Disclaimer: Cassandra Clare owns all.
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The kitchen of the Institute was bustling with noise and movement by the time Clary trotted downstairs, her face a mask of worry and weariness.
Isabelle greeted her at the doorway of the kitchen, wearing a long black silk skirt that nearly brushed the floor, and her hair pulled up messily behind her head. Her face was dotted randomly with brown spots of what Clary suspected was chocolate, judging from the faint smell of it lingering beneath the stench of burning cloth emanating from the kitchen. She sighed but smiled, trying to duck past Isabelle and into the kitchen to see Jace, but Isabelle's arm shot out and blocked her path.
"Uh uh uh," the taller girl chided, waving a chocolate-coated wooden spoon at her. Clary dodged a glob of brown goop that detached itself from the spoon. It smacked the wall beside her with a disgusting splat.
Isabelle chuckled nervously and tucked the spoon protectively into a pocket of her smart white apron, which looked as though it had been run over repeatedly by a semi. Her eyes glittered wildly, and there was an unsettling smile curling her red lips. "No red-heads allowed," Isabelle clucked, pointing one chocolate-tipped finger at a hastily made sign hung above the entrance to the kitchen. NO CLARY FRAYS ALLOWED it read in Jace's curly, sloppy hand.
Clary's curiousity was instantly piqued, but she warily backed away from Isabelle, who had one hand placed over the lethal spoon tucked into her apron, and a manic gleam in her dark eyes.
Clary held up her hands in mute surrender as she backed away from the grinning Shadowhunter. "Okay, okay," she allowed, "I'm leaving...."
Clary turned and hurried back upstairs once Isabelle was out of eye-shot, her socked feet padding silently up the marble steps. Once she reached the top floor, she paused. Where to go? To her left lay the seperate bedrooms of her friends - beginning with one for Jace, one for Clary, another for Isabelle, and the last one a bedroom that Alec and Magnus shared. But, across from Jace's lay Simon's spare bedroom, used only when he wasn't out traveling through different states and countries, or just visiting his mother and his old mundane friends.
Clary was surprised to note that the door was open a crack, allowing a sliver of silvery light to spill out into the dark hallway. She padded quietly to the slightly ajar door, her nails digging into the palms of her hands. Apprehension fluttered in her stomach at what might lay on the other side of the door, and sweat shone dully against her pale forehead. And she had no idea why.
Slowly, she grabbed the edge of the wooden door and pulled it open, her sweaty palms nearly sliding off the wood multiple times.
When the door was finally open, her breath caught instinctively in her throat.
Simon lay upon his pure white bed, dressed in nothing but a pair of low-slung black jeans and the everpresent silver chain Clary had bought him for his birthday, complete with a little silver skull dangling at the hollow of his throat. His black hair spilled out onto the white pillow beneath his head, staining the pure fabric with ebony. One arm dangled carelessly off the edge of the bed, while the other folded across his chest, his fingers splaying out against the middle of his pale chest. His feet also hung off the edge of the bed; Simon was a good four inches taller than Jace, and nearly six inches taller than Alec. But he was still shorter than Magnus - who wasn't?
Clary's gaze came to rest on his face. The silver moonlight pouring in through the window highlighted all the high, sharp planes and angles of his handsome face, coloring in the hollows under his high cheekbones with black shadows. His long, dark lashes cast shadows down his cheeks, shadows which nearly stretched down to his parted pink lips.
Clary didn't realize she'd stopped breathing until she felt the raw burn deep in her chest. She exhaled slowly, but kept her position in the doorway, just watching Simon's peaceful face while he slept. Two minutes later, she realized there were faint calls of her name echoing downstairs.
Casting one last longing, regretful look at Simon's peaceful face, she turned and hurried back toward the stairs, leaving Simon alone once again, bathed in pale moonlight.