen her talk that much to anyone she didn’t grow up with,” the other man remarks, nodding his head towards Emma.

“My favorite bartender back home would probably say the same of me,” Killian admits, placing a few extra bills on the bar as a tip and wandering back over to help Emma get the last of the dishes from his late dinner and her ridiculously large pile of onion rings, of which she ate every last one.

“Thanks Jeff. Have a safe trip home,” Emma tells him as she hands him the items.

As they start walking, he expects anything but for Emma to fall back into casual conversation with him about the moving process he went through. He takes it in stride as they slowly amble down the street and back to their crosswalk.

“I’m this way,” Emma says, indicating the direction she normally arrives from in the mornings.

“I know,” Killian responds, his tone soft and content. “It was lovely getting to meet you, Emma.”

He holds out his hand, giving hers a firm shake. Once upon a time he was a lad who could court a woman without blinking an eye. It’s that thought that has him turning her hand and bringing it to his lips, eyeing her playfully from beneath his lashes as he looks up at her. This small gesture feels so foreign, but he likes the way she’s giving him a puzzled little smile.

“Goodnight, Swan.”

“See you Monday, Jones,” she almost whispers as he releases her hand.

They head off in their separate directions, with Killian gently brushing his lips in wonder.

Routines be damned, this is much better than a casual wave in the mornings.

-x-

Chapter 2

#cs ff #cs ff au #sarah writes ff #csrt

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malecsecretsanta · 4 years

Text

Merry Christmas, @Usurix!

Your gift, featuring soulmates, background rizzy and jimon and a mixture of fluff and (angst - mainly the, uh, supernatural stuff) with a happy ending overall, is hopefully something that you enjoy! There is also some sort of supernatural element going on here - hope the malec brings you joy!

Read on AO3

******

as the storm passes, can you hold this fragile heart of mine?

Chapter 1: bronze

Alec and Magnus are sitting on freshly painted stools in a quaint cafe off 5th Avenue, perched above bumpy grey and blue cobblestones.

They had met five weeks ago, Magnus accompanying Izzy's boyfriend, Raphael, to her most recent dance recital as his plus one.

He had been dressed in a burgundy coat with brass buttons and wool thick enough for the pervading chill of late winter.

He had been enchanting, so Alec had asked him out on a date, and here they are today, on their fifth in the tentatively warm dawn of spring.

The spring sun glints against Magnus' warm brown eyes as he sips his iced coffee.

The moment dips and spins, in the sugary light of the dappled afternoon sun, before Alec next speaks.

"So what do you do for work?" Alec asks as he sips his extra-large hot chocolate in a pink and white ceramic mug. They haven't breached the topic of work yet: there is no time like the present, to sneak past the idleness of talk about blockbuster movies and books of classic literature.

Magnus hums, putting down his coffee. "Oh, this and that. Mainly I work as a consultant."

"Right," Alec says, "and how is that?"

Magnus rips open a brown paper packet and starts stirring in the sugar flakes. "Tiresome, at times - some of my clients can be particularly aggravating - but rewarding, nonetheless. It's mainly confidential, I'm afraid. What about you?"

Alec sighs, blowing on his hot chocolate. "I work for the New York government. Nothing terribly interesting, but it pays the bills and is important work, I suppose, in its own way."

Magnus stops stirring his coffee. "Don't put yourself down, Alexander, it sounds fascinating. What do you do, exactly?"

"Oh," Alec says, and wishes for a second - a mere instant - that he had chosen a more interesting major at college, despite his current comfort in his job, "I'm a crime statistics analyst."

"Should I be worried about the level of crime in New York City?" Magnus asks.

Alec laughs, shaking his head. "It's confidential."

Magnus' beautiful eyes widen. "Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to pry."

"I'm kidding," Alec says, "all my work is available to the public somewhere on the government's website. And nothing to note as of recent."

"Ah," Magnus replies, taking out his spoon and picking up the coffee again, tilting it towards Alec almost as if in a toast, "well, that's a relief, then."

"To us, and everyone else," Alec says as the moment heats and thickens, to another wonderful date in an imperfect world.

The sky is dark by the time Alec comes back to his apartment, and he can hear laughter even when he unlocks their door, which is a lovely bright magenta.

The perils of living with your siblings and their jarring colour choices.

"I'm coming in," Alec calls out as he hangs his jacket in the hallway, "so you two better not be making out in the living room again, I really don't need to see that."

When Alec turns the corner into their living room, Jace and his soulmate, Simon, are thankfully just sitting on their black leather couch and playing Mariokart.

Jace crashes off Rainbow Road and curses, before looking up at Alec. "Izzy said she'll be home from the gym in half an hour and that she'll bring dinner from that Italian place."

Alec sighs. "Will Simon be staying?"

Simon, who Alec has had the unfortunate luck to now know for two years as Jace's boyfriend and, since last year when Jace's words glowed gold, as Jace's soulmate as well, crosses the finish line with a whoop.

"Yes," Jace answers, scowling as he dives off the road again, "how was your date? Will we be meeting him soon?"

"You've already met Magnus,” Alec says, dropping down on the couch next to Jace. “So shove it.”

Alec thinks that he will let a few more weeks pass before he unleashes his siblings on Magnus, who is sweet and charming and who Alec would rather not be spooked.

Jace quietens, in some sort of weird and uncharacteristic twist of the darkening night, and crosses the finish line five minutes later as the night dissolves into another of simple mundanity.

Two weeks later, in the midst of April’s sunny days, Alec scowls as Izzy refuses to move from her place, sprawled on the living room’s couch.

Her head is tilted back, long black hair a tangled mess, glinting in the late afternoon sun.

Izzy’s headphones - white, with silver gems embedded, a gift from their mother two birthdays past - are in her ears, plugged into her phone.

She laughs, bright and clear, and Alec may have thought it was beautiful if he didn’t want her gone.

“Iz.” He taps her on the shoulder. “Get out.”

Her laugh is cut off. “Sorry, Raphael,” she says, before glaring at Alec. “What?”

Alec shrugs. “I would like to watch the TV. Which is in here. You are not doing anything. Therefore, please go.”

Izzy sighs, rolling her eyes. Her eyeshadow is a reddish-bronze today, the same colour Magnus was wearing in his latest Instagram post. He wonders if they've been swapping tips. “I am talking to my boyfriend, Alec.”

Alec can’t help but roll his eyes right back, asserting his dominance as the older brother. “Please, skedaddle.”

He sits down on the couch and turns on the television.

Izzy gets up with a sigh. “Fine, whatever.”

Alec puts on some TV program or other - The Good Place, which Magnus had mentioned, once or twice.

The first episode opens with the declaration of soulmates, which are almost mundane in this world.

Soulmates, he thinks, and he is glad that he is alone, for a sappy smile is surely forming on his face that his siblings would tease him for.

Magnus has good taste, is what he next thinks, and he ignores the stark correlation as the show rolls on.

Ten weeks have passed since Alec and Magnus first met, since Alec first saw Magnus in all of his glamour and splendour: he thinks they have been on enough dates, now, to be dating, technically speaking - boyfriends, if labels must be pinned to it.

Which is terribly exciting, a joy for Alec in all honesty.

They are sitting in a secluded area of Central Park, where the leaves rustle and squirrels run about, and they are kissing, their pretzels long forgotten and cold.

Alec closes his eyes, leaning into the kiss.

Warmth spreads, it melts, rising throughout his body.

Magnus’ hand, no longer gloved because of the ever-increasing warmth of spring, rests on Alec’s cheek.

The heat rises, it deepens and spins, all in the space of one spring afternoon.

Summer dawns, sticky and humid.

Alec is glad that he resides inside, these days, with the rising and the setting of the sun, where there is the icy blessing of air-conditioning.

But Magnus has other ideas.

With the coming of June, they have been dating for three months.

They are getting more comfortable with each other, more relaxed and less censored in their actions and words.

Which means, in the natural order of things, Magnus decides to drag Alec outside on one burning Saturday - to swim, yes, but outside nonetheless.

"Come on," he says, pushing back his gleaming golden sunglasses, "it'll be fun."

"A crowded public pool?" Alec asks, with a deadpan look, as if Magnus' ideas are wilting like rotten fruit in this stuffy and oppressive summer heat. "Yeah, right."

Magnus' smile is blinding. "Now, who said anything about it being public?"

He pats his black Telsa, glittering in the midday scorching sunlight. "Come on."

Not for the first time, Alec wonders about what, exactly, Magnus does for a living - but Magnus' answers, whilst polite, are surface-level and thin, revealing nothing.

Magnus is wealthy, rich, loaded, whatever you want to call it, and Alec is curious to find out why.

Not for the sheer sake of curiosity - but because this is Magnus, and he is a mystery Alec wants to unravel.

Alec, still grumbling, gets into the passenger seat, pulling down his own dark sunglasses from the nearby two dollar shop so that they cover his eyes, which betray him by sparkling with mirth. "Fine."

If he didn't trust Magnus, didn't really want to get in, he wouldn't have gotten in. But that's the thing. He does trust Magnus, secretive as he is, and not just because he is stunning. Because he is polite, kind, generous and-

He is Magnus Bane, and that says it all.

So when they drive up to a secluded beach with pristine water lapping gently at the sandy shore, he smiles and jumps right in.

At the edge of summer’s end, Alec thinks he may be falling in love.

They lay together in golden sheets, and Magnus cuddles closer.

Alec can't help but smile, drifting back off into a blissful sleep.

Maybe.

Maybe, this is the one.

September dawns with a frostiness that Alec had long forgotten.

He’s reading after a tiring day at work - really, couldn’t Barbara turn up to meetings more often than once in a blue moon? - when Izzy bursts into his room.

She’s glowing.

“Alec,” she says, beaming. “I think he said them! Can you check?”

Ah. Her words.

Alec can’t say he’s surprised. Izzy and Raphael have been dating for nearly three years, longer than Jace and Simon have been. Raphael, to be fair, is a lot more guarded - he has been burned too many times, or so he says, tired of all of society’s ingrained aphobia.

“Sure,” he says, putting down his latest book. It’s a dry read, really, but so few people publish books on queer history in 13th century England - anyway.

She’s already twisted her hair into a bun.

The gold glow pierces the thin fabric of the grey shirt.

Izzy lifts it up with an unsteady hand.

“What did he say?” Alec says as he picks up the worn corner of the gauze, which is a horizontal strip of white across her back.

Izzy bites her lip. “I texted it to you.”

“Okay, cool,” Alec says, unrolling the gauze.

The words shine bright.

I think you are something exquisite, Isabelle Lightwood, and I don’t mind admitting it.

The tightly looped cursive burns like an ember from an eternal fire.

Alec drops the gauze, and goes to find his phone and switches it off aeroplane mode.

Magnus is oddly knowledgable about queer history, pertaining from the early 17th century or so, and is a much more eloquent narrator than this bore - so the phone had been left in his wobbly cedar cabinet to take away the temptation to talk to his boyfriend instead.

The words match, and Alec smiles, snapping a picture of Izzy’s back.

“You’re right,” he says, as Izzy turns around to face him, still glowing like the sun, “he’s the one.”

One’s words are terribly important.

They show the time your soulmate first meant to say I love you.

They are often hidden behind white gauze before they are spoken to offer privacy, to prevent misuse and abuse.

Alec’s words curl across his ribs.

He looks at Magnus’ sleeping form on Friday night and wonders.

Is this the one?

December comes in a flurry of rain, of crowds and frantic shopping.

Sometimes, looking out from his office window when he's on a break, Alec thinks it romantic. But he has Magnus, now, so he thinks that looking at the Christmas rush through rose-tinted glasses is permitted.

It is already dark when he finishes work with his burgundy scarf - a gift from Magnus - wrapped tightly around his neck.

The coolness still seeps in, but that is New York.

Tonight, he's going to shop with Izzy at a night market: just the two of them, in the speckled darkness that comes past dusk.

Alec curses when he looks down at his watch.

It's nearly six.

He didn't mean to stay so long at the office - but Mark had brought coffee, and it was so warm, whilst outside was so cold.

Izzy will be waiting for him.

He finishes buttoning up his brown leather gloves and zips up his bag, before slipping down a nearby side street.

It's not his favourite place, but it'll do the job and get him there quicker.

He's still thinking this when a massive grey dog runs into the street.

"Hello," he says, because he's always had a soft spot for dogs.

The dog growls.

Alec backs away. "It's okay, I'm not going to hurt you."

But the dog leaps forward, and slashes at Alec's chest with sharp silver claws.

Alec tries to push the dog away.

The dog growls, biting him instead.

It stings. His vision blurs.

Alec tries to get up. But instead, everything slides away into a soundless blackness.

Chapter 2: silver

He wakes amongst the chaos of a hospital.

A woman with thick black hair and dark skin is in front of him in nurse's scrubs.

"Good evening, sir," she says. "I'm your nurse, Catarina Loss. Would you like anything? And your name, please?"

"Alec Lightwood." Alec shakes his head. "Thanks, but not right now."

He goes quiet, before nausea takes over him, and drifts back off into an uneasy slumber.

“You need to calm down.”

Catarina’s voice floats down into the ward, and Alec’s vision swims.

“I can’t.” A man’s - it sounds as if it is Magnus - voice cracks. “I can’t calm down, I knew we had to stop Russell and now.” There’s a broken sob. “Look at what’s happened - what I let happen to Alexander .”

It’s Magnus.

Alec can’t speak, hooked up with a million or so tubes, his tongue heavy.

Don’t worry, he wants to say, it’s just a bad dog bite.

Instead, he falls back into a restless sleep.

Next time he wakes, it is morning - early dawn, the light slipping past the hastily drawn blinds.

Catarina walks in and closes the door shut.

“Alec,” she says, hesitantly. “How are you feeling?”

“Better,” he replies.

Catarina nods, biting her lip. “Magnus is outside. Would you like him to come in?”

Alec frowns. He wishes that the lights were less bright. “I mean, yes, but what about my family?”

Catarina can’t seem to meet Alec’s eyes, fidgeting with the black ballpoint pen clipped to her notebook. “You can see your family, but first - first there is something we need to tell you, about your attack. Well - I’d ask you to sit down, but you’re already lying down in a bed, so.”

The door clicks open once more, and Magnus steps inside.

His face is bare of make-up except for the faintest trace of eyeliner around his eyes and his hair is hanging limp. His clothes look slept in and there’s this wild, harried look in his eyes which Alec has never seen before. In short, Magnus is a wreck, absolutely dishevelled.

“I.” Magnus gulps, unshed tears glittering in his eyes. “I don’t know where to start. Can I sit?”

Alec nods, sitting up against the white starched pillows.

Magnus sits down on a rickety white plastic chair, the farthest from Alec’s bed. “I understand if you never want to see me again, but you do have to know that I never wished you any harm.”

Alec’s ribs burn, but that’s not what really registers, in the here and now: instead he watches Magnus’ fingers twist and turn in his lap, ringless and slender.

What has Magnus done?

“I should have never started seeing you,” Magnus continues, “it was foolish of me, but it was so lovely. I forgot.” He swallows. “I forgot why I stayed away.”

Alec pulls up the blankets closer to his chest.

“The wolf that bit you was no ordinary wolf,” Magnus finally says, after a long moment of unbroken silence.

“A wolf? In inner-city New York? I thought it was a dog,” Alec cuts in, rubbing at the bandages wrapped across what seems his whole midsection.

Magnus looks up, and Alec doesn’t think he has ever seen him so shaken, so frightened. “It was a werewolf,” he whispers, “a werewolf named Russell, to be precise, but that doesn’t really matter. And - there’s a high chance that you will become a werewolf, too, in a few weeks.”

“Oh.”

He’d laugh at the absurdity of it all, but Magnus is crying, silently but heavily.

Alec wants to reach out and hug him, but he still doesn’t know if he can trust Magnus, he's acting so out of character.

“All the legends,” Magnus says with a cracked voice, “are true.”

Alec doesn’t understand, lying there still in shock.

“I’m sorry.” Magnus stands up, the scrape of his chair echoing across the room. “I can’t - I can’t do this.”

He runs out of the room and Alec looks, wide-eyed, at Catarina.

Catarina sighs, putting down her notebook. “It’s hard for him.”

“How do you know Magnus?”

Catarina smiles, but it is brittle. “I’m his best friend. I know he hasn’t told you much because he wanted to protect you, but that’s all null and void now, I’m afraid.”

She closes the door again.

“The thing is, both Magnus and I - we’re not exactly human, either.”

The world halts, stops spinning on its axis for a precarious second.

“We’re warlocks.”

Catarina talks, explaining this hidden Shadow World which Alec is now irreversibly part of, and Alec blinks blearily at her.

Not in disbelief, no, or shock - just in a kind of a weary realisation, like some sort of flimsy tarp is finally being removed and the world is becoming so much more clear and vivid.

Magnus’ reluctance to share anything remotely private. The malicious - malevolent, even - intent in the wolf's green eyes as it bit him.

Everything he has ever thought as true - it’s false, isn’t it?

He’s lived in a web of lies - a false reality, a fabrication, for all of his life, and now is to be roughly pulled out into an even harsher reality than the one he thought he knew.

"But I'm a warlock," Catarina finishes her explanation with, in a roundabout kind of way, "so I'm not the best person to explain the intricacies of being a werewolf. I-"

Alec holds out his hand. "Thank you, Catarina, for the detailed explanation, but I would like to rest now."

Catarina nods, and leaves the room.

Alec doesn't know what to think, how to feel.

He falls into an uneasy sleep, and dreams of red flashing lights and the cracking of bones.

It is late evening when he wakes, and Max, Maryse, Jace and Izzy are all already there.

"Alec, honey," Maryse says, who is standing at his bedside and absentmindedly running her fingers through his limp hair, "how are you feeling?"

Alec tries to sit up, but it's pointless - he's too tired, so he simply slumps down further instead. "A bit rough," he admits, though he wishes he could draw the curtains around himself, hide his weakness from his siblings, protect them from all the horrors of the world even though they are all now adults. "Not going to lie, that wolf took me by surprise."

Izzy, who Alec can't help but note is not wearing any make-up, gasps. "A wolf? In central Manhattan?"

Alec laughs, though it is weary and strained. "I was surprised too. Sorry about missing our appointment, by the way."

Izzy shakes her head, taking one of his hands and rubbing circles into it, her crimson nail polish chipped. "Don't apologise, Alec. We're just glad that you're okay."

Alec thinks about how he may be a werewolf.

How Magnus up and left.

Okay? Maybe physically, if that.

But his family has already fretted too much, so instead, he simply nods and lets their chatter sweep his thoughts away to a happier place.

The next day, a young woman wearing a studded leather jacket visits him.

Catarina closes the door. “This is Maia Roberts, the head of the New York werewolf pack.”

Maia's eyes flash green. "Alexander Lightwood, is it?"

Alec slowly sits up. "I prefer Alec, but yeah."

Maia sits down on the rickety chair Magnus had abandoned the previous day. "If you are a werewolf, you can come to my pack. There's about twenty of us, and we live down by the docks."

"Thank you for the offer - can I keep my job?" he asks. "I live with my siblings - do I have to leave?"

Maia sighs, rubbing her fingers together absentmindedly. "It's a bit complex. Not an outright no, like it would be if you had become a vampire - burning up whenever the sun touches you is a little obvious - but it's not easy, mixing these two worlds."

"Do you still keep in touch with your family?"

Maia stiffens. "No, but that's more on them then my transformation."

Alec nods. "Okay. Am I allowed to tell them?"

Not telling Jace, Izzy, Max or his mum isn't really an option for him - but, he would rather not be dragged up before some supernatural law court.

Maia shrugs. Her burgundy boots clack against the grey speckled linoleum floor. "You can if you want."

Alec sighs, and listens half-heartedly to a complex discussion of werewolf politics and abilities.

She is nearly finished when she reaches the topic of soulmates.

"You are allowed to tell your soulmate about the Shadow World," she says.

The scars on her neck are silver. He wonders if they cover up her words.

"Though," she continues, with an all too casual shrug, "they are often a member of the Shadow World themselves."

Alec nods.

And tries to not think of the burning of his ribs when he last saw Magnus, and what it all may mean for a man who seemed terrified of everything since the events of yesterday.

A man who Alec may, despite all of this wretched secrecy, be in love with.

After Maia leaves, Alec stares at the ceiling.

"All this secrecy - is that why Magnus didn't tell me he's a warlock when I was a mundane?"

Catarina takes away his tray. "Partially. It's frowned upon, dating a mundane."

"Oh," Alec says, trying with little success to ignore his own rising disappointment.

He's had many shocks on the last 24 hours, but the biggest so far has been Magnus walking out, and not coming back.

He's discharged three days later, just in time for New Year's Eve.

He still hasn't seen Magnus, not since that harrowing day when everything changed.

Jace picks him up, in the rambleshackle vehicle otherwise known as Simon's yellow graffitied truck, with a resounding thumping hug, worry lingering in his blue brown eyes.

Alec's scars are now a thin silvery red, hidden under his many layers of thick winter clothes forced onto him by his mother.

Catarina said that's a sign of being a werewolf - healing too fast to be human.

Alec shudders in the back of the truck.

"Do you need anything?" Jace asks as they turn into the highway. At this time of night, the orange lights are glowing, their shine reflected on the road wet with winter's rain.

"No," Alec says, "but thank you."

He can't be a burden on his family.

He can't.

When he gets home, Izzy, Max and Maryse are all waiting for him.

Izzy is the first to hug him in greeting - she's barefoot, and her naked nails strike Alec as odd - her hair loose and curly.

"Missed you," she says into his chest.

Alec pulls her closer. "Missed you too."

He lifts one hand and waves everyone else over. "Come on, I'm not fragile."

Maryse hugs him from behind, burying her head into his hair and stifling her sobs.

"Mum, I'm okay," Alec says.

Maryse rubs his neck, almost as if she is checking for a pulse. "Honey, I know - but seeing you in that hospital bed was absolutely dreadful."

"I'll try to avoid it in the future." Alec sighs, closing his eyes. "There's something I need to tell you all. But it won't be easy."

He sighs, disentangling himself from his family.

"We love you," Jace says, in a rare moment of vulnerability, "through thick and thin."

"Thank you," Alec says, "but be careful what you promise, for I might be a werewolf."

He says it firmly, decisively, looking directly at his family

Maryse is the first one to speak. "If you are to become a werewolf," she says, because of course, she believes him without hesitation, "then we will be with you every step of the way."

A smile, small and a little cracked, creeps onto Alec's face. "Just not on the full moon," he says.

The relief is euphoric.

And then, it's like the breaking of a wave: everyone crashes in to hug him again, with reassuring whispers and declarations of love.

Alec closes his eyes.

Maybe - maybe this isn't the end of the world, and his life can continue on, imperfect as it is.

If only one other person was here - he may even call this a rare moment of perfection.

When Alec wakes up the next morning with the bird calls of dawn, he unwraps the gauze covering his soulmark because it is burning - has been burning, since his worldview was skewed into a vastly different trajectory, and this is his first moment of true privacy.

He hasn't looked at it in ages.

And now, it glows gold.

I understand if you never want to see me again, but you do have to know that I never wished you any harm.

Alec texts Magnus right away.

we need to talk.

Hours pass, and night falls.

There is no response, and he falls asleep alone.

Luke Garroway is a tall, muscular man.

He is wearing a sky blue button-down shirt with navy suspenders and a police badge is clipped to his cloud patterned tie.

He doesn't look like a former werewolf alpha. Instead, Luke looks like a total and utter dad. His hair is starting to grey at the edges and he has this ease of talking, of being.

But he is here to take care of Alec if a transformation does befall him. And if need be, he can turn into a wolf and control Alec that way, and lessen the blow of what may be a harrowing night.

If he turns, but it feels like a guaranteed certainty at this point in time.

It has been three weeks since he was bitten, and he still hasn't seen Magnus or heard from him since that dreadful morning.

His heart aches.

Alec doesn't blame Magnus for what happened - a rogue werewolf bit him, randomly, on his way home from work through a shady shortcut - but he knows Magnus, maybe loves Magnus, and knows that Magnus blames himself.

The shackles on his hands are rubbing his wrists raw.

It's quiet, the dust motes settling in the dark blue evening light.

It has been a waiting game so far, words and pitying glances.

But tonight, those words will be tested.

"Stay calm, son," Luke says, breaking the stillness of the deepening night. "It's not as painful as the movies would make you think, and I won't let anything bad happen to you or because of you if you do become a werewolf, trapped in a vulnerable state."

"Thanks," Alec says. "Um, I was wondering, do you know Magnus Bane?"

Luke nods, in his fatherly and reassuring manner. "Magnus Bane, the High Warlock of Brooklyn? Hard to miss. He's a great guy. Why'd you ask?"

"Um." Alec bites his lip. "Well, he is - or was, I guess, I don't know, my boyfriend, before this whole debacle, and I'd like to get in touch with him, but he's been avoiding me."

Luke sighs, shaking his head and rubbing his beard flecked with grey. "Sounds like Magnus," he replies, and he sounds so weary, so bone-deep tired. "I'll try to get through to him, but no guarantees. I'm not the alpha anymore."

Alec half-smiles. "Thanks," he says, blinking, trying to not let the tears fall, "I miss him."

"It's a complex situation," Luke says, as the moon's first rays slide through the dusty window and Alec grits his teeth in pain. "Alright. Stay calm. I'll take care of you."

Alec's world creaks. Tilts.

It explodes, until the darkness of oblivion wrought on by agony befalls him.

Chapter 3: gold

When Alec wakes the next day, he is weary, and his muscles ache.

Luke is gone.

He must have had to leave for work.

Someone has placed a thick grey and blue blanket on top of him, keeping him warm as the midday sun, a slither of warmth amongst the ever present coolness of winter, filters into the room through the one lone window.

Still, Alec shivers. It is mid-January, and last night the full moon rose.

He is a werewolf.

And there are no ifs or buts or maybes, not anymore, not after this first tiresome transformation on a frigid winter night.

What is to be done now, with this now certain eternal bleakness? The world of before torn out of his reach, and the world of the future one clouded with instability.

Alec sits up, letting the blanket pool at his waist, the rumbling of a nearby heater filling the room.

If he had any energy left, he may have gasped when he notices the person sitting on the nearby wooden chair with peeling blue paint.

But as it is, he blinks, and that is to be enough.

"Magnus?" he croaks.

Magnus is dressed in a ruffled but close-cut burgundy suit, with tiny golden buttons shining in the weak winter light.

Magnus nods, and he looks as afraid as he did those three weeks ago, when Alec woke with poison in his blood.

"Where have you been?" Alec continues, his voice cracking.

Magnus waves his hand - a flurry of icy blue sparks, and then a glass of water materialises into the silent place, which he hands to Alec. "Here."

Alec accepts it with trembling fingers. "I've missed you, Magnus."

"I've missed you too," Magnus says, with downcast eyes which are devoid of his former confidence and flirtations. "I have been busy - Russell has been imprisoned, and it took a while to clean it all up."

"Three weeks, Magnus?" Alec asks. "Did it take that long?"

Magnus flinches.

"I'm scared, Magnus. I don't blame you for what happened. It's not your fault. But I want you to be here."

Magnus looks up. For once, his face is bare of make-up, and his hair lies flat.

"I put you in a dangerous position by dating you," he says, restlessly rubbing together his ringless fingers with chipped copper nail polish. "As a powerful figure of the New York Downworld community, people look at cruel ways to manipulate me. And you, as a mundane, so vulnerable-"

"I can look after myself," Alec cuts in, "and you cannot hold yourself responsible for the actions of others."

Magnus sighs. "I know this - rationally, but irrationally all I can think of is a world where you are dead, or here and now, where you must resent me."

"I don't resent you," Alec says, his voice softening. "I could never resent you."

I love you , is what he thinks. Please don't make me live without you. I couldn't bear it.

Magnus' hand moves to his side. "Oh," he replies. "I - can I still see you?"

"I would very much like to continue dating you," Alec says. "I care for you immensely, and would love for my entry into this new world to be by your side."

"Okay," Magnus says, softly. "Okay, Alexander. Text me when you want to next meet up. I." He blinks back tears. "Thank you, for not leaving me now that the truth has been so callously revealed."

"Please don't thank me, when it is a blessing to be with you," Alec says, as exhaustion takes him over once more, "and I'll see you soon."

There is the rustle of clothes, and then silence.

When he gets back home, a fortnight after his transformation, to a meal cooked by Jace - spaghetti and bolognese - some of his life has resumed to some semblance of normality.

Simon - of course, Simon is here, he may as well live here by now, as attached to Jace as he is - is sitting at the table and chatting to Raphael.

Simon, who lives with his best friend Clary Fray, who happens to be the daughter of werewolf Luke Garroway.

So much entanglement in the Shadow World, that he now knows of it. Luke has been like a dad to Simon - and now, three more mundanes know because of one bite.

And he's nagging Raphael, who, as it happens, is the head of the New York Vampire Clan.

It has been a time of revelations.

Izzy had reassured him that Raphael had told her that he was a vampire about six months after they had started dating: not the full complexities of everything, but somethings that couldn't be very well explained away.

As Catarina had so aptly put, vampirism is a hard trait to fully conceal, more so than magic running through your veins or sleepless full moons.

Raphael is scowling, faced with Simon's nattering as he is. Looping around his wrist are Izzy's words shining in silver: I love you, and I don't care about the rest .

Alec hangs up his coat next to four others.

He's invited Magnus to tonight's dinner: and it is to be an interesting one, no one having to hide anything.

Well, except for the words burning underneath his shirt.

The words have glowed gold for nearly a month now, yet Alec is still filled with this strange apprehension of confrontation.

They haven't met since the day Alec had woken up definitively a werewolf, a member of the Downworld.

Soulmates. What a strange, fate driven concept.

You would think that it would make things easier, more clear-cut and definite, not more complex.

The doorbell rings.

Alec walks to the door and opens it. It's Magnus - of course it is Magnus, with his silk blue scarf wrapped around his neck and an expensive bottle of champagne in his hand - and he steps in and hugs Alec tightly.

"I've missed you," Magnus mumbles against the crook of Alec's neck.

Alec knows that they are cloaked in darkness, that no one is watching him, so he holds on tighter. "I've missed you too."

His heart aches, and he wants to kiss Magnus, hug him until the end of time, but.

His siblings insist on some sort of social presence and engagement from him, sometimes, and unfortunately tonight is one of those times.

"Right," Alec says, as he reluctantly pulls away and takes the bottle of champagne off Magnus. "Let's go."

Alec can't help but grab, hold on tightly to Magnus' hand.

He's here, and he's not going away.

They walk into the teasing joviality of his family, maybe their family.

Raphael and Magnus have been best friends for decades: for Alec, it is his siblings and their soulmates.

And his, too. Maybe.

Maybe, tonight is the night when everything will finally fall into place.

After dinner, after the chatter and endless ribbing has passed, Magnus tugs Alec to the side.

"Um," Magnus says, biting his lip, "Alexander, could we please talk somewhere private?"

Alec nods, stifling the urge to ruffle his hair which he let Jace, for some God-forsaken reason, gel to the high heavens this morning. "Sure."

He's already scrubbed his room down in anticipation and nerves, the navy blue sheets uncrinkled and his mirror shining.

It's not like this is the first time Magnus has come into his home, into his room - they have been dating for ten or so months. But it has been around a month since that terrible night, and Alec feels rough and raw - exposed to a thorough and brutal scrutiny as if his scaffolding, his skeleton, is now on display to the world.

Magnus is a kind man. A generous man.

But. Soulmates are a finicky, touchy business, even for someone as compassionate as Magnus Bane.

They are intimate, revealing. Once the bond settles and sets, it is said that emotions of the other can be felt, experienced fully and boundlessly.

They are both guarded men, with layers hiding their hearts: even in a normal situation, this is not an easy task.

But this is far from a normal situation - he is a werewolf, now, and Magnus is a centuries-old warlock.

"Sit down," Alec says, gesturing vaguely in the direction of his too neatly done up bed.

Magnus sits, almost delicately as if he is afraid of taking up too much space, on Alec's bed.

Alec sits on his desk chair and pulls his grey woollen blanket onto his lap, so he can twist it in his fingers and do anything but think of what is to happen, in a few short seconds.

"So," Magnus says. He starts to pull off his jumper, then stops. "May I?"

Alec tries not to stare, to not second guess. "Sure."

Magnus carefully pulls off his dark blue jumper threaded with silver, then starts to unbutton his shirt.

This isn't the first time that Alec has seen Magnus undress. But it is the first time that it has been so fraught with nerves, so full of uncertainty and fragility.

Words, where there had been none before, now curl in sparkling golden glory across Magnus' chest.

"Oh," Alec says, softly. He's not surprised, exactly, but he is scared. Scared that Magnus doesn't want him anymore, that this is his gentle way of letting him down.

Feelings can change, in particular after the whirlwind of a month they have had.

Alec reads I don't resent you, I could never resent you and wishes he could carve his heart out.

One thing he's never liked about soulmarks: they can betray your feelings before you're ready to confront them - to even acknowledge their mere existence, sometimes.

Alec cannot bring himself to meet Magnus' eyes, and pulls the blanket further up his chest.

He's never felt more exposed.

"Well," Alec says, swallowing, "they're true, Magnus. I - I do love you, Magnus, most ardently, but-"

"But what?" Magnus cuts him off. "But what, Alexander?" His voice softens. "I love you, too. Isn't that enough?"

Alec sighs. "I hope." He takes off his own jumper and shirt, carefully with fingers that yearn to shake and tremble but somehow stay steady, twisting to the side so that Magnus can read the glittering words. "We're soulmates, aren't we?"

Magnus looks at him with shimmering eyes. Tears sit in them, but they do not fall. There's a slip, a blur, and the familiar warm brown eyes are replaced by gleaming golden cat eyes. "Are we?"

There's such hesitancy, such apprehension and hope in his voice.

Everything is so complex, so uncertain.

But maybe this doesn't have to be.

Alec gets up. Walks a few steps. Sits down almost on top of Magnus.

He tugs Magnus towards him, runs his hands through Magnus' hair. "I think so, soulmate."

"Oh God," Magnus say, putting his hand on Alec's shoulder, idly tracing circles with his fingers, "I hope so, Alexander, I really do hope so. I love you so much."

"I love you too." There is no other answer that Alec could have given. "Magnus, your eyes."

Magnus leans back, almost as if he is ashamed. "What about them?"

Alec can't help but stare, enraptured by their beauty. "They're gold."

Magnus takes his hand off. Turns to the side. "I'm sorry you have to see them," he says, his voice now muffled, "they're my warlock mark - I lost control."

"Don't apologise," Alec says, "they're beautiful, Magnus. You're beautiful. There is nothing ugly about you."

Magnus looks back up, and Alec swallows.

Magnus looks so vulnerable now, but evermore so trusting and willing to place his heart etched from diamonds into Alec's earnest but scarred hands.

"I love you, no matter what," Alec says, because if there is one thing he will do, again and again, is forevermore remind Magnus how much he is loved.

Magnus' hand cups Alec's cheek. "Thank you, Alexander." He meets Alec's gaze with his eyes still unglamoured. "I love you - unconditionally."

Then Magnus pulls him in.

A blink, a second of hesitation.

And then they are kissing, like it is the most natural thing in the world.

Alec slips back into the freezing office on the top floor of the red and brown brick building, and it is like he never left.

His boss - Lucy, a middle-aged woman with thick spectacles and wiry blonde hair streaked with grey - nods when she spots him.

"It's good to have you back, Alec," she says, "Mark had to pick up a few of your time-sensitive projects, but other than that, business as usual."

Alec nods, placing his coffee down on his desk next to Coralie, whose manicured nails tapping on the keyboard will be a welcome reminder that his life is normal, as normal as it can be as a 21st-century werewolf dating an immortal warlock.

Time to take back some blessed mundanity.

Spring comes again in a flurry of new growth, of new life, of rejuvenation and sunshine.

A year has passed since he last sat at this café with his beloved: the chalkboard out front is now navy blue, and the cobblestones are somewhat more crowded.

The same waitress with auburn hair places his hot chocolate in front of him, laden with white and pink marshmallows.

"Thank you," Alec says, unlinking his and Magnus' hands.

Their silver rings glitter in the late afternoon sun.

Magnus smiles, sipping his own black coffee. "Love, do you need some hot chocolate with your marshmallows?"

"I'm fine," Alec says, "it's enough, you need to appreciate marshmallows more."

"Hm," Magnus replies, "if you say so, fiancé."

"Of course." Alec puts down his cup and links their hands together. "Why wouldn't I?"

Magnus' smile broadens, like the golden yellow rays of the sun on a perfect day. "Aren't you sweet enough?"

Alec can't help but smile when Magnus' other hand curves around his neck and pulls him in for a kiss.

Magnus may taste like black coffee, but he is Alec's soulmate.

More than that, he is Magnus Bane, Alec's love - forevermore, until everything fades away into oblivion.

Their kiss deepens, and Alec sighs, his mark tingling with pleasure.

Come sunshine or rain, mundanity or the crazy world of the supernatural, they are to be immortal lovers.

Alec Lightwood loves Magnus Bane.

And he wouldn't have it any other way.

#Usurix #malecsanta19 #*fics19 #*gifts19

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atombooks · 6 years

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Anonymous

The Big Bad Blog ~ Monday 26 September

There’s an empty chair in Form 4, Year 13 today.

The news has spread like wildfire: Eva Pieachowski is missing.

Our school is in shock.

Eva. The star girl at St Martin’s. She’s taking five A levels in English, Economics, History, Geography and Art, and she’s top in every subject, yet Eva’s no square – anyone who has ever partied with her knows that. With her long blonde hair and bewitching brown eyes, it’s no wonder that she was scouted by a modelling agency on a trip to Paris. She only did one contract – for Topshop – before dropping it in favour of her studies. She’s captain of the netball and tennis teams, tipped to be voted head girl in our elections next week, and at the end of Year 12 she was awarded the trophy for Star Pupil. The prom is still nine months away but it’s pretty obvious who will be chosen as queen.

She was last seen on Friday night at a party held at Rob Pennington’s house. Rob’s parties are notorious. So what happened? Did Eva run away? Is she lost? Is she playing a game? Or has something terrible happened to her? We all know that Eva’s recently started to hang out with the wrong crowd . . .

Hopefully all is well and Eva’s gone to stay with a friend and forgotten to tell her parents. Let’s hope that tomorrow her empty chair is filled.

COMMENTS (2) Lisa – ‘with her blonde hair and bewitching eyes’ – what is this, a Mills & Boon? *cringe*. Tristan – hey, I like this blog. I want to know what’s happened to Eva. Thnx for keeping us up to date.

Chapter 3

Luke

‘Tell me about you and Eva,’ DI Jackson says. ‘She’s your girlfriend?’ We’re sitting in a cramped interview room. A videocam squats in the corner, recording us. Jackson has the most intimidating stare. My hands itch for a pencil. If I was going to draw him, I’d capture his lizard eyes, which laser me for minutes at a time without blinking. Drawing always makes me feel better when I’m tense. ‘What’s happened to her?’ I ask. ‘Or maybe Eva was just a friend,’ he goes on, ignoring me. ‘A friend you have a crush on?’ ‘Yes, she is my girlfriend,’ I assert, my cheeks warming. Why do people always assume a girl like her wouldn’t go for a guy like me? ‘It’s serious between us, we’ve been dating nearly nine months. We’re in love.’ ‘Really?’ He looks surprised and I swear there’s a sarcastic flicker in his eyes, as if all teens ever do is play Spin the Bottle and snog and lack the depth to ever feel anything deeper than that. At least my anger smoothes away my stutter. ‘We have something really special.’ More surprise. His pen hovers above the page for about a minute, until I’m ready to grab it and fling it across the room. Then he writes something down. He’s left- handed and his handwriting is loopy and slanted; impossible to read. ‘Are you writing a greetings card?’ I ask. ‘I’m sorry?’ ‘You’re writing down that we have something really special?’ Once I say the words, I know they sound bad. I have such a big mouth. Mum’s always warning me: ‘You always speak and then think and it’s too late once you’ve said it!’ ‘Sorry,’ I say quickly. Detective Jackson folds his arms. ‘You think this is funny?’ ‘No! I don’t!’ My voice is too loud and I try to turn down the volume. My fists are clenched in my lap. ‘I just don’t get what’s going on. Where’s Eva?’ ‘You tell me,’ he says. ‘I haven’t seen her all weekend,’ I say. ‘I last saw her on Friday night at a party and then I was helping my mum with family stuff on Saturday and on Sunday I went over to see Rob.’ ‘Rob?’ His pen scratches another note. ‘The guy you were beating up in the toilets?’ ‘We were play- fighting,’ I correct him. ‘We were just messing around! We were pretending to be superheroes. I was Batman and Rob was the Green Lantern – well, he wanted to be Spider- Man, but you know.’ ‘I’m sorry?’ ‘You know, the Green Lantern. He’s the lame hero nobody likes.’ I figure that Jackson isn’t the type to ever go to the movies; it would be far too much fun for him. ‘I see.’ Jackson makes another enigmatic note and I swallow. I wish I could be like Rob. He’d know just what to say. If he was here, he’d already know what Eva’s been up to, and would be shaking the policeman’s hand and arranging a game of bloody golf or something. I’m no good at dealing with adults, especially ones in positions of authority. ‘And you’ve had no contact with Miss Pieachowski since Friday?’ ‘Well, I did call her but she didn’t pick up, so I figured she was mad at me.’ His eyes flicker. Oh. I shouldn’t have said that. ‘Can I have a drink of water?’ My tongue feels thick in my mouth. ‘In a minute. First, tell me why Eva would be angry with you.’ ‘I . . . She . . . it was just . . . ’ ‘Let’s begin with Friday. Did something happen that might make her angry with you?’ ‘Well, a bit. Kind of. I mean, we were getting on really well to begin with. We went to Rob’s house as he was giving a party. He wanted me there cos we’re good friends.’ ‘Except when you’re attempting to break his nose,’ DI Jackson says drily. Before I can defend myself, he goes on: ‘So, did Rob’s parents know about this soirée?’ ‘They were away for the weekend, so . . . ’ ‘What time did you get to the party?’ Time? I don’t own a watch. I use my mobile sometimes tocheck the time – and usually find that wherever I’m meant to be, I’m late.

‘I think I picked her up around eight- thirty.’ I don’t add that I had to collect Eva at the bottom of her road, so that her parents didn’t see me. That might sound odd. ‘So it would’ve been soon after that.’ ‘Did you drink at the party?’ ‘Ah, just a bit. I had a beer, maybe. I know you got me for reckless driving earlier this year, so of course, I was being careful. Eva drank more.’ ‘I haven’t forgotten the reckless driving. So, you and Eva fell out? She got upset?’ ‘I don’t know about that . . . anyhow, I left the party at, I don’t know, eleven – no, maybe ten thirty. I’m not sure about the time. I left before she did.’ ‘You didn’t drive her home?’ ‘No – she wanted to stay and I didn’t.’ ‘And you weren’t worried about her?’ I stare at the desk, chewing on my lip, when there’s a knock at the door. The female sergeant is standing there. She gives me the strangest of looks – a kind of moon- eyed double take. Then she beckons Jackson over and whispers in his ear. Jackson nods. He turns to the camera, announces the time and says that the interview has been suspended, before switching it off. Then he tells me to wait here and leaves the room, slamming the door behind him so hard that the vibrations shiver and echo through my plastic chair. ‘Fuck,’ I say out loud. I’m starting to worry that this is more serious than a silly Dare or one of Eva’s wind- ups. I wonder if I need a lawyer. Then I remind myself that me and the detective are basically on the same side, right? We both want to make sure that Eva is okay. I resist the urge to fold my arms over the desk, bury my head in their nest and nap. I’m scared I’m still being watched through that glass window, even secretly recorded; I try to force an expression of calm neutrality. It’s hard to think straight because I’m so bloody hungry. This morning I opened the bread bin to find a loaf so green with mould that I couldn’t face scraping it off. Matt and Freya, who are three and eight, started to cry for their breakfast. Mum was already at work, cleaning down at the church, so it was my turn to sort them out. I said they could have Coco Pops, but when I opened the packet, there was nothing but brown crumbs. They cried all the way to school, until I went into the newsagents and bought a Twix, making them swear to share. That was the last of my paper- round money, so I had nothing left to buy my own breakfast. Fighting Rob took the last of my energy. Breakfast seems like it happened days ago, not hours. I should be in English right now, discussing Robert Frost’s poem about the silent woods. But here I am, in a police station, wondering what my girlfriend is playing at. Maybe it’s Eva’s idea of revenge. Recently her games have started getting more and more out of control, even cruel. The door swings open. DI Jackson comes striding back in and sets my Nokia mobile down on the table. ‘On Friday night, you have ten missed calls from Eva, between eleven- thirty and one- thirty,’ he says sternly. ‘Ten? I didn’t think it was that many.’ ‘She also left some messages which you haven’t listened to. I think you should listen to them now.’ What? How the hell has he got access to my messages? I know all you have to do on a Nokia is press 121, but surely that’s not even legal without a warrant? I forget everything when I hear Eva’s voice, tinny on the loudspeaker, raw with rage: ‘I hope you’re happy now Luke. Thanks to you, I’m out here in the cold, again – not the first bloody time, is it? I need your help, please, please, help me, please . . . ’ I freeze in horror. And then DI Jackson plays the next. Eva’s voice is a shrill scream and it goes right through me: ‘Luke – you can’t do this to me! I have to get out of here! Please, please, stop hurting me, stop . . . Help, help me!’ Silence. ‘Oh my God! Did someone hurt her?’ I cry. ‘I don’t know, Luke, that’s why you’re here. Were you the one who hurt her? It’s not clear who she’s referring to. It sounds as though you’re the one she’s mad at.’ ‘God no, it must’ve been someone else.’ ‘Are you sure about that? Why didn’t you listen to these messages? Why didn’t you call her back?’ ‘Like I said, I did call her!’ I protest. ‘You haven’t checked properly. I did call her – it was Saturday, or maybe Sunday morning. I – I felt bad and I called at some point. I can’t remember when. But it just went to voicemail and I – I didn’t want to listen to her messages because I couldn’t face them. She wanted to break up, okay? I thought she was just leaving them to tell me to f—, I mean, to go away.’ I stare at the phone again, Eva’s voice echoing inside me: Please, please, please . . . ‘I’m really worried,’ I say. ‘She sounds terrible – is she okay?’ But DI Jackson just looks at me as though I have all the answers.

Chapter 4

Rob

I stand outside the police station, listening to Mozart’s

Symphony No. 40 on my iPhone, wondering why the hell

Luke is taking so long. In the last period before lunch, I was

disturbed to find Luke still hadn’t been released from questioning,

so I decided to come and find him. He’s been in there

a good three hours . . .

Finally, he emerges, hurrying down the steps. I’m unnerved

by the expression on his face: he looks as though he’s just sat

three exams in a row.

When he spots me, he jumps in surprise. He looks so

touched that I feel a flash of guilt: Luke thinks I’m here just

for moral support.

He gives me a huge hug. I can feel him trembling and I pull

away sharply. Just what the hell went on in there?

‘Luke,’ I say, ‘we need to talk.’

We spot a Starbucks down the road and head towards it.

Luke’s silent for about a minute and then he spills everything.

As I hear him describing Eva’s messages, my stomach clenches.

I don’t have a good feeling about this.

‘I’m pretty freaked that she might have been kidnapped or

something,’ Luke concludes. He’s blinking hard, and surreptitiously

rubs a tear from his eye.

We sit down with our lattes and Luke makes a flippant

remark that it’s unlike me to cut class. I can tell he’s trying to

lighten the atmosphere, but I have to tell him that this is no

laughing matter.

This is serious.

Luke’s right: I’m a grade- A student. I never skip school.

Next month I have an interview at Trinity College,

Cambridge to read History. After that, I’m going to work in

the banking industry for ten years. I’ll stand as a Tory MP at

the age of thirty for the Wimbledon constituency. By the age

of forty, I’ll be prime minister. I’ve got it all mapped out, and

if you think I’m crazy to decide all this at the age of seventeen,

then remember: Maggie Thatcher went to Oxford knowing

that she was destined to be PM, and look how far she went.

Luke’s biting his nails savagely and I gently swat his hand.

So then he takes a napkin, spreads it over his knee and starts

sketching caricatures of people in the café. For a moment I’m

distracted, marvelling at his talent. Most of the time, Luke

looks awkward in his body, but when he starts drawing, his

whole physique changes, becomes fluid and serene.

‘Luke,’ I say, swallowing. ‘We have to think ahead. If they’re

seriously worried about Eva, then the questions are going to

start. She’s been missing three days – if she just wanted to

scare her parents or do a Dare, she would have been gone a

day, max. So this is serious. They’re going to come after us

and they’re going to want to know what happened at my party.’

Luke’s pen pauses. He looks peevish, as though I’m being

selfish to worry about us at a time like this. I feel sorry for

him. He still hasn’t figured out how life works. Once when

I was a kid, my dad took me to the park and showed me the

ducks on the pond. ‘See how those ducks over there are

pushing the sick duck away? They don’t want to be held back

by him, so he has to leave the group. That’s nature. Survival

of the fittest.’

In some ways, Luke’s such an old soul, with his dad in

jail and the way he’s had to father his siblings, but in many

respects he’s terribly naïve. He doesn’t know how to handle

adults; that’s why he’s in so much trouble at school. And when

he’s in an intense situation, instead of playing it cool, he tends

to blow his top. He once joked to me that he’s never quite got

the hang of ‘how to bullshit like a bourgeois’. To be honest,

that’s what always drew me to Luke. St Martin’s is full of posh

toffs; I find his down- to- earth manner refreshing. But now it

could screw us both.

‘Look,’ I say, ‘what about what we all did at the party in

the – bathroom? And when we . . . you know . . . ’

‘You should be a spin doctor, not an MP.’

‘Luke, I’m serious! Don’t you get how bad this looks for us?

I still have that video on my phone.’

Luke pales. ‘Can’t you delete it?’

‘Maybe.’

‘Maybe?’ His pen digs into his napkin, ink spreading, ruining

his sketch.

‘I’ll delete it if you just agree to work with me on this. We

have to make up a story about my party, we have to rehearse,

and we have to get that story straight.’

Chapter 5 Eva’s Diary: 1 June 2016

It’s weird – I would never have thought of writing a

diary before. It always seemed a bit last- century to

me, the sort of thing you expect girls in a Jane Austen

novel to do because they’ve got all those hours to fill

scratching out their heartfelt emotions about the latest

guy with a big *house*. But a famous writer gave a talk

at our school where he said it was good to write every

day, even if you just keep a diary. He said that writing

is like a muscle and you have to keep exercising it. And

since I want to be a famous writer, I figured I should

follow his advice.

I’m not sure where to begin. I’ve started all jokey

because laughter is sometimes the only way I get by

these days. I’m flippant all the time. I’ve made such a

mess of everything, got myself in such a tangle. I know that sooner or later I’m going to fall off this tightrope

I’m walking. In the meantime, I just keep going to

school every day and getting my ‘A’s and keeping my

dad happy and smiling at everyone.

I guess all the trouble began at the start of 2016.

That’s when I first noticed Luke.

I was walking across the playground with my best

friend, Siobhan. We were on our way to Economics and

there was all this shouting and noise. Well, I love a

good drama, so I dragged Siobhan over to the crowd.

Everyone was chanting, ‘FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT!’

That’s when I saw him. Luke Jones. I’d never really

noticed before how handsome he is. He’s very tall and

well built – not in a fake, steroid, too- many- trips- tothe-

gym kind of way – he’s naturally fit and strong.

He was messing around with another guy; they’d

both pierced holes in their Evian bottles and were

shooting thin sprays of water at each other, howling

with laughter. I stood there, hugging my books to my

chest, and he looked up with his amazing blue eyes and

grinned at me. It was such a wild, dangerous, sexy grin,

like a big cat daring me to play with him. He swept his

dripping hair from his forehead. Then he blew me a kiss.

‘In your dreams, Luke,’ jeered Mark, the guy he was

play- fighting.

Siobhan put her palm to my cheek and made a

sizzling noise.

‘Don’t tell me you like Luke,’ she said. ‘He’s a bad

boy, Eva. Don’t go there.’

I’d started to get bored of going on dates with guys.

It always followed the same pattern – he’d send me a

flirty text, we’d go to see a movie, he’d make me hold

his sweaty hand, he’d try to kiss me in the last half,

and it would carry on like this for a few more dates

before I got restless. None of them had any character.

They were all so nice. Maybe a bad boy was just

what I needed.

When I started telling my girlfriends that I had

a crush on Luke I got a secret thrill from seeing the

surprise on their faces. By choosing Luke, I was finally

saying to the world, I’m not the angel you think I

am, there’s more to me than that. Because that’s the

trouble with being me. Everyone sees me but nobody

*sees me*. They only see sparkle and glitter. They can

never perceive the shades in me, because I can only be

one colour, and it’s some kind of sickly, bright pink.

Several of my friends were convinced it was some

kind of philanthropic gesture. As though I felt sorry

for Luke, that he was my project and I’d be the one to

change him.

I think I did change Luke, but not in the way

everyone thought. I knew he was a bad boy but

I underestimated him just the same as everyone

underestimated me. When I got to know him, he wasn’t what I expected at all. And by then it was too late––

I want to write more but Dad’s calling me for

dinner. Oh God. I have to go down there and pretend

everything’s fine. For once my surface glitter is handy.

OK. Deep breath. Down I go . . .

#ItEndsWithYou #S.K. Wright

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