Don't really know what to say... Thanks, I guess, to the people reading this. Thanks to Shakespeare and Poe for the quotes, and thanks to TheGreenBook for the alcove. *wink*

Disclaimer: I own not thy characters, Cassandra.

Chapter: Will

Will left Belle and Jem to their own devices in Jem's room. Partly it was because he couldn't bear to hear anymore about Michael Lightwood; partly it was guilt over having led Jem away for no reason; and partly it was because he couldn't think of another way to keep them apart.

He stalked away to the one place he knew would be peaceful: the library. He looked around the richly furnished room, from the high bookshelves piled with every kind of book one could want, to the alcove in the corner where Jem had– I won't think of that, he decided. He looked out the windows at the bustling city and dreary grey sky. In the few seconds he stared rain started falling. A bad omen, he decided. He left again, taking a familiar set of turns until he reached the desired location, which happened to be a locked bedroom door.

He took a small pin from his pocket, a hairpin, and worked the lock quickly and skillfully. He could have used an Open rune, but that would make too much noise. Silent and graceful, he slipped into the room, grabbed the object he had broken in for, and left again in a matter of seconds, taking care to lock the door behind him.

That done, Will walked with a new spring in his step on the return trip to the library. It was fun, doing these immoral things. People thought he did it for attention, but he could care less about that. He did it for himself, because he liked the rush he got. Of course, on occasion, he did it because he started to think he was a good person, and that would never do. If he needed more reasons to hate himself, he got in fights, got drunk, slept with whores, and/or invaded personal privacy, just as he was doing now.

Will settled himself in a chair by the fire. Why is there a fire? It's practically summer. Of course, it was cold and wet, just as it was all year in London, but that didn't make it feel less strange. He shrugged, losing interest, flipped his book open to the page it was marked to, and lost himself in poetry once again.

He was interrupted some time later by the sound of the door opening. Assuming it was Charlotte or Jem, he kept his head down, hoping they would go away. He didn't much feel like company at the moment. Of course, with his luck, whomever it was had to come right up and stand next to his chair.

He looked up with a small sigh to see, not Jem or Charlotte, but Belle, hands on her hips and a scowl on her face. "You," she said in a carefully controlled voice, "have my book."

He held it up. "Property of the library, my dear. It's free game."

"Which would make sense if it was, in fact, on the shelves. It was, however, on my bedside table."

"Yes," he agreed cheerfully.

She threw up her hands in disgust. "You were in my locked bedroom. Again."

"Well, I wanted the book and I knew you had it last."

"I don't believe you," she hissed, eyes narrowed into slits.

Will shrugged nonchalantly. "I can't imagine why. It sounds exactly like something I would do."

She threw herself in a chair across from him and glared furiously. "And to think I wanted to apologize–"

He started at that, dropping the book. "Apologize? What could you have to apologize for?"

"For– I dunno, being unfriendly, I guess. I never gave you a chance to prove me wrong… After all I'd heard about you, I just judged you and acted on that judgment without really getting to know you. And then after you came to my room that night…"

Her voice trailed off, but Will already knew what she was talking about. She was speaking of the time he woke her up at one in the morning to tell her she shouldn't be seeing Jem. He had hoped she had forgotten, but obviously luck had abandoned him.

"Anyway," she continued, clearly uncomfortable, "I'm sorry for acting like I hated you. I don't really."

Her hands fluttered nervously in her lap as she waited for Will to speak, perhaps to say he forgave her or maybe apologize himself. Will was too lost in his own fantasies and daydreams to say a thing.

I don't hate you either, he thought. In fact… how to say it… every time we touch, I feel that electricity passing between us. It hurts so much that you don't notice it as I do. Every time I see you, I get all weak and fluttery inside, like some lovesick woman, and I hate myself. I do actually hate you, but I hate you for making me love you.

When he was able to pay heed to his surroundings once more, Belle was hovering over him, examining his eyes with a kind of concerned curiosity. "You all right, Will?"

No. "Yes, I'm fine. Didn't know you cared one way or another."

"Didn't I just tell you I didn't hate you? 'Course I care. Jem sees some merit in you, and I'll try my utmost to find it, never you fear." She smiled that amazing smile, the one that lit up her face like a Christmas tree. The witchlight made her hair shine even more richly, and her eyes were so luminous–

Stop it. Stop staring, you fool.

He couldn't. His body refused to listen to his brain, nothing new, of course. "Well, take the book with you when you leave." Please leave. I can't have you here right now. It simply isn't possible. My heart may actually explode. A distant part of his brain, the only part of him that remained the old Will Herondale, was amused at the thought and wondered, in a scientific manner, what it would look like to observe a man whose heart was exploding.

Belle shrugged, taking the hint, and stooped to grab the book of poetry. "I'll take the bloody book, then."

"You're certainly in a good mood now." What? What the hell was that? 'You're in a good mood,' dear God, you've never said something so idiotic.

She just grinned. "I sure am."

"Did you have sex with Jem?" he blurted out.

She jumped. "No. No, no, God no. Why would you think I did?"

"Well, you just came from seeing him, and you're so happy now…" He stopped talking awkwardly. They barely know each other. Relax.

"He just… he said the sweetest thing…" She stared into space, looking gloriously, stunningly radiant. "He said, 'I'll follow thee and make a Heaven of Hell, to die upon the hand I love so well.'"

Will swallowed, hard. It was usually he who was quoting poetry, but he had to admit that it would have sounded better coming from Jem. "It's Shakespeare. He read it to me once." Why did you tell her that? Now she'll think you're gay.

She didn't seem to; she just blinked, coming back to reality. "Yes, he told me that. I mean, not the part about reading it to you…" She bit her lip, trying– and failing– to hold back another soft smile. "So, am I forgiven?"

It took him a minute to remember that that was why she had come in the first place. "You are if I am."

"Deal," she said firmly. Will stood fluidly and held out his arms, hoping against hope she would grace him with her touch. She did, leaning in and giving him a swift hug. In another moment, she was gone, slipping out of the library as though she had never been there at all. Will sank back into the chair and stared into the fire, a maelstrom of emotion churning within him.

There was, of course, the love he felt for Belle, tinted with the guilt for taking something from Jem and the bitter knowledge that he didn't deserve her even if she wanted him, which she didn't. He was angry, he was depressed, and he was gleeful. He was still tingling with the aftershock of the electricity she sent through his body, just with that one touch.

He just sighed, wanting to sit and brood. But our love was stronger by far than the love of those who were older than we, of many far wiser than we…