This was written post-midnight so I apologize for any errors.

the consequences of skinship


"Do you...remember that faerie? The one I used to bring around?"

Lily crossed her arms on the table where her cousin's work supplies were, watching as she brushed glue onto the spine of a book to reinforce where it was starting to split. It was an awkward topic more than anything, not preferring to bring up past mistakes even if she'd been particularly proud of what had come from it. The faerie had been a double-edged sword. On one hand, she'd gained information about the inner workings of the Unseelie. On the other, she had been the one to degrade herself by being with someone like him.

But Hannah had always been kind to her regarding the situation and often foolish with her judgements, and it was easy to see the open sympathy unfold in her expression. "...Of course. I mean, it's kind of hard not to."

The air was crisp from an outside breeze, the windows to the bookstore open with the curtains pulled back, and Lily drew in a slow breath of cool air. "Apparently he's still around, associating with Shadowhunters. I looked into his current affairs and he's gotten mixed up with...criminal things."

"You dodged a bullet then, by getting out when you did."

Lily lifted a hand to her cheek absentmindedly. There was a small scar there, visible when it caught the light - a souvenir from their first meeting. "I think I was stupid to let the Clave convince me to drop my case against him. They had the gall to tell me it was more trouble than it was worth," she said, a hint of sourness in her words. Years of self-righteousness had convinced her that she'd been wronged regardless of the truth, and she did poorly with letting things go. "He wouldn't have been able to do such terrible things if they'd just taken me seriously. It's important to put a leash on the dangerous ones."

Hannah didn't comment right away. She'd always been soft on Downworlders and broken things, her hands gentle as they wrapped the book in cloth strips to keep the new spine and cover in place while the glue dried. "I suppose so..."

"They're just planning on shipping him off to another state so he's not so close to the Shadowhunters anymore. Like he didn't kill people." Lily frowned, giving an indignant huff as she stared at the window instead. "He could've killed me, even, and now the Council is happy to see someone with a violent history just...out of sight and mind. It's bullshit, isn't it?"

"Honestly, it just sounds scary." Hannah chewed at her bottom lip before giving a concealed sigh, shifting to sit on the edge of her work desk to give her injured leg a break from standing. "I know the whole fiasco when he got away was...rough for you."

It'd been embarrassing and lonely, among other unpleasant things. Lily wasn't sure what would've happened if she hadn't gotten lax and let him find out about the notes she'd been keeping. Long relationships had never suited her and bringing shame to her family had been difficult to contend with, regardless of her intentions. Hannah had never judged so much, but the wariness from everyone else had been clear. How humiliating it was for her to have dropped her complaints against the faerie only for him to get negatively mixed up in a world that she had essentially welcomed him into. It was difficult - impossible, even - to ignore her own involvement.

"I think I should open the case again," Lily concluded, straightening and lifting her chin. "I'm bound to be taken more seriously this time, and certainly the Clave will see that I'm a better judge of his character than they ever were."

"You know I'll support you, whatever you decide to do." Hannah offered a hesitant, but supportive smile, which was enough to convince Lily that following through was the only logical choice. "If you think it'll make you feel better about things."

"Well, I'll think about it more, but it feels like the right thing to do." That was an empty remark. From the moment she'd learned of the faerie's persistence, she'd already made her decision. "I just know...it'd be nice to finally put an end to that chapter, once and for all."

... ... ...

Sometimes Ethos thinks Kellan mistakes his evenness for a lack of nervousness, but it is far from the truth.

He doesn't think he can stand being around others for the time being, and though he usually would've taken his horse out on a ride through the night, he lays on his back in a grassy clearing. Alone. It's the only way he can hear his own thoughts, replaying every conversation with Kellan a hundred times over. Those memories come quick, having conjured them again and again.

He remembers all the times he turned Kellan down. All the times he expressed how flattered he was and that he just couldn't say the same. He's never had a gaze so warm in his direction, having never yearned to carry someone's expectations and affections in worry that he would let all of them slip through his hands, never understanding their worth. It is strange how quickly things can change. Now, he imagines Kellan's hands in his own, shoulders brushing as they stand side-by-side. This is what friendship feels like, isn't it?

Although that's not how Kellan would define it. Their gestures are sometimes synonymous, so why does he feel he experiences them so differently? Ethos' fingers move to rest on his own cheek. Stupidly, he pretends his hand is not his own and grazes his fingertips down his throat, staring up into the starry expanse. Perhaps the skies are watching him and laughing at his childishness, so he closes his eyes to reinforce the illusion of being enveloped in someone else's shadow. But he can't quite imagine what that would be like. Of course he's idly observed a thousand drunken faeries publicly paw at each other more than what he considers decent, but it's far more difficult to picture himself as a recipient of such a gesture.

He realizes he's holding his breath and bracing himself when he runs out of air, so he exhales softly, focusing on the contact. Instead, he rests his hand against his stomach, able to feel himself breathe. Worrying the fabric of his shirt between his pointer finger and thumb, he tries to think of what it would be like to have someone there with him, watching. Participating or guiding, perhaps. Is that the sort of thing most people yearn for? He wonders if Kellan thinks of it and how often. If his thoughts are detailed or just inchoate notions, envisioning the different ways they could be closer after being kept at a distance for what feels like forever.

His hand moves downwards and his eyebrows furrow, forcing himself to concentrate even when he can feel tickling of the grass on his neck and hear the faint song of birds mocking him in the distance. Even though he's alone, he's slow to follow the bone of his hip down the line of his pelvis, his fingers pressed into his skin as they dip just barely below the waistband of his pants. Finally, he feels a twitch of something new. Discomfort.

The recoil is immediate when the barely-there illusion breaks. His hand falls into the grass beside him and he opens his eyes to the dark sky above, letting the stars bear witness to his transgressions. A blush is hot on his face, relieved that no one except the Faerie is there to witness it. He's not used to shame, especially in his own home.

Still, he can't lay there for much longer. The night no longer feels private, embarrassed to have pondered too deeply on the matters of flesh, and he pushes himself up to stand, brushing any grass from his hair. There is nothing more comfortable than being cloaked in the dark privacy of the lands, and even then, he slips his gloves back on and starts back towards the Court. This is not something that can be yours, he knows, and turns his cheek from the waking horizon.

... ... ...

Stephanie,

I apologize if it took some time for me to reply, but I've been busy. The little girl I knew has gotten better with her words. I think you were careful to craft a letter that could sting and pity in the same sentence, and it was amusing to see your attempts to dig at my character or bolster your own. Some of them had bite, but like you said, you're not that cruel. We might have understood each other more if you were.

Although I am a little offended that you'd be concerned about Amalia when you should really be more concerned for my sanity instead. Hah! Have you ever actually worked with a warlock long term? I'm afraid she gave the wrong impression when she met you as she could give you lessons on bite that would supersede even my own. At least I never had to teach her to be capable. Do you remember the exact moment when you realized that wielding a weapon finally felt like second nature? I wonder when the once-naive, shy, and pitiful Stephanie stopped becoming repulsed by the blood on her hands.

I read your book, by the way. Nonfiction has always been easier to stomach, but I do think your penchant for romance novels coloured the stories you tell. I'm certain half of your interviewees are nigh irredeemable, but you have never liked to believe the worst of people and it shows. It was well-written, despite this, and I think you should be proud of what you've created. There is something to be said about someone like you gaining a voice, especially after so many others have tried to shape who you are into who they wanted you to become. The book also helps you look a little less like a Clave shill, I might add.

Also, in reference your last letter, it would be impossible to forget about you entirely. Many people that had troubled childhoods tend to lapse or regress at some point in their lives and I have a sort of one-sided competition regarding which one of us will succumb to probability first. It would be disappointing to learn that you lived the rest of your life as some straight-laced Shadowhunter with no more rebellion to your name.

Although I likely won't make it long enough to see what becomes of you. But that's just life, isn't it?

C.