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There’s a sweet lingering scent in the air, a mixture between cinnamon and vanilla rising from the dozen candles Isabelle has lit around the small living room of Maia’s apartment – well, Maia’s and her apartment now, she needs to remind herself. Our home. The thought brings a smile to her face, one so wide it almost hurts but in the best kind of way.
It’s been a week since she officially moved in (“long overdue”, as Alec had said) and while she has spent so many nights and days here in the past four years they’ve known each other, it still feels a little surreal. The institute was never really a home, not the way this feels whenever she steps through the door in the evening and pressure finally lifts a little off her shoulders. It’s surreal because part of her had been sure she would never get to have this, to truly come home and have a place away from work and demons and Shadowhunters where she can be herself without judgement – if one excludes Maia’s raised brow at any of the morning breakfasts she has tried to make for the past seven days. It’s surreal because saying yes when Maia had suggested moving in one morning with fingers running through Isabelle’s hair, had been the easiest thing.
Which may or may not be the reason she is currently sat with legs crossed on the floor and what seems to be a hundred photos scattered around herself and the dozens of candles while Maia is out and meeting Luke and the pack for an early holiday party that is “not a holiday party”. It’s still two weeks until Christmas but there is an envelope hidden between two of her least worn shirts in her drawer for that occasion so this might be a little over the top. A little over the top and a little more personal, a collection of memories made and leaving room for the future they are on together.
She had gotten Maia the polaroid camera for her birthday two years ago which was received with a shake of her head, a smile and the photo staring back at her right now on the first page of the otherwise empty album in her lap. It’s the prettiest of the three they had taken, the other ones blurred and with eyes half-closed but nonetheless stored away in the box where most of the photos had ended up in. Sunlight catches on Maia’s dark curls as she smiles brightly into the camera with Izzy’s chin resting on her shoulder and one hand with red painted fingernails visible on her upper arm. The living room wall in the background is still a boring white (unlike the warm orange they had painted it in a spontaneous act on a hot day last June) and making both of them stand out even more in the center of the otherwise blank page. It wasn’t the beginning of their journey, far from it, but Izzy will never forget the way Maia had looked at her when she had torn the wrapping paper apart, with a glimmer of something in those warm brown eyes that would be echoed by three words months later.
She’s not really sure how to go about this. Chronologically seemed logical in the beginning but there’s photos missing, others pinned to the fridge with ridiculous magnets and two or three arranged on her desk back at the Institute. Some don’t even hold a special memory, just smiles and grimaces and Izzy with half a sandwich in her mouth and eyes wide in shock at being photographed. She flips through them carefully so to not leave any fingerprints, chuckling at the most ridiculous faces and weirdest things caught on camera (there is one of two mismatched socks on the laundry rack and Izzy has no idea what prompted her girlfriend to take a photo of that exactly).
The album fills slowly, cute photos of each of them or together with wide smiles and kisses pressed to cheeks but if it weren’t for the date sometimes scribbled on the back Izzy would most likely not remember what had prompted the picture. Two candids of her making faces at Maia, barely lit up by a streetlamp on a particularly warm April night (which had ended in a downpour soaking them to the bone, raindrops falling from their smiles as Maia hid the camera beneath her shirt and Izzy had tugged at her free hand to run and seek shelter) find their way next to one of Maia with her head tilted back and smiling, hair a mess as her hands grip the railing of the Staten Island Ferry.
With every photo that she picks up and turns over carefully, the warm feeling in her chest grows, expanding through her limbs and tearing a giggle from her lips whenever she comes across a particularly ridiculous one (tongues sticking out or noses wrinkled). And then there is one that makes her stop the continuous sorting and gluing, one that has her breath hitching in her throat and eyes softening with the memories it conjures; vivid and bright and filled with a feeling of belonging so utterly and perfectly.
Maia is dressed in too baggy pajamas, backlit by warm golden morning light that dances along the edges of her dark curls. She’s barefoot, spatula in her hand to flip over the pancake she’s eyeing carefully after having banned Izzy from doing any cooking with a soft “I’m starving and I actually do want something that’s eatable”. Izzy’s pout barely lasts a minute, quickly melting into a soft smile as she leans against the counter and very much aware that she is staring. She reaches for the camera almost absentmindedly; positive no photo will ever do justice to Maia’s beauty or truly capture the calm surrounding her on a morning where there is little to no responsibilities; eyes crinkling at the corners as she hums along to some song in the background from one of her favorite playlists. And yet there is this urge to preserve this very day, to look back later and hold it in her hands and think back to this, to the way her heart feels like it is expanding out of her chest with affection for the woman in front of her. The sound of the camera clicking catches Maia’s attention then, her soft chuckle mixing with the noise of the photo being printed.
“You know you could make yourself useful around here, Mrs. Paparazzo.” A pointed look towards the cabinet with the plates before Maia turns back towards the stove with a shake of her head but Izzy can tell she’s fighting a smile, failing at pretending to be mad. And maybe it’s the familiarity of all this, how a slow Tuesday morning in early May could feel like this, full of smiles and calm and a silent promise of a future; maybe it’s the way Maia tilts her head as she flips the pancake once more or maybe it is the picture in Izzy’s hand, fully developed and – as expected – not even coming close to capturing the real scene. A moment later her arms slide around Maia’s waist, fingers curling into the hem of her deep green shirt and ignoring the plates and forks in favor of nuzzling into her girlfriend’s neck.
“I love you.” It slips so easily past her lips, even with her heart racing in her chest, swallowing against the sudden lump in her throat. There are a hundred reasons why she hasn’t said those words yet, why both of them have settled for sweet nothings whenever they were on the tip of their tongues. She knows Maia is scared (hell, Izzy is terrified herself that this could all be ripped from her any minute), knows there is so much they still have to learn about each other and the world they live in will never truly stop working against them, one way or another; but she could never regret these words, not when they are filled with every ounce of honesty she holds within herself.
Maia’s reaction is barely noticeable; if Izzy wouldn’t be holding her close she might miss the little falter in her breath or the way her shoulders stiffen suddenly. She can feel both their hearts racing, beating almost the same rhythm in the silence that follows. There’s a small part of her that worries, worries it’s too much or not the right moment or—
Maia turns around, eyes wide and shining and hands landing on Izzy’s shoulders before fingers slide over her neck and jaw to frame her face, gentle touches so familiar, a gesture filled with memories of kisses and giggles and falling asleep pressed together. It only gets better when Maia smiles, wide and happy and leans down to kiss her urgently. It’s a little messy, both their mouths curved into grins and pressing together a little too hard and Izzy isn’t quite sure of anything she’s doing because her head is spinning, lightness radiating from her chest all through her body. Next thing she knows Maia is sitting on the counter next to the stove and the angle is even more awkward like this so she settles for kissing her neck instead, encouraged by soft fingers carding through her hair.
The pancakes are forgotten for a few carefree moments until Maia curses under her breath (at first, Izzy is convinced it is due to the way her tongue ran flat along her collarbone), managing to push her away gently with a quick last kiss to try and save whatever is left of the pancake.
“I love you too”, is whispered into Izzy’s hair later that day, after Maia comes home from her nightshift to her curled up on the couch and half asleep. She’s never had sweeter dreams.
The photo deserves a special spot with three little hearts drawn around one corner, a reminder of the good that comes from taking a chance, not letting fear keep you from saying what you feel. There hasn’t been a day that Izzy regrets asking Maia on a date after months of hanging out nor that months later she had let her feelings press into her girlfriend’s skin.
It’s funny how a simple capture of a moment so significant can bring all those feelings rushing back, heart leaping into her throat in happiness and excitement. There are some photos scattered around that she hardly remembers taking, some she is sure she has never seen before. And then there are the ones that feel so familiar, turned over a hundred times or searched for in the depths of the pale blue box to prove a point (“I knew it! It was last June not July”, or “I could have sworn you wore the green dress to Luke’s birthday party”).
The one she picks up a couple of pages later is one of those, a favorite of hers because for once it captures everything: the smiles on their faces, a spark in Izzy’s eyes as she looks at Maia who is staring at the camera, the atmosphere of the whole evening filled with nothing but love and celebration. Almost by reflex her gaze lifts to the bookshelf in the corner and the picture placed in front of some of the few books she brought with her from the Institute. She can’t see it from here but the happy grin on her brother’s face is a cherished memory, the matching suits, the way him and Magnus had wrapped Maia and herself into their arms early into the evening to capture the moment.
The photo in her lap was taken way later, champagne coloring a blush on her cheeks and people dancing in the background to some love song Simon had announced with what seemed to be a wink and something along the lines of “ceasing the moment”.
“I gotta say, this is by far the best wedding I’ve ever been to.” Izzy glances up as Maia slides into the space next to her, leaning against the bar with beer glass in hand. Her free hand finds its way to Isabelle’s waist, dancing over her ribs which is more than a little distracting so it seems just right to push up into a slow kiss, lingering for a moment with a content hum.
“And how many weddings have you been to”, she asks when she leans away, not too far so she can still bump her nose against Maia’s which is rewarded with an adorable chuckle. Maia mulls the question over for a moment, staring at a spot above her head and across the dancefloor. It gives Izzy time to let her eyes appreciate her girlfriend in the deep blue dress they bought specifically for this day, tongue involuntarily darting out to lick her lips as her gaze lingers on the way the material dips into a V shape, framing the simple moon necklace disappearing into her neckline. She catches herself quickly when Maia turns back towards her to answer, only the tiniest hint of knowing in her warm eyes. “Two, I think. But this is the first where I actually like the people getting married.”
“My brother will be thrilled to hear that.” They exchange a grin, glasses clinking together to both take a sip from their drinks. It’s then that Izzy’s gaze lands on the small camera on the bar counter, all too familiar and barely in their line of sight with their bodies turned towards the party. “I can’t believe you brought that.” She nods towards the polaroid.
Maia simply shrugs, mumbling something about wanting to catch the small embarrassing moments instead of staged smiles and poses. It’s truly endearing, and Izzy knows she is right, positive their snapshots will capture the good and messy and ridiculous far better than any of the orchestrated photos they took earlier. “Still dangerous. You are aware we are surrounded by about forty people who are all more or less drunk, right?” She leans in for the last part, whispering as if it’s a secret and not a fact easily observed by anyone taking the time to look around the room. Maia chuckles, nodding towards the dance floor instead. “Drunk on love maybe.”
Izzy doesn’t need to look in the indicated direction to know her girlfriend is right, to see her brother with the brightest smile she has ever witnessed and staring at his husband with the kind of admiration that would normally have her rolling her eyes. Not today though, not when the way the grooms are caught up in each other, whispering as they are swaying from side to side, is something she hopes they keep for eternity. “Come on, it’s their day. Let them be a little sappy.”
“Oh, I didn’t even mean Magnus and Alec. Surprisingly they are the least sappy couple right now.” Now Izzy follows her gaze directly, landing on her mother, head resting on Luke’s shoulder as they slowly move around the dancefloor. She can see him whispering something into her ear which in turn makes Maryse smile brightly. Not far away Catarina and Dot are sitting at a table, a sleeping Madzie in their laps and sharing one of the last slices of cake and matching grins. It might be the wedding itself or the way Magnus’s and Alec’s words had echoed in their ears a few hours earlier but Izzy really doesn’t mind, especially not with Maia pressed so close to her and her hand still warm on her hip, pulling her in again.
“It’s love. It’s a good thing.” It’s meant to be light and teasing, paired with her leaning up to catch her girlfriend’s lips in another soft kiss but there is a deeper truth to it too. Not too long ago, and maybe even still, there was a part in both of them that was afraid of love, had been hurt too much to truly believe in the good in it. It only flickers over Maia's face for a moment before it is replaced by a smile she herself would call cheesy on anyone else.
“Yeah, it is.”
It’s the only photo left from the wedding – the rest glued into another album which has a place now over at Magnus’ and Alec’s place – but it’s far too beautiful to be lying in a box. Not for the first time, she wishes someone had captured the way Maia had spun her around on the dancefloor later, pulling her back in with laughter and leaning her cheek against Izzy’s temple.
Speaking of dancing—the thought prompts her to rummage through the remaining pictures around her, significantly less than just over two hours ago when she had started. It takes her a moment to find the one she is looking for, making a soft sound of victory when she does.
Izzy’s face is hidden behind her hands but through the gap between her fingers it’s clear she is laughing. The picture a little blurry and a little too dark and the angle is awkward with her being too close to the camera but she can almost taste the laughter on her lips still, can almost feel Maia’s fingers digging into her sides, trying to keep her in place for the picture. “Just one, come on!”
The soft echo of her voice is enough to make her smile widen, already reaching for the glue.
“Who knew all it took to get you to dance was a bottle of wine.” Izzy smirks, taking another sip from her glass, watching as Maia spins around with eyes wide, grinning from ear to ear. They are both positively tipsy, an evening of staying on the couch watching The Get Down having turned into music blasting from the speakers. Normally Izzy would care about turning down the volume so the neighbors don’t come knocking at the door in anger but the wine has left her just the right amount of careless, eyes glued to her girlfriend’s movements and the rocking of her hips as she dances over to her. Maia reaches out with one hand, grabbing Isabelle’s free one and tugging insistently. “Come on, babe, it’s no fun alone.” And really, what’s the point of an evening spent with music and drinking if you’re not dancing in your living room?
It’s more slipping on socks, giggles and laughter at ridiculous moves or spinning around each other than proper dancing. There’s a soft breeze, the rush of cool night air from the open window a nice contrast on heated skin. Maia’s lips taste of white wine and laughter when Izzy pulls her in close, fingers splayed on her lower back to press their bodies together. They try to do one of those ridiculous and cliché spins but Maia ends up tripping and Izzy barely catches her around the waist, both of them swaying for a moment to find their balance. Their eyes meet, faces so close they can taste each other’s breath and both erupt into laughter once more. It’s corny and all kinds of perfect.
“Wait, let me capture that!”
The song they danced to is long forgotten but Izzy can’t help but make a mental note of asking Maia about it. She remembers that night so vividly, even with the slight headache she had woken up with in the morning, grumbling and turning away from the alarm blaring from her phone. It’s funny how a night so simple, with no great declarations or plans for the evening, could still be so alive in her memory simply for the way they had laughed and danced and kissed until, as expected, a loud bang on the door had reminded them that the music was much too loud for a Thursday night and that there were other people living in the building.
It takes her another half an hour of sorting and arranging photos, deciding which are the ones worth putting into the album and writing small messages next to some of them (‘Remember this’, or ‘You make me so happy’). The book is far from full, enough space left for the photos yet to be taken, now that they will get to spend even more time together. (There's a part of her that wishes for that to be the rest of their lives, but that's another conversation to be had on an evening perfectly planned.)
The last one she picks isn’t the most recent but it is the one that started this next part of their journey together.
She's been awake for almost half an hour by now. She never thought herself to be overly romantic but it's hard to hide her smile as she keeps staring at Maia’s sleeping form (she tries by turning her face into her pillow for a moment, surprised by her own silliness). The room is barely lit, too early in the morning for the sun to break through the dark grey clouds but it’s just enough to appreciate the way Maia’s face is free of worries, lips parted slightly and chest rising and falling steadily. One insistent curl tumbles over her forehead between her brows, the rest of her dark hair is splayed out on the pillow and her hand barely brushes Izzy’s beneath the covers.
It feels a little like a scene out of a movie, staring at your lover in the early morning and wondering how you got so lucky. She wouldn’t even consider herself much of a morning person, usually savoring every minute she gets to sleep longer, and is well aware that in twenty minutes or so she will have to get up to get ready for another day. It’s that thought that has the sudden need rising within her chest to capture this moment as if that could make the next minutes stretch longer, time bending to her will to keep this for a few more minutes. The polaroid is just barely within reach, abandoned on the nightstand from some time earlier this week.
The soft click of the camera and printing sound is enough to have Maia stirring in her sleep, face burying into her pillow for a moment before she slowly blinks her eyes open. It’s so endearing, Izzy considers taking another one.
“Did you just take a picture of me while sleeping?” Her girlfriend's voice is low and throaty, still heavy with sleep and the fact she can barely keep her eyes open makes her chuckle. Placing the camera back on the bedside table together with the photo, Izzy shrugs simply.
“You’re just really cute.”
“Sometimes I wonder if you got the camera for me or for yourself.”
Despite the slight annoyance laced within her voice Maia reaches for her, pulling her in close so Isabelle can rest her head on her chest, one arm wrapping around her girlfriend’s waist and legs entangling beneath the covers. They breathe together for a few moments, eyes closed and savoring the feeling of warmth and happiness and worries at the back of their minds. Maia’s fingers keep running soothingly through the mess that is Izzy’s hair, almost enough to put her back to sleep if she didn’t know she’ll have to be up in just a few minutes.
“I wish we could stay like this forever.”
For a moment, the movement of Maia’s hand stops, a soft hum vibrating through her chest.
“So… move in with me.”
There’s a second or two in which Isabelle isn’t quite sure she heard correctly, heart racing as she leans up to hover above Maia, gaze searching for hers. There’s a hint of uncertainty, open and vulnerable in the way she bites her lip and her hand drops from Izzy’s hair to her shoulder, fingertips barely brushing her skin. “I mean… you spend so much time here anyway and I know the Institute will—“
There is no timeline in which Izzy doesn’t lean down at that exact moment to kiss her, morning breath be damned, interrupting whatever conclusions or worries Maia was going to express because there are none. She wants this, she wants this so much – and granted, she really does almost live here anyway, but moving in officially? Izzy feels like her chest might explode from happiness, spilling from her lips in laughter as Maia cups her face and leans into the kiss.
“Is that a yes?”
“It’s a yes.”
Izzy’s heart is beating one word: home.
All these memories and moments, preserved into small photos and one album but nothing beats Maia’s expression of absolute joy, the bright smile on her lips as she opens the small book, fingertips ghosting over the pages. She makes a comment here or there (“oh, remember when…”, or “I have no idea when or where this is”) but they become fewer and fewer the more pages she turns. By the end, Izzy is positive the three hours spent sorting and gluing were more than worth it to see her girlfriend with that soft, astounded look in her eyes.
The camera is ready to strike again; after all, there is plenty more room in the photo album that needs to be filled. The clicking sound and flash catches Maia’s attention, looking up with eyes wide from the caption beneath that last photo.
I love you so much.