The last time that Alec had opened up to anybody had been never.

Scratch that. He's open with Helen Blackthorn, always. Not anybody else. Not even Jace, which is saying something, seeing as they're brothers in every way but blood. Which makes Alec's feelings seem like emotional incest, and that's a rabbit hole he doesn't want to go down again.

Helen is the rare exception. The problem is that Alec is tired from the game he's been playing since he turned eleven or twelve. Being born into high society, into an old and powerful family, means that while you're split into separate selves, those selves always overlap. He is an adult, but still young, caught on the threshold of being too old for most things and a little too young for others. He can begin running in political circles in a way that really matters, but nobody wants to listen to a man fresh on the heels of his high school graduation.

Sometimes he wonders if people can tell he's different. Alec spends half his time terrified that the word GAY is inked out on his forehead. How obvious is he acting? Or is he blending in well enough to not raise suspicion?

However, that is beside the point. And the point is that Alec has no idea how he ended up here, like this, reserved and quiet around the few people he should never doubt (but he does, anyway). Jace and Helen will sense his melancholia. Later on one of them will ask, and he'll say it's nothing, and they'll look at each other and know he's lying. Wonder, even, how much longer he can keep plodding on like this, holding onto nothing. Or maybe, he supposes, Jace dismisses it as Alec being an uptight asshole with a type-A personality.

Alec's found himself nervous to feel anything at all half the time. The other half of the time he feels all the wrong things: romantic love for Jace, fear, self-loathing. So much misunderstanding. How can he be the one to end up like this? Isn't there some kind of cosmic law that prevents people from being gay in a shitty world? Or is that just wishful thinking?

"Hey. What's up, dork?" Helen settles next to him. They're both perched on a windowsill, legs dangling out of the highest window in Angel Academy. "I thought parties were your thing. That's the only time of the year when you socialize with people." Her voice is teasing, and it's a bad joke, but at least she's trying.

"I socialize plenty," Alec replies, tapping the ashes of a cigarette out. "Want a smoke?" he asks and offers her the box. He continues to stare out over the city lights. With all the noise and lights, he's almost tempted to ask what it would be like to look at the black velvet sky dotted with stars and then just escape through the skylights. But he doesn't. That's for another kind of melancholic time. When he inevitably ends up back here next summer, one year old, drunker than he should be, and still pining over goddamn Jace.

Helen shakes her head. "No. I didn't know you did, though. Pretty uncharacteristic." She leans against the wall and looks out over the skyline. Her thumbs carve symbols onto the wood.

"Neither did I. Consider this my rebellious stage. I'm a late bloomer." Alec sucks in another drag. "Don't tell Hodge. I don't need him to tell me I'm going to get lung cancer and die."

"Then I'll tell you. You're going to give yourself lung cancer and die." Helen grins at the lazy scowl he shoots her. "Seriously, though. The sulking and smoking are what I would expect from Jace. What gives?"

Alec shrugs, pauses. "It's because of Jace," he finally allows. "I can't exactly drink myself into a stupor. So smoking it is."

"Because of your feelings," she clarifies, "for Jace, you're doing this."

There's nothing else to say, so he nods. Because what exactly is he going to say to that? Alec tries, though. "You know the rule. We're allowed one off day or night a year. I'm finally cashing mine in. Tomorrow everything will go back to normal."

"If you say so," Helen mutters, kicking the air. She pauses, then says, "Aline's here. Back from a summer in France. Not to rub salt in wounds, but she's . . . got her eye on Jace."

Alec doesn't want to say I told you so, even though it's lodged on his tongue, because he really did try to warn Helen. He's known for years how supremely unfair it is that Jace Wayland has his own gravitational pull. Helen didn't know, and he can't blame her – Alec's always assumed she got hit with Eldest Daughter Syndrome at a young age, and with her also being a lesbian, well – she's always kind of seen through Jace's bullshit even if she never says it outright.

"Jace only has eyes for Clary. Aline will figure that out eventually," Alec finally says. His tone might be dry, neutral, but he's feeling anything that. Alec lights a new cigarette, because he was so close to forgetting, just relaxing. "She'll flirt with him and he'll humor her." He pauses, then adds, "This year is just going to hell in a handbasket."

"You're so cynical; has anybody ever told you that? Like, abnormally cynical." Helen flashes him a concerned look. "Do you, like – I mean, I know the view on therapy, but . . . it wouldn't be the worst thing in the world, you know?

Alec shrugs, breathes in the new nicotine so that it can coat his lungs. Maybe it'll protect him from falling anymore in love then he already has. It could kill the feelings he already has. "We're not like normal people. We do everything to the extreme." He decides to ignore her question about therapy. He doesn't know how he feels about it, and anyway – what he would tell them? I'm gay and I feel weird about it? So do most people in the closet, he supposes.

"Maybe," Helen allows. "But just because we're special - that doesn't mean we should indulge in reckless behavior. Okay?" Then she wriggles off the windowsill, lands on the attic floor. "Because I'm an emotional masochist, I'm going back down to the end of summer bash. See you there?"

There's a small pause where he considers his options and her offer. Stay here and sulk and pretend like everything is fine when it's not. Or go downstairs and really fake his way through the evening. "I'll walk down with you," Alec replies, gracefully swinging his legs around. He taps out the cigarette and grinds it into the ashtray he brought up with him. Nobody ever comes up to this particular attic, he's learned.

The walk back is long, irritatingly so. The last thing Alec wants - the last he suspects Helen wants - is to drag out the inevitable sight of seeing Jace and Aline flirt with each other, with everybody, with anybody. Anybody except the two of them. "Ready for another fun year of school?" Helen asks when they start to descend the final flight of stairs, which will take them to the rec room on the first floor.

Alec laughs sharply, dryly, but he's amused even if his laugh doesn't soften his body language. "Sure. I'm desperate as hell to practice my dancing skills with you. I think they're almost swoon worthy."

"I'll upgrade to giving you a lap dance, but only if you agree to pay for dinner." Helen pulls her black hair back into a ponytail.

It's an old, worn-out joke between them. Everybody thinks Alec Lightwood and Helen Blackthorn are about to start dating, and their parents are pleased with where they think the friendship is going. If only they knew.

Dancing comes naturally to Helen, but apparently not as well as she'd like. Her people skills are a lot better. Helen's charismatic, electric. Whereas Alec is . . . lacking, socially. He doesn't get along as well with others. He's too prickly and reserved. "Ha. You can try dancing with me and we'll see how much it turns me on," Alec tells her. Mother used to worry he might be One Of Those Children – as if it would really be the worst thing in the world to have an autistic child. Karma got its kiss for her, he'd supposed at the time, with his resulting sexuality.

(Alec had been seven at the time. He'd been outside one of the ornate studies his parents occupied. He hadn't dared peered in but he could picture his mother wringing her smooth, lotioned hands. "Alexander has no friends," Maryse said in a tone that suggested irritation and a neutral observation, simultaneously. "With all the children here, shouldn't he at least be socializing more?"

"He's seven," Robert said tartly. "If he doesn't make a damn friend by the end of the fall semester, we'll have him – tested."

Maryse let out a cough, like she was choking on tea just sipped and his statement startled her. "Tested? Absolutely not. If he believes anything is wrong with himself, he'll just use it as a crutch."

"And what happens if it holds him back?" Robert argues. "It'll get worse if we don't address it now."

There's silence. Alec isn't used to the idea of Father disagreeing with Mother. They always present a united front to him and Izzy, but lately even he has picked up on the tension between them. Alec looks down at his feet, shuffling a little. Maybe now is a bad time to ask if Hodge can tutor him at a seventh-grade level for Physics. Is it bad, he wonders, if he's this good at Physics and he hasn't hit double digits yet? Maybe this is the crutch they're talking about.

"I am not getting him tested." Maryse's tone has him flinching back even though they don't know he's lurking around the mostly closed door. It's the voice she uses when she's so angry she's calm. "You know what they do to those children? He'll end up on a goddamn no fly list or something because other countries don't even let autistic children become citizens of their country."

"I – we're not talking about him potentially becoming a goddamn dual citizen down the road," Robert said exasperatedly. "It looks bad on us for not catching this sooner. We didn't catch Valentine and his behavior sooner. We've had enough bad press; we need to manage this shit before it potentially gets out."

Alec moves away from the door and wanders back down the hall to his classroom. When Hodge asks him distractedly how it went, he says his parents were busy and that they'll take it up with him later in the week. Because it's the answer Father and Mother would have given anyway. He doesn't want to listen to them argue about him and any potential deformities.

It doesn't end up mattering, he supposed, when he met Jace. Jace, a wayward orphan from Europe, who is dazzling and suspicious of all in the Angel Academy. All of them except for Alec; the two boys take to each other like ducks to water. Alec doesn't miss the appreciative, approving glances from his parents when they think he isn't looking, so he supposes he doesn't autism, whatever that is, which means he won't end up on a no-fly list by way of his birth.

But when Alec isn't sure about something and wants to ask their advice, he always remembers that argument he overheard. They like him just the way they think he is.)

"Deal," Alec tells Helen, not meaning it, as he bumps their shoulders together. It's then that they get into the rec room, an extension of the Sanctuary. Inside it are a lot of people, and not all of them students at the Angel Academy: Simon Lewis attends a public high school not too far from the Academy. He and Clary are playing Mario Kart on a Wii, laughing and bumping shoulders.

Alec casts a glance to his sister. Isabelle, who's all gorgeous black hair and lean muscle and feminine, is talking to Mark Blackthorn with some animation. He watches her keep half an eye on Max, who's toddling around with some of the younger Blackthorns – namely Tavvy. Isabelle pretends she hates children, but it's a lie. Emma is with her friend Cristina, heads bent over their plastic cups full of punch as they whisper and giggle and look out one of the huge church windows, open wide to let in the August night and starlight. Drusilla and Livvy are pressed around the Wii, waiting for a turn. In a corner is Ty with his headphones on, bobbing his head as he sketches pictures of plants; Julian on the other end of the room, clearly deciding between pretzels and M&M's. Even Cameron Ashdown is there, chattering to Julian about something.

"I was wrong," Helen says dryly.

Alec follows her gaze and sees the way Aline is sprawled on the couch next to Jace, the look she's giving him. Aline might be conservative, but she's a flirt at times. "Sorry, buttercup," Alec replies. "Look at it as consolation; this is great wank fodder for later."

"Shut up!" Helen practically hisses at him, flushing. "I want to get turned on if I ever masturbate, not turn it into a wow-look-at-my-tiny-violin siesta."

"But what a lovely tiny violin you'd be playing," Alec replies. He starts toward the food, anxious to eat something. The entire day had flown by and he'd only had a yogurt cup. It was fine if you wanted a snack, but not if you were treating it as your only meal of the day. Training hard and participating in a few extracurriculars on top of maintaining his grades left him practically cramping with hunger.

Following him, Helen just mutters, "I take that back. You're not cynical. You're just starting to get better come backs. Some people might even assume it's a defense mechanism."

Alec grinned. "Jace must be finally rubbing off on me." His smile falters a bit. Wrong choice of words in every way. His mind is torn between going down a dirty road and wincing at the fact that he's so obviously hung up on the most heterosexual guy to ever exist.

"Perks of having a chosen brother," Helen sounds wistful, like she wishes that's an option. That she could choose her family, as if she doesn't have a litter of younger siblings she loves something fierce.

There were a lot of perks to having a chosen brother. Picking one you ended up falling in love with was not one of them. Whatever Alec's expression conveyed, he wasn't sure, because silence falls between them. He sips at a cup of water before popping a cherry into his mouth; as soon as he's done swallowing, even the pit, he asks, "What are you going to do about the whole Ty thing?"

According to Helen, Ty was smart, but he was special. Different. "I don't know, honestly," Helen groans, raking a hand through her somewhat curly hair as she pulls it back out of the ponytail. "Diana's been trying to find teaching methods that he responds favorably to, but it all kind of depends. What works for physical combat doesn't work in pre-algebra, and what works there only sometimes work in advanced encryption. Did I tell you he wants to become a field agent for the FBI?" They don't say it, but they know he has to be neurodivergent.

"Hey, he could be a really amazing field agent." The Angel Academy was a boarding school meant to prep students from old and high society for Ivy League schools the moment they graduate, where they would spend four years matriculating as college students set on a career in politics, medicine, or engineering. Business, if they intended to become a high-ranking individual in a massive company's corporate scene.

"Just like Isabelle's going to become a successful fashion designer?" Helen raised her eyebrow wryly.

Alec opened his mouth to protest, then shut it. "It's just a wistful dream on her end," he finally said. "She'll realize she actually likes helping people – well, children, anyway – and become a pediatrician or something."

Helen blew out a breathe. "Aren't you tired of sticking to the path our parents set out for us?"

"We don't have to like it all the time to acknowledge it works. Our families are successful and have been for generations for a reason." The truth was that no, Alec didn't like it. But he didn't have a creative bone in his body, and the only way he could make the differences he wanted to make was if he kept his head down and became a politician. Once he graduated from college . . . everything could change then, if he wanted.

"Oxford is going to be a culture shock," Helen murmured. She was surveying the room, studiously and deliberately not looking at Aline and Jace. Months before, she and Alec had received a stack of college acceptance or rejection letters. The only schools that mattered as far her acceptances went were Princeton, Stanford, Texas A&M, and University of Oxford. Alec, meanwhile, had been accepted to Brown, Harvard, Stanford, and University of Oxford.

"I know," Alec murmured. Helen was intent on pursuing medicine as a career, and between the financial aid and scholarships she had received, in addition to her parents' help, Oxford was possible. He had pitched Oxford to his parents as a way to ensure the highest quality education, even over the Ivies he'd been accepted to. That if he wanted to get to the UN eventually as a career, he wanted to be exposed to and understand the politics of other countries. And what better way to try to understand foreign policy than as a student in another country at a prestigious university? It was all so much nonsense he only half-believed as he'd been saying it, but it had worked. The truth was that he wanted to get away from the constraints society and his parents offered, and Oxford was as far as he could get.

The entire point of this summer party was a send-off for the seniors who'd graduated. While Alec and Helen were bound overseas for college, Jem Carstairs and Tessa Gray were staying in America. Jem had been accepted to Juilliard's music program; it suited him well, with his love of playing the violin. Tessa was going to Columbia for English Lit. Her parents had died young, and she'd already won a few awards for two essays she'd had published. Had gotten to go to a humanities conference last year. People often joked she'd become poet laureate by the time she was twenty-one, though Alec suspected it was less of a joke and more of an expectation.

Alec had always half-wondered why Jem would choose to stay here in America, when he was Chinese-British. There were plenty of rumors surrounding him and his mop of white hair. Jem's parents had also died when he was young. Apparently it had been from home-intruders when he'd lived in Shanghai with his parents. There'd been no relatives able or willing to take him in – he, apparently, had quite the small family in China. Jem had been relocated to an orphanage of sorts in London – it was nicknamed the Institute by Jem, and the woman who ran it, Charlotte Fairchild, wasn't much older than him (Alec didn't understand how the mathematics or mechanisms of that worked, if Jem had gone to London when he was twelve).

Something at the Institute had gone wrong – something about a girl named Jessamine, and there were even more rumors about that flying around the Angel Academy – and so Jem had applied to live and study at the Academy full-time. The tuition hadn't been a deterrent as Jem had been granted a full scholarship. At fourteen, Jem had come to New York City as if he'd been willed into existence.

Alec supposed he should have been close with Jem given their ages, but they had never spoken to each other beyond a handful of conversations when they were assigned to work together on classroom projects. Alec liked his little group – himself, Jace, and Isabelle . . . and Clary, whom Alec was tolerating only for Jace's sake. She had come to the Academy last year. There was apparently a scandal involving her mother, but nobody knew what exactly it was, and so her arrival had been met with stares and whispering mouths when her back was turned. Clary was popular and had charmed everybody except for Alec.

She had also been clear about herself and Simon being a "package deal" – to Alec's dismay. Isabelle hadn't even been interested in Simon until she caught the little disapproving sighs from their parents. She'd been flirting with Simon on and off for months ever since; Alec had found it amusing until he realized how disturbing it was his little sister had grown up that fast.

And then, of course, the Blackthorns . . . they should have stayed in California, but bad things had happened to them. Emma Carstairs attended the same school as some of the Blackthorns. Her parents had been killed in a ritual; nobody had found out who it was and only recovered parts of her parents' bodies. The rest had been washed out to sea already. Alec had never met the girl before she'd lost her parents, and there was a ruthless determination she had that she'd been hiding well. Julian was attached to Emma's hip because they were childhood best friends.

Jem had turned eighteen when her parents were killed – with him not wanting Emma to go through the upheavals he had when he lost his parents at the same age, and them being distantly related through one Jonah Carstairs, Jem legally adopted a girl he'd never met and offered her a spot at the Academy, courtesy of Maryse and Robert. Emma accepted because she had no other, better option.

Eleanor and Andrew Blackthorn had been wildly angry over Julian being a stowaway in Emma's suitcase – evidently the two of them really were that determined not to be separated, and had been caught by airport security.

They decided it would be easier in the long run to send Julian to the Academy, and once his summer punishment was over, he and Emma were sent there as thirteen-year-old, wide-eyed, boarding school freshman. Of course, Alec supposed, it helped that Helen and Mark had also been attending Angel Academy at the time. Two siblings who'd promised to look out for Julian and Emma, and help with the transition. With Alec being close to Helen, it meant it also partially became his responsibility.

"Ready for Oxford?" Mark materializes next to Alec, who startles. Mark and Helen both have catlike reflexes and the unnerving ability to show up (and disappear) unexpectedly. Apparently, they get it from Nerissa, as Andrew was allegedly prone to saying now and ten. Nerissa was part of some minor European nobility, as Alec understands it. According to Mark and Helen, she ran off with a Count or a Duke in their childhood once her affair with their father ended badly. "I wish I was graduating early too. Without Helen, I'm stuck with this lot." He grins and tilts his head towards his younger siblings.

Alec shrugs. "Yes. Naturally." He clears his throat. "You'll have to keep a bigger eye on Jace. I'm sure he'll keep trying to one up you."

Mark laughs, light and fast. "I know, yeah, but he's cool. We play soccer together sometimes. But you'll be in England with actual soccer, and then you and Helen can show off your mad skills when you come back next summer."

"Football. Actual football," Alec corrects distractedly. At the mention of Jace, he can't help noticing – again – how he has an arm around Aline's waist while the two of them talk to Helen. Helen is the picture of serenity and amusement, so he tries to channel that same state within himself, though he's fairly certain he looks constipated. When Mark offers him a drink, he gladly accepts it. At least his parents won't know he's having a few sips of something spiked.

Everything was as it should be, really, and probably for the last time ever, Alec thought. God knew how Oxford was going to change him and Helen.