Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Julian Blackthorn was only thirteen when he realized he had committed the biggest mistake of his life. Beneath the golden sun and beside the blue sea of Santa Monica beach, it dawned on him that he was hopelessly in love with his parabatai.

Many years later, he would hear from his brother Ty that there is an 80% chance that by the age of 16 that you’ve already met the person you are going to marry. Some people say this is not a true fact - indeed, it sounds a bit biased if you think about it - but for Julian, it rang true. His life was proof of it.

Months at the Institute drifted by, each one making it ever more difficult for Julian to avert his gaze from Emma. Her golden hair gleamed against the white marble, her smile illuminated the rooms, and her presence alone made every problem seem trivial. Livvy and Ty's constant bickering? Tavvy's restless nights? Dru's unending nightmares? All these issues felt like minor inconveniences when she was by his side. Emma's presence granted him the strength he so desperately needed to persevere. After all, the Institute would not run itself, regardless of how eagerly he wished it would.

Everything started to collapse on an evening when they were fourteen, almost fifteen years old.

Julian was crouched in the main hall of the Institute, tidying the usual chaos left by the children, when Emma waltzed in. She had styled her hair in an elaborate braid, and was wearing high-heeled boots with a very, very short summer floral dress. Cortana, of course, was strapped to her back. He noticed, not without wincing, that she had put on makeup.

“Hey, Jules, how do I look?”, she said, smiling radiantly and twirling once around herself.

Julian was so flabbergasted by the vision before him that, for a few moments, he was at a loss for words. His mind registered that she looked gorgeous, otherworldly, even sexy . But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't shake a particular thought: “but where is she going dressed like this? Where? With who? Who invited her to go out? Do I know him? Is it even a guy, maybe is it a girl? A friend, maybe. But no, she has no close girl friends, and she never goes out like this… Definitely a guy asked her out, but who? Do I know him? And where is she going? Well Julian you have no right to know that, she has the right to come and go as she pleases, Julian you have no right to know where she is going just answer that she looks good and keep doing whatever meaningless chore you were doing, you have no right to know where…”

“Emma, where are you going?”, he blurted.

Her smile faded so quickly it was as if it had never been there. Julian realized, almost as quickly, that he had fucked up badly by letting his thoughts take control.

“To Paige Ashdown’s birthday party”, Emma answered coldly, “Cam invited me”.

Cam? Since when did she call Cameron Ashdown "Cam"?

“Okay. And where is this party going to be?”

“In their house”, Emma snapped, crossing her arms in front of her chest, “By the Angel, Jules, what is wrong with you today?!” 

I can’t believe you’re going out like this as if it were nothing. If I leave the Institute for an hour, the world ends. And you look stunning, otherworldly gorgeous. Every man can see that, and I cannot bear the thought that others might act on it.

“Nothing, I just worry about you. You are my parabatai, Emma”, Julian replied, standing up. Her expression softened a little.

Emma gently pulled at the hilt of Cortana, her lips forming an overconfident smirk. “You know you don't have to worry about me”, she said, walking proudly towards him, “Besides, it’s just a little birthday party. No demons, faeries or creepy Downworlders were invited. I think.”

It’s not demons or Downworlders I’m worried about . “Fine, then. Have fun. Just try to not come back too late; Uncle Arthur won’t like it”.

Julian knew that Uncle Arthur couldn’t care less whether they lived or died, much less whether Emma came back early or in a week. In fact, he doubted his uncle even remembered her name. But she didn’t know that. No one knew.

“Fair enough”, she answered, fixing something in her hair, “They are probably already waiting for me outside. Goodbye!”

Who are ‘they’? Julian thought as Emma walked rapidly to the front door. She suddenly stopped, her hand on the doorknob, and slowly turned to face her parabatai.

“Jules, if something happens tonight in the Institute, if one of the kids gets sick or injured or… you know, stuff like that, stuff that you need me for…”, she exhaled deeply, “you can call me. You have the Ashdown’s house phone number. If you call them I’ll come back”.

Please, don’t go. Stay with me. Stay with me always. Don’t leave me alone tonight. “Emma, don’t worry. Everything will be alright here”, he declared, his fists tightly clenched behind his back.

“I just want you to promise me, Jules”, she replied, her brown eyes staring into his soul, “Promise you’ll call me if anything happens”.

“I will, Emma. I promise”, he declared, holding her gaze. I desperately want you to stay home with me, but I’m too afraid to ask you to stay. I’m too afraid of making you sad. I’m afraid of disappointing you.

She nodded once, turned around, and slipped into the night. The sound of her heels hitting on the marble floor echoed in his mind long after her departure.

Julian lay awake in his bed.

His body ached with exhaustion, but his mind refused to rest. The digital clock beside him glowed, reading half past midnight, and still, Emma had not returned. He knew that she wasn’t in danger. He was sure he would feel something if she was in a difficult situation. He would have felt it if she were—after all, their parabatai bond was strong.

But the knowledge that she wasn’t home kept him on edge. Everytime he closed his eyes, trying to surrender to sleep, his mind conjured images of his parabatai in danger. His sleep was being delayed by the fierce battle between fear and reason. 

What if there is a demon attack and I’m not there to help? The Institute would be alerted in the case of any demoniac activity. Everything 's fine. What if someone gives her some dangerous Downworlder drug? It’s a thirteen-year-old’s birthday party, for the Angel’s sake—no drugs, no Downworlders. What if she gets hurt? She’s more than capable of looking after herself . What if… what if she’s just having a good time with someone? What if that’s why she hasn’t come back yet?

At least the evening had been an easy one. Dinner passed without incidents—no fighting, no crying, and, most importantly, no mess. Deep cleaning the kitchen at the end of the day was, by far, his least favorite chore. Even getting the children to bed had been mercifully uneventful. They might still call for him in the night—Dru or Tavvy especially, if nightmares came—but getting them to sleep had been easier than usual.

Julian tried to steer his mind away from Emma by recalling the day’s events and mentally preparing for the tasks awaiting him tomorrow: There are not enough ingredients for Dru and Tavvy’s lunch, I need to wash Ty’s clothes, then review the Institute’s correspondence, arrange Uncle Arthur’s appearance at the upcoming Clave meeting, and after that…

The sound of the front door opening interrupted his thoughts. The familiar rhythm of heels on the floor sent a wave of relief through his body. Even if he hadn’t heard her, his body’s instinctive reaction to her presence was proof enough that she was finally home. Julian pressed his right hand over his parabatai rune and exhaled deeply. She’s back.

He could hear her walking through the hall, and about halfway to her room, Emma must have realized how loud her boots were. She slipped them off, and he only heard her again when she quietly opened and closed her bedroom door.

It was nearly one in the morning, and at last, the weight of his exhaustion caught up with him. This time, when Julian rested his head on the pillow, sleep finally claimed him.

Around one-thirty in the morning, Julian heard a soft knock at his door.

“Who’s there?” he mumbled, groggy, slowly sitting up in bed. “Tavvy, is that you?”

“No, Jules,” came a familiar voice—Emma’s. “It’s me.”

“Come in,” he replied, a bit surprised.

The door creaked open, and Emma stepped inside. Her hair was loose, and she wore light blue pajamas. She must have taken a bath after getting back from Paige’s party because she smelled strongly of soap and shampoo. The cool, moist air that clings to someone fresh out of the shower seemed to follow her into the room. In one arm, she carried a blanket and no less than four pillows. In the other, a plate of pizza. Which made Julian a little confused.

“I know it’s late, but… can I sleep with you tonight?” Emma whispered so quietly that Julian could barely hear her over the silence of the house. She was clearly trying not to wake the children.

“Yeah,” Julian replied, still tipsy from sleep, as he shifted over to make room for her. Of course you can sleep with me. You don’t even have to ask. There’s almost nothing I want more than to wake up next to you every day.

Emma carefully closed his bedroom door and tiptoed to the bed. Without ceremony, she tossed her collection of pillows onto the bed and perched on her side.

“I brought all these pillows to help us build a better pillow wall,” she said, matter-of-factly. “You know, since the last one tragically collapsed.” It had become their ritual: every time they slept together, they’d construct a pillow wall to separate their respective territories. The tradition began years ago, born out of Emma’s inability to sleep like a normal person. Instead, she spread out across the bed like an overly flexible starfish. The pillow wall served both to contain her sprawling limbs and to ensure Julian didn’t end up on the floor. “Aaand, I stole this slice of pizza for you from Paige’s party,” she added, offering him the plate.

Julian accepted the plate, his mind still groggy with sleep. The comfort of Emma’s presence stirred him awake, but his thoughts remained sluggish. Emma, on the other hand, was buzzing with energy, now fully awake and talking non-stop.

“The party was fine. They ordered pizza, we played some video games on their TV or whatever. You know I’m not into that, but their friends seemed to like it,” she rambled on. “The worst part, though, was that they invited their mundane friends. Which is disappointing because it means I couldn’t fully exercise my socializing traits.”

Julian stifled a quiet laugh at her playful complaint, and for a moment, their eyes met in the moonlit room. They sat facing each other on the bed, and the soft glow of the moonlight made her light blue pajamas seem almost white. He noticed she was not wearing a bra. The perks of her breasts showed almost imperceptibly beneath her pajama blouse. Julian’s breath caught in his throat. He forced himself to focus on her words again, but the quiet intimacy of the moment left him momentarily breathless.

"I mean, there was this perfect moment where I had the best story lined up," Emma began, her voice light but laced with frustration. "It involved two werewolf packs, a giant faerie, and Magnus Bane—I think. But there’s no way I could explain Magnus Bane to mundanes. Plus, I was dying to talk about how much I’ve improved with those new seraph blades we got last week, but of course, that was off-limits too.”

Julian carefully took a bite off the pizza, and enjoyed the feeling of finally eating a meal he didn’t cook. The children were too young to be alone in the kitchen, and Emma couldn’t fry an egg to save her life, so cooking and meal prepping was always in his hands. The Institute’s budget didn’t stretch far enough for takeout to be a regular indulgence.

"...And then at the beach, this guy was being an absolute jerk,” Emma continued. “So, when he wasn’t looking, I swiped his pizza. I told him a seagull flew off with it, but he didn’t seem convinced.” She flashed a playful smirk, but her eyes didn’t match. A shadow of sadness lingered there, something Julian couldn’t ignore.

His chest tightened. What had some guy done to upset Emma? And why were they even at the beach? “Then they started playing volleyball. Cam’s pretty good at it, but I couldn’t play because of my stupid heels—”

“Emma, what happened at the beach?” Julian interrupted, his voice more serious now.

“What do you mean?”

“You said a guy was being an asshole. Who is he?” And what did he do to you?

Emma’s gaze darted around the room, carefully avoiding his face. Julian noticed her hands were fidgeting—something she only did when she was anxious.

“He made fun of me,” she admitted softly. “Because I’m afraid of the sea. They asked who knew how to swim, and I was the only one who didn’t… So he kept picking at me about it until I told him to fuck off. But he wouldn’t stop—kept mocking me. I wanted to give him a good punch or two, just enough to shut him up, but Cam said it was better if everyone stayed civilized,” she said with a deep breath. “So, I settled for stealing his pizza instead. His face was priceless.” Julian gritted his teeth. Not as satisfying as punching his stomach up into his mouth. 

He watched her as she forced another smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. A tremble passed across her face. She’s holding back tears. Julian couldn’t even remember the last time he’d seen Emma cry.

And it made him ache for her.

Julian set the plate down on the bedside table, his expression growing serious as he locked eyes with Emma. Her smile faltered and faded under his gaze. Gently, he took her hands in his, his touch firm yet comforting.

"Emma," he began, his voice steady and resolute, "that guy doesn’t deserve a moment of your attention, let alone your sadness. If you keep letting his words get to you, you’re giving him exactly what he wants." His grip on her hands tightened slightly, a subtle gesture of reassurance. "Only a horrible person would mock someone’s fear."

A single tear escaped from her eyes, tracing a slow path down her cheek. Emma quietly pulled her right hand free from his, her fingers trailing over the skin of his arm in deliberate strokes.

I-K-N-O-W.

T-H-A-N-K-Y-O-U.

They lingered like that for what felt like an eternity—her left hand intertwined with his, her right resting gently on his arm. No more tears fell, and the only sound in the room was the soft rhythm of their breathing, harmonizing in the stillness.

But Julian’s thoughts churned, dangerously close to the edge of anger. How could anyone have stood by and allowed this guy to treat Emma that way? Why hadn’t Cameron Ashdown stepped in? And what kind of friend tolerates someone so despicable? Did he even understand what the ocean represented to Emma—the depth of her fear?

"Emma," he murmured, breaking the silence. "If you want, I can help you with your fear of the ocean. We could try something I’ve been reading about for Ty. It’s called exposure therapy. Basically, you confront your fears in small steps," he explained gently, watching her closely for any sign of discomfort. "Little by little, until it feels manageable."

Her eyes fluttered closed, and Julian exhaled with quiet relief when she nodded. Slowly, Emma eased herself back into the bed, and Julian followed, settling beside her.

In quiet harmony, they began to assemble the familiar barrier of pillows between them. The action was second nature by now, a routine choreographed by years of shared nights, as instinctive as the training drills they performed daily.

Julian noticed Emma’s breaths had steadied, her earlier distress softened into the slow, rhythmic pattern of someone on the edge of sleep. The conversation had soothed her, and Julian could sense the weight of her fatigue settling in.

With the pillow wall complete, Julian crossed the room to close the blinds. The soft blue hue of moonlight that had washed over them vanished, leaving the room submerged in darkness.

"Damn, Jules," Emma quipped, her voice light and teasing. "Now I can’t even see your face."

A soft chuckle escaped him, and Emma’s laughter followed, a brief ripple of warmth in the stillness. The sound faded, the familiar quiet of the Institute wrapped around them, and the distant hum of nighttime Los Angeles muffled by the thick walls.

In that fleeting moment, Julian felt like a child again. Beneath the darkness of his bedroom, with Emma’s soft laughter echoing in his ears and the familiar weight of the pillow wall pressed against him, memories of countless nights past flooded his mind with startling force. For a few seconds, he allowed himself to forget the burden of responsibility that now defined his life—forget that he was the guardian of four children, the manager of an Institute, where every small misstep had the potential to ripple through the lives of those he loved.

In this rare, quiet instant, Julian let himself remember a world that was no longer his. A world where he and Emma were much younger, where their late-night talks under the same blanket of darkness had been filled with innocence—innocence that had been torn away, unceremoniously, in the brutal days of the Dark War.

Soon, Julian heard the soft, steady rhythm of Emma’s breathing—she was asleep. The calm of her presence beside him tugged at his own exhaustion, tempting him toward rest. With her so close, warmth spread through his chest. But it isn’t love, he reminded himself, can’t ever be love. The thought alone sent a dull ache through his parabatai rune. He pushed it away. What Emma meant to him, what they meant to each other—those were dangerous thoughts, the kind he couldn’t afford to dwell on.

I’ll never be able to have her, not the way I want. Julian knew that fact with a painful clarity. Their parabatai bond had saved her, kept her in his life when he might have lost her. Without it, Emma would’ve been taken from him years ago. But at what cost? he thought. Here they were, lying side by side in the dark, as close as two people could be, and yet Julian knew he was destined to lose her anyway.

Emma’s beauty was impossible to deny—she was stunning now, and someday, she would grow into an even more beautiful woman. Every time he let his mind drift to thoughts of romance, to fantasies of love, it was always her face that appeared. How could it be anyone else? But he knew better than to let those thoughts linger. The Clave would tear them apart if they ever learned of his feelings. Not that it matters, he told himself bitterly. She doesn’t feel the same.

Emma was so much more socially capable than he ever could be. Julian didn’t need her to say it; he knew there was something happening between her and Cameron Ashdown. And Cameron won’t be the last. She’ll have other boyfriends, other relationships, and I’ll just have to stand by and watch. 

One day, she’ll figure it out—she’ll realize Julian never had a girlfriend, never even looked at anyone else. And then she’ll ask why.

And I’ll have to lie to her. Just like I lie to her every day. The Institute, Uncle Arthur… Even the little lies I tell just to keep things from falling apart. Julian’s stomach twisted at the thought. He could already feel the weight of it pressing down on him. Someday, he thought, I’m going to have to look her in the eyes and tell her the biggest lie of all.

Chapter Text

Emma and Cameron Ashdown had been officially dating for about four months — Julian was certain of it. He was keeping track, even if he wished he didn’t. It wasn’t like he had much room in his mind for distractions, and yet, somehow, Emma’s relationship occupied a stubborn corner of his brain.

In truth, not much had changed in their daily lives. Training schedules, meal times, and cleaning routines remained as steady as they had been for years — the semblance of normalcy Julian had painstakingly crafted in the aftermath of the Dark War. But Emma’s more frequent and prolonged absences from the Institute were a glaring exception, and they gnawed at him. 

It’s not like she’s abandoning us, he reminded himself. She still trains just as hard. She still shows up when it matters. But why does it feel like she’s slipping away?

In these moments, he was reminded that they weren’t truly Emma’s family. Yes, she had spoken the parabatai oath with him, vowing, "Thy people shall be my people, and thy God my God," and she never missed a chance to reassure him that she saw the Blackthorns as her own. But the truth remained — strictly speaking, they weren’t her family. She had no obligation.

Cameron wasn’t a bad guy. Julian just found him irritating at times, but that was hardly a crime. There was no reason for the unease curling in his stomach every time he thought about Emma dating him. And there was even less reason for the strange, almost disloyal sting of betrayal that came with it.

After all, Emma wasn’t his. They weren’t married. They weren’t anything beyond what they had always been—parabatai, best friends, bound by oath and runes.

Even if, in the deepest, most secret corners of his mind, a part of him wished they were.

These thoughts were dangerous. Julian had combed through nearly every publicly available Clave file on parabatai bonds, and he knew exactly what happened to those who let their feelings cross that forbidden line. The consequences weren’t just serious—they were catastrophic.

His solution was simple: pretend the feelings didn’t exist. Bury them beneath the next problem that needed solving, the next meal that needed cooking. Keep moving, keep working, keep pretending. Because the moment he stopped—truly stopped—he wasn’t sure he’d be able to push them down again.

It was the same strategy he had used to survive the grief of losing his parents and Mark, the same one that kept his rage at his sister’s exile from consuming him whole. Time had dulled those wounds—wounds that once left him sick to his stomach, shaking in the dark, barely able to breathe. Eventually, they had settled into something bearable, something he could carry without falling apart.

Surely, his feelings for Emma would do the same.

They had to.

They will fade, he told himself. They have to fade. Because if they don’t…

But Julian couldn’t finish the thought. He couldn’t allow himself to imagine a future where they didn’t.

Julian was at the counter, cracking an egg against the sink’s edge, when Emma walked into the kitchen, a backpack slung casually over one shoulder.

"Hey, Jules," she greeted, a bright smile lighting up her face. "No need to count me in for dinner tonight."

Julian exhaled heavily, the sound almost drowned out by the egg cracking. I wonder where you’re going—and with who, he thought bitterly, the sarcasm biting even in his own mind.

“You’re not going to ask me where I’m going?” Emma teased as she stepped closer, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Tell you what, I’ll give you three guesses. If you don’t figure it out, I get to use the good training daggers for two weeks straight.”

“And if I win?” Julian asked, raising an eyebrow, though his heart wasn’t entirely in the banter.

“You can pick,” Emma offered with a shrug, her smile widening.

If I win, you don’t go out with Cameron for two weeks straight, Julian thought, the words almost slipping out. Instead, he responded with forced casualness, “If I win, you’re doing extra chores. Every day. For two weeks.”

Emma rolled her eyes dramatically. “Fine, fine. You get three guesses. Shoot.”

Julian couldn’t help the smile tugging at his lips. “You’re going to Cameron’s?”

Emma laughed, shaking her head. “Come on, Jules, I wouldn’t make it that easy.”

“Then give me a clue.”

“If I do, it’ll be too easy,” she protested, though her mock exasperation didn’t hide her amusement.

“If you don’t, there’s no way I’ll guess it. The world is a big place, you know.”

“Okay, okay,” she relented, “it’s in Los Angeles.”

Oh, that narrows it down. It’s not like LA is one of the largest cities in the country, Julian thought dryly.

“Santa Monica beach?” he tried, half-heartedly.

Emma groaned, throwing her hands up. “Seriously? We go there all the time. One more guess.”

Julian sighed. “There’s no way I’m getting this. Especially if it’s somewhere we don’t usually go.”

Emma huffed, feigning annoyance. “Fine, I declare our little contest null. Me and Cameron are going camping tonight,” she finally revealed, “to watch the sunrise.”

Julian froze for a moment, his hands still. “So, you’re spending the night out?” Just the two of you. Together. Alone.

Emma caught the flicker of worry in his eyes and quickly added, “Relax, Jules. We’re both trained. I’m bringing Cortana, and the area hasn’t had any demonic activity in years. There’s absolutely nothing to worry about.”

It’s not your fighting abilities I’m worried about, Julian thought, the words like a drumbeat in his mind.

“Honestly, Jules,” Emma continued, her tone turning teasing, “bold of you to think Cameron would want to camp in a demonic hotspot. That’s something only I would do.”

And that does worry me too, Julian thought grimly.

Emma paused suddenly, her expression shifting to one of genuine concern. “Do you think Uncle Arthur’s going to care that I’m staying out?”

Julian’s stomach twisted. Uncle Arthur hasn’t been lucid for two days, and Malcolm’s medicine isn’t helping. He wouldn’t notice if you were gone for a week. But I care. I care because watching you drift further away from me hurts.

“I don’t think he’ll care,” Julian lied, forcing his tone to remain steady. “He’s too preoccupied with next week’s Conclave.”

Keeping his gaze fixed on the counter, Julian swallowed the lump of guilt rising in his throat. Lying to Emma always felt like walking a tightrope. He feared that one day, she’d look at him too long, too closely, and the fragile facade he’d spent years building would crumble in an instant.

Emma seemed satisfied with the response. “Well, that’s one less thing to worry about,” she said, casually checking her backpack. “Cameron’s probably close. I’d better go.”

She started to leave but stopped in the doorway, glancing back. “Hey, Jules. You know the drill.” Her playful demeanor had vanished, replaced by seriousness. “If you need me—if anything happens with the kids or the Institute—”

“Call my phone, and I’ll come back,” Julian finished for her, the words automatic. Emma’s lips curved into a small, warm smile. She always said this before leaving, a constant reassurance that she’d never truly abandon him.

Sometimes I wish you would, Julian thought as she left. It would be so much easier to hate you if you were selfish or careless. If you spent all your time with Cameron and left me to deal with everything alone. Maybe then, this pain in my chest would fade.

But it wouldn’t. It never did.

During dinner, the kids asked about Emma. Julian told them she was out with Cameron, conveniently leaving out the part where she’d be spending the night away. I wish I didn’t know that either. There was no need for them to hear it—not when it would only invite questions he wasn’t prepared to answer. Especially from Livvy.

Afterward, with the kitchen cleaned and the kids off to their rooms, Julian sat alone at the big dining table. The absence of their chatter left a quiet that settled heavily around him, though he found it oddly welcome.

A small voice in the back of his mind chided him, telling him to grow up. They were teenagers—this was normal. People dated. They went out. They sleep out.

So why does it feel like something is pressing against my ribs, like I can’t quite breathe right?

It was almost funny—how he couldn’t even bring himself to say it outright, not even in his own mind. If they’re spending the night together, then there’s a good chance they’re—

Julian exhaled sharply, cutting the thought off before it could fully form. The logic was simple, obvious. He wasn’t naive. He knew what happened when two people went off alone like that. And yet, something in him recoiled at the confirmation, like touching an open wound.

Julian pressed his palms against the table, staring at the worn wood as if it could offer some kind of answer. He felt sick. Not in the physical sense—his body was fine, steady, functional—but in the way that something inside him twisted and curdled, something that had no right to exist in the first place.

I shouldn’t care. I shouldn’t care like this.

Emma was his parabatai. His best friend. She trusted him, relied on him, loved him—but not like that. And why would she? He was her partner in battle, her family in all the ways that mattered. This feeling—the ugly, clawing thing that had rooted itself deep in his chest—was a betrayal of everything they were supposed to be.

He should be happy for her. That’s what a real friend would be, what a real parabatai would be. Not this bitter, selfish thing that ached every time she walked away, that flared hot with jealousy at the thought of Cameron’s hands on her, that imagined a life where things were different—where they could be different.

Julian let out a quiet, humorless laugh and ran a hand over his face. As if that would ever happen.

Even if Emma did love him like that—which she didn’t—it wouldn’t change anything. The Clave’s laws weren’t kind. Love wasn’t just forbidden—it was punishable. Dangerous. They could lose everything.

And yet, none of that was enough to extinguish the want that curled in his stomach.

The guilt of it sat heavy in his throat. It wasn’t just about breaking the law—it was about Emma. He hated himself for it, hated how he couldn’t stop these thoughts from surfacing. She deserved more than this, more than him—than someone who looked at her and wished for things he had no right to wish for.

Julian clenched his jaw, forcing himself to breathe evenly.

He had spent years perfecting the art of pretending. Pretending that the weight of the Institute didn’t crush him, that the lies he told his siblings weren’t stacking up, that the grief inside him had settled instead of festered. One more thing wouldn’t kill him.

Eventually, this will fade, he told himself. It has to.

Because if it didn’t—if he couldn’t bury this part of himself deep enough—he wasn’t sure what would be left of him when it finally consumed him whole.

Emma hadn’t given him a specific time she’d be back, so when Julian woke up to find she still wasn’t home, he didn’t let himself worry. Not right away.

He went about his morning as usual, her absence tugging at the edge of his thoughts like a loose thread, but never quite unraveling his focus. The kids were still asleep, which he was grateful for. He loved them—he lived for them—but these quiet morning moments belonged to him alone. A rare stretch of time where he could simply be Julian, and not the makeshift parent, the responsible leader, the one who had to hold everything together.

He was midway through his coffee in the kitchen when he heard it—a car rolling to a stop out front, the unmistakable creak of the Institute’s front door swinging open, then shutting with practiced ease.

He didn’t need to look. He knew those footsteps. Knew the way she moved, the rhythm of her steps against the old wooden floors. Emma.

She didn’t pause. Her footsteps carried her straight up the stairs, and then—her bedroom door closing.

Julian let out a slow breath and turned back to his coffee, staring into the dark liquid as if it might offer him clarity.

It wasn’t unusual for Emma to go straight to her room after being out with Cameron. It had bothered him at first—the deliberate separation, the way she closed herself off—but now, he had learned to accept it. Or at least, he told himself he had.

In the end, he was happy she had arrived before the kids had woken up. 

The morning carried on as it always did. Emma eventually appeared, slipping into the routine of the household like nothing had happened. She didn’t offer an explanation, and Julian didn’t ask. Maybe it was better that way. Maybe the less he knew, the easier it would be to keep his own emotions in check.

By midday, he was making his rounds through the Institute, gathering stray laundry. He was near Emma’s door when he heard it—a voice, quiet and distant, muffled through the wooden barrier.

His steps slowed.

She was on the phone, speaking in hushed tones, her words careful. The intimacy of it—the secrecy—pricked something inside him.

Julian hesitated, caught between moving on and the undeniable pull of curiosity. He had no right to listen. He knew that. And yet, he remained, his feet rooted to the floor as if held there by something stronger than conscience.

If she was talking to Cameron, he had no business listening. If she was talking to Cameron, he didn’t want to listen. The thought of hearing his name, of listening to the details of whatever had happened last night, made something inside him twist in protest.

But what if it wasn’t Cameron? The question settled in his mind, sharp and insistent. What if it was something else? Something important?

It was a thin excuse, but it was enough to keep him standing there, ears straining against the muffled edges of her words.

“...Yes, I wouldn’t have done it if I was uncomfortable,” Emma’s voice filtered through the door, steady but quiet. “I’d really appreciate it if you could explain it to me again, though.”

Julian frowned. There was a pause—someone was responding on the other end. He strained to pick up any hint of the voice, but it was too faint.

“Okay, I think I get it now. I have to draw it once every three months, and I’m protected,” Emma continued. A pause. “Yeah, send me a picture. I’m going to draw it and then send a photo to you… just to make sure I got it right, Clary. I’m taking no risks.”

Julian exhaled. Clary .

That made sense. Emma and Clary talked often—catching up, sharing updates, trading stories. Clary had looked out for Emma ever since their paths had crossed during the Dark War, and Emma admired her fiercely. Still, something about Emma’s words unsettled him.

Protected? From what?

“And before I go through with this, I need to be absolutely sure it works,” Emma said. A pause, then a quiet laugh. “I definitely didn’t need to know that you test it this much.”

Julian’s fingers curled slightly where they hung at his sides. He should stop listening. He knew he should stop listening. But no one would catch him—not with the kids downstairs, Emma behind a closed door. If no one knew, what harm did it really do?

The conversation shifted, Emma and Clary moving on to lighter topics—life in New York, familiar names from their shared past. Julian forced himself to step back. This wasn’t his business.

But then, just as he was about to turn away, the conversation took a turn.

And Julian knew, with a sinking feeling, that he wouldn’t be walking away just yet.

“Yesterday, Cameron and I went camping to watch the sunrise,” Emma was saying, her voice light, mockingly dreamy. “We went to one of those hills that overlook the city. It was really romantic.” She giggled, the sound sharp and bright against the quiet of the hallway.

Julian felt something inside him go rigid.

“Oh, we did sleep, Clary,” Emma added, a teasing lilt in her voice. “But not only sleep.” Another giggle.

Julian’s grip on the doorframe tightened before he forced himself to step back. He wished—desperately—that he could unhear what she’d just said. But the words had already lodged themselves in his mind, leaving an aching hollowness in their wake.

Not that it was surprising. He’d known. Of course, he’d known.

Emma kept talking, detailing their date in the kind of excited, breathless way she always did when recounting something that had truly made her happy. Clary seemed genuinely interested, and why wouldn’t she be? She cared about Emma. Wanted her to be happy.

But for Julian, this was torture. He hadn’t meant to listen this long. And yet, some part of him—the same masochistic part that kept his feelings for Emma buried deep beneath the weight of his responsibilities—refused to walk away.

Because Emma rarely spoke about Cameron around him. Whenever she had to mention him, she did so carefully, like she was stepping around something fragile, something that might shatter on impact. As if she suspected Julian wouldn’t want to hear it.

And she was right. He didn’t.

But that didn’t mean he didn’t need to.

Because for the first time in his life, there was a part of Emma’s world that he wasn’t fully a part of. A piece of her that belonged to someone else.

And it terrified him.

Julian stood there until he heard the conversation winding down, Emma’s laughter fading into something softer, more subdued. Only then did he step back, moving silently down the hall, his mind clouded with the weight of everything he wished he could ignore.

That night, no matter how hard Julian tried to think of anything else, his mind refused to cooperate.

He lay on his back, staring up at the blue ceiling, his body heavy with exhaustion but his thoughts restless and sharp-edged. It had been over an hour since he got into bed, but pretending to sleep did nothing to actually bring sleep.

Instead, his mind kept circling back to Emma’s conversation with Clary, replaying every word, every implication.

He shouldn’t be surprised. Of course, they weren’t just sleeping. Of course, Emma was comfortable talking about it, comfortable doing it. That was normal. That was what people their age did. That was what he should be doing if he could imagine a version of his life where he dated girls who weren’t Emma.

Thank the Angel the Clave hasn’t developed a way to read minds. If they had, I’d be done for.

Julian let out a slow breath, forcing himself to redirect his thoughts. He needed to sleep. He needed to stop this useless spiral. Thinking about Emma’s love life did nothing for him—nothing but twist a knife he pretended wasn’t there.

Eventually, his mind began to quiet. He felt himself sinking toward the edges of sleep, slipping into that hazy place where thoughts lost their shape and meaning.

But then—Emma.

She was always there, somewhere in the fabric of his subconscious. First, in the way he saw her every day—the easy familiarity of her in the Institute, the expressions she made while reading, the focused intensity of her when she trained. These memories came unbidden, like they had a will of their own.

And then, like a parasite burrowing into his thoughts, came another memory. One he hadn’t meant to summon.

Emma, breathless after a brutal training session, sweat dampening her skin, chest rising and falling with exertion. The sight of her like that had always done something to him—something he never allowed himself to name.

And then, before he could stop it, the image shifted.

Emma beneath him. Her arms wrapped around him, her nails raking down his back. Her gasping breaths, the sound of his name shaped in a way he had never heard before—had no right to hear.

How does she look like when she’s feeling pleasure?

Julian’s eyes snapped open, his pulse slamming against his ribs.

No.

It was the most forbidden thought. The most dangerous. And still, it had found him.

Julian wrenched his mind away, grasping for anything—anything—to banish the thought, but it was too late. The image had already sunk its claws into him, branding itself onto the deepest parts of his brain.

And worse—his body had reacted before his mind could stop it.

Heat pooled low in his abdomen, a sharp, undeniable ache that sent a flush of humiliation through him. Shit.

He clenched his fists, nails digging into his palms as if pain could drive the feeling away. As if guilt alone could smother it. But guilt was useless against something so visceral. So instinctual.

This couldn’t happen. Not now. Not ever.

Julian squeezed his eyes shut, inhaling sharply through his nose. He thought of the ocean in winter—gray, endless, violently cold. He thought of bloodstained floors, of war and loss, of the weight of responsibility pressing down on his shoulders like a stone.

Anything.

Anything but her.

Julian squeezed his eyes shut, but it didn’t help. The images, the sensations—they weren’t fading. If anything, they were getting stronger, more vivid, more real. His body was betraying him, his mind surrendering to the pull of something he had sworn never to acknowledge.

No.

But the word had no weight, no force. It was a plea, not a command.

His breath came uneven now, shallow and quick. He could still hear her voice in his head—laughing, teasing, soft with something he would never get to claim. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, but it wasn’t enough.

Julian had spent so many years denying himself, pretending his love for Emma was nothing more than devotion between parabatai. He had built walls inside his own mind, brick by careful brick, ensuring that he never let himself want her like this.

But tonight, the walls cracked.

And this time, he didn’t try to stop it.

His body moved before his thoughts could catch up. Before logic could sink its claws into him and drag him back into the suffocating weight of duty, of rules, of consequences.

For once, just this once, he let himself want. Let himself feel.

And he didn’t stop.