Aye, Chapter 2! Working on chapter 3, it's halfway finished!

As always thanks you JMDeaton for all the help and for collabing with my scatterbrained self!

She has this amazing story called High School Sweethearts and its just grade A good shit good shit go check it out! She just recently posted the second book as well, High School Sweethearts 2: Surprise, Surprise! It's gonna be awesomeeee! :D

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xoxo Em

It's late and I'm feeling so tired
Having trouble sleeping.
This constant compromise
Between thinking and breathing.

Could it be I'm suffering
Because I'll never give in?
Won't say that I'm falling in love
Tell me I don't seem myself
Couldn't I blame something else?

Just don't say I'm falling in love

Trouble Sleeping, Corinne Bailey Rae

Jace

Watching Alec and Magnus interact is just about the grossest thing I've ever witnessed.

Not gross in a bad way though. It's just that they're so touchy, one of them always keeping contact with the other; whether it's their hands clasped together, or their shoulders brushing. It's so incredibly obvious how in love they are, and it makes me wonder why I haven't gotten a cavity from being surrounded by all of the sweetness.

It's amazing how easily they fit into each other's lives, and how simple and smooth their relationship is. It's definitely something to be admired. They just mesh together so well, and the Alec before me is all heart eyes and shy smiles, so different to the parabatai I've grown up with. I like that Magnus makes him that happy. I can feel it coursing through our bond, the love that he has for the Warlock.

It makes me smile.

"Alexander," I hear Magnus giggle softly and see him sit down, legs crossed. "Let me work." He hangs his head and places his palms face up on his knees. Meditating?

"Fine, fine," Alec smiles softly and hangs his head bashfully. His too-long hair falls into his eyes like bangs, and he walks back to where I sit on a stone bench in the Institute's side courtyard. We're still waiting for Jonathan to join us, but I suppose he's probably gotten caught up talking to Isabelle.

It seems like everybody has someone to talk to, someone to vent to when they're upset. Jonathan and Izzy are growing closer every single day, and Alec is hardly ever around, always staying over at Magnus' place. It leaves me feeling cold and bereft. I wish that we had word on Clary. Anything would be a step closer to brining her home, and that's all that I want at this point. I just want her safe.

"Jace."

I snap my head up at the sharp voice and find Alec's narrow blue eyes focused in on me.

"Yeah," I say to my parabatai, who has been talking to me for the past couple of minutes. I hadn't noticed. "Sorry."

"You need to stop doing that, Jace," he sighs and turns back forward on the bench. I don't even know how long I've been sitting here.

"Doing what?" I sigh and lean my elbows forward onto my knees.

"Brooding. Overthinking. Bitter."

"How do you know that?" I raise my eyebrows.

"Because, it causes stress. And when you're stressed, I feel it too," Alec says with a sad smile and taps the center of his chest.

"I'm sorry," I groan and hang my head down. I can't even brood in bitter peace. It hurts him too. "I know in the back of my mind that she's going to be just fine. She's strong, and brave. I just wish that she was here now, with us like she's supposed to be. But she's not."

"Is that why you love her so much?" Alec asks. The words don't register immediately, and when they do, I sit up straight very slowly and look at him oddly. "What is it?"

"I think it's a bit too soon to be using that word," I say with a nervous laugh. That would be like diving headfirst into completely uncharted territory with no compass to even get you back to camp.

"Well, you're quite infatuated with her," my parabatai shrugs. "You admire her courage and resilience. You care about her deeply enough to go running after her the second that she needs your help."

"Well yeah I admire her for all of those things, but that doesn't mean I love her. I've only known her all of a month," I tell him, scrunching my eyebrows together. There's no way. I like her a lot, but not… I mean, I couldn't, right?

"I've only known Magnus for all of two months. I got over my own insecurities and fears and came out. And honestly I don't think I've ever felt happier in my entire life, you know?" He smiles and stands up, heading back towards Magnus who appears to be done meditating.

"I'm not gay though, Alec," I call after him. He stops halfway across the courtyard and turns his head to the side to project his voice towards me, a small laugh falling from his lips. It's a soft light sound that I've missed hearing from him.

"I know that. It's a relative comparison of denial, Jace."

And with that, he leaves me sitting here, completely dumbfounded.

Jon

"Jonny!"

I'm making my way down the halls to the elevator—bless whoever installed it at the turn of the century—when Isabelle calls after me. Her voice is breathless and her heels click away as she comes running up to me, black hair swaying behind her like a swirl of tar. A smile immediately finds its way up onto my chapped lips at the excitement on her face.

"Hey, I need to talk to you for a minute," she says, coming to a stop in front of me.

"I'm supposed to be meeting Jace—" I try explaining to her, but she sits herself down in front of me and juts out her bottom lip.

"Just a minute of your time. I—I really need your advice," she says, running a hand through her long hair and settling it along the front of her shoulders. Her far-off eyes make it seem like she has a lot on her mind. "Wait, where are you going?"

"Jace didn't tell you?" I ask incredulously. Although, what should I expect from Jace? He probably didn't think it important that she should know. "Magnus is portaling us to Alicante. We're going to give Hodge Starkweather a visit."

"Oh," she murmurs. Her eyes widen slightly, as if something just came to her. "Oh, about what he told Clary when the three of us went? Just before Valentine showed up? Before you showed up?"

"Yeah, I guess so. We need more answers, and he's a good start," I shrug and lean my elbow on one armrest and set my chin in my hand, staring down at her. "What was it that you wanted to talk about?"

"Well it's not very important. You guys should be on your way," she says, blowing off her problem like ours is more important.

"I want to know. If there's something bugging you, tell me. Jace can wait a few more minutes," I tell her softly, letting her know that I'm here. I'm willing to listen to her and help her if I can.

"Well, it's about my father," she says, rolling her eyes and clenching her jaw a little. "Everything about him lately has been setting me on edge. Even before he came parading in here with his cavalry, he was just so off with you guys around. His whole demeanor changed completely way back before you even got here..." She pauses, taking a deep breath. "When he found out Clary was a Morgenstern."

"Well, what are you thinking? That he has an agenda?" I ask her, my interest completely piqued. That would explain his complete coldness towards the both of us, and his indifference to what his family thought when he arrested Clary.

"I definitely think that he has more of an investment in this all than pure justice," Isabelle says, spitting the word like it tastes bad in her mouth. "Because this, this is not justice."

"I agree," I nod. "I think you should look into it."

"Oh, I plan on it. My mom used to keep journals, I think. I remember a couple of months ago when we were doing some deep cleaning, I found a box of them. When I asked her she got defensive and blew it off as nothing and then put them away somewhere. But I think I know where they are. Or where they could be," she tells me, sitting up straighter, her eyes spinning with endless possibilities. "I think I can find answers there."

"I think that's a brilliant idea!" I smile, encouraging her. "You can see what she's written."

"I'll do that while you guys are gone," she says with a half smile. I hold my hand out to help her stand up and she takes it. Her long elegant fingers wrap around my wrist and mine around hers. Her hand slips away, catching in between my fingers as she gives them a squeeze.

"Don't get caught," I smile up at her. She rolls her eyes.

"I'm stealthy, like a cat. I won't," she grins. "Watch out with Hodge. I'm pretty sure he's the one that contacted Valentine when we visited him. He creeps me out."

"Don't worry kitty cat, we can take care of ourselves," I smirk, reveling in the blush that comes up on her cheeks. The fact that I can make her nervous makes me nervous.

"Bye," she rolls her eyes and turns to go in the opposite direction. I turn myself around and watch her round the corner, a smile still on her face.

Isabelle

Kitty cat. I feel like a giggling idiot right now, all because of that idiot. I can't help it though. He makes my stomach twist itself in knots, a sensation I've never felt before.

It doesn't settle until I come to a stop in front of the stairs to the attic. I know my parents keep an assortment of old documents there because they think that we won't look up there—it's so dirty for one, and that would usually keep me away. I don't like spiders or bugs or dust.

I head up the stairs anyways and find that the door at the top is locked. I begrudgingly take out my stele and carve a small unlocking rune at the bottom of the door, so it'll be less noticeable if my parents ever come back up here. Maybe I can take some nail polish to the door later to cover up the charred wood.

I push the door open and step into the musty room; it feels a lot mustier and humid than downstairs, and a flurry of dust picks up with the swing of the door, making me sneeze. I cover my mouth and nose with my sleeve while I pull out my witchlight.

It looks like I imagine any other attic would look like—dirty, crowded, dirty. Boxes are stacked in giant looming heaps. As looming as a 5 foot tall stack can get. I have to hunch over to walk forward without whacking my head on the low ceiling beams. Some of the boxes have words on them, so I hold my witchlight out to illuminate them. I follow the small pathway between boxes, quickly glancing over the labels and inside a few of them. Kitchen. Baby clothes. Jace.

I kick aside a few dead bugs as I walk, trying not to think about them. I feel itchy just being up here, and the drooping spider webs don't make me feel any better. I'm glad I'm wearing jeans and a long sleeve though, even if I am a bit warm.

There's a window on the far side of the room, so as quickly as I can I pick my way over there so I can hopefully open it and get a breath of fresh air. I'm also getting frustrated because I don't see anything that looks worthy of looking in. Everything has an inch of dust on it—not literally, but it is pretty bad—and looks like it hasn't been touched in years.

I finally make it to the small, grimy window and force it open with pure strength. A cool breeze rushes in and I inhale deeply, feeling my head clear a little bit. I roll my thin sleeves up and crouch down to inspect the boxes here. Linens. Pictures. M.T.

The one labeled M.T. catches my eye; its smaller, a shoe box of sorts. It doesn't look nearly as old and dusty as the others, and the thick layer of dust that is settled around most of the boxes has been disturbed around this one.

I pull it closer to the window and find that inside are a few leather bound notebooks. Journals. I open one up and find Maryse Trueblood written on the inside cover. That's my mother's maiden name. I smile widely and dig deeper in the box, counting six of them. Some are small and thin, while others are much thicker and heavier. The writing takes up the front and back of the pages in small looping letters. The paper feels old and the dates are from before Alec was even born. Before she was married to our father, even.

I sit down and lean against the wall, ignoring the fact that dust is getting all over my shirt. I lay them all out in front of me and look for the earliest dated entry—July 23rd, 1994. Two years before Alec was born. A year before she married my father. She was only 21, barely a few years older than Alec is now. She wrote about her days in great detail. What she did, what she wore, who she hung out with. My eyes skimmed over entry after entry, noticing how carefree she seemed to be. Almost bubbly. Nothing like the hardened warrior she is now.

An entire journal of my mother's life as a young adult- a fewnobody's that she briefly dated, sneaking out with friends. I find nothing of importance, but tales of her and her friends catch me off guard—Jia Penhallow, Eleanor Blackthorn, Celine Herondale, Jocelyn Morgenstern, and some other names that I don't recognize. Jia is like an aunt to me, as well as being the Consul. I know Eleanor Blackthorn is my distant friend Helen's stepmother—her real mother is of the Fey. They seemed to be a wild bunch, always sneaking off with a bottle of scotch and silly games that I've only ever heard of, Shadowhunter parties. And then there's Jace's mother, Celine. The way she talks about these people is as if she was friends with them all, like a little social butterfly. She even speaks of Celine with a sort of familial fondness, as if they were best friends.

Celine and Stephen's wedding was beautiful. So bright and vibrant—everything I want my wedding to be. They're so in love, and together they are stronger. I pray to the Angel that when my time comes to marry, I'm with someone that I truly love. Celine says that I'll get there, someday. I wish the best for her and her new life.

It's sweet, the amount of love showed in the words written about her friends. I suppose they were closer than I thought; it's probably the reason that she took Jace in with no qualms. I've never known this side of my mother.

I move onto the next journal—November of 1995. Just a month before my parents got married.

My parents have decided that I've waited too long to find somebody suitable to marry on my own. They want to take it upon themselves to set me up with somebody. I'm sure they would love that, setting me up with some strange man of their choosing. They want nothing more than a powerful family, a family with ties. I don't want that. I want love, and happiness. Not forced smiles for the public and hushed cries at night. I don't want that.

I read on with a deep frown on my face, my fingers running over the small crinkled circles—like dried tears on the page. Is this how my parents met? Because it was all arranged? Even in the 90's, Shadowhunter society was still pretty medieval. It's disturbing. I mean, my parents have never been very affectionate, but I always just thought that was their personalities.

They've finally set me up. His name is Robert, and I can't say that I'm as angry with my parents as I was before. I met him briefly the other day in Alicante, and he seems nice enough—and he's cute. It's not like we're set to marry this month; they just want me to go on a date with him and see how it goes. I've decided to go along with it, because it's not as bad as it could be. I still have some choice in the matter.

I'm going to visit him in New York City next week, where his family heads the Institute. New York City! I've never left Idris besides a few short trips to other Institutes across Western Europe, so to be able to leave and visit a whole new place excites me. If this has to be the way that things are, then I'm glad it's him. I hope it goes well.

On and on she goes about my father—she seems to have really liked him. She was okay with being set up with him. I guess if she was happy, then that's alright. But what happened? What changed her from this bubbly personality into the no-nonsense demeanor I've grown up with?

It's going to take me a while to get through these journals—especially the bigger ones. I stand and dust myself off the best that I can before replacing the lid on the small box. I shut the window and crouch down under the rafters. I feel an immediate sense of relief once I'm out of the attic and in the cool hallway. I just hope that my mom's not home yet; that would be very bad. She doesn't appreciate sneaking around.

I'm nearly to my room when I hear footsteps echoing from the adjoining hall; like a pair of boots. I'm not close enough to my room to make a run for it, and the footsteps are just around the corner. Thinking as quickly as I can, I whip off my dusty sweater, leaving me in just a tank top. I lay it over the small box and continue on towards my room casually. That way she won't see that it's her box.

I'd give myself an A for ingenuity.

"Iz!" I turn around and see my brother along with Magnus walking towards me, Magnus' boots clicking on the wood. It was just Magnus. I sigh and wait for them to catch up.

"Why are you half naked, Isabelle?" Magnus asks, one artfully sculpted and filled in eyebrow raised. I'll have to ask him what sort of brow makeup he uses, it looks amazing.

"I thought you were my mom," I tell him, pointing my toe at his shoes in explanation. "You guys won't believe what I found in the attic."

"What did you find?" Alec asks suspiciously. I grab his arm and tote him along towards my room. I glance back atMagnus.

"Well, aren't you coming?" I ask him with both of my eyebrows raised. I'm going to need both of them to help me out with this if I want to get through all of these journals before the boys get home.