Alec rose, groggily. The sun was probably rising about now, or maybe the moon was. He couldn't tell. There were no windows in his bare room, and therefore no way for him to know either way. It wouldn't have mattered if it was night time. The only thing was whether Isabelle and Jace were up. If it were god-awful-early-o'clock, then they'd still be sleeping in their respectively colored rooms. It still amazed the man how his sister could fall asleep in her room. The pink glowed. Even with the lights off.
Pulling on a worn blue shirt, he tiptoed towards his door and pushed it open carefully. One hand was placed carefully on the top hinge, which had always creaked. It had been to his delight, one day, when he had found that he could reach it and stop the problem.
Sneaking out was never really a problem for him, but it wasn't exactly what he was prone to do. That was the problem with Shadowhunters; put a demon in front of them and they'll kill it without a second thought, but if you challenged them to get past a creaky door, they'd end up bashing it down. Noisily. Isabelle had taught him the hinge trick, though he shuddered to imagine why she would need to be leaving her room in the middle of the night. Sometimes he wondered if that girl even knew what she was doing, half the time, when she hooked up with guys.
At least she knew not to form long term relationships with them.
Sighing, the teen slunk up the stairs to the green house. It was still beautiful, even though Hodge wasn't attending it any more. Alec had always had a bit of a green thumb. Unbeknownst to his siblings, he had been attending to the garden for a couple of weeks now. While this, he knew, was one of Jace's favorite thinking haunts, it was also one of his. He always came out here, bright and early. Every morning.
The sky was painted in orange brushstrokes, as if someone had started on his world with oils. It wasn't fair, he thought, that something could get to be that beautiful. The sun, high and mighty, got to hang around in the sky all day, while he was planted solidly on the ground. He felt the familiar wasp-sting of tears prickling in his eyes. Stupid things.
Frowning to himself, Alec looked fruitlessly for the watering can. He'd put it over by the azaleas, he could have sworn it. And yet, either the bushes had devoured it while he was gone, or it wasn't there.
God, he was so useless. He couldn't even find a stupid water can, let alone love. It was irrational to get this angry about something so trivial, he knew. Still, he couldn't help but want to throw things. Angrily, he swept through the garden, searching for the small green object. It wasn't here, and it certainly wasn't inside the potted plants. Giant ferns and plants he still couldn't learn the names of threatened to knock him over when he turned in the wrong direction. Their bright greens and blues looked alien against the rising sun, harsh and unwelcoming. He shivered, wrapping further in on himself.
It just...wasn't here. Letting out a frustrated cry, he kicked over the nearest plant, sending flecks of dirt and clay in every direction. He cringed at the pain. Demons hurt worse, he reminded himself. If he couldn't kick a plant without falling over and crying, what use would he be on the battlefield? None. He wasn't ever any use. Not anywhere, and not to any one. He had gotten that impression, that maybe- just once- he meant something to a real person. He thought that he might just be the person that brightened their day every time they saw them, always made sure that they smiled. He thought that he could be that special someone that makes it almost as though the world isn't colored quite as brightly without them; like the Technicolor brightness fades away to some sort of monotone sepia.
Magnus had been like that- been that someone- to him.
The world was not quite without color, but lacking the vibrancy that his heightened senses had given it. The scents and the sights and the sounds that he had been hyper-aware of were gone. He had been able to hear Magnus's breathing from all the way across the room. That had nothing to do with the fact he was a Shadowhunter. It had all too much to do with the fact that he was so conscious of everything around the Warlock. He had been such an idiot.
Idiot.
Reject.
Pathetic.
Useless.
It would be better if there was nothing left to hurt.
Nothing left to burn with the pain of searing kisses dancing across his shoulders.
Nothing left to shatter inside of him with the memory of soft caresses along pale skin.
Nothing.
