-J-
I think it's fairly safe to say I'm bored. Bored, bored to the point of total and all-consuming misery. I've compiled a list of symptoms:
1. Sleeps all day yet is constantly tired.
2. Is irritated by EVERYTHING and EVERYONE and yet has no motivation to argue.
3. Resorts to looking to Simon freaking Lewis for help.
You see, I got suspended. As in, suspended from all missions, rounds or training. Basically, I'm stuck doing mundane stuff and for me that's just sitting in the Institute and getting bored of out my mind. Izzy and Clary are on a mission in Alicante, and Alec and Magnus are on some romantic getaway (and trust me you do not want to interrupt them when they're doing their thing, believe me). So, yeah, okay, I called Simon. Don't judge me! I had literally no other options. You have to bear in mind it is my birthday tomorrow, and I have no plans, no cake and no friends. God, is this what normal people feel like?
"Hey, what's up? Yeah..."
"Hey Simon, I was just wondering-"
"HAHA, I GOT YA. Just kidding, Simon's out. Wow, third person, nice. Simon can't take your call right now, you know what to do. BEEP." I almost smile at the trick is answerphone plays on me. I've never heard it before, actually... I'm not sure I've ever rung him. "Uh... Simon. Hi. I'm just... at the Institute. Doing nothing. Again. Call me or something. I mean if you'd have picked up your phone... but... idiot. Call me." I hang up, throw the phone onto the bed and collapse down next to it. It's mid-July, and baking hot inside and out, and I'm ninety percent sure the air conditioning is broken. Where's Magnus when you need him? Ew, actually, don't think where Magnus is. But damn can that man fix your everyday appliance.
Yeah, okay. It's possibly I'm losing my mind. I drift off to sleep, with one drowsy little thought... happy birthday to me.
---
There's a banging on the Institute door at two pm the next afternoon. I slope downstairs, my face glowering, and open the door to an ever-energetic Simon. "Hey, man!" He greets me. He hugs me, actually, which I hate but I'm too miserable to shake him off. "Yeah!" He says, with his hand still patting my back harder than necessary. "Hugs! Nice!" I roll my eyes as he disentangles himself from me. "So! Great seeing you, bud. Oh! Happy birthday!" If possible, my eyes roll even further back into my head. Who told him? I'm going to kill Clary. I stand aside to let him in.
He's dressed up a little, I note. The band tee has been swapped for a dark grey shirt with a little rainbow pin over the pocket, and dark jeans. He looks good. "What do you people do all day?" I ask him, boiling the kettle. Simon is not English, and yet drinks hot tea. Don't ask. But it's a habit I'm used to, so I go straight to make it. "Me? I'm a vampire. So mostly, like, sleep."
"I meant mundanes." He knew that, of course. He's just a naturally (and yet oh-so-deliberately) infuriating person. I grab a mug down from the shelf above me, the one I tend to use because all the others are chipped beyond compare. It's one Simon brought to the Institute, actually. It says "with great power comes a great need for tea breaks." What a nerd. I love it.
"Hey? Why are you making tea? Stop making tea?" I pause, raising an eyebrow. "We're going out."
"Going out? Where?"
Simon smiles sheepishly. "It's a surprise. I got you a birthday gift- surprise. A surprise gift." I feel a little tug in my chest, a little piece of me touched by him making an effort even if it turns out to be some ridiculous extravaganza meant to embarrass me, which it probably is. So I put back the mug, and put on a jacket, and we go.
-S-
I make him wear a blindfold all the way there, which is the best decision I've ever made. I cry with laughter as he tries to navigate the subway station blind, and sits on an old guy's hand in the carriage. Jace is blushing furiously and keeps cursing under his breath. It's incredibly endearing.
When we finally get up to the street, I turn him around to face the right way and stand opposite him, getting ready to take off the blindfold. "Jeez, I haven't been in a blindfold since..." Jace's eyebrows shoot up with the memory. "Never mind." I make a face at him, vaguely horrified at the idea of his previous encounters, and whip off the blindfold in one go.
When Jace sees where we are, he turns right around to go again, but I catch his arm and force him round to face me again. "No-ho-ho," he says, shaking his head profusely. "I don't do theatre. No way."
I gesture at the street wildly. "Have you ever even seen a Broadway show?" He admits that no, he actually hasn't, but there's no way he'll like it, it just isn't his thing. I drag him inside, flash the tickets to the usher and we take out seats. The theatre is stunning, all dark wood and red velvet seating. It feels like luxury, like we've been thrust back in time. Jace is still glowering. "Come on! It's your birthday! And I bought this for you- don't be ungrateful," I reprimand, and he forces the smallest smile. "Thank you." It's honest, and it'll do for now.
Throughout the first half, I keep glancing at his face, the slopes of it illuminated by the stage lights and his gold hair catching light like glitter. He looks different when he thinks no one's watching, less old somehow, or perhaps just more innocent. I note what I've noted a hundred times before- he is undoubtedly the most beautiful boy I've ever seen. Maybe on earth. Who knows.
At the intermission, he won't let me buy him an ice cream, and then picks up an extra spoon and starts helping himself to mine. We don't talk. I don't think he wants to break the moment, because it's the first time he's feeling that connection with every person on stage and in the audience and the orchestra and he doesn't want to break it even for a second. But he eats my ice cream just fine, and catches my eye and smiles wide and true, like he's never been happy before. I feel a rush towards him, something in the air and my blood. Theatres, I think.
At some point during act two, Jace grabs my hand and weaves his fingers into mine, at one point we both start crying. The finale is heartbreaking, and as I feel my own tears leaking out from beneath my eyelids I hear a little raspy shaky breath beside me and I see that Jace is crying too, he's really crying, and for some reason it makes me cry even more until I have to stuff my fist in my mouth to stop me gasping out loud.
I have to let go of his hand when the bows start, and we stand up and clip and whoop and then he takes my hand again just for a moment as they take their final bow, just grasps it, as if to say- look! Look at them. Because, in a moment, they'll be gone. But I'm not looking at the actors, even though they made my heart shake, even though it was the most beautiful show I've ever seen. I only look at Jace, this boy I don't think I ever knew before.
Outside the theatre we blink like we've never seen the sun before and rub our sticky faces clear of tears. We don't talk, again, still wrapped up in it all, just walk towards the subway station with our shoulders brushing and one of us still sniffling every now and then.
It's dark when we return to the Institute, after we've eaten and drank and sang along with a street performer to show tunes that I know the words to and Jace improvised horribly to a gathering crowd's delight and hilarity. I love New York, I think. It's not quiet until we're unlocking the door and going inside, to the dark empty kitchen with the glow of the panel on the fridge and the hum of the dishwasher. Jace leans back on the fridge, his back curving round, graceful even in leisure and inebriation and exhaustion. "How was it?" I ask him quietly. My eyes are alive.
"Not awful," he whispers back. I take a step closer, keep inching forward to the place where our faces are so, so close and it's all very inevitable. "Yeah?"
"Yeah." He takes deep breath, as whispering as his voice. "It was the most beautiful thing I've ever heard," he whispers, honest and vulnerable and with his eyes starting to shine again, the light from streetlights outside glancing off his tears.
I rest my forehead against his. Shut my eyes. It's inevitable, it always was. It's beautiful.
