By the time they got to Java Jones, Eric was already onstage, swaying back and forth in front of the microphone with his eyes squinted shut. He'd dyed the tips of his hair pink for the occasion. Behind him, Matt, looking stoned, was beating irregularly on a djembe.

Stupidly, she had agreed to accompany him to Eric's poetry reading.

"This is going to suck so hard." Clary predicted. She grabbed Simon's sleeve and tugged him toward the doorway. "If we make a run for it, we can still get away."

He shook his head determinedly. "I'm nothing if not a man of my word. I'll get the coffee if you find us a seat. What do you want?"

"Just coffee. Black, like my soul."

Simon headed off toward the coffee bar, muttering under his breath something to the effect that it was a far, far better idea that he did it now rather than later. Without a second thought, Clary went to find them a seat.

The coffee shop was crowded for a Sunday; most of the threadbare-looking couches and armchairs were taken up with teenagers enjoying the last day of the weekend. The smell of coffee and clove cigarettes was overwhelming. Finally, Clary found an unoccupied love seat in a darkened corner toward the back. The only other person nearby was a blond girl in an orange tank top, absorbed in playing with her iPod.

Good. She thought. Eric won't be able to find us back here after the show to ask how his poetry was.

The blond girl leaned over the side of her chair suddenly and tapped Clary on the shoulder. "Excuse me."

Clary looked up in surprise.

"Is that your boyfriend?" The girl asked.

Clary followed her gaze, already prepared to say: No, I don't know him, when she realized the girl meant Simon. He was headed toward them, face scrunched up in concentration as he tried not to drop either of his Styrofoam cups.

"No." Clary said. "He's a friend of mine."

The girl beamed. "He's cute. Does he have a girlfriend?"

She shook her head. "No."

The blond girl sat back hastily as Simon set the cups on the table and threw himself down next to Clary

"I hate it when they run out of mugs. Those things are hot." He blew on his fingers and scowled.

Clary tried to hide a smile as she watched him.

Normally she never thought about whether Simon was good-looking or not. He had pretty dark eyes, she supposed, and he'd filled out well over the past year or so. With the right haircut-

"You're staring at me." Simon accused, his eyes widening. "Why are you staring at me? Have I got something on my face?"

"Don't look now, but that blond girl over there thinks you're cute."

Simon turned his head to stare at the girl, who was industriously studying an issue of Shonen Jump. "The girl in the orange top?"

Clary nodded.

Simon seemed dubious. "What makes you think so?"

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "She told me so?"

His reply was interrupted by a burst of feedback.

Clary winced and covered her ears as Eric, onstage, wrestled with his microphone.

"Sorry about that, guys!" He yelled. "All right, yo! I'm Eric, and this is my homeboy, Matt, on the drums. My first poem is called 'Untitled.'"

Eric screwed up his face as if in pain, and began to wail into the mike. "Come, my faux juggernaut, my nefarious loins! Slather every protuberance with arid zeal!"

Simon slid down in his seat. "Please don't tell anyone I know him."

Clary giggled. "Who uses the word loins?"

"Eric." He said grimly. "All his poems have loins in them."

"Turgid is my torment!" Eric cried. "Agony swells within!"

"You bet it does." Clary mumbled. "Anyway, about that girl who thinks you're cute-"

"Never mind that for a second." Simon held up a hand to cut her off, and Clary blinked at him in surprise. "There's something I wanted to talk to you about."

"Furious Mole is not a good name for a band."

"Not that." He grumbled. "It's about what we were talking about a few days ago, about me not having a girlfriend."

She blinked again, only vaguely being able to recall the conversation.

"Oh." Clary lifted one shoulder in a shrug. "Oh, I don't know, Si. Ask Jaida Jones out. She's nice, and she likes you."

"I don't want to ask Jaida Jones out."

"Why not?" She demanded. "You don't like smart girls? Still seeking a rockin' bod?"

"Neither." He seemed agitated now. "I don't want to ask her out because it wouldn't really be fair to her if I did..."

He trailed off.

Clary leaned forward. From the corner of her eye she could see the blond girl leaning forward too, plainly eavesdropping. "Why not?"

"Because I like someone else."

"Okay?"

Simon looked faintly greenish, the way he had once when he'd broken his ankle playing soccer in the park and had had to limp home on it. She wondered what on earth about liking someone could possibly have him wound up to such a pitch of anxiety.

"Who is it?" Clary asked.

Simon didn't answer.

She was about to add that if he were in love with Sheila Barbarino, Eric would kick his ass, when she heard someone cough loudly behind her. It was a derisive sort of sound, the kind of noise someone might make who was trying not to laugh out loud.

She turned around.

Sitting on a faded green sofa a few feet away from her was the boy from the night before, Jace, she was sure that was his name, though she wasn't sure why she knew, wearing the same dark clothes he'd had on the night before in the club. His arms were bare and covered with dark, heavy marks. His wrists bore wide metal cuffs; she could see the bone handle of a knife protruding from the left one.

He was looking right at her, as if he were the one who had seen a ghost.

He hadn't been there five minutes ago.

"What is it?" Simon followed her gaze, but it was obvious from the blank expression on his face that he couldn't see Jace.

But I see you.

"Clary." He whispered.

His expression still haunted, he raised his chin, nodding towards the door.

He wanted her to come with him.

She felt Simon's hand on her arm.

He was repeating her name, asking her if something was wrong. She could barely register his voice.

"I'll be right back." She heard herself say, as she sprang off the couch, almost forgetting to set her coffee cup down.

Before she could stop to think about what she was doing, chasing after some admittedly familiar stranger, she raced toward the door, Simon staring after her.

She couldn't let Jace leave.

Something in her refused to let him depart without her. it was almost like...

Like she didn't want to lose him.

Again.

A/N: Neither the beautifully written show, or the amazing books belong to me, it's just fun to create your own versions of amazing TV shows and literature. Thank you for reading :)