A/N: This has been sitting on my computer for a while now, so I'm finally uploading it. Yay! Two new fics in a row!

Disclaimer: None of these characters belong to me. All are Cassandra Clare's.

Remembering Sunday

Luke breathed a sigh of relief as he stepped out of the humid air and into the breezy café on the corner of the street. For as long as he could remember, after class, he's always came here with Valentine, Stephen, Jocelyn, and Micheal —the only people who he could, after all these years, still call his best friends. Also, it didn't hurt that his younger sister, Amatis, worked here, and gave them discounts on the various coffee or muffin. As he shuffled through the glass doors, his eyes fell immediately on them, exactly where he knew they'd be, where they were everyday; in that seat near the kitchen doors that smelled like mocha and pastries. (Incidentally, it was also the first table to be served) He had no idea how they reserved it everyday; whether through threats or effortless suavity, seeing as either was a very possible method they might enforce.

As he approached, he noticed Stephen was not at their table, which was a rarity; Stephen was nearly always there. (Lately, Stephen and Valentine had been inseparable. Luke was almost 100% sure it was because of the Circle, but he still felt the need to warn Jocelyn to keep her guard up and not let her boyfriend out of her sight. That had earned him a smack to the back of the head, but even now, he felt it was worth the joke) If anyone was missing it was usually Micheal, or sometimes even Jocelyn, though now that she had started dating Valentine, those days were few and far between. When Luke went to sit down in his usual chair (that, incidentally, faced the kitchen, though he didn't factor this up to anything of importance at the time), Jocelyn and Micheal were suddenly desperate for him to sit between them because 'the way the light strikes this wall at this time of day is really something to see'. They hadn't even given him a moment to say hello. Valentine didn't make a move to help them, just looked over their shoulders at something that seemed to be particularly amusing.

Finally, with an enraged battle cry, Jocelyn tried to bodily shove him into the chair, her claws raking uselessly against his unyielding arm —but it was too late. He'd seen what they'd been desperately trying to hide: Stephen and Amatis, standing behind the counter. At first he simply thought they were hugging, and was about to laugh at everyone's overreaction, (or everyone's fear at his supposed reaction) but then they turned to the side slightly and he saw that what he'd mistaken as a friendly embrace was actually what appeared to be Stephen trying to eat his sister's face.

Luke watched, petrified, as Amatis —the same Amatis who's hair he'd braided as a child; the same Amatis who he had made a peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich for just this morning; the same Amatis who'd, just a few months ago, had told their mother that she was growing up and wanted to get a job of her own— led Stephen into the back room (dragging him by the hideous plaid tie that Luke would, in later years [after he'd finally calmed down some] wonder if Stephen had donned to try and look presentable for his baby sister) with a very devilish grin that he prayed to the Angel he'd never see again for as long as he lived.

"We tried to spare you of that." Micheal said, sympathetically patting the still frozen Luke on the back. He was still hunched in front of his chair, unable to force himself to sit and struggling with the desire to go back into the kitchen to commit a murder. "We've been forced to endure it for nearly twenty minutes now."

Luke flinched, the first sign of life in nearly two minutes, and Jocelyn swatted Micheal's arm.

"What's the big deal?" Valentine asked, annoyance finally starting to flicker across his handsome and severe features. "If Amatis wants to make out with Stephen then that's her choice. Stephen is a good guy; I doubt you could have picked a better man for—."

He cut off abruptly as Jocelyn swatted him too. He scowled at her accusingly; as a general rule, no one ever swatted Valentine, but Jocelyn, being Jocelyn, got away with it.

Finally, when it seemed his wobbly legs could hold him in this awkward position no longer, Luke collapsed in his chair. No one said anything, and no one was meeting his eyes, not even Valentine, but he suspected that this had more to do with the fact that he was still trying —and failing— to suppress a mad fit of chuckles, than for him actually feeling sorry for Luke.

"So," Valentine said at last, breaking the silence, but still smiling. "Is everyone going to the Summer Ball?"

The Summer Ball was a huge party that was thrown every year to celebrate the graduation of young Shadowhunters. It was held in the Accord Hall, and it was always a very formal, very beautiful event that involved lots of ballroom dancing and fancy music. Luke already knew —everyone already knew— that Valentine was going with Jocelyn. She'd been gushing about it for most of the week, and had somehow hoodwinked Luke along to help her pick out a dress, which he had to admit, hadn't been the worst four hour of his life.

Just when Luke thought he'd be able to clear the lump in his throat and answer. . . well, he came back. Stephen chose that exact moment to swagger out of the kitchen, with his shirt all crumpled and his belt undone. Distantly, as though through a long tunnel, Luke heard his chair clatter to the ground.

All eye fell on him; Jocelyn, with a tentative, sneaking glance through the strands of her curly red hair, as though she expected him to explode in a furious, overprotective-brother, meltdown. Micheal tensed, as though prepared to rise and hold Luke back if need be. Valentine just wore the same lazy, bored expression he always wore, as though he knew he had somewhere better to be and was just humoring them all with his presence.

Stephen, being an idiot who couldn't take a hint when his friends started signaling to him madly behind the back of the brother of the girl who he'd just made out with, strutted up to Luke and slung an arm around his tense shoulders, completely oblivious to the clouds of doom casting themselves over the group. "So, Luke," Stephen drawled, a goofy grin on his face. "Ever been in love?"

Admittedly, it wasn't what Luke had been expecting, so he couldn't find anything within himself with which to respond to such a statement, especially about someone that he himself loved as well. And Stephen, as before stated, is an idiot, so he took Luke's emotionless face to mean that he understood fully and and was eager to hear the follow up to such a bold statement. "I've been. No—." He quickly amended. "I am!" He smiled at Luke, the oblivious smile of a man in love who was completely unaware that there might possibly be anything wrong with this conversation, and all Luke could think was, asshole. "I mean, I never thought I'd feel this way. . . About anyone. . . I just love her so much. . ." Well, there that was. "And it's not like I think she's perfect —that's not love, it's obsession. I can clearly see her for the person she is, and just. . . love her even more for all those cute little flaws." Grr. "And, let me tell you, the sex is just—!"

Everything happened very quickly then.

Out of the corner of his eye, Luke saw Jocelyn start to jump out of her chair, as if in slow motion, unformed protests already on her lips. He saw, through a haze, Micheal knock his chair backwards in a panicked attempt to stop an oncoming train of anger. Valentine just sat in his chair, rolled his eyes, and sighed.

Sometime later, after the redness had cleared itself from Luke's vision and the swarm of angry bees had stopped buzzing in his head, he would wonder what had really set him off: seeing Stephen and his sister make out before his very eyes, or the fact that Stephen had said probably one of the most horrible things he could have to Luke, and he didn't even know it. Maybe it was a combination of the two. Maybe it was the fact that Luke had been in love, —was in love, if he was completely honest with himself, which he rarely ever was— and it tore him apart that, once again, he was thinking about her, and thinking about the uselessness in thinking about her. Maybe it was because Stephen got to be with the girl he loved and Luke didn't.

Breath coming viciously through his teeth, Luke punched Stephen in the face.

Luke isn't a violent person.

Now, you may be thinking, after reading the above, that this is a false statement, but it really is true. Luke doesn't like to settle arguments with his fists; he's a calm, understanding person. He watches birds make nests in the park. He read his sister bedtime stories when they were younger. He'd picked flowers for his third grade crush on Valentine's Day (who will remain anonymous at this time; but really, isn't it obvious?). Luke was nice. Luke was docile. Luke didn't punch people in the face —especially not people who were his friends.

"I really am sorry, Stephen." Luke lamented, for what was probably the hundredth time, through the self-imposed prison of his hands.

The group sat glumly on the curb outside the café after having been kicked out by the manager, his puffy red face contorted with anger. Luckily, Amaitis hadn't found out, because the last thing Luke needed right now was another viciously anger girl on his case. Jocelyn scribbled a small rune on the side of Stephens face that would fade within a few days, distinctly scowling. Luke grimaced and hid his face back in his hands. Worse than hurting a friend, worse than seeing his sister look at a boy in a way that he'd always kind of hoped girls would look at him one day, worse than Valentine's (who had, incidentally, just quieted his loud guffaws —Luke thought idly that he'd never seen Valentine so amused) condescending smile, was Jocelyn's anger. It would blare down upon you like a heat wave and melt your very soul— alright, that may be being a bit over dramatic, but if you've ever been glared down by Jocelyn, then you would know that the only way to describe the unpleasant prickling in your chest is as the melting of the soul.

Stephen, who seemed merely pleased to have only gotten off with just a punch to the face after he heard what Luke had seen him doing, was ready to laugh the whole thing off. "No, seriously Luke, don't worry about it." He said through a hesitant smile to the sulking teen hunched next to him. "I would have reacted the same way." He reached up to pat Luke on the back, but seemed to think better of it at the last moment. His hand hung awkwardly in the air for a second before he placed it behind his head and gave another shaky laugh.

Luke sighed then, and rubbed at the back of is hands worriedly. He wasn't good at things like this. "Listen, Stephen," Maybe he was just imagining it, but all the sound seemed to leave the world. Nobody moved and Stephen looked scared shitless, which almost made Luke smile. Almost. "You'll . . . take care of her, won't you?"

Stephen let out a bark of relieved laughter, throwing his head back in that way that he did when he was truly amused by something. "Is that all? I was worried it'd be something difficult." But with a glance at Luke's face, he sobered up a little, though he still smiled that smile that was completely Stephen. "Of course I will. You know me, Luke."

"You'll make her happy? You'll keep her safe?"

"For the rest of my life."

"You love her?"

"With everything in me."

"You'll never break her heart?"

This time, Jocelyn and Micheal leaned over the Luke's shoulders to shout "YES!" in his ears, and they all laughed this time, even Valentine let out a non-judgmental chuckle.

It was at that time that Amatis walked out of the building, having cleaned up and changed out of her work clothes. She threw a worried glance at the lot of them, just sitting there, but dismissed it with a shrug and made a bee-line for Luke.

"Luke," She whispered urgently, and even if her eyes hadn't been skipping to Stephen every few seconds (who refused to meet her gaze and instead just stared, almost transfixed, at the road) Luke would have had a pretty good guess what she wanted to talk about. "I need to talk to you. It's important." Again, her eyes fell, unconsciously, on Stephen's hunched back. "It's about—." Suddenly she scowled. "What happened to your face, Stephen?" Luke had never before noticed that, when properly provoked, his sister's voice could break through glass.

Fuck.

Later that day, after he'd been yelled at, pummeled, and threatened within an inch of his life if he ever hurt Stephen like that again, he was walking down the street with Jocelyn; amiable, if not slightly disapproving, silence lay in the air around them, covering them with a thick blanket made in the many years of their friendship. I need to stop being so gay all the time,Luke thought mildly, with just a hint of underlying annoyance beneath the surface. He was too tired to be angry anymore. I've got enough problems with those kinds of things as it is —the last thing I need is the other half of the human population to be possible candidates as well. It'd be like suddenly changing the rules of a game you're already loosing.

Speaking of which. . .

Jocelyn stopped walking suddenly, her eyes focusing on something far away in the distance that he hadn't seen yet, having been to occupied looking at her. Embarrassed, he turned to see who it was, though he already had a pretty good idea by the look in his friends eyes. There was only one person that could make Jocelyn stop in her tracks like that.

Valentine stood in the distance, leaning casually against a light post, as though he wasn't waiting for her, as though the only reason he noticed her at all was because she called out his name. It was moments like these that Luke could really appreciate how much Valentine actually cared for Jocelyn; there weren't many people in the world today that could see through his painstakingly cultivated facade of carelessness. And they were both standing in front of him now.

By the expression on his face, Luke had a feeling Valentine had seen him looking at Jocelyn, too.

"I'll see you tomorrow, alright?" She whispered to Luke, as though the things they said to each other had to be a secret in front of Valentine. He stood a few feet away from them, arms crossed, waiting expectantly now that he was sure Jocelyn would indeed come to him. "We need to get you a date for the ball, Luke." She grinned slyly, already starting to make her way over to her boyfriend. "I mean, now that you can't take Amatis anymore. You might actually have to ask someone." She faked a horrified expression at this prospect of Luke being forced into social interaction with the opposite sex. He had to admit, the thought gave his foreseeable future a very dim outlook.

Luke laughed, only a little brittlely, and wanted very much not to speak so that Jocelyn could just go to Valentine already so he could stop glaring at Luke, but the next words slipped through his lips before he could think better of it. "I already know who I want to go with."

Jocelyn's eyes widened, and a smile spread across her face like a knife through his chest. But before she could say anything, Valentine called out to her, "Joce, we've got to go! We're having dinner at your parents house tonight, remember?" Jocelyn gasped, and whipped around to face him.

"Shit! I completely forgot!" She threw a glance at Luke over her shoulder as she sped off towards Valentine down the street. "I've got to go, Luke —but hey, wait a second!"

She threw Luke one last look at Luke from the end of the street, about to round the corner with Valentine and forget about him completely for one blessed evening. "Who was it that you wanted to go with?" She called.

Valentine threw him a look.

Luke laughed and turned away, determined not to answer such an answer-less question, but just as before, the words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. "It doesn't matter. She's already taken."

It would be years later that Jocelyn would find out who it was that Luke had wanted to take to that stupid dance. Years after Valentine had made many fatal decisions. Years after Amatis had shut the door on her brother for the very last time (or so she thought back then, as she cried into her pillow case tears of regret and lose). Years after Stephen had broken his promise to Luke, and years after Luke broke his promise to Amatis.

Yes, it was many, many years after all of that, and as Luke stood there on that grassy plain, watching the remains of his very best friend float up into the air, he thought it strange that a man such as him could be reduced to such nothingness. Luke tried not to breath, for fear of inhaling him into his body, and was soon so lightheaded that he didn't even cry.