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@cind3rbelly : ♡ for a one line-starter! / taylor & belly
“how are you doing? for real.” taylor hasn't seen her best friend in person in five months. she taps the space on the bed next to her. “come talk to me — tell me about paris.”
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the cold, icy wind bouncing off the ocean felt refreshing against conrad's skin. he closed his eyes and sighed as he let the sounds of the sea and the frigid air swirl across his face like dancers in a winter ball. he needed to leave the house, if only for a moment. being inside — with her — brought up memories. memories he'd rather forget. because if he couldn't — he would drown in the same emotions that left him for ruin three years ago, when he made the mistake of letting her go the first time. conrad thought that maybe if he came outside and stood by the beach, listened to the sound of the waves splashing against the shore, he might actually be able to force the knot in his stomach to disappear. because that's all it takes, right? if he has the intention of giving belly and jeremiah their fighting chance, then he could do it. that's all it takes. that's all he needs. he could stand here and let the cold make him numb, so that when he faces her again, he will feel nothing. he'll have let the ghost of emotions past go.
conrad did his due diligence. just by standing here, he respected jeremiah enough to prove to himself he could fight the feelings. the unending, relentless ache that bubbled in his chest every time she looked him with that particular gaze. he left the house before anything happened to make him regret that night. at least that's what he told himself. as he stared at the water, his cheeks flush from the dead, winter air, he wondered what belly thought.
......
when he got back inside, his nose ached from the sudden change in temperature. he shrugged off his coat in mild irritation, throwing it against the marble island. for a few minutes, all he did was stand there, dissociating from his own body. he didn't know if it was the sudden change in temperature or where his mind went, but all he knew to do was freeze.
a hand comes up to his heart, rubbing at the fabric of his sweater, like he's confirming it's still there. there's a subtle pitter patter to his heart he can't quite catch. fingers grip around the fabric of the shirt, like it'd slow down the incessant beating. one. two. three. he counted, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, exhaling with his mouth. the anxiety was a little more manageable lately. conrad managed to temper a few panic attacks, but around belly, something in him gave. it haunted him, a ghost that would never give him peace. dear god, he still fucking loved her. he would never stop fucking loving her.
slowly, he approached the living room, belly tucked away in comfort, cozied by her pajamas and movies he'd always loved listening to her debate about. one, two, three, he said to himself, the ticking of the count ringing in his head like a crescendo reaching its apex. breathe, conrad.
when he finally saw her, the ringing stopped and everything went silent. the weekend started so innocently, conrad thought to himself. they laughed, drank hot cocoa, and gorged themselves in christmas treats. it was so fucking innocent. but that feeling came back. it came the first time he'd seen her again, by the pool when he was smoking. it came when he danced with her at the debutante ball. and it came that night of the motel, when he laid on the ground thinking of her. that haunting, ceaseless ghost, that would never leave him alone, not ever in his life.
❛❛ belly. ❜❜ he choked, like the coward he was and felt like. her name felt like a thousand knives in his gut when he said it. ❛❛ belly — i can't do this. ❜❜ / @cind3rbelly
" wow , look who finally decided to pick up her phone . happy birthday ! " the birthday wishes come out rushed , immediately changing the subject on @cind3rbelly . " hey , so , remember when i asked you when you were coming home ? about that . . . "
@cind3rbelly
under different skies , the desire to see her again rises and falls, softly at times and viciously when the world becomes a whisper. paris had been magical : the view of the cityscape from belly's favorite rooftop, the glow of the seine river, brushed with moonlight, laughter with new, solid friends, and the closeness of two bodies that were infinitely spellbound. it was the deepening of a critical chapter and the brightening of a life. returning home after the conference, the rest of the summer had felt light, survivable, and now conrad was consumed with thoughts of the holidays.
a couple of months. then i can see her again. . . . what if it feels different?
he steps outside of the library with a stack of medical textbooks hugged to his side. preparation material for his return to stanford after the winter break. he pulls out his phone and presses it to his ear, eyes dragging across a clear sky. " hey, " is uttered as she answers, his heart soaring, burning like the bright, california day. " moon's supposed to be out. i think it's still below the horizon for me. can you see it? "
@cind3rbelly asked: laser. our muses go to a laser tag event and test out their stealth and aim as they try to hunt one another down to tag them.
conrad hugged the shadows, pressing his back to the cool, slick wall of the arena, feeling the hum of neon lights vibrate faintly under his skin. every corner, every stack of crates and barricades seemed alive with possibilities, and he could almost sense her presence before he saw it, that familiar thrill of the hunt tightening in his chest. he raised his gun, scanning the shifting darkness, letting his eyes trace every flicker of light, every reflection, every small movement that could betray her. come on, let’s see what you’ve got, he muttered under his breath, testing the sound of his own voice, watching for any reaction that might give her away. adrenaline surged, but there was something else beneath it — excitement, admiration, and a sharp, relentless ache he couldn’t quite name. he crouched low, stepping silently between beams of colored light, imagining how close she might be, feeling the tension coil tighter in his stomach. i’m not letting you win this time he whispered to himself, a grin tugging at his lips despite the calculated focus of his movements. every heartbeat seemed amplified in the darkness, every breath drawn with precision, as if the arena existed solely to sharpen his senses, to keep him on edge, to keep him thinking about her, about how infuriatingly untouchable she was, and how much he wanted to be the one to finally catch her.
he pressed forward, keeping low behind a stack of glowing crates, every step measured, every movement silent. the hum of the arena buzzed in his ears, and his eyes darted to every shadow, every neon streak of light, imagining where she might be waiting. alright, fisher, focus he muttered under his breath, scanning the corners like a predator circling its prey. a sudden flicker of motion caught his eye — a shadow just beyond the barricade — and his pulse spiked. he lunged forward, aiming carefully, and fired a quick shot, the laser beam slicing through the darkness. ❝ gotcha… maybe, ❞ he whispered, ducking low as he felt the familiar thrill of the chase tighten in his chest. he pressed closer, crouching behind another barricade, fingertips grazing the edge as if he could feel her just on the other side. every breath was shallow, every heartbeat amplified, the arena shrinking down to just him and the thought of finally tagging her. ❝ come on, come out, ❞ he muttered, voice barely audible, letting it ride on the edge of anticipation and challenge, ❝ let’s see what you’ve got, conklin. ❞ he pivoted quickly, scanning left, then right, gun poised, stepping silently into a corridor of neon light, ready to strike the instant he saw the slightest movement. the thrill of it, the chase, made him grin despite himself; he could almost feel her presence, almost hear that subtle shift she made in her breathing when she was about to vanish and reappear, always one step ahead — and yet he loved it, every second of it. ❝ i’m not letting you slip away this time, ❞ he whispered fiercely, moving faster now, each motion precise, calculating, fueled by adrenaline and something deeper, something that had nothing to do with the game and everything to do with her.
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@cind3rbelly asked: [scratch.] sender rakes their nails down receiver's back.
conrad’s chest tightened the instant her nails raked down his back, a jolt of shock and something far more dangerous shooting through him. every nerve seemed to light on fire, and he struggled to focus, caught somewhere between wanting to pull away and aching to lean into her touch. he could feel the tension coiling in his muscles, the heat of her hand lingering longer than it should, and it made his heart pound in a way that was almost painful. his mind raced, images of her mischievous grin, the teasing lilt in her voice, the way she always seemed to find the exact spot to unnerve him — he couldn’t stop thinking about any of it. there was a maddening mix of frustration and longing, the kind that left him breathless, and he hated how completely she had this hold over him, hated how much he wanted her to keep going. every instinct screamed to act, to move, to say something clever or commanding, but the words caught in his throat, swallowed by the heat pooling in his chest. he felt exposed, vulnerable in a way he hadn’t planned for, yet the vulnerability itself was intoxicating, thrilling. he wanted to tell her to stop, and at the same time, he wanted her to never stop, to keep teasing, to keep testing him until he didn’t know what was real anymore — her presence, her touch, the ache she stirred inside him. he was aware of every heartbeat, every shallow breath, every slight shift she made, and he realized, with a mix of exasperation and awe, that nothing in the world could make him feel more alive than this — than her.
conrad’s chest tightened the moment her nails grazed his back, and he let out a low, uneven breath, ❝ belly… ❞ the word catching on his tongue before he could steady it. he wanted to pull her closer, to close the small distance between them, but something inside him held him back, a mix of fear and need twisting together. ❝ i…don’t know if i should let you do that… ❞ he said, voice rough, barely above a whisper, because even admitting it felt like surrender. his fingers itched to move, to touch her, to stop the teasing or to let it go on, and he couldn’t decide which. ❝ it’s… hard to focus when you’re like this… ❞ he murmured, more to himself than to her, his throat tight as he swallowed the ache in his chest. every inch of him wanted her closer, wanted the heat of her hand, the edge of her nails, the way she could make him lose himself in a single glance — but he forced himself to stay still, to restrain the part of him that wanted to give in entirely. ❝ you know that i'd never make you do anything you weren't ready for, right? ❞ he breathed out finally, the words faltering and uneven, his hesitation plain, his desire wrapped tightly in caution, because he was caught somewhere between wanting everything and being terrified of what it would do to him if he let it happen.
𝙿𝚁𝙾𝙼𝙿𝚃: this shit hurts me, too, you know. @cind3rbelly
THAT WAS THE LAST THING THAT HE WANTED. He had done everything in his power to keep her and Jeremiah safe and happy. The walls were crumbling, breaking under the pressure of everyone's secrets. ❝ I didn't want it to come out like that, ❞ he tried to explain. Pink rings clung to eyes which were sore from crying. He doesn't remember if he even fell asleep last night, time just looped and looped in his head. Their beach conversation was on replay.
❝ Please just think about whether marrying him is what you really want. You shouldn't have to lose out on anything in life. ❞
@cind3rbelly asked: [ TXT ] : when will i see you again? for conrad fisher.
SMS / CONTACT: my heart / SENT ]: soon… i promise. just thinking about seeing you again makes it feel like forever. SMS / CONTACT: my heart / SENT ]: i can’t stop picturing you. the way you laugh, the way your hair falls in your face, the way you make even the simplest things feel like they matter. SMS / CONTACT: my heart / SENT ]: for what it's worth.... i'm counting down the minutes.
