Okay I want to start off by saying thanks to you guys for coming back and reading! This was originally going to be two chapters, but the cutoff points were a little awkward so I just combined them into one long one.

Also I told some of you this was coming out this weeked but I got impatient so here ya go.

Some things I really want to be heard: I get that I was gone for a really long time, and I get that it's angsty and I get that some of you just want them to KISS ALREADY, I get all of that. But some of the things you guys were saying to me was really super rude. And really hurtful. And I don't want to sound mean because that's not at all where I'm coming from with this, but for real, telling me you wish one of my characters would just die because they're boring? That's really shitty and unnecessary and it really hurt my feelings. .ANd I know that she's a fictional character, but she's a fictional character that I've sent hours upon hours upon hours building and crafting and developing into what she is right now, and to dismiss all of that because you think I'm not progressing the love story fast enough? it's a bummer. I'm always so excited to deliver this content to you guys because it's an extension of me. And getting comments like that is really discouraging. If you're feeling dissatisfied, let me know in a more constructive way next time please. And I know you said not to take it personally, but that's the kind of thing that can only be taken personally. I'm a real person and that was not the email I wanted to wake up to.

Okay sorry about all that. Here's the chapter.

"Hey Simon!" I say when I see him outside of the thrift store. He is leaning back against one of the walls outside and he smiles brightly at me when he sees me.

His eyes light up behind his glasses and he pulls me into his arms and kisses my forehead. "Hey Izzy," he says to me. "You look nice."

"Thanks," I say with a smile, though I'm not exactly wearing anything special. I mean, it's enough to keep my indie cred on Burnside, but it's not like it's anything I haven't worn before.

Taking my hand, he leads the two of us inside the store. It's my favorite place to go thrift shopping in the whole city; it's half a block of the best thrift clothes one could find. Neon windbreakers, sequined shirts, and velvet pants wink at us from the plethora of aisles.

A skinny man with styled silver hair and purple lipstick welcomes us inside.

I lead Simon over to the men's section and we start scanning the aisles. He holds up a few band shirts that he says he "can't pass up" and then grabs a metallic silver button down. It's got a sheen to it that looks a little purple-y in the light and we throw it in the provided IKEA bag with the other finds.

I find a short-sleeved button down decorated with small black elephant silhouettes and toss it over the aisle into Simon's open hand.

"Nice," he says enthusiastically when he pulls the shirt down to look at it.

He finds a graphic tee that has a picture of Scooby Doo and Shaggy surfing together with the word "Shreddin'!" written on it in groovy orange letters.

I toss him a pair of aqua blue skinny jeans I find that have little orange fish swimming around on them.

After another twenty minutes of finding him the coolest clothes ever we head over to the other side of the store into the women's section. Simon and I walk around picking up pretty much every velvet piece we can find. I grab some leather leggings and a couple pairs of "mom-jeans" that I see and Simon passes me a couple sling dresses. There's a pair of high waisted checkered suit pants that I grab as a joke at first, but after looking them over for a minute I decide they could actually look pretty cute.

Simon holds up probably the ugliest dress I think I've ever seen. It's a burnt orange color and covered in tulle. The bustier top is constructed entirely of mismatching buttons. Just like random fucking buttons all stitched together like chain mail.

"That's the ugliest thing I've ever seen. That wouldn't look good on anyone," I tell him.

"It would probably still look good on you. Everything looks beautiful on you," he says and it's cheesy and predictable. I lean up and give Simon a quick kiss. "You taste like chocolate," he says with scrunched eyebrows.

"Milkshake," I tell him. And then I remember my conversation with Jace. "Hey, have you talked to Clary recently?"

"We made pancakes this morning actually, yeah. Why?" He asks.

"It's just—" I don't know how much Jace wants me to disclose, "—has she talked about Jace lately?"

Simon groans. "Only all the fucking time. He's practically all she talks about anymore."

"Good! She is all Jace can talk about too. They're both crazy about each other I think, but Clary is afraid of the commitment and Jace is afraid Clary doesn't actually like him. So he's spinning."

"Oh they're both spinning, trust me. She has been trying to channel whatever emotion she's feeling right now into some art, but none of it is turning out very good which is just making her more anxious." Simon takes my hand again and leads us over to the dressing room area near the back. He starts to pull his clothes out of the bag and then hands the bag to me. We head off to adjacent dressing rooms.

"I've never seen Jace like this before," I tell him, yelling slightly so as to be heard over the curtain wall separating the rooms. "I'm pretty sure he loves her. He just doesn't know it yet because he's terrible at articulating his feelings. He always has been."

"I was texting Clary's brother earlier," Simon replies, "we both think the same thing. About her, I mean. Clary's had some serious shit go down in the past. And I think the idea of handing her heart to someone else really freaks her out."

"Yeah but, I know Jace. We both know Jace. He would be nothing if not careful with her heart. I really truly think he's in love with her," I tell him as I shimmy into the blue bodycon dress with the sewn in white sparkles. It's that kind of fabric that on sight you know is going to be itchy but then miraculously is not. The sparkles aren't overpowering and he way they're spaced out make the dress look like it's been cut directly out of the night sky. Basically I look killer. And I know I have shoes that would go well with it.

I throw it back on the hanger and set the hanger on my mentally designated "yes" peg.

"I don't doubt it, honestly. I've seen them together before, they're on the same page. By the way, the fish pants are totally a go."

"Perfect," I tell him.

"What about you?" He asks.

"So far, everything but those oatmeal pants have been good," I reply. "I'm asking about Clary because I told Jace I would. I was hoping you could talk to Clary somehow and convince her to open up a little bit. I would do it myself, take her for a pedicure or something, but I feel like it would be too obvious, you know?"

"Yeah, I'll do it. Here, try on the Scooby Doo shirt. I think we should share it," Simon says, and I see his hand reaching over the curtain wall with the grey t-shirt in his hand.

"You know," I say, grabbing the shirt from his hand, "most couples just get a puppy or something." I slide the shirt over my head. Sure enough, it fits like a short dress. And I look bomb as hell.

"Baby steps," Simon says. "Plus, I'm more of a cat person myself."

I really need to go inside. I've been sitting with my head against the steering wheel of my car for too long. People will think I'm weird. Or that I've died or something.

It's just, if I go inside I have to pass right by his door. And every time I pass by his door I almost do something stupid like throw open his door and kiss him or burst into tears.

And I can't risk doing either of those things so I just sit here, with my forehead resting against the steering wheel.

I sit and imagine for a moment that maybe another car would swerve too fast into the parking lot and hit mine and, in my vulnerable position here in front of the airbag, I would be put in a coma.

The airbag would deploy right on my soft and beautiful face and the 200 MPH speed of the inflatable would break all the bones in my face. And my brain would sustain an injury and I would fall into a strange sleep. There would be no hope for a natural recovery. The news outlets would call it tragic, they would display probably a terrible picture of me, but call me a lost young beauty anyways.

My paintings and sketches would be discovered finally in the whirlwind of my demise and be auctioned off for billions of dollars. And though the doctors would tell my family there was no hope, behind closed doors they'd be working with the government and sending me through experimental procedures until I woke again with superhuman abilities.

I don't know what they'd be but they'd be cool. Like flying abilities and mind reading or something.

The damage to my brain in the end would be too great, and so I would forget about my life before. But it wouldn't matter because I'd be a superhero.

And I'd never have to face Jace and pretend everything was okay ever again.

Doesn't sound too bad.

I remain against the steering wheel for a long time.

"Clary, get out of your car. You look dead," Simon's voice surprises me.

"I am dead. Let the dead rest, and all that. Go away," I reply without moving from the steering wheel.

I look to the side to see his arm snake through my partially open window and unlock the doors. Then he walks around and climbs into the passenger seat. He sighs deeply.

"Look, Clary. Look at yourself. You're miserable. Why are you doing this to yourself?" He asks.

I feel my throat tighten. "Because," I say, my voice sounding watery, "I know this feeling is better than how I'll feel if someone hurts me again. I can't bear being hurt by someone again. Not someone who's supposed to love me."

"Clary," Simon says, and his voice is full of pity, but also caring and true concern, "you know Jace would never do that. Jace would never treat you the way he did." He doesn't need to say his name, we both know who we're referring to.

I sigh. "I know that Simon. It's not the physical stuff, it's that one day," my throat gets stuck, "my dad just seemed to stop loving us all. And I don't even know what day it was because I was blinded by my love for him." I lift my head off the wheel and look at Simon. "If Jace ever decided one day that he doesn't like me anymore, I don't know what I would do." I wipe my hand across my cheek, sweeping away the tear that managed to escape.

"Well, Clary," Simon pauses to wipe a hand across his face, "I don't think there's a way for anyone to protect you from that or to guarantee that it won't happen."

I groan and throw my head back against the headrest. "So now you see why I can't let myself have this." I say, waving my hand in the general direction of Jace's apartment.

"No, Clary. That's not what I'm saying at all. What I'm saying is no one knows walking into a relationship that they're not going to get hurt. There's absolutely no way to tell. But you have to just do it anyway. That's a part of living: going after things, experiencing things, even if in the end they might hurt you."

I close my eyes to let his words wash over me.

Simon opens his door with a soft click. "I know I can't guarantee anything but I don't think," Simon pauses, "I don't think Jace would ever hurt you." And he stands and leaves. I put my forehead back against the steering wheel.

Even though a part of me doesn't want to (because every time I see her face my heart seems to hurt a little bit more) I call Clary. She answers on the second ring.

"Hey Buttface," she says.

"Hi, Loser. I'm having Simon and Isabelle over for dinner tonight and was wondering if you wanted to come too. I'm making chicken tacos."

"Okay, we've got to get some things out in the open before the rest of this conversation can continue. First, Simon's a vegetarian. Second, I've had your chicken tacos. They're terrible."

"I think that may be the nicest thing you've ever said to me," I say with a laugh. She laughs too. It makes me feel very warm. And then it makes me feel fairly sad.

"But yeah, I'd love to come over. I was going to head to the grocery store in a little bit, and now that you need a new meal, do you wanna come with?" she asks.

"That would be great. I'll meet you down in the parking lot in a few then, I guess."

"Mmkay," she hums. "Bye, Fartmonster."

"See ya, Buttmunch."

When she hangs up, I throw the phone down on the couch (with the appropriate heart lurch when it bounces twice instead of just landing. It ends up landing again on the couch cushion anyway, safe from harm.) and head down to my room. I feel self conscious about my clothes now that I know I'll be hanging out with Clary, so I pull the plain t-shirt and sweatpants off and opt for my favorite black jeans and a t-shirt designed to look like a sheet of lined notebook paper. I grab my old denim jacket as well and run a comb up through my hair.

When I reach the parking lot, she's already sitting in the driver's seat of her small old Volvo sedan. It's white with black detailing and looks like it's from the late 70's. It somehow fits her very well.

Her expression is pained as she looks down at the steering wheel. Her eyebrows are furrowed and her chin is waffled from the deep onset of her frown. She's biting her lip so hard it looks painful. She is the epitome of hurt and uncertain. Until she looks up at me and plasters on a smile that looks too carefree to be real. The pain is still sitting there behind her eyes.

I open the door.

"I forgot how much of a total slowpoke you are," she says teasingly.

"And I forgot how tiny and short you are," I throw back just as teasingly.

Her sly smile disappears and she gives me the finger.

"And we're even," I say with a laugh.

Conversation is light and playful and easy and friendly. We make very good friends.

But I don't want to just be friends. I feel like I'm drowning. Every time she smiles at me another few drops of water are poured into this tank of friendship that's slowly filling, teasing me all the way to the point of suffocation.

But I don't tell her that.

In the end we decide to make pizzas. Clary says she knows how to make the dough from scratch and I grab a few cans of tomatoes to make a fresh sauce. The woman at the cheese counter sends us on our way with what is probably way too much cheese. We go crazy grabbing all kinds of toppings. We grab pretty much every meat that anyone could think of putting on a pizza and then run to produce and grab a ton of veggies.

Clary grabs two six-packs of root beers and I grab some vanilla ice cream.

I grab some shitty beers, Clary grabs some popcorn. Clary thinks it will be funny to buy those cone-shaped party hats so we go to, until we arriv ein the aisle and they're out. Clary complains that this is the worst thing that's ever happened to her, truly a failure on the part of humanity, an utter travesty.

After another heated debate at the cash register, we decide to split the groceries 50/50. At least I let Clary think that's what we decide. I end up picking it up when Clary turns around for a moment.

She doesn't speak to me for much of the drive home until she says she can't help herself anymore.

It's such a domestic moment between the two of us, I can almost pretend that we're together.

It's wonderful.

Until I remember we're not a couple.

Then it's not.

I touch up my eyeliner and head over to Jace's at 5:30, not bothering with shoes. I stand outside his door for at least a full minute, mentally preparing myself for the night.

Don't lose your cool, I tell myself. Don't do anything rash or stupid. He's your friend. He's your friend. He's your friend. You don't want to kiss him 24/7. You don't want to curl up in his arms. You want to be his friend.

Friendship is safe. Friendship can't hurt.

Then why does this seem to hurt so much?

Taking a moment to reset my thoughts, I exhale and open his door. The inside is bright and warm and I can see Jace's back through the small window set into the kitchen divider wall.

"Honey, I'm home!" I call as I step inside. I meant it as a joke but it strikes a strange chord within me that seems to suck all the warmth out of the room.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

Jace freezes in place and then turns around slowly with an uncertain smile on his face as well.

"Uh, hey," he says. "Ready to make some pizzas?" When he smiles the warmth is replaced and it's like the world that had previously stopped continues to spin.

"Abso-toot-ly I am," I say.

Jace tosses me an apron from one of the drawers as I approach the kitchen. I scrunch up the sleeves of my dress and put the apron on. It's red, and looks kind of awful against my loose oatmeal colored dress and my orange-y hair. I feel like a teenager working in an Italian restaurant.

I grab my phone and plug it into Jace's stereo system. Pulling up Spotify, I put on the playlist titled "Clary and Jace's kickass tunes."

I head back over to the kitchen counter and grab the bowl of dough that I made earlier. It's risen to what will probably be its full capacity.

"Where are the cutting boards?" I ask Jace. "I should flour these up and divide them for everybody."

"Oh," Jace says and reaches down to the cupboard next to the fridge. He pulls out a large cutting board and passes it up to me. "Here."

I thank him and set the cutting board onto the counter. I cover the whole board in a healthy dose of flour and then plop the big wad of pizza dough on top. A small cloud of flour flies out under it from the impact.

"Hey!" Jace shouts, swatting at the cloud of flour in the air. "You got some on my shirt."

"Your shirt is white, you big baby."

The song begins to end and the long, concluding guitar streams fade into the heavy synthy guitar of a new, upbeat song. The song is inviting and infectious and I feel my chest begin to thump to the beat of it. When they vocals start, I begin to full on dance, smiling like a dork.

I cut the large ball of dough into eight smaller balls. I put seven of them back in the bowl, each wrapped in Saran Wrap. I pick up and drop back down the ball of dough, this time going out of my way to send more flour in the air.

"Alright, that's it," Jace says. He reaches into the bag of flour on the counter and covers his fingers in it. He flicks his hand out at me and flour shoots through the air onto my face.

I laugh in surprise and throw some flour back at him.

They're just pictures trapped inside of your head, save a little grace for, save a little grace for, save a little, save a little, the song sings through the flour-saturated air.

We continue to hurl small handfuls of flour at each other and laugh. I coat my hand in it and wipe my hand down his face. Every time I breathe in, it's with a mouthful of flour.

It's on my eyelashes, in my hair, on my clothes, covering Jace, and all over the kitchen.

"Missed me!" I shout when a flour stream shoots over my shoulder.

"Oh yeah?" Jace calls. He reaches out, circles an arm around my waist, and pulls me up into him. He fills his whole hand with flour and has a massive grin on his face.

I try to pull away, smiling and squirming, and knowing whatever he's about to do is bad.

He lifts up the full handful of flour and dumps it directly on my face. "No!" I shout as it rains down, which only serves in getting flour inside my mouth. Jace laughs loudly.

I blow the dry flour out of my mouth and blow some of the clouds of it in the direction of Jace's face.

Which is very close to mine.

In fact, his hand is still snaked around my waist and my body is still flush against his and with his free hand he is starting to wipe away some of the flour from my cheeks and eyes and lips in a very not-just-friends way. His amber eyes are looking right at my lips and all I can think of is the last time we kissed, and it was on that couch only a few feet from here back when the spring rain left the light looking white and his hair had been disheveled from sleep and we had pancakes on our breath and so much was different. So much was different then.

But not his eyes.

"Can I kiss you now?" Jace whispers. And his breath sends a new flurry of flour into the small space between our faces.

"I— I think—um—" and I am saved from having to come up with an actual answer by the doorbell ringing. Jace lets go of me very, very slowly, like he doesn't really want to, and heads to the door.

I take half a breath to reset my thoughts. I check the clock, it reads past 6:00 already, meaning the door must be Simon and Isabelle.

I smooth my flour-covered hair and head to the door as well.

"Hi," Simon and Isabelle call in unison. Their hands are intertwined and Simon lets go to allow Isabelle to enter the house before he follows her.

"Hey," Jace and I reply, also in unison. And I suddenly feel very strange here in Jace's apartment, helping him welcome guests into his home. Cooking dinner with him for another couple, working in tandem, being a hostess here in this home that isn't mine. This feels too much like a double date for a moment and my stomach goes fluttery and I can't tell if it's elation or dread.

"You okay, Clary?" Simon asks, giving me a funny look.

"Yeah, fine," I say, but even I can hear how breathless I am. Everyone's looks match Simon's original one. It's a cross between concern and confusion. I clear my throat and repeat, "Really, I'm fine."

"You're covered in flour," Simon says.

"Oh yeah, Jace and I got into a flour fight in the kitchen while we were rolling out dough." And my resolve almost crumbled and I almost kissed him and that's dangerous, I leave out.

"That's cute," Isabelle says.

"Well, there are drinks in the fridge and pizza dough ready to be rolled out on the counter. We were thinking make-your-own pizzas. So, make yourselves at home," Jace says and heads off to the kitchen to pull cheeses out of the fridge. Simon follows him.

"How have you been, Clary?" Isabelle asks, starting the small talk.

"I've been pretty good! My hours got switched and cut back a bit over at Powell's so I've been working a more normal schedule. I'm still glad it's finally Saturday, though. What about you? I feel like I haven't seen you in forever."

"I know, the last time we hung out was, when? A couple weeks ago?" Isabelle asks. I nod with a hum. That was a fun day. We got some salad wraps at this killer food cart around the corner then went around shopping at various boutiques and consignment shops around the neighborhood. "Work's been busy. Now that it's Summer, people have more time to go shopping, I guess. I had to up the inventory on almost all the items because a few them even sold out." One of the boutiques we went into, Seelie Queen, actually belonged to Izzy. I, of course, had no idea it was hers, so I said something offensive about one of the shirts. But it was in fact one of my favorite shops in the city, I just wasn't ever brave enough to wear the clothes from there. They were fairly tight, short, and revealing, but sleek and fashionable nonetheless. "Of course, I can't complain; more business means more money, but like you said, I'm glad it's Saturday."

Simon then calls over Izzy to tell some outrageous story about the two of them to Jace. I half-listen, because I'm fairly certain I've heard this story before, or some kind of version of it.

While half-listening, I reach into the fridge and grab a bottle of root beer, not quite trusting my heart to protect itself if I grabbed an actual beer.

When Izzy and Simon finish their story, Jace decides it's probably time to get the pizza train rolling. Izzy makes hers first, rolling out the dough I had set on the cutting board before the flour fight. She topped hers with ham and pineapple and Jace threw it on the pizza stone in the oven.

Simon went next. His pizza was boring and covered in vegetables. We all made fun of him for it.

I made the next pizza, and mine had bacon and brussel sprouts on it. Then Jace made one that was chicken and artichoke hearts.

Once all the pizzas were done, Jace and I took the remaining dough and made two cheese and two pepperoni pizzas for extras.

We sat around the table and ate pizza and root beer floats and popcorn and talked about things that didn't matter and were stupidly funny for absolutely no notable reason. At one point, Simon made Izzy laugh so hard that root beer came out of her nose.

Jace and I shared our pizzas, each offering the other a slice. Jace's pizza tasted better than I had been expecting, and he called my pizza a "culinary genius."

I totally let it go to my head.

After we were too full to continue eating, we retired to the couches, propping feet on tables and in each other's laps. Mine and Isabelle's heads both rested in Simon's lap, and my legs were slung over Jace's, while Izzy's were slung over the arm of the couch.

"So we fired our singer today," Simon says once we had lain in silence for a few minutes.

"Really?" I ask, turning up to look at him.

"Yeah, he was a dick. And not a very good singer either."

"But don't you guys have a big gig in like, exactly two weeks?" I ask, worried for him.

"Yeah, so we're holding auditions starting tomorrow for a new singer. It's not too big a deal, we're not performing any of our original music. The gig is called "Local Hearts, National Charts," so we're only really allowed to play covers anyway."

"I hope auditions go well," I tell Simon.

"Me too," Simon replies. "This is the biggest gig we've had so far, I don't know if we can afford to miss it."

We end up putting on The Princess Bride and making the remainder of the popcorn. Once we had laughed our asses off and eaten too much popcorn, Izzy and Simon announced it was time for them to go. Izzy made plans for more shopping with me, Simon made plans to go to the record store with Jace ("Jace, you should totally take advantage of my friend's employee discount, man."), Izzy made plans with Jace to go have dinner at their mom's, and I made plans with Simon to go bowling. I stay after they've left only to clean up. When the kitchen and dining room are tidy, I leave as politely as I think I can, really not wanting to stay any longer.

I almost slipped up once already, I didn't really trust myself anymore tonight.

"Goodnight, Jace," I say before I leave. "And thanks. I had a ton of fun."

"I did too, Clary. I'll see you tomorrow I guess?" I nod and slip out.

And just like always, when I tuck myself into bed a little while later, my swirling and swimming thoughts are interrupted by two short little knocks.

And just like always, I knock back.

OKAY WOW THEY'RE DORKS RIGHT? SUCH GODDAMN DORKS BUT MAN DO I LOVE EM.

The song that appeared during the flour fight is called Little Grace by Hippo Campus. They're like my new fave band tbh (they have been like all summer) and I just got to SEE THEM LIVE THIS WEEK AND MEET THEM AND HUG THEM AND HOLD THEIR HANDS AND THE SINGER TOLD ME HE LOVED ME TOO AND WOW (look them up they're amazing and not to mention cute af like 11/10)

I hope this sort of cleared things up for some of you who were like, confused about Clary's emotional state and her reasoning and everything. ALso, Sizzy? I've never written Sizzy before so that was fun.

Thanks for reading, don't forget to review!

Kate