Chapter Text
“Kit’s been ignoring me,” Dru accuses, a finger pointed at his chest. Kit moves uncomfortably on the yellow chair, the back of his knees sticking to the plastic, tacky with sweat where his swim shorts rode up. “I told him we were arriving here yesterday.”
Mari, his ex-girlfriend, turns on her side to look at him, her eyes narrowed. “Really? He didn’t tell me anything.”
Kit shrugs and takes another sip of his caipirinha. The liquor burns his throat on the way down, but the lemon and sugar coat his mouth to soften the taste. “I didn’t think we’d have time to meet up.”
Mari’s eyes narrow furthermore and she twists her mouth in displeasure. Like it frequently does, her whole expression screams ‘That’s why we broke up’. But she’s wrong; if she hadn’t done it before, he would’ve broken up with her first. She’s too judgmental, and too good of a friend to waste on a hopeless, futureless, teenage relationship.
Kit and Mari had arrived in Rio a week before, Mari’s parents alongside them. Mari has some distant relatives there, although her mom is from Northern Brazil, and she takes a trip to visit them every two years as an excuse to go sightseeing in the Marvelous City.
That year she asked to bring a friend, and her parents obliged, as long as he paid for his own stay and didn’t bother her great-aunt too much. Kit doesn't mind the conditions—he has no intention of meeting Mari’s great-aunt, nor of leaving their rented flat in Urca, near Praia Vermelha beach.
“It’s just Praia Vermelha,” Mari said the day before, while they were walking on the white, fluffy sand. “Praia already means beach.”
Sadly for her, Kit wasn’t listening. His phone vibrated with a message: Dru was very excited to be in Rio, and they should meet up. Ty had also come along.
Kit turned his phone off and let his mind wander, not even noticing when they climbed the stone stairs to make their way to the sidewalk. He stubbed his toe on the steps and Mari laughed at him.
“Good thing that we bumped into you at the beach, then,” says Dru, with an evil twist at the edge of her lips. She knows where his Airbnb rental is located—she must have been looking for them.
“And what brings you to Brazil?” Mari asks. She looks at both Dru and Thaís, who are sitting across from them, the table between full of empty caipirinha glasses and half eaten plates of deep-fried bananas, fish, rice and french fries.
They had chosen a restaurant inside the military club. It's a huge place upon a stone platform next to Praia Vermelha, and they sat at the patio, where Kit feels the sea breeze sticking to his skin. The salad bowl with lettuce, tomatoes and vinegar dressing sits untouched at the end of the table, and that’s where he directs his gaze.
“Ah, Dru had a situation, so she came here with me. My family is from Rio, my mom runs the Institute.” She grins proudly. “And what about you guys? What makes someone travel to Brazil right after Carnaval?”
Kit says, “Plane tickets were cheaper.”
Dru raises her eyebrows as she fixes the strap that fell down her shoulder. Her black tank top has three Halloween pumpkins on the middle of her chest; Kit thinks it’s so stereotypically Dru it’s funny. “You traveled here by plane?”
“My parents wanted it that way.” Mari shrugs. “They’re traditional like that.”
He holds back a smile. “Cynical, more like. They don’t trust warlocks enough.”
“Already on the meeting the parents stage?” Dru looks surprised. Kit wants to prove to her that he can hold a girlfriend for longer than two months, thank you very much, but the argument dies before it leaves his mouth. Even if he can, he still hasn’t.
Especially not with Mari; they barely lasted a week.
Mari snorts. “Please, he dated around our town enough that he knows everyone and their parents. Lizzie, David, Hazel—” she stops counting on her fingers when Kit loudly groans, leaning back on the chair with his hands over his eyes, elbows to the air.
“You don’t have to give everyone a list,” he says.
“But there is a list, and it’s the members of the Devon werewolf pack between the ages of 17 and 20.”
Kit shoots her a dirty look as Thaís eyes them curiously.
Dru gives him a sly smile and he can’t help but ask, “And what about you, Drusilla? How is your dating life?” Just to shut her mouth.
“Ah, Dru has someone with their eye on her alright,” says Thaís. “It’s that situation I talked about, that brought her to Rio.”
He asks, “Who?”
“A stalker.”
Dru visibly tenses up. Kit looks at her as she nervously brushes her blue strands of hair away from her sweaty face. “I’ve been—” she starts, but stops herself to think of a better way to phrase her thoughts. “I’ve been receiving some letters. They’re not threatening, but they’re... weird,” she concludes.
“What type of letters?” Kit asks.
“They’re not signed,” Dru answers. “And they’re not very long. They’re usually... Well, they’re usually warnings, of some sort. Like the writer knows where I am, what I’m doing, what I’m thinking, and... And they want to give me clues.”
“They’re mostly about Jaime,” Thaís cuts in. “Dru’s too embarrassed to admit that, for some reason.”
Dru looks at her with an irritated expression. “I’m not embarrassed. It’s just that it might seem like they’re helpful, and they certainly are not.”
“But what do they say?” Kit asks, at the same time that Mari asks, “Who’s Jaime?”
Thaís takes her orange cased phone in her hands as she explains, “He’s our friend, and he went missing a few months ago. He was in a mission in Faerie, and he—Ah! Here, I found it.” Thaís hands Mari and Kit her phone, which shows a picture of cursive, flowery writing on yellowed paper in its screen.
‘You’re very close, but so, so far. Jaime can’t wait any longer.’
“Dru, that’s...” Kit says, “that is a threat. It’s not harmless.”
“I know,” Dru groans, her hands rubbing her thighs to calm herself down. “I know they seem like that, but they don’t ever say they’ll do anything to him. Or to me, for that matter. They just tell me how Jaime is, and if I’m close to figuring it out or not.”
“And what have you guys found out until now?”
“Not much,” Dru admits.
“Nothing, actually,” Thaís corrects. “I don’t understand why they say we’re close. We don’t even know what kind of mission Jaime was in.”
“Okay, and”—Kit hands Thaís her phone—“how is that connected to Rio?”
“Oh,” Thaís laughs, “it’s not. Her siblings thought maybe she should get away from the Academy for a bit, maybe the writer is just a bully or something.”
“But they were still worried,” Dru completes, “So that’s why Ty came with me. To make sure that, if it’s really an evil stalker, I won’t be alone in a strange country.”
Kit freezes at the mention of Ty. He knew at any point he would come up in the conversation, but still can’t help his reaction. Mari notices and shoots him a worried look, but he avoids her gaze. Dru also notices and smirks at them. Thaís, thankfully, is back to stuffing her face with caipirinhas.
“And why isn’t this Ty person here?” Mari asks, clearly just to be an asshole. “Didn’t he want to have lunch with us?”
Dru’s smirk grows bigger. “Kit didn’t tell you about Ty?”
“I don’t think so, no. Should he have?”
“I don’t know. Kit, shouldn’t you have mentioned Ty to your girlfriend?”
“She’s not my girlfriend,” Kit jabs back.
Dru and Thaís give Mari a confused look.
“Yeah, I’m not his girlfriend anymore. Thankfully.” She straightens herself up on the chair, almost defiantly. Her dark skin glimmers with sweat, her flimsy white tank top transparent enough to see the pale blue bikini she has underneath. She brushes her recently braided hair back, so it falls over the plastic chair. “But I was. Like, a year ago. And he didn’t tell me then, either.”
“It’s complicated,” Kit answers, not lying.
“Should I meet Ty, then? Maybe he will tell me.”
“Mari,” Kit says, sternly, “don’t.”
“I think you should,” Dru says, “I think we should all hang out tonight.”
Kit almost lets out a relieved sigh. He has a great excuse for not going. “We can’t. Mari and I have reservations tonight.”
Thaís’ dark brown eyes glimmer under the sun, and she directs them straight at Mari. “Onde?”*
“Sacrilégio,” Mari answers, “na Lapa.”**
Thaís opens a huge smile. “Dru, I told you we should go to Lapa, didn’t I? We’re definitely going.”
“It’s settled, then,” Mari says, scooting forward to look at Thaís closer. Her fingers circle her caipirinha glass. “We’ll meet you there at eight, how about that? And don’t you dare not bring Ty.”
Dru smiles. “I promise we won’t leave him out of this one.”
...
The last time Kit dreamed about Ty, he had just arrived in Rio. The flat he rented with Mari is small—a studio, with a little kitchen, a funky orange couch and a TV, a wall of colored glass blocks dividing the bedroom from the rest, and a clean, modern bathroom. They arrived at night, having said goodbye to Mari’s parents at the airport, and ordered an oily pizza for dinner. Kit showered first and went straight to bed, the sound of Mari moving around the bathroom lulling him to sleep.
At first, it seemed like it was going well. Ty arrived from a portal straight into the kitchen of Blackthorn Hall, Livvy hovering over his shoulder. Kit had a gun in his hands.
“That’s not how you clean a gun,” Ty whispered, in the dream, but also in real life.
Kit let the gun drop. “You shouldn’t be here.”
It sounded so pathetic, and it sounded pathetic when it happened, too. They were in Blackthorn Hall. Kit was the one who shouldn't be there.
The world grew darker. Ty’s face was shadowed, dark, destroyed. Livvy wasn’t there anymore, Kit didn’t know where she went.
Ty walked up to him in large steps. He grabbed Kit’s face and smashed his lips against his, biting. Kit scrambled to keep his composure, but he didn’t know what was happening anymore. His left hand, supporting himself on the counter, grabbed hold of the gun again. He pointed it to Ty’s stomach.
Ty asked, “How long do you think it will take you to forgive me?”
Kit was crying. He froze; couldn’t say anything anymore, couldn’t move. He wanted to break something, to pull the trigger.
Ty took the gun out of his hands. The sound of the gunshot against his head is what made him open his eyes.
“Kit?” Mari asked as she was climbing up the bed. “Sorry for waking you up. Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” he croaked, sliding his hand against his sweaty forehead. “Just a nightmare. I’m fine.”
“Do you want me to lower the AC temperature? It’s still kind of hot.”
He moved to his side, avoiding her gaze. He felt naked. He didn’t know if it was sweat or tears on his face. “Sure, suit yourself.”
On their first night in Rio, that was all the sleep he could get.
...
As Dru perfects her eyeliner, looking straight into the mirror, Thaís analyzes the outfits she laid out on top of her bed.
“Do you think this is too much?” She raises a small (very, very small) red dress with an off-the-shoulder neckline for her to see through the mirror.
Dru says, “If you like it, then I think it’s good.”
“Hm. I’ll go with the white one.”
"I like that one, too.”
They make a nice contrast next to each other like that. Dru has a backless black dress that goes down to her ankles and a platform heel, her brown and blue hair falling over her shoulders. The dress is flowy, light, breathable, and she looks radiant. Thaís can’t help but feel relief—the tension Dru stored the past few months drove her up the wall.
They’re roommates back at the Academy, which means that what gets to Dru is very likely to get to Thaís, too. And what threatens Dru, Thaís feels the duty to defeat.
“I think we’ll be late, at this rate,” Thaís comments.
“I’m almost ready, and we still have two hours.”
“Right, but I haven’t even started.”
Dru laughs, light as a feather. Thaís zips up her white dress and asks Dru to tie up the straps behind her neck.
The sunset fills the room with an orange glow. The view is nostalgic and strange; Thaís grew up in that room. She slept her entire childhood on top of those same pale blue sheets, under that same white patchwork quilt that her grandmother had given her. But she moved to New York three years ago, and it's not the same anymore, not really. The humid heat now bothers her, the disinfectant smell suddenly too strong, the light from the rococo chandelier too dim and yellow. Dru, standing there, is a collision of two worlds.
“What did you think of Kit and Mari?” Thaís asks.
“I missed Kit. And I enjoyed meeting Mari. She’s feisty, I like feisty.” She makes a claw motion with her hand.
“Do you think they still like each other?”
“Like, as boyfriend and girlfriend? No, not really.” Dru fake shivers. “I’ve seen the way he treats his girlfriends. I think Mari is very, very over him.”
“So you don’t think he’d mind if I...” Thaís raises her eyebrows. Upon Dru’s confused look, she raises her pointer and middle finger on both hands and rubs them together in a scissoring sign. “Y’know.”
Dru laughs, loudly. “Thaís, wow. Uh, no, I don’t think he’d mind.”
“Okay.” Thaís grins. “Great, because I was going to do it anyway.”
When they’re done with their makeup, Thaís leaves the room to get one of her mother’s perfumes and call Ty, to ask if he’s ready too. It’s not a surprise when she finds yellowed scrapped paper thrown under their door.
‘Whatever you do, do not go to Praça XV tomorrow. The Shadow Market opens at night. There will be blood.’
...
“Do you want to explain who Ty is before I meet him?” Mari asks, not unkindly.
They’re getting ready to go out—to go out and meet Ty. And the girls, too, sure, but Ty. Ty will be there. Will he see Livvy too? It’s been a while since she last visited him.
Will he be able to look at both of them without crying?
Mari is sitting on their bed. She’s clasping golden bracelets on her wrists, which match her yellow tube top and long skirt. Kit, one day, could've been affected by the vision. Not that he doesn’t find her pretty anymore; she’s beautiful. She just stopped doing it for him. As matter of fact, everyone he got involved with stopped doing it for him early on in their relationships.
“It’s way too complicated,” he repeats as he puts on his white shirt.
“I like complicated. You know that.”
Kit smiles, sadly. “I think it’s more complicated than you imagine.”
“Right. But, like, is he your ex or something?”
“No,” Kit says and turns to sit beside her. She scooches a little to the left to make space and looks at his face intently. He moves his knee up and down, twists his fingers in his hands. “We were friends, back when we were fifteen. I lived in the L.A. Institute with his family right after my dad died.”
Mari nods. “But the way Dru said it... Were you two really just friends?”
“I mean. There was a kind of tension. But no, we were just friends, if I really look at it.”
“Did you ever want more than that?”
Kit thinks about how beautiful he found Ty, about how much he struggled not to touch him and hold him any moment they were together. “I think I did, but I didn’t know it yet. And I don’t know if Ty ever thought of me like that.”
“What happened, then?”
“He had a twin sister, Livvy, and she passed away. Listen, I can’t tell you the entire story, it’s—” Kit breathes noisily through his mouth, trying to calm down. Ty, Ty, Tiberius. He is going to see him tonight. “It’s bad.”
Mari is still looking at him intently. He burns with rage inside. That’s why he can’t forgive Ty—that’s exactly why. When he chose to stay, to be a Shadowhunter, he wanted to do it with integrity. Wants, now, to do it with integrity. Johnny taught him enough about hiding and lying, and look where it got him. The Blackthorns loved each other so much, so much more than his dad ever loved him, and he thought that, by staying, by being honest, maybe he could be loved like that, too. Ty made it all feel so real.
Then he took it all back.
He made Kit lie again; a lie so much worse than any cons his dad ever roped him in. A lie even Johnny’s colleagues in the L.A. Shadow Market would never forgive Kit for.
Now he can’t tell Mari. He can’t tell Tessa and Jem. Even Ty hasn’t told Julian why they fought. Not that Kit wants to talk about it. In fact, every time someone mentions Ty, he truly tries his best not to. But Ty ruined it all for him; Mari treats him with such care, and he can’t even be honest with her. Fuck, he can’t even actually date her, because all he thinks about is Ty, Ty, Ty.
After taking a deep breath, he continues, “He wanted to do something really, really bad. And I helped him, for a while. But then I backed out, I thought he was wrong, that he should stop. And we fought. We said... I said some pretty awful things, after.” Kit looks at his own hands. They clasp each other until his knuckles turn white. “And then I left. Went to Devon.”
Mari extends her arm and gives him a half hug. “And he’s angry because you stopped him?”
“No,” Kit breathes out. “I couldn’t stop him. He had a choice, you know? He could do the wrong thing, or...” he trails off.
“Or choose you.”
Kit’s lower lip trembles. Shame fills his stomach and makes his eyes water. He remembers screaming that he loved Ty. It was true, then. It is true now. But Ty didn’t answer, and it’s not like it was a good argument against necromancy.
“Or choose me,” Kit agrees. “But that wasn’t really the issue... I mean, I’d understand if it was just that. He didn’t have to love me back.”
She looks at him with doubt.
“He didn’t have to,” he insists. “I’d be fine, I swear. But what he did, Mari... I mean, I can’t even tell you. It’s so awful I can’t even tell you. And I didn’t want to be in that situation; I don’t want to be that person anymore.” His eyes burn and he looks away from her. “It’s like even his face changed. I couldn’t look at him anymore without seeing what he did.”
Mari rubs his back firmly. “I’m sorry, Kit. I’m really sorry.”
“No,” he laughs, and dries the tear that just fell down his face. “No, I’m sorry. I’m being dramatic, it’s going to be okay.”
She furrows her eyebrows. Her eyes are dark, very dark, with a distinct golden halo around the pupil, a sign of her lycanthropy. They’re shining with concern now, as the wind blows through the open window, bringing a hot wave of humidity and sounds of people screaming and laughing on the street, four stories down their flat.
“Kit, it’s okay if you don’t want to go. I mean, the reservation is for two, anyway, we’ll already have to make it work for five.”
Kit shakes his head. “No, I want to. We said we would, so...” He shrugs. “I think, at this point, it’s worse if I don’t show up.”
She gives him an encouraging pat on his shoulder. “That’s my boy.”
...
Livvy notices the commotion before Ty does. She floats through his door as he is carefully taking one of the Cycloramphus brasiliensis out of its terrarium.
“Ty,” she says, her voice a bit altered, worried, “Dru and Thaís got another letter.”
He locks his jaw in nervousness and returns the frog back to its home. He is taking off his thick rubber gloves when he hears the knock on his door.
“Come in,” he says, already knowing what’s next.
Thaís takes a confident step inside his room, her shoulders tense, drawn back. She’s all dolled up—he notices the glittery eyeshadow and the white clothes. She looks like she’s going to a funeral.
“Dru got another letter. This one is... Worse.” She takes another firm step and hands him the paper. Livvy is still by his side, floating over his shoulder to read the message.
There will be blood. At the shadow market, tomorrow.
“We’re going, right?” Thaís asks. “We have no reason to trust the writer. And, if we go prepared...”
“There might not be any deaths at all,” Ty agrees. “But it could be a trap, too. This person is very fixated on Dru, clearly.”
Thaís looks at the letter in his hands. “I know, but... Ty, I don’t think we have a choice.”
He locks his jaw once again.
Dru walks in the room, her mouth in a thin line. Worried. “Did you read it?”
“Yes,” he answers. “I think Thaís is right. We should go. Prepared, of course. Weapons, and a strategy.”
Dru nods. “I think so, too.” She glances curiously around his room, her shoulders still tense.
“I think she can feel I’m here,” Livvy says. She gets closer to Dru, looking straight at her face. From where Ty’s standing, it looks funny; Livvy’s translucent, he can see Dru’s face from the back of her head.
“Are those your frogs?” Thaís questions, pointing at the terrariums behind him.
“Yes,” he answers, letting her pass through, “do you want to hold one of them?”
The terrariums are huge, taking up the entirety of the wooden desk in the corner of the room. The decoration of this Institute is curious, Ty thinks. It mixes neoclassical, rococo and art nouveau, with religious imagery and contemporary, light wooden furniture. Gold twists against the walls, the huge chandeliers illuminating the rooms with dim yellow light. The terrarium looks extremely fitting to the room, its plants complementing the organic, extravagant atmosphere.
“I feel like I’m going to accidentally squeeze and kill it,” Thaís admits.
“You won’t. Not if I show you how to do it.” He gives her his moisturized rubber gloves. Dru watches them from behind. “You can be next, Dru.” She gives him a smile.
After teaching the girls how to properly hold frogs without hurting them, they remind him he should start getting ready. They leave his room with the soft click of the door, and Livvy eyes him suspiciously from where she’s floating, over the bed.
“You’re going out?”
He nods and takes the blood vials he took from the amphibians earlier from the desk. “Kit and his friend invited us to go to a bar tonight.”
“Kit? Kit’s here?” Livvy’s eyes are wide, shocked. “And you’re going?”
He nods again. “Dru said they were very clear, they want me to go.”
“Ty!” Livvy squeals. “Are you and Kit okay now?”
He unconsciously grips the vials harder. He tries to slow down his breathing, to stop thinking about Kit’s face, Kit’s voice, Kit’s hands clumsily cleaning a gun. “No,” he answers, his voice strangled.
He continues doing his work: taking one vial, his marker, writing the frog number and whether it's pure or manipulated blood. Taking another vial, his marker, writing the frog number and whether it's pure or manipulated blood. Taking yet another vial—
“But you’re going,” Livvy continues, “does that mean you’re forgiving him? Can we start hanging out again, like before?”
His voice comes out louder than he expected when he says, “Piss off.”
She flinches. Ty instantly feels guilty.
“Don’t talk to me like that,” she says, confrontational. “I was just wondering.”
“I’m sorry,” Ty huffs. He puts the vials in his jeans pockets to be able to grab and pull his own hair. It’s calming. “I’m sorry, Livvy,” he repeats.
Livvy doesn’t look less hurt, but she says, “It’s okay. I was really just wondering.”
Ty clenches his jaw, lets his hands drop to the wires of his headphones to fiddle with them. “He didn’t forgive me yet; you heard him last time.”
She shrugs. “Last time was a while ago. He invited you, so maybe things changed.”
“I don’t think they did.”
“Did you thank him for the pendant?”
“No,” he says, pulling the wires harder. “I don’t know how to. I don’t know how to talk to him anymore.”
Livvy’s chin is still jutting out, her mouth still downturned. Her expressions are always the easiest for him; she was the first person he learned how to read. She’s sad and concerned, and maybe even a little bit angry. “You still should thank him. For me.”
He nods but doesn’t look at her again. Soon after she disappears, the girls knock on his door.
“Are you ready?” Dru asks. “We should get going.”
They get into the car; Thaís does all the talking. Her Portuguese is swift and melodic, she laughs with the uber driver until they get to the bar. Ty’s throat is tight, his clothes scratch against his skin. Dru is acting very careful around him—he can see she notices he isn’t well, and that makes him worse.
Kit’s face lights up behind his eyelids whenever he blinks. His mind runs wild. “I wish I had never known you,” “I love you,” “You shouldn’t be here,” “No, not now”.
Or was it “I wish I had never met you”?
Kit’s face is as clear as day, as blurry as a Monet. Ty’s hands shake, Thaís’ raucous laughter seep inside his noise-cancelling headphones.
Then, they arrive. Ty steps out of the car carefully, trying not to stumble on the sidewalk. Or not throw up.
Sacrilégio is an understated building in a very busy street. The other bars around it spill people from every corner, plastic and wooden chairs spread everywhere, making it hard for the cars to pass by. The first floor is painted red, while the second is white, with a beautiful balcony under a round window. Brazilian funk, pop and some kind of country genre fill the air around them, the beats thrumming in rhythm with Ty’s blood pulsing to his head.
When he notices the two figures talking in front of the metal gate are Kit and his friend, his whole body gives a violent jerk.
Thaís and Dru wave excitedly and walk faster to greet them. Ty follows slowly, trying to keep his face neutral. His hands go immediately to the squishy foam of his headphones, forcing them harder against his ears, trying to create a vacuum that blocks the outside noise. It barely works.
Was Kit’s skin this golden before? Were his eyes this blue? Did his mouth make that movement before, a half-smile that turned into a grimace? Ty can’t remember.
“I think they’re going to ask for your IDs,” Kit’s friend shouts over the music. Mari, his mind supplies. Dru told him her name is Mari.
Thaís looks panicked. “They are? I’m seventeen, Dru’s sixteen. We don’t have fake IDs.”
“See, I told you,” Kit says. Was his voice this deep before? “They’re children.”
Mari looks at him with a straight face. “Kit. I turned eighteen last month. You’re not that older, either.”
“Where we are from,” Kit says, pointing to himself and Dru, foregoing Ty, “none of us are legal yet.”
Mari makes an ‘In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost’ motion with her hand. “Thank God we’re in Brazil.”
“It’s fine,” Ty finds the courage to say. Kit snaps his head towards him, like he’s surprised he has a voice at all. “That’s what we have glamour for.” He grabs his stele from his back pocket, where he definitely shouldn’t store it. But that's why he has it, and the others left theirs at home.
Dru opens a huge smile that takes up half of her face. “You’re the best brother ever!”
He smiles back and draws the Rune in both the girls’ arms.
Mari mutters to Kit “This is unfair advantage.”
“Stay jealous,” Kit answers.
They have to stick close to be clearly heard by each other. Ty sees Mari speaking directly into Kit’s ear, her body pressing against his shoulder and elbow. She makes him laugh. When she turns around, Ty can see a scratching scar on her shoulder blade—werewolf. He can also see her tan bikini lines, her shiny makeup, and her soft hands. Something eats away from his stomach to his heart, and he tries to push it down. His eyes burn, either with tears or with the smoke of cigarettes all around them. He tries to squeeze his headphones closer again, but it does shit all.
“Let’s go inside, then,” Mari exclaims, and they follow. Ty stays, stuck on the sidewalk, trying to breathe.
After a few steps, Dru notices he stayed behind. “Ty-Ty, are you okay?”
He nods between his tense hands, squeezing his skull. “I just need”—he swallows dryly—“I need some air.”
Ty walks down the street, hurriedly trying to take his phone out of his pocket so he can play something on his headphones on the last volume possible. He hears a clinking sound behind him, and Dru calling for him, but he doesn’t stop walking.
...
When Dru finds them, Mari is handing Thaís and Kit their drinks in front of the bar.
Thaís asks, “Where’s Ty?”
Dru shakes her head. “He got overwhelmed. The noise, I think. He stayed outside to get some air.”
“Do you want me to order for you?” Mari asks, red can of Skol Beats already in her hand.
Dru gives her a thumbs up, and Thaís laughs internally. Truth is: Mari is a gorgeous girl, but her Portuguese is atrocious. During lunch, she explained that her mother’s Brazilian, her dad’s Puerto Rican and she, despite being born in PR, was raised in Southwest England. It shows in the way she speaks, barely discerning Portuguese from Caribbean Spanish and saying English words thrown around for good measure.
Still, she isn’t invisible like Dru or Thaís, and she’s the only non-Shadowhunter in a downworlder bar. So maybe letting her talk to the bartender is the right move.
As Mari thoroughly confuses the staff with her newly founded language, Dru gets closer to Thaís and opens her hands, showing what she had hidden in them.
“Are those...” Thaís’ eyes widen.
Dru nods. “The blood vials. Ty let them fall out of his pockets when he left.”
Thaís holds Dru’s hand and starts laughing, contained, so Kit and Mari won’t hear her. “Should we tell them?”
Dru shrugs. “They seem like party people.”
After Mari hands Dru her drink, they move to their table. It is, in fact, a two-seats round table, but they manage to get another chair. In the dark, no staff seems to notice. Kit, chivalrous, offers the chair closest to him to Mari, and stands leaning on the table as the girls have their seat.
They’re right next to the dance floor, in front of the stage. Long red curtains are the background to the band, which is already playing a soft song. On the mezzanine that forms the second floor, multiple costumers lean on the railings to watch the musicians. Sporadically, some people on the dance floor bump into Kit, although Thaís does notice only pretty girls seem to do so.
“So...” Dru starts, putting the vials on the table. “Ty dropped these.”
“What’s that?” Kit asks, between sips of his drink.
Dru moves them back and forth on top of the polished wood. “Frog blood.”
Kit and Mari furrow their eyebrows.
“The red ones are just frog blood,” she explains. “The pink ones are manipulated frog blood. Manipulated by faeries.”
Mari asks, “Manipulated how?”
She shrugs. “I don’t know.”
“It’s a drug,” Thaís lets out, impatient, “it’s a fey party drug. They use it to get high. The frog blood is just a base.”
“And Ty has that?” Kit takes one in his hand and shakes it until it sparkles.
“It’s for his research,” Dru says. “He could only take time off Scholomance if he was on a mission. So, he started researching this frog blood thing. The species is endemic to the Atlantic Forest.”
Kit places the vial back on the table. “Right, so he could come to Rio with you.”
Dru nods.
“And, if it’s not impolite to ask,” Mari says, a glint in her eye, “what do you girls plan to do with this fey party drug?”
“Mari,” Kit chides, “I told you, they’re children.”
“I’m basically your age,” Thaís says. She’ll be damned if Kit ruins her chances with Mari for an age difference of a few months.
“And, I mean...” Dru shakes her own Smirnoff Ice bottle, that Mari gave to her minutes ago, until the whitish liquid sparkles pink. “I think it’s a bit too late to worry about that.”
Thaís snickers and Kit visibly tries to fight off a smile. “Ty might get upset,” he says.
“I promise you he won’t,” Dru replies.
Mari leans on the table and grabs hold of Thaís’ glass, also with a faint shimmer. “Do you mind sharing?” She takes a sip while looking intently at her. Thaís leans closer, looking up and down at Mari.
Kit rolls his eyes and grabs one of the vials. “Give it to me,” he says, pouring half of it into his own drink, and Dru laughs.
...
Kit doesn’t remember the last time he had that much fun.
The pink liquid splashes inside his head, making everything fuzzy and colorful. A few people dance with him; he presses close to them and feels his body thrumming.
Mari is just a jumping stain in his vision, and, for some reason, that makes him laugh until he doubles over. He thinks he sees her pressing Thaís against a painting of a frier, but he can’t be sure. After all, Mari is a huge yellow blob and Thaís a white one.
He stumbles around until he sees a girl who’s a black stain and has Dru’s height.
“Where’s Ty?” he screams.
She laughs, and she laughs with Dru’s voice. “Fuck if I know!”
He laughs alongside her, but then starts feeling very upset. “Did he leave because of me?”
She doesn’t respond; she’s still laughing. Everyone next to them is jumping up and down, the world is spinning.
“Dru!” He takes her by the arm. “Dru, I think he hates me.”
Her laughter dies down. “Who?” she asks.
“Ty! Ty, I think he hates me.”
Dru throws her arms up in the air. “Go look for him, then!”
Kit nods, finding new confidence in her words. He walks past her, towards the exit, but then notices it isn’t the exit, it’s only a very tall painting. That happens about three times until he actually finds the front door, where he has to unpleasantly elbow a lot of people so he can get out.
The fresh air outside is somehow sobering, but not enough to make him feel the ground under his feet. He stumbles around some more until he finds balance to walk down the street.
In the distance, he can see huge arches forming a Roman aqueduct. “The Lapa Arches,” he mutters under his breath, remembering Mari showing them to him in pictures.
Ty is not far from there. Sitting at a white plastic table, the moon illuminates his face. So, so beautiful, Kit thinks. He grew up, he’s a man now, and is even more beautiful than before.
Kit slowly gets closer, noticing the half empty beer bottle on his table. Ty is looking at the arches, at the people around them, and doesn’t even see Kit next to him. His headphones are around his ears, his hands tangling and untangling the wires.
The sea breeze sticks to Kit’s skin, his mouth waters when his eyes fixate on Ty’s neck, the up and down of his adam’s apple, his sharp jaw and the deep shadow his cheekbones create above it. It’s like someone carved out his youthful baby fat, making a hollow that could perfectly fit Kit’s face, if he were to kiss Ty’s cheek.
“I missed you back at the bar,” Kit mumbles, and regrets it the moment it comes out of his mouth. He sounds so whiny. His face grows hot as Ty turns to look at him, his grey eyes widening.
“Kit,” he breathes out, and his hands clench shut.
“Can I sit here?” Kit grabs the chair next to him.
Ty nods.
“I am very high,” Kit admits as he more falls on the chair than sits on it. His entire body is numb. “And drunk, also.”
Ty’s eyes glint in amusement and his shoulders relax. He’s letting his guard down—that makes Kit lose control a bit more. He looks like Ty before the necromancy; he looks like someone Kit loves.
“I’m not so sober myself.” Ty flicks the beer bottle in front of him.
“We took your frog blood. I am very sorry.”
“My...” Ty looks adorably confused, and then palms his jean pockets. “I forgot the vials in my jeans,” he realizes.
“And then you dropped them,” Kit agrees. “The vials, I mean. Not your jeans.”
Ty lets out a surprised laugh. “And you took them?”
“Dru took them. And then... Then we all took them.”
Ty smiles, so beautiful and carefree. He glows during the night, Kit always thought so.
“You’re going to get very hungover tomorrow.”
“Worth it.” Kit shyly rubs his hands on his linen shorts, noticing they’re sticky with sweat and cocktails. “I think that’s the only way I can talk to you.”
“While high?”
Kit nods.
“I think being drunk is the only way I can talk to you, too.”
That doesn’t sound good. It’s not the best thing to hear from someone you miss so, so much. To avoid drunk crying in front of Ty, Kit thinks of something else to say to him.
“There are a lot of...” He swirls his pointer finger around, gesturing to the place around them. “A lot of drug addicts around here, huh. A lot of them lying on the ground and stuff.”
Ty takes a sip of his beer. “There are.”
Kit nods and licks his dry lips. “Do you want to go back to the bar, maybe? The girls are there, still.”
“I'm not sure. It’s loud there. And stuffy.” Ty's disgusted face is so cute Kit struggles not to jump him.
“You know what could help?”
Ty looks at him.
He answers himself, “Frog blood.”
They look at each other for a few seconds until Ty can't handle anymore and gazes away, giggling. Kit laughs too, so happy to be there. To be with Ty again without thinking of what happened in Idris.
“Alright, I'll take the chance,” Ty says, before taking the last gulp of his beer. "I'm not taking my headphones off, though."
They get up and, when Kit stumbles, Ty takes his arm and straightens him up. This close, Kit can feel the lean muscle shifting under Ty’s blue t-shirt. Kit leans back on him some more; Ty doesn’t need to know it’s pure indulgence.
They enter Sacrilégio again, music enveloping Kit’s brain. It’s later in the night; the band has left, a DJ taking their place with an intense, loud setlist. He can feel the beats more than hear his own thoughts. He soon finds Dru in the distance—she’s dancing with a mundane girl who seems to be teaching her the right steps. Now that Kit has taken some fresh air, he notices he was right: Thaís and Mari are definitely making out against a painting of Martin Luther.
Ty leans down to talk in his ear, “Where’s the vials?”
Kit shivers and points to their table, entranced. His body is still thrumming, twofold now that he spoke to Ty. Now that Ty touched him. He can still feel his breath against his ear as Ty struts to the other side of the room and brings the small vials back to where Kit’s standing, right next to a giant cross.
“There’s still one left,” Ty says. “Bottom’s up.” He drinks it all in one go, swallowing and making his adam’s apple go up, down.
Kit’s entire body is fizzy, about to pop, like someone shook him up like a soda bottle and opened his cap. His mind is lost on thinking where his cap can possibly be when Ty takes him by the hands to the bar and orders something for himself.
“We drank half a vial each,” Kit says over the music. “Isn’t one a bit too much?”
Ty looks up, seemingly making mental math. “I could drink about three and still be fine.”
Kit laughs. “So this”—he gestures to his whole body—“is nothing?”
He shakes his head and says matter-of-factly, “Absolutely not. You’re still moving and talking, you’re fine.”
The bartender places two shot glasses over the counter; Ty gulps one down and hands the other to him.
The noise might really be getting to him, Kit thinks as he drinks his shot. He feels bad making him enter Sacrilégio, and considers telling him they can leave, maybe even go somewhere quieter. Just when he sees the implicit message there and decides against it, Ty holds his hands again and takes him to the dance floor.
He smells like beer and the sea. Ty holds him by the waist as they move with the music—truly, it’s so crowded dancing doesn’t take much effort. He laughs when, at one point of the song, all the girls around them immediately go down, and they get pushed closer to one another. Ty’s headphones slide a bit forward with the movement, and Kit fixes it for him.
Kit understands, then, that they have already crossed many lines tonight, and a few more can’t hurt.
He fits his face on the crook of Ty’s neck (he has a long neck, perfect for fitting one’s head in). It’s not enough, so he buries his nose even further, until he feels Ty stumbling back and holding him by his hair. He sighs when he feels Ty running his fingers through the strands, and claws his hand in Ty’s back, scratching him in a way that it would hurt if it wasn’t over his shirt.
The idea of doing anything under Ty’s shirt is enough to make Kit press against him even closer.
Kit is getting hard; he can feel Ty is, too. The last bit of control slips out of him. He raises his face and fits his mouth on the hollow of Ty’s cheek. When Ty doesn’t react to his cheek kiss, Kit tries to bite him there. He hears Ty laughing, so he tries to bite his jaw, his chin, his lips.
Before he could give Ty a proper kiss, a kiss his body has been aching, begging to give him for three years, Ty holds him by his shoulders and pushes him a few inches away. He groans in frustration but stays put.
Ty leans down once more to say in his ear, “You don’t forgive me, yet you want to kiss me. Have you thought that maybe I don’t forgive you, either?”
Kit swallows dry and replies, “Maybe that shouldn’t stop you from kissing me back.”
Ty smiles. “I never said it would.”