#keymastr

how i met your mother.

sometimes, they were SWEET. sometimes, kindness overpowered wit, poured from their mouths like wet paint. SOMETIMES, clary wanted to pocket his words for the weeks when it rained, storm cloud looming over her hear. she’d unfurl her hands and hold his care in her palms, CAREFUL. clary swears she’d be careful. 

she SMILES, and it’s lacking her usual teasing curl. instead, for replacement, is something SWEETER. simon looks like he wants to run, and it makes her laugh. this is what she likes :: the little moments. SNAPSHOT, they’re kids, chasing each other around the playground. SNAPSHOT, they’re getting older and everyone thinks the opposite sex is icky but he never leaves her SIDE, not even when the boys teased him from the opposite side of the classroom. 

SNAPSHOT, she’s teaching him how to braid hair, SNAPSHOT, they almost set her house on fire making cookies, SNAPSHOT, they get drunk, for the first time, together, so they learn their tolerances, SNAPSHOT, he holds her hair as she vomits, SNAPSHOT, he kisses her forehead and tucks her into bed, SNAPSHOT, she kissed HIM when they were thirteen. 

SNAPSHOT. forty years, fifty years, sixty years. it’s not worth it if she can’t have her best friend there. 

‘       guess we’ve got to stay together, then.

                                       S N A P S H O T .

     hozier.

         ‘       we just had DINNER.

but she tosses the bad of HERSHEY’S DROPS over to him, relieved when he catches it in a way that doesn’t let any chocolates spill out. they’re slaving over an exam––––well, clary’s taking a BREAK, and she’s not sure if simon’s even started studying yet.

         ‘       put one after every couple of paragraphs                           as a reward for getting that far.

body bends until she’s hanging off the bed, reaching back for the bag. simon’s on the floor, back to her mattress, legs crossed and SURROUNDED by papers. clary pops a chocolate into her mouth before leaning to place a handful all over his current page. when she grins up at him, she’s close enough to smell the cookies’n’creme flavor on his mouth.

I WANT A DIVORCE

             ‘        what do YOU know about true love? 

it’s just as accusatory as it sounds. they’re sprawled out on her bed, legs with knobbyknees dangling over the edges. her ceiling isn’t all that INTERESTING, but it’s something, something to focus on so she doesn’t hear the infliction of his voice, something to focus on so she doesn’t feel his eyes on her. 

                                                                       ( PLEASE DON’T SAY YOU LOVE ME,                                                                         ‘CAUSE I MIGHT NOT SAY IT BACK. )

her tone is teasing though, and even though clary doesn’t mean to, it’s almost DARING him to say something, to turn his gaze back to the ceiling and confess his love to it. she doesn’t WANT it to do that–––her voice, the dare. they have a soft bubble, here :: shell nothing but gossamer webbing, silky and soft. BREAKABLE. 

                                                                    ( DOESN’T MEAN MY HEART STOPS SKIPPING                                                                       WHEN YOU LOOK AT ME LIKE THAT. )

for a moment, she swears he’s going to do it. it isn’t that she necessarily believes he’s in lovewith her––––they’ve never TALKED about it. he treats her like she treats him, right? and simon, he’s her BEST FRIEND. he’s the downright BETTER HALF, too––––even though he’d disagree. but clary, clary thinks he’s absolutely the better parts of her. he’s her LAUGHTER, and the hand that helps her when she falls. he’s the phone call that picks up on the first ring, always, always. 

                                                                             ( THERE’S NO NEED TO WORRY WHEN                                                                                 YOU SEE JUST WHERE WE’RE AT. )

they’re lying on her bed and she swears she feels fingertips ghost the inside of her wrist. clary isn’t AFRAID to touch him–––most of the time, they’ve got shoulders pressed together, legs touching, something. it’s just how they were. COMFORTABLE. but for some reason, the beat of her heart blooms into a STACCATO sound, uncomfortable. afraid? she’s never been afraid.

                                                                not of him.

         simon? he’s my best friend. simon? he’s my best friend. simon? he’s my best friend.          simon? he’s my best friend. simon? he’s my best friend. simon? he’s my best friend.          simon? he’s my best friend. simon? he’s my best friend. simon? he’s––––––––––

                                                                           ( BUT PLEASE DON’T SAY YOU LOVE ME                                                                             ‘CAUSE I MIGHT NOT SAY IT BACK. )

eyes dart to his, for a second, because simon was STILL looking at her. always looking at her. it makes her smile, but her lips wobble in all of the wrong places, and she’s unsure of what to do with her HANDS. with a quick slide, she’s standing. chiffon bubble still intact. crisis averted. 

she can’t lose him, is the problem. CLARY CANNOT LOSE HIM.