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It starts like this: two girls bent close together as they whisper. Red hair blends seamlessly into blonde, and tan skin presses against pale skin.
Big green eyes and dark brown eyes peer together.
“Forever.” One says.
“Forever.” The other echoes.
Always, they never say but that doesn’t make it any less true.
Emma learns that bruises can be beautiful. The purple one on her knee looks especially lovely when she wears denim shorts, and the yellow one on her elbow looks vibrant when she wears black t-shirts, and the bluish black one on her lower back is Clary’s favorite. She presses her hand against it, giggling when Emma winces and smiling proudly when she manages to not flinch. Clary says bruises build character and shapes you as a person. Emma nods along, dark eyes wide as she takes Clary in. Emma thinks Clary’s prettier than bruises.
Clary smiles, and Emma vaguely feels like Clary knows something she doesn’t.
Clary lives in a shitty apartment with a mother who’s never home. Emma lives a few blocks away in a shittier apartment, and she sleeps at Clary’s more often than not. Emma sneaks out of her house after midnight when the streetlights are on and turn her blonde hair golden like an angel’s. She always wanted to be an angel, and now she’s got a halo. She yanks her window open, and crawls out. She runs through the darkness, hair acting as a flashlight, a beacon of light slicing through the night. Emma darts up Clary’s fire escape, tapping her window as she waits outside in the slight chill.
Clary’s face appears, green eyes large and slightly distorted in the glass. A smile slides over her face, and she opens the window. She disappears, probably back to bed, and Emma climbs in. She shuts it quietly behind her, and curls up behind Clary. She slides a cold hand around Clary, head tucked against Clary’s back.
Clary feels her smile against her, and ignores Emma’s cold skin.
Clary goes to seventh grade with a new backpack and her old red sneakers with paint and doodles all over them, and she comes home with homework and a scowl. Emma goes to third grade with her blonde hair in double dutch braids, and she comes home with a new friend.
“Her name is Cristina, and she’s the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.” Emma shares, starry eyed. Clary glances up from her math homework, chewing on her pencil and glancing jealously over at her younger friend. Clary’s only had one friend her entire life, and that friend is Emma. The age difference was a little weird sometimes what with Clary being four years older, but when it comes down to it they’re there for each other. Clary’s always been in Emma’s life and she can’t imagine it any other way. Clary saw Emma as a baby, small and screaming, and she knew instantly that they were bonded. Forever.
There’s never been a word to describe what they are to each other, and there never will be. Not in this world.
(And in another they meet each other too late, and they never will be connected via soul together.)
The only room off limits to Emma is Jocelyn’s room. She’s never been in there, and a part of Clary hopes she never will. You see, Emma idolizes Clary. She thinks Clary’s hung not only the moon but the entire fucking galaxy.
And what’s in Jocelyn’s room could change everything.
Jocelyn is a witch, and that makes Clary one too. Clary’s grown up feeling at home with something brewing and bubbling as she pours it into a vial, the feeling of old paper rough under her fingertips, and the smell of incense constantly present in her home. It’s comforting, like hugging the childhood teddy bear you never let out of your sight.
Clary’s grown up with not only her artistic ability but also her magical ability. She’s strong, ability wise.
She’s different , and the other kids know this. They avoid her, side eye her as if she’s done something wrong. At first she thought it was her paint splattered overalls that she loved to death, but then she examined herself in the mirror and she saw it. The otherness. She held herself differently than other girls did.
See, they thought they were powerful. As if their seven year old bodies and brightly colored t-shirts contained a power source only they were aware of. But she knew she was powerful. She felt it rushing under her skin, and Clary knew that if she just reached for it she would feel it.
Clary thinks that maybe Emma would be awed by her, but there’s a little voice in the back of her mind that wonders differently. Maybe Emma would stop thinking she hung the stars. It’s something she’s not willing to risk. Maybe it’s the only thing she’s not willing to risk.
Emma has to use the bathroom. Clary had gotten up a minute ago, and Emma can hear the water running. It stops but she doesn’t hear the door open. She considers her options, and it’s winter. It’s cold outside, and Emma had to bring her coat with her the bite of the wind was so intense. Emma knows there’s a bathroom in Jocelyn’s room. She’s never actually seen it but she knows it’s there.
Emma has a choice to make.
Emma sneaks into Jocelyn’s room, quiet as a mouse. She slides the door open, and slowly eases it shut. She blinks away the sudden darkness, and the smell of something powerful overwhelms her. It smells ancient, and Emma thinks she can feel it brushing along her fingertips. She’s suddenly in the center of the room, something glorious burning through her skin while little gasping noises escape her mouth.
Then Clary is in the room, sinister in the darkness even as her red hair acts as a beacon. Emma feels like her feet has been swept out from under her, and a little like she’s been socked in the stomach. “You were never supposed to find out.” Clary whispers, voice booming the quiet darkness of the room, of the moment.
And Emma understands.
“I’ll teach you.” Clary smiles unsettlingly. It’s a promise, an oath.
Emma grins, sweet as spun sugar. “I’ll learn from you.” Emma swears, threatens. For a moment her grin is the grin of a lion before it pounces. It melts away almost instantaneously, and Clary shakes the image out of her head.
They shake hands, fire burning green and purple. Emma thinks it should burn, but it doesn’t so she stops caring. “Forever.” One says, and the other echoes. As it was, as it is, as it always will be. Forever.
Maybe Emma didn’t know what she was saying when the word forever was first uttered from her lips, but she understands the implications now. She understands the bruise on her shoulder is actually Clary’s, and she’s always careful during fights to avoid getting hit. Sure, her knuckles will ache and bleed and bruise but Clary can handle it. Clary does handle it.
Emma says forever, and it feels like the first time. She says forever, and the world rights itself. Everything looks clearer, sharper than before. Like she has bad vision and she finally got the right prescription.
Emma says forever, and it’s a promise. Suddenly Emma and Clary become EmmaandClary. Emma and Clary become one, souls bound for eternity together. Emma says forever, and she means it because this is her life, the only one she wants. She wants Clary by her side forever, and she used to not understand that word but she does now so it’s all okay. It’s all okay because every breath she takes is a breath Clary takes and they are in unison, permanently insync.
Emma says forever, Clary says forever, and they become forever.
Emma leans closer to Clary, her arm thrown around Clary’s waist and her face pressed against the top notch of her spine. Clary’s body curves seamlessly into Emma’s, and blonde mixes perfectly with red. You couldn’t separate them, not if you tried. Emma sleeps silently, breath puffing against Clary’s back. Clary snores in her sleep, and Emma couldn’t sleep without it.
Clary snores, and Emma dreams, and they are everything all at once without being anything at all.
They are forever.