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The first time it happens, Jace has an irrefutable excuse when the morning after comes around.
Said excuse has more than a little to do with the hangover pounding at his temples and unsettling his stomach, the first one he’s had in years.
&.
The Hunter’s Moon is packed with people from wall to wall, crowded around the pool tables two deep, pressed up against the bar, arms waving in the air for service. It’s somebody’s birthday-
(whose birthday, Jace doesn’t exactly remember, even before he starts drinking)
-and the air is buzzing with celebration. Every so often, the room fills with raucous cheers as somebody offers to buy a round of shots for the entire bar, and the mood is just so damn festive that it’s hard to keep from being swept away on it like a wave at the beach.
So Jace doesn’t resist.
When the free rounds of shots are announced, he indulges gratefully, whenever he can shoulder his way up to the bar. Every so often, one of his friends passes by and shoves another drink into his hands, and who is he to say no?
By the time he realizes that he’s unsteady on his feet, he’s lost count of how many drinks he’s had, but he knows that he only paid for four of them.
He drifts through the crowd when he can, but it’s easier said than done; the sheer amount of people packed into the bar has to violate the fire code. Eventually, buffeted along by the tide, he ends up in the corner of the bar furthest from the front door, crowded into a booth with eight other people. He doesn’t know either of the girls sitting between him and the wall, both of whom seem to have a strong case of the giggles.
But on his other side, pressed right against him and still almost falling off the seat, one arm slung around the top of the booth that keeps falling down to drape across Jace’s shoulders, is Simon.
Simon from his Introductory Film Studies class, the one Jace had taken because nothing else fit into his schedule with his fourth year history and psychology classes.
Simon, who talks too much in class, who would probably teach the class if he could get away with it.
Simon, who actually does his share of the work (and more, sometimes) when they’ve been thrown together for group projects.
Simon, who not only smells good but also looks good in dark jeans and a deep blue button-up over a black t-shirt, dark hair slicked away from his forehead, glasses slipping down his nose, smile bright enough to light up a whole damn city, just as drunk as Jace.
In retrospect, frankly, Jace is surprised that they didn’t end up in the alley out back sooner, mere inches away from a fetid dumpster, clumsily frotting against each other until they both come in their pants like teenagers having their first time.
How he gets home is a little bit of a blur, but when he awakens the next morning, his memory of what happened is all too clear.
He blames it on the booze and doesn’t bother to send Simon a text about the subject.
He doesn’t get one in return.
When Simon comes to class on Monday, he takes a seat two spots away from Jace, talks just as much as normal, and when they are told to get into groups to discuss the film they were supposed to watch over the weekend, he slides over and immediately starts giving Jace his opinion.
But he doesn’t bring up the alley, and neither does Jace.
&.
The second time it happens, he has a different excuse.
Unfortunately, this one has far less to do with alcohol and festivities.
&.
It’s a Friday night, and he has his shared suite in the upper-years residence to himself, roommate back home visiting their parents for the weekend. He has a textbook spread across his lap and his phone resting in his hand, displaying a message from Izzy that’s so long Jace has to scroll to read the entire thing.
Despite the length, the message can really be summed up in the first sentence.
Dad had an affair, and Mom is filing for divorce.
He reads the message over and over again, tries to think of how to respond, and eventually gives up in favor of tossing the phone across the room, where it thankfully lands in his laundry basket. His parents have never had a perfect relationship, spent so much time arguing that Jace learned long ago to simply tune it out, but an affair?
He should call Alec or Izzy. Maybe even his mom, see how she’s doing, if there’s anything he can do to help her. Any of those options would be the right thing to do.
And he will do them. Eventually.
But first, to keep himself from calling his father and exploding on him, he needs a distraction.
He’s just reached for his gym bag when there’s a knock on the door.
Simon is standing on the other side, rubbing at the back of his neck, holding his tablet in his hand.
“Hey! Have you had any luck finding a stream for The-”
Jace wraps his fingers into the front of Simon’s obnoxious graphic t-shirt, yanks him in close, and kisses him until he can’t breathe.
When Simon pulls away, cheeks flushed almost comically red, his eyes are owlishly large behind his glasses, and there’s a grin slowly spreading across his face.
“Okay,” he says, pushing his glasses up his nose. “Okay, sure. I can work with this.”
With that, Jace tugs him into his room and kicks the door shut.
Monday dawns bright and sunny, but fall is unmistakably on the way, present in the orange leaves falling from the trees dotting the campus and the brisk wind that keeps finding its way through Jace’s layers as he walks to class.
This time, Simon takes the seat right next to him.
But they don’t talk about it.
&.
The third time it happens, Simon’s hands are Jace’s excuse.
&.
He walks into the Hunter’s Moon on a Thursday night, which happens to be Open Mic night, apparently. Simon is onstage, perched on a stool, strumming an acoustic guitar. After making a few adjustments to the tuning pegs, he waves to the group of people clustered around the stage at the back of the bar, and launches into a song. His voice is clear and confident, fills the room from wall to wall, and his long fingers move effortlessly along the strings, forming chords and picking out notes effortlessly. It seems to be a song of his own creation, so Jace doesn’t know if Simon makes any mistakes, but he certainly doesn’t make any obvious ones, doesn’t fumble with his hand placement or stutter.
Such talent deserves to be appreciated, and that’s the only reason Jace offers to walk Simon home once the show is over.
Really. That’s the only reason.
(They end up making out against the wall just inside the door of Simon’s tiny apartment, jackets shrugged to the floor even though there are coat hooks mere inches away.
“One of these days, I’m going to get you into my bed,” Simon gasps against Jace’s mouth, just as he pops open the button on Jace’s pants.
Jace doesn’t bother to rebut him.)
&.
As for the fourth time...
Well, Jace has an excuse.
Really. He does.
A damn good excuse.
He just can’t quite remember what it is.
(He blames that on how absurdly talented Simon’s mouth is.)
&.
By the fifteenth time, the only excuse Jace has left is that he likes Simon. Really likes him, even if he does talk too much in class, even if his opinions on the movies they watch in class are always the total opposite of Jace’s, even if he has a penchant for kicking Jace hard in his sleep.
And Jace is...
Well. Jace is actually completely fine with that particular excuse.