rainandsentences

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i’m still processing the last episode of tsitp… more os are coming out, i promise.

in the meantime, can we talk about how good conrad is looking this whole season? 🫦

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˚₊ Master list ˚₊

welcome to my masterlist!

here you’ll find everything i’ve written, organized for easy browsing.

feel free to scroll, read, and reblog anything you like — thank you for being here ♡

Conrad Fisher

----- Always almost,Conrad -----

----- Two cups, One morning -----

----- Empty Space -----

----- A Playlist for You -----

----- You -----

----- Long Enough -----

Chef Luca

----- A Quiet Sunday -----

----- Do you see me like this? -----

----- Not too close -----

----- It stays -----

----- Quiet Proof -----

----- The space between ----- pt2. ----- pt3. -----

----- Call the Restaurant -----

----- Our soft place -----

----- The Recipe Box -----

----- Strays -----

Billy The Kid

----- Yes, ma'am -----

Joel Miller

----- Ain't nobody else I'd rather have -----

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hiii

do u have a masterlist

heyy! honestly i have a lot of messages asking the same things, i’ve been wanting to do it for a while but I simply can’t figure it out yet… (i’m not tech pro sorry🥲) so i will be thankful for your patience and if any of you have a tutorial or anything, i would appreciate it sm. <3

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Hi there! I saw you write for Pedro Pascal so I wanted to see if I could request something for one of his characters. 💕 my favs are Javier Peña or Joel Miller, I’ll let you pick!!

Mainly looking for something fluffy, I love when reading about these harder, tougher characters are soft for their loved ones. Maybe him helping his partner through an insecurity, reader thinking they’re not good enough for him.

ofc! thank you very much for your request, gumpy <3 hope you like it!

Ain’t Nobody Else I’d Rather Have

joel miller x f!reader

synopsis: you're enough, you've always been enough.

rate: 16+

warnings: comfort aid, fluff

a/n: i'm sorry that this is so short but as many of you can tell i prefer writing angst and sad stuff. it took me a lot of effort but i ended up liking it. i hope you do as well.

————————————————————————

Jackson at night was quiet in a way that made Joel uneasy. He wasn’t used to calm. Wasn’t used to safety, not really. He lived in constant alert, even from his early ages. So, after months inside these gates, even after long evenings by a real fire and shared dinners and the sound of Ellie laughing upstairs, part of him still lived with one hand on the trigger.

But tonight… the quiet felt heavier.

Maybe it was because of how still you were. Sitting on the edge of the bed with your arms wrapped around your knees, just watching the shadows on the floor. Your hair falling down your shoulders and the light from the back of the room made you look like a complete angel to his eyes. The warmth from the fireplace flickered over your face, but you weren’t looking at it. You weren’t looking at anything.

Joel watched you for a moment before speaking, his voice soft. “You alright?”

You startled, just a little. Not from fear—he’d made sure you never had to flinch around him—but like you hadn’t expected the question. Like you thought you were hiding it well.

“I’m fine,” you said quickly, too quickly.

Joel sat up and the mattress shifted under his weight. “You sure?”

You nodded, then you added, “Just tired.”

That made him frown because how well he knew you, you tended to avoid confrontation, even when it was needed for you to feel better. And... you were always tired when something was wrong.

He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and sat beside you, leaving just enough space so you wouldn’t feel crowded. Joel wasn’t always good with words, but he’d gotten good at giving you space. At knowing when you needed quiet or when you needed touch.

Tonight, you needed something but he just wasn’t sure what.

He watched you for a long beat. “Did I do somethin’?”

“What? No.” Your voice cracked. “No, Joel, it’s not you.”

He nodded slowly, jaw tight. “Alright.”

Silence again.

Then you let out a soft, shaky breath. “I just… I don’t know. I get in my head sometimes.”

Joel turned toward you. “Talk to me.”

You still didn’t look at him. “It’s stupid.”

“Don’t care,” he said gently. “ It's not stupid if it makes you this quiet, still wanna hear it.”

A pause. Then, quietly:

“I look at you, and I don’t understand why you’re here. Why you choose me. You’ve been through so much. You’ve survived things I can’t even imagine. You’ve lost more than most people ever will. And me?” You gave a short, humorless laugh. “I freeze when I hear gunfire, I get scared when Ellie brings up patrol routes. I’m not brave, I feel like I'm just a heavy load, I’m not strong , and I don't think I'll ever be... at least not like you.”

Joel didn’t speak. You could feel him watching you, but he didn’t say anything yet.

You pulled your arms tighter around yourself. “I feel like I’m not… enough. Like maybe one day you’ll wake up and realize you’re wasting your time.”

That last part came out smaller than you meant it to. Barely more than a whisper.

Joel exhaled through his nose. Not in frustration—more like he was steadying himself.

When he spoke, his voice was low and gravel-thick. “You done?”

You nodded, even though your chest ached with the weight of it.

He reached for you then. Carefully. One large, calloused hand settling at the back of your neck, the other covering your wrist where it clutched your knee. His touch was warm. Solid.

“First thing you gotta know,” he said, “is that bein’ strong doesn’t mean not bein’ scared. Hell, I’m scared all the damn time.”

You finally looked at him.

Joel’s eyes were soft. There was no pity in them, no disbelief. Just quiet honesty. “Strong don’t mean killin’ things or swingin’ punches. Strong is stayin’. It’s survivin’. It’s takin’ care of the people you love when the world’s fallin’ apart.”

His thumb brushed against your skin, a soothing motion.

“You take care of me in ways you don’t even realize,” he continued. “You bring me back when I start to disappear. You remind me what it feels like to sit in the quiet and not wanna run from it. You make me want to be better.”

Your throat tightened. “Joel…”

“You’re not some fill-in ‘til I find better. You are the better.”

He leaned in, pressing his forehead to yours.

“I don’t need a soldier,” he whispered. “I don’t need someone who’s seen the worst just to believe me. I need someone who reminds me the good is still out there. That I still got something left in me that can feel.”

A tear slipped down your cheek. Joel caught it with his thumb before it could fall far.

“I look at you,” he said, “and I see peace. And that’s rarer than anything else in this world.”

Your hand came up to rest over his heart. He covered it with his own.

“I know I’m not always easy,” he said. “But I know this for sure: I ain’t ever gonna wake up one day and wonder if I want you. I already know. I’ve known since the day you looked at me like I was worth savin’.”

For a long time, you didn’t speak. Just leaned into him, forehead still resting against his, eyes closed. You let yourself breathe. Let yourself believe him.

And Joel held you through it—arms wrapping around you, pulling you gently into his lap, one hand cradling your back and the other stroking slowly through your hair.

“You’re not just enough,” he murmured against your temple. “You’re everything, and I am willing to show you and make you feel like it."

You didn’t need to say anything back. The way you curled into his chest, the way your hand fisted gently in his shirt, the way you breathed in sync with his heartbeat—that was more than enough.

For both of you.

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Yes, ma'am

billy the kid x f! reader

synopsis: the road is lighter with good company.

rate: 16+

warnings: none

a/n: i have been obsessed over tom blyth and i really liked his portrayal as billy, i hope y'all like this <3

————————————————————————

You weren’t supposed to be out this far. Hell — you weren’t supposed to be anywhere but locked inside your parents’ house, trying on dresses you didn’t choose, pretending not to hear them whisper about dowries and land deeds behind closed doors. As the oldest of five siblings it was your duty according to the name of your family, to fulfill all their expectations to be a good wife to honor your bloodline.

The man they picked for you was older. Wealthy. Hands like ash and breath like smoke, he already had a wife but he constantly complained how she had turned old and how uncomfortable that make him feel.

You were seventeen the first time they mentioned his name. You were nineteen when they told you you’d be married by summer in his big mansion, you couldn't stay there any longer, your plans were different for your future and marrying rich wasn't part of what you wanted.

So, with one of your maid's help you were gone by spring.

You didn’t take much. Just a few coins, your boots, a worn cloak, and a name you made up on the road. You didn’t even look back.

And somehow, after weeks of dust and silence, of meals paid in lies and looks over your shoulder—you met him.

Billy.

He found you halfway to nowhere, trying to unjam a stubborn stirrup with a knife that was too dull to help.

“You planning on killin’ the saddle or savin’ it?” he asked, amused but not mocking.

You looked up, breath caught in your throat.

“You’re Billy the Kid,” you said.

He didn’t flinch. “Might be. Who’s asking?”

You didn’t answer, not with your real name. Not with your old one either. Just shrugged and said, “No one that matters.”

He tilted his head. Watched you for a moment like he was reading between lines you hadn’t even written yet.

“You runnin’ from somethin’?” he asked.

You paused. Then gave him the first honest word you’d spoken in weeks.

“Might be. Who's asking?” You returned his comment.

"Smooth, very well." He smirks softly.

You looked away again.

"Where are you heading?"

"Why would I tell a stranger where I'm goin?"

"Not a stranger, call me Billy."

You looked at his blue eyes that pierced you from above his horse.

"North, I'm heading north."

He nods. "Do you mind if I take you?"

"What do you want? Travelers always want something in return."

"I'm not fully a traveler and no, I don't want anything besides your lovely company, ma'am."

He walked down the horse, he was taller than you and his figure was firm, like he had been on the road for a while.

You looked away and walked towards the horse. "Help me up, then."

He tilted a soft smile. "Yes, ma'am."

Now, weeks later, you were sitting beside him by a low-burning fire, wrapped in his coat, the weight of the night pressing in around you like fog. Your hands were still cold, despite the heat. Maybe it was something deeper than weather.

Billy sat just close enough to touch — but didn’t, not unless you did first. Always respectful. Always patient in ways no one had ever been with you.

You didn’t talk much when the stars came out. But tonight… something itched beneath your skin. Something unspoken.

“Do you miss it?” you asked suddenly, staring into the fire.

Billy glanced over. “Miss what?”

“Home. A real bed. A name that doesn’t change every town.”

He was quiet for a beat. “I never called it home, not really.”

You nodded. “Me neither.”

Another silence. Softer now.

Then he asked, voice low, “You wanna tell me what you were runnin’ from?”

You looked at him.

His eyes didn’t pry. Didn’t press. Just waited.

“My parents,” you said, barely more than a whisper. “They wanted to marry me off. To someone rich. Older.” You says emphasizing the last word.

Billy didn’t flinch. He didn’t even blink.

“Did you love him?” he asked.

You laughed — not bitter, but tired. “I didn’t even know him. Not really. I was land, to them. Livestock.”

He didn’t say anything at first. Just leaned forward and fed another stick into the fire.

"What do you want then? You must have another plans to be around here."

You looked at him and nod.

"My whole life i heard how replaceable i was, they always demanded something form me... i want to do what i please now."

"And that is?" He replies.

"I still don't know... i don't have many options."

Then, softly: “You'll find it.”

You exhaled, slower than you realized you’d been holding it.

“They called me foolish. Selfish.”

Billy’s voice was firm now. “They were wrong.”

You turned to look at him fully. “How do you know?”

He held your gaze, eyes steady.

“Because anyone who tries to buy you doesn’t deserve you."

Your heart thudded.

The fire crackled. His coat was heavy on your shoulders, and suddenly it felt like more than borrowed fabric. It felt like shelter.

“Billy…” you started, then stopped.

He shifted, facing you more fully now, his voice quieter. “You don’t gotta say anything, not if it hurts.”

You swallowed. “It doesn't.”

A pause.

“I just—no one’s ever seen me like an actual person, and independent one.”

You see his blue eyes sparkling with the fire light, his attention stuck into you. Billy’s jaw tensed slightly, like the words meant something to him he didn’t quite know how to say out loud.

“I ain’t good with speeches,” he murmured.

“I don’t want a speech.”

“Then what do you want?”

You hesitated, heart pounding.

“You.”

He stilled.

But only for a second.

And then — slowly, deliberately — Billy leaned in. His hand brushed against yours, a question without words.

You laced your fingers through his.

And he exhaled like he’d been holding his breath for years.

"You're so beautiful." He whispered so close to your lips. "And so smart... God."

You smile softly.

"Let me kiss you... please." He whispers sounding desperate.

You nod and he finally pressed his lips against yours, his hands lowering to your waist as you pulled him closer by his neck.

Later, as the stars wheeled overhead and the fire sank to embers, you lay beside him, your head on his chest, his heartbeat steady beneath your ear.

He didn’t speak for a while. Neither did you.

But when he finally did, it was quiet. Honest.

“I want you to discover what you want to do with your life.”

“Me too.”

"Well, I'm going to help you... at least all I can." He caresses your hair. "We'll figure it out and I'll be here, with you."

He kissed your hair, soft and certain.

And for the first time since you’d fled everything you knew, you believed it.

You believed in somewhere.

Because Billy wasn’t a place — but with him, you felt like maybe you didn’t need one.

[rainandsentences]

current state: in love with tom blyth.

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Long Enough

older conrad fisher x f!reader

synopsis: he realizes what has been always in front of him...

rate: 16+

warnings: angst with fluff ending!

a/n: as many of you requested it, here it is part two of this <3

————————————————————————

He didn’t go after you right away.

He just stood there, on the edge of the beach, watching your silhouette disappear into the dark — the sound of waves louder than his heartbeat, but not by much.

Belly had looked at him like she was unraveling. And all he’d done was stand there and let it happen.

He sat down in the sand, elbows on his knees, hands rubbing over his face like that could undo the way you had looked at him — like he had broken something he never deserved in the first place.

And yes, he had.

So for a long time, all he could do was stare out at the water because he didn’t know what he expected to feel when Belly walked in. Maybe some kind of closure. Maybe relief. Maybe that old spark that used to make everything else fade out. Because, how could he be so stupid to make you feel like that? You didn't deserve it, not when you've done so much for him, when you had loved him... maybe that was it, he was afraid of going to the bottom of his heart and finally clear what he felt and what he wanted.

Not again. In the past, he lost Belly for his lack of communication for his fears and intrusive thoughts. And now, he couldn't lose you, not like that.

Now all that he felt was panic.

Not because he wanted Belly, she was his past and he could understand that.

Because he knew exactly what you would see in him in that moment — and worse, he knew you were right.

He smacked himself mentally for saying that, for saying that he was still hers. Belly's.

And he was right about it, but not in the way you had thought. She was still part of his life, she was his friend and one of his first loves.

But now they were adults, he was a doctor and the teenager fever was now away, away for good and for the best.

He didn’t hear Belly until she sat down beside him.

He didn’t look over. Just murmured, “Didn’t think you’d come.”

“My parents are the main characters, Conrad.,” she said gently. "You didn't wanted to see me?"

“I didn’t say that.”

“But you were surprised.”

He exhaled. “Yeah.”

They were quiet for a while. The music from the tent drifted faintly through the wind.

“She left,” Belly said.

“I know,” he whispered. “She should’ve.”

“She loves you, you know.” Belly looked at him. "It's been a while, Conrad. And honestly I´m so happy for you, she is really amazing and you both complement each other for good."

“I know.” Conrad said as he nods slowly. "But I'm a fool... she deserves better. She´s beautiful and so intelligent..."

"And you love her.”

That made him pause.

Then, voice low: “I didn’t know how much. Not until I saw her walk away.”

Belly didn’t try to console him. She didn’t tell him he was forgiven, or that you’d come back, or that any of this was easy.

Instead, she nodded toward the water. “I think we all got stuck in something we outgrew.”

Conrad’s throat tightened.

“You were the first boy I ever loved,” Belly added. “But we both know I’m not the last girl you’re going to so, I think you can try talk to her and fix up things," she said. “ I don't know what happened between you guys but she’s worth it, Conrad." She says softly. "Don't mess it up."

Ho looked away as he nodded. "It was nice to see you, Belly. Send your parents our congratulations." He said as he stood up and walked out of the party.

It was almost midnight by the time he got to your hotel. He didn’t stop to think about what to say — just knew that if he didn’t say something now, it would haunt him for the rest of his life.

He knocked once, then again.

You opened the door slowly, wearing one of his sweatshirts and eyes that didn’t look angry anymore — just tired.

His heart clenched.

“What do you want? Don’t say you’re here to explain,” you said.

“I’m not,” Conrad replied, stepping forward just enough that you could see the truth in his eyes. “I’m here to tell you what I should’ve said a long time ago.”

You didn’t speak, just crossed your arms and waited.

“I’ve been holding onto a version of myself that doesn’t exist anymore,” he started. “The guy who was in love with Belly — I think he faded out a long time ago. But I kept chasing his ghost, trying to make sense of a story that already ended.”

Your jaw tightened.

He kept going.

“And while I was doing that, you were there. With me. For me. You let me be quiet. You didn’t try to fix me, or compete with what I lost. You just loved me.”

His voice cracked.

“And I’ve been a coward. Because part of me thought I didn’t deserve to be loved like that. Especially not by someone like you.”

He took a step closer.

“But I do love you. I’m in love with you. And I think I have been for a long time, but I was too scared to admit that the thing I wanted most was right in front of me.”

You looked up at him, slowly, and he saw the tears in your eyes.

But you didn’t back away.

"You looked at her like the world shifted,” you said, voice shaking.

“I looked at her like I remembered something,” he said. “Not like I wanted it back. Not like I wanted her. Just... like I saw a chapter close for real. And I panicked, because I didn’t know how to tell you that it was over without making you feel like you were second choice.”

You looked away.

“I’m not asking you to forget tonight,” he said gently. “I’m not even asking you to forgive me yet. But I am asking you to believe me.”

Silence stretched between you.

Then, softly: “I don’t want to spend another day wondering if I’m going to lose you. I want to wake up and know that you’re mine because i love you... I love you with my whole heart and I as well, long to be yours."

You stared at him and stepped forward.

“I haven't forgive you, you know?,” you whispered.

"I understand." He nods sadly.

"But I love you too, Conrad." You say softly as you lean on and kissed him.

It wasn’t soft.

It wasn’t careful.

It was every bit of the ache and anger and want that had built between you for months — maybe years. It was teeth and tears and the press of his hands at your jaw, holding you like you were real, like you were home.

When you finally pulled back, you were breathless and so was he.

You looked up at him with trembling lips and a wet laugh. “Don’t ever make me feel like I’m less than again.”

“I won't because you're not.” he whispered. "I'm sorry, darling."

You nod.

“And I'm yours...” he said. "Okay?"

"Okay."

And this time, when he held you…

You believed it.

[rainandsentences]

You

college!conrad fisher x f!reader

synopsis: you met him in college and going to the party that night change it all.

rate: 16+

warnings: none, pure fluff.

a/n: he deserves better, i love him sm.

————————————————————————

You met him on a Tuesday.

Not the kind of Tuesday that changes your life — not dramatic, not cinematic. Just one of those warm, dragging days where time feels slightly out of focus, and the breeze is just cool enough to make you want to stay outside longer than you should.

You were rereading the same paragraph in your psychology textbook for the fourth time, your eyes glazing over, your fingers absentmindedly tracing the paper's edge. And then, without ceremony, he sat down across from you.

Gray hoodie, airpods and pretty blue eyes that looked a little tired

He didn’t say anything — not at first. But when your notebook slipped from your lap, he caught it before it hit the pavement. Looked up and handed it back to you without a word.

“Nice catch,” you said, blinking.

He offered a quiet smile.

And then he put his earbuds back in.

That was it. The start.

Not with fireworks — just his gaze.

After that, you started noticing him more. On campus. In the quad. In the library, curled over his laptop like it owed him something. Sometimes he’d nod if he saw you. Sometimes you’d sit near each other without saying anything.

It became a rhythm — one neither of you defined, but both fell into like instinct.

You’d talk sometimes, in the way people do when they’ve been circling each other long enough to be curious. He was always… gentle. Measured. Never in a rush to speak. And when he did, it was like every word had been considered before it left his mouth.

He was calm, soft like a morning breeze.

And you started to notice things.

Like how Conrad always asked before sitting beside you. How he remembered when your midterm was. How he paused conversations when he sensed you were overwhelmed — not to fill the silence, but to give it space.

You didn’t fall in love overnight. You didn’t even think it was a crush at first.

But then came a Thursday afternoon: gray skies, cold wind, your umbrella broken and forgotten in your dorm. He walked you home under his jacket, held above your heads like some makeshift roof.

“It’s kind of a cliché,” you’d muttered, soaked and embarrassed.

“I don’t mind clichés,” he’d said. “They happen for a reason.”

Or the time he texted you a link to a playlist — no explanation — and the first three songs made you cry harder than you expected to. Because somehow, without knowing your whole story, Conrad had chosen the exact music that made you feel known.

Or maybe it was the time he fell asleep across from you at the library, face half-buried in his arm, and you realized you didn’t want to stop looking at him.

Yeah. Maybe that was it.

Him and his beautiful soul.

And that night you hadn’t planned to go to the party.

Too many people, too many bodies packed into one house, the kind of music that makes your chest feel tight for no reason. But your friends begged, and you thought — fine. Just an hour.

The second you stepped inside, you regretted it. Too loud, too much wasted people Someone shoved a red cup into your hand, but you didn’t drink it. You were already scanning for a way out when you caught sight of him.

Leaning against the porch railing. Hoodie sleeves pushed to his elbows. Red cup in hand, untouched.

You were halfway to the door when you saw him.

Leaning against the porch railing. Hoodie sleeves pushed up to his elbows. Same red Solo cup in his hand, untouched.

Your heart did that thing it always did lately: a stutter, a hiccup, a shift toward something you weren’t ready to name.

He looked up at the same moment.

You didn’t speak. Just walked outside and stood beside him.

He smiled. “You too, huh?”

You nodded, wrapping your arms around yourself. “Needed air.”

He tilted his head toward the backyard. “There’s lights strung up back there. Want to walk?”

You followed him into the dark.

The string lights were low and gold, fluttering in the trees like they’d been strung there for a softer kind of night.

Neither of you said anything for a while. But it wasn’t awkward. It was familiar.

Eventually, you sighed. “Not really my scene.”

“No,” he said quietly. “I don’t think it’s anyone’s. Just a bunch of people trying not to feel alone.”

You looked at him then — really looked.

“Is that why you came?”

He hesitated. “Maybe... and, allso to see if you’d be here.”

You stopped walking.

He stopped too.

A beat passed. Then another.

“Me?” you said softly.

He nodded.

"Why?"

"I wanted to see you."

"Oh." You say softly.

“You make things feel… quieter. In a good way.” He says.

The silence between you suddenly felt electric.

You wanted to say something brave. So you did.

“You’re not what I expected.”

He looked at you, cautious. “How’d you expect me?”

“Closed off, kind of an asshole..."

Conrad huffed a laugh. “Well… I’ve been all those things, not proud of them.”

You nod.

“And now?”

He looked up at you, and for the first time, you could see a shimmer in his gaze.

“Now I think I’m okay. Mostly because… I’ve had people show up when it mattered.”

You felt the words before you heard them.

“I like you, Conrad.”

It came out steadier than you felt.

He blinked. “You do?”

"Sorry."

He stepped closer.

“I’ve been trying not to like you,” he said. “Because I didn’t want to mess it up. You’re… steady. And kind. And every time I’m around you, I forget I ever thought I wasn’t good at this.”

“At what?”

He looked right into you.

“This. Wanting something. Letting myself have it.”

You didn’t speak.

You just took one step forward and kissed him.

Slow. Gentle. Like breathing.

He melted into it.

A pause.

Then he reached out — slowly, so gently — and touched your hand.

When he pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours.

“I’m glad you came tonight,” he said.

“Me too.”

[rainandsentences]

conrad fluff to balance out the DEVASTATING ANGST whenever ur ready would be greatly appreciated 🙏 the angst hurtsssss

i am so sorry but i absolutely love writing angst... but, here is your compensation for all the sorrow. he he

hope you like it, gumpy <3

A Playlist for You

post-canon conrad x f!reader

synopsis: just monotony and some old devices.

rate: 16+

warnings: finally some short fluff.

————————————————————————

It was a lazy Sunday in the kind of way that made time feel like honey — slow, golden, and stickier the longer you let yourself rest in it.

You had left Conrad alone for maybe twenty minutes — just long enough to run to the corner store for almond milk and his favorite granola. He insisted you didn’t need to go; you insisted that he didn’t know how to shop without accidentally bringing home three pints of ice cream and none of the actual groceries.

So you left. And when you came back, the apartment was quiet.

Almost too quiet, he was not a very loud person but it was weirdly quiet.

You walked in, bags crinkling at your side. “Hon?”

“Bedroom!” he called, faintly distracted.

You followed his voice, setting the bag down on the kitchen counter as you passed. When you pushed the door open, your breath caught.

He was sitting cross-legged on the floor beside your old shoebox of tech junk — headphones around his neck, tangled charger cords everywhere, and in his hands...

“Is that my old iPod?”

He looked up at you, sheepish.

“I didn’t mean to snoop,” Conrad said, holding it up. “But this little guy was glowing like a time capsule, and I had to know.”

You blinked. “I haven’t touched that thing since, like… sophomore year of college.”

“Yeah, I figured when I saw that your top played song was Lorde circa 2017.” He smiled, small and lopsided. “But then I found this playlist.”

You froze.

“Oh no.”

Not the playlist, not THAT playlist...

“It’s called—” He checked it. “‘Literally No One Can Ever See This.’ Bold title, by the way.”

You groaned. “Please tell me you didn’t—”

“I did.”

Fuck.

He pressed play and the room filled with the quiet swell of a song you hadn’t heard in years. Soft vocals. A slow piano build. A kind of aching, tentative hope embedded in every word.

You folded your arms over your chest, leaning against the doorway. “You’re not allowed to judge teenage me. She was… melodramatic.”

Conrad stood slowly, slipping the headphones off his neck. “She was in love.”

Your breath caught.

He walked toward you, gentle and sure, as the music carried on from the tiny speaker in the iPod.

"There's actually a note in the box that explains with detail why you added the songs... literally, its like six sentences each... this is awesome-"

You grabbed the iPod and hugged it.

"Why the hell are you spying on my things?!" You say, you're not fully mad, more like embarrassed because you knew exactly what the note said...

"Well, I'm sorry..."

"Yeah, you should be!"

He stands up and walks towards you with a tender gaze, his blue eyes piercing you.

"Honey...I'm sorry if you felt bad, it wasn't my intention to make you feel that way. I should've ask you first..."

You sigh and hold his hand.

"I'm not mad..."

He lifts his eyebrows like a question.

"Okay, a bit... I'm more embarrassed than mad." You chuckle softly

"Might seem weird but it's actually very adorable." He says softly caressing your hand with his thumb.

"I was a teen."

"Precisely."

You scoff and smile at him.

"I forgive you and honestly I had no idea I still had that thing."

"It's hilarious, babe." He kisses your hand. “You know, your old self picked all the songs that said everything she couldn’t say,” he murmured “You know what track five is?”

You closed your eyes.

He answered for you.

“‘It Must Have Been Love.”

You let out a breathless laugh. “Okay, well, that's an old song, beautiful by the way-"

He cut you off, softly.

"Well, you've mentioned me that... someone reminds you to that song."

"Conrad, stop." You say as you feel you cheeks blushing.

“Nuh, uh... when were you going to tell me you’ve been in love with me since track five?”

You looked up at him, cheeks warm. “I wasn’t.”

He tilted his head. “No?”

“I mean, you're my boyfriend now... I didn’t think I needed to,” you said. “I figured you’d already know. You were always… the song in the background.”

His expression softened completely.

“I played the whole thing twice,” he admitted. “Sat here with your old headphones like I was sixteen again, trying to figure out if the girl I loved maybe, possibly, secretly loved me back.”

Your eyes widened. “You—”

“I didn’t make a playlist,” Conrad added, voice lower now. “But if I did, it would’ve been full of songs that reminded me of you.”

You stepped in closer.

He held your gaze.

And then, with a soft smile:

“I guess we’ve been playing each other’s music all along.”

That night, you danced around the kitchen barefoot while he made dinner — the playlist playing in full over the speakers, your iPod propped on the counter like a little ghost of who you used to be.

Conrad caught your hand as you twirled past him, kissed your forehead, and whispered:

“Track five is my favorite.”

And when you searched for his lips, you didn’t need any more lyrics.

Just this.

Just him.

Just the song of it all finally making sense.

[rainandsentences]

i’ve found my current obsession…

[rainandsentences]

Empty Space

older conrad fisher x f!reader

synopsis: wedding day at cousins, what could go wrong when belly returns home?

rate: 16+

warnings: angst

a/n: i can only apologize for this.

————————————————————————

Before the wedding, there was hope. You had been with Conrad for months now. Not just the kind of months you count on your fingers — but the kind you measure by toothbrushes left at each other’s places, by goodnight texts becoming default, by the way his hoodie lived on your desk chair, and how your shampoo stayed in his bathroom like it belonged there. Something serious, lasting and for you it was real.

But with all the good things also came the other side of the coin, there were fights, yes. Conrad didn’t always let you in. Sometimes he shut down without warning, retreating into that quiet ache that seemed older than he was. But you loved him. You chose him. And in moments when he softened — when his lips found your forehead, or he said your name like a secret — you believed he chose you too.

He never said “I love you,” not yet.

But he stayed and for her, that had to mean something

So when the invitation arrived two weeks ago she read it out loud to him while they were on the kitchen having coffee.

"John Conklin and Lauren Park cordially invite you to celebrate their marriage."

You blinked at the embossed lettering.

Conrad stood beside you in the kitchen, quiet.

"So they finally got back together... do you remember why did they even divorced?" You say softly as she chuckles.

"Don't ask me, i got no clue." He sighs with a smirk.

"Here says it's going to be on the beach house... at Cousins." You say softly handling him the invitation.

“You going?” you asked, light, but already knowing the answer.

He nodded. “Yeah, I think I should.”

"Great, well, I should make plans here for those days." You say with a soft smile.

"What?" He looks up at you.

"What?" You hesitated. “Do you want me to come with you?”

He looked at you then and nods as he is in front of you. "Of course." He mumbles softly against your lips as you tangled your arms around his neck.

So you went.

Part of you was worried that this wasn’t just a wedding, this was the first time in months since you saw the Conklin's, since you saw her. They've been always nice to you, accepting you since the beginning of your formal relationship with Conrad, even when the two of you were just friends as kids. But with the full view of what happened between Conrad and Belly, of the way he changed after her... there was something deep buried in you that didn't really want to show up.

But it was their wedding.

Laurel and John.

Belly’s parents.

Belly’s history.

Belly’s world.

And she didn't fit there completely.

The beach was dressed in soft gold. Candles flickered in the wind. Every seat filled with someone who had seen this story unravel and come together again. It was emotional, you won’t pretend it wasn’t.

Laurel cried. John smiled like he was seeing her for the first time again. Steven gave a clumsy, beautiful toast.

Even Jeremiah got choked up.

You glanced at Conrad more than once, watching him watch the scene with soft eyes. You could feel how deeply it hit him — the possibility of something broken being mended. The ghost of a family being resurrected in vows and violins.

"Do you think your mom would've liked this?" You whisper.

"Honestly, I don't know, but she would've support Laurel in everything..."

You reached for his hand during the ceremony and he gazed at you, your lips cornered into a smile and he kissed your temple.

Later, there was dancing.

You and Conrad had slipped into a rhythm, laughing with Jeremiah, sipping wine, tucked into a corner of the tent. For once, he was light. You were wrapped in the rare warmth of his easy smile.

He even asked you to dance.

You said yes, of course.

You swayed slowly, his hand at your waist, your head tucked under his chin. It felt like something you’d remember. Like maybe this was the moment you’d talk about years from now — that perfect night at the wedding where he finally let you all the way in.

“Thank you for inviting me, Doctor Fisher.” you whispered against his chest.

"I like how it sounds." He exhaled. “Thank you for coming.”

You pulled back just enough to see him.

“I’m really glad I’m here with you.”

His thumb brushed your cheek. He looked like he wanted to say something more. Maybe he would have...

But then...

A burst of laughter near the entrance.

You turned.

So did he.

There she was.

Belly.

Hair curled loosely, cheeks pink from the slight cold. She looked surprised, like she hadn’t expected to be this noticed. Like she hadn’t expected to be the gravitational center of the room again.

And she smiled.

Your eyes didn’t leave Conrad, you felt it in your bones before you saw it on his face.

The shift, the change of his gaze and how he loosen the grip on you.

Just for a second.

But enough.

After an instant, his hand tensed at your waist. His lips parted like he might say her name. His gaze tracked her across the room, caught like a tether.

And you knew.

This was the moment.

The moment the world stopped spinning.

The moment you realized he was still in love with her.

You didn’t make a scene; you just slipped your hand from his, mumbled something about needing air, and walked out before your heart cracked loud enough to echo off the dance floor.

The wind outside stung. Your shoes sank slightly into the sand.

You wrapped your arms around yourself, like maybe that would hold you together.

Footsteps followed.

“Hey,” Conrad said softly.

You didn’t turn.

“I didn’t expect her to come,” he added.

"It was obvious, those are her parents." You say sarcastically.

"She was out of the country... I-"

“That’s not the problem,” you interrupted, raising your voice level.

Silence.

You turned then. His face was so familiar. So painfully his. It made it worse — how much you loved him. How hard you’d tried.

"I don't care that she's here, I'm pissed about your attitude, Conrad."

"What are you talking about?" He touched his temple.

“You looked at her like the rest of us weren’t even here,” you whispered. “Like I wasn’t even here.”

He opened his mouth and closed it instantly.

"Please, just don't tell me I've been wasting my time dating you..." Your eyes itched like you were about to cry. "It's been years, Conrad. You said it yourself, it happened, it's in the past but... seems like you lied."

You approached him and looked up at him, you felt your heart in your throat.

"Tell me that all the time we've been together was not in vain, please..."

“I care about you,” he said finally. “You know I do.”

"Care? Just care? We've been together for two years and that's all you feel towards me?" You raise your voice. " Literally I can't believe it, I can't believe you."

You blinked, and the tears fell freely now; you didn’t bother wiping them.

"Why did you brought me here in the first place?" You say "To humiliate me? Because that's how I feel right now."

"No, I didn't mean this to happen."

"What? Being here or us?"

Silence again.

"What am I missing? What is wrong with me that you can't love me?"

"Don't say that..."

"It's true! You don't love me, Conrad."

"There is absolutely no wrong in you... It's just, I'm so stupid..."

"You can't play with me like that... I kept telling myself I was different. That I wasn’t a placeholder. That I wasn’t just your way of trying to forget her.”

He shook his head. “You’re not.”

“But you’re still hers,” you said, voice breaking.

And maybe that was the cruelest part of all — that he didn’t deny it. Not this time.

"You're not denying it..."

"No, I'm not."

He just stared at you with those blue eyes that you adored... and air left your lungs.

Rage. Sadness. Deception.

"I trusted you as a person, Conrad. I trusted you with my heart..."

“I never meant to hurt you,” he said, looking like he hated himself for it.

"You should've thought it before making me waste two years of my fucking existence!" You finally yelled.

"I'm sorry."

"Fuck off." You say as you walked away.

Back inside, the music played on.

Belly stood beside Steven, laughing. Jeremiah twirled a cousin. Laurel and John danced like they were young again.

You stood on the edge of it all, alone.

Conrad remained outside.

The space beside you was empty.

And you finally let yourself believe it always had been.

[rainandsentences]

can you write more season 3 Conrad?

expect a new story today! ;)

xo

[rainandsentences]

Two Cups, One Morning

season three! conrad fisher x female bestfriend!reader

synopsis: you moved to your new apartment, you're tired and some company wouldn't do wrong to anyone.

rate: 16+

warnings: none

a/n: a short one, i know if this is a conrad type behaviour haha

————————————————————————

The apartment is quiet, mostly.

It’s filled with half-emptied boxes, the occasional clink of silverware as you unpack a drawer, and the faint hum of a playlist you forgot to turn off. The walls are still blank. Your rug’s still rolled up against the wall. Everything feels a little too temporary—like if you blink, it’ll all be gone again.

You rub your eyes and stare at the one thing you managed to get together: your coffee machine. But you’re missing filters. Of course.

You mutter a tired curse and lean your head against the fridge.

Then, like some strange form of magic, there’s a knock.

Three short, uneven taps.

You freeze. You know that knock.

“Hey,” a voice calls through the door. “It’s me.”

You open it to find Conrad standing there, in that navy hoodie he always wears when he’s not thinking about what to wear, holding two cups of coffee and a paper bag. His hair’s wind-tousled, cheeks a little flushed from the walk.

He raises the cups like a peace offering. “Figured you forgot something.”

You blink. “You brought me coffee?”

“And a pastry,” he says, stepping inside. “And my incredibly average company.”

You snort and shake your head, still not entirely awake. “You’re unreal.”

He shrugs. “You texted me last night about the move. I wanted to help.”

You lead him into the mess of your living room. “Help unpack or help caffeinate?”

“Both.”

He stays. Of course he does.

You hand him a pair of scissors, and the two of you sit on the floor, cutting open boxes and peeling back layers of your life. Books. Dishes. One weird ceramic dinosaur that used to sit on your windowsill in college.

You talk about everything and nothing.

Conrad tells you about a patient who coded in the ER last week. You ask how he’s handling it. He shrugs like always, but then he actually answers.

You tell him about your new team, how your boss seems like a micromanager but in a lovable kind of way. He teases you for going corporate. You flick a crumpled receipt at his face.

Hours pass like that. The kind of hours that never feel wasted, even when they aren’t particularly productive.

Eventually, you’re curled up on the couch, the boxes half-unpacked, and your limbs heavier than they should be. You’re fading fast.

“You should sleep,” Conrad says, watching you from the floor.

You hum, barely coherent. “I don’t want to be rude.”

“You just moved. You’re allowed to crash.”

“Only if you stay,” you murmur, eyes already fluttering shut.

He doesn’t answer. But you think you hear him shift. Think you hear the quiet sigh he always gives when he doesn’t know what to say. The room smells like coffee and cardboard and something softer—something like him.

When you wake, the light is dimmer. Sunset filters in, casting everything gold. Your blanket’s draped over you, and there’s a folded hoodie on the pillow beneath your head.

He’s gone.

Your heart sinks a little, but then you spot the note.

It’s resting under a paper bag on the coffee table—your favorite croissant inside.

You pull the note toward you. His handwriting is crooked, a little rushed:

“Always been proud of you. — C”

You read it twice. Then again.

You press your lips together, heart thudding a little harder. This is just… Conrad. Always there, always slipping in and out of moments like wind through a window. And still, part of you aches.

Because you’ve loved him longer than you’ll admit. Quietly, the way you love someone when you’re afraid to ruin everything. When you’ve stood next to him through heartbreak and hell and late-night phone calls about his mom. When you held him after Belly, and after that awkward silence that followed.

You’ve loved him with your whole chest, and you’ve never said a word.

You run your fingers over the note again.

Then, as the sun finally disappears, you pull your phone into your lap.

You type out a message.

Thank you for everything today. Also… I read the note.

You hesitate. Then you type again.

I’ve always been proud of you, too. More than I’ve ever said.

Three dots appear.

Then disappear.

Then nothing.

You wait.

And just when your chest starts to twist in that old familiar way, your phone buzzes.

I'm outside.

You blink.

Then rush to the window—and sure enough, there he is. Sitting on the front steps. Hoodie-less, thumbs nervously tapping against his jeans.

You grab the hoodie. Open the door.

He looks up, eyes soft and unsure. “Thought maybe you wouldn’t want company.”

“I always want your company,” you whisper.

And for a second, nothing happens.

Then he smiles—crooked, quiet, and real.

“Can I come in?” he asks.

This time, when you let him in, it feels like more than just a visit.

[rainandsentences]

more conrad angst pls

definitely doing this, i have a few on my drafts… i’ll be uploading them soon ;)

xo

[rainandsentences]

Strays

luca x f!reader

synopsis: a picky eater can also have whiskers…

rate: 16+

warnings: none! just luca and cats.

a/n: i love cats, i ADORE cats and i wrote this with my baby on my lap. ^^

————————————————————————

The first time Luca sees the cat, it’s curled up beside the dumpster behind The Bear, eyes half-closed, fur scruffy and wet from the late spring rain. It doesn’t move when he opens the back door to take out the compost. Just stares.

Luca stares back.

He figures it’ll run off. But it doesn’t. It just blinks probably familiar to human presence and not seeing him as a threat.

So he breaks off a corner of the leftover baguette from staff meal and sets it gently on the pavement.

The cat sniffs, then turns away.

Luca frowns. "Picky," he mutters. The orange feline looked at him with its blue eyes then he licks his whiskers and walks away.

Luca sighs and scoffs softly as he mumbles. “You’re welcome.”

And it becomes a pattern. The cat shows up again the next night, and the one after. Luca tries different scraps: roasted chicken, a little sardine from a test dish, a corner of kouign-amann. Eventually, the cat deigns to eat the chicken. Only the chicken.

It’s obvious that the cat is not stray, it looks groomed and well fed all the time so he figured that coming to get a free snack was the cat’s hobbie after all.

Luca doesn’t name it. But he starts looking for it.

He keeps the scraps wrapped neatly in parchment, sets out a ramekin of water, talks to it sometimes under his breath. The cat never comes close, but it stays.

It’s weirdly comforting.

A week in, he notices something tied around the cat’s collar. A strip of torn notepad paper, knotted loosely with twine.

Luca crouches down slowly, lets the cat sniff his hand, and carefully unties the note.

Thanks for feeding my cat. He’s picky. You passed the test.

Luca huffs a laugh. He flips the paper over and writes with the back-of-house Sharpie:

What’s his name? —The Chef

The next night, the cat returns with a new note:

Sir Biscuit. Obviously. He bites if you give him tuna. Don’t take it personally. —Apartment 3B

After that, it becomes a thing.

Luca writes back. Short messages, scribbled on scraps of parchment or folded up bakery order tickets. Sir Biscuit becomes a courier of jokes, small observations, and food opinions.

And the owner of the cat and the apartment 3B showed up one rainy night at The Bear, she was casually sitting in a bench next to her cat.

When he opened the door and looked up for the cat, the woman was already looking at him.

“Good news, chef. The croissant was criminally good, Sir Biscuit stole the last bite so i expect a formal apology.”

Luca smiles widely recognizing the woman.

“You’re the one who’s spoiling him?”

“You would do the same if you were in my shoes.” She smiles. “Look at him.”

The cat was rolling in the floor with his paws extended.

“That’s fair.” He nods.”I’m Luca, The chef.”

“Hello, Luca The chef.” She smiles as she nods. “Thanks for everything, being a single mom is tough.”

Luca chuckles. “He’s a serious case.”

The woman nods softly and a silence fills the space.

“Uhm, well, we’re closing soon… do you want to grab a coffee?”

“Like now?”

“In five?”

She looked at his hands, his face and then his eyes; the cat called for attention and when she looked at him he blinked, a soft slow blink of what she believed was complicity.

“Sure.” She smirks softly.

She went back to the restaurant one day every week, he waited for her and they shared coffee outside the restaurant as Sir Biscuit purred over his lap or curled next to her. So one night, Luca leaves a pastry box at the back door of the building with a note tucked underneath the string:

For Sir Biscuit’s assistant. You’ve earned this.

Inside is a still-warm pear tart with frangipane.

The next morning, he finds a sticky note on the back door:

It was so good I forgot I was sad for eleven full minutes. Thank you.

He reads it twice.

So he starts suddenly starts baking a little more than necessary. Leaves a palmier or a scone outside the door every few days. Some return with notes. Some don’t.

Sir Biscuit sat in the tart box. He has no shame.

What do you put in that cardamom cream? Therapy?

He starts looking up more creative scraps to share with the cat. Finds himself experimenting with flavor pairings she might like based on her comments.

He doesn’t tell anyone at the restaurant. It’s his, somehow.

Quiet. Simple. Easy.

Then Sir Biscuit doesn’t show up.

One night passes. Then two. By the third, Luca is circling the block at midnight with foil-wrapped chicken in his coat pocket, pretending he’s just going for air.

He doesn’t find the cat. Or her.

The food stays untouched.

The next morning, there’s a knock at the back door.

She’s standing there—hood up, arms wrapped around a large, thoroughly grumpy Sir Biscuit.

Her eyes are tired. Puffy, like she’s been crying. Her sweatshirt is too big, stained near the sleeve. Sir Biscuit meows angrily.

“I’m sorry,” she says, voice rough. “He got himself stuck on the roof. Took hours to coax him down. I couldn’t leave. And then—I don’t know. I just didn’t feel like writing anything.”

Luca steps aside, nods toward the kitchen. “I saved him some focaccia.”

She laughs, soft and real, and shifts the cat in her arms. “He’ll appreciate that.”

A beat of silence. Then:

“Luca.”

“Yeah?”

Another pause. Then she adds, “Do you want to come up? For coffee? Biscuit owes you.”

Luca considers. Then nods once. “Sure.”

Her apartment is full of mismatched books and plants in chipped mugs. The cat immediately takes over the windowsill.

She pours coffee in two mugs and hands him one. “I didn’t poison it.”

“I figured.” He chuckles as they sit down at the couch. It’s a little awkward. But also not.

He sets the pastry box on the table and opens it—almond financiers, cardamom buns, one small lemon tart.

She blinks. “Extras?”

“Maybe.”

They eat quietly. She keeps glancing at him like she still can’t believe he’s real.

Finally, she says, “Sir Biscuit and I are very happy here, it’s just, sometimes i’d like another kind of company that i can actually have a conversation with…”

Luca nods, eyes on his mug. “I can do that.”

She looks at him. “What?”

He nods again. “If you want.”

“Yeah, I’d like that. You’re… you’re nice.”

“Thanks, you’re nice too.”

She smiles and they don’t say much else.

Sir Biscuit yawns and settles between them.

And the next time he delivers a note, it’s just one line, scribbled in soft handwriting:

i would love to talk all you want, i’ll bring chicken next time. ;)

[rainandsentences]

Heyyyy weird ish question but I remember reading a Conrad fisher x reader fic agessssss ago where Belly was jealous or mean etc etc just out of character to the reader and I can’t find it do u know any fics that ring a bell.

hey! to be honest, i haven’t seen many conrad fics or stories here on tumblr (that’s why i’m working on them) But let’s hope this reaches someone who does know. thanks for the message <3

[rainandsentences]

Always Almost, Conrad

season three!conrad fisher x female!best friend

synopsis: when her chest physically hurts and her heart flutters violently for him, how would she tell him? you don’t tell that stuff to your best friend… do you?

rate: 16+

warnings: angst!

a/n: in honor of tsitp new season… i was literally imagining this as i watched the new episodes. 💀 drop in the comments: team conrad or team jeremiah? 🧐 (i’ll read and judge quietly…)

————————————————————————

The pizza box was open between them, half-eaten and lukewarm, and she watched Conrad pick olives off his slice with the kind of lazy precision that only came after hours in traffic. He looked tired, older in a way that made her heart ache—more grown-up than she ever wanted him to be.

“You know you could just order without olives, right?” she teased, leaning back against the couch cushions, trying to sound light.

He smirked. “And rob you of this precious moment of judgment? Never.”

“Okay, you’re such a pick me.” She scoffs.

“I love all the ingredients this pizza has… except this guys.” He picked up an olive that she grabbed from his hand to eat it after.

“You have no brain.” She looked away.

“More than you? Absolutely.” He chuckles as she pushes him.

“Bitch” She mumbles as he only smiles.

It was always like this now. Comfortable, familiar and relaxed, she still came over without warning and he texted her sometimes dumb when he couldn’t sleep.

They were like that, simple and easy to be around each other. Like they used to do back then…

They’d grown up together, met at second grade in school when he snitched on her over being copying on a test. They were called at the principal office as she killed him with her gaze, after that, she swore to herself that she would hate him forever. The pledge didn’t lasted till third grade when she was paired with him to do a science project, there’s where they became friends and after, the bestest of friends. So they took her to Cousins Beach for the first time in the summer vacations of fifth grade; they introduced her to the Conklins and quickly they were racing down the dock to see who could cannonball the loudest.

As they grew up, things changed between them and all the other participants of the group.

At fourteen she could see how Belly looked at him with awe so she teased him about it.

At sixteen, she barely saw him. He was moody all the time, he started to see other girls in high school but occasionally they had time to hang out.

Then with seventeen, cancer. His bad mood increased as her mom was fighting the horrific battle against the illness.

She lost, and he also lost his spark.

At eighteen, she realized her stomach dropped every time he smiled at her.

She never told him.

Not when Susannah died. Not when he left for Brown. Not when he and Belly finally broke up and she held him in her arms, rubbing circles into his back while he cried like a child.

She stayed, obviously.

Now, he was recently out of med school,few kilometers away, but still called her when his car wouldn’t start or when he forgot how to cook rice. She was living downtown, working finance hours, and pretending she didn’t care that her phone lit up with his name more than anyone else’s.

But it was different now. She was different.

He still talked about Belly sometimes.

Not in the same way—not with longing or pain. But he mentioned her. Little things. How she was doing. How they’d been kids, really.

And every time, she felt it again.

That he would never look at her the way he looked at Belly. Not then. Not now.

Because she heard him.

“how many times you’ve been in love?” “once”

So she started pulling away in the only ways she knew how.

“Busy week, sorry I missed your call.”

“Can’t make dinner, work stuff. Rain check?”

He let her. For a while…

But he was too smart and knew her too well to figure out something was off.

“Did I do something?” he asked one night, voice low, cracking slightly at the end.

She looked up from her phone. They were sitting on his fire escape, city lights buzzing in the distance.

“What? No. Just tired.”

He watched her. “You always say that now.”

She forced a smile. “It’s always true.”

He didn’t push, because he never did. He just passed her the beer they were sharing and leaned his head back against the railing.

She turned away so he wouldn’t see the tears she wasn’t ready to explain.

The night it finally happened, it was raining.

He offered to walk her to her car after dinner. They hadn’t talked much during the meal, both fidgety and off-center. She didn’t know if he felt it too.

She almost didn’t say anything. Almost climbed into her car and drove off into the familiar ache of never knowing.

But she was tired.

Of pretending, of the constant pain in her chest, of her mind.

“Hey,” she said, grabbing his sleeve before he turned away.

He blinked down at her, hair damp and curling at the ends.

“I think I’ve been in love with you for a while now.”

The words left her like a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding.

He froze.

She kept going, quietly.

“I didn’t say anything because… i know you have been dealing with stuff. And i’ve always supported in everything and i’m glad i’ve been present in almost every step of your life, i know you how much you loved Belly… …And maybe you still do. I could see how happy you were every time you spoke about her, I didn’t want to lose you for some stupidness of mine. But it hurts now, my chest hurts more every day and i had to say it, i need to… i’m sorry, Conrad.”

Conrad swallowed hard. Looked down. Then up.

His eyes were so soft it broke her heart.

“You mean everything to me,” he said. “You know that, right?”

She nodded, a lump in her throat.

“But not like that.”

There it was. Kind. Honest. Crushing.

“I don’t want to lie to you,” he added. “If I loved you the way you deserve to be loved, I’d never stop saying it. But I don’t.”

She smiled, even as her heart cracked open.

“I know.” She chuckles as she cleans the tears from her cheeks.

He hugged her, tight, longer. She closed her eyes enjoying his presence, his scent and his touch. Her mind wondered to a universe where that was normal, where that was her present— but when he let go, her eyes open and she’s back there, to her reality. She stepped back, he looked at her softly, not with pity but with understanding.

“Maybe we need some space,” she whispered.

He nodded. “If that’s what you need.”

She looked at him, memorizing his face like it was the last time. Maybe it was.

“Honestly, I didn’t wanted for this to happen…” She scoffs.

“I don’t want to lose you…” He says softly.

“Me neither.”

Conrad smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes either.

“Be careful.” He says softly.

“Yeah.” She says still crying.

“Do you think… that it could’ve worked out in another life?” She says with a mixture of pain and frustration.

“In another life, maybe.”

Never in this one… Not a chance

“Funny, in this one still hurts.” She smiles at him, looking at his face for a last time, she turned, walked to her car, and didn’t look back.

And for once, he didn’t follow.

And it was okay.

Because it was almost him.

But for her will always be only him.