Hi, guys! So, uh, funny story. I may or may not have gotten confused. I thought that I last updated on a Wednesday, when it was actually a Tuesday. Soo, here I am, at 11:45pm on a Friday, bringing this update to you. :) Thanks, as always, to my homies: IWriteNaked, for beta'ing (amongst other things that I can't think of because I'm sleep deprived as heck), DeathCabForMari (for helping me out with this chapter and being generally awesome), and to spikeyhairgood (for always cheering me on and being more organized about my own crap than I am). You guys are the best. Team H&H.

Thank you guys for reading! By the way, yes, this story is a Clace story, and there will be Clace. That's the last time I'm repeating that, because I've been saying it since the beginning. So, yeah. :P Anyway, thanks for reading/reviewing/favoriting/following, and I'll see you guys on Tuesday!


"Clary," he says, clearly wanting to reason with me, "are you sure this is a good idea?"

"Do I ever have any bad ideas?" I don't let him answer. "I know what I'm doing, okay? Just keep driving."

When we were emailing last year, Jace told me he had never gone camping. Of course, when he came back, going camping with him wasn't exactly at the top of my things to do with him. That involved slapping him and calling him all kinds of names that my mother would not approve of.

There are trees on either side of the road, so many of them that we don't see past them. The truth is, I hate camping. When Simon was a Boy Scout, he became obsessed with it, and so he made me go camping with him for his birthday. Isabelle came along, too. We hated it. He loved it—until he saw a huge-ass spider, and then he begged his mom to take us home. We were thirteen. He lost serious manly points.

Anyway, Jace is currently going to that same camping spot, because it's the only place I know where we can camp and not get eaten by something wild. It's a safe place, so to speak. I figured we'd start by going somewhere I somewhat remember.

"Turn right," I say to him. I'm the one using my phone as a GPS, so I'm telling him where to go. It's kind of cute to see him being all clueless and whatnot. Whatever. "How did you convince my brother to let us do this, anyway?"

He shrugs. "I told him a bunch of people from your art classes were coming and that you didn't like some of them, so you wanted me to come along. And that it was a going away sort of thing."

If I could whistle, I would. "Nice. And he believed you?"

"He's too busy trying to get his shit together this summer to care."

Sounds about right. "Keep going," I say to him. "How excited are you about this?"

"Very." He doesn't sound excited.

"Oh, really?"

"Nope."

"Oh, come on! It's exciting," I add, waggling my eyebrows. I don't like camping at all, but I like watching him squirm as he tries new things.

"It's nature. Beautiful from a distance."

I can't agree more. "Park by that tree with the red line," I say, pointing ahead. "And then unload our crap."

I get out of the car once we're parked and watch as Jace follows my instructions. He does so easily (damn him and his stupid muscles) and walks over to me when he's done. "What's next?"

"Well, let's set up the tent. The sun should be setting soon," I inform him. Thank Jesus I saved the instructions for the tent.

I read them to him as he sets up the tent. He looks kind of confused, but the manual makes it easier. We weren't going to share a tent, but then we found out (this morning, sadly) that my brother's tent is broken. Jace, being Jace, has no camping equipment, and Simon burned all of his in a ceremonial ritual he made to get rid of his Boy Scout status and regain the manly points he lost. (Real thing that happened. Izzy made him do it.)

So we're stuck sleeping in the same tent. Which isn't a bad thing, because Jace needs companionship to keep him from screaming like an idiot when he gets scared, and my tent's pretty damn huge.

My tent, which is the color of olives, is finally set up. I make Jace get wood so he can make a fire and we can make s'mores. I'm probably the worst friend ever, but I don't care. Making him do all this crap is what I live for. Besides, he'll be gone most of the time, and I need something ridiculous to remember him by.

I brought a lighter to make his life a bit easier when it comes to starting the fire, because I'm not that evil. Also, I don't know how to start a fire, and neither does he, so we would've been screwed. Not because we'd freeze, since it's actually pretty hot out, but because this is kind of the camping thing we need. A fire. Yay.

Once our fire's started, and after several complaints from Jace about how he's doing all the work while I sit on the back of Luke's truck and eat the marshmallows meant for the s'mores, we sit down on our respective logs and watch as the sun sets, blending into the sky in a burst of vibrant colors that make me want to paint life in a million different ways.

"It's so pretty," Jace says, as if he can't help himself. "I mean, it's usually this gorgeous, but the view makes it stand out more."

"I know." I hate camping, but I love the view.

"I hate camping," he says cheerily, slapping at his arm as another mosquito tries to bite him. "I hate it so much. But I'm glad you brought me."

I grin. "Wanna know a secret?"

"Always do."

"I hate camping, too."

His eyes widen. "Then why did you make such a big deal about it back when we started talking?"

I shrug. "I thought everyone went camping when they were kids. It's a thing. It doesn't matter whether you love it or hate it as long as you do it."

Jace shakes his head in disbelief and reaches for the can of bug spray. "You tricked me," he says.

"I never said I liked camping." I pop another tiny marshmallow into my mouth. We brought two bags—one with regular sized marshmallows, and one with tiny ones—and I'm halfway done with the latter.

"You're evil."

"I'm a genius."

He grins. "I can't deny that I'm having fun. You know, even with the bugs and the heat and the lack of air conditioning."

"You're pretty much miserable, then."

"Pretty much."

"Wanna play some music?"

"Like, do I wanna pick up the guitar you made me bring and play it?"

"Yep."

"I somehow don't think I have a choice."

He gets another grin from me. "Exactly. Go get it, Wayland."

The guitar is his. I found it collecting dust under his bed, and, of course, I told him he needed to bring it. Hence the guitar and his shitty attitude about playing, which I will, of course, fix.

"Which song do you want me to play?" His voice startles me.

"Whichever one you want."

He starts playing the intro to the song, and I immediately recognize it. It was playing the other night as we hung out in my room. I'd been sketching, and he'd been strumming the guitar while music played. I didn't know he'd learned this song, though. But of course he did, because it's a damn good one.

Life's too short to even care at all, oh
I'm losing my mind losing my mind losing control, oh oh
These fishes in the sea they're staring at me oh oh
Oh oh oh oh
A wet world aches for a beat of a drum
Oh oh

So, Jace's voice is actually awesome. I've heard him sing before, of course—jokingly on our way somewhere, or loudly when he's in my room to annoy me—but never seriously. His voice isn't perfect, of course, but he sounds like an angel to me. I don't know why. Maybe because I don't have high expectations when it comes to real life people singing, and he just took my breath away with his ability to cover one of my favorite songs.

If I could find a way to see this straight
I'd run away
To some fortune that I should have found by now
I'm waiting for this cough syrup to come down, come down.

He stops playing, snapping me out of the trance I'm in. I was looking at him, speechless. Of course I was speechless. Here he is, a guy, playing the guitar and singing with a voice that makes me want to melt, and he has NEVER mentioned that he can sing before.

"You can sing," I point out.

"I guess." He shrugs.

"I liked it," I say. "But it's my turn now." I snatch the guitar from his hands. Here's a truth that's too embarrassing for me to admit to him or to anyone else: when he told me he played the guitar last year, I taught myself how to play it. I just learned a couple of songs and basics, but still. I did it. I did because of him, and I stopped playing when he stopped talking to me. And that was that.

His guitar feels foreign in my hands. I try to think of something I can play.

I wanna be drunk when I wake up
On the right side of the wrong bed
And never an excuse I made up
Tell you the truth I hate
What didn't kill me
It never made me stronger at all.
Love will scar your make-up, lip sticks to me
So now I maybe lean back there
I'm sat here wishing I was sober
I know I'll never hold you like I used to.

The words come to me easily. I've had this song memorized by heart for ages. Keeping up with the guitar is a little harder, and I screw up a couple of times, but I can feel Jace's gaze on me, and he doesn't laugh or tell me to start over. He just watches me.

But a house gets cold when you cut the heating
Without you to hold I'll be freezing
Can't rely on my heart to beat in
'Cause you take parts of it every evening
Take words out of my mouth just from breathing
Replace with phrases like when you're leaving me.

Should I, should I?
Maybe I'll get drunk again
I'll be drunk again
I'll be drunk again
To feel a little love

I take a deep breath. I meant to stop playing, but my favorite part—and the last part I remember—is coming up, so I keep going. Besides, it's not like he's complaining.

I wanna hold your heart in both hands
Not watch it fizzle at the bottom of a Coke can
And I got no plans for the weekend
So should we speak then
Keep it between friends
Though I know you'll never love me like you used to.

The fire crackles and hisses against the sudden quietness of the air. I hand him back the guitar and shuffle awkwardly on my seat. "That's all I remember."

"That's really good," he says, not commenting on the total of times I messed up (9) or the times that my voice cracked (4). "You're really good."

"You too," I say. It's surprising to think that we hadn't heard each other sing up until now. "So do you wanna go inside and play cards?"

He slaps his legs—another mosquito is now the victim of Jace Wayland, ladies and gentlemen—and nods. "Yes, please."

We put out the fire and grab our flashlights, making our way into the tent we share. Thankfully, the temperature has dropped to what I think is a high sixties kind of temperature—not exactly the coziest to sleep in, but at least the heat isn't burning my skin or whatever.

"Okay, so what do you wanna play?"

"War," I answer immediately.

Truth is, I haven't played card games in a while, and that's the only one I remember. Basically, the game goes like this: we each get twenty-six cards out of the fifty-two that come in the packet, and we can't look at them. We each have to place a card—without looking at it—in front of us, and whoever has the higher card takes the two and adds them to their packet.

Jonathan and I used to play this when I was little with our parents, and I used to beat everyone. It's mostly a luck game, but it's my favorite.

I hope luck is on my side tonight.


We stay up all night. I didn't think it was possible for a person who values sleep so much to stay up to watch the sunrise, but it's all too possible, apparently. I'm basically a zombie by the time Jace tells me to get out of the tent to watch the sunrise with him. I hadn't even notice he'd gone outside, but, when I step out into the outside world, there he is, carrying a checkered blanket and a picnic basket. I'm pretty sure it just has some chips and two bottles of soda.

We're incredibly healthy, I know.

I sit down on the blanket once he's spread it out, searching the basket for a soda can. I'm so tired I can't even feel hungry anymore, but I force myself to take measured sips so my sugar levels don't start going whacky. He offers me some chips, and I take a handful.

Slowly, the sky is becoming a lighter shade of black. It's becoming navy blue, and soon it'll be all kinds of colors that make me want to be a photographer to take pictures of it every single time.

"How's this camping experience for you?" I ask Jace.

"Aside from all the mosquito bites and you kicking my ass at War, it's been pretty damn good." He raises his Coke can. "Thanks for bringing me." He takes a sip.

I shrug. "I had to torture you for a little bit."

He regards me carefully for a second before speaking up. "I think you're the one who's being tortured. You look exhausted."

I feel exhausted, but I'm not about to confess that to him. "I've never felt more alive."

We watch as the sky bursts into every shade of my favorite colors. There are reds and pinks and purples along with blues and yellows and hints of gray. I think I might be in love with the sunrise—almost as in love with it as I am with the sunset.

"My mom had insomnia," Jace says. He never talks about her, so I pay attention, making sure that my brain registers everything. "She used to stay up sometimes and watch the sunrise. She said it was her favorite part of the day, but I wasn't allowed to stay up, and I didn't like waking up at five in the morning, either."

"Technically almost six," I correct him, but I like that he's talking about her. She's the part of his past he clings to the most, and I want to know all about it.

"She told me once, when I was about eleven that I should find a girl that was like the sunrise," he goes on. "Beautiful and full of promise. I think my mom was delirious when she said that to me, because it doesn't make much sense for the people who hate having to face another day to look forward to the sunrise, but I guess she always figured I would love it, just like her."

"So you need to find your sunrise," I say, tasting the feeling of those words. He wants his sunrise, and I want my sunset.

"According to my mom," he adds with a smile. "It's so beautiful, though, isn't it?"

I don't take my eyes off of him when I say, "Yeah," until the words are out of my mouth. Then, I turn, watching the canvas that is the sky paint its first picture of the day.


We only get about four hours of sleep before we're packing everything up, yawning pretty much every other second.

I try not to agonize over the fact that I'm his friend and he's leaving. I've been thinking about it, sure, but sometimes you think about things and save them for later, tuck them in a corner of your mind where they will creep out of eventually. And I think that, today, that little reminder, that fact, crept out of the corner where it was hidden and hit me with a force that makes my heart ache.

Jace is leaving.

I don't want to leave this area where everything is gorgeous and the colors are vibrant. We both hate nature, and we're covered in bug bites, and we haven't showered, but so what?

I get into the car. Jace doesn't turn on the ignition, which is weird. I'm half-expecting him to be asleep when I peer over to look at him, but he's just looking ahead, as if he wants to memorize the contrast between the dark soil and the clear sky.

"Are you okay?" I ask, chewing on my bottom lip.

He turns on the ignition. "I had fun here," he says to me with a smile.

"Yeah, well, it's hard not to have fun when you hang out with moi." It's a forced comment, and he knows it. The truth is, I feel like everything we say right now will have three times the meaning it usually would, just because the weight of our hearts carries to our words. It sucks.

We spend the rest of the ride back home in a comfortable silence. I'm tired, but I can't sleep. Everything in my mind screams that he's leaving, and I'm not ready to let go of his company just yet.


Songs (in order of appearance):
Cough Syrup by The Jakes (or Young The Giant)
Drunk by Ed Sheeran

Let me know what you think! xo