I am getting super excited about this. Please tell me everyone else is too!
Thanks for all of the follows, favorites and reviews!
liveandbreathediangelo: Yep, that's what I'm going to do! Thanks for the suggestion. I'm really glad you like it!
mortalinstrumentsfangirl: Who knew a one-word review could be so awesome?
Guest: Thank you! I actually shrieked a little when I read your review :). I will continue!
IridescentxPetals: That's ok! Thank you for reading it. And here you are, Simon's dream.
LOVEGIRL: Updated!
Simon stood at the window, taking in the view of the city of Manhattan.
It was an impressive sight. From the penthouse floor of the Carolina, you could see across Central Park, to the Met museum, to the high-rises of downtown. Night was falling, and the city lights were beginning to shine out one by one, a bed of electric flowers.
Electric flowers. He looked around, frowning thoughtfully. It was a nice turn of phrase; perhaps he should write it down. He never seemed to have time these days to really work on lyrics; time was swallowed up by other things: promotion, touring, signings, appearances. It was hard to remember sometimes that his main job was making music.
Still. A good problem to have. The darkening sky turned the window to a mirror. Simon smiled at his reflection in the glass. Tousled hair, jeans, vintage T- shirt; he could see the room behind him, vast acres of hardwood floor, gleaming steel, and leather furniture, a single elegant gold-framed painting on the wall. A Chagall- Clary's favorite, all soft roses and blues and greens, incongruous against the apartment's modernity.
There was a vase of hydrangeas on the kitchen island, a gift from his mother, congratulating him on playing a gig with Stepping Razor the week before. I love you, said the note attached. I'm proud of you.
He blinked at it. Hydrangeas; that was odd. If he had a favorite flower, it was roses, and his mother knew that. He turned away from the window and looked more closely at the vase. They were roses. He shook his head to clear it. White roses. They always had been. Right.
He heard the rattle of keys, and the door swung open, admitting a petite girl with long red hair and a brilliant smile. "Oh, my God," said Clary, half-laughing, half out of breath. She pushed the door shut behind her and leaned against it. "The lobby is a zoo. Press, photographers; it's going to be crazy going out tonight."
She came across the room, dropping her keys on the table. She was wearing a long dress, yellow silk printed with colorful butterflies, and a butterfly clip in her long red hair. She looked warm and open and loving, and as she neared him, she put her arms up, and he went to kiss her.
Just like he did every day when she came home.
She smelled like Clary, perfume and chalk, and her fingers were smudged with color. She wound her fingers in his hair as they kissed, tugging him down, laughing against his mouth as he nearly overbalanced.
"You're going to have to start wearing heels, Fray," he said, lips against her cheek.
"I hate heels. You'll either have to deal or buy me a portable ladder," she said, letting him go. "Unless you want to leave me for a really tall groupie."
"Never," he said, tucking a lock of her hair behind her ear. "Would a really tall groupie know all my favorite foods? Remember when I had a bed shaped like a racecar? Know how to beat me mercilessly at Scrabble? Be willing to put up with Matt and Kirk and Eric?"
"A groupie would more than put up with Matt and Kirk and Eric."
"Be nice," he said, and grinned down at her. "You're stuck with me."
"I'll survive," she said, plucking his glasses off and setting them on the table. The eyes she turned up to him were dark and wide. This time the kiss was more heated. He wound his arms around her, pulling her against him as she whispered, "I love you; I've always loved you."
"I love you too," Simon said. He leaned down again and brushed his lips against hers for the third time, running his hands through her long red hair as he did so. The butterfly clip was gently removed and tossed aside, and Clary's small hands made their way around his shoulders, trailing down to his stomach, slipping under the material of his shirt. He shivered. There was never a time that she couldn't bring goose bumps to his skin with nothing more than a touch. Even back in high school, she would drop her pencil, and he would hand it back to her, the touch of their hands lingering for just a little bit longer than necessary and sending those same goose bumps up his arm. She pulled away, breathless and smiling. "If we're going to go out now, I've got to do something about my hair."
Simon glanced at her hair and then the clock. 6:43. They were meant to be meeting the driver at 6:45.
"Think you can get ready in two minutes? You've got to be kidding." He teased.
"Come on, Lewis, I can dress faster than you any day." She called over her shoulder, picking her butterfly clip up from the floor and running to the bathroom. Simon returned to the window, looking out at the lights of the city. He was sure that the other million people going about their lives didn't care much about him, but it didn't matter. They couldn't even begin to imagine the amount of happiness that swelled up inside of him, making him feel like a helium balloon that could quite easily float quietly off into the dark sky.
The elevator doors opened with a ding, and Simon was nearly blinded by the bright flash of cameras in the lobby. He stepped out, Clary's hand clasped firmly in his. Running across the lobby with his arm up to shield his eyes from the light and his heart pumping as it always did, he heard snatches of yelled questions. "Mr. Lewis, when will you next be…" "Simon, what's the plan for…" "Hey, who are you with tonight?" He rolled his eyes at the last one. Anyone who didn't know that he and Clary had been going out since high school was an idiot. Although, most of the press sure did seem to be idiots. They asked the most obviousquestions.
The cool air hit his face as the doors opened automatically for him and he brought his arm down. He brought his coat more tightly around him as the night air began to make its way through the light material. Looking down at Clary, he saw her face was flushed almost the same colour as her hair. "Everything alright?" he asked, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.
"Yeah, fine. Just a bit cold." She replied as the sleek black car pulled up beside them. The press hadn't bothered following them outside- they knew it was fruitless. Simon reached down and pulled the door open smoothly for her. Clary turned and grinned at him as she got into the car. "The epitome of a gentleman."
He smirked back, putting on an English accent. "But of course, madam." He fell into the car beside her ungracefully and pulled the door shut as it took off into the shining night.
His palms were sweating with nerves as they sat down to dinner. He'd managed to keep it cool for most of the night, but now the enormity of what he was going to do flooded him and he struggled to keep it from taking over his mind. Clary noticed, of course.
"What's wrong?" she asked concernedly, tugging on his arm across the table.
Simon started to stutter across an answer, and then stopped. This was what he wanted to do. And it was going to be fine. This was Clary. She was as familiar to him as himself, and she knew him better than anyone else. He smiled, more at ease. "Nothing." Seeing the doubtful she cast him, he went to reassure her. "Really, it's nothing."
"Your menus." An accented waiter handed them both the leather bound copies. Simon thanked him distractedly.
The food tasted like mush in his mouth, but Clary never once had to shake him to attention. They chatted and laughed easily, normal as a regular night. It was familiar- how many nights had there been like this? Dessert arrived, and his heart sped up with apprehension.
"Clary…" his mouth was dry. She looked at him expectantly as he took a sip of his drink. "I love you. You know that. From when I was six, all I wanted to do was make you happy. And here I am, fifteen years later, still wanting do just that."
"You have," Clary whispered. "But what is this about, Simon?"
He left her question and asked one of his own. "I know we're young… but will you…" he watched her green eyes widen. "…marry me?"
Something flashed in her eyes. Something wrong. "But what about Jace?" she mumbled. "And Isabelle?" She turned to him with a horrified expression. "Did you hear that?"
He nodded, and then shook his head in confusion.
He saw Clary's reflection in the window they were sitting next to. The cold it was giving off seemed to intensify while her form warped and changed, turning into something dark with glittering yellow eyes. "Sleep." She hissed in a voice that was definitely not the Clary he knew. "And when you wake, you will not remember this."
Simon felt a wave of dizziness wash over him, and he looked into Clary's normal face across from him. The tables and chairs around him disappeared and were replaced with the furniture of his apartment. He felt the soft covers of his bed beneath him, and as much as he wanted to, it was impossible to resist the pull of sleep. The last image stayed with him though, like something from a nightmare. That dark reflection, with the glittering yellow eyes. He tried to remember, remember the way the voice had penetrated his mind and commanded his attention, but even as he fell into the gaping yawn of deep sleep, he felt the memory slipping away from him. Like water draining from a basin, the memory slipped further and further away, until Simon could no longer recall what had him so worried.
Tell me who's dream you want next! Hope you liked it and if you were confused about the last few paragraph, all will be revealed in a few chapters.