A/N: I hope you all enjoyed Efflorescence. I'm extremely proud of this duo of stories and I'm so humbled that so many of you love them as much as I do. 

The three months apart from Alec's point of view was requested so here it is. Enjoy !

***

"I'm not going back to Brooklyn with you." As soon as the words leave my lips, it feels like a wall has been put up between us, as if, instead of the man I've loved since I was 16, it's a stranger standing in front of me. At first, he doesn't say anything, and neither do I. There isn't anything left to say. I've just made a decision that should've involved both of us. But it hasn't been fair to Magnus. He shouldn't be the one sacrificing everything anymore.

"You're not coming home." He doesn't ask. It comes across almost like an accusation- or it would, if he weren't so selfless, so perfect that he can't even be angry at me when I'm taking his heart in my hands and shattering it.

"I can't." I drop my hands to my sides and tear my gaze away from him, frustration flooding my veins. It isn't aimed at him, he's done nothing wrong. I'm angry with myself.

"You can't." It's as if the words don't hit him right away, as if he's trying to understand a different language and the meanings just don't quite add up. It feels that way for me, too.

"Max isn't getting any better." Mags looks as if he's seriously taking in what I'm saying now. I decide to try and save whatever bitter part is left of my dignity, my defence and pride. "What kind of brother would- what kind of person would I be to walk away as if everything's alright? How can I go back to my perfect life when his has been ruined like this?" Something changes in his expression, so subtly that I feel anyone else would miss it. Like a switch has been flicked, and suddenly, he understands. As hard as this is, he gets it. I knew he would.

I worry I'll start to cry if we're here much longer, our things in the car, next to each other, but not for long. Not nearly long enough.

"I understand." He vocalizes what I already know. Because Magnus, he's just good. So good, the epitome of perfection, and here I am, letting him slip away. Pushing him away.

"I didn't want to make this choice." It's the truth, whole and broken as it simultaneously is. But it's all I can offer him now. It wouldn't do any good to tell him I love him still, with all of my being, all I am. All it would do is worsen the blow. His hand wraps around mine, as it has so many times in the past, but this time it feels different. It feels final and the feelings erupt inside me. I nearly choke on them, swallowing so thickly as he squeezes my hand, twice, to tell me without any words, that he loves me still. That despite me being a horrible human, he sees the good in me, loves me anyways.

"I know, I know you don't, love." My chest is thundering as my heart begins to splinter inside of it, my rib cage barely enough to keep it intact. And he smiles, wracking me with pain I didn't know I could ever feel.

"I never thought I'd have to. But in a month, Izzy's moving to Brooklyn to attend Pratt. Jace is heading back to Stanford, and my parents can't do this alone." I'm the only one in a position that I can help. And even if Maryse drives me crazy, even if she hates who I am, who I love, she's my mother. Magnus understands that. His father's the same, even if they're on two completely different levels, he loves him, and, I assume, would give me up if he had to. 

But maybe that's just me trying to reason with myself, alleviate the guilt sitting inside my stomach, heavy as a stone. Maybe Magnus would prove me wrong if he were in my shoes. I wonder if, no matter the situation, he'd choose me. And I wonder if he's disappointed in me that I'm not choosing him the same way. 

All of this is horribly unfair. But it's reality, and as much as I wish Magnus and I could beat the odds, maybe all the beautiful things we created were just like flowers. Temporary. Meant to brighten the world, your life, for a short while, and eventually fade away, leaving behind the memory of what it felt like to experience it, and the sadness that it's gone away.

"I know." I let go of his hand, feeling cold the second I do. He slides my bag over my shoulder, lifting it from the trunk, leaving behind an empty space.

"So this is it," I say it out loud because I still don't understand it. Even if I made this decision, the way it feels is indescribable. The way it hurts is unexpected.

"Who would've thought that after everything, this would be our undoing,"

"I didn't." I swallow again, eyes damp. We exchange a few more words, but they don't matter. Nothing does anymore. Not until I grasp his face in my hands and kiss him, one last time. It physically, emotionally, mentally destroys me, but I couldn't let him leave without it. I know I'm being selfish, and that I don't deserve it for a second.

When I pull away, his eyes stay closed. I admire him for a second longer than I should, the way the sunlight hooks in his lashes, long, dusting his cheeks. The way they begin to dampen with tears he doesn't want me to see. But I do anyway. And before he opens his eyes, I walk away, refusing to look back, knowing I'll change my mind.

Once I'm inside the house, I shut the door behind me, lean back against it and let out a breath. Izzy comes drifting down the stairs, a sympathetic look on her face.

"I think you're making a mistake." She's never withheld her opinion from me, but right now, I clench my eyes shut and shake my head, holding my hand up in front of me.

"Please, Iz. Not now." The words sound strangled and I clear my throat, feeling her hand wrap itself around my upper arm and squeeze gently.

"Alright, I won't. I love you, by the way." I force a small smile, blinking my eyes open.

"I love you, too. Thanks for doing this." Heading to Brooklyn with Magnus to collect my things. She nods and I move away from the door as she walks outside, not daring to look through it at the future I'm discarding. The love I've literally turned my back on. Shaking my head, I swallow the emotions bubbling up my throat and make my way upstairs, away from everything I thought I'd have and into what I've chosen.

***

A month into my life without Magnus and it's as lifeless and boring as my life was before him. But this time, I have something to compare it to. It's so much worse this way, knowing what I had, the way my life had changed- how I had changed- and how I've reverted right back to it. 

Having Magnus was like coming up from being underwater for too long, gasping for air to revive stiffened, suffocated lungs, the pure relief and life coursing through my body. And walking away from him was the same as dousing myself back under, forced to hold my breath again, for a month thus far. Forever, probably. 

Shaking my head, I force myself to push the thoughts away, ignore the gnawing inside of me, the buzzing thoughts of him that make it impossible to do anything useful with my time. It makes me feel guilty, mainly because I did this for Max, and yet here I am, doing a terrible job because it's all still about Magnus, despite how hard I try to change that. 

I crack my knuckles and stretch out my arms, trying to focus instead on the warm sunlight touching the contours of my face, drifting lazily across my fingers, shining on the ebony and ivory beneath them. Rolling my shoulders, I lay my hands on the keys and take a deep breath before I play, trying to let the music whisk me away as it normally does. 

For the longest time, music was a prison for me. Maryse insisted that we all take lessons in something. She had learned piano at a young age, my father violin. Jace got lucky, picked up the drums and it didn't take long for my parents to dismiss the idea that Jace should play any musical instrument. 

In a way, I've always been jealous of Jace. The pressure was always lessened for him, mainly because his charm precedes him so excessively that with or without boundless talent, he could still get whatever he wanted in life. That was always the main goal for the Lightwoods anyways. Power, control, wealth. To be able to sway whomever and whatever to get anything with little to no effort. 

Maryse chose the piano for me because I lacked all of that growing up. I was never incredible with my words, could never persuade anyone to see things my way, always stumbling and tripping over sentences as if I'd dropped them. My disposition was never absolute enough to convince anyone that I knew what I wanted or was talking about either. In her eyes, I needed tremendous talent to prove myself. To be a Lightwood. 

Lessons were always so gruelling and tedious, scales and pitches, mistakes upon mistakes until I thought I'd never get it down. I started when I was 4. I remember hating the glinting black masterpiece placed in one of the offices downstairs. The man who taught me for the majority of my childhood was stiff and studious, short with words unless he was lecturing me on something I'd done wrong. Music, for the majority of my life, was a chore, something I could never get out of no matter how hard I tried. 

Smiling to myself, I close my eyes, hands gliding over the keys, filling the room with a soft melody that cradles with afternoon sunlight in its caress. 

Magnus fills my mind. 

I remember the first time I told him I play. He'd come over one afternoon nearing graduation. My parents were out with Izzy shopping, and Jace had taken Max to a swim meet. Magnus had lit up, excitement gracing his warm features and he'd asked me to play. 

I did, because he wanted to hear it, but even he could see the reservation in my bones, the anger, deep-seeded and instinctual. I remember opening up, telling him about the way music had imprisoned me, made me another puppet in my mother's charade, in her plan to pursue perfection. 

And in the way Magnus has always done, he simplified everything. Took something that had trapped me for years and cut the ties until I had control again. His words could always do that, flip the script until anything that held me down no longer had power over me. 

"Why do you let it have that sort of authority over you?" His hand wraps surely around mine, the last note clinging to life in the air, humming intimidatingly over me. Furrowing my brows, I look up from our joined hands to meet his eyes. 

"What do you mean?" His crooked smile comes to life as he shrugs as if I've missed out on something obvious. 

"I mean, music is a wonderful thing that's become so bitter in your life. Why do you let it manage your emotions so strongly? You could enjoy it if you wanted to. Just because Maryse made you learn doesn't mean you have to hate it." I guess he's right. I guess my spite and resentment sometimes get the best of me. Sometimes beautiful things come in the most dreadful packages, and it's up to us to decide what to make of it in the end. 

I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding as I let the piece drift to a close, my heart aching in a familiar, yet completely unpleasant way all the same. It's as if, now, the music is hollow, the sounds just a shell of what they should encompass and mean. It's all followed him, wherever he goes, halfway across the world and then some. And I doubt he even knows. 

***

The spotlight pins me to the stage, feeling more like an accusation than a privilege. The applause sounds intrusive as if it's affirming my aversion to the situation, my lack of interest. I feel hot beneath my suit, claustrophobic under the eyes of the thousands watching me. If I could, I would run, but my career depends on me standing here, grateful and humble. 

As the ovation fades to isolated whistles and applause, I take one last bow, eyes automatically drifting to the front row, seat 12 from my right, where he would sit. A woman with corn silk curls and blood red lips fills his place, fills my stomach with unsettled knots. Closing my eyes tightly, I swallow the emotion rushing up my throat until I can exit the stage. 

Inside my dressing room, I all but rip my tie off, dragging my hands through my sweat-dampened hair and growling to myself under my breath. I feel so deeply discontent that I'm unsure what to do. So I skip the after party, as I have so often. I know that my management won't wait forever for me to get my act together, as they shouldn't. If I can't do my job, they can't make any profit off of me. It'd be fair of them to cut me loose, and I can only imagine their patience is running overtly thin. 

Sliding into my car, I head to a 24-hour cafe, lose myself in the scent of rich dark roast and the corner of a worn room, settled in a lounge chair with a warm cup between my hands as the night opens up outside. 

The air is getting cooler, fall in the near distance as NYC prepares for the cold the October will hold in just a couple short weeks. Outside, people file through the streets. College students filter along the sidewalk, stumbling, already feeling the effects of the first few weekends of elevated nightlife and frat parties. I can hear their elated laughter through the window. 

I don't know how long I sit there, drinking copious amounts of caffeine, thoughts of my life assaulting my head. I think about the possibility that I made the wrong decision. That, maybe Max didn't need me as much as I thought, that maybe my own fears about the future, the unknown fueled my decision, and Max was a prime justification for my actions. 

By the time early morning comes around, I come to the conclusion that if he were to return to NYC, for some reason, I'd be selfish. I'd ask for the forgiveness that I don't at all deserve for a second, and I'd ask him to take me back. 

I realize that I'd marry him, if that's what it took. I'd ask his hand, I'd find us a home, I'd give up my career, or get a different one, I'd move to Milan, I'd give anything to have him back.

Setting the empty grey porcelain cup on the wooden cafe table, I stand, setting a few bills down and smiling at the barista as I make my way outside, sliding behind the wheel and driving the only road that makes sense to me anymore, heading to the one place I can really feel him. 

Half an hour later, the morning is barely alive as I near the trail. But there's an unfamiliar vehicle parked there, and my heart hammers at the prospect of him being here. 

Shaking my head, I push the wishful thought away, parking and sliding out, pocketing the keys and making my way to the place where it all began. 

************

A/N: There will hopefully be an epilogue soon but I've had immense writers block so please enjoy this in the mean time! Let me know your thoughts!