( Whatever valiant loyalty she's been clinging to fades the minute Jace kisses her, dissipates into nothingness with his hand in her hair and his lips on hers. Clary has been haunted by this feeling since long before the Seelie Court, but it grows corporeal in an instant. The world narrows down to just him and her together, to just the moment, a wash of colour and feeling. The artist in her could never capture it, the way there are glimmers of light beneath his eyelashes before his eyes close, to the fluttering of pale skin and black lines at his pulse. He's too real, too brilliant to ever put to paper.
( It doesn't matter that she still tries, lines of graphite always turning a sketch of a stranger into an approximation of Jace. )
Clary's hand lifts, curls into his shirt as though to anchor herself, or keep him where he is, pressing up on her toes to meet the kiss. When he doesn't instantly jump back her fingers flex, then press up to curve around his neck, the pounding of his heart beneath her palm, stubble tickling her thumb. When they part to breathe, she only allows it for an inhale, then pulls him closer again, the flare of unforgiving longing softening into something sweeter. There's time for that later. His honesty deserves this: Clary doing her best to prove her love for him through gentle touch. He's not anything but a boy who is worthy of more love than he's ever been given.
And she does love him, could never have pretended otherwise. She might have tried to change it's shape to something more fitting Valentine's lies, but Clary has always loved him. )
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( It doesn't matter that she still tries, lines of graphite always turning a sketch of a stranger into an approximation of Jace. )
Clary's hand lifts, curls into his shirt as though to anchor herself, or keep him where he is, pressing up on her toes to meet the kiss. When he doesn't instantly jump back her fingers flex, then press up to curve around his neck, the pounding of his heart beneath her palm, stubble tickling her thumb. When they part to breathe, she only allows it for an inhale, then pulls him closer again, the flare of unforgiving longing softening into something sweeter. There's time for that later. His honesty deserves this: Clary doing her best to prove her love for him through gentle touch. He's not anything but a boy who is worthy of more love than he's ever been given.
And she does love him, could never have pretended otherwise. She might have tried to change it's shape to something more fitting Valentine's lies, but Clary has always loved him. )