my phone buzzed against the side of the bed, and i didn’t expect it. i wasn’t even thinking about texting anyone, not today, not now, and i almost ignored it, almost let it slide by like every other random notification, but something made me look, made me pick it up, and there it was — conrad. my chest tightened before i even opened it. international women’s day and there’s no greater woman than you. i stared at the words, my thumb hovering over the screen like if i moved too fast, the moment would shatter, and i’d break the spell or something. of course conrad would say something like that. so simple, so him, and yet it hit me like a punch i wanted to feel. my stomach twisted, my heart skipped, and my mind spun through a million different things at once, like maybe he meant it, maybe he was just being nice, maybe it was both, maybe it was nothing, but somehow it felt like everything. i tried to tell myself it was just a text. it was just words on a screen. but it wasn’t just words, not when it was him.

i stared at the screen, thumb hovering, heart doing that ridiculous flip-flop it always does around him. just reply, i told myself. just say something. but everything i could type sounded wrong. thanks? too casual. thank you, that’s sweet? too stiff. and of course, that tiny, stupid part of me that still hoped he was flirting just grinned at the thought of making me squirm over a text. i started typing again: you’re… so nice. that’s really sweet of you. and i stopped. my thumb hovered. too many words? not enough? did it sound like i cared too much? or like i didn’t care enough? i deleted it, took a deep breath, and tried again. wow, conrad… that actually made me smile. thank you. better. it sounded like me. sort of. and maybe that was enough. i hit send before i could overthink it again, and instantly my stomach tightened. what if he didn’t like it? what if i sounded stupid? what if i sounded like i was trying too hard? i shoved the phone onto the bed beside me and curled up, staring at the ceiling, and of course i checked my phone again five seconds later. and there it was — no reply yet, of course, because conrad takes his time, because everything with him is slow and teasing and somehow always perfect. and i couldn’t help imagining him grinning while he typed it, imagining the way he always makes it look effortless, while i sit here twisting myself into knots over a few words.

and then he kissed me. not slowly. not carefully. but with a clear sense of devotion, like he wanted this to be true just as much as i did. his lips were warm. his hands were gentle. and for the first time in such a long while, i let myself believe in something that wasn’t fear or memory or half‑spoken dreams. i kissed him back. i didn’t think about how it would look. i didn’t think about timing. i didn’t think about the sparks inside me that still belonged to someone else. i just let myself fall into the moment, because it felt right — because it felt honest — because it felt like the first time in forever that something wasn’t tangled up in grief or longing or loss. but then i heard footsteps. not loud. not dramatic. not the kind of entrance that comes with a yell or a shout. just… footsteps that pulled my eyes open. there @appasionato stood. conrad. he wasn’t yelling. he wasn’t storming toward us. he just looked — like he had walked into the exact thing he had been taught to fear. his eyes found mine, and in that instant everything stopped. the heat of the pavement. the warmth of jeremiah’s body. the way my heart had felt full just seconds ago. it all vanished. his expression was too still, too composed, too hollow — like someone who had rehearsed heartbreak but never expected to actually feel it. there was no fury, no accusation, no dramatic sweep of emotion. just that stillness, like a quiet echo of a truth i’d been trying to avoid. i couldn’t breathe. jeremiah froze — lips still brushing mine, hands tense against my back — but i didn’t think about any of him. not then. all i saw was conrad’s face.

valentine’s day was never really about the flowers. or the candy. or the chalky little hearts that tasted like dust and promises. for me, it was always about him. and the way he gave me the moon and the stars.

it’s strange loving someone for so long that it stops feeling like falling and starts feeling like breathing. like something your body just does without asking permission. i’ve loved conrad fisher since i was ten years old and he wouldn’t let me beat him in the pool. since he rolled his eyes at me but still waited at the bottom of the stairs so we could walk to the beach together. since he gave me that infinity necklace and said it like it was nothing. infinity. like he didn’t understand what that word would do to me. there were summers where he felt so close i could hear the exact rhythm of his heartbeat. and there were summers where he felt oceans away, even when he was standing right in front of me. i’ve loved him in both versions. the quiet one who keeps everything buried under his ribs. the jealous one. the broken one. the one who said terrible things because he was scared. the one who drove all night for me. the one who stood in a motel room and looked at me like i was something he couldn’t afford to lose.

the night by the fireplace plays in my head sometimes, slow and golden. the way his hands trembled just a little. the way he whispered my name like it meant home. the truth is, we’ve never really been apart. even when we tried. even when i told myself i was done. even when he stepped back because he thought letting me go was the noble thing to do. loving conrad has never been easy. but it has always been real. and if love is choosing someone, over and over, even when it’s hard — then i’ve been choosing him my whole life. today, he’s in the kitchen pretending he doesn’t care that it’s valentine’s day. he didn’t plan anything. but i know him. i know the way he hides sweetness behind sarcasm. i know he probably has something tucked away somewhere, waiting for the right moment. he thinks i don’t notice. i always notice. i step closer to him slowly, like i’m approaching something fragile. ❝ don’t pretend you forgot what today is, ❞ i murmur. ❝ you always act like you don’t care… but you do. you care about everything. you just hide it. ❞ i reach for his hand and lace our fingers together, pressing them between us. ❝ i used to think loving you meant chasing you. or waiting. or proving something. ❞ i swallow, my voice softer now. ❝ but it doesn’t. It’s just… this. being here with you. ❞

he shifts closer — so close i can feel the warmth of him through my sweater. and then he says it, quiet, almost like he’s afraid to break it. can we always be this close? my heart stutters. because i know what he means. not just physically. not just tonight. i lift my hand and press it flat against his chest, right over his heart. ❝ we’ve always been this close, ❞ i whisper. ❝ even when we weren’t speaking. even when we were hurting each other. even when i tried to move on. ❞ i shake my head slightly. ❝ you’re it for me, conrad. you always have been. i don’t want almosts anymore. i don’t want maybes. i just want us. like this. honest. choosing each other. ❞ I lean up, brushing my nose against his. ❝ so yes, ❞ i breathe. ❝ we can always be this close. as long as you don’t run when it gets hard. as long as you let me in. ❞ my fingers tighten in his shirt. ❝ i’m not going anywhere. not this time. ❞ and then softer, like a promise i’ve been holding since i was ten years old —

the voice seems distant now, a whole ocean and an island away. she remembers the voices screaming over in static when their identities were confirmed, the endurance's crew had made it out of the dragon's triangle and were embraced by the calm open waters. she remembers watching a marble rolling across the floor with the toss of the freighter along the waves. lara watched it and watched it and watched it roll back and forth - and suddenly she opens her eyes and the steel walls are gone, replaced by a lifeless gray ceiling. lights turned down, a sharp beep that plays over and over near her head.

the world is suddenly loud and bright, lighting and thunder flash from outside and all she can see is trees, blood, and fire. no ! someone screams, lara doesn't realise she's the one screaming, when hands push her shoulders down into the hospital bad. she hears a grunt, someone pins her elbow, another her knees, her side screams as she feels the warmth spill from her wound, don't fucking touch me ! let go !

then she opens her eyes again, this time the blinds are shut, the beeping is gone. she tries to sit up but her wrists ae caught, stuck, just by her hips and lara's breath hitches as she looks down at herself in a drab hospital gown, at her wrists, bound by restraints to the bedrails, at the hand claiming hers immediately and pulling her attention. her eyes track the arm it belongs to and land on @appasionato's face, and she decides she must be dreaming. she opens her mouth to speak but her voice doesn't come out and she realises her throat is parched, it hurts to even drag the air through her lips and she shakes her hands again, as if she could somehow wiggle them out of the restraints, ❝ off .. get them off ..❞ she croaks through the fog and the ache.

when i round the corner into the bathroom, he’s sitting on the edge of the tub, shirtless, trying to keep the towel wrapped around his leg. i can practically hear him telling me it’s fine before he even opens his mouth. he says he got cut. that he’s okay. that he can take care of it himself. i see the blood trail up the stairs, see the way he’s favoring that side — no, this isn’t fine. my chest tightens, my hands clench. i'm not going to let him pretend anymore. i kneel down and grab the towel tighter. then i say it — sharp, irritable, more exasperated than gentle: ❝ can you just let me help you, for fuck’s sake? ❞ it comes out sharper than i meant. i see him flinch, and a little of the tension between us loosens — but not enough. he still stiffens, jaw tight. i almost roll my eyes at him. almost.

i kneel down, tugging the towel closer. my fingers tremble slightly, but i pretend they don’t. i focus on the scrape, on the sting of the saltwater hitting it, on the small, careful movements that make me feel like i’m doing something right. he doesn’t say anything. he doesn’t need to. i can feel him there, breathing unevenly, shifting just enough to make me aware of how close he is. my chest tightens. i tell myself it’s just blood and salt, just him needing help, nothing else. but my hands linger a second too long. my eyes catch his without meaning to, and i look away immediately. i turn on the water, wash the blood off his leg, and suddenly every tiny shift he makes sends a little jolt through me. his skin is warm. his breath is uneven. when the rubbing alcohol stings the cut, he leans in — just barely — onto my shoulder. i don’t pull away, not fast enough. i freeze for a second, aware of how close he is, of how much his presence presses against me. my hands linger on his leg, even though i’ve already done what i came to do. my heart is racing, but i tell myself it’s just the adrenaline, just the scrape, just the salt stinging the wound.

but it’s not.

i can feel the warmth of his shoulder against mine, his steady, uneven breaths brushing over my arm, and i realize i’ve been holding my own. holding my hands, holding my thoughts, holding everything i’ve wanted to say all summer. i want to pull back. i want to step away and act like nothing happened. but a small, stubborn part of me doesn’t. part of me wants to stay exactly like this, to memorize the feel of him leaning in, even if only for a second. i bite the inside of my cheek, trying to focus on the task — on finishing the bandage, on the antiseptic, on anything that isn’t the heat of him so close to me. when i finally step back, pretending it’s nothing, the quiet is heavy. i tell myself i’ve done my job, that he’s safe, that’s all that matters. but my chest still feels tight, my hands still feel warm, and for the first time, i notice the small ache of wanting him to stay, even just a moment longer.