We are all poets or babies in the middle of the night, struggling with being.

Martin Amis

It was a rough couple of days after that. She decided not to go to school, afraid her emotions would get the best of her. She pretended that she had a fever and rolled in bed for what seemed like hours, worrying her busy mother. "Are you sure you'll be alright, honey? I don't want to-"

Clary slumped backwards into her rumpled sheets, relishing the warmth of her blankets and pillows. "I'm fine." She nodded for the tenth time. "Really."

Jocelyn left a few pills on her stand and a bowl of what smelled like chicken soup, her daughter's favorite meal. Pecking her on the forehead, she grabbed her purse and quietly left the apartment room.

Clary turned her head to the side. She stared at her window. It was one in the afternoon and Simon was probably in class right now. She had received plenty of text messages from him, none of them she replied to. It was getting difficult to act like she was well and happy when her chest yearned for one familiar face that never left her thoughts. She wondered whether her lack of presence was bothering him. She shook the hopeful notion just as it came.

Instead, she rose from her bed and walked to the bathroom. Looking at herself in the mirror was inevitable. She caught the dark circles under her eyes and the way her skin color was a sickish yellow. She glanced down to the sink quickly and rinsed her face, furiously rubbing until she felt utterly raw and clean.

She wanted to go somewhere. She didn't want to stay cooped up in a messy room and endure medications she didn't have to take in the first place. Clary pushed her way into the closet and tossed on the closest items her way. Her sweater was supposed to be a light pink, she had bleached it a year back when she couldn't understand how to work the washer. The shorts she wore was probably bought at a Salvations Army for the material was worn and the blue color faded. She shrugged and managed to find a few bucks in her savings can just in case she wanted something to eat.

She took her time down the stairwell to the lobby, worrying that might see him somewhere outside, although she knew that would never quite happen. He knew nothing of her. The air outside was chilly and she wished she hadn't forgotten her gloves at home. She gritted her teeth and walked to the coffee shop, black tea the only thing on her mind. When she sauntered to the counter, the cashier gave her a grin and she recognized him as the worker who always served her. "Where have you been?" He jokingly asked, raising his arms up in question.

An unwilling smile found its way to her lips and she shifted uncomfortably. "Just sick."

"Oh. Hope you feel better then. If I get sick, I stay that way for years." Clary rolled her eyes at his sarcasm and ordered a donut along with her tea.

She turned to the side and sat on an empty chair as others ordered their meals. She sighed, finally having the desire to scroll through Simon's messages. Each one was as desperate as the next.

Where arreeee you?

You're leavin' me with the fucking jocks!

Oh my god. They're looking at me.

They're gonna fight me. Or throw me in the trash bin like in elementary.

False alarm. They just wanted my homework answers.

Are you okay?

Clary!

I will go to your apartment if I have to!

Clary!

She typed back, her fingers twitching slightly at the normality of Simon's words. He was such an endearing idiot.

I will call you. xx

"Black tea and a caramel filled donut!" She stood and handed the woman an exact amount, silently taking the hot cup of tea in her hands. She worked her way out of the cafe and waited until she was outside to eat what felt like her breakfast.

Clary moved against an abandoned building, pushing her phone into her satchel with little luck. Releasing a frustrated grunt, she let her donut lie on the cement ledge, covered by a napkin, and zipped her bag in success. The next thing was too shocking to describe. She was pulled hard towards the right and the hot liquid of her drink spilled onto her fingers. She screamed, her skin burning and red. "Shit!" The person beside her said. All she could think about was the searing sting radiating off her body. With blinking eyes, she found some napkins in her pocket and with her free hand, tried to pat the damaged spot.

It was only when she glanced up that she realized who had bumped into her. She opened her mouth and backed a step away from him.

"I-" He raked a hand through his hair. "Are you alright? I just needed to talk to you."

"What are you doing here?" She managed to say, a few tears had escaped at the agony of her injury and with a fleeting gesture, she dropped her empty cup to the ground.

Jace looked skeptical. Guilt, as she once thought he might feel, was not on his face. How had fate tied them in the same place at the same time?

He stepped closer to her and she almost stumbled in alarm. With an exasperated growl, he scowled. "Let me see your hand."

"No." Her voice was weak.

His eyes searched the streets around them. Some had noticed their interaction and were watching in interest.

He pursed his lips into a thin line and with a jerk of his head, he lugged her with her free arm, navigating their way to a dead end. She wrenched away from his touch when it was just the two of them in a narrow alley. "Leave me alone!" Her yell was quiet, but spiteful and she recognized the twist in his mouth and the way his dark eyebrows rose in question at her behavior.

Without permission, he took her blotched hand with such gentleness that she let him. The tendrils of his hair fell against his face. "I didn't-" He sounded strained. She observed him, her breath stuck in her throat. He got out a tissue from his pocket, began to rub it on her skin in circular motions. Her shoulders almost relaxed. Then he started to speak again. "I was just trying to talk to you. I thought I wouldn't see you again. I-shit. My bad. I didn't know you had coffee on you. If I did-"

She took her hand away from him and he was forced to finally look at her. "I'm fine. You can go now."

For several, silent moments they stared at one another. Clary's hair had come untucked and her waves curled against her ears. Her eyes were puffy and her nose was tinted pink from the cold. His gaze narrowed and she could tell he was going to say something cruel.

"Don't fucking think you're higher than me. Don't. Walk away right now if you don't wanna talk to me. Leave me right now if you don't wanna see me."

She stayed where she was.

He slid to the ground, his back against the brick wall of a property they both had trespassed. His calloused palms found his cheeks and he peered up at her. "Can you sit next to me?"

The question was so simple. Her body controlled her mind and she moved towards him, like a stupid magnet. The cement was hard and freezing, but the way their shoulders touched made it feel like there was a fire burning in front of them.

"I don't know what to say to you. But..." He turned so that he was facing her. She recognized a new scar on his face. Right beneath his lips. It was small and white. Like a cross. She wondered where he had gotten it from.

"That day was the first time I played piano in front of someone. For years, I could only practice alone. I couldn't possibly do anything if someone was watching. I can't. And then you walked in. And I knew you were in the room. I could just feel it. I should've just stopped pressing on the keys then. But I didn't."

His hands fisted. "I don't know why. I can't help thinking about you and then I get angry because I'm such a fucking screw-up. So I took things out on you."

He let out a dry laugh, bitter to her ears. "I'm not drunk right now if that's what you're thinking."

It took her a while to respond. "It was worth the burn."

Something twinkled then and the gold in his pupils shined. Without thinking, she lunged herself forward and he caught her body as she grasped at his shoulders. His mouth found hers first and he thrust a hand through her hair, dragging his fingers delicately along the red strands.

He tasted like salt and sweetness, soft feathers and tender winter. He clutched her so closely that it felt like a summer's afternoon and not a grey day like this. She tugged away just enough that her legs were still wrapped around his waist, his arms tightening across her waist. Under the light of the creeping sun, his orbs were nearly black. His lips were wet and pink and swollen. She didn't want to think about what she looked like.

Clary lifted her fingers to his hair. His eyelids hovered shut and she pressed a lingering kiss on his forehead. "I missed you." She whispered.

She bent her head into the crook of his neck. He smelled like nicotine and sunshine. "You better not be cryin' on me." She didn't say anything as his hands traveled along her back, creating invisible designs she could not possibly see.