This based on the Taylor Swift song Back to December. It took me a while to write, and I must have listened to that song over fifty times whilst working on it.

All Jace can hear over his rapid beating and pounding pulse is the soft crunch of September's first fallen leaves under his boots. They stick to his soles, and he trails the fragile golden fragments as he continues forwards across the dull grey pavement.

He makes a beeline for the bench about twenty paces ahead. It's unoccupied; most people are inside on a dreary day that threatens to turn the rain. The swings in the park creak slightly as they swing in the miniscule breeze. Jace wouldn't be surprised if Clary turns up in that garish, neon yellow rain coat she always loved, despite the fact she was so short she had to roll up the sleeves and was always tripping over the hem. Jace can never understand how someone with such an eye for beauty as Clary could love such an ugly thing, but it's a fact of his life, as sure as the sky is blue.

He glances upwards. Blue on most days...

But he's no longer certain about anything to do with Clary. Its been nine months since he last saw her, since he let her go. She may have changed completely by now.

He loved her. More than anything. That much is clear now. She made him laugh with her odd ways and sarcastic wit. She was cheerful and compassionate, and had a knack of brightening Jace's day. Everyone told him that he was better and happier around her - his adoptive siblings, Clary's brother, Clary's best friend. They were perfect together, two puzzle pieces who inevitably clicked.

He sees that now.

But then, he took it for granted. She always picked up when he phoned him, whether it was for a valid reason or not, and if she couldn't then she always called him back. Clary supported him throughout his adoptive parents' divorce, persuading her family to let him and his siblings stay with them. She could make him smile on the dark days.

Except the darkest of days.

Tomorrow, it would be a year anniversary since it happened. He and Clary had been on a picnic in the park. He knew - and still knows - she loved it there, especially with the trees just changing to vibrant colours, and the pond like a large silver coin. She even loved - which was beyond his comprehension - watching the ducks.

So they were walking, and enjoying themselves, and then they sat down on a seemingly new bench placed near the pond. They ate the food they brought with gusto, and Clary laughed at the splotch of ketchup Jace had managed to get on his chin. She wiped it away with her forefinger, only to write something with it on his forehead. To this day he doesn't know what she wrote.

Then Jace had shifted and the sun bounced off the engraved metal plaque - the one which read who the bench had been dedicated to - and into his eyes. He shifted, annoyed, and saw what was written there.

Celine Herondale

Loving mother, wife, and friend

Clary had noticed his discomfort and glanced at the plaque he was still staring at. But he paid her no heed. Who had put this here? His mother hadn't had any close friends when she died from heartbreak after his father's desertion, and he certainly hadn't put it there. So who had?

He'd felt Clary's arms tentatively wrap around him, burning away some of the pain. She'd wiped away the tears he hadn't realised he was crying and gently suggested they go home. He let her lead him from the park, rubbing small comforting circles on his back the entire time.

Now, the trees are back in their vibrant, flame-like hues, and he taps his foot, more as a distraction than a sign of impatience. He knows he's early.

After the incident in the park, Clary had managed to calm him down. She'd left him at his apartment with a worried smile. She'd offered to stay with him, but he insisted he needed to be alone. She agreed, because like the angel she always is, she wanted the best for him.

That night he slept poorly, tossing and turning. The encounter had reminded him of his parents. His mother had died of heartbreak because his father left. His father had left because he wasn't ready to be in a serious relationship when Celine became pregnant with Jace, and though he stayed for ten years, it became too much and he left. Jace had had to move in with his friends: the Lightwoods.

The only perk about that situation was that Alec and Isabelle's respective best friends were often over: Jon and Clary Morgenstern.

Clary was the first relationship Jace had ever had that lasted more than a week. What if something occurred that meant the same thing happened to them?

He put off the thought for the next three months, until that December night he'd packed up his stuff, wrote a note, left, and - as Isabelle has screamed over the phone when he finally deigned to pick up - broken Clary's heart.

In the following months, he moved from New York to Seattle, and found odd jobs to work in. He would work as much as he could, and when he couldn't, he would wander around the city. One time he became bored enough to enter an art gallery despite the painful thoughts it brought up. His attention was caught by a particular painting. It was of an angel, where the left side was painted in bright, bold colour, then slowly faded to a monochrome edge on the right. He studied it for a while, trying to identify what artist it was by the brushstroke, as Clary had taught him. He couldn't, but couldn't shake the feeling that it was familiar, until he caught sight of the signature on the bottom.

Clarissa Morgenstern.

He never went into that art gallery again.

He passed through his life in an indifferent mood, despite the several visits from Alec, Isabelle, and even Jonathan. None of them helped. He didn't know it, but he needed Clary. The girl who'd loved him with everything, and he'd pulled away because he wasn't worthy of it.

Finally, it came to one day he couldn't ignore. His birthday, he'd missed (he'd thrown out all the presents the Lightwoods and Morgensterns tried to send him). Jon's, Alec's, Isabelle's. He'd done it without a second thought. But then it was August twenty third, known to some as Clary's birthday.

It was harder than the others, yet he still ignored it. He refused to even call her and wish her a happy birthday. To his surprise, none of his friends tried to make him. They'd given up on him.

Then came September, and with it the first of autumn's leaves. He doesn't know when, but at some point he'd realised what he'd been missing. Clary. He realised he'd loved her.

Now here he is. Surprisingly, Clary agreed to meet with him again, and instead of sleeping he spent the night planning ways to apologise enough to her. He hadn't come up with anything halfway decent.

He sees a flash of red in his peripheral vision and turns.

Clary looks the same, but different. Her hair, which she had cut short, is now back to it's wildly curling state as the September wind blows it over her shoulders. She isn't wearing her famous yellow raincoat, but a pale grey winter coat that comes down to her knees. She's just as short as ever, but has grown into her build, looking more slim than skinny now. Her face has lost the last remnants of childhood, and she's gained a freckle just over her left eyebrow.

"Jace," she says calmly, coming to sit on the bench next to him. The short distant between them makes him shiver.

"Clary," he says, less calmly. Her name gets stuck halfway through his vocal chords. "I'm so, so sorry."

She doesn't respond, just looks at him impassively through those green eyes.

"I was stupid," he continues. "I didn't think I was ready for a serious relationship, and I didn't want to hurt you by leaving if we got into an awkward situation, like say you accidentally become pregnant. I didn't think I could stay with you without hurting you." He's sure he looks desperate by now. "Will you forgive me?"

She continues to look at him, until she breaks the silence. "Why now?" She whispers softly. "It's been nine months: why now?"

He shakes his head. "I don't know." He whispers back. "I don't know, but this is how it took me to realise." He looks at her pleadingly. "Can you give me a second chance?"

She still stays quiet, biting her lip and furrowing her brow. He aches to see her like that.

"I love you," he admits.

Clary blinks, then looks at him surprised, because she more than anyone knows that he doesn't believe love exists.

He holds out his arms. "Please?"

She nods, a single tear rolling down her cheek. She folds herself into his arms, like she belongs there, because she always has.

He closes his eyes and buries his face in her shoulder, inhaling her scent. After a while he feels tentative fingers tracing a pattern on his forehead. And he recognises it as the pattern she used there in ketchup precisely a year ago, only now he can tell that the motions are the swoops and curves of letters, coming together to form three beautiful words.

I love you

What did you think? I might do a companion in Clary's PoV.