Warning: this AN is incredibly long and I apologize.

So! I'm not dead. If you're still also alive and interested in continuing this story, you're a saint, and this message will explain some things.

When I said I was taking an absence from writing THATH, I didn't expect that things would unfold the way they did. I didn't write anything solid for over a year. When I did have ideas (and those moments were rare, believe me), the task of developing them and writing them seemed daunting, so I just didn't. Same thing with reading. I watched Netflix and did homework and tried to be happy, a task that took me a long time to accomplish. My first heartbreak took me much too long to get over, and I spent many months unable to think about love in any manner other than cynical and foreign. It took me almost a year to let go of that heartbreak and move forward with my life. I don't "date," but I met a boy I love and we live together and it's messy and amazing. I'm not always happy (that's still something I battle with), but I'm doing so, so much better than I was thirteen months ago. Also, after many, many years of battling with mental illness, I was (finally) diagnosed with depression, anxiety, and slight PTSD, which I've been working hard to deal with, especially since this year made all of those spike like never before. I've seen my friends do amazing things (deathcabformari had a BABY and spikeyhairgood is planning her wedding and IWriteNaked JUST got engaged!) and I've gone on adventures (including, most importantly, spending Thanksgiving in California with deathcabformari and IWriteNaked, where we ate yummy food with great people and life felt much better) and I didn't write, and it always felt like something was missing. Most people who go through "traumatic" events turn to writing as a cathartic tool, but I kind of froze up; my mind could think the words but my hands refused to write them. It sucked. But it's now (hopefully?) done, and I want to finish up this story.

Speaking of this story: two years ago, when I first sat down and polished this up and wrote it, I had a very different idea for the overarching plot. I specifically had a different idea for the story's ending. As I let go of writing and experienced a wide array of emotions and experiences, I realized that the ending I'd planned for this story wasn't one I felt comfortable with anymore. It didn't reflect my reality, which is the only reality I can draw things from. I wrote this story when it felt like things in my life would go a certain way, and then they didn't, and it made me re-think this story and what I want it to mean. So: this won't be a two-part story anymore. This will be all there is and I hope you like it.

Sorry for the long AN, and I hope you enjoy this chapter!

PS: the chapters I already had written (like this one), I'm not changing. Because if I edit everything to the way I am now I might go insane. Enjoy!

After dinner is over, Jace and I go downstairs and set up The Office while our friends clean the upstairs. I'm nervous to be alone with him, especially since I'm still jittery from the fact that we're going to freakin' England.

A little background information: I love England. I grew up wanting to be British (mostly because of the Harry Potter franchise), and I always wanted to visit. But, alas, we never really had the money to travel.

Until now.

I'm sort of freaking out. I mean, ever since I realized that I probably wouldn't go to England with my family, I always pictured it being, like, my honeymoon destination or something—if I were to get married, that is. So, now, I'm sort of imagining making out with Jace all over England's landmarks. It's both appealing and revolting, because I don't want those thoughts to mess with my head. He's my friend. My frieeeend. F-r-i-e-n-d. I like his friendship. I like him.

Oh god.

I send Simon a quick fangirl-y message about England and remind him to tell my mother that we're all Skyping tomorrow.

"I'm the only one doing any setting up, Fray." Jace's voice startles me.

"Sorry," I say, trying my best to sound sheepish rather than slightly terrified. "By the way, do we tell our friends about England?"

"Nah."

"Won't they find out?"

He shakes his head. "I'll come up with something. And, besides, even if they do find out, I'd rather they find out after we're halfway there."

He's got a point. "I'm trusting you on that."

"As you should. I'm very trustworthy."

"And oh-so-humble, too."

"I try, Clary Fray. I really try."

I shake my head at his ridiculousness and turn on the projector. "Is this enough help for you?"

"I would never have set this up without you."

I roll my eyes. The basement door opens, and the smell of popcorn quickly reaches me. "Izzy! Is that you?"

"With your favorite thing in the entire universe," she says, giving me the bowl of popcorn.

"I love you."

"I know."

"When you two stop confessing your undying love to each other," Jace says, "can someone hand me a flashlight? This room is too dark."

"You're just jealous of our never-ending love."

"Yeah. My heart beats just for you, Izzy." Sarcasm drips from his voice. Which is lovely. He has a lovely voice. "Now hand me a flashlight."

After continuous bickering from Izzy and Jace, we finally got the equipment to work. Alec and Magnus make their way downstairs with popcorn—and they made another bowl for me, because they know me too well. We sit down and watch The Office, with Izzy beside me and Jace on the floor with his head below my feet.

I don't know how much time passes, but I'm suddenly being shaken. "Wake upppp," says a voice. Izzy. Oh my god. I realize my eyes are closed.

"What time is it?" My voice sounds like a dead old man's. Great.

"Just past two."

I make myself get up, even though my body's screaming at me, begging for me to sit the frick frack back down.

My feet hit something. Jace's head. Oh my god. He makes a groaning noise and looks up at me with a glare.

"Sorry," I say, my voice still groggy. "Didn't know you were there."

"Hmm," is all he says.

I somehow make it upstairs and into my room. I don't even turn on the lights. I turn on the air conditioning and stumble around in the dark until my body hits the bed, and then I crawl onto it and wrap myself up in the soft blankets.

As exhausted as I am, though, the word England flashes through my mind, and all hopes of me going to sleep without drinking some tea are now completely gone. When I get excited, the same jitters that I get when I'm anxious crawl inside my veins. They don't let me get any sleep. So, obviously, I go downstairs, make myself some tea, and drink it as I scroll through pictures of England's beautiful landscapes.

There's a slight knock on my door. I get up, mug in hand, and open the door. Jace is standing there, looking like he can't keep both eyes open at the same time.

"Were you just in the kitchen?"

"Yeah," I say. "What's up?"

"Can I come in?"

I hesitate for a split second before nodding and opening the door fully, "Don't turn on the lights, though. They give me a headache when I'm tired."

He closes the door with a soft click. "Okay."

We use the light coming from the laptop to guide us back to my desk.

"Are you looking at pictures of England?" He squints at the screen.

"Maybe."

"Let's see," he says, pulling the screen up so he can see pictures of cities and countryside landscapes alike.

"Where would we go? A city? Small town?"

He shrugs. "We could go to both."

"We'll only have two days," I remind him.

"So we'll go back." Jace says this like it's no big deal.

"Oh my god."

"But we could go to Spain afterwards. If you want. I could bring Izzy for that, because she loves Spain."

"But not England?"

He shakes his head. "Not England."

"Any particular reason?"

"Aside from her general weirdness, you mean?"

I nod. "Point taken."

He kneels beside me as we scroll through pictures of different towns and cities in England. He brings up the ones he's been to and the ones he wants to see, and we make a small list of five cities we want to go to at some point this summer in England. It's kind of great, you know, to have a partner in crime like this. I know that I don't know him that well yet, but I have this feeling in my heart that I can trust him. He gives off good vibes, which I dig. Intensely.

I like planning things with him. He's really chill, and he gives me a lot of freedom, only making small suggestions based on prior experience. We exchange ideas until it's almost four in the morning and my eyes keep closing on their own.

"I'll book the tickets tomorrow," Jace says to me.

"That sounds good. Thanks, by the way. This is—well, I feel like there isn't a word for it. It's nice. And awesome. And I appreciate it a lot more than I could say."

He shrugs it off like it's no big deal. "I love traveling, and you're fun to hang out with, so it's really okay."

I nod. "Thanks anyway."

"You're very welcome. Goodnight. Or, well, good morning, technically."

"Good morning to you too, Jace," I say, laughing silently to myself. My room feels slightly colder than before, which adds to my sense of giddiness. However, I actually feel the exhaustion this time; it wins over any feeling of excitement inhibiting my body.

The last thing that goes through my mind is oh my god, I have three sketches due on Tuesday—and then I fall asleep.

I somehow get up before one in the afternoon.

Jace makes coffee for all of us. And, seriously, I'm not kidding when I say that he makes the most amazing coffee I've tasted in weeks. My mom's more of a tea girl, and our coffeemaker broke, so, when I was in New York, I mostly went to Dunkin Donuts or other cheap coffee shops around our apartment. While their coffee's good, it's not exactly amazing—and it's nothing compared to Jace's heavenly coffee.

We watch SpongeBob SquarePants with Max, because Isabelle and Alec went to get groceries, and Magnus went back to his apartment. I found out this morning that Magnus is actually twenty, and he took some time off school so he could focus on "finding his calling." I think he just wanted to work in retail and make out with Alec a lot, because, if he'd have left, he'd probably have broken up with Alec. Distance sucks.

Anyway, Jace and I make comments about the episodes, and Max mutters angrily at us to shut up, because he doesn't like it when people comment on things while watching them. He reminds me so much of Simon it's crazy. While Simon does like to comment on ridiculous reality shows, he absolutely cannot stand commentary on things he actually likes. Which, to Max, would be SpongeBob SquarePants.

"Seriously," I say to Jace as we walk up the stairs, "I like Max, but that kid is so picky about commentary."

"What can I say?" Jace leans in close so that Max doesn't overhear us. "He just really fucking loves SpongeBob."

I laugh silently and shake my head as I make my way inside my room. I have to draw three sketches. I can do this. One of them has to be colored, though, which I might not be able to do without freaking out at least once.

Sometimes I wonder if art really is the field for me. Not because I don't love it—I love it insanely—but because I wonder if I'm good at it. It's a competitive field, and I sometimes wonder if lack of inspiration mixed with mediocre talent/skills could put my career—and my future—to an end. When I get stuck doing an assignment or when I'm not inspired for a little while, I wonder whether I'm making the right choices, whether the things I've wanted for years now are the same things that I'll always want.

I grab my sketchbook from my desk and sit on my windowsill, looking out at the sunny day. I mean, I should be happy that I was blessed with even an ounce of talent in this particular area of art. Drawing is tedious and difficult, and it is my entire life. I don't think I could do anything else, but I often wonder if I'm even that good at this to begin with. Just because I love it doesn't mean I'll excel at it.

I remember the images of England and begin to sketch those from memory. I'd feel guilty if I were to sketch a landscape while looking at a picture of it, because it's less authentic—at least in this case. Anyway, I try to conjure up the stark green of the grass and the grey of the sky, and I lose myself in the drawing. I can almost smell it, the smell of fresh rain on grass. It's like I'm in that particular photo, in that particular town.

And it is moments like this that make every bit of doubt fall away.

I stop only to pee and to get my iPod, because music is of the essence. I listen to my favorite songs as I sketch, already having decided that this, without a doubt, would be the colored-in drawing.

As I draw, I find my thoughts slipping back to Jace. And England, but also Jace. I'll be spending an entire weekend alone with him, which is an entirely different kind of crazy all on its own. Aside from that, though, I still don't know how I feel about him. I like being his friend—if I can even call him that, anyway—but I can't deny that when I look at him I feel like I want to get to know him in different ways. I keep thinking sometimes that maybe if I kissed him it wouldn't be the worst thing, because then I would stop wondering what I do or don't feel. The confusion is more pain inducing than the actual feelings inside of me.

I wonder if maybe he'll let me draw him.

I mean, I'd be nuts to ask. It's kind of creepy, I think, to go up to someone and tell him or her that you want them to pose for a drawing. It's why I tend to stay away from portraits and focus more on drawing inanimate objects and/or fictional people. You know, fan art, all that crap. That's what I would rather draw. Portraits are too intimate for me; I have to actually interact with the person on the other end of my sketchbook.

And, when that person might just be the guy I'm attracted to, it's a little bit of a problem.

My iPod makes a noise, and I check it to see that I have a new message from Simon. Apparently, he and my mom are ready to Skype. Oh hell. I haven't even changed out of my pajamas.

I walk over to the laptop, attempt to finger-comb my hair, and sign on to Skype. I put on my headphones before calling Simon, who answers by the second ring.

"Heeeey, Clary," he says, waving. The quality of the call isn't the best, but he's still very much there. My best friend. I didn't realize how much I missed seeing his face on a daily basis until right now.

"Hi, sweetie," says my mother with a smile on her face. She has a paint stain on her cheek, as per usual, and looks slightly tired (but happy).

"Hi, guys." I give them a smile. "How are you?"

"Bored," Simon says.

"Busy," Mom tells me. "How are things over there?"

I hold up my sketchbook. "I'm working on an assignment. It's been good, though. We had dinner with Maryse yesterday. I've been hanging out with Isabelle and Jace a lot, and Max has gotten me back into SpongeBob, I think. So, yeah. Good times."

My mom tells me about things in New York City. She tells me she got me a new coffeemaker, which makes me excited to go back home just to try it. Simon tells me about how Maureen called him and asked him out on a date the other day, and, when he said no, she posted depressing quotes on Twitter, Facebook, Tumblr, and Instagram for three days straight. I laugh for two minutes and, of course, go check out said quotes. There's a lot of Taylor Swift. A lot.

Simon tells me that he got a 2060 on his May SAT, which is awesome. I tell him that he should go out to celebrate, but he says that he's saving that for when I get back. My mom shakes her head and leaves halfway through the conversation with the promise of Skyping me again sometime soon.

"Your mom's so great," Simon says. "Seriously. She got me a job at Luke's bookstore, and she comes to all of our shows."

"What can I say? My mom loves you."

"I don't know whether to be delighted or terrified."

I make a face. "You're disgusting. Anyway, when's your next show?"

Simon tells me that they have a show almost every week this summer, which is awesome. I mean, I love him and all, but the band isn't exactly the best out there, so it's nice to see that they're actually doing things and going out there and playing music. Simon's a good musician, but Eric's lyrics (and vocals) are kind of terrible. He, like, wails into the microphone about his loins. A lot.

After I finish Skyping with him, I feel a lot better about working on my sketch. I decide to do a portrait of him and my mother standing side by side instead, with the Star Wars posters that Simon has in the background.

I title it "Home."

I'm sorry if this chapter was incredibly cheesy; I probably should've read it over before I published anything my 18 y/o self wrote. Oh well. I'll be updating as regularly as I can.

Let me know what you thought of this chapter! And, again: thank you for reading.