A/N: This story is totally AU, all human, blah, blah, blah. Kay'? Nothing belongs to me except the plot and any OCs. Um...what else? Oh! Rating to change to M, for... Malec ;) Enjoy all!

FULL SUMMARY: Set in the dead center of limelight, New York's highest elites strive for one thing only—the top of the food chain. So when the popular kids suddenly become the popular gay kids, and when the tiny freshmen freaks start dating the highest of the high, the rules are twisted—just like a cherry stem.

Jace Herondale: The rich, popular, golden boy who gets every girl he wants, parties until the late hours of the night, can hold all the alcohol, and still be bright and, well, golden, in the morning. Until a certain red head shows up and starts messing with his sanity.

Simon Lewis: The nerd, the geek, the loser, the queer, the idiot, the freak. All things that he's been called, but yet he knows where his true friends lie. Although fate doesn't seem to think so when the girl he begins to love may or may not be taken from him.

Alec Lightwood: Haunted by his past and scars, he's the closeted swim star that girls swoon over. Of course, he doesn't hold interest in them as much as his best friend...

Magnus Bane: The bright, glittery, bisexual, and eccentric fashionista of Alicante Academy. The one who may seem the most put together though, the one who may seem to know himself better than anyone, always has the darkest and most hidden past. And the last thing he needs to fall in love with the one person who has been there for him the entire time.

So now, in a world set of prejudice and homophobia, best friends since the fifth grade, they enter their final year—the last year to make things right, fall in love with the right person, and set their future. But really, how many truly succeed that journey?

CHAPTER ONE: Tangled In My Spotlight

Alicante Academy—the prime image of limelight and social domination, prep and pink, goth and black, designers and brand names. The building as well was not at all subtle, as it towered in the heart of Manhattan. Built completely from polished black and silver brick, it rose three stories tall and was shaped like a cube, except for the east wing, which cut off at the second floor, lining the roof with white granite—waterproof, of course. The entire campus was locked inside a wrought iron gate, where roses and various types of ivy weaved themselves into the metal due to the years lack of trimming.

To any socialite or board member, this was the choice education center, offering all the main core subjects which would in later years branch off into advanced units and certain selected areas. The entire third floor alone was dedicated to the arts and drama program, and the football field behind was large enough to fit almost twenty thousand people.

But—to anyone who walked the halls it was a literal hell. Well, not for the groups of jocks and cheerleaders, and especially not the student council—which was really just an excuse to get together and drink—but the to the average kids who were there on scholarships, or the people whose parents had the money to do whatever the hell they want to do with them, it was torture. There was constant teasing, bulling, shoving into lockers, and damn, if you though you didn't know every swear word in the book—well; now you do.

Though for now, all of that was ignored and forgotten. Summer was over and all the exotic vacations had definitely washed off on the pavement, as the girls were back in new Prada and Dior, new fake and real tans alike, new cars, and new boyfriends—all whom which had strange last names. The freshmen were just that—fresh—and the senior guys watched them with hungry expression trying to figure out which were the whores and which were the freaks. Screams of excitement could be heard from every corner of New York City as old friends embraced and gushed; the awkwardness from the new kids could be felt from the skylines as they quietly entered the imitating structure.

The inside of the building was just as exquisite as the outside. The floors were a glossy white stone, with tiny black tiles overlapping every few feet. Half of the walls were a cream plaster and the other half were clear glass, revealing the brightened green grass on the lawn outside. But really, the ceiling was the most impressive. Towering above the student's heads, the ceiling was made from tight grey wires, interconnecting at every millimeter, creating a hard platform that held the floor above it. Bright lights hung from metal beams that crossed over each other, giving a modern art feel to the halls.

The lockers that lined the walls alternated monotones; some were yellow, others tan, orange, brown, or white. To the sides of the hallways, in between locker sets there were artfully placed pewter vases holding long-stemmed ivory flowers. Just past the main entrance hall the ceiling opened up to reveal a perfect blue sky, spotted with poofy clouds to accompany the rare but memorable ninety degree weather. Ivy and odd purple flowers hung low on iron baskets from tall hallow glass columns that were placed randomly around the courtyard and the floor was made up of overlapping squares of brushed steal, unlike the normal concrete, grass and trees; slender steel beams arched overhead, wrapped with ropes of tiny white lights, which evidently made up the balconies from the higher floors. A single ornate wrought spiraling staircase led to the second floor, and then up to the third—which gave a stunning view of the city.

The school itself, as a structure, not a home, was a powerful place, which gave off the feel of authority and meekness all in the same. The coloring, the materials, and the lighting instantly let the younglings know that you either followed the rules of the council and clave, or you got out, and stayed out—that there was no in between. You either fit or you didn't. Your life was a story, or a blank page. If you didn't fit, you pretended that you did, so that you didn't have to face the life of the one's who couldn't get out, who had to endure mortal humiliation every single day.

Some of them, the ones who can't get out, end up in a place of dark telling; they fall down holes to shattered wonderlands, in where the light always misses them, even when they want to shine.

But some of them, the ones who do shine, get out anyways, fulfilling lives beyond high school immaturities. They shine in their own way.

. . . . . . . . . . . .

Jace Herondale-Lightwood stepped from his silver One-77 Aston Martin wearing light-wash jeans and a white v-neck. He pulled his sunglasses over his head, into his blond hair, and squinted against the harsh sunlight, inspecting the academy with distaste.

He'd been in this city for his entire seventeen years, living his life drowning in spotlight. He was use to getting what he wanted and being popular. Maybe that wasn't want he wanted, but he was lucky to be pulled in with the sea instead of being left out in the sun to crackle and dry. Still, he'd rather be anywhere but here. It was kind of a contradiction, he thought. He was glad he wasn't an outsider, but didn't particularly like being on the inside either.

At least it's only one more year, he thought, nine more months of this fucking paradox of a life.

With his backpack slung over one shoulder, he walked confidently to the gates. It was impossible not to notice the stares and giggles he was getting from the girls. Some were freshmen—the easy and wholehearted ones, not aware of the heartbreak they were going to encounter, some were other seniors who've been obsessed with him since he was a starter at Alicante, the ones who stalked his twitter and were very well aware of the heart shattering that seemed to follow him. But in the end they were all the same, even if they gave their best efforts to get him. Jace wasn't an idiot. He knew that all they wanted was his body, something to show off to their friends like a trophy—something that said, "I'm hot and I know it". Because if you were close to him to were part of the 'in crowd'. You were respected by the council and given a seat in the monarchy.

Not that it wasn't flattering. Like previously said, Jace had grown up with the attention. He was used to it now; he liked sinking in limelight.

Noise echoed loudly in Jace's ears as he walked past the marble door and into the academy. He quickly glanced down at his schedule to find his locker number. It was in the science wing. The science wing always smelt like dead animals; you could feel the ghosts of dissected frogs starring at you. He'd had a science wing locker when he was a freshman and had had a particularly unpleasant encounter with a rat in his locker. A dead one—soaked in chemicals that were meant to preserve the small creature from rotting.

The second Jace turned the corner from the front hallways where the office was, he was bombarded with people, practically trampled. He could see thin arms sticking out of the crowd carrying pieces of torn paper with ink splattered hastily on them shaping numbers. He heard the cries asking him how his summer was, who he hooked up with, if it was true that he'd gotten drunk with Robert Pattinson in Malta. This was normal, he supposed, since it happened every year. He was a people person, and people persons were expected to enjoy being around people, so that's what people did—they clung to him hoping to soak up some of his golden skin and natural popularity that came with his looks. Usually in these situations, he smiled and held his head, taking all the numbers that were put out—that's what he did this time as well.

One voice though stood out particularly. "Shove it, freshmen! Out of the way!"A girl popped out of the crowd, just about as fake as they got, and grabbed his wrist, pulling him from the mob. She pulled him a few feet until the crowd started to disperse.

"Thank you," said Jace once they were away from the lot of students, making their way to the science wing. "I've become oddly claustrophobic over the summer." He crossed his arms, keeping a thumb under the strap of his bag.

"It's not a problem." Camille said with a grin. "Besides, I have something I need to talk to you about—about Magnus,"

Camille was one of those girls; platinum blonde hair (from a bottle), icy blue eyes that could cut you into shards with just a glance, double D's filling Chantelle lingerie, and ignoring her head, held not a single hair on her body.

He swore under his breath.

The science wing was almost deserted with only a few students standing around, trying to either find a locker or a teacher (the smell, like noted, was awful—even before the year had begun), and the lights were visibly dimmer. However, the glass wall on the opposite side of the hall helped to bring in a bit more scintillation.

"What about Magnus?" Jace asked, tentatively pulling the latch on the bright yellow locker, not wanting to be surprised with yet another creature. Camille crossed her long legs and leaned against the metal containers next to him, watching him with amusement.

Camille had always found his sarcastic hesitation solacing. It was something she knew would always be in his enticing personality—the way he would bite his lip as if having to think when all he wants to do pounce, or flipping to the end of a book to make sure it has a happy ending.

"Do you remember last fall?" Camille asked. "When Magnus applied for the student intern scholarship at Cherrytree Enterprises?"

Jace grunted an answer of acknowledgement, and Camille pierced her lips to one side. "Well, the—what are you doing?"

Jace ran a finger down the inside wall of his body-length locker, and just as he expected, it came back with fine dust covering the tip. He frowned. "These lockers haven't been cleaned in three months. How can they expect anybody—hell, even Lewis, to want to leave their stuff in these? Next thing you know there's going to be an infestation of cockroaches."

Camille narrowed her eyes. "It's dust, Herondale. Not a plague." She grabbed his bag out of his hands and none too gently hung it up on one of the hooks.

"Hey!" Jace was thinking about deliberately shoving her into the lockers, considering that she'd had much worse in many… ahem, compromising positions, but she looked too delicate that day in only a purple and orange sundress—an expensive sundress, but a dress nonetheless.

"Stop with your neat freak insecurities. This is more important than your need to be clean."

Jace turned to face her, looking annoyed. "Okay, so Mr. Sparkles turned in paperwork to get a job at a design label. That's not very surprising seeing how—"

"But he didn't get it," Camille snapped, spreading her fingers and lightly pushing Jace's chest.

Jace's eyes widened a fraction as the conversation hit a pause.

"I…what do you mean he didn't get it?"

"As in, someone else got the scholarship. Apparently Magnus has too much money to qualify for one. They think he could afford the supplies and design…stuff. Look, I don't know a whole lot about it,"

"Bull," Jace slammed the locker shut, carrying a plain black binder in one hand. "Magnus has been talking about this job for years! He applied for the scholarship because he can't afford it. There has to be a reason better than that."

"There isn't. Somebody else came up with the money first." Jace sighed, leaning his head against the cool metal. Despite popular belief and the fact that they argued randomly about everything, himself and Magnus were close, best friends since fifth grade, along with the others. How could Jace not feel for him?

"Damn, he's going to be—wait. How you do you even know this? Does he know? And why do you care?" Jace said, lifting his head.

"When Magnus turned in all the papers we were still dating," Camille flinched out of character under Jace's darkened gaze. "So he put me down as the second contact. When they couldn't reach Magnus they called me." It was a believable story, Jace noted, not that he actually believed it. "And as for why I care…well, forgetting that we dated at one point, we both lost our virginity to your cousin." Camille smiled wickedly. Jace almost gagged. "We share a mutual interest. And blackmail material."

"But didn't you break up with him?"

"Because he cheated on me," Camille said, waving her hands around. It was bad habit. She looked frustrated, as if having to explain something that should have been obvious. "I have my own motives, Herondale. Now, out of the way. I have drama first block so that means a fun trip up the spiral staircase for me," She twisted her finger, ending the conversation on a sarcastic notion, spinning on her heal without warning and striding down the hall, flaunting her hips. The dress flowed around her thin structure.

That was Camille for you, Jace thought shaking his head, heading the opposite way. It was just in her nature to be completely infuriating; one minute facile and simple and the next demanding and bringing people to tears.

Jace reached into his back pocket. He pulled out a pile of ripped pieces of paper. Damn. He could just call all the girls and let them down easily. But there were a lot, and he didn't feel like comforting girls he didn't know. It would be a wasted effort, he decided. It's not like he planned to ever talk to any of them again anyways. Instead, he tossed the numbers into his locker and they floated down to the metal panels, settling into the dust.

. . . . . . . . . . . .

The academy began to fill with students, and Jace waited patiently in the courtyard, observing the diversity between them. It was fairly obvious who was on the council, and who belonged to the outside.

The council, also known as the monarchy to those who absolutely despised them with every inch of their being, was truly just a metaphor for the students who took charge of the academy; the ones who had the money, impressed the teachers, and led every group, sport, or stereotype—which allowed them to make the rules and keep them in order. They're the ones that the rest of the student body look up to, even when they know they shouldn't.

Jace was one of them, had been since he was a freshmen. The seniors at the time had seen how much of an attraction he was, how he got attention everywhere he went. It wasn't like there was an induction ceremony or anything—if they talked to you, if they told you that you could be high in the ranks, then you were. People start to listen to you when you speak, and they follow through on what you tell them to do.

So of course, while he was waiting for the people to show up that he actually liked, he was bombarded with other students; some for the school newsletter, some for a journalism class, some real, some fake—they just wanted details on his summer.

He finally shooed them away when he saw a girl, across the courtyard close to the freshmen lockers, located down the same hall where the front doors were placed. She wasn't like any of the girls he normally interacted with; she wasn't tall, or blonde, or drop dead gorgeous. She wasn't anybody. She was just a girl dressed in jeans and a white bohemian shrug who had made him stop and stare. She had fiery red hair that bounced around a small face with freckles lining over her nose. The girl was short, much shorter than him, probably only five feet or so. And she was laughing, thin pink lips curved up. It was odd that he could see her so well from the distance apart they were at.

It was like he was watching a movie in HD. Everything and everyone smeared at the edges of the screen, but right in the center it was clear and focused, all on her.

And she was talking to his best friend.

Simon Lewis did not seem like the kind of guy Jace would be caught dead talking to. Simon was the boy who looked a year younger than he actually was, and his nerdy appearance—a lanky un-muscular figure, with floppy brown hair and rectangular glasses, always seen wearing jeans and a gamers t-shirt—fit his nerdy personality. But they'd met in fifth grade before all the 'monarchy' and 'popularity' stuff had begun. It was an odd friendship since they hated what the other loved, but they made it work. Most of the time people gave them strange looks when they were seen together, like what would an 'in' be doing with an 'out'? But their relationship was built on reliability, not giving a damn about what other people thought.

Jace stood from the metal bench with a surge of familiarity and pushed past the crowds and out of the courtyard, where the sun was still shining brightly through the halls. It suddenly seemed like there were less people in the building.

"And who's this short glass of cherry lemonade?" He said as he approached them.

Simon's head lifted from the girl. Whereas he was already smiling, his eyes brightened upon seeing Jace for the first time in three months. The girl looked startled, her laugh dying as she set eyes on the blond boy. Then she comprehended his statement and flushed a bright red. He wasn't sure if it was out of embarrassment or anger.

"I am not that short," The girl said stubbornly, crossing her arms. Jace smiled, amused. Her voice was light and sweet, but he could tell that she had a demanding undertone that could reveal with deeper temptation.

Beside them, Simon laughed at the exchange. Today his shirt read 'PLAYING VIOLENT VIDEO GAMES NEVER DID ME ANY HARM'.

"Hey Jace," he said. "How was Italy?" Jace wrapped his free arm around Simon's shoulders in one of those "I missed you like hell but I'm too manly to express it that way" hugs.

"Italy was good. The food, the clubs, the girls," Jace smirked knowingly at Simon, who despite being almost 18 had never had a serious girlfriend. "Of course, all Alec wanted to do was go to old libraries and museums. You know—history stuff." Jace shook his head.

"Well what's wrong with history?" The girl spoke up, getting their attention.

"Oh!" Simon said, remembering she was there. He shrugged out of Jace's embrace. "Jace, this is Clary. We met this summer at Tisch." He motioned with his hands towards her. "Clary, this is—"

"Jace Herondale, your best friend; adopted by the Lightwood's at ten years old due to an abusive household, can be an inconsiderate asshole at times, and goes through girls faster than money." Clary smiled.

Jace stared at her incredulously. "I..."

Her smile widened, becoming oddly sincere, and her jade eyes lit up like chemical flames; Simon looked nervous. "Don't worry; I'm not one of your stalker fangirls. Simon told me all about you and your friends at Tisch. Art and music were in the same hall."

"Really? Simon told you all of this?" Jace snuck a glance at Simon who had diverted his eyes to the ground. "You too must be so close, to share other people's secrets, hmm? Are you two dating?"

Clary blushed a harsh red, her face turning the color of her hair. "Oh, god. No, of course not. We're just friends." She stumbled over her words. Jace guessed she wasn't one to talk about herself a lot.

Jace snickered and leaned against the lockers behind them. "So are you a freshman?"

"Sophomore, actually." Clary said. "My mom moved in with her boyfriend so I had to transfer."

"From where?"

"St. Xavier's,"

"St. Xavier's," Jace repeated. "Prestigious bastards. How did you manage? Don't they wear uniforms there?"

Clary laughed. "Hey! I used to be one of those 'prestigious bastards'. And besides, aren't you guys here always battling for the top of the food chain?"

Jace frowned. "Not all of us are like that. Some people just have a desire for more attention than others, but the most of the kids who go here tend not to be so esurient. There's just a few you have to look out for,"

"What about you?" Her voice was low, in a way teasing. "Which one are you like?" She must have realized what she said because her face lit up again. Jace's lips twitched. "Oh, uh, well…" Her arms fidgeted between each other. "I should go—get my schedule. Um, it was nice talking to you. See you later, Simon." With a nod of her head, Clary hurried down the hall.

Simon waited for her to completely vanish from their sight before turning to Jace. "Dude, I'm sorry, about Clary. One day we were just talking and things—"

"—started to get personal." Jace grimaced, still watching the end of the hall as if Clary was going to reappear. "I get it. Do you like her or something?"

There was a distinct pause. "I don't know, maybe. I guess it's just nice to hang out and not have to worry about pressure and stuff, you know?" Jace didn't know. "And what about you? You and Clary seemed to hit it off pretty well," Simon said, not bothering to hide the suspicion in his tone.

"What are you talking about?" Jace raised his eyebrows, facing his best friend again.

"Hello? You two were flirting," Simon said pointedly.

Jace rolled his eyes. "Please. I flirt with everyone. Besides, Clary is definitely not the kind of girl I would ever consider going out with,"

"Right, because she doesn't fit your golden girl job description? You know, relationships can stretch further than the bedroom." Simon said.

"Says the guy who's never made it past first base." Jace denoted smugly. Simon's nose scrunched up like it always did when he was aggravated, and punched Jace's shoulder lightly. Jace yelped.

"Hey!"

Around them, the atmosphere tensed as the students went oddly rigid, like they weren't sure if they were suppose to get louder or stop talking all together. Some did one while some did the other, making an odd mixture of loud and quiet. Individual voices stood out clearly. Heedless of their actions, the other students stepped obliviously back a few feet, eying the end of the hall, also the front entrance, cautiously, like they weren't suppose to be staring, watching.

Jace pulled his arms inwards and chuckled lightly at the bewilderment appearing on the younger student's faces—they were mainly the ones who stayed quiet, communicating in only hushed whispers. However, the older and more mature students at Alicante, who had seen this kind of bombshell (not really, in terms of the person of interest) before, started to mob together, getting to him before the "stalkerazzi" showed up. It wasn't uncommon to have cameras flashing randomly at Alicante. Some of the students were literally famous, either through talent searches or having known parents—usually the rich ones. Jace's own parent's—his birth ones—had been actors, not that anybody that mattered knew that. The majority of the people he interacted with only knew he'd been adopted out twice since their deaths.

There was a flash of a camera, bringing him out of his thoughts.

Magnus Bane—the bright, bisexual, and eccentric fashionista of Alicante Academy, strutted through the hybrid glass marble doors removing a pair of knock-off Emilio Pucci sunglasses from his head to reveal the same playful, teasing, glitter and guyliner encrusted eyes Jace remembered. His hips moved in skin-tight white jeans, and a yellow-green t-shirt hung off one shoulder, with the Sunkist logo in the center. His legs crossed on each step, showing off blinding bright orange platform boots, hugging his legs up to the knees.

He was instantly swallowed in the crowd.

Jace was reminded of earlier in the morning; he had a feeling Camille was not going to say anything to Magnus about the Cherrytree Enterprises scholarship—which was exactly why she'd told him, so she could avoid talking to her ex. He wasn't exactly sure how he would go about that.

"Poor Magnus; he'll be upset if his hair gets messed up." Simon said.

Magnus Bane, as a person, was a bit of a contradiction. He was the opposite of Simon. Magnus was a person that you had to be seen with or else you were just another pretty face among the council. Magnus was second in command, next to Will Herondale, his cousin (which was a bit of another paradox seeing that they hated each other, for more than one reason), embracing everything about himself so that there wasn't a single space of doubt—of course, once you pretend long enough it actually became true. Jace's past was a blur, as he had endured so much abuse in his short-lived childhood that he had trained himself to forget it, but Magnus…well, Magnus had the mental strength of an eagle. Nobody's past could come close to beating his. He'd had so much shoved on to him in such a short amount of time, Jace was amazed that Magnus was even still alive—or at least not wallowing in self-depression. And of course, Magnus was a contradiction because he was happy. Who could be happy after what he'd been through? Jace had always been a bit suspicious though about the way Magnus started wearing the heavy makeup and hair gel right after the incident. Jace wondered if Magnus thought he could cover and hide his past with concealer or foundation, and that always led Jace to wonder if Magnus was trying to cover more than just his past...

Scars.

Magnus emerged from the crowd, hair still faux-hawked up in dense spikes. His smiled was that of a Cheshire, and lit up the corridor as much as the sun did.

"They get worse every year!" said Magnus as he approached them. "Is my hair okay?" Magnus put a tentative hand on the top of the spikes.

Simon suppressed a smile.

"You're hair's fine, you sparkly bastard." Jace joked, pushing off the lockers. Magnus faked a gasp.

"How dare you insult moi, especially when I haven't seen any of you in months."

"Exactly," Jace said. "You haven't called or Skyped since summer let out. We were beginning to think you were dead. Although, I'm not sure how sparkly bastard implies an insult, since it is actually true." He pointed out.

"Oh, shut up. Let me enjoy this reunion without all the sarcasm." Magnus opened his arms wide, taunting Jace with his grin. Jace couldn't help but return the smile. He shook his head in the way that again expressed his 'sarcastic solace hesitation', and opened up an arm. Simon could see the delight on Magnus face as he completely ignored the one arm side hug offer and straightly enveloped Jace with his thin arms.

"Ah, I missed you guys!" said Magnus, backing off of Jace—who had in the process of being hugged was slammed back into the lockers. He was rubbing his shoulder, grumbling unmeaningful curses at Magnus. "And Simon, where's my squeeze?" Magnus said dauntingly, motioning him forward with his fingers.

Simon was always the calmer one, the one who stayed in the back and let the others shine, which also made him the most sane and least likely to get in trouble. He was also the least enthusiastic about other things outside his general life—like, Jace didn't even play sports and he was expecting to get a scholarship to Idris School of the Athletically Gifted. Magnus absolutely could not work with other people and he wanted to be on a design team. Hell, even Alec had dreams. Simon was just…Simon. Nothing special, completely plain, black and white, unnoticed. He had a small corner of his mind reserved for his future, but with the way he was going he had no idea how to get there.

Magnus was the only one who seemed to get that, and Simon knew it. He always looked at Simon a bit more sadly than anybody else, thinking that Simon deserved just as much attention as everybody else. It was a perfect case of judging a book by its cover.

"Hey Magnus," Simon said. Instead of being attacked by Magnus' senior excitement, he artlessly wrapped his bag-occupied arm around Simon's shoulder.

"So how was your summer? Any interesting affairs I should know about?" Magnus asked.

"Not really, although I did have an affair with—"

Magnus stopped him. He raised a hand up and puckered his orange lipstick stained lips. "Please, Jace. If I wanted to talk girls I'd find Aline." Simon snickered next to him.

"Well then I suppose you don't want to hear about Simon's new girlfriend," Magnus' eyebrows shot up.

"Girlfriend? Simon? No, those two things don't match up right. It even sounds weird in the same sentence."

"Clary isn't my girlfriend, Jace," Simon groaned. "She's just a friend,"

"Which is why you were ogling her—"

"Okay," Magnus cut in. "Enough of this. Jace, don't tease Simon. It's mean. And Simon, don't lie about your relationships. It's unbecoming."

Simon looked at Magnus incredulously. "I'm not—"

"Where's Alexander? Is he here?" Magnus asked, doing a quick turnaround to search the hallway.

"Not yet," Jace answered. "He and Isabelle had to drop Max off at Winchester."

Magnus' smile faded; his face hardened and his eyebrows pinched—it was a rarity that Magnus was dead serious, and that was now. He took a small step forward so that himself, Simon, and Jace were in a small huddle.

"So…how did he hold up? You guys were in an entirely different country for two months. That's way different than my guest bedroom." Jace sighed deeply with a blank face.

"Surprising well," Jace finally said. "Up until the last two weeks of the trip I didn't even have to bring it up. He was coping so I didn't see a need."

"What happened then?" Simon asked. They were all talking in strangely low voices, like someone might hear them, which was unlikely considering the amount of noise around them.

"Nothing eventful. Alec ran out of pills, we picked up some more. The doctor prescribed a different brand though. It's stronger. It's supposed to help more with the nightmares."

"That's good though, isn't it? You seem doubtful somehow." Simon observed.

Jace's eyes fell shut for a moment. His shoulders tensed something that tended to happen when he was frustrated over something he couldn't fix. "It's just that…well, after all these years of medication, and asking the right questions, and just—after all these years, Alec just keeps…fading away. His personality, his—I don't know, his soul. He's just kind of empty. I know he doesn't have a choice, but the medication changes him, slowly, over the years. It's stealing from him, his options. And all I can do is sit back and watch it happen,"

With that note, they settled into an uncomfortable silence.

"Look, let's just not bring this up when he gets here, okay? We've never talked about it before, we don't have to talk about it now," Jace said. "It is rather a mood killer anyways,"

Magnus opened his mouth, but a different voice came out of it. "What's a mood killer?"

Around the corner on the opposite end of the hallway, Alec Lightwood made his appearance, dressed in black jeans—worn at the bottoms and holes at the knees (not the kinds put in to make them more expensive)—and a black t-shirt; well, it use to be black—now it was just an odd shade of gray. His old Chuck Taylor's hung on his feet, shoelaces still barely in tack, and the same beat up black back pack he'd been using since eighth grade was slung over his shoulder. His hair, black as a crow's feathers, hung straight over cerulean colored eyes. Magnus had once tried to count all the shades of blue in his best friend's irises, but he ended up with a list so long that it reached to the ceiling. A hypothetical ceiling, anyways.

Magnus was quick to replace his sullen face and his own golden green eyes lit up like fireworks.

In friendships, there are always two people who are more compatible than the others. There are always two people who just click. Those two people trust each other more than anybody in the world, even their own family, and of course, more than the other friends. Even when the other friends are their family. That was Alec Lightwood and Magnus Bane.

"Alec!" he exclaimed. Alec's smile was shy, as it always was.

"Hey guys," Alec greeted quietly.

"Alec, dude, welcome back." Simon announced, his voice booming compared to the blue eyed boy.

"You're a mood killer," Jace said playfully. "I was just telling them all about how boring you were in Italy."

"At least I didn't want to drive to Valentina Cervi's summer house just to get a picture of her cat," Alec reminded.

"Her cat?" Simon questioned amused. "Dude, you've lost your game."

As they bickered back and forth, laughing catching up on summer's events (something Magnus knew he should be doing as well), Magnus leaned back and observed Alec, and the…the sameness, of him. Alec was the one constant thing in his life, the one thing he could always rely on. But lately, and especially since it was summer break, they'd drifted. Magnus hoped that they could mend back together, two pieces of the same puzzle. But what if the puzzle was too complicated? What if it turned into a game board, full of twists and turns and nightmares and tears? Magnus only had one year left until everything changed. One year was not enough to the get the truth out of a person so closed and guarded. And if it was, then what would happen afterwards?

. . . . . . . . . . . .

*The Night Before*

Alec shot up in his bed like a bat out of hell, feeling smothered and intoxicated—but not by something pleasurable. The dream came rushing back to him. He'd been in bed with Magnus, again, and they'd been kissing, touching, whispering nothings—or everything's, in Alec's eyes— into each other's ears. There'd been moaning responses, groans of excitement, like always. But then, like always, Magnus morphed. His eyes turned black, and his teeth grew into fangs. Scales began to appear on his face and claws emerged from his fingernails. Around the bed the world would melt into a black atmosphere, and blood started to fill the last seconds of his life while this new Magnus would disembody him. He remembered feeling the anger and insanity boiling up from a dark place inside him that he hadn't known existed. But then, doesn't everybody have a black hole within them self, just waiting for the right time to make an appearance?

He hastily pulled himself up with his elbows, leaning his head against the white wall of his bedroom, since his too-small and stiff bed lacked a proper headboard. His body was tangled in a mess of sheets, damp from the sweat covering his body. He only sat there for a moment, running his arms through his hair—which was sure to look like something died in it—eyes closed and trying to get his breathing under control. Eventually when his heart rate began to calm, he realized how hot he actually was. His arms and legs were sweltering from the heat. Was the heater on—in August? No, he could hear the air conditioning running. He was just sweating his guilt.

Another dream—nightmare, really—about his best friend.

Swinging his legs over the side of his bed, Alec quickly glanced at his alarm clock. It read 4:57. Almost three hours ago he'd woken from the same dream, certain that he wouldn't be able to sleep anymore that night. But then he fell back into oblivion only minutes later, just to relive the same hellish nightmare as before.

The damn pills were wearing off again. It happened occasionally, that his mind would be able to overrun the medication that he was forced to inhale.

Alec walked dizzily across the room, toes sinking into the carpet, and into the bathroom. Flicking on the light, the first thing he saw was his reflection in the mirror. Puffy, bloodshot eyes—the once bright sapphire now a pale grayish color. His hair was, indeed, mopped carelessly across his face, sticking to his forehead. He ran a hand through it hoping that it might tame the mess. Unfortunately it just went back to the way it usually was, hanging over his eyes.

Alec knew he wasn't going back to sleep that night—he couldn't bear the thought of witnessing the nightmare again. Instead, he stripped down out of his long-sleeve shirt and sweat pants and turned the water on in the shower, thinking that the slower he did it the less noise it would cause. He didn't want to wake anyone up. After a minute he saw the steam finally start to rise from the shower and stepped in. Like he wanted, the water was scolding hot and for just a moment he focused on the burning of the water on his back instead of the gore he'd dreamed of.

The hot water couldn't keep other thoughts away though. He couldn't bear the thought of going back to school the next day and having to face Magnus. All summer he'd been dreaming of him, passionate nights and lounge-y mornings, full of sex and heat and drugs…so real…eventually they'd turned morbid.

Hell was a deadly state to be in, but unluckily for him, he'd somehow already gotten there.

A/N: JANUARY FIRST EDIT: I'll be rewriting this chapter soon, and chapter four, so if you find it cringe-worthy right now hopefully that'll change.

Sidenote: Winchester is the elementary that Max attends to.

xxShar [is thinking: All that is holy, this is over seven thousand words. Never expect this again.]