Chapter Text
“I want to talk to Simon. Alone.” Like always, Clary doesn't waste time with pretenses. Even though she's talking to Magnus, she's looking directly at Simon, who had walked into the room upon hearing her voice.
“I really don't know if now is a good time,” Magnus says, keeping his voice light, but there's a hard, protective edge to it.
“Agreed. It's not.” And that's Jace. After their conversation today, it's not quite as shocking that he'd come to his defense as it would have been even an hour prior, but to feel him come to stand behind him is still new. Alec has also left the kitchen at this point and come to stand by his boyfriend, somehow managing to look stoic and intimidating with egg dripping from his hair and flour all over his black clothes.
Clary scoffs at the display, “Really, guys? He's my best friend. I'm not going to hurt him.”
Simon turns and puts a hand on Jace's shoulder, pretending not to notice Clary's surprise at the familiar movement. “It's no problem guys. Stand down, or whatever. I'm good, Clary's good, and we’re gonna talk.”
Magnus seems to be the first to agree to this, stepping away from the doorframe he'd been blocking Clary from walking through. “Alright then, if you're sure. Do you need the notepad?”
Simon shakes his head, “No. I think… I think I can say what I need.” he grabs Clary's hand and walks with her to the balcony, and the both ignore the three pairs of eyes watching them intently as they step out, though Simon makes a point of locking the door behind them.
Sitting on the balcony, knees faintly touching, Simon doesn't feel quite as confident about talking with Clary as he had when convincing the others. He can't help but realize that this is the first time he’s been outside since the attempt.
“So… Jace. That's new?” It comes out much more as a question than Simon intended because he really, really doesn't know what to say to Clary. She's his best friend; he swears half the time they can communicate through eyebrow-lifting alone. Yet now, it's like he's sitting next to someone he hasn't seen in years, like he knows the outline of her life but doesn't know the person in it.
“Simon, that's… Really not what I came to talk with you about. I just wanna talk about you, about what happened.” Her voice is gentle, yet there's a sureness in it, like she knows that they will have this conversation and things will get better.
“About how I tried to kill myself,” she winces, “and how I didn't talk with you about it? I don't really know what you want me to say, Clary. I got low, I didn't want to bother you with it.”
“But you're not a bother, Simon! You're my best friend, you're family and I'll always be here for you, no matter what end-of-the-world shadowhunter bullshit is going on.”
Simon slides a hand into hers in response, and she gives his a gentle squeeze. Sitting here with her, he’s struck with how things have changed. He's wearing loafers instead of Vans or those awful Jesus sandals he wore all of senior year, and Clary is laced into combat boots (like actual, military combat boots, not overpriced Dr. Martens but ones with steel toes and most likely a hidden knife compartment in the heel), where only months before she wouldn't be caught dead in anything other than her ratty Converse, with the left shoe decorated in her artful hand and the right shoe covered in awful memes by Simon himself.
But not everything has changed. They still rhythmically click their knees together, the only sound in the relative silence they sit in, just like they have for years, on couches or beds or rooftops. Clary still puts her hand on top of his to lace their fingers together, still has the same calloused fingers, though now they come from wielding swords and daggers instead of paintbrushes and pencils. And yes, now Simon's blood runs slow and cold, now Clary’s burns with angelic power but this, them, this can never be unfamiliar.
Eventually Simon decides to break the comfortable silence, air rushing around his arms as he moves rapidly.
“Did you just-”
“Well, yes-”
“Simon! You just dabbed while we were holding hands! I can't believe you!” She maintains her righteous fury for all of two seconds before succumbing to the giggles Simon had been trying to restrain. They laugh together, and it feels like something shifts and clicks into place. Like things aren't fixed, but they're healing.