Alec must have been sitting at his desk for hours, pen touching paper but never daring to move. Writer's block was a strange thing – One day ideas would flow from your mind and onto paper so quickly that it's impossible to stop writing until they're all gone, which, of course, was always about three in the morning. Then the next day, the pen which had previously been so energetic and seemed to have a life of its own seemed to only want to sleep. Alec guessed he would describe writers block as some sort of weird, metaphorical hangover. With a frustrated groan, Alec threw the pen across the room and stood up, starting to pace.

Alexander Lightwood was by no means a famous author, but he wasn't unknown. He was somewhere in between JK Rowling and Caleb Carr. Okay, probably a lot closer to Caleb Carr. But, he earned a living on it, along with his job at the club.

He wrote short stories, as he hadn't yet been successful in getting a novel published. He'd tried twice, but he wasn't great at keeping things going for that long. He preferred to make his stories short and snappy. He had never written anything non-fiction, or anything lacking magic – His stories usually revolved around a romance in the world of mages and wizards. He didn't have a particular intended audience either – Some stories were for children, some for adults, some aimed at girls, some at boys. He was signed up with a couple of magazines that he wrote short stories for, and he usually wrote a few stories a month. It barely paid for the bills and essentials, but it did, and he loved his job – Except the writer's block.

As he paced, he realised that today was just not the day, and that the more he thought the less likely he was to come up with something. He wasn't getting anywhere with anything.

He showered. He ate. He shrugged on his coat and left through the front door of his small flat, remembering to lock up afterwards. New York was a nice place to live for a writer – inspiration around every corner, whether it was in the form of people, a certain scene, even a funny shaped crack in the pavement could inspire Alec on a good day.

But Alec wasn't in the mood to seek out inspiration today, so instead he hopped onto the subway and let it whisk him away to work.

The Lightwood was a reasonably successful club – of course it was, it had been set up by his younger siblings. They knew how to draw people in, Jace with his undoubtable charm and Isabell with her pure beauty. His siblings had made running the club their full time job when it started getting successful. They'd been kind enough to offer Alec a small job as a bartender, whilst, as they put it, he was 'climbing the ladder to fame'.

The club wasn't exactly classy, but it wasn't just a 'get drunk and sweaty' club either. The main theme, like most clubs, was neon signs and flashing lights, but that wasn't all there was to it. Alec's favourite feature was the dance floor, even though he'd never used it. It was black marble, with a clear covering with blue glitter covering that sparkled when the lights hit it. He'd thought it would be tacky when then were planning it, but it actually looked stunning. Alec guessed the rest of the details took on a blue theme too – The plush seats, the walls, most of the neon lights had a bit of blue in them too.

He checked his watch. Six fifteen. The bar opened in quarter of an hour. He took his headphones off as he opened the metal backdoor, silencing the blaring punk-pop.

"Alec!" He heard Isabelle yell from out at the front. He smiled and hopped through the storage, taking his coat and scarf off once he got behind the bar.

"Hey, Iz." Alec answered, his deep voice ringing through the unusually silent room.

"So, status update- I think I finally found you a boyfriend. He's tall and wears dull clothes like you and oh god his eyes and-"

"And I'm really not interested. I already told you, I have a boyfriend – His name is work, and He has my undivided attention for most hours of the day." Alec said, cutting her off. Isabelle rolled her eyes, then Jace walked in with a pack of beer, so they quickly silenced their chatter related to Alec's sexuality.

"Speaking of which, how's the story coming along? You're early... Are you procrastinating again? You shouldn't be avoiding your beloved work. It'll think you don't like it anymore." She asked in an accusatory tone, a smirk on her cherry red lips. "But seriously, how is it?" She asked, worry creasing her smooth forehead suddenly.

"No, no procrastination this time," He said with a grin, "I have a writer's block. But, it's fine – It's not due into the publishers for another two weeks. A little writer's block is nothing to worry about..." He hoped.

It was a relatively busy night; the dance floor was packed with bodies and the tables full of people drinking. Isabelle always gave Alec an hour's break, to practice writing the way he liked too. It was by doing this that he got most of his inspiration. Others may have found his way of practice creepy, but Alec didn't think so. Not that creepy anyway. He would watch people around the club, how they looked, how they moved, how they spoke if he could hear them. Then, he'd put it all down in words, making it as descriptive as possible. If they were interesting, he'd give them a short back story. If they were really interesting, they'd be used in his short stories.

He looked around the club, his eyes laid upon face after face. His eyes laid upon the usual characters, the blond ladies in red dresses sipping wine on a plush seat. The teenagers, who probably all had fake ID. The ones who'd clearly just had a very, very bad day at work and wanted to let their hair down by getting as drunk as they could without passing out. The perverted men who sat in the corner, eyeing up the ladies but never finding the courage to make use of that one chat up line they'd learned before they came out. He'd seen it all before. There was nobody here that caught his interest, and he was just about to put his pen and notebook away and go back to work when the most colourful looking man he'd ever seen walked in through the door. His hair was full of highlights, colour after colour standing vividly against pitch black. His skin was a light caramel colour, his eyes a bright, catlike green. And, he was wearing... Alec wasn't quite sure what he was wearing, but it made Alec's dark green sweater and black jeans look like granddad clothes.

He sat back down at the bar and opened up his notebook to the first free page he found, keeping the stranger visible in the corner of his eyes. His pen touched the paper, and Alec got lost in his own little world...

'He has eyes like a cat on the prowl, like a proud wildcat upon his perch, emerald green and almost glowing. His hair is a palette of colours against a pitch black canvas. His skin looks soft to touch, a sweet liquid caramel. He's tall, and he walks with the grace of a trained dancer – He has the muscle tone of one, too. He looks like a happy character, and...'

And Alec wasn't sure how long the stranger had been staring back at him.

Alec's heart stopped. He looked back at the stranger with wide eyes. The stranger looked back at him, his catlike eyes also wide. When he finally ripped his gaze away he was sure he was blushing a deep crimson. This had never happened before; he'd never been caught staring at someone he'd been writing about. He tried to act casually as he looked over at Izzy, who was currently chatting to some cute guy over the bar. Probably talking about whether she could pay him to go out with Alec, since he clearly wasn't her type. Anyway, it was clear she wasn't coming to save him any time soon.

When he looked back out towards the club, there was the stranger, sitting right opposite him on the other side of the bar, reading his notebook which had of course been left open at the page of a certain stranger's description. Alec gasped and leaped up, snatching his notebook back quickly. His face regained its rosy colour as he started to stutter out an apology, trying to explain himself in a flurry of words and syllables that mostly got lost in the blaring music of the club. His strings of apologies were only silenced when the stranger let out a laugh which would be loud enough to wake the teenage boys of the club at six in the morning tomorrow, when they all had raging hangovers.

"If you thought I was that pretty, you could have just bought me a drink you know." He said, and Alec struggled to pick an adjective for that voice. Smooth, fruity? No. Intoxicating.

"S-Sorry..." Alec mumbled, scrambling in the air to find some sort of words he could string into a sentence that made him look vaguely normal. He tried to pretend he was busy so that the other would leave him alone and he could forget this whole embarrassing incident. He managed to do so, with the stranger still staring at him, for all of two seconds before the man spoke up again.

"Come on. It actually wasn't that bad, although my hair is raven, darling, not black." He said matter-of-factly, a smirk playing on his lips. Alec frowned and was about to ask what exactly the difference was, when he heard Izzy calling him and telling him to get back to work – His hour was up.

"Um, I have to go, bye..." Alec said awkwardly. He turned to leave, but the man behind him caught his sleeve. Alec turned to face him again, his notebook sandwiched between his arm and side.

"Call me?" He asked with a wink as he pressed a piece of paper into his palm. Alec looked down at it. All that was written – Or rather scrawled – on the paper was a mobile number, and the name 'Magnus Bane' below it. Alec nodded, just wanting to get away as quickly as possible, the stubborn blush refusing to leave his cheeks.

The rest of the evening consisted of the same old stuff – Drunks, bad dancing and more drunks. Oh, and of course trying his best to avoid eye contact with one certain colourful man.