Jem couldn't pinpoint what it was that was bothering him, but as he plucked gently at his violin strings, he knew something was wrong. The tightness in his chest was almost painful, like strings wrapping tighter around his heart with every breath.

His heart was racing fast; faster than the wings of a hummingbird as his skin burned with heat. Normally, these symptoms would mean a bout of coughs were coming his way, but he felt different and much more...peculiar.

~~ooo~~

When Will was younger, people would always say that the Herondales could be kind people, but when they let the bitter in, the dark side of them would take over. He never truly understood that until he arrived at the Institute.

He sipped at his drink, ignoring the suspicious looks from the Downworlders around him. The droning music of the faerie bands played on with an entrancing, almost hypnotic, tune. Glancing around, he could see several Downworlders he recognized on the dim dance floor: an ifrit he had once stolen from dancing sleazily with a vampire and a werewolf that had tried to drug him multiple times in one night.

This was one of the few times he actually went where he boasted he ventured at night. He wanted to believe that he was good and that these 'harmless' adventures at night were just to convince others he was an unlikable character, but it had grown more than that. The more he lied, the more he believed, and the more he believed, the more it became a part of him.

This wasn't some masked William Herondale, it was him.

"Is this seat occupied?" A girl smirked, her teeth gleaming an unearthly white. Her auburn hair was streaked with black, offsetting her golden eyes. Her gloved hand was rested on a chair beside him, tapping it lightly. Will scanned her shamelessly, thoroughly convinced that she was a warlock, and a young one by the looks of it.

"Feel free." Will gestured to the seat before taking a swig of his gin. The warlock slid into the chair, looking expectedly at Will.

"Its not often you see children of the Nephilim here." She whispered quietly, taking Will's hand and running a finger over his runes.

"It's not often that I come here." Will said, though it wasn't entirely true. If need be, Will thought, remember that your dagger is tied to your belt, not your shoe. His mind was starting to feel compressed as if it were full of cotton, his vision sparkling like it had been reflected through a kaleidoscope.

"Why are you here?"

"Does it matter?" Will asked coolly, pulling his hand from her grasp. She rolled her eyes playfully, offering a smile. She looked, at most, 16...possibly? It was always hard to tell with warlocks, but with the way she acted, Will guessed that she hadn't been around for long unlike the well renowned warlock, Magnus Bane.

"Why so distant?" The warlock hissed amusedly, leaning forward. She was obviously on something, her skin smelling icily like faerie drugs. "Sometime I can escort you to my place if you want."

Will cringed inwardly but didn't pull away, her breath warming his cheek. Taking another gulp of his drink, he could feel his thoughts scatter. "That's asking quite a lot from a stranger. I'm not available."

She leaned back, sighing in disappointment. "Taken?"

Will laughed, his voice distant as if he were outside his body and not really controlling it. "Me? Taken? I don't get affiliated with people's love lives."

"Well I do." She pulled him out of his seat onto the dance floor, barely managing to escape hitting the quite improper ifrit. Then again, no one here has a sense of what propriety is. Will almost pulled away, but his morality had been sacrificed the moment the, unbeknownst to him, spiked drink had drugged him.

~~ooo~~

"Hurry up, Thomas." Jem called as they rode down the street, the carriage rattling on the uneven cobblestones. He didn't know where Will was or what his intentions were, but he was sure he was into trouble.

~~ooo~~

Will pressed her hand against the wall, the other hand on the small of her back. The drugs in his system were firing, rendering him unable to distinguish right from wrong. Her eyes were dilated to a small pinprick of black, breathing hard in the stuffy room. The pins that had held her hair up were long gone, scattered carelessly across the floor.

The room around him shimmered and he could no longer control his thoughts. It felt like a weight was lifted off his shoulders, no longer remembering why he had come to such a den in the first place.

Curving her arms around his neck, she pulled him down against her. She pressed her lips against his, tasting hot and sweet of faerie drugs. His mouth was fierce on hers, thinly controlled with raging desperation. His hand traveled to the back of her neck, pulling her closer.

He didn't know what they were doing together, he didn't know the first thing about her, he didn't even know her name, and yet, they were kissing as if they had known each other for the longest time. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he wanted to stop, but physically, he couldn't.

He pressed his mouth against her jaw, brushing her auburn hair aside. Pulling away reluctantly, Will looked at her with tired eyes, their blue haze barely visible beneath his dark lashes.

Cupping her face in his hand, he leaned forward to kiss her again, just as his parabatai burst into the room.

Author's Note: Okay, I know this was a little sudden, (Please no hate) but face it, William Herondale is no stranger to kissing. It had to happen at some point, on faerie drugs or not. I needed some Will action to happen to build his backstory whether you (or Jem) like it or not. I hope you don't hate me too much for this chapter. :) Love, love.