Chapter Text
Well. Life sucks and death fucks. If possible, one Alec Lightwood would very much request it to be engraved on his grave. It would be cool. Quirky. Rebellious. All the things he is not. If he were, he would gladly fake his death, steal some artifacts from the Clave and run away to live his best life.
“Let’s hope your best life involves proper clothes”
And here he is. The demon in his head, uninvited again and unconcerned about the fact. His clothes are fine, thank you so much.
“If you’re doing a homeless chic type of fashion show”
Alec rolled his eyes. Why is this his life, he will never understand. The amazing adventures with your possibly dead or imaginary childhood friend popping in and out of your head to shit on your life choices.
Not that he has too many others to talk to, mind him. Jo might be an apparition from whatever hellhole he is occupying now, but they shared a bond that kept him from losing it sometimes. It definitely kept Jo from losing it, seeing as he was somewhere in Edom, based on his words (Alec still wasn’t sure if it meant that he died, ended up with the demons, escaped somehow and was now haunting Alec, cause, well, Jo’s character definitely would fit this whole scenario).
“Cut the whining. I didn’t slip one hell to be in another one. So, what are you gonna do about it?”
“What indeed”, - Alec muttered, staring at the letter he had in front of him. The letter requesting his presence in the New York Institute. The letter’s content was basically “there is a mess going on and we need to keep it contained to our family, so, unfortunately, you have to show your face” type of thing.
“Oh, please. Chin up. There’s no place like home. If you’re good, I might even let you have some fun”
So generous, isn’t he? How good it is to have friends. So very nice. Alec rolled his eyes again. Life sucks and death fucks, don’t they.