"Oh my gosh, Clary." Isabelle suddenly jumped from where she was leaning against her locker, her perfectly permed hair bouncing slightly in the air. "Don't look, but that hot guy from your History class? He's totally checking you out." Her eyes narrowed as she evaluated him further, her hands resting on her hips. "I'd say he's a solid eight point five, though –" Her eyes widened dramatically. "Oh Sweet Jesus. A nine, only because of that ass." She turned to her friend, her tone turning accusing. "Don't tell me that you're not dazzled by his inhuman looks. Don't you dare."

Clary finally looked up from her locker, her green eyes bright with suppressed amusement. "I'm not sure if you know this Isabelle, but you're a pervert." She said, her tone bright. "And no. I wouldn't give a damn even if his ass was as perfect as Pierce Brosnan, and you know that as well as I do." Shutting her locker with one swipe of her hand and carefully balancing a stack of books on the other, Clary almost tripped over her own feet as her companion wailed loudly.

"Holy mother of God, what am I to do with you?" Isabelle almost wept, and had Clary not known her friend's obsession with theatrics, she would've actually turned to look at her. "Pierce Brosnan? Seriously? Newsflash, love. This is not 1982. It's 2017, for God's sakes." Isabelle sulked as they walked towards their classes. "I get you all the good stuff, but you don't even look at them." Her tone suddenly turned chirpy. "Besides, you're already in all the credit classes this year. What harm will it do if you actually do date some –" She was interrupted by Clary, who had stopped in her tracks. "We've been over this, haven't we? I don't date. That's it." Her tone left no room for argument, and Isabelle sighed. "Okay, okay." She threw her arms up in surrender. Just when she was about to say something, there was a sudden rush of activity at the end of the hall, followed by loud hoots and cheers.

"Jace Wayland, Ladies and Gentlemen." Clary recognized the voice to be Alec Lightwood's, the quarterback of their football team. "The champion is finally home!" He boomed, and loud claps followed as the football team ran into the corridor, holding their captain up. All the students immediately parted to make way for the boys, laughing and shouting. All the eyes were on the fixed on the man held up in the air, and Clary couldn't blame them.

Isabelle let out a dreamy sigh. "Man, you think God ever actually intend for humans to be so – perfect?" She groaned, and Clary raised an eyebrow. "What are you talking about?" She asked, even though she knew the answer perfectly well. Isabelle stared at her. "Him." She pointed, and then clutched at her heart. "Hot."

Clary laughed, but her eyes were on him.

Jace.
Even though they had been neighbors since the past year when she was moved into town, she didn't actually know him. She'd meet him occasionally in parties and tea parties, and their conversation would remain limited to polite hellos and goodbyes. He was nice enough to her, so it had come to her as a shock when she was told of his very … man whorish ways by Isabelle. But she couldn't really blame the girls for losing their hearts and more to this man. He was, as she had said, perfect.

As the procession reached them, Jace's eyes dropped and met hers. They were a strange dark shade of gold, like the colour of the sky at sunrise. His hair matched his irises and were always falling in front of his eyes, but thankfully he hadn't gotten them cut. Not that she'd care, of course, but she admittedly feasted herself on the eye candy next door through the window of her bedroom every once in a while. She could plainly look into his room if he'd leave the blinds up, as she had realized in the first week of moving to her new house when Kaelie, one of her schoolmates and him had engaged in – loud midnight activities. She watched him sometimes, when he was studying. He would tuck his pencil behind his ear and curl his tongue outward, which she frankly found adorable. Again, not that it mattered. It was just reflex.

Jace nodded at her, and she returned the gesture with a small smile before sorting through her pile of books. It took her a minute to notice that Isabelle was staring at her, her mouth hanging open. "THAT? That was it?" She screeched, and Clary had to stop herself from wincing. "What do you mean, Izzy?" She sighed, already wary of what her friend had to say.

"He nodded at you, and you just – smiled and went back to your stupid, dumb books? You didn't even blush, for Christ's sake!" Isabelle clearly had no intention of decreasing her volume, and Clary was grateful that the cheers drowned them out. This would've been really awkward if people had heard them. "How do you do it? He's your neighbor! Don't you – are you even human?" Isabelle ranted. "Gods, Clary. I would jump his bones in his sleep if I lived as close to his house as you did. But you don't even make use of the opportunity." She shook her head. "What a waste."

Clary chuckled. "You're dirty, woman. I'll give you that." Isabelle tossed her head haughtily, her hands sliding down her side as she cocked her hip. "Well, duh. What else do you expect when I'm a package like this?" Clary had to admit she was right: From her sleek waist to her perfect hourglass figure, Isabelle was a bomb. Add in her lovely elfish features, and she was irresistible. "That, indeed is true." Clary said as they both burst out laughing.

"I'll see you after class?" Isabelle waved as she ran to her classroom, and Clary smiled at her before turning to her own. She looked down at the schedule in her hand, and smiled when she saw her class. Credit Maths. Pulling her bag further up her shoulders, she entered the empty classroom. It was her very old habit, to always reach her destination earlier than necessary. It was so much better than being late.
Clary glanced around the room only for a second before she made way towards the third seat in the last row, her customary seat. In every class since grade four, she had been always sitting on the third seat of the last row. By now, it was a practice, a necessity.

Sliding the bag down her chair, she turned to pull out her books. A loud gasp escaped her lips as she saw the cigarette on her table, and she shrank back so quickly that the chair next to her toppled and fell over. But Clary couldn't hear it. The old scars on her ribcage seemed to burn through her clothes as blood roared in her ears.

Cigarettes.
Every time she blinked, she could see it. The glowing end of the tiny roll that was capable of causing so much pain. She could see him, holding it and laughing, the hollow sound echoing off the walls. She screwed her eyes shut. This was not good. Taking a deep breath, she tried to think of calm, peaceful things. Stars. Flowing water. Trees. Fire. Burning ends of cigarettes. She took a ragged breath, the air leaving her lungs in slow pants.

Just when her knees buckled and she fell to the floor, a sharp voice broke through her consuming thoughts. "Clary?" It was low, husky. She had heard it many times, from the house in front of hers. Jace. "Crap, are you okay?" Strong arms reached for her as she felt herself being pulled up in a chair. "Clary?" He asked again as she felt warm fingers softly cover her cheek, his voice strained with worry. She blinked, but there was complete darkness all around her.

"Jace?" She rasped, and her own voice startled her. It was so hoarse, so broken as if she had run out of air to breathe. She heard him swear as he effortlessly picked her up. "It's me. Just breathe, okay? Everything's fine." He soothed her, and she could feel herself being pressed close to his hard chest. "It's alright." He repeated, and Clary curled into him. He was warm, and smelled of oranges and something like fresh pine and the forest. "Okay." She whispered back, and felt his grip on her tighten. "Just hang on." He breathed as she heard the squeaking of a door opening. The noises slowly faded away and Clary embraced the cold touch of darkness.