March 1904

Soft snores woke you the first time.

The sun was slowly making its way up the sky, the clouds were covering the blue and you watched through the window how the leaves flew in the wind.

The bed was warm, blankets were spread over and under you. You watched how the rays of light entered the room and caressed Matthew's calm face. His head was facing you as he slept on his back. Some of the covers were lightly fisted in his right hand, while his left one had his fingers unconsciously intertwined with yours.

Sleep was still clouding your senses and without even realising you were once again caught in its grasp.

When you woke up the second time, the sun was up in the sky and you were alone in bed. You looked for your guest and you caught his tall figure on the other side of the room, right against the window frame. He had a lit up cigarette between his lips and you could smell the smoke from your place on the bed.

Your bare feet had met the cold floor before you put them in furred slippers. You took the dressing gown from a chair and the warmth shielded your body from the cold early March air that slipped through the open window.

You put the kettle on the stove and turn to the blonde by the window while the water starts boiling. He didn't look at you for some time and you continued to watch the rays hug his hair, brightening its colour and the cigarette burn, how his cheeks softly hollow while he inhaled. He exhaled the smoke, sometimes in circles, sometimes in annoyed puffs. They showed that what he was thinking about something important, made him sadder and sadder. And you knew that the cigarette between his lips and fingers was just a reminder of reality, something to remain anchored to.

He turned to you when he finished it and threw it in the ceramic teacup that he had used last night, filled with ash. His shirt has its top two buttons open and from around his neck, a gold chain with a cross hung. If you didn't know that he was a Shadowhunter, you would have easily thought that he was a believer in God.

"Did you eat anything?" You asked right before the water vapour appeared. He shook his head as you turned off the stove and pulled two cups from the upper cabinet.

"Tea or coffee?" You asked while rummaging through the cupboard for bags of coffee or tea.

"Coffee," you pulled out a tin case and a jar of sugar. Put two spoons of coffee powder in the tin, whisked the composition and let it sit, while you went to rummage for some food in the freezer.

"I have... eggs? Or we could go to a restaurant, but I don't think they serve breakfasts anymore at this hour." You eyed your freezer. And without looking at the young man that sat on a chair at the table, you decided what you wanted to do that late morning. "We are going down the street." You walked back to the table and poured the coffee in cups before sitting down and sipping from the hot beverage. Matthew took a sip from his cup before he complimented the taste of coffee.

The silence that fell between the two of you was broken by the sound of your grumpy intestines, in need of fuel for your whole body. Reading the clock that was hung on the wall over the freezer, you realized that it was not long past ten.

You finished yours first, but the two of you rose from the table at the same time.

"I'm just gonna go..." he started talking and pointed to the place by the window, a chair vacated there, one that he had probably used before you woke up.

"I'm going to change," you said in return. Halfway to the wardrobe you turn to him and ask: "Do you need anything else?"

Matthew raised his head, back towards you, while setting the tobacco and the papers that he would use to make his next cigarette from. His green eyes found yours from behind rogue hair strands.

"Do you have another shirt? It doesn't matter which colour it is, I truly believe that mine hasn't dried yet and will not anytime soon." He asked when you started to rummage for your own change of clothes. You nodded in agreement from behind the wardrobe's door and it took a while for you to realize that he could not see you.

"Yes, I will look and see what I can find. If it is not too wet, we can try to iron it," you verbalized.

The drawer at the bottom of the closet was filled with male clothes for different occasions and of different colours and materials. The smell of wood and soap filled your nostrils when you picked the jacket that was laid at the very top. The material was simple, soft under your touch, but the inside of the coat had slithering lines, similar to snakes. A family's sigil was embroidered on the inside of the left breast pocket, right over the heart.

The perfume that once was on the clothes, was then long gone, long months had passed since the owner found a need in using it or anything from that drawer before you. You reluctantly put the jacket on the floor, the next piece that you picked was a gold jacket. You wanted to admire it, just as you did almost every week. The fluidity of the runes it held and the soft shimmer, made your eyes water. You gripped the material, bit your lip angrily and put the jacket next to the other. Rummaging through that drawer was a hurting trip down memory lane, through loss and a road that led to more 'what if's than you could have ever imagined.

After minutes that felt like hours and even days, you picked a never worn simple white shirt that had been spending its time at the bottom of that drawer. You fastly put it aside and take out an undershirt from the pile you created by your sides and manage to put the clothes back without lingering on the small boxes and the golden jacket more than necessary.

You picked the first dress you saw, a green one with gold embroidery on the corset and closed the doors of the wardrobe. The hinges screamed in pain at the effort the sudden movement made them do.

Matthew had the freshly rolled cigarette between his fingers when you put the clothes on the back of the extremely uncomfortable, pink and beige sofa. He lit the roll-up with a match, inhaled and exhaled once and nodded to you in thanks.

You went to the bathroom, washed, got into your various layers of silk, cotton and so on and brushed your hair so you could style it at the vanity in the main room.

Matthew was in the same place when you left the washroom, in a chair, by the window and with your book open on his legs. You sat down on the chair of the vanity by the other window, close to the bed and pulled out a handful of pins, some ties and a slim comb.

While managing to tie your hair, he rose from his place and with the corner of your eye, you saw him pick his clothes and the ones that you lent him and enter the bathroom slowly after.

You dealt with your partially wet hair and its curling strands. Finally managed to put it together in a decent coiffure you heard the soft paddle of feet on the wooden flooring. You turned and watched him sit on the bed and put on his socks. The cuffs of his shirt were not buttoned, the material dangling around his runed and scarred wrists. The material was thick enough so you could not see the rest of the runes laid on his pale skin. He wore the same green vest as the previous night. It was brighter while dry and the embroidered thorns and leaves shone softly while they met the noon sun.

He picked the crumbled cravat and tied it around his neck, at the end, the article looked more put together than you could have ever thought. He combed through his hair with his hand that would soon be covered in various rings. The chain with the cross was hidden under layers of fabric. Knowing that the piece of jewellery hung right over his heart, you found the need to touch him, right over the pendant. But you restrained yourself and just rose from the wooden chair, patted the skirt of your dress. Matthew picked his coat, put it on and put his hands in the pockets of his dark brown pants.

"Ready?" he asked, taking your whole outfit in. The dress was a similar green as his vest and jacket. The brown of his pants was the same shade as the lace that went down over your chest, surrounding the white mesh of your bodice and stopped under the belt that circled your middle. He offered his hand to you, to lead you out the room, you took it and pulled him after you instead. You locked the apartment with a key that would hang around your neck the whole time you're out.

The Parisian air was still humid from the rain and on the cobblestone street, there were still puddles. With your hand in the crook of his arm, you started walking towards a close restaurant that you chose to visit frequently.

At that hour in the morning, close to noon, the terrace was still mostly empty. So you chose a table under an umbrella and next to flower pots. The waiter came faster than usual, took your orders for drinks, Matthew's for tea, usual British choice, and yours for coffee. The food was chosen based on a table d'hote.

You didn't talk much, only Matthew made comments about the weather, how it was better than London, where it would have been raining by then, about the 'magnificent' colour of the flowers and later on about the tea. He chose to drink it plain, no sugar, no milk.

With ruffled hair and bright eyes, you would have liked to catch him in a photograph or even have the talent to draw, to paint him only for you to admire every day.

"Tell me more about England," was the first thing you told him since sitting down at that table.

"I don't know what it is to say," he replied. You heard a lot about London from your friend, but you wanted to hear about it from the eyes of a local. You wanted to see it the way you saw Paris. Not as perfect as a tourist would see it.

"Anything. Do you like the rain?"

"Sometimes... It gives me a reason to just stay inside and read. But it's awful when you need to patrol." He moved into his chair, finding a better position to stay in while talking.

"What do you mostly read?" You find yourself asking.

"Usually anything I could get my hands on, but mostly Oscar Wilde." He confessed and you saw how his eyes became brighter, he must admire Oscar Wilde a lot.

"He is very talented. I haven't got my hands on anything by him just yet. I wanted to read it in English because translations keep messing up the message and I know the language well enough."

"I agree," He nodded. " I can buy some of his books for you if you would like" He suggested.

"We might never see each other again, how would you give them to me?"

"Send them or even come here and give them to you myself." He offered and you could see in the green of his eyes that he might be true to his words.

"You don't have to do that. I can check with one of the many bookstores in Paris and get one here."

"You said that you want to read it in English. I can give it to you and we can even talk about it after you finish."

You had no idea what he was trying to do, but if Matthew wanted to see you again, that was nothing you could be against. You nodded and softly smiled just before the first course of your meal was brought before you.

The rest of your stay was silent, but this time you felt like you found a connection with each other.

"Did you read any other British authors?" He asked while you were once again with your hand in the crook of his arm.

You continued talking about authors and literature, jumping from prose to theatre and ended up moving through the streets of Paris that are slowly brought to life by people of various ages and ethnicities. The children were running and laughing in their once perfectly pressed uniform, while now the cuffs of their shirts were covered in ink or paint.

More than once, you almost got knocked over by young children, but Matthew dragged you out of their path. Some stopped and looked up at them and admired the marks that could not be covered by clothes. Their comments put a smile on your faces as you went on your stroll until the sky began to darken again, suggesting possible rain.

Your stroll took you to Tuileries Garden when the sun hit the greenery in a way you loved. You stopped in various bookstores on your way there and that was why Matthew had a significant stack of books under his arm. While roaming through the rows of old and new books in a store, the clock in your purse read four in the afternoon.

"Don't you have luggage?" you find yourself asking right before sitting on a bench under some trees.

Matthew sat down beside you, his left ankle over his right knee, the books on his thigh and his arm behind you, on the back of the bench.

"I do," he said and kept his eyes on the birds playing on the edge of the lake.

"And do you intend to take it back to London?"

"I do."

"I do not think there are that many warlocks interested in taking you back all the way to London that late in the day."

"I am taking the train back. Why else would I buy these books?"

"And the luggage?" you found yourself asking.

"We have to go to the apartment to get it."

"What apartment? I don't have any of your suitcases at home." the confusion could easily be read from off your face. You found Matthew to be difficult to talk to at that moment.

"The one I have booked by the Seine," he said nonchalantly, his eyes were brighter from the sun and were admiring the birds playing over the water.

"You had a place all this time?" your eyes rounded in shock. "'You knew that it is improper for a lady to have a man, with whom she is not married, in her bed."

"Women should be able to do anything they want. And it isn't like anyone is going to judge you just because you slept in the same bed as me." you could've sworn on the Angel you heard a woman gasping far behind you when Matthew talked, even if you were talking in a foreign language.

"And even if we would've done something improper, it is none of their business."

"It might if it ruins my credibility for a marriage, " your eyes followed the margin of the fountain.

"Nobody will know, and if there is a possibility they found out, which I assure you it will not happen, I will ask for your hand myself." He confessed.

"And it doesn't happen that much, either way, the world is slowly evolving and even one day there will be a world on the streets that women are finally considered human beings by society. The actual situation is moronic if you consider me saying," He continued. You wanted to thank him for his proposal of asking for your hand in marriage, in case of need.

You stayed some more time under the sun until he suddenly rose up and decided that he had to get to his rented place for his luggage. The walk there wasn't long, the apartment was situated in a new building for that time. He walked up alone, leaving you by the entrance.

You didn't realise how long it took him because you were enamoured by a book you had just picked up from the shop. When he did, it sounded like a tornado was coming, three pairs of steps tramped down the stairs and you rose your head ready to see a weirdly calmed face Matthew, followed by a young man with inky black hair in suspenders and a shirt opened at the neck and a young woman with red hair, the same colour of blood, in a golden robe.

"Math, stop!" said the man, you pulled away from the wall, placed your book in the bag and looked confused at the three people.

"What is wrong?" you asked no one in particular.

"That is what I am trying to understand too," replied the dark-haired man.

"I'm going back to London right now," stated Matthew.

"Let us even discuss it, there is a lot to talk about," said the other man.

"James..." started the woman and looked at the ruffled man.

"You love her! You love my wife!" he shouted.

"You don't! Why is it so wrong? I wanted and still want what is best for her! You cannot condemn me for that, while you hurt her yourself for Grace." you could feel how the previous mask of calmness that Matthew wore started to crack.

"Matthew, let me explain, there is so much to explain. I didn't love her." he tried to explain himself. "I don't love her, I never did."

"It looked like that to me. I'm leaving." That's all that Matthew said before he signalled for the carriage closest to them to stop.

"This is not over, Matthew," added James, while his friend opened the door for the carriage, waited for you to step in, followed you in and then looked at his friend once more, at the woman behind him, whose hair flew softly into the wind. The image she was, her posture, she was a living piece of art. She was hurt, but her face didn't show it, while her eyes were a gateway to her emotions.

Matthew slumped back in his seat before you, knocked in the walls of the cabin and the coach started moving.

You knew it was not alright to be privy to other people's problems, but you already felt connected to the man before you in some way. You wanted to ask about the discussion that had happened earlier, but you couldn't so you just kept the two of you in silence.

When you reached the train station, you checked the timetable and realised you still had time. You stood in front of each other, Matthew had a bigger bag over his shoulder and he eyed you when you started to rummage through yours for his books and something else.

"This is for you." you handed him the stack, at the top, the same book you had on your nightstand back at the apartment.

He nodded and thanked you softly. His eyes were green, but also a slight presence of hurt was in them.

"Everything all right?" you asked, his lips formed a line, a small smile somehow formed on them as his head moved up and down. When he wanted to start speaking, the speakers told you that the train for Calais came to another platform than the one you were on.

"Thank you. For everything you did,"

"I didn't do anything."

"For me you did, take care, Y/N. I really wish to see you again one day." He had a strand of hair in his eyes and your hand moved it away and caressed his cheek, while your eyes didn't leave each other.

"I might come to London next year. And I wish you the best until then and that you would stop searching for the solution to your life's problems at the bottom of a bottle." you could see his thoughts run at kilometres per hour after you whispered that to him. He goes to kiss your cheek, in thanks, but instead, you dared him to remain in the present by catching his chin in your hand harder and kissing him.

You wanted him to know that even though you might never see each other again, his memory would remain in your head. Precious memory that you wanted at that moment to keep it forever safe. You had no idea where that came from, but you wanted to just trust your heart for once, it deserved it after the hurt your soul went through.

He responded by catching your neck and your waist and you were lost, his smell surrounded you, smoke and even the smell of your shampoo, the soft material of his jacket under your hands. You were caught in all of that was him.

The speakers announced the arrival of the train he was supposed to take on the same platform as before, you glued away from Matthew while telling him to go: "Go home, Matthew."

"I will write to you. Goodbye!" he promised, he kissed your cheek and then started running for his train.

"Goodbye," you murmured and you watched him as he went through hundreds of people and felt fulfilled but also once again aching.