Jem rarely damaged his violin. It was a treasure to him, something more precious than any gold, silver or jade in the world. This strange world. But his long, slender fingers traced the curve of the instrument until they found the top of the neck, where his fingers met with the ragged remains of the strings. Jem's anger rarely manifested in physical aggression, but if Will could get away with slamming doors and sparring with walls, then every once in a blue moon, so could he. The anger rippled through him; it dissipated with each fraction of a second until he could only feel it resonating within his fingertips.

But what wasn't a rarity was what Jem did next. He marched towards his door and strode out into the black of the corridor. He needed no witchlight. Jem had walked this path a million times before. His hand felt at the smooth aged handrail that guided his slender form through the dark until he reached a familiar stone archway that cradled a wooden door within it. The door was slightly ajar, so Jem hesitantly pushed it open.

Framed in the light of the moon was the hunched figure of a boy. Perhaps, Jem thought, it could have been a Gorgon, for the hair could easily have been mistaken for a mass of writhing serpents. But alas, it was merely a mop of frenzied black curls. The Shadowhunter was not a Shadowhunter whilst he sat against the glass pane, and Jem paused in the doorway, not wanting to disturb the peace he had unwittingly entered upon. But the figure looked away from the moon, and at Jem, who could have sworn he saw for a moment, a shimmer in the crease of the boy's eye.

"James," Will nodded at his brother as he elegantly swung his legs off of the window seat so that he was facing him. "To what do I owe this pleasure?" There was an edge to his voice; it was both tired and energetic at the same time.

Jem took a few leisurely steps forwards and looked at his hands as he spoke.

"You've been out a lot recently, Will." His fingers knotted.

"And your point is? Really James, if you have nothing of interest to say you could do me a favour and-" Jem's head snapped up, and Will, who had been swinging his legs back and forth immediately ceased and sat straight. There was a cruel gleam in his eye.

"Don't. Do I look to be in a jesting mood? No, don't answer that. Do not speak or I will actually hit you." Will, both amused and intrigued lost the smirk from his mouth, fearing he should provoke Jem into doing something they would both regret in the morning. Or rather, later that morning. "You sneak about like a shadow. You are meant to be my parabatai. You are meant to train with me. You are meant to take some responsibility and help Charlotte around here, but instead, you run off to the cesspits of London and frolic in the muck with Six-Fingered Nigel and the Angel knows what else!"

"James, we are Shadowhunters. So your simile doesn't serve to make me sound more sneaky than I am." Will looked down from where he had been gazing at the rafters in his arrogant discarding way. He looked at Jem, who had begun to pant, and Will stood suddenly and took a step towards him.

Jem held a hand up to stop him. "No. You stay there." Jem took in a ragged breath. "Obviously you don't think I need you." His hand dropped to his thin waist. There was a slight sheen of sweat across his silver forehead, and something sharp spiked in Will's chest at the sight of his friend's exertion.

"You think you need me?" Will's voice was only a whisper. Jem walked over to the armchair in the corner of the room and sat on the edge. He placed his head in his hands; the silver locks of hair brushing over his whitened knuckles.

"Of course I need you," he sighed. "Look at me." And Will did look at him. Beyond the livid skin was a vibrant soul, passionate, and full of precious life. Will was the moon, pale and reliant upon the Earth for his direction. Jem was that Earth. And Tessa the Sun.

"You don't need me, Jem. No one does. In fact, you'd all be much better off without me." Will ran a hand through his crazed hair and went to perch on the corner of his bed, his shoulder leaning against the tall, intricately carved wooden post.

"Tell me where you go. Tell me, so that I may help you. Please Will, I would do anything not to feel like an eighty year old man, withering away with nothing to show but a few scribbled compositions and a drug addiction." Jem's eyes were open and pleading. Will met them with what little strength he retained after the evening's earlier encounter.

"You can help me by staying here. And staying safe." Will got up. His naked feet padded across the rug as he dragged the heavy blanket from the foot of his bed and began walking towards the door. The drawbridge was being pulled up, and Jem hadn't the energy to make the gap. Will paused at the doorway, the blanket draped over one shoulder, and his boyish looks returned as his features softened. "Sleep well, brother." And he was gone.

William Herondale's head was pounding. He had seen the rise and fall of two moons and the events of the evening were chasing him down. So many thoughts. With each pace down the corridor, another thought, another question. Was Lightwood coming for him?Would he have to face him before the Clave? What had happened to Magnus? No, the warlock would have gotten away. The storm raged on within Will's head, echoing the tempest within his heart. As he stalked his way towards the library, Will failed to notice that a bedroom door had been left slightly open. That someone had already been struggling to sleep, and had sought the presence of knights, musketeers and French aristocrats. His entrance into the library was silent, and if she had not been facing the doorway, her legs swung over the arm of the chair by the fire, then Tessa would most likely have missed the stealthy quiet of the Shadowhunter. Her grey eyes peeled away from the map on the page and she stared at the sight before her.

Bare feet were on the carpet. They peeped out from a pair of loose dark purple night trousers, which hung low on young and slender hips. There was a pale band of skin covering tight muscle just above the drawstring waistline, and the shifting of his breathing meant the nightshirt rose and fell, exposing more and then less stomach. His mouth was open slightly, with the promise of words, yet none came out. His lips were chapped and a raw red. Avoiding those blue eyes, Tessa adored with her own his black curls, and like a Roman gladiator, he held the heavy blanket over his shoulder like the hide of a slain bear. Only he could make tired look glorious. Will had stopped in his tracks, obviously not intending to have been disrupted from his course.

"Will-"

"Tess-" Finally she dared herself to look. Will's piercing deep blue eyes were tumultuous. They held her gaze like the ocean swallowing up a ship, helpless to resurface. Tessa almost felt herself gasping for air.

"I didn't know you would be here." He still stared at her. Will knew, deep deep down, that he didn't want to break that contact. In fact, he wanted more. He craved more.

"I couldn't sleep." Tessa closed the volume in her lap, eyes still on his. "It is hard to sleep when I know that you're not around. I can almost hear the worry in Jem's head from down the hallway." She laughed slightly, and naturally, she let the eye contact slip. Will was still standing mid stride. The sight of him lost its glory, lost its elegance and suddenly became rather amusing. Tessa laughed again, and Will turned now to face her and his whole posture relaxed.

"What? Why are you laughing?" He was a boy again, and a grin began to play at the edge of his lips. Tessa laughed still. "Tell me Tessa, or I shall have no choice but to force a confession from you." She stopped laughing and looked at his face. Will began, slowly, to stalk towards her.

"I-I-I just thought…" Her words trailed off helplessly and she begged them to return.

"You thought," He was almost at her side now, "that you could make a fool of me? While I stand here in my nightshirt? You think my night attire is amusing, Miss Grey?" He was there, at her feet, looking down upon her like an emperor now, not a gladiator.

Tessa's breath hitched. Playful Will? I knew this was the real him. I knew it. "Will, you-"

"Enough. Now you shall pay." And with that, he grabbed her ankles and pulled her off of the armchair and onto the floor. His hand went up to cradle her head so it did not crash against the hard floor as he pulled her underneath him. Will was above her, his pale, capable hands tickling her sides as she writhed and giggled in a tangle of bedclothes.

"Will," Tessa gasped in a breath, "please! Stop!" They were both laughing as he rolled over onto his back and they lay together heaving. It was a few moments before Will spoke.

"You made me think of my sister. She used to tickle me senseless whenever I said anything impertinent. So when you started laughing, you see, it made me think of that. I-I-" He sucked in another breath. "I'm sorry if that was inappropriate, Tessa. I didn't stop to think. Your ankles, I-" Tessa put her hand over his mouth as she turned over onto her side to face him, his chest rising and falling calmly now. Will didn't fail to feel the shift in his muscles at her proximity. He had not been aware of how close they were moments ago, but now, it was as if her presence was suffocating him.

"As if you have ever cared for propriety, Mr. Herondale." She grinned at him and the worry left his features.

"I suppose you have a fair point there, Miss Grey." His face was relaxed, yet Tessa still saw the faint crease between his eyebrows as he thought unknown thoughts. He was beautiful. "I must apologise though, I distracted you and I suppose you were readying yourself for sleep."

"No, not really." Tessa placed her head in her palm. "Sleep is rather over celebrated. Reading on the other hand…"

"Ah, well there I must agree with you. Why choose dumbness when you can have Dickens I say?" Tessa laughed again, softly. Will saw the way her cheek had scrunched under her palm and it warmed him a little.

The remnants of the fire crackled and popped as embers in the grate. The library was a comfortable warmth, and Will felt at ease as he sat watching the light of the English morning threaten the city skyline. In front of the fireplace, lay a slender figure under the blanket from Will's bed, her head resting on a cushion from one of the many armchairs. Her hair was splayed across its surface in a delta of brown curls. Will could not see her face as the blanket hid it, but he knew it was beautiful. They had fallen asleep next to each other, as they had talked of Wales and a far away land into the early hours of morning. And not for the first time, Will felt his chest being torn in two directions. Lightwood will pay. I won't let him hurt them. Either of them, he vowed.

But vows can be broken.