HER HANDS START TREMBLING EVEN BEFORE SHE SEES HIM. stop being pathetic, she scolds herself, brows furrowing in annoyance as her high-heeled boots click-clack across the institute floor. stupid, insignificant boys weren’t supposed to have this sort of impact on her, but then again, she supposes there’s nothing stupid or insignificant about this particular boy.
after all, anyone deigned lucky enough to date isabelle lightwood could never be anything short of extraordinary.
shaking hands aside, there’s nothing particularly interesting about izzy as she winds through the institute’s many halls. she isn’t carrying any large boxes, nor does she have a cake cradled in her grasp. some might even think she’s forgotten about simon’s nineteenth birthday, judging by the distinct absence of anything grandiose in her hands.
but those people would be wrong. a quick glance at izzy’s back pocket will reveal her pink-encased cell phone, appearing entirely ordinary and easily overlooked. almost innocent, really, though the contents are heavy with intent.
when she finds him, her expression brightens with the smile she’s 99.78% only simon can bring. ‘ well, if it isn’t the birthday boy. ’ she drops unceremoniously into his lap, arms coming up to wrap around his neck and draw him in for a lingering kiss. (she wants to kiss him, okay? it has nothing to do with prolonging the inevitable, or with any deep-rooted fears that he might not like what she has to give).
but delay it as much as she wants, she has to present him with the gift eventually. nerves tensing, she squares her shoulders, dark eyes finding his with a confidence she doesn’t quite feel. ‘ your sister and i have something for you. ’ another prolonged beat before she’s shifting to reach into her back pocket and pull out her phone. wordlessly, she navigates to the gallery, thumb stilling over the tiny little innocuous square that could either make him ridiculously happy or totally wreck his special day.
by the angel, she hopes it makes him happy.
and then it’s playing, his mother’s lilting voice filling the room. izzy angles the phone so he can see, the screen revealing her bittersweet smile and soft eyes. this is the gift, a gift they’ve spent weeks preparing: a video of simon’s mother, telling simon how much she loves him. the girls had worked together to orchestrate it, rebecca convincing her mother that filming a video for what should have been simon’s nineteenth birthday would be cathartic for her. the product was four straight minutes of his mother professing her unyielding love for her son, of boasting of how proud of him she’d been, of her favorite memories of rebecca and simon as kids. it was heartfelt, and brimming with love, and the only piece of his mother izzy knew how to give.
when the screen goes dark and the room grows quiet, izzy draws in a quick breath. his mother’s love isn’t the only gift she wants to give. dark eyes find his, her hand moving to touch his cheek, and she forces a small smile onto her lips. ‘ happy birthday, simon. i love you. ’ // @nosunburn
