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chewriting · 3 years ago

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This was supposed to be a little snippet of Kit talking to Hazel about the reason why they broke up and it sort of got away from me. I can't explain how it evolved the way it did. I'm sorry about any potential typos as I wrote it in an angst filled fervor but I'm not sorry about the subject.

Content Warnings: extensive talk about death, just generally not a great time

Sitting on the stairs of the London Institute, watching Shadowhunters and Downworlders alike ready for war, makes Kit feel fifteen again. Though it’s been three years since he was forced to sit aside while Livia’s Watch marched Brocelind to meet the Cohort–even if Kit would have stayed behind without being magically chained to a tree–he doesn’t feel any more prepared. Three years wasn’t enough time to bounce between Cirenworth and the Exeter Institute to become a formidable threat. Sometimes his arms still shake under the weight of certain weapons. He’d be embarrassed if he could collect enough emotion to form it.

So, he stays quiet, eye flicking between small groups readying themselves in their own ways. Shadowhunters strapping thick leather pieces over their chests and shoulders, hoping it’d be enough to stop a swinging blade, at least briefly. The Downworlders are noticeably less dressed-up, but not noticeably less deadly. Vampires run their tongues over sharpened canines as they speak amongst themselves and werewolves bounce on the balls of their feet or chase friends around to work off restless energy. Several groups back, Kit thinks he can make out the bright-pink updo of the Chagford pack leader.

A small part of him wishes he knew all their names, or any other identifying characteristics so he wouldn’t have to meet them as another on a long list of lives lost. But in the end, it wouldn’t affect him too much as he’s expecting to be added to that list.

It’s why he’s sitting aside, watching instead of warming up his arms with a few practice strikes. It’s why he hasn’t been able to meet anyone’s eyes since entering the Sanctuary. It’s why he carefully blended into the crowd when he spotted Jem stretched over the crowd, searching. The knowledge of his impending death weighs heavy in his stomach, jostling the turkey and tomato sandwich he wolfed down earlier into a cramping torrent.

It’s scary, the idea of dying. But Kit’s known it’s what has to happen for weeks. He had only hoped that on the day of he’d have a more resigned acceptance than jittery fear.

His knee bounces on the step below him–fatigued from prolonged stress in his position or anxiety, he can’t tell–and it’s distracting enough that Kit doesn’t immediately notice when someone sits down next to him. They don’t immediately speak and Kit doesn’t know how strong his voice will come out if he tries to say anything, so he spares a glance out the corner of his eye. Kit’s heart clenches for an entirely new reason as his body hasn’t shut down quite yet.

“Shouldn’t you be over there, with all the other Shadowhunters?” Hazel asks, her curls bouncing as she cocks her head at him.

“Shouldn’t you be with the other werewolves?” Kit shoots back, hoping she’ll see he’s not in the mood and leave him alone.

She doesn’t grimace at his comment; she doesn’t really react at all. It’s one of the reasons Kit was so drawn to her when they were fifteen: she let all of Kit’s barbed remarks and pointed defenses bounce right off her like they were nothing but styrofoam peanuts. “I don’t really have a reason to, as I’m not fighting.”

Of which Kit is thankful. Despite his most self-deprecating thoughts revolving around how he may have never really cared about her and that she was just a placeholder for someone he’d never get to have, Kit truly cares about Hazel. He doesn’t know how he’d react if her name came up as those lost.

Kit nods but doesn’t say anything else. It’s like Hazel can feel Kit’s hesitation coming off him in waves, as she leans closer into his space. She still smells like the celebrity perfume she buys discount and the collar of her jacket still has a bleached spot when they tried to impromptu dye her ends with Kool-Aid. Just sitting next to her is nostalgic and painful altogether.

“Are you not fighting either?” She asks. Kit ignores the hopeful upturn of her voice. The constant fighting of being a Shadowhunter always worried her.

“I am. I just don’t feel like discussing the optimal way to sever someone’s arm from their torso.”

Hazel does grimace at that. “Coming up with your own plan?”

“Something like that.”

It’s vague, just skirting around a lie. Kit wonders if he should tell her the truth. It’s been all but eating away at him: knowing that he’s got going to make it out of the battle alive but unable to make final goodbyes without raising alarms. Shadowhunters don’t go into battle expecting to die. If he at all seems too prepared to not return, people will start asking questions.

Maybe he can still get some guilt off his chest, especially since Hazel has always known him for being dramatic.

“Hey,” he starts, finally twisting to look at her face to face. She’s really grown into her features, much as Kit did. The strong jut of her jawline now matches her sharp cheekbones and the hair she used to wrestle day and night with is expertly contained in tight side buns. Sometimes he’ll see a picture of her on Instagram and not be able to connect the face on his phone screen to the one he dated at fifteen. She finally managed to master the wrist-flick eyeliner. “I know it’s kinda late, but I wanted to officially apologize for how we broke up.”

“Oh?” It bubbles out of her throat like a laugh. Kit hasn’t heard her laugh in a long time.

“Yeah. I’ve just been thinking about it recently. And I feel like you got the short end of the stick there.”

“Kit, it was three years ago. I’m over it.”

“I know.” He looks up at the ceiling. Tapestries of stars, runes, and swords sway without any wind. “I just felt stupid. I actually broke up with you because I was too scared to ask if you were a werewolf.”

Hazel fully laughs now, the sound causing a few heads to turn. “Kit that’s fucking ridiculous.”

“I know! It’s dumb!” Kit cries, flopping back onto the stairs. Their edges dig into the divots of his spine but he pays it no mind.

“You could have always just asked. It wasn’t like I was actively trying to hide it from you.”

“I can see that now.”

“Kit I like, never eat sugar.”

“I know.”

“Church hated me!”

“Church hates everyone!”

Hazel giggles, sounding more like a hiccup, before sobering. They stare at each other for a while, sky blue meeting olive green. She sighs and lays next to Kit.

“When we broke up, I was pretty upset. I thought we were good together. Deep down I didn’t think we were going to be together forever, but at least a few months longer.” She looks down at Kit’s hands, clasped over his stomach. There are several new scars that weren’t there last time she was close enough to look. “But the more I thought about it. I realized something.”

She looks back up at Kit’s face. Somehow, Kit knows he’s not going to like what she’ll say. “That your reason was just an excuse.”

Kit’s heart kicks up. “Well yeah. I just said it’s because I couldn’t make myself ask if you were a werewolf and then it became too late to reasonably ask.”

“No, Kit, that’s just an excuse too. There’s something deeper,” she persists. Kit definitely doesn’t like what she’s implying. He jolts back up, leaning against his hands in a poor attempt to look casual. The rigidity of his shoulders gives away how upset he truly is.

“Hazel, I was young and stupid. I really didn’t have deep trauma tied to our breakup.”

Of course, since she’s known him for years, the lie fails like a musket misfiring. But she backs away regardless, placating hands coming up between them.

“I know you don’t owe me anything. I can accept young and stupid. I’m really only saying anything in case you didn’t feel it too.”

He risks a look across the Sanctuary. It’s hard to get a clear view, as this is not the epiphany scene at the end of a rom-com and people keep passing in front of him, but Kit finds him easily as he was aware the second he arrived and has made a note of his every movement since. Ty. This isn’t the first time Kit’s seen him in full Centurion garb, but it has yet to not cause his breath to catch. He’s supposed to be authoritative, in his military-style undercoat and shiny shin-guards, but Kit can’t help but think he looks like a prince.

Ty doesn’t notice Kit’s attention, too caught up in his conversation with a few of the other graduates from his class. He’s gesturing animately to a notebook in his hands. None of them look bored or exasperated to be getting orders from someone younger. Kit feels the corners of his mouth quirk up minutely.

“Unless you already knew.” It’s enough to snap Kit back to his conversation with Hazel. The look she gives him is knowing, though the pinch in her eyebrows makes it look like she’s in pain.

A familiar burn makes its way back up his chest. He’s gone months without feeling it, with finally talking to Ty again being enough to ease some of the aches he’s learned to live with since Los Angeles. Their relationship still isn’t great and Kit will probably never reach the level they once had. But Ty confided in him for certain snags in his investigations and they were actually able to patrol a few times in relative silence.

It strikes Kit that, since these are his last few moments, he’ll never actually be able to make amends with Ty.

“It doesn’t matter. Just puppy love that’s overstayed it's welcome.” Kit wants to be able to brush it aside. Talk about it with a steady and detached voice. But he’s hardly told anyone about how he still feels about Ty. Brushing around the truth feels like digging his fingernail into a new scab. His newest realization feels like someone tore the entire thing off, blood and serum pooling as his skin throbs.

“Does he know?” Hazel asks because she’s somehow gained the ability to ask just the right questions for the hot knife in Kit’s heart that he had hoped was long cooled to twist.

“He knows. He just doesn’t feel the same way,” Kit mutters. It feels too real, saying it out loud. He’s thought it to himself on multiple occasions. But somehow getting the words into the real world cements them. Makes them true.

“Oh. I’m really sorry Kit.” She sounds genuine and the press of her palm against his shoulder is comforting and gentle. Though he knows her mind could change if she knew the whole story. But he can’t share all the details without possibly giving up Ty’s crime. It does feel nice though, to have someone listen and offer sympathy. As if he’s just a boy with unrequited feelings.

He rests his temple against her shoulder, the angle slightly off as he’s grown a few inches taller than her. Without him noticing, tears begin to drip down his cheeks. Hazel’s arms come up to tightly squeeze Kit’s shoulders and he lets her. He lets her believe he’s crying over a boy. He lets her believe she’s comforting him through a brief moment of heartbreak. He lets her cheek rest against the top of his head while he mourns his own life.

Kit doesn’t want to die, a feeling he might have not been able to share three years ago. He has a family now, a little sister. Who he’ll never get to see grow up. He had just started to get the hang of throwing daggers and now he’ll never get to feel the pride radiating off Jem when he inches ever closer to a bullseye. The magic Tessa had worked so hard to help him hone buzzes angrily underneath his skin, frustrated by its owner's weakness. There will be no more days beginning with fresh chocolate pastries Jem brought back after his walk, no more mid-afternoon naps with Mina cradled against his chest on the couch, no more movie nights buzzing with excitement to show his favorites to Tessa.

Then there’s Ty. He blew all his chances to suck it up and apologize. All the perfect moments of them alone in the library, gone. That night on the roof, with Livvy floating just off the edge acting like a referee in their biggest argument, wasted potential. Ty sticking around as Kit got patched up after a run-in with the fae that nearly left Kit headless, the words clung against his throat. He’ll never know that Kit is sorry, so fucking sorry, that he’s just too afraid to hear how he’s nothing again to actually get it out.

He sniffles into the lapel of Hazel’s jacket. It would be embarrassing if he could muster the energy to care. The only hope is that people are minding their business. Her hands dip to scratch soothing circles into his back. The pattern acts like a magnet, drawing all his tension out of his shoulders to follow her manicured nails.

Even when the tears dry, he keeps his head down. He can’t possibly catch someone’s gaze with puffy, red eyes. Something settles in his chest. Like a drop of water calming a raging reservoir. Like a fire dying to a smolder. Like wind finally letting up to leave perfect silence behind.

“Hazel?” Kit asks.

Her nails don’t stop their circling of his spine. “Yeah Kit?”

“I need to ask you something, but it’s okay if you can’t do it.”

“Okay.”

“If I die,” he feels her tense and one of his hands runs down her upper arm in a soothing gesture, “if I die, can you tell my parents that I don’t want to be added to the Silent City?”

She pulls away, her eyes like stones. Her mouth is pressed into a harsh line and the perceived pain in her eyebrows is obvious now. “You don’t?”

Kit shakes his head. Ever since he heard about the Silent City, how the ashes of fallen Shadowhunters become the very walls that keep it stable, Kit knew that wasn’t where he wanted what was left of his body to reside for eternity. “They can burn me. But I want my ashes to be scattered in the ocean.”

Hazel opens her mouth as if to speak but nothing comes out. She shakes her head violently and pulls Kit back into her arms. It still feels like an acceptance.

Sadly, there’s a call for anyone not fighting to gather around Magnus so he can portal them home to safety. Hazel clings to Kit’s shoulders, shaking. A cowardly part of him wants to go with her: return to Chagford while everyone else fights in a war he has no real stake in. But even though Kit’s been a Shadowhunter for barely three years, he pulls up some of their characteristic bravery deep within his chest. They part, Hazel teary-eyed and Kit carefully neutral. It looks like there’s more she wants to say, maybe she can tell that Kit isn’t going to come back alive. Just like she knew Kit’s heart was already with someone else when they dated. She just takes a deep breath, squeezes Kit’s hand, and turns on her heel to go home.

He can’t watch her leave, so he scans the room again to catalog everyone he even remotely cares about. Jace and Alec tower over a collection of younger Shadowhunters, flanked by Clary, Simon, and Izzy. Distantly, he can make out Emma and Julian applying runes to each other's arms more out of habit than necessity. He saw Christina showing someone how to notch an arrow in a crossbow earlier but he can’t spot her now. Dru sits cross-legged with Mark tying her hair back into a tight bun as he sharpens several daggers lining his hips. Jem and Tessa are helping to hand out weapons at one of the many tables, working until the last moment when they’ll be asked to stay behind–they have a three-year-old daughter at home. Now alone, Ty spins a bow staff around his hand absent-mindedly, scanning the crowd himself. Probably hoping to find Livvy in the crowd of nameless Shadowhunters and Downworlders.

Kit’s still afraid, but he’s slightly more content now. His plan isn’t the easiest nor the best. But it’s the one with the least amount of casualties. Ideally just him. It’s all worth it if everyone he loves can make it back relatively unscathed. Grieving will be better than dead.

He whispers his prophecy under his breath. All of Faerie will fall under her shadow when she reaches her full power. It applied to his ancestor and it must apply to him too. He only hopes that he’s doing the right thing, that this will prevent a disaster. There’s a smear of white in the corner of his vision.

It’s Livvy, floating some distance away above the heads of some Shadowhunter Academy graduates. She stares right at him, face unreadable. He wonders if she can sense his incoming death, intentional or otherwise. If she even has that power.

She tilts her head, appraising. He settles on giving her a two-fingered salute. Even though she can’t make out the details of her face, he feels like she blinks before she disappears back into the crowd.

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