AN: Hi everyone! A new multichapter! I haven't been posting as much as before, and so I decides it was time for a new story. A new long story hopefully. I'm still taking prompts by the way. Please leave honest reviews, I'm afraid this is a tiny bit boring. I promise it'll speed up in the next few chapters. I swear it isn't all about cleaning. This is just kind of a gateway I to what happens. Anyway, tell me what you think! Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I do not own The Mortal Instruments!

It was a step in the right direction for Jace Lightwood, organizing his desk. Really, more like half a step in the right direction. The rest of his apartment still looked like a family of horses had been living in it for 70 years.

Well into his teenage years, he had always kept everything so clean. White walls, no pictures. Clothes in the correct drawers. College changed that for him. There were people and friends and girls and lights and parties and too much homework (even though he only did a bit of it) and everything he could've possibly dreamed of in college. It was perfect. Except for his room, which had grown to be more messy than it had been since- well, ever. Why clean when you could party? College passed, but the uncleanliness stayed.

He was 26 now, pretty old in his book. That morning he had woken up, and his brain had talked to him. It had said, "Jace, you're a slob. Clean you're freaking apartment or I'll make you fall in love with Doreen from marketing. (Doreen was a middle aged woman who worked in his office, the marketing department. She was a very nice woman, but, you know, a little old for him.)

So, he was cleaning his desk and while the notebook sitting on it was slightly crooked, he deemed it passable.

He even took a picture and sent it to his sister Isabelle. Whenever she came over, she did nothing but tell him about how he needed to clean. She was one to talk. In her apartment, not a single square foot was organized. She was as threatening as his brain. Her threat had been a thousand times more scary. She was going to make him eat her "famous" soup if he didn't clean up. He thought maybe she was joking, but he wouldn't take his chances.

It was a Sunday, a stupidly frigid January Sunday, and he decided to spend the rest of the day cleaning up. It wasn't very exciting, but he had nothing better to do. It was a January Sunday, after all. No one did anything on those days, except for maybe people in the Southern Hemisphere. But he was not in the Southern Hemisphere, and it was way colder than it should ever be.

So, he scrubbed and scrubbed, peeling away months of grime. He organized his closet, he took his shoes of the table, he put his cleaning supplies in alphabetical order. For a man that had had an apartment as dirty as his recently was, it was a bit overboard. However, after eight years of suppressing his natural need for cleanliness, he let it all pour out. Unfortunately, he was a bit too generous with the spray, and found himself needing more. A trip to the store it is, he thought.

He dragged himself out of the kneeling position he had picked for scrubbing, and haphazardly put his coat on. (He would later realize it was inside out.)

Sighing, he trudged through the dirty snow as he made his way towards the door of the small shop. It wasn't exactly bustling, but a few people were mingling, finding that exact brand of bread, or buying some candy. He stumbled through the aisles, looking for cleaning supplies. It had been a few years, after all, since he'd cleaned like this.

Weaving in and out, he finally found what he was looking for. There it was, the kind of spray he wanted. Only one bottle left. He grinned in a way only a relapsing clean freak could, and he reached out for it. But alas, a shortish woman stepped in front of him. Her hair was unnaturally red, but he didn't see any roots. All he saw was the back of her head, red red red red red. It was mesmerizing, mesmerizing enough to make him forget the spray. Mesmerizing enough to make him stair after her for at least thirty seconds, indulging in the strawberry scent she left behind.

When he looked back, his enchantment finally wearing off, his precious spray was gone. Halfheartedly, he went to pick up the bargain version. He had heard it didn't clean as well, bit he wasn't about to wait a few days to continue his cleansing. If he worked fast enough, maybe he wouldn't have to suffer through Isabelle's soup. The first time he'd tried it, he had been 17. It was the night before an important basketball game. He, the ace, was expected to lead the team to victory. He couldn't, for he was too busy puking his guts out all over his mother's precious carpet.

Now ready to leave and resume his earlier activities, he made his way to the cash register. There were two people ahead of him. In front, being checked out, an elderly man with glasses that were thick enough to be bulletproof. Behind that man, just in front of Jace, stood the woman with the red hair. He still couldn't really see her face, as he was facing her back. Unsurprisingly, the curls had not changed in the past five minutes. He almost wanted to boing one like a kindergartner, but he restrained himself. The old man finished up and hobbled towards the door. Curls (not a very good nickname, but it was all he had) checked out rather quickly. As she walked out of the store, he only caught a glimpse, but her eyes were greener than he had ever seen.