YOUR ARMS, HIS SAFE PLACE
summary: Conrad reaches his breaking point after a call with his dad about his mom’s estate, the weight having to be the strong one and do everything falls apart. You remind him he doesn’t always have to be the strong one.
Conrad had been distant all day, a little quieter than usual, but you didn’t press him. You knew by now that Conrad’s silences were layered — sometimes they meant nothing, sometimes they meant everything. Still, when you heard his voice down the hall, low and sharp, something in your chest told you to listen.
“I can’t—please, just stop,” he muttered into the phone, his tone fraying at the edges. Then silence.
When you walked into his room a minute later, his phone was facedown on the bed. Conrad sat on the edge of the bed, hunched forward, elbows braced on his knees. He didn’t look at you, just ran both hands over his face like he could scrub away whatever had just happened.
“Conrad?” your voice was careful, soft.
He let out a bitter laugh, the kind that wasn’t really a laugh at all. “It’s my dad,” he muttered. “He wants me to deal with lawyers, with paperwork—everything about Mom’s estate. Like I’m supposed to be the one keeping it all together. Like I’m—” His voice caught hard, breaking mid-sentence. He stopped, shook his head, and pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes. “I can’t do this anymore. I don’t know how to do this anymore.”
Your chest ached. Conrad had always been the strong one, the one everyone leaned on, but no one ever gave him anything back or asked how he felt.
You crossed the room, sitting beside him on the bed. “That’s not fair,” you whispered. “He shouldn’t put all of that on you.”
Conrad laughed again, short and sharp. “That’s nothing new.” His shoulders shook slightly as he dragged in a ragged breath. “If I don’t handle it, everything falls apart. And then it’s my fault.”
“Hey,” you murmured, sliding your hand over his wrist. “Look at me.”
For a moment, he wouldn’t. His jaw was tight, his throat working like he was fighting to keep it together. But when he finally lowered his hands, his eyes were red, lashes wet, and it nearly broke you.
You reached up and cupped his face. “You don’t have to do it all alone,” you whispered.
That was all it took. He broke down, and suddenly he was folding into you, his forehead pressing against your shoulder, arms wrapping around you so tight it almost hurt. His breath was unsteady, trembling.
You held him without hesitation, one arm around his waist, the other threading gently through his hair. “Shh, I’ve got you,” you murmured. “You don’t have to be strong with me.”
For a long time, Conrad just clung to you, his shoulders shaking as silent tears fell. You kissed the side of his head, rocking him slightly like you could ease the weight off his chest.
When his breathing finally began to slow, you pulled back just enough to look at him. His eyes were glassy, cheeks damp, hair falling into his face. Vulnerable. Beautiful.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered hoarsely, voice cracking. “I didn’t mean to—”
“Don’t you apologize,” you cut in gently. “You’re allowed to break down, Conrad. You’re human. You don’t have to carry everything all the time.”
His throat bobbed, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he leaned into your touch when you brushed his hair back.
“Come on,” you said softly. “Let’s get you some water, okay?”
You went away just long enough to grab a glass from the kitchen. When you came back, he was still sitting there, shoulders slumped, eyes distant. You nudged the cup into his hands, and he took a few small sips before setting it down with a quiet thank you.
Then you tugged him gently until he lay back on the bed, his head in your lap. His sweatshirt was soft under your fingertips as you traced slow, absentminded patterns along his arm. With your free hand, you brushed his hair back from his forehead, letting your nails graze lightly against his scalp.
His eyes fluttered shut almost instantly, exhaustion pulling at him now that the floodgates had opened.
“You’re safe,” you whispered, your voice barely above the sound of the waves outside. “I’ve got you. Always.”
Conrad’s breathing evened out, slower, steadier. His hand, warm and heavy, found yours and laced your fingers together loosely, even in sleep.
You stayed like that all night, watching over him, making sure that for once, Conrad Fisher didn’t have to hold the weight of the world. You would hold him instead.
