Author's Notes: Inspired by prompts sent to me on tumblr. Feedback is always welcome!
Alec liked to say that the world had always been ending and there was never anything out of the ordinary, but Jace was inclined to disagree. There was constant demonic presence everywhere around them and there was war; and he could clearly make the distinction between the two, even if his parabatai preferred to pretend to take it all in stride.
Still, wars always ended eventually, and dust settled and then everyone had too much free time on their hands to think. And thinking, in his experience, always bred trouble.
The thing about war, Jace thought, was that people thought they could die any minute. Of course, Shadowhunters always thought they could die any minute, but they were still half-human and war turned them impulsive, which went against one of the first lessons they were all made to learn – the aftermath of impulsiveness was rarely pretty.
Jace thought about the chaos that reigned over the Shadow world and New York in particular even now, a week later, as he climbed up the small ladder that led to the roof of the Institute. He supposed that it was no different in the other Institutes all around the world, but that didn't make any of it easier; he needed an hour or three in peace.
As it turned out, his favourite spot was already occupied.
"Maryse is going to have a stroke if she sees you here."
"Then it's a good thing that no one's going to tell her."
Alec's legs were dangling over the edge, but Jace could see all the way from here that he was in no danger of falling – one of his hands was holding onto the nearest gargoyle for support and his position was steady enough for him to be safe. His other hand was a far bigger problem (or it would have been, if Maryse had actually been here, he supposed), because Alec's index and middle finger were holding an already lit cigarette, the smoke dissipating into the greyish sky above them.
"Where did you even get these from?" Jace carefully walked up to his parabatai. He'd never been afraid of heights, but the thin line between courage and stupidity was even thinner right here.
"Simon gave them to me," Alec shrugged, tapping the cigarette lightly to get rid of the ash. "He said I looked like I needed them."
Since when do you listen to Simon for anything? Jace didn't say it out loud, but he didn't need to – he was sure that his expression would have been a question enough if Alec had actually bothered to look at him.
"What happened?" Jace asked instead, more bluntly than he would have usually. Now Alec turned to face him, one eyebrow raised. "You don't like running away from your problems," Jace reasoned. "So you literally running away from them means that there's no one you can talk to."
"There's nothing to talk about," Alec said. He'd turned his eyes to the city again and he looked about as clueless as Jace felt. "We talked about it, and it's over."
"So Magnus's really left." Clary had mentioned it about an hour ago, but Jace hadn't assumed anything quite so final.
"Of course he left," Alec said and his voice had taken a cynical edge. "He's four hundred years old; if there's someone who can tell that something's not going anywhere, it's him." Jace didn't say anything – if Alec needed to get it out of his system, it was better to let him talk. "I liked him," he went on, "and he liked me, and I thought that maybe, if I tried- Maybe I could get it right this time. But it wasn't enough."
It would have never been enough; Jace knew it then. Alec didn't know how to do anything in halves and while it would do him well in the long run, it was clear that it hurt for the time being. He'd liked Magnus and he'd tried to put together a relationship out of that and when it had fallen apart, it had hurt and Jace knew better than anyone what it was to have no one to spill your pain out to.
He'd meant to say something encouraging; something that would be meaningless enough to actually make Alec feel better, but what he heard himself say instead was, "I lied."
"About what?" Alec didn't seem too invested in the conversation, but maybe it was better that way. It would be easier to say it if Jace didn't feel a pair of too-focused eyes fixed on him.
"Back then, I lied when I told you I didn't love you. You needed to move on from me– I needed to protect you from me."
There were a few seconds of contemplating silence, and then, "You never actually said that."
"No, but I implied it," Jace insisted, rubbing over his eyes with the hand that wasn't gripping the edge. "And that's all the same. When you told me that you and Magnus were actually serious, I told you that I was glad to hear it. I wasn't, but I didn't– The rest of it wasn't a lie. I did want you to be happy. That's why I lied."
"I understand." For once, it really sounded like Alec had understood but the statement wasn't followed by anything else and Jace felt himself get twitchy.
"And you?" Did you lie, too? Alec had lied to Jace for the majority of the time they'd know each other, especially when it came to his feelings, but there was no point in doing it now. They'd seen the best and the worst of each other and there was nothing left to hide.
Alec shook his head. "Me? I didn't need your protection," he said, his tone suggesting that the thought itself was laughable. "A man chooses his own poison. I've chosen you. And it's the sweetest bloody thing."
He inhaled from his cigarette, closing his eyes as if to gather all the pleasure he could from it and Jace wondered how many times he'd done this before; if he'd been hiding in the Institute's crevices for years, keeping this to himself as he'd done with so many other things.
Jace plucked it from his fingers as soon as he was done and tried to mimic the action, only to start coughing seconds later. His mouth had filled with smoke and it was just about the worst thing he'd ever felt; the taste of it was hard and sudden and he felt it stick to his throat, causing him to cough even more. He looked up and saw that Alec was laughing; silent and honest and more open than Jace had ever seen him. "Take it," he choked out, handing the cigarette back to his parabatai. "It was yours anyway."
This was as much of a poison, he knew; the love that stuck in his throat, unable to make its way out, but that was fine. He felt it echoed in Alec and if poison could be sweet, then maybe it could manage to not be deadly, too.