i have to wait until the 17th to get an ao3 invite but i really need to get this out so here goes nothing.
[set after the movie. i didn’t write enough about the background setting so i thought this would help?]
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Isabela doesn’t know how things escalated so quickly. Or maybe she does but her mind is just struggling to catch up with how she’s so impossibly close to Mirabel right now, much closer than they’ve ever been since the failed gift ceremony, that her brain just went oops! and deleted all the details that led up to this moment.
She thinks it’s stupid — the way her heart’s racing at even just the thought of cuddling when she had been quite literally on top of, below and inside Mirabel a couple of times already. It’s so stupid. It’s so incredibly stupid that she can’t even get herself to scoff.
Having the girl so close was doing many, many things to her. She couldn’t even think of being hot and bothered now. All of Isabela’s attention was directed at the beating of her heart — how it’s so loud she’s scared Mirabel might hear it, wake up and talk to her. Or ask her in that adorable sleepy drawl of hers, with those eyes that can’t see for shit without her glasses so she has to squint, “Isa? What’s wrong?” Isabela would have to kiss her then because it would be a crime not to, and kissing more often than not leads to grabby prodding hands and their clothes slipping off their shoulders.
Tomorrow was going to be a big day. Something about a wedding, the church needing some color and their Abuela needing Isabela’s flowers fresh and ready hours before the ceremony.
There was no way Mirabel could hear it but she made sure, anyway. Just in case. (Not really. Isabela just wanted to look at her little sister’s sleeping face.) Moving slightly to steal a glance at the smaller girl’s face, she prays to both heaven and hell that Mirabel’s deep in sleep.
And then she halted suddenly, as if she had seen something unknown fly by her and she needed to know what it was.
When did Mirabel become so beautiful?
Under the cloak of the night and within the safety of her magical room, Isabela didn’t need to be wary of anyone’s gaze and what they might think. So she takes her time getting a good long look at Mirabel’s pretty, unabashedly imperfect face.
Without the slightest hint of powder, without any furrowed brow caused by physical strain, and with only peace and comfort to adorn her face, Mirabel was beautiful. The people of the valley could praise Isabela’s beauty and talent for as long as their lives and tongues could let them but damn all their flowerbeds if they haven’t spared Mirabel the same treatment. Isabela’s fingers itched to caress each and every wrinkle — the ones Mirabel got through the years because she laughed freely when she did, because she smiled as often as her heart let her, because she loved and was not afraid to show it.
Isabela had to stop herself from reaching out when she noticed the slightest crease on Mirabel’s forehead. What could you be dreaming of? For a second she wished she could kiss away the bad dream and hug her tighter. Then maybe it’ll bring comfort to her dreams and ease that wrinkled space.
Maybe that’s possible but she’s not sure so she doesn’t.
Isabela stayed there unmoving, and yet, at the same time, speeding through hours, weeks and months into the future. She began to wonder, now with more optimism compared to the nights she spent wondering when her Tio Bruno’s prophecy will come true. If she had enough guts to say it directly, if she could say it without beating around the bush, or looking away, or brushing it off with the same haughtiness she exuded on a daily basis — she wondered if she could steal Mirabel away from their responsibilities as Madrigals for just a moment and not feel guilty about it. Maybe there was a life with Mirabel where she could freely call her sister mi vida, seizing what little freedom closed doors and hushed conversations could afford them. And Mirabel wouldn’t have an astounded look on her face because Isabela showing her affection isn’t strange, awkward and out of place anymore. Because by then, she would know that Isabela adores her the way Agustín and Félix adore their wives. Mirabel could look up at her and smile, cheeks dusted rose pink, and call her something cheesy like mi corazón.
The sheer thought, the mere suggestion excites and terrifies Isabela. She’s never done this before. She had Mariano but he didn’t make her feel like a happy fool. None of Mariano’s heartfelt serenatas could ever match the way Mirabel makes her feel; deeply, madly, truly in love.
Isabela stayed there, unmoving. Maybe she’ll stay like that and force herself to be satisfied with her love life’s status quo. Maybe she’ll never make a move, maybe she will. As her breathing fell into rhythm with Mirabel’s own, in the silence of the night, both of them vulnerable and at peace, Isabela decided she could give herself more time.
The next day, a cactus grew between Mirabel and some boy with hair growing past his nape and a pair of eyes stuck staring at Mirabel and the bouquet in her hands.
Isabela apologized gracefully, blaming the cactus’ growth on her unconscious response at something else entirely. Something that wasn’t Mirabel politely shoving the bouquet back into the bride’s hands and insisting she was too young to be catching a bouquet, Agustín having a whispering battle with Julieta; his wife telling him, “You said it yourself, Mirabel is still young. She won’t be getting married soon,” — something that wasn’t her newest fear barging in on her peace in the form of a boy who looks like he’s writing a love song in his head as he continued to stare at Mirabel.
isamira + camilores double dates would be so annoying, Dolores will be there like “isa there’s a perfectly good chair over there” and Isabela’s grip on Mira’s hips tighten like “ño >:(” and hisses like a cat
ok ok 4750 words of isamira role swap fic… this FUCKING chapter… first chapters hard ;-; BUT I GOT THROUGH THE WORST PART.
now i just need to… keep going… ┌( ಠ_ಠ)┘
also uuhhhh it’s technically tomorrow already so here have some uhhh posting one line of isamira role swap au fic every day, day 3
If she were talking with her mother, Mirabel would have gotten a stern scolding about being nice to her sister, but she was not talking to her mother, she was talking to her Abuela, and her Abuela understood where Mirabe came from quite well.
