This fanfic takes place after The Mortal Instruments wraps up, and it centers around Simon and Isabelle.
It's definitely not my best work, and it is, for the most part, fluff, but I really had fun writing it and I hope you have fun reading it, too!
Disclaimer: The characters and world belong to Cassandra Clare, not me (duh).
"Latte?" Simon asked her, standing up. He shoved his hands in his pockets and touched his nose as if to push up his glasses, although he now wore none, resulting in Simon looking irresistibly adorable.
Isabelle frowned. It bothered her that after their long history, Simon still didn't know what kind of coffee she took. She didn't like lattes much―she thought they were too sweet and watery―and preferred espressos. "Sure."
Simon nodded and smiled at her, before turning to fetch their coffees. He weaved his way between the crowded tables.
Izzy realized that maybe the reason Simon didn't know how she took her coffee was because she never corrected him when he was wrong.
She watched Simon talk to the barrista in wonderment. He may have been a Shadowhunter, but Isabelle would always remember his adorably nerdy and awkward ways.
The abrupt ringing of her cell interrupted Izzy's daydream. She found her phone in her large, fresh-off-the-shelves-in-Barneys suede hobo-bag. Isabelle answered with her trademark greeting.
"Izzy! Something crazy has happened at the Institute! You've got to come quick!"
It was her brother, Alec. Isabelle pressed her hand against her other ear, attempting to block out the noisiness of the coffee place. "What? Alec, what are you talking about?"
There were a couple of shouts in the background at the Institute and then a muffled noise. "I have to go," Alec told her hurriedly. "Hurry up, Izzy!"
Biting her lip, hard, in frustration, Isabelle stood up and grabbed Simon, who was telling the barrista about his old band's upcoming gig. The barrista just nodded enthusiastically.
"Izzy, what is it?" Simon demanded upon seeing Isabelle's frazzled expression.
"Emergency at the Institute," she told him promptly, grabbing him by the elbow.
Simon quickly deposited a few bills on the counter. Izzy was out the door in a second flat, Simon on her heels.
They ran together, side by side, through the city for awhile. Simon caught a sideways glance at Izzy. She looked beautiful, of course, her straight ink-black hair flying out behind her like a cape. Which was appropriate, after all, Izzy was always saving the day.
They came to a stop on a street in West Bushwick, where dozens of empty cabs waited. Isabelle threw open the door to one, barely waiting for Simon to get in behind her. She blurted the address of the Institute to the cab driver, telling him to step on it if he wanted a tip.
At the Institute, this time, they were not greeted by Church, but an unexpected silence. Alec had said it was an emergency, so Izzy had assumed the place would be in chaos when they were arrived, but perhaps Alec had been exaggerating. Isabelle knew her brother, though, and he barely ever exaggerated.
Simon and Izzy walked down the hall together, their fingers interlaced. They stood in front of the door at the end of the hall, wondering what was on the other side.
Together, Simon and Isabelle reached out to open the door.
The door swung open.
