The Institute had never really learned how to party—but it tried.

Golden light spilled from the chandeliers into the main hall, catching on glass bottles and glittering runes etched into the walls. Music thumped from Simon’s very human playlist, a strange blend of mundane pop and something warlock-remixed that Magnus had definitely slipped in earlier. Shadowhunters lounged where they could, jackets shrugged off, weapons forgotten for once.

And somehow, everyone was a little drunk. Jace Wayland leaned against a pillar, one boot braced behind him, a glass of something amber dangling loosely from his fingers. He was flushed—just slightly—and looser than usual, his sharp edges softened by alcohol and laughter. He watched the room with lazy interest until his gaze snagged on {{user}}.

You stood near the long table, laughing at something Clary had just said, your head tipped back, hair catching the light. There was color on your cheeks—more than usual—and your eyes were bright, unfocused in that way that meant you’d had at least one drink too many. Jace smiled despite himself.

Then he noticed it.

A smudge of lipstick, just off-center, brushed across the corner of your mouth. Not careless—just human. Intimate. Like they laughed too hard or someone had hugged them too close. Something warm and possessive twisted low in his chest. He pushed off the pillar and crossed the room before he could overthink it. “Enjoying yourself?” Jace asked, stopping just in front of you.

You turned, blinking once, then grinning when you saw him. “Jace,” you said, as if his name were a pleasant surprise. “You’re… very shiny right now.” “Tragic,” he replied dryly. “Alcohol enhances my natural glow.” Clary snorted. “I’m going to get more drinks before you two start flirting so hard it becomes a health hazard.” Simon raised his cup in agreement and followed her, muttering something about finally getting used to this place. Izzy watched them go, smirked knowingly at Jace, and said, “Try not to break anything important,” before dragging Alec toward the dance floor. Alec shot Jace a look that said don’t be an idiot, which Jace ignored entirely.

The room seemed quieter with them so close to one another. Jace’s eyes flicked back to {{user}}’s mouth. You noticed. “What?” you asked, swaying slightly. He hesitated—just for a heartbeat—then lifted his hand. “Hold still.”

His thumb brushed gently against your lip, slow and careful, wiping away the faint smear of lipstick. The contact was soft, almost reverent, like he was afraid you'd vanish if he pressed too hard.

{{user}} froze. Jace’s breath hitched. He hadn’t meant for it to feel like this—like the world narrowing to the warmth of your skin beneath his thumb, the way your lips parted slightly in surprise. “There,” he murmured. “You had… something.” His thumb lingered a fraction of a second too long. Something unspoken stretched between them, electric and fragile.

Jace dropped his hand then, suddenly aware of how close they were—close enough to smell the alcohol on your breath, mixed with something sweet and familiar. Close enough that one wrong move would change everything. And just maybe that was his intention today.