Okay so I had a terrible idea for Valentine's Day that resulted in a very very late and cursed chapter. So instead of just doing a chapter of existing couples or dubious relationships that canonically exist, I made two short lists of your characters versus my characters and then put them in a combination generator to see what kind of pairings it would come up with. They're odd combinations at best, but some definitely worked out better than others. It was kind of hard to guess at their chemistry or work with the lack thereof...Anyway, enjoy hahahahaha or maybe not. I had mostly wild card characters in here so it would have a smaller chance of pairing together "real" pairings.

I changed some of the timelines and circumstances of the characters so not all of the characters in this chapter necessarily reflect the character's "current" state and might instead reflect them at an earlier or later period.

Though it wasn't his weapon of choice, Naya was grateful that Blake had amused her with some friendly sword-fighting to get in a bit of early morning practice. He was never good at indicating his gratitude or likes, as she quickly found out, but she eventually came to the conclusion that he intentionally kept up with her routine to act as if he still had some sort of system in place in his life. It had even become normal for him to stick around after her training sessions, sometimes engaging in awkward conversations that she mostly had to initiate. At first, she rolled her eyes at his grating social ineptitude for anything outside of harsh judgements and biting criticisms, but with time, he'd softened just slightly, which meant being only a little faster to initiate conversation and a little slower to ridicule. Why she had become the collector of introverts, she wasn't entirely sure.

Watching as he slipped on a crossbow glove, she reached over to take his hand, doing up the button at the wrist with a practiced gesture of affection that she'd done a number of times with Devi during their training together. While she'd never had much interest in long-range fighting, and neither did Blake have much experience with archery, she'd watched Devi shoot enough times to get the overall gist. He paused at her actions, if a little indignantly, but let her fingers linger long enough to do up the clasp before he drew back to return to working on the crossbow. It'd confused him at first why humans had felt the need to make archery so unnecessarily complicated, which she'd laughed off and quickly advised him to keep that opinion to himself - at least around her parabatai.

"It's just, you know, more powerful than just a regular bow, so I've heard," Naya remarked as she dragged an oiled cloth aimlessly up and down the blade she'd used earlier, not really caring about the intricacies of archery, but feeling the need to defend it anyway. "People have been using regular recurves since, like, the Mongolian empire. Which was a long time ago, you realize, and way overdue for an upgrade."

"And simple weapons are more effective and easier to use." He was quick to disagree, a trait she'd grown to expect from him. "Your kind are always judgmental. And usually wrong."

"My kind? You're lucky I enjoy having a morning sparring partner." Scrunching up her nose at a thought, she let the cloth still against the metal. "If you weren't a-...Well, my parents would have been happy that I have someone to train with who's willing to stick to a schedule. Which is ironic, considering..."

He glanced over at her, looking as if he was mentally filling in the blanks of her words, all of which she knew easily boiled down to his blood. "Schedules aren't difficult to learn," he managed with a noisy exhale. It surprised her that he didn't make some jab about her bringing up his heritage, as he was often just as fast to say something biting about Shadowhunters, but that tangent didn't draw her entirely out of her thoughts.

"Speaking of time and my parents..." She trailed off her sentence, unsure of whether to resort to annoyance or a flippant attitude to talk about something that'd been on her mind during the entirety of their sparring. "They want me to go to a family dinner with them this Sunday. Most likely to...complain about all of my 'rebellious' actions, or so they would call them."

There was a hint of concentration in Blake's features as he fiddled with the mechanism of the crossbow, loading a bolt into it and testing out the weight. "I assume you're...not going to take them up on that."

"What are you talking about?" Rolling her eyes, Naya just set the sword she'd been cleaning on a nearby table. "Getting grilled by my family is my favourite weekend activity. You should come, you know. Meet them."

Either the prolonged silence that ensued or the subtle confusion within Blake's expression alerted her to some sort of miscommunication, giving a hefty sigh and staring at him from the side. "I'm being sarcastic. I don't actually want to go see them, obviously."

"Is...that so?" Perhaps with a hint of dissatisfaction, he narrowed his eyes. "Sarcasm is...not a strong suit of fae."

"Yeah? I wonder why," Naya quipped back, catching the instinctive quizzical tilt of his head before he just exhaled and gave a shake of his head.

"Mm. Sarcasm." Raising the crossbow from where he stood, he squinted at the nearest target to judge the distance through the sights before finally pulling the trigger. It hit the target, but was some ways off from the middle. "It has some...kick."

A little distracted from the previous topic by his less than stellar shot, she nudged him gently in the side. "You can say you hate it. I won't be offended."

"You don't need to encourage a critical comment from me. Throwing knives are faster and more accurate, in the long run," he replied, setting the crossbow down on the table nearby and not caring to go retrieve the lone bolt from the target. There was always a haughty bit of pride that he carried with him, needing to assert his knowledge or proficiency in different subjects to perhaps defend his background against his current standing. Naya found that he was always quicker to demonstrate things he felt capable of than speak of them.

"I was going to suggest intense crossbow training tomorrow, but maybe we can just stick to sword-fighting," she said with a bit of jest, stretching out her arms and taking a step away from the table. "If you're up to it."

"If that's what you want," he remarked as he slipped the glove from his hand, setting it aside as well. It was the best kind of agreement that she could expect from him, anyway, knowing that he would have easily chosen something else if he didn't actually give into her preferences.

A comment that she might have even deemed compassionate or sappy quickly fizzled out on her tongue, having waited too long to speak of how she appreciated his involvement in her mornings despite how 'inadequate' he found many things in the Institute. Devi would have sparred with her if she pestered him enough, but it was nice to have someone reliably show up and actively participate in things for her benefit. Her emotionally ineloquent nature likely saved Blake the pain of having to answer something sincerely as well. He was serious, more often than not, but less than willing to address any topics that related to most interpersonal relationships or experiences.

"Well, enough about my parents and crossbows," she said finally, thinking that she'd let the silence drag for too long and reaching to take his arm and urge him towards the door. "I'm starving. You want breakfast? Pretty sure I could whip something up..."

At the contact, he stiffened for a moment like he meant to pull away, but acquiesced anyway, keeping a step behind as he let her guide him. "Institute food? My standards haven't fallen that low."

Despite herself, she laughed, looking back at him with amusement. "Oh, now I'm sure we'll find you something."

... ... ...

Steff's not entirely certain if Luca's just an exceptionally clean and tidy person or if his flat is simply not occupied enough to look lived-in. Even when she's there alone, she takes care to clean up every trace of herself that she can, wiping up even the ring of condensation that settles on the table surface when she leaves her drink on it. She steals glances into his bedroom every now and again, hoping to read him in the same way he tries to dissect every aspect of her life, but there's nothing much hiding in the neat, dark sheets, cleanly folded clothes on a chair, and a few souvenirs that sit on a cabinet. One of them is a porcelain white fox with painted features that is small enough to sit in the palm of her hand, though she's made sure to position it perfectly back in the dustless spot every time after she picks it up.

Mostly, she just sits in the living room at a side table to work, sometimes filling out reports or writing her own things in the silence that occupies the space. He doesn't listen to music, as the only radio he has is a relic - "A real 50's german radio I got from a yard sale," as he's told her, though she imagines it's another one of his funny remarks as she doesn't think he'd caught dead at something as quaint as a yard sale - and the large window in the living room whistles every time a breeze passes by so it's been delegated solely to providing light. But she doesn't mind the peace, even letting the rabbit sit in her lap while she reads and writes if it manages to behave. It is nice, really, to be comfortable in the quiet without having to strain for the sound of footsteps; she remembers a time when that had been different.

Eventually, however, a key finds its way into the locked door and it draws her attention, glancing as Luca finally lets himself inside far after the sun has set. A lamp on the side table illuminates the room with a dim glow though it barely reaches the door and causes his shape to be a smudge.

"How studious," is the first remark that comes from him, never one to maintain the sometimes tired and stressed attitude he has while working. "I'm starting to think you're using me for access to my apartment."

"It's nice to work here. Definitely quieter than the main room of the Institute, at times," she says as she stacks her papers back into a neat pile, careful to not disturb the little rabbit in her lap as she moves. "If you're paying for rent, then someone might as well use the space."

"Careful. I actually send my workers here once a week to do a raid and kill off any intruders," he warns as he sets his mask aside, leaving his shoes at a small rack by the door. "Specifically targeting small blonde girls, you realize. I'd hate to have to do a hundred more interviews if you kill them all off."

"You're lucky she's in my lap and I don't want to wake her." She doesn't spare more than a roll of her eyes at his words, reaching down to rub her thumb lightly against the rabbit's head, who nestles comfortably with its nose in Steff's shirt. "You'll say too many ridiculous things to the point where I won't believe you when you finally say something serious."

He just laughs in that usual self-satisfied sort of way, and walks over to kiss her in greeting before he shifts to crouch and scratch the rabbit who, disturbed by the contact, lifts her head to sniff in his general direction. "Look at you. Steff treats you better than she treats me."

"Only because she's less infuriating," Steff answers quickly, reaching to catch the rabbit before she has the chance to hop from her lap. "How was work?"

"You know. It's tiring trying to extort money from all of my clients to pay for my rent and all of our expensive dinners," he says, gently taking the rabbit from her so he can return her to the cage, giving Steff the chance to finally stand and stretch out her legs after sitting for so long. "I wouldn't have to work such long hours if you were satisfied with anything lower than three Michelin stars."

There's a bit of friendly disapproval in her gaze as she brushes some rabbit fur from her jeans, gathering it in her hand to drop in a nearby rubbish bin. "You cannot possibly think you're being that funny."

"Au contraire, how else did I manage to lure you into my den?" Shutting the gate of the cage, Luca turns his attention back at her with one of those devious looks that she's become far too accustomed to. "I must have some sort of charm, no?"

"Sometimes I still wonder that myself," she says, picking up an empty mug next to her stacked papers, returning to the kitchen so she can rinse it out in the sink and set it aside to dry. "I do have some responsibilities later, so I won't be able to stay as long today. I...can't say much about it, but apparently it's to do with that same vampire problem. It's a shame that it's gone as far as it has."

"Oh, those pesky Downworlders," Luca replies, though he knows well enough about the obligations of work privacy to not pry too much. He has already worked too hard to get into her head and imagine every situation that she has ever divulged, so it's refreshing when he has enough self control to keep his questions to himself. "And what about tomorrow? It'll be a short day of work for me."

It isn't easy to delegate time cleanly between work, hobbies, and personal affairs, knowing that Downworlder issues are often complicated and can easily take up more time than she expects. "I do take my Shadowhunting serious, you realize. It really depends."

"On what? How well your hunt goes or my good behaviour?" A smile unfurls on his face, waiting expectantly for her answer.

She shakes her head at his nature, though she dries her hands on a towel and returns to the living room again to join him. "At this point, you'll really just have to wait and see."

... ... ...

Ember brings him his papers when she has the chance.

The Institute isn't a very forgiving place and she's determined to offer some bit of respite, but he only gives her a few moments of patience before she's fended off again. It's through those little interactions, though, that she's started to piece him together. Notices the way he keeps his curtains closed and his bed remains undisturbed. The blinding morning light of the east window must bother his eyes, but that's not surprising given where he's from, and she supposes they don't have beds in the Faerie. His eyes never stray far from where he keeps a few knives. She has only gathered bits and pieces of his story from the report made by the Silent Brothers, and even then, she feels that she can only evaluate him in the same way one deals with an injured animal. They are all too quick to bite even the most harmless of company.

It's not often she feels so compelled to figure someone out - understand them, perhaps - but she also doesn't have many opportunities in which she is allowed into his space. She's not used to being disliked, even if she doesn't expect everyone's affection. It takes weeks of sliding the papers underneath his door to only catching him when he's returning back from the Towns, quickly whisking away to his room with a distrustful stare that even stops her from approaching.

That day, though, he answers the door when she knocks and the windows are open wide, the curtain disturbed by the breeze that encroaches into the room. It's nighttime out, only the city lights breaking the shadows in his room, but his eyes are still pinpricks of silver as he watches her for a moment before he looks at the papers in her hand.

"I just wanted to bring these to you," Ember starts and holds them out, trying to seem as casual as she can while still analyzing his movements in the same way he might analyze hers. Except he sees her as some intrusive threat. Surveillancing, prodding, observing. He takes the papers and his grip crinkles the pages.

"So the Nephilim can do what? Take information from me?" He speaks more plainly than she expected. Blunt with open indignation rather than the hissing, calculated words that she had imagined from a former Unseelie.

"I'm...sorry. It's just protocol for all residents." She's not entirely sure what he might want her to say, not used to people who might not want to unpack their trauma in one way or another. From the way he stands, he is either tense from the conversation or in pain, and she decides that both are equally likely and not at all mutually exclusive. "Even...people in your situation."

She can hear him grit his teeth, knowing she's somehow struck a nerve. Still, reaching forward, she can't help but push his door open a little more, spilling some light into the room from the hallway until she can see it splintering across his face.

"It's Caspian, right?" There's a gentleness that she uses instinctively, but the words suddenly feel wrong in her mouth, as if they are ill-fitting and dangerous for someone so on-edge and unsuited for empathy. "Look, I just want you to know that-"

"Don't talk to me like that." His words are a mutter, irritation and something else palpable in what she can see from his expression. Though he almost seems to shift back, he immediately catches himself to not look as if he's trying to retreat. "I'm not interested in having Shadowhunters in my business."

"I know what it's like to lose something important," she says once when she finds a moment, desperate to make a point without him closing the door in her face and staving her off forever. "To feel...stranded from something that was once essential and important. I just want you to know that you're not alone in that feeling."

"What? Do you pity me?" A deep-rooted anger settles in his expression, having made itself home within the recesses of all the things he had lost. It is a cold feeling that she has never been entirely accustomed to despite the troubles she has faced. It is a privilege to be in her position so unscarred, and she suddenly isn't entirely sure of what she can say to validate her presence. She, too, remembers wounds too fresh to heal with kind words.

Letting her hand fall back to her side, she swallows back some other words of encouragement that rise up in her throat. "...No. But it is hard to be alone, whether or not you prefer the solitude. I won't bother you again, but I just wanted to say that...my room is down the hall, if you want assistance or...a listener." She avoids the word need like the plague, knowing it will do nothing but scare him off. "I might understand more than you think."

She imagines it is the first time in a long time since he has been seen, even if he doesn't quite understand that yet. It isn't unusual for people as defensive as he is to be ignored entirely despite their paranoid imaginings that they are being kept under watchful judgment and silently persecuted by the masses.

"I don't need your help." His words are plain and quick to cut, but it's the hesitation before them that softens the blow. She doesn't stop him as he moves to close the door without another comment. While she is eager to see which boundaries she can intrude upon, there are others that she knows to respect, and bothering him after such bold statements on her part certainly qualify as such.

Starting down the hall, she keeps her steps quiet even though she's certain that he listens for her to take her leave anyway. He has offered little in the way of indication that he wants help, but there's a small hope she has that he thinks about the words she's given to him. Maybe she just imagines the look in his face or the inherent yearning for people to have someone or something to keep them afloat in hard times, but it is a projection that she doesn't mind holding herself to. Sometimes she also imagines that things would have been easier for her if she had been quicker to endear herself to others and really get to know them as opposed to keeping them at a polite arms-length. She knows it is a consequence of her own unfinished business, but she cannot bring herself to believe in lost causes.

... ... ...

Dawn had hardly started peeking into the room by the time an alarm had disturbed the air. Despite some protests when she hadn't been used to it, Piper had grown accustomed to sucking it up for the sake of not arguing about it, knowing she at least was usually capable of falling back asleep. That was a luxury Savannah couldn't often afford, having filled her life with responsibilities that kept her from having enough downtime. It was likely that she'd get bored without enough tasks and goals for her day, though, and that was something Piper had never truly grown to understand.

Thankfully, Savannah was quick to turn off the alarm, reaching for a clip to put her hair up as she slipped from the covers. She'd always managed to escape the bedhead and morning disarray that often plagued Piper and she'd always had some innate ability to always seem put together. It was a pressure that Piper couldn't imagine living under.

"You got a meeting today, right?" Piper asked, half-asleep as she peered over at her with partially closed eyes. "For the...thing?"

"The Seelie ordeal." Savannah was quick to fill in her forgetfulness, picking up a neatly folded stack of clothes that she'd left on top of Piper's dresser, separating the different articles. "Not all of us have time to lounge around and do nothing all day."

"Ouch. I'll have you know that I have a very important cashier shift today." Rolling her eyes, Piper let her head fall back against the pillow. "You know, selling people drugs under the medicinal name. Maybe you should come over and investigate."

Stepping into a pair of well-fitting cropped slacks, Savannah did up the zipper and the button of her pants, having picked out clothes that were more professional than her usual attire. "Don't tempt me. I'm sure there's plenty of stuff there that the Council would love to snap up."

"Someone's prickly today." Piper gave a disappointed click of her tongue at the responses she'd gotten, listening to the sound of various makeup-related accoutrements in the background. She knew Savannah often finished up in her own room, which had been strictly forbidden to her in case she got the itch again to look around in places she shouldn't, but she worked to not bother her too much anyway.

"Of course, I'm not part of the Council." Pressing a chaste kiss to Piper's forehead, perhaps just to satisfy her for the time being, Savannah was quick to pull away. Her mind was surely on a number of other things already, never slowing down enough to ever really be in the moment. "Well, not yet. Don't miss me too much in the meantime."

"Mmhmm. Go get 'em, hot stuff." Offering a smile without ever opening her eyes again, Piper listened for the sound of her bedroom door opening and closing as Savannah left before pulling herself into the spot that Savannah had been laying in before she'd gotten up, trying to inhabit whatever warmth she'd left behind. Grasping at the covers now that she didn't have to worry about sharing, she tugged them up to her neck, nestling herself into them in an attempt to stay warm. Central heating was apparently a thing that the Nephilim didn't think of when occupying such an old, drafty building, adding to the list of reasons why she wanted to save up for her own place.

And yet, she often found a reason to stay. Shadowhunters were undoubtedly insufferable, self-absorbed, and relentlessly annoying, but there was a certain charm about being on the good side of one that she didn't mind, even if it messed with her sleep schedule. There had been a time where she had been eager to spend all of her time out of the Institute, but she couldn't deny that she found more reasons to keep going back.

i'm so sorry for these hahahaha the majority of them felt as awkward to write as i'm sure they are to read