#conrad x reader

The thing about happiness was that people noticed it when it had been missing for a long time.

That was the problem.

Not the relationship. Not the secret. The happiness.

And Conrad just found out everyone was going to Cousins three days before they were supposed to leave.

Jeremiah called first, sounding distracted in the way he always did when something was bothering him but he didn’t want to admit it. The conversation wandered in circles for nearly twenty minutes, touching on summer plans, the beach house, Steven, and Belly, though somehow every subject seemed to lead back to her anyway. And after that came a call from Belly herself but even though she tried to sound normal, Conrad could hear the exhaustion underneath her voice. It wasn’t the kind that came from lack of sleep. It was the kind that came from caring too much about something and not knowing what to do about it. Then Steven started sending messages to the group chat, complaining about Taylor in increasingly dramatic paragraphs before immediately following each one with a new message insisting everything was completely fine.

By the time Conrad finally set his phone down, he felt like he’d spent the afternoon listening to a series of relationship autopsies. Everyone seemed unhappy in one way or another. Jeremiah and Belly were trapped in one of those complicated spaces where nobody knew exactly what they were to each other anymore. Steven and Taylor were fighting again. Even Belly, who had always been so hopeful about love, sounded tired whenever she talked about it.

The strange thing was that for the first time in years, Conrad wasn’t joining them in their misery.

The realization felt so unfamiliar that it took him a moment to recognize it.

For so long, he had been the complicated one. The difficult one. The person carrying enough grief and guilt and unresolved feelings to fill every room he entered.

Ever since Susannah died, sadness had attached itself to him so completely that sometimes he wondered if people remembered there had once been another version of him. A lighter version. A version that laughed more easily and didn’t constantly feel like he was trying to keep himself from falling apart. Grief had become such a permanent fixture in his life that even he had started thinking of it as part of his personality. It lived in the pauses before he answered questions, in the tension that never quite left his shoulders, in the way he often found himself staring out windows without realizing it. Some days it was manageable. Other days it followed him everywhere. It still did, if he was being honest. His mother was still gone. There were still moments when he reached for his phone because he wanted to tell her something before remembering he couldn’t. There were still songs he skipped and memories that caught him off guard. The pain hadn’t disappeared. It never would. But somewhere over the last few months, something else had quietly settled beside it.

You.

The thought came to him as naturally as breathing. Conrad glanced up from his phone and immediately found you across the room. You were stretched out on his bed with one of his sweatshirts pulled over your hands, completely absorbed in the novel resting open in your lap. The late afternoon sunlight poured through the window beside you, painting everything in warm shades of gold. Dust drifted lazily through the air. The room was quiet except for the occasional turn of a page and the distant sound of traffic outside.

You hadn’t noticed him looking yet. You were too focused on your book, your eyebrows occasionally pulling together whenever something happened in the story. Every few minutes you would shift slightly, your leg brushing his without thinking about it.

Such a small thing. Such an ordinary thing.

Yet Conrad felt his chest tighten every time.

Maybe that was the part that surprised him most. Happiness hadn’t arrived dramatically. There hadn’t been a singular moment where everything changed. It had happened slowly, quietly, in the background of his life while he wasn’t paying attention.

It happened during late-night phone calls that lasted until neither of you could remember what you’d originally been talking about. During drives with no destination. During afternoons spent studying together in comfortable silence. During all the little moments that seemed insignificant until he looked back and realized they weren’t. Somehow you had slipped into his life without demanding anything from him. You never asked him to be less sad. You never treated his grief like a problem that needed solving. You simply sat beside him when things were difficult and laughed with him when they weren’t. And over time, Conrad discovered something terrifying: being with you made him feel lighter. Not cured. Not fixed. Just lighter. Like he could finally put down some of the weight he’d been carrying for so long.

The truly embarrassing part was how obvious the effect was.

Conrad used to think people exaggerated when they talked about being in love. He used to think they were dramatic when they described constantly wanting to look at someone. Then he met you, and suddenly he understood it all. Half the time he found himself watching you without realizing it. Watching you read. Watching you talk. Watching you laugh at things that weren’t even particularly funny. The worst part was that he genuinely enjoyed it.

Right now, for example, you were doing absolutely nothing interesting. You were sitting on his bed reading a book. That was it. Yet Conrad couldn’t stop looking over every few minutes. Couldn’t stop smiling every time he did. If Jeremiah ever found out, he would be insufferable about it.

The thought almost made him laugh.

Instead he leaned back against the headboard and let himself watch you for another moment. The sunlight had shifted enough that it illuminated the side of your face. One strand of hair kept falling forward, and every few pages you pushed it back behind your ear with the exact same absentminded gesture. Conrad knew he should probably stop staring. He knew it was ridiculous. But every time he looked away, his attention drifted back. As though some invisible thread connected him to wherever you happened to be.

Maybe that was why the idea of Cousins suddenly seemed complicated.

Not because he didn’t want to go.

He did.

The beach house would always feel like home, even now.

But everyone else was arriving there carrying heartbreak. Relationship drama. Uncertainty. They were coming because things weren’t working. Because they needed space. Because they needed answers.

Meanwhile, Conrad was sitting here trying not to smile every time his girlfriend turned a page.

It felt unfair somehow.

Almost selfish.

The truth was that he wanted to tell people about you. More than he cared to admit, actually.

He wanted to stop catching the word girlfriend before it slipped out in conversation. He wanted to stop pretending that the person he texted first thing every morning and last thing every night was just another friend. Sometimes he would be halfway through telling Jeremiah a story before realizing he had to carefully edit you out of it. Other times Belly would ask what he’d been doing over the weekend, and Conrad would find himself summarizing entire days without mentioning the person he’d spent every hour with.

It felt strange. Wrong, almost. Because for the first time in years, he had something in his life that made him happy without complications attached to it. No uncertainty. No confusion. No endless knot of feelings he couldn’t untangle.

Just you.

The simple, extraordinary fact that you existed and somehow loved him back.

But every time he considered telling everyone, he found himself looking back at the group chat.

At Jeremiah’s frustration hidden beneath jokes. At Belly’s exhaustion. At Steven’s dramatic relationship updates that somehow managed to sound both hopeful and doomed at the same time. Everyone seemed to be carrying around their own version of heartbreak. Everyone seemed stuck trying to figure out where they stood with the people they loved. Against that backdrop, the idea of showing up at Cousins and announcing that he was happier than he’d been in years felt selfish somehow. Worse than selfish. It felt like showing off. Like arriving at a funeral and talking about how good your day had been.

Conrad knew that wasn’t entirely rational, but the feeling lingered anyway. How could he explain that after spending so long being the person everyone worried about, he suddenly wasn’t anymore? How could he explain that the constant ache in his chest hadn’t disappeared but had somehow become easier to carry because someone was sharing the weight?

His gaze drifted toward you again, as if his thoughts naturally ended there. You were still sitting on his bed, your book forgotten in your lap now, sunlight pooling around you in soft golden patches. The room felt warm and lazy with late afternoon. Outside, he could hear distant traffic and the occasional bark of a dog somewhere down the street. Inside, everything felt suspended in one of those quiet moments that only happened when you were completely comfortable with another person. The kind of silence that didn’t need filling. The kind that felt like home.

As though sensing his attention, you looked up from your book. Your eyes met his instantly. And then you smiled.

It was immediate.

The kind of smile that appeared because you were genuinely happy to see someone looking at you.

“What?” you asked.

Conrad opened his mouth, fully intending to say nothing.

Instead, he realized he was smiling too.

Apparently that was something he did now.

Something he couldn’t seem to stop doing.

“What?” Conrad asked.

“The smiling.”

He frowned.

“The what?”

“The smiling.”

You pointed directly at him.

Conrad rolled his eyes and leaned back against the headboard, but the effort was completely ruined by the fact that he was still smiling.

A laugh escaped you, filling the room for only a second before fading away.

The sound hit Conrad somewhere directly beneath his ribs.

Every time.

Every single time.

It didn’t matter how often he heard it.

It didn’t matter whether it came from a joke, a movie, or something completely ridiculous. The reaction was always the same. His chest tightened. His stomach flipped slightly. Everything in him seemed to soften all at once.

Which was probably a problem.

A serious problem, actually.

Because people were not supposed to react this strongly every time their girlfriend laughed.

At least he assumed they weren’t.

“You know,” you said, setting your book aside completely now, “normal people don’t smile every single time they look at someone.”

Conrad let out a quiet laugh.

Then he looked at you again.

The sweatshirt sleeves hanging over your hands. The crease between your eyebrows that appeared whenever you were trying not to smile. The familiar comfort of your presence filling the room.

And suddenly honesty seemed easier than pretending.

“I’m not normal about you.”

The words slipped out before he could stop them.

For a moment the room went completely still.

Your expression softened instantly.

The teasing disappeared.

Something warmer replaced it.

Something that made Conrad wish he could take a picture of the way you were looking at him and keep it forever.

Because the truth was embarrassingly simple.

He was so in love.

Hopelessly. Completely.

In the kind of way that made everything else in his life seem brighter around the edges. In the kind of way that made ordinary afternoons feel important. In the kind of way that made him understand every ridiculous love song he’d ever mocked.

And maybe that was exactly why he couldn’t bring himself to tell everyone yet.

Everyone else was arriving at Cousins carrying relationship problems.

He was arriving with the solution to all of his.

Showing up hand-in-hand with you while Jeremiah and Belly tried to figure out whatever was happening between them felt wrong. Letting Steven watch the two of you while he and Taylor spent half their time arguing felt wrong too. The more Conrad thought about it, the more obvious the answer became.

Nobody needed to know now.

“Secret relationship for the summer?” you asked after a moment, tilting your head.

Conrad nodded.

“Secret relationship for the summer.”

That should have been the end of the conversation.

The plan was straightforward. Keep things quiet. Act normal. Spend the summer in Cousins without anyone figuring it out.

Unfortunately, Conrad Fisher had apparently forgotten how to act normal around his girlfriend.

***

By the time they got inside the beach house, everyone had already noticed that something was different.

Not the relationship.

Nobody was looking for that.

It was the happiness.

Which, somehow, was worse.

Because secrets were normal. People expected secrets. This group practically lived on them. Every summer in Cousins seemed to come with at least three hidden crushes, two unresolved breakups, and one relationship nobody was willing to define out loud. People lied about who they liked. They lied about who they missed. They lied about being over things they were very obviously not over. It was practically tradition. Nobody would have been surprised if Conrad showed up carrying some new secret.

What nobody expected was for Conrad Fisher to walk through the front door looking happy.

Actually happy.

Not the polite version of happy he occasionally performed for other people. Not the carefully constructed version that disappeared the second he thought nobody was paying attention. This was something different. Something lighter. It sat in the way he carried himself, in the looseness of his shoulders, in the easy smile that appeared on his face without warning. The difference was subtle enough that a stranger might have missed it completely.

But these people weren’t strangers.

They had spent years watching Conrad become quieter.

Years watching grief settle into him.

Years watching him carry sadness around so consistently that eventually it stopped looking temporary and started looking permanent.

So naturally they noticed the second it wasn’t there.

The front door had barely finished opening before Jeremiah appeared from somewhere deeper in the house. One second there was shouting from the hallway and the sound of a cabinet slamming, and the next his brother was charging across the room at full speed. Conrad barely managed to drop his duffel bag before Jeremiah crashed into him, wrapping both arms around him in a hug hard enough to nearly knock him backward.

“Dude!”

Jeremiah’s voice rang through the entryway before Conrad even had both feet inside the house. A second later, his brother came barreling across the living room with a grin stretched across his face and his arms already open.

Conrad barely had enough time to drop his duffel bag onto the floor before Jeremiah collided with him.

The impact nearly knocked him backward.

“Good to see you too,” Conrad muttered with a laugh, wrapping one arm around him.

Immediately, the familiar smell of sunscreen, salt air, and whatever body spray Jeremiah had apparently bathed in this summer hit him. It was oddly comforting. Familiar in a way that instantly transported him back to every summer that had come before this one. The smell of beach days. Bonfires. Sand tracked through the house. Childhood.

For one brief moment, everything felt normal.

Then Jeremiah pulled away and froze.

It happened so subtly that Conrad almost missed it. One second Jeremiah was grinning ear to ear, still caught in the momentum of the reunion, his hands gripping Conrad’s shoulders as if he couldn’t quite believe his brother was finally standing in front of him again. The next, something shifted. The grin began to fade, not all at once, but slowly, like a wave receding from shore. His eyebrows drew together. His head tilted slightly to one side. His eyes narrowed in concentration as they moved across his brother's face with an intensity that felt oddly personal, as though he were studying a painting he had seen a thousand times before and had suddenly noticed an entirely new detail hidden within it. He didn’t look suspicious. He didn’t look concerned. If anything, he looked bewildered. Like reality had quietly rearranged itself while he wasn’t paying attention.

“Whoa.”

The word left him slowly.

Conrad frowned immediately.

“What?”

Jeremiah didn’t answer right away. Instead, his gaze continued traveling over Conrad’s features. His eyes lingered around his mouth, then his eyes, then somewhere in the general space of his expression, searching for something he couldn’t quite name. The silence stretched long enough to become uncomfortable.

“You look…”

He stopped.

Conrad stared.

Jeremiah pointed at him.

“You look good.”

Before Jeremiah could explain himself, another voice entered the conversation.

Steven wandered out of the kitchen carrying an open bag of chips, looking distracted in the way he always did when food was involved. He barely glanced up at first. Then his eyes landed on Conrad.

And he stopped walking.

The chip suspended halfway between the bag and his mouth remained forgotten in his hand.

His eyes narrowed.

“You look weird.”

Conrad let out a long sigh.

“Hello to you too.”

“No, seriously.”

Steven lowered the chip.

“You look really weird.”

Conrad stared at him.

“You guys are making me sound like I got replaced by a clone.”

“That’s honestly kind of what it feels like,” Steven admitted.

Jeremiah immediately pointed.

“Thank you.”

Conrad rubbed a hand over his face.

“What are you talking about?”

Neither of them answered immediately because neither of them seemed capable of explaining it.

It wasn’t anything obvious.

Conrad’s hair was still slightly messy from traveling. His clothes were the same comfortable, worn things he always wore. He wasn’t smiling. He wasn’t acting particularly different. He wasn’t suddenly bouncing off the walls with excitement.

And yet, something about him felt lighter.

The change existed in tiny places that shouldn’t have mattered but somehow did. It was in the looseness of his shoulders, no longer held perpetually tight as though bracing for impact. It was in the way his jaw wasn’t clenched. It was in how his eyes seemed clearer somehow, less shadowed, less burdened. The exhaustion that had lived permanently beneath them for years hadn’t completely disappeared, but it wasn’t the first thing anyone noticed anymore.

Across the room, Belly looked up from where she had been crouched beside a paper grocery bag, carefully organizing cans and boxes into neat piles across the kitchen counter. At first, it was nothing more than a passing glance, the kind of automatic look people gave when someone entered a room. But then her attention lingered. Her hand remained wrapped around a box of pasta she had been in the middle of putting away, and without realizing it, she stopped moving altogether. Her eyes stayed fixed on Conrad. There was something unsettling about the feeling that settled over her as she watched him. Like stumbling across a photograph you hadn’t seen in years and suddenly realizing how much time had passed.

For a moment, she couldn’t identify what felt different. It wasn’t his clothes. It wasn’t his hair. It wasn’t even anything he was actively doing. It was simply the overall impression of him. The atmosphere he carried into a room. The expression resting naturally on his face when he thought nobody was looking. Then it hit her all at once. The tightness was gone. Not completely, not entirely, but enough that she noticed the absence of it immediately. The permanent tension that had seemed woven into him for years—the guardedness, the exhaustion, the quiet heaviness he carried like a second skin—had loosened somehow.

And suddenly Belly found herself remembering summers she hadn’t thought about in years. Summers filled with endless afternoons on the beach and late-night games around this very table. Summers before hospitals became familiar places. Before phone calls nobody wanted to answer. Before funerals. Before loss settled over the house like a storm cloud that never fully moved on. Before grief became the first thing people noticed whenever they looked at Conrad Fisher. There had been a time when laughter came naturally to him. When smiles appeared so often nobody thought to remember them. When happiness wasn’t remarkable because it was simply normal. Looking at him now felt like catching a glimpse of that version again. Not entirely. Not perfectly. But enough to make something ache deep inside her chest. Because the truth was she hadn’t seen him look this light in years. Maybe longer.

And somehow the strangest part of all wasn’t that the change existed. It was that Conrad himself seemed completely oblivious to it.

***

The entire afternoon only made the mystery worse.

Or better, depending on who was being asked.

Once Belly noticed it, she couldn’t stop noticing it. The evidence seemed to appear everywhere. Small moments at first. Easy to dismiss individually. But together they formed something impossible to ignore.

Jeremiah made one of his ridiculous jokes while helping unload coolers from the car and Conrad actually laughed, a genuine laugh, not the brief huff of amusement he usually offered before retreating back into silence. Later, without anyone asking, he grabbed grocery bags from the trunk and carried them inside alongside everyone else, making multiple trips without complaint. He lingered in conversations instead of slipping away the second nobody was paying attention. When Steven started rambling about some story from college, Conrad stayed. When Jeremiah launched into an overly dramatic retelling of something that had happened two weeks ago, Conrad stayed. When Taylor joined in and somehow made the story even more exaggerated, Conrad stayed. He listened. He participated. He rolled his eyes. He argued. He smiled. At one point Laurel mentioned needing help moving a stack of storage boxes upstairs and before anyone else could volunteer, Conrad was already carrying them.

By dinner, the mystery had become impossible to ignore.

The dining room glowed beneath the soft golden light of early evening. Outside, the last traces of sunlight painted the sky in shades of orange and pink beyond the windows, while inside the familiar chaos of a Cousins summer dinner unfolded exactly as it always had. Plates covered every inch of the table. Bowls were passed back and forth. Someone kept reaching across somebody else’s seat. Conversations overlapped until it became impossible to tell where one ended and another began. Steven and Taylor had somehow started arguing about something so insignificant nobody else could even remember how it began, yet both seemed determined to defend their positions with the intensity of opposing lawyers in a courtroom. Jeremiah was talking animatedly with his hands, nearly knocking over his drink twice while trying to make a point. Laurel periodically interrupted everyone to remind them to actually eat their food before it got cold. The room buzzed with laughter and noise and movement, filled with the familiar warmth that had always defined summers in Cousins.

And right in the middle of it all sat you...and Conrad.

Looking suspiciously content.

Not happy in an obvious way. Not grinning. Not acting wildly out of character. If someone who didn’t know him walked into the room, they probably wouldn’t have noticed anything unusual at all. But everyone at that table knew Conrad. They knew every version of him. The carefree boy he used to be. The grieving teenager he had become. The guarded young man who spent years carrying more than he ever admitted. And because they knew him so well, the difference stood out like a spotlight. He was relaxed. Comfortable. He leaned back in his chair instead of sitting rigidly upright. He listened when people talked. He contributed to conversations without being dragged into them. Every so often a smile appeared at the corner of his mouth before fading again. The kind that seemed to happen before he could stop it. At one point Jeremiah made another stupid joke and Conrad laughed so unexpectedly that Taylor nearly dropped her fork. Steven actually stopped talking mid-sentence. Laurel looked up from serving herself vegetables. Belly caught Jeremiah staring openly from across the table.

Conrad, completely unaware of the attention he was attracting, reached for the bread basket and asked you to pass the butter.

The silence that followed lasted barely two seconds.

But it was enough.

Enough for everyone at the table to exchange glances.

Enough for the same thought to pass silently between them.

What the hell happened to Conrad Fisher?

Belly finally gave up and set down her fork.

The sound was small, barely more than a soft clink of metal against ceramic, but it cut cleanly through the layered noise of the table. It wasn’t loud enough to demand attention, not really, and yet it did exactly that. Conversations faltered mid-sentence. Steven stopped talking entirely, his mouth still slightly open as if he had forgotten what he was about to say. Jeremiah’s hands, which had been moving animatedly through the air a moment before, slowed and then lowered to rest against the edge of the table. And across from them all, Conrad lifted his gaze too, blinking once as if pulled out of a place he had been drifting comfortably inside.

“What?” he asked, confused, like he genuinely couldn’t understand why the entire table had suddenly shifted its attention toward him.

Belly didn’t look away.

Her eyes narrowed slightly, not in accusation exactly, but in focus, the kind of look she got when she refused to let something slide just because it was easier not to confront it. “What’s going on with you?” she asked.

Conrad blinked again.

“What does that mean?” he replied, too quickly, his brow furrowing in a way that suggested genuine bewilderment rather than defensiveness.

“It means,” Belly said slowly, carefully choosing her words as though she was afraid the wrong ones might make everything collapse back into silence again, “you’re different.”

That single sentence settled over the table like a held breath finally released, and in its place came a heaviness that nobody rushed to interrupt. It wasn’t awkward exactly. It was too familiar for that. It was recognition. The kind that comes when everyone in the room has been thinking the same thing for hours, maybe days, but no one has been willing to shape it into language. Jeremiah leaned back in his chair, exhaling through his nose like he’d been waiting for someone else to say it first. Steven stopped fidgeting entirely, his earlier energy dissolving into stillness. Nobody disagreed. Nobody tried to deflect it. Because Belly was right, and they all knew it.

Conrad looked vaguely horrified.

“I’m serious,” Belly added, her voice gentler now, as if she regretted the alarm that had flashed across his face. “You just seem…” She hesitated, eyes flicking down briefly to the table as she searched for something precise enough to hold what she meant. Then she looked back up at him, steadier this time. “Happier.”

The word landed softly, but it carried weight anyway.

Conrad didn’t respond immediately. For once, he didn’t have a quick retort or a defensive explanation ready. His mouth parted slightly, then closed again, as if whatever answer he might have offered had caught somewhere behind his ribs and refused to come out cleanly. His eyes moved slowly around the table, taking in each face one by one. Jeremiah, watching him with an expression caught somewhere between curiosity and something almost hopeful. Steven, unusually quiet, studying him like he was trying to solve a problem he didn’t yet have the language for. People who loved him. People who had watched him fracture and rebuild himself in pieces over time.

And then, without thinking, Conrad’s gaze drifted away from them.

Toward the kitchen.

Toward you.

You were standing near the counter where Laurel had left an open bottle of wine, the soft amber glow of the kitchen light catching in the glassware as you reached for a stack of tumblers. You were mid-conversation with her, laughing softly at something she had said, your shoulders relaxed in a way that made the space around you feel less like a room and more like a moment unfolding naturally. There was nothing performative about it. Nothing aware of being watched. Just ease. Just presence. And the second Conrad saw it, something in his expression shifted so subtly it almost didn’t register at first, except that it did, because everyone at that table had learned how to read him too well not to notice.

It was not dramatic. It wasn’t sudden.

It was softer than that.

Like a door inside him had quietly opened without permission.

His eyes changed first. The guarded distance that often lingered there, even in lighter moments, eased without effort. His shoulders followed a fraction of a second later, dropping as though they had finally remembered they didn’t have to stay braced. And then, almost imperceptibly, the corner of his mouth tilted, not into a full smile, but something dangerously close to it.

And in that single, uncalculated moment, everyone at the table saw it.

They saw what pulled him forward before he even realized he was moving.

Conrad pushed his chair back.

It scraped softly against the floor, but he was already halfway up before the sound even registered. One moment he had been sitting among them, still caught in the aftermath of questions he didn’t know how to answer, and the next he was standing, as if some invisible thread had tightened between him and the kitchen and refused to let him stay still any longer. There was no announcement. No hesitation. No explanation offered to the people watching him. Just movement. Natural, instinctive, almost absentminded in the way breathing is when you stop thinking about it.

Jeremiah slowly sat forward in his chair.

“Oh.”

It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t even particularly expressive. But it carried just enough recognition to shift the energy at the table again. Conrad froze for half a second, just long enough for it to be noticeable, before immediately looking away. His jaw tightened slightly, and he dragged a hand briefly across his mouth in a gesture that might have been meant to hide something or simply to ground himself. Either way, it didn’t work.

“You need something from the kitchen?” Jeremiah asked, far too casually, the innocence in his tone doing absolutely nothing to disguise the amusement building underneath it.

Conrad exhaled through his nose, the sound long and resigned, like he had walked directly into a situation he should have avoided but didn’t have the energy to correct anymore. “Yes,” he said flatly.

Jeremiah waited.

The pause stretched.

Conrad sighed again, and finally added, “More wine.”

“Of course you do,” Jeremiah said immediately, leaning back in his chair with the slow, satisfied ease of someone watching a puzzle piece slide exactly where they expected it to go.

By the time Conrad disappeared from the dining room, Jeremiah was practically vibrating with restrained laughter, shoulders shaking slightly as he tried and failed to look composed. Steven, on the other hand, had gone completely still, his fork hovering uselessly over his plate as his attention tracked every step Conrad took. He watched him cross the open space between dining room and kitchen. Watched him slow, not because he hesitated, but because he didn’t need to move quickly. Watched the exact moment Conrad reached the counter where you stood beside Laurel, still mid-conversation, still laughing softly at something she had said.

And then he saw it.

The way Conrad didn’t interrupt, not exactly.

He just…entered.

Effortlessly. Like he had always belonged there.

Like the space between you and the rest of the room wasn’t a boundary at all, just an optional pause he didn’t feel compelled to respect. He said something under his breath first, something Steven couldn’t hear, but it made Laurel smile in that knowing, fond way she sometimes did when she saw things others hadn’t fully named yet. You turned toward him immediately, your expression brightening in a way that didn’t feel performative or surprised so much as naturally responsive, as if his presence was not an interruption but a continuation of whatever conversation had already been happening in some invisible layer of the room.

Conrad leaned slightly against the counter as he spoke, shoulders relaxed in a way Steven hadn’t seen in years. Not slouched. Not guarded. Not braced for anything that might come next. Just…there. Present, in a way that didn’t feel like effort. Like he wasn’t holding himself together by force anymore, like the edges of him weren’t constantly being pulled tight just to keep him from slipping into himself again. He looked at Laurel when she replied, nodded once with quiet attention, actually listening instead of waiting for a moment to escape, and then his gaze drifted back to you.

It wasn’t deliberate.

That was the part Steven noticed most.

It was the absence of decision.

Conrad’s attention didn’t go to you like a choice he made; it returned to you like something gravitational, like his mind had already filed you somewhere it didn’t need to think about anymore. The way he looked at you didn’t carry the careful restraint he usually used with everyone else, the subtle distance, the habitual control. There was none of that calibration here. Just ease. Familiarity without announcement. Softness without warning. Like the part of him that overthought everything had simply…stopped arguing when it came to you.

And Steven, still watching from the table, slowly leaned back in his chair like something had just clicked into place so loudly it felt almost rude.

“He still thinks we don’t know,” he said, half to himself, half to the room, eyes still fixed on the kitchen like he could catch Conrad in the act of pretending if he stared hard enough.

Taylor let out a short laugh, shaking her head as she followed his gaze. “Oh, he absolutely knows we know.”

Belly didn’t laugh right away.

She rested her chin in her hand instead, elbow propped on the table, watching the scene unfold across the room with an expression that looked almost fond in a cinematic way, like she had accidentally walked into the final scene of a story she had been reading for years. From where she sat, she could see all three of them in the kitchen: Laurel continuing her conversation as if nothing had changed, you leaning slightly toward her while still half-turned toward Conrad, and Conrad himself standing just close enough that he never quite had to step away from you to be part of either conversation.

“I think we knew before they did,” Belly admitted finally, her voice quieter now, almost amused at her own certainty.

Jeremiah immediately pointed across the table like she had just confirmed a long-standing theory. “Thank you.”

“I’m serious,” she said, a smile tugging at her mouth now that she wasn’t trying to suppress it. “It was obvious. Like…painfully obvious.”

Steven gave a slow nod, still staring toward the kitchen like he was trying to witness the evidence one more time just to make sure it wasn’t in his imagination. And across the room, Conrad was still standing there like nothing had shifted at all, still talking, still listening, still occasionally glancing at you in a way that somehow made everything else in the room feel slightly out of focus by comparison.

Jeremiah watched him for another second before a grin spread across his face. He leaned back in his chair and folded his arms behind his head like he had all the time in the world.

“Five bucks says they accidentally kiss in front of us before the week’s over.”

“Three days,” Steven corrected immediately, without even looking away from the kitchen.

“Two,” Belly said, almost at the same time, as if the answer had already been sitting in her chest waiting to be spoken.

And somewhere in the kitchen, completely unaware that the entire table had stopped being subtle about anything, Conrad let out a small, quiet smile at something you had just said, soft enough that it barely changed his expression, but real enough that it reached his eyes first.

Which, unfortunately for him, only proved their point.

Because whatever it was he thought he was hiding, it had already stopped being a secret the moment he started looking at you like that.

With his heart.

Author's note: This was originally a one shot but because I exceeded the word limit I had to cut this in half.

I originally posted this on ao3 as a bellyconrad fic but since I haven't shared anything on here for a while I just figured... why not make some adjustments and put it on tumblr too?

ᯓ★

I flip the key and open the door to our house then step aside to take my shoes off, putting one hand on the wall to support myself after four glasses of wine.

Conrad steps behind me and turns the lights on, making the house shine dimly. We both place our shoes side by side and shrug our coats off in silence –which is pretty unusual for us given that we never had this kind of an awkward silence in the past eight months we have spent living together.

But I just can't stop playing the past few hours in my head like a crazy person as I walk into the bathroom and sit on the toilet.

It started hours ago.

At our friends' house, with not enough space between us. We had been fine at first as we sat side by side, talking, and laughing like nothing was different.

But then it started out of nowhere. I don't even know which one of us initiated the first touch that had felt different than the others, more loaded, more charged. It was casual at first, small things that were normal for couples to be doing in front of their friends and family.

A hand resting a second too long. His knee brushing mine like it didn’t mean anything. The kind of touches that wouldn’t look like much to anyone else.

Except it was too much.

It was always like that when it came to Conrad. Even the smallest touch could send electric jolts all over my body.

Especially when the memory of this morning was still playing in my head like a movie.

The way he made love with me, taking his time as if we both didn't have our jobs to go to, as if we had all of the time in the world. God, he looked ethereal bathed in the light of dawn, his unbelievably long lashes casting shadows across his cheekbones, his hand pining mine beside my head with just the right amount of pressure, a drop of sweat falling down his torso as his hips met with mine thrust after thrust. And how tender he was as he cleaned us both afterwards.

I shake my head as an attempt to stop thinking about this morning. After all, thinking about it was what started everything tonight anyway.

How did I get so carried away after this morning? And how did I act so careless around other people? I had leaned into it without thinking, like I always did, like it was instinct at this point.

And of course Conrad saw it, he saw how flushed I got, he saw how my breath hitched. And he just went along with it. He knew exactly what he was doing. The way he’d look at me just a second too long before saying something completely normal to someone else.

The way he let me get close, let me get comfortable –just enough before pulling back again like it was nothing. Like he wasn’t doing anything at all. Like he was having a normal couples date with my brother and best friend and didn't feel the need that I had felt for him.

And I had played right into it. Of course I had.

By the time Taylor finally noticed, it wasn’t even subtle anymore. “God,” she had said, half-laughing, half-exasperated.

“Oh my God, stop eye fucking the doctor. It's been almost a year since you got back from Paris. Still haven't got enough?” I had pulled back then.

I pulled my hand from where I was tugging at the collar of his shirt and moved my body an inch from him. “Taylor can you just- I mean I wasn't- I'm not-” I defended myself, or tried at least.

Conrad on the other hand didn't say anything. He just smirked and took a slow sip of his wine.

I thought that Taylor’s comment would make him feel shy and want to stop. But it didn't. If anything, that had only made him worse. He’d leaned in closer, close enough that no one else would hear, his voice low against my ear.

“Yeah,” he’d murmured, almost amused. “You’d think after this morning you’d be over it. Thought you had enough.”

My breath had caught before I could stop it and I swallowed sharply, my gaze falling on Taylor who was watching something on her phone. “Apparently not,” he’d added, quieter.

He hadn’t pushed it further. He never did, not in front of other people. But the damage was already done.

I was blushing rapidly. It wasn’t because I was embarrassed that I was doing pda with my boyfriend –we have never not been close in public ever since we've come back together– it was because of how much I had let myself get caught up in it –like it was just about sex.

I hadn’t said much after that. Just a quiet, “We’ll talk about this later,” under my breath –more promise than warning.

And he had only smiled. I had felt so shy.

Now, standing in the dim light of the house as the water droplets fall down my neck from how hard I splashed cold water onto my face, that unfinished conversation hangs between us. Still waiting.

ᯓ★

After changing into our pajamas, Conrad and I are now watching some show on Netflix that I'm barely focusing on.

I feel Conrad’s lips on my temple, pressing a soft kiss before he goes lower to press a firmer kiss on my cheek.

His hand over my shoulder tightens its grip as he kisses the corner of my mouth, a soft sigh escaping his lips. I don't answer back to his touch. I know what he wants to do but my mind is overly occupied at the moment. “Baby?”

“Yeah?” I say, looking up at him.

“Is everything okay?” he asks, his concern clear on his face. Fuck. He noticed it. Of course he did. He is Conrad after all.

“Ugh, yeah. I'm okay. Why wouldn't I be?” I try to be nonchalant but my voice gives me away. He stills for a moment then he leans over to the coffee table, takes the remote and turns the TV off. He turns towards me fully, looking me deep in the eyes.

“Hey, just- tell me.”

Oh, he looks so cute thinking something might be wrong when it actually isn't and I'm just getting shy over something so small.

“I don’t know,” I say, quieter now, scratching my arm a little too harsh. I sigh.

“I guess I’m still thinking about what you and Taylor said. About me… not having enough.” His brows pull together just slightly.

“Oh.”

I exhale, crossing my arms loosely, not defensive, just unsure. “I don’t even know why I’m overthinking it,” I add, a small, self-conscious huff slipping out of me as I try my best to be honest. “But am I being too… physical?”

There’s a beat.

Then he lets out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “No,” he says, softer now.

“You’re not. You could never be too physical to me.” His hand settles on her thigh, grounding, familiar. “I always like it when you’re close to me,” he adds, a little lower this time.

That earns a smile out of me –small at first, then growing. He's right I'm not being anything. And I do love it when we're close to each other. It's not like I'm the only one who's being like that anyway.

  “And even if you were,” he continues, a hint of something teasing slipping in, “I’d still like it.”

My eyes narrow slightly. I immediately catch the shift. The teasing Conrad from earlier, the one who made me incredibly shy and wet at the same time is back. “Oh, really?”

“Yeah.” He tilts his head, studying me like he’s already amused. “I like that you can’t resist me.”

I let out a soft scoff, but there’s a smile tugging at the corner of my mouth now. I'll show him resistance. I'll show it to him bad.

“Huh. Is that so?” I ask, my jaw working, the girl who lived off challenge and the rush of it crossing back the surface.

“Mmhm,” he humms, the sound of it making me clench around nothing but I ignore it. I'm going to tease this man back.

I lean closer, just enough to crowd his space this time. “I can’t resist you?” I echo. “Mr. ‘who called me on his lunch break, dragged me into a public restroom, and fucked me in there for so long that ended up not eating the lunch I packed for him’?”

His lips twitch. Something moving behind his eyes. “Well,” he says, like he’s considering it seriously, “Correct me if I'm wrong here but as I recall it I did eat something that you packed for me that day.”

I roll my eyes right as he leans in and kisses me, quick, confident, like he’s proving a point. I kiss him back automatically, my hand coming up to his chest, then I push him away just enough to break it.

“Ha. Funny,” I mutter, breath slightly uneven despite herself. “You kiss me because you can’t defend yourself?”

Conrad doesn’t lean back. If anything, he leans in closer, just a fraction. “No,” he says, quieter now. “I kiss you because I want you.”

There’s a pause. I hold his gaze for a second, then tilt my head, something challenging flickering in my expression.

“Then who’s the one who can’t resist now?” That earns me a soft, disbelieving exhale from him, a hand running through his hair.

“God,” he mutters, a little annoyed.

“You’re really stuck on this resisting thing, aren't you?”

I shrug, but there’s nothing casual about the way I'm looking at him now. “What if I am?” He studies me more carefully now, picking up on the shift.

“What do you mean?”

I lean back an inch, biting my lip. “I mean,” I say, slower now, “I don’t think I’m the one who should be getting blamed for being too… whatever.” A beat.

“Because I’m pretty sure it’s you.” Conrad's brows lift, a big hint of challenge sparking. Our intense dynamic –that has fueled us through years of boardwalk games, volleyball matches with friends, card games with family– flickering back to life.

“Oh yeah?” he asks, breathless.

“Yeah,” I dare. “And how exactly are you planning to prove that?” Conrad asks, voice dropping.

“By-”

“By making a bet,” I cut in, too eager to tell him about it. That stops him.

“A bet?” Conrad repeats, eyes narrowing slightly, interest immediately there.

“Yes,” I cross my arms again, but this time it’s deliberate, confident. “A bet.”

He lets out a quiet breath, something amused and intrigued settling in at the same time. “Hm,” he hums. “I’m interested.” A small pause. “What kind of bet are we talking about?”

“We don't do anything… for a week.” I say, and just watch him watch me. I don't flinch, I don't smile. I let him see how serious I am about this bet even though I came up with it only moments ago.

His lips part, clearly confused. “What do you mean by anything?”

Well, I don't even know what I mean by that. I try to think about the rules as fast as possible. “I mean that we don't have sex for a week.”

“What? Why?” He asks, his eyes going wide.

“So that I can prove to you that I'm right,” I say, feeling my adrenaline level spike up as I challenge my boyfriend of almost two years with the same intensity I always have challenged him all of my life.

He sees the glint in my eyes. He sees how serious I am about this bet.

He looks around the room, shifting in his seat. I can see the gears turn in his brain, he's thinking about all of the possible scenarios in his head, calculating the pros and the cons.

Conrad blinks again and again before he speaks. “Uh, what about, you know, the other stuff?”

I think about it for a second, trying to find the best way to push his limits. “Hm, we can kiss but not like a full-on make out session. And we can't do anything that's sex related. So no oral, no hand stuff, and no touching yourself.”

Conrad swallows thickly, his jaw tensing. “Shit, okay.” He nods. “Okay, I can do that,” he sounds like he's trying to convince himself more than me.

“Me too.”

“But what if we break it?”

“Oh, you mean if you break it, Connie,” I say, my voice low as I lean closer to him, my breath tingling his jaw. I can see how my plan is working, it's written all over his body, he's just as down bad as I am.

“No, I mean what happens when you decide that you can't take it anymore and try to jump my bones. What should I do? Reject you?”

“Well, that won't happen but if the bet were to be broken the one who wants to break it should say one specific word that has no take backs,” I say, my fingers grazing his neck.

“Do you have a word in mind?”

“No,” I say, looking around the room, “not yet, but‐” my gaze lands on the velvet throw pillow on the armchair.

“Huh,” my eyes flicker between Conrad and the pillow. I point at it. “How do you feel about ‘velvet’? It's not a word we'd use frequently on a daily basis. I think it could work.”

He looks back at the armchair and nods. “Okay,” he says.

A beat passes.

“So what does the winner get? Do you have something in mind?” I nod, a big smile spreading across my face.

“Yeah, I have something.”

“What is it?” he asks, his voice low.

“Three wishes.” Conrad raises his brows, amused by what I said.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. The one who wins gets three wishes where they get to ask anything from the loser and they can’t say no,” I say as my fingers run through his soft hair. He leans back to my touch.

“Will those wishes have an expression date?”

I don't even need to think about what I'm going to say. I know one specific answer that will thrill him and I'm going to give that to him.

“No, baby. They'll be infinite.”

Conrad takes a sharp inhale. His eyes flicker between my face and the necklace hanging from my neck. “Okay.” He bites his lower lip, looking me up and down.

“You're on.”

ᯓ★

It's almost been a day since I've offered the most exhilarating and probably the most difficult bet to Conrad, and things have been going pretty well for now.

They might only be going well because we slept through the first half and went straight to work right after. But still an accomplishment is an accomplishment.

Now, Conrad and I are preparing dinner. We are in each other's proximity again after hours and the tension is already pricking its way up my bones.

And I know it's the same for him too. He gives himself away even when he tries his best not to.

I saw it in the way he hesitated a little when we hugged the first time since the bet. And I now see it in the way his hand twitches as we reach for the salt at the same time.

I don't say anything, I don't need to. My restrained giggle has already given itself away.

Thanks to the familiarity that comes from knowing each other a lifetime and living together for months, we enjoy the ease of cooking together.

When he needs a different knife, I'm already handing it to him. When I need to reach something on the top shelf, he's already there before I even have time to stand on my tiptoes.

Everything else's pretty much the same. We are only on the first day after all.

It's supposed to be easy.

And it was… until now.

Conrad calls me over without looking directly at me, just a small tilt of his head toward the stove, like it’s nothing. “Try this.”

I step closer, careful in a way I wasn’t before the bet, like every inch matters now. He holds the spoon out, steady. The kitchen smells warm and for a second it almost feels normal again.

I lean in, taste it, nod absentmindedly. “It’s good,” I say, and mean it. His cooking skills have gotten really better in the past years.

“Yeah?” he says, quieter now, watching me carefully instead of the pan. I don't realize it's there until he’s already moved. His hand is on my face. His thumb brushes my lip, slow, deliberate, like he’s not in any rush to get it over with.

It’s such a small thing, barely anything at all, and yet it lands heavier than it should. He pauses for half a second. Then, without breaking eye contact, Conrad brings his thumb back and licks it clean.

Something in my expression shifts, just slightly, before I can help it. Not shock, not even surprise. Just awareness. He notices.

“What?” he asks, like he doesn’t already know. “Am I not allowed to do that?” The way the question leaves him isn't teasing; it's an actual question.

I let out a quiet breath, trying to steady it. “No,” I say, a little too quickly. “You are. Edging is welcome in this bet.”

His mouth twitches, like he’s trying not to smile. “Huh, good to know.” I feel my breath catch, just enough to betray me.

And suddenly the space between us feels smaller than it actually is.

I take a step back, almost instinctively, like distance might help. It doesn’t, not really. Not when I can still feel where his hand had been, not when he’s still looking at me like that.

I look away first. I grab onto something else, anything else, and pretend it matters more. I pretend as if the memory from a few summers ago doesn't just play in a loop in my head, like I'm not feeling like I'm back by that peach stand all over again.

This man is fucking electric.

ᯓ★

By the time we sit down, the kitchen is quiet. No more clattering pans, no more excuses to move around each other.

Just the two of us, the low light overhead, and the soft sound of cutlery against plates. We don’t sit far apart.

We never do.

So changing that right now just because of the bet feels ridiculous –at least on the first day where everything's supposed to be easy.

I focus on my food at first, maybe a little too much. Taking bites I don't really taste, just to have something to do. Something to anchor myself.

Across from me, Conrad's quieter than usual too. Not tense but he's watching. Not exactly in an obvious way but I do catch it –even when I don't look up.

And when I do look up, even by accident, his gaze is already there or just leaving. Like he’s been looking and decided, at the last second, not to get caught. It makes it worse.

Everything does.

The way his hand moves when he reaches for his glass. The way his sleeve shifts when he leans forward slightly. The way he says my name once –casual, in passing– and it still lands heavier than it should. The way I can see the way his throat works when he's laughing at a joke I made.

There’s nothing actually happening. That’s the problem. Because now every small thing feels like something.

At one point, our feet almost touch under the table. Which normally it's something that we do, like me absentmindedly grazing his calves with my feet when I'm listening is a habit.

But now it feels different. Because both of us know that this night isn't going to end up with us tangled under the sheets. Neither of us move right away. It lingers for a second too long before one of us shifts—I'm not even sure who—and the contact disappears like it never happened. But it doesn’t feel like nothing.

It feels like a warning. Or maybe a promise.

The conversation, when it happens, is light. Surface-level.

But underneath it, there’s something else entirely. Something building. Something neither of us is acknowledging yet.

ᯓ★

The rest of the night folds in quietly. I feel like we left the tension back in the kitchen as we now sit in the living room, my legs dropped over his lap, his hand massaging my feet after I briefly mentioned that I walked around the campus a little more than usual today.

Now, as I turn the lamp on my side of the bed off and turn towards Conrad to kiss him goodnight I see that his eyes are already closed, his lips are slightly parted, and the book in his hand is resting on his chest.

He looks adorable.

I slowly reach out and take the book from his hand and place it on his bedside table, being as careful as I can be to not to wake him up as I lean over him. As I pull back I feel him stir beneath me. 

"Careful,” he murmurs. I roll back to my side of the bed and look at him with a knit between my brows.

“What?”

“Anything you try while I'm asleep counts as cheating,” he says with his eyes closed.

I let out a chuckle, not bothering to give an answer as I watch him already starting to drift back.

Then as if he didn't just imply I was trying to touch him while he sleeps, he leans towards me and places his head on my chest, –right on top of my left breast– swinging an arm around my waist as he cuddles me. I take a deep breath.

I pull the covers all the way over his shoulders, pressing a kiss on the crown of his head as I let the sleep pull me under too.

ᯓ★

We wake up tangled under the sheets together to the sound of Conrad’s alarm ringing. His head is still on my chest, his breath warm against my skin. I let out a groan as I reach for his phone to turn the alarm off.

I look down and see Conrad yawn, rubbing his eyes as he does. “Morning,” I say, my voice raw with sleep. I ran a hand through his back, trying to get him to relax before his twelve hour shift.

Conrad snuggles his head deeper in my chest. “Morning,” he mumbles.

“Planning on opening your eyes?” I ask, smiling. He shakes his head as a response.

“Planing on just staying here on me?” he nods this time and I can feel his lips quivering against my skin.

I look around the room, the early morning light is bathing the room in soft pink and peach orange hues, making his features look softer under the light.

I still have two hours before I have to leave for my seminar but I'm already awake and I also have a very sleepy boyfriend to wake up before he'll be late for work. So I do what I normally do in situations like these.

I plant him with kisses. First I place a kiss on top of his head, then I go down, anywhere I can reach. I kiss his forehead, temple, cheek, nose before he finally pulls himself up higher.

He's facing me now, looking like the beautiful boy I fell in love with years ago. His hair is messy from sleep, his eyes are soft as he looks deep into mine, there’s a lash right above his cheekbone. Without thinking I reach with my thumb and wipe it off.

Conrad leans into my touch, his eyes falling shut. He takes a deep breath. “How much longer do we have before I have to leave?” I look over to check the time. “Five minutes of laziness,” I say with a lopsided grin.

“Great,” he whispers, propping himself on one elbow and kissing my cheek. “I'm sorry to wake you up, honey. I know you don't leave for a while.”

I shrug. “I'd rather have five minutes with you than to sleep an hour longer.” I kiss his jaw.

“I love you so much,” he whispers against my cheek, the words feeling more intimate under the sheets and the rising sunlight. I wrap my arms around him.

“I love you.”

Then, he kisses me, our lips colliding in a tender kiss.

God, I don't even remember the last time we kissed. Was it when I greeted him when he came home? Or was it after dinner in the living room? I can't believe this bet has actually affected how many times we kiss.

I try not to think about the bet. I have about four more minutes before my boyfriend has to leave this bed and I'm not going to spend those minutes overthinking; I'm going to spend it savoring our time.

I kiss him back, trying my best to keep this the way it is and not get too caught up in the moment. My hands go to his hair. I ran my fingers through the golden knots that happened over night.

The next few minutes pass in a haze. His lips, at one point, find my neck, and leave sloppy kisses all over it. I hum, pulling him closer by pressing my palm between his shoulder blades. It would be so easy to just let myself get lost in the moment and spend the entire morning –maybe even noon– in this very bed.

But I unfortunately can't.

He lightly bites my neck and my eyes snap open, a gasp leaving my mouth. Not because it hurt or because I didn't like it or anything.

I forgot about the minutes.

Conrad immediately notices. “Baby, what's wrong?” I shake my head, my fingers tracing the line of his jaw.

“Nothing, Con. Just-” I look over at my phone and check the time. I show him the screen. “It's been seven minutes.”

He blinks. “Oh,” is all he says before he pulls himself off me and sits on the edge of his bed. Conrad turns his head toward me.

“You gonna be in the lab today?”

“Yeah after the seminar,” I say, holding back a yawn.

“So, you just go back to sleep and I'll go get ready. Okay?” He asks, his hand brushing my hair away from my face. A lazy smile spreads across my face.

“Okay.”

ᯓ★

When I finally step back into the house in the afternoon, I'm tired.

The phrases are still lingering in my brain from the seminar and the paragraphs I had to re-read multiple times in the lab because I couldn't focus are still itching my brain. I drop my bag by the door and stand there for a second, letting the quiet settle.

It’s earlier than Conrad'll be back. It usually is with him being in his last year of med school and having a lot on his plate almost all the time. We haven't spoken much during the day, only exchanging a few text messages here and there.

I wonder what he's doing now for a moment but I don't let myself think about it for too long as I start to mentally flip through what’s in the fridge. I want to cook something nice, something he’ll actually eat after a long shift.

I move through the house slowly, heading directly to the bedroom and changing into something more comfortable.

Then I head to the kitchen. I rinse my hands, opening cabinets I don't really need to open as I still think about what to make for dinner and dessert.

Somewhere between that and pulling out a pan, my thoughts drift back to Conrad. I wonder what he's dealing with today, whether he’s eaten the lunch he packed last night, if he’s had a moment to sit down at all.

Twelve hours is a long time to be needed by everyone but yourself.

I picture him in the middle of it –focused, a little tired, still steady– and find myself softening without meaning to.

It's a little after seven pm when I hear the sound of Conrad’s car in the driveway. I wait for him on the couch, my heart still doing that change of rhythm that it always does when it comes to him. I pause the show I had been watching.

When Conrad enters the house, I can immediately sense the exhaustion radiating off of him. He looks jaded, the lines between his eyebrows are prominent, and his hair is disheveled. He puts his bag down and finally looks up.

A look of surprise crosses his eyes, as if he hadn't noticed me sitting on the couch. Then the surprise gives way to happiness, his eyes narrow, and he says, “Hi, honey.”

I don't say anything, I just stand up and walk towards him. I pull him into a tight hug, one of my hands immediately reaching for the back of his neck. “Welcome home, Connie,”

I whisper in his ear. He hugs me back, his arms wrapping around my waist, his chin resting on my shoulder. “Dinner's ready, and I also made dessert.” I pull back just enough to look at him. “Just go hop in the shower then we'll eat on the couch, okay?”

His lips quirk up. “Okay,” he whispers, biting his lower lip. He gives me a quick peck before he pulls back and goes straight to the bathroom.

After eating, we spend the next few hours laying bonelazy on the couch. I can feel the fatigue catching up to me, I look down at Conrad whose head is on my lap and I find his eyes struggling to stay open.

“Wanna go to sleep, Con?” I ask, scratching his back. He yawns.

“Yeah. Otherwise I might just faint here.” I let out a chuckle. “Well, if you were to do that I would just carry you inside.”

“Uh huh.” He sits back up.

I frown. “What, you don't believe me?” He shrugs one shoulder. I smack his chest. “That's very rude of you Conrad Beck.” I wave my finger at him, holding back a smile.

Conrad chuckles, the sound of it not so humorous. He stands up, looking at me with a smirk hanging on his mouth, his eyes narrowing. “Sorry about that. How can I make it up to you?” he asks, his voice low.

Many ideas come flooding in my mind but almost none of them are appropriate to our bet.

But…there is one thing that comes to my mind that's suitable. I lift my arms. “You pick me up.”

He looks confused for a second, his lips pursing. “That?” he blinks, totally unaware of what I'm planning.

“Yeah, that.” He leans down to me, hands settling at my waist like it’s instinct. In one smooth motion, he lifts me up, and I go with it easily, my legs wrapping around him tight, closer than necessary.

Conrad starts walking us out of the living room, steady despite the way I shift slightly against him. Before he can make it far, and head towards our bedroom I stop him.

“Wait, take me to the kitchen first,” I say, my hand pressing lightly against his chest, just enough to pause him. “I’m thirsty.”

Conrad lets out a quiet breath through his nose but changes direction anyway. “Of course you are.”

He carries me into the kitchen, adjusting his hold on me as he does, shifting me higher.

The movement brings me closer, my chest almost brushing against his face, my balance tipping just enough that I have to steady myself with one hand on his shoulder. Conrad doesn’t miss that. I reach for the cabinet above us, stretching slightly as I grab a glass.

He walks me over to the counter like this is perfectly normal –like I weigh nothing, like this isn’t doing anything to him, like him carrying me like a doll has been our bedtime routine since forever.

I grab the carafe, pouring slowly, more careful than I need to be. The sound of water hitting glass fills the space between us, steady, deliberate.

He’s watching me –I can feel it. Not subtly. I can feel it before I look. And when I do –when I finally bring the glass to my lips and drink– Conrad's gaze doesn’t shift. If anything, it sharpens.

Our bodies are still pressed together, closer now with the counter behind me and him in front of me. The heat between my legs is pressing against his lower stomach and I'm currently doing everything I can to not dry hump Conrad in this very kitchen and choke on the water I'm having.

I swallow, lower the glass, then wipe my lips with the back of my hand. “What?” I ask, like I don't already know. He blinks once, like he’s pulling himself back from somewhere.

He shakes his head, then swallows. “Nothing,” Conrad says, but it comes out rougher than he probably intended.

I tilt my head slightly, studying him now. “You thirsty?” my brows lift just a little, my voice dropping, my tone turning suggestive.

Something flickers behind his eyes then –quick, sharp, and… gone just as fast. He doesn’t answer. Instead, he pulls his left hand from my thigh and takes the glass from my hand without breaking eye contact, his fingers brushing mine.

And then he drinks it. Finishes what’s left in one go, like it’s not water he needs. I know it's not water that he needs. I have the exact same need. He sets the glass down in the sink with a heavier sound than it should make.

Neither of us say anything.

He turns, carrying me out of the kitchen again, his grip shifting slightly on my thighs, tightening. “I have to brush my teeth first,” I say, almost casually.

Conrad exhales a quiet, frustrated laugh against her shoulder. “Are you trying to get me to give you a house tour, sweetheart?” he asks, pulling back just enough to look at me, his hands still firm where they hold me.

There’s something in his expression now –amusement, yes, but edged with impatience. I smile, slow, deliberate, biting my lower lip just enough to make it noticeable.

“No, Conrad,” I say, voice light, almost innocent. “I’m just trying to get ready for bed.”

He huffs out a soft laugh, shaking his head like he doesn’t believe me for a second. “If you say so.”

There’s a look he gives me then, very knowing. Like he’s already decided exactly what I'm doing, even if I won’t say it.

He adjusts his hold again, carrying me toward the bathroom.

The space is smaller, brighter. Too normal for the way the air feels between us. He finally sets me down on the counter, but his hands linger for a second longer than they need to before letting go.

We brush our teeth together, our eyes meeting here and there. Neither of us comment on it.

When we're done, Conrad doesn’t give me time to step my feet on the ground before his hands are back at my waist, guiding me out.

Into our bedroom.

There’s a shift the second we get in, quieter, heavier. He doesn’t let go of me right away. His hands stay where they are –steady on me as I adjust the strap of my bra– like neither of us is in a rush to create distance.

I look down at him, a small smile playing on my lips. “What?” I ask, tilting my head just slightly.

He huffs out a quiet breath, eyes flicking over my face like he’s trying to decide something. “You’re doing it again.”

My brows lift, feigning innocence. I blink. “Doing what?”

“Dragging everything out,” Conrad says, voice low, almost amused –but there’s an edge to it now, like he's restraining himself. “Kitchen. Bathroom. What’s next, you need something from the pantry?”

I let out a soft laugh. “Maybe I just like spending time with you.”

He narrows his eyes slightly, not buying it for a second. It's fine though. I'm not actually trying to get him to buy it anyway. My whole purpose is to tease him and win this bet eventually. “Yeah?” he says.

“That's what we’re calling it?”

“What are you calling it?” I shoot back, leaning in a little closer this time instead of away. That doesn’t go unnoticed. His gaze drops for a second, then lifts again, slower.

“I think you’re trying to see how far you can push it,” he says.

Okay, are you in my head right now. I think but obviously don't say it out loud. I don't give anything away, my expression staying still. “And?”

“And I think you’re enjoying it.”

I shrug, like it’s nothing. “Maybe.”

There’s a beat. “I'm not breaking. I know you want me to. I know you really do,” his voice lowers to something like a whisper as he says that last sentence.

That lands.

A shiver goes down my spine. Something shifts in his expression –subtle, but real. “Don’t confuse me letting you do your thing,” he says, stepping closer to the bed now, “with you being in control here.”

My breath catches, just slightly. But I don't back down. “Oh?” I say, quieter now. “Then why haven’t you done anything about it?”

That’s it. That’s the line.

There’s a flicker of something sharp behind his eyes, delight with a hint of disbelief, and something else underneath it.

“Careful,” he mutters, shaking his head once like he can’t believe me. “You’re getting bold.”

“Am I?” I murmur.

Conrad lets out a breath that almost sounds like a laugh. “Yeah,” he says, leaning in fully now, pressing me against him so close that there’s no space left between us. “And it’s starting to feel a lot like you’re asking for something.”

My lips part, but I don't answer. He studies me a bit longer.

Then he moves. His hands shift and before I can react, he throws me on the bed –not rough, just sudden enough to steal my breath. I land with a sharp gasp.

I feel the sharp sting of the wire of my bra against my chest. I wince. “Fuck,” I hiss under my breath.

Conrad's expression softens a little as he looks down at me from the edge of the bed. “You good?”

I nod. “Yeah, just- I've been wearing this bra for hours and- God, it hurts. I need to take it off.” I reach for the hook of my bra under my tank top, planning to take it off right away, but then I change my mind.

I sit on the bed, my legs between Conrad's who's looking at me with a knit between his brows.

I pull my top off and put it aside. Then I reach for the hook of my bra again and unhook it. I let the straps fall from my shoulders and throw my bra away to the laundry basket.

He swallows sharply, his gaze immediately falling down to my bare chest.

My hands massage my breasts for a few seconds, my eyes falling shut as I feel the ache. I'm not wearing that bra for a while, that's for sure.

I can feel my nipples hardening as the chill air of the mid-april night hits my bare upper body.

Deciding that I tortured Conrad well enough, I take my tank top in my hands again and pull it over my head.

Then I look at Conrad’s eyes, his eyes are still on my chest, now watching my nipples show themselves underneath my top.

“Subtle,” I say, smirking as I see the power I'm currently holding over him.

“Not really trying to be,” he replies, already leaning over me, one hand braced beside my thigh. My eyes flick over his face, searching, teasing. “You’re getting impatient.”

His mouth twitches. “You’re stalling.”

I raise a brow. “Am I?”

He hums.

My lips curve, slow and knowing. “And you’ve been letting me.” A beat.

Something tightens in his expression –just slightly. “Yeah,” he says, quieter now.

And neither of us pretend we don’t know why.

He leans in and presses a lingering kiss to my lips, his hand cupping my cheek softly.

I wait for him to say something or even better just not say anything and tear my close apart.

But instead he does the very last thing I expect him to.

He pulls back.

“Goodnight,” he whispers against my lips, his breath warm.

I hold back the urge to curse. I bite my tongue and take two deep breaths. I force my eyes open, putting on an unbothered expression, not letting him shift the power dynamic between us.

“Sweet dreams, Conrad.”

ᯓ★

The next morning, I wake up before any of our alarms. I squint against the morning light slipping from the parted drapes.

The house is quiet, so quiet that the only sound I'm hearing is the sound of Conrad's slow breathing.

I close my eyes back, trying to go back to sleep, leaning back closer against his chest.

But then, I feel something. At first I can't put a finger on it. But when I shift my lower body I feel it clearly.

Conrad's hard against my hips.

And he's very hard.

I shift my body without realizing, purely out of instinct. I think about just how easy it would be to just forget about the bet and have him right here, right now.

But I won't. I can't.

I fight against the urge to do it again. I slowly turn back in his arms, facing him.

His eyes are still closed. My gaze falls down to his sweatpants, the outline of his cock is sharp even under the fabric.

I don't even get a chance to decide whether to slip out of the bed before I lose my composure, I feel Conrad stirring beside me, a slow whine escaping between his parted lips, his eyes opening slightly.

For a second, I just look at him, watching him wake up.

His eyes open and land on mine, and there’s this split second where neither of us moves. We are way too close.

“Good morning,” I whisper, waiting for him to realize what's going on in his body.

And then I see it. The exact moment it hits him. His whole body goes still, like he’s suddenly aware of everything at once and doesn’t know what to do with it. It’s not even dramatic, just controlled.

Too controlled.

It’s kind of funny. He's trying so hard to act normal when he very clearly isn’t. There’s a flicker of something in his eyes, something he tries to smooth over almost immediately. Of course I notice.

“Morning,” His voice is a little rough. He clears it right after, like that’ll fix it. It doesn’t. I don’t move –I probably should– but I don’t.

Instead, I stay right where I am, watching him try to figure out how to exist in this moment without making it obvious that he’s struggling.

He shifts slightly, like he’s trying to create space without actually moving away. It’s not subtle. I have to bite back a smile.

“What?” he asks, already knowing I’ve caught on.

“Nothing,” I say easily.

 Then, like this is just a normal morning I ask him the simplest question. “Are your friends still on for tonight?”

He blinks, thrown off just enough that it’s obvious. “…What?”

“The double date,” I say, still watching him. “You said they might come over.”

He drags a hand over his face, exhaling slowly like he’s trying to reset himself.

He turns and lays on his back –which is really not the wisest option for him given that his length is even more visible now under the thin sheets.

“Yeah,” he says finally. “They are.”

“Okay. Good.” I nod, settling a little deeper into the pillow, like that was all I needed to know.

He’s still looking at the ceiling. Still a little tense, and very aware.

“Do you mind?” I ask, a little softer.

“Mind what?” he blinks rapidly, his gaze is a fraction away from creating a hole on the ceiling.

“That they’re coming over.”

There’s a small pause before he answers. “No,” he says. “I don’t mind.”

I study him for a second, then nod again. “Good.”

Silence settles between us again, and this time it stretches. I keep my gaze on him, waiting to see if he'll break. Conrad shifts, pushing himself up onto one elbow like he needs the distance more than he wants to admit.

Then he looks back at me. “Are you just going to stare at me,” he mutters, “or..?”

I smile, slow and a little amused. “You look pretty. I can't help it.”

He huffs out something that’s almost a laugh. “Oh, God.” He runs a hand through his face, swallowing sharply.

I do my best as I try to act like I'm not losing my mind over the way his throat works.

I turn and lay on my back, giving myself just enough space to breathe.

But I can still feel it. The tension that has been here for the last three days is even stronger now.

He gently gets off the bed, sitting on the edge of it, his back turned against me. “I, um- I'm…” he sighs, “gonna go and pee.”

I press my lips together, pressing down a giggle.

“Don't do anything I wouldn't do while you're in there.”

ᯓ★

I can't stop thinking about it.

Just how unproductive my day went.

I bury my face in the armrest of the couch as my day of failure passes through my mind like a tide that won't stop coming.

The clock passed so slowly that I thought about just taking a nap in one of the yellow couches of the library that I was doing my research in to make the time go faster quite a few times.

The library was too quiet for how loud my thoughts felt. I had sat in the same chair for hours, with my laptop open, a paper pulled up, lines highlighted in careful colors that didn’t mean much.

My notebook was filled, but not with anything useful. Unfinished sentences were all around it. At some point, without noticing, I wrote his name in the margin.

Just once.

It wasn't the first time I did it –I had spent the better part of my pre-teen years writing Conrad's name, his initials, his last name combined with my name– but it had been a minute since the last time I did it.

I stared at it for a second longer than I should've, then flipped the page like that’ll undo it.

Words kept on blurring into each other until they stopped meaning anything at all.

By the time I packed up, my brain felt full in the wrong way, definitely busy, but not productive.

The buzz of my phone takes me out of my head.

I look at the screen, there's a text message from Conrad.

Conrad:  We're on our way. Is there anything you want me to get on my way?

Me: no babe, no need to buy anything.

Conrad: Okay, see you in 10. Love you.

Me: love you <3

About 10 minutes later when I'm taking the wine glasses out of the dishwasher, I hear them coming into the house.

I hear Agnes mumbling something to Conrad, like she's annoyed, but I can't quite catch what she's saying.

I walk into the living room to greet them, wiping my hands lightly on the side of my jeans out of habit.

Agnes spots me first, and her face lights up instantly. “There you are!” She’s already on her feet before I can say anything, crossing the room in two quick steps and pulling me into a tight hug.

I laugh softly into her shoulder, hugging her back just as firmly. “Hi,” I mumble, smiling as I pull away.

“Hi,” she echoes, still holding onto my arms for a second longer before letting go.

I lean past her to give Jake a quick hug too, lighter, easier. “Hey.”

“Hey,” he says, grinning. “Look at you, hosting.”

I huff out a small laugh, but before I can answer, something by the door catches my eye.

Three pairs of shoes. Lined up neatly, side by side, toes pointed out like they’re on display.

I pause for half a second, staring at them.

Agnes follows my gaze immediately. “Oh my god,” she says, dragging a hand down her face. “You know, your boyfriend is such a pain in the ass about the whole ‘no shoes in the house’ thing.”

I glance at Conrad who's smiling sheepishly, a tiny blush creeping up his neck.

I gave him a look that says everything that I'm not saying with words right now. He runs a hand through his hair, shrugging as an answer to my look.

Our silent conversation lasts only a few seconds, but it carries a lifetime worth of domestic bliss.

I cross my arms under my chest, looking back at Agnes, a smile tugging at my mouth despite myself.

Jake snorts softly from behind her. “What, did he pick that up from you?”

I shake my head quickly, still half-laughing.

“Oh no, that is definitely not me. That’s my mom. She’s been enforcing that rule since we were kids.”

Agnes huffs, “Maybe,” she says, unconvinced. “But he’s gotten worse since you moved in.”

I raise a brow, keen to hear about my boyfriend's nerdy treats. “Worse, huh?”

“Yeah, you should see him at the hospital,” she goes on, already warming up. “He’ll notice it right away if someone tracks something in and just quietly hand them wipes or call someone to take care of it. Like it’s no big deal, but somehow everyone listens.”

Jake lets out a laugh. “No way.”

“Way,” Agnes insists, pointing at him. “And don’t even get me started on the way he acts in the library. If someone moves anything, he notices.”

“And the reason you know all of this is because you're the one who's always messing with my highlighters,” Conrad says, walking past her to hug me.

He plants a kiss on my temple. I let out a soft laugh, shaking my head, but there’s something warm curling in my chest at the image of it.

It’s so him.

“That sounds about right,” I admit, looking up at him.

“And the worst part?” Agnes adds, not even caring about what he just said, leaning in slightly like she’s about to expose him. “He makes it sound polite, but it’s not a suggestion. You just… comply.”

Jake laughs again. “That’s actually terrifying.”

“It is,” Agnes says. “I’m telling you, living with him must be-”

“Educational?” I cut in, smiling. She narrows her eyes at me, then breaks into a grin.

“That’s one way to put it.”

Dinner settles into something easy after that, with appetizers passed around, glasses refilled, conversation light and easy.

I move in and out of the kitchen more than I need to, topping things off, bringing out something extra just to have something to do with my hands.

Conrad keeps catching me in those in-between moments, when I'm leaning over the table, when I'm laughing at something Agnes says, when I forget myself for a second and just am –and each time he looks away a fraction too late, always making me catch him.

Agnes carries most of the noise, filling in stories from the hospital, dragging Conrad into them occasionally. Jake backs her up, embellishing just enough to make it worse.

Conrad seems at ease, shaking his head, correcting exaggerated details under his breath, but never really pushing back. It’s light, familiar.

The kind of night that doesn’t ask for anything from anyone. The kind of a night that makes me so so grateful to just be here in the present with Conrad after everything we've been through.

At some point, the table starts to clear without any of us actually deciding to do it. We carry the conversation into the living room.

The space feels smaller with all of us in it, warmer, the overhead lights dimmed just enough that everything softens around the edges.

Someone suggests a game, and when no one protests we set it up.

We play for like an hour. It’s messy. Conrad and I –as always– are heavily competitive.

Conrad stays close without making it obvious. Not next to me, but in front of me as he sits on the floor and I sit on the couch.

We are close enough that I don't miss his warmth and also not too close that would make me repeat what I did at Taylor's house three nights ago.

After the game they start reminiscing about their memories from a time where I wasn't here.

And my attention changes.

I become more focused about what they're talking about Not because I feel jealous that he had a life when we were navigating through long distance.

I want to hear more about that version of Conrad. To know about the version of him that didn't just exist in FaceTime calls.

So when Conrad mentions one of the hardest finals he took in his first year of med school, I lean in closer to him, going down the floor to sit by his side, looking at him with a brand new attention.

Agnes agrees with him saying that as she was preparing for that exam she didn't even look at the mirror for a week.

Jake asks a couple of questions about the final. I listen quietly as they talk, watching Conrad be so himself in his orbit.

I look at the way he gestures with his hands, the way he nods fastly when Agnes points out something that he wanted to say, the way how specific he gets when talking about the details that might seem minor to other people.

His excitement admires me. It’s easy to forget everything else in moments like this. Easy to let the noise and ease of conversation fill in the spaces.

And for a while, it works.

But then something happens.

Something so unexpected happens that it not only fills the spaces; it becomes the entirety of the space itself.

Agnes’ gaze fixates on the books that are stacked up under the TV set. “Wait, don't you still keep almost all of your books from the past years?” she says, already walking towards the stack of books.

Conrad nods, but he stills once he sees the cover of the book Agnes’ holding up like it's a prize.

“Ha, I found it!” She says, immediately going back to her boyfriends side to answer the questions he has.

I look at Conrad, whose hand that was tracing circles on my thigh a moment ago twitches. “Hey, what's wrong?” I ask, my voice quiet only for him to hear.

His lips part, like his mouth has just gone dry. “Uh, nothing,” he blinks again and again.

I look at him, still very confused. That nothing was the least subtle nothing I have ever heard.

I get even more confused when I see something fall out of the book.

A polaroid picture.

Oh.

Oh.

My jaw practically falls down to the floor. Agnes, who's oblivious about the existential crisis that I'm having right now, leans down and picks the picture up.

She and Jake look at it for a second, smiling at it as they do so.

Has he kept it for all these years? Why hasn't he mentioned it, like not even once? Was he scared that I'd over react and make it a bigger deal than it is? Am I overreacting?

I try to stay calm, or at least look calm. For them the picture is just a version of our giddy teenage selves.

But for me… for me it's everything.

It's the living proof of Conrad’s pure love for me. And he didn't even take credit for it.

Agnes hands the picture to me saying, “You two look so pretty in this.”

I swallow sharply, trying my best to act normal, ignoring the way my head trembles as I study the picture.

“Thank you,” I mutter, turning to Conrad who is still looking like a statue next to me.

I graze his jaw with the tips of my fingers as if I can make him unclench the muscles in it. “You kept it,” I say, the sentence coming out more like a realization than a question.

He looks back at me, something I can't quite name moving behind his eyes. He searches my face, like he's trying to understand what seeing that polaroid did to me.

I watch him watch me, my expression staying in that sure and secure way. It's the least I can give him in a room full of people.

“Yeah,” he breathes out. “I did."

ᯓ★

a/n: hope all of you enjoyed this! I would love to hear all of your thoughts 🫶