Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Chapter 1: Pen Pals

Dear Belly,

 

I don’t know why writing to you is so much easier than talking to most people. Maybe it’s because you can’t see me, or maybe it’s because you never make me feel like I’m saying the wrong thing.

 

School’s been the same. My mom asking questions I don’t want to answer. Jeremiah keeps telling me I should go out more. Don’t laugh, but I’ve been collecting old encyclopedias lately. There’s something about how outdated they are that makes me feel like I’m holding onto pieces of time.

 

Sometimes I wonder what you’d think if you actually saw me. Do you picture me? Because I try to picture you. I think you have long hair with braids and braces and that you probably smile too much when you’re writing.

 

Anyway, what about you? Did you ever finish that book you said was too sad to read at night? I think you like sad books on purpose. I don’t get it, but I guess that’s you.

 

And in case you didn't know, I love your strawberry stickers. I’ve kept all of them. It’s the first thing I look for when I open your envelope.

 

— Conrad

 

Belly read the letter three times before tucking it carefully back into its envelope. She always did that—reread, memorize the little spaces where Conrad crossed out a word, where his sentences ran too long before he remembered to breathe. He never wrote in pencil, only pen, as if he didn’t believe in erasing what he wanted to say.

Conrad Fisher was supposed to be just a name on a list. That was how it started. Belly’s English teacher had signed their class up for some outdated “penpal program,” something to “revive the art of letter writing.” Most kids dropped out after the first week, their letters short or sarcastic. Belly’s first partner had been some girl from Minnesota who never wrote back after two notes. Then, out of nowhere, she was reassigned.

To Conrad.

He was supposed to be temporary, a fill-in. But one letter turned into two. Two turned into months. Now it had been over a year, and Belly sometimes caught herself thinking in letter form—like she was narrating her life to him, saving little pieces of her day just to write down later.

They didn’t know much about each other, not really. Belly only knew he lived based on the address of his letters “Boston” the same way he knew she lived “ Philly.” It was vague enough to keep them both anonymous, but close enough to make it feel like they weren’t worlds apart.

She sat at her desk, the late afternoon sun spilling through her curtains, and pulled out her stationary. It wasn’t fancy, just lined paper with a faint pink border. What made it hers was the final touch: a sheet of strawberry stickers.

She always sealed her letters with one. At first it was a joke—her nickname growing up had been “Belly Button,” and her brother Steven used to tease her about how she turned red like a strawberry when she was embarrassed.

One day, she’d mentioned it in a letter, half-dreading Conrad’s reaction. Instead, he’d written back: You don’t seem like a strawberry. You’re more like the whole field. Stubborn. Messy. Impossible to ignore.

Belly had laughed out loud when she read it, her mom yelling from the kitchen to keep it down. Since then, the strawberry sticker had become her signature, like a promise that it was really her writing.

She tapped the pen against her chin, then bent down to start her reply.

Dear Conrad,

 

I did finish the sad book. And yes, it made me cry, but sometimes you need to cry to feel better after. Not that you’d understand—you’re the kind of person who would rather read about the history of some war than get caught up in made-up heartbreak.

 

I laughed when I read about your encyclopedias. That’s the nerdiest thing I’ve ever heard, but also kind of sweet. You always make it sound like you’re older than me, but you’re only a year ahead. Seventeen doesn’t give you the right to act like you’ve seen the world. Especially when I’m sixteen and in the exact same grade as you.

 

For the record, the way you picture me is actually spot on to what I looked like when I was twelve. But I don't look like that anymore. (Plz believe me)

 

P.S. You’ll get your strawberry sticker again.

 

— Belly

Her cheeks warmed as she signed her name. She wasn’t sure why she told him things like that—things she couldn’t say out loud to anyone else. But once the words were down on paper, she couldn’t take them back, and a part of her didn’t want to.

She slipped the paper into the envelope, pressed the strawberry sticker across the flap, and set it aside.

It wasn’t supposed to mean anything, she reminded herself. He was just Conrad Fisher. Her penpal. A boy whose voice she’d never heard, whose face she couldn’t even picture. She only knew him through ink and paper, through the space between their words.

And yet—sometimes she wondered.

---

On the other side of town, Conrad tapped his pen against his desk, staring at Belly’s letter. He could practically see the strawberry sticker in his head. He had a pile of them now, tucked in a drawer, because he never threw any of her envelopes away. He couldn’t.

She always sounded so sure of herself, even when she was teasing him. He liked that about her—her confidence was soft, not loud. The way she wrote felt like she trusted him, like she wanted him to know her in ways nobody else bothered to.

Meanwhile, Jeremiah was downstairs laughing with a whole group of friends. Some he knew, some he doesn't. His brother didn’t have to try—he just shone wherever he went. Conrad didn’t envy him exactly, but sometimes it felt like the two of them were built for different worlds. He wasn't exactly an introvert per sé, but he definitely wasn't an extrovert either.

And then there was Belly.

She knew about his mom. She knew about that lost year of school, the hours spent in waiting rooms, the way he’d wanted to quit everything. She knew, and was the only constant thing in his life for the past year.

He flipped her letter over, stared at the blank space, and made himself write one more note.

P.S. I should probably tell you something.

 

My mom decided we’re moving. Soon. Which means next time I write, things might be different.

 

— Conrad

Chapter Text

Chapter 2 – Ink

Belly sat cross-legged on her bed, the newest letter spread across her comforter like treasure. Conrad’s handwriting was careful, deliberate—like someone who thought too hard before committing anything to ink.

She reread the line she had already traced three times:

Mom’s treatments are going okay. Jeremiah makes jokes about the wigs, but I can tell it’s bothering him more than he lets on. I don’t know how to talk about it, so I end up writing to you instead. Easier this way.

The words sat heavy, not dramatic or pleading, but real. Belly folded the page against her knees, her chest pulling tight. She thought of her own mom, how sometimes Laurel left work late, exhausted, and how even that scared her. To imagine Conrad’s mom—Susannah—battling cancer felt too big, too unfair.

It was strange, she thought. He wasn’t a boy from down the street or someone she ran into at school. He was a name on paper, a scrawl of ink, a boy she had never seen. And yet, she worried about him.

She reached for her own notebook, the one with doodles in the margins and faint indentations from writing too hard. The pen hovered.

Conrad, she began.

She wanted to say: I wish I could be there for you. I wish I could make it easier. But that felt too much, too heavy. Instead, she wrote about the small things—how her mom had burned dinner the night before, how Steven had mocked her about it until Laurel chased him out of the kitchen with a spatula.

You’d probably like Steven. He’s obnoxious but funny. You two would either get along too well or fight constantly. I’m not sure which.

The truth was, she wanted Conrad to know her family. Maybe because he already felt stitched into her life in a way she couldn’t explain.

---

When Conrad read her reply days later, he laughed under his breath. Jeremiah, sprawled on the living room couch with potato chips, glanced over.

“What’s funny? Is that your pen pal crush again?” Jeremiah teased him.

"It's nothing Jere,” Conrad said quickly, folding the letter in half and tucking it back into the envelope.

Jeremiah raised a brow, but didn’t press. That was the thing about his brother—Jere always wanted to joke, to distract, to spin things lighter than they were. Conrad loved him for it, but sometimes it felt like breathing on the surface when he needed to dive deeper.

That was what Belly gave him—the depth.

He climbed upstairs to his room, shutting the door behind him, and opened the shoebox where he kept her letters. Neat stacks, each one sealed with her ridiculous strawberry stickers. He couldn’t bring himself to throw away even the envelopes.

Belly’s latest one mentioned Steven. Conrad smiled at the description and tried to imagine it. He already knew Laurel’s job, the way her mother teased her about how much sunscreen she used, the kind of music her brother blasted from his car speakers. Belly gave him the details like puzzle pieces, and he put them together in his mind until it almost felt like he’d been there.

In return, he wrote back truths he’d never said aloud.

Sometimes I wonder how Jeremiah and I can be so different. He’s all charm, all jokes, and I’m the one who people expect to have it together because I'm older. But honestly, the expectations are kind of heavy. Always having to be the bigger person. Does that ruin the image?

He hesitated, then added.

I don’t even know what you look like, and still, I think you know me better than anyone. So what do you picture when you think of me?

---

Belly’s answer came fast.

What do I picture? Honestly? You sound like you’d be the kind of boy who wears glasses and has messy hair because you’re always reading. Maybe tall, maybe not. Short kings are so cute anyway.

 

Also, I can’t believe you actually play football? I still picture you in a library corner, hiding behind a book. Sorry, can’t unsee it.

 

And where are you moving to, by the way? You never actually said. Just that you’re moving. Which is kind of a big detail to leave out, don’t you think?

 

She sealed it with her strawberry sticker and sent it off before she could overthink

When Conrad unfolded that reply, his laugh startled even him. He was sweaty from practice, his uniform grass-stained, his arms sore from drills. Glasses, messy hair, library corner—if only she could see him now, bruises blooming across his shins, teammates shouting across the field.

Still, the thought lingered. She didn’t know. She didn’t see him the way everyone else did. Maybe that was why her words meant more.

He picked up his pen again.

Why do I seem like a creep in your head?

 

No glasses. But I did have one when I was like 12? Backwards cap to match it. You're not completely off. Messy hair sometimes. And yes, I’m tall—sorry if that ruins your “short king” theory

 

I’m definitely not hiding in a library corner, though. I'm a team-player. But maybe if you did see me, you wouldn’t believe it either. Funny how we’ve told each other so much and still don’t know what we look like. And I'm not really an introvert. I have friends.

 

As for moving… I didn’t say because it didn’t feel real yet. But yeah. We’re headed to Philly. Some school called Chesterbrook High. I don’t know what to expect. Maybe it won’t be that bad.

 

He stopped, chewing on the cap of his pen, then scrawled one more line.

Also, you were wrong about one thing. I don’t hide in the library—but I do keep a shelf of encyclopedias under my bed. Don’t laugh.

---

Her heart raced, her fingers crumpling the paper slightly as she reread the line over and over.

Of all the schools. Of all the cities. Conrad Fisher, the boy she’d only known through ink and envelopes, was coming here.

And he still didn’t know what she looked like. She didn’t know what he looked like. Suddenly, the safety of imagination felt like it was slipping out of her hands.

She scribbled back:

Wait. WHAT. Did you just say Chesterbrook High? Because that’s my school. Like—my actual, everyday, walk-down-the-hallway-with-my-books school. Are you messing with me?

 

That's so crazy! Do you wanna meet? We definitely should! I don't know what to say. (Sorry)

 

She signed her name quickly and sealed it with a strawberry sticker, her hands still shaking.

She didn’t tell him she thought about him sometimes when she was supposed to be studying, wondering if he was reading those encyclopedias or at practice or sitting with Jeremiah, being the athletic, smart, complicated boy she could only imagine.

And now they might actually meet in real life? Fate is truly funny.

---

Conrad stared at Belly’s letter, the words “That’s my school” underlined three times in his mind.

Of course. It had to be Chesterbrook. He leaned back in his chair, the paper balanced between his fingers, and let out a low laugh.

And if he was being honest? He was nervous. More nervous than he’d ever been before a football game. Because this wasn’t a field or a grade or a test. This was Belly.

We’re moving this weekend. My mom wants to be closer to her treatments, so everything’s happening kind of fast. I start classes on Monday.

 

So… where should we meet? The cafeteria? By the lockers? Or should we make it easier and just say “look for the tall guy looking lost on his first day”?

 

Honestly, I'm nervous. But I feel better knowing that it's gonna be you Belly. Just you.

 

---

When Belly say read his letter, she couldn't catch a wink of sleep.

She was nervous and excited. And... Giddy.

Her phone buzzes at her bedside table as she was about to turn off her night light.

Can't wait to see you on Monday baby!

And maybe we can do some kissing after?

- Marcus

Belly chuckled before replying. 

Don't get too excited there.

Oh by the way! My pen pal is coming to our school! Please be nice to him. He wouldn't have any friends.

After a few seconds, Marcus replies.

No promises bells. You pen sounds like I can beat him up in 1 punch. Y'know I don't like smartasses.

-Marcus

Belly bites her lip.

Just promise me you'll try! He's super nice. I'm sure you'll love him.

One final notification dinged from her phone.

Fine. Sleep now. Goodnight Bells. Love you.

-Marcus

Belly smiled before replying back with her own. Then she hit the lights and went to sleep.

Chapter Text

Chapter 3 – Electrified

Conrad had never been so hyper-aware of what he wore before. Not even on the first day of football tryouts, or when his dad had dragged him along to some stiff dinner where people wore ties like nooses. But for this day, for this meeting, he actually paused in front of the mirror longer than usual. He tugged at the collar of his white t-shirt, pulled his jacket straighter, then shoved his hands into his pockets as though casual indifference would mask how badly his heart was thundering.

They had decided on the school’s front entrance—neutral ground, Belly had called it. She had even written: “That way, you can’t miss me. I’ll be the girl with the strawberry hair clip.”

He had laughed when he read it. Typical Belly. He had teased her about strawberries so often—her stickers, her doodles in the margins of her letters, the way she always circled back to the fruit like it was part of her DNA. Of course she would make it their signal.

And him? He’d written back: “Look for the guy wearing a gray hoodie. I’ll be pretending to look like I know what I’m doing.”

---

Belly had woken up early, too. She hadn’t even needed Steven yelling at her to get out of bed for once.

What if he doesn’t like how I look? What if I don’t like how he looks? What if…

Her thoughts spun in a carousel until she caught sight of herself in the mirror. A 16-year-old girl with wide brown eyes, a little nervous, a little hopeful.

---

Belly stood just outside the glass doors of Chesterbrook High, heart hammering in a way it never did on a normal Monday morning. The building looked the same as it always had—gray bricks, students milling about with backpacks slung over their shoulders—but today it felt different. Today, Conrad Fisher was walking through those doors.

Conrad, the boy who had filled the corners of her notebooks with his words. Conrad, who saved her strawberry stickers like they were priceless artifacts. Conrad, who knew her better than people she saw every single day.

And she didn’t even know what his face looked like.

She clutched her bag strap tighter and scanned the parking lot, searching for someone who looked like a “Conrad.” Her mind kept spinning back to the way she had imagined him: glasses, messy hair, tucked into a library corner. Maybe tall, maybe not. Nerdy, sweet, quiet.

But when she saw him, she knew instantly.

He was tall—so much taller than she’d pictured—with broad shoulders that made his hoodie look almost too small. His dark hair fell in messy waves, but not in a bookish way; more like he’d run a hand through it too many times. His stride was confident, athletic, but his eyes… his eyes were softer than she expected, almost cautious, scanning the crowd as though he was looking for someone.

Looking for her.

Belly’s breath caught.

Conrad’s gaze landed on her and lingered. Then his eyes darted to the little clip she had on her hair. He slowed, shifting his backpack higher on his shoulder, his lips parting like he wanted to say something but couldn’t yet.

And then, impossibly, she knew. Just like that. The boy she’d been writing to, the boy she’d built out of letters and daydreams, was standing in front of her.

She stepped forward, and so did he.

“Belly?” He said, her name rough in his voice like he’d practiced it.

“Conrad,” she breathed.

For a moment, neither of them moved. The air between them buzzed like static, the kind of silence that wasn’t awkward but charged, like they were both waiting for the other to prove this was real.

Finally, Conrad smiled—small, tentative, the kind of smile that tugged at one corner of his mouth before the other. “Hi.”

Belly laughed under her breath. “Hi.”

It felt ridiculous, after everything they’d written, to stand there saying hello like strangers. But they weren’t strangers. Not really.

She reached for the strap of her bag again, nerves making her fidget, and their hands brushed. Just barely. Just a flicker of contact.

But it was enough.

A spark shot up her arm, so sharp and startling she gasped quietly. Conrad stilled, his eyes flicking down to their almost-touch before darting back up to hers. His breath hitched, almost inaudible, but she heard it. Felt it.

It was like electricity—alive, undeniable.

Her thirteen-year-old self, the one who had once curled under the covers dreaming about some perfect Prince Charming who would sweep her off her feet, stirred awake in her chest. Only this wasn’t a fairytale. This was real. This was Conrad.

She pulled her hand back quickly, her cheeks burning. “Sorry—”

“Don’t be.” His voice was steady, but his eyes betrayed him. Wide, surprised, almost shaken.

Neither of them said anything for a beat too long, the world narrowing to the space between them, the hum of students fading into background noise.

Finally, Belly broke the silence. “So… you’re really here.”

“I’m really here.” His gaze softened, almost fond. “You’re not what I pictured.”

She blinked. “Oh?”

“You’re… better,” he said simply, like it wasn’t even a question.

Belly’s stomach flipped. She wanted to tease him, to make a joke about him being taller than any “short king” she’d imagined, but her words tangled in her throat. Instead, she just smiled, shy but radiant.

“You’re definitely taller than I pictured,” she managed.

"Not so nerdy now, huh?" His voice was low but there's a hint of teasing and smugness plastered across it.

"Well.... Jury's still out. You definitely look like a football player though."

That earned her another smile from him, this one wider, easier, like he was finally relaxing.

Belly felt time pause for a second as she watched the smile on his face. They were definitely staring at each other for a good second or two.

She cleared her throat to break the staring contest she didn't even notice they were having.

“So, where’s Jeremiah? I thought he was coming too.”

Conrad shifted slightly, his expression dimming for just a moment. “He decided to finish out the year in Boston with his friends. Thought it’d be easier, since everything was already in place there. So it’s just me and Mom here.”

“Oh.” Belly nodded, her heart tugging at the mention of Susannah. She didn’t push, though she wanted to. She already knew—he’d told her in late-night letters, in scribbled handwriting he’d probably written in hospital waiting rooms. She knew how hard it had been for him, how heavy the past year sat on his shoulders.

“That must’ve been hard,” she said softly.

Conrad’s throat tightened. For a moment, he wanted to joke it away, but with Belly, he never felt the need to. “Yeah. But… I think she’s happy here. Fresh start, you know?”

Belly gave him a small smile, one that felt like it had the power to anchor him. “Then I’m glad you’re here, too.”

He blinked at her, caught off guard. And there it was again—that spark that hummed between them like static waiting to burst.

The bell rang in the distance, loud and jarring, but neither of them moved right away.

“Can I escort you in?” Conrad asked, his tone casual, but the way he leaned toward her made it anything but. Then, he offered his hand in a princely manner.

Belly smiled. Her 13-year-old self quaking at the scene in front of her, she could barely hear her thoughts with how loud her heart was pounding.

“Yeah,” Belly said softly. “I’d like that.”

And as they pushed open the doors together, her heart still racing, she thought that maybe—just maybe—her younger self had been right about fairytales. Because sometimes, they didn’t start with a ball or a kiss. Sometimes, they started with a letter sealed by a strawberry sticker.

And sometimes, they started with a spark.

Chapter Text

Chapter 4 – Daylight

The registration office smelled faintly of paper and old carpet. Conrad stood beside Belly, hands shoved in his jacket pockets, eyes flicking around as the secretary tapped on her keyboard. He looked calm on the outside, but his chest was tight with nerves.

Belly was trying not to stare at him too obviously. It was surreal, having him there in real life—this boy who’d existed for so long only in loops of cursive handwriting and strawberry-sticker-sealed envelopes. Now he was flesh and bone and height. He looked like he was glowing, like a breath of fresh air. Like daylight.

“Looks like you’ve got yourself a guide,” the secretary said cheerfully. “Isabel Conklin, right? You’ll be responsible for showing him around.”

Belly almost grinned. “Sure thing.”

“Guess I’m in good hands,” Conrad said under his breath as they stepped out of the office.

“You are in the best hands, I'll have you know.” Belly teased. “Plus I get free pass on skipping two periods.”

He gave her a sideways look, lips quirking. “Willing to skip two classes for me? You're too kind.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” she shot back, though her cheeks felt a little warm. “This is my official duty as tour guide. Not like I had a choice.”

He chuckled, the sound soft, but it made her stomach flutter all the same.

---

As they made their way down the hall, she pointed things out: the science wing, the gym, the row of lockers where people claimed turf like it was sacred ground. But Conrad’s attention drifted back to her more than once. He wasn’t sure if it was the way her hair slipped forward when she leaned to point at something, or how her voice lifted slightly when she was explaining. He just knew it was hard to focus on anything else.

“So,” she said, glancing at him, “you planning on joining the football team here? I mean you should right?”

“Yeah,” he admitted. “I figured it’d help me settle in. Keep me busy. Plus my dad... he really wanted me to play.”

“Right, your dad.” She repeated knowingly. She knew his history with his father and tried to change the subject. “Which position?”

“Quarterback,” he said simply.

Of course. Belly raised an eyebrow. “Not surprised.”

“Not surprised?” he asked, feigning offense.

“You give off the vibe. Tall. Confident. Kind of smug.”

He barked a laugh. “Smug? Harsh.”

“You know it’s true,” she said, grinning. “Don’t deny it.”

“Fine. What about you?”

“Volleyball.” She straightened her shoulders. “Captain, actually.”

His brows rose. “Captain? That’s impressive.”

“Yeah, well. Somebody’s gotta keep the team from falling apart.”

“Wow, I can't believe you haven't mentioned that before, Mam.”

“Damn straight,” she said, trying not to smile too widely.

Then she looked down and started staring at the ground.

"It's not a very exciting part of my life." Or that's what her boyfriend always told her. Marcus never really liked her playing volleyball nevermind being their captain.

"What are you talking about, Belly? That's insane. I wish you would've told me sooner. I'm actually really impressed with you right now. When's you next match? I'd love to watch." The excitement that laced itself on Conrad's voice has her look up.

The twinkle in his eyes were so genuine she couldn't help but stare at him. His eyes were solemn blue and dark.

"I'm competing in a 2v2 beach volleyball for charity in 2 weeks. I'll text you the details later." Belly smiles before it fades a little.

"Thanks Conrad. It's nice hearing that from you and not just reading it, you know? I'm glad you're here." 

The twinkle in his eyes never faded.

"Of course, Belly. You're amazing."

---

Their steps slowed as the conversation deepened, their eyes catching more often than either wanted to admit. A laugh would linger too long. A glance would stretch just a little past comfort, until one of them broke it with another joke.

Belly nudged him lightly with her shoulder as they walked. “You know, I still can’t believe you collect encyclopedias.”

“They’re classics,” Conrad said defensively. “They’re like… windows into a different time.”

She wrinkled her nose. “They’re heavy. And boring.”

“They’re not boring,” he protested. “I bet you’d find them interesting if you gave them a chance. I genuinely think you just hate them because you can't carry them.”

“What are you talking about? I'm captain of the volleyball team, I can carry books just fine.”

Conrad smirked. “Whatever you say, tiny captain.”

“What did you just say to me?” she said playfully. “I'll have you know I'm actually quite tall compared to other girls my age.”

Conrad chuckled, his voice sounding elated and carefree. Belly couldn't help but stare....again.

He stopped at his locker, pulling something from his bag. “Speaking of which—here.” He held out a bright package of Sour Patch Kids

Belly gasped at the sight.

"I love Sour Patch Kids! I can't believe you remembered." And Conrad swore her smile can put the sun to shame.

She then looked up and blinked. “What’s this for?”

“A thank-you gift,” he said casually, though his eyes held hers. “For skipping class. For being my guide. For not making fun of me too much about the encyclopedias.”

She laughed, the sound bubbling out before she could stop it. “You didn’t have to.”

Conrad felt elated. Belly's smile felt like morning finally came for him. From the depression hole he's been on, he finally saw daylight.

“I wanted to,” he replied softly.

The air between them tightened for a second, charged, until the bell rang and students spilled into the hall, breaking whatever had just been hanging there.

---

By the time lunch rolled around, Conrad already had a handful of notes in his pocket about classrooms, teachers, and schedules. He’d nodded politely when teachers introduced themselves, memorized where his math class was, and tried to keep his cool when students stared at him a little too openly in the hall.

But nothing compared to the cafeteria.

The moment he walked in beside Belly, the hum of conversation shifted. Eyes darted toward him, whispers picking up like static. Girls straightened in their seats. A few guys gave him curious once-overs.

Belly noticed it instantly. She kept her face neutral, but something pinched in her chest as she led him toward her usual table.

“Everyone’s staring,” Conrad muttered under his breath.

“Welcome to Chesterbrook High,” Belly said wryly.

Her friends at the table lit up the second they saw her approaching—with him.

“Belly!” one of them called. “Introduce us?”

Belly cleared her throat. “This is Conrad. He’s new here.”

Conrad gave a polite smile, nodding slightly. “Hey.”

“How do you guys know each other?” another girl, Liv, asked. “Because you don’t go here. And Belly’s never mentioned a Conrad before.”

Belly fidgeted with her straw. “I—I have mentioned him. Kind of.”

Aria smirked. “No, you haven’t. You said you had a pen pal, but we thought that was, like… a metaphor or something.”

Conrad’s mouth quirked. “Nope. Real pen pal.”

That caught everyone off guard.

“Wait, you’re serious?” Liv blinked. “You guys actually write letters?”

Conrad nodded, calm as ever. “Yeah. Started last year.”

“Like, actual letters?” another girl chimed in. “With envelopes and stamps?”

He smiled faintly. “The whole deal.”

After the first few tame ones, questions flew at him like rain shower.

“So, where are you from?”

“Do you play sports?”

“What classes are you taking?”

“Wait, are you a junior or a senior?”

He paused just long enough to keep from seeming overwhelmed, then answered steadily, voice low and sure. “Boston. I just moved here with my mom.”

“Oooh, Boston,” one of the girls at the table echoed, leaning her chin into her palm. “That’s so cool.”

Conrad gave her a small smile. “It’s… different. Smaller here. But in a good way.”

“And sports?” another girl asked, eyes bright. “Do you play any?"

Conrad smiled. "Yeah uhh... Football actually."

The girl bit her lips then smiled. "What position?"

Conrad shifted, glancing briefly at Belly before answering. “Quarterback, if the coach lets me.”

The table erupted with murmurs of approval.

“Of course he will,” someone said. “You look like a quarterback.”

Belly rolled her eyes at her sandwich, chewing mechanically. She could already feel the heat rising in her cheeks, though she wasn’t sure why.

“What classes do you have?” a boy across from them asked.

Conrad slipped his schedule out of his pocket, unfolding it. “Um, let’s see. Calc, AP History, Lit, Chem…” He trailed off when the boy let out a low whistle.

“Dang, you’re loaded up.”

“I don’t mind it,” Conrad replied. “I like a challenge.”

“That’s so—” one of the girls cut in, eyes darting to his schedule. “Oh, you’ve got Lit with Mr. Carmichael? You’re doomed. But maybe you’ll survive.” She twirled her hair around her finger, a smile tugging at her lips. “Maybe I could help you with notes sometime.”

Conrad nodded politely, though his eyes flickered toward Belly again, quick and instinctive. “Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind."

"Oh brother. You're gonna have a hard time. You know my ex? He got kicked out of the varsity because his grades were disgusting." One of the girls mentioned.

Conrad’s smirk deepened, but it wasn’t cocky—it was easy, practiced. “I think I can do all right.”

“He does better than all right,” Belly chimed in without thinking. “Straight A’s. Even with football.”

The table went quiet for a beat, and Conrad’s eyes slid to her, amusement flickering across his face. “Thanks, Belly,” he said softly, like it was a private joke between them.

“What about you?” Conrad asked suddenly, turning back to her. “Any overlapping classes?”

She blinked, caught off guard. “Uh… yeah. History. Second period.”

“Good,” he said simply, holding her gaze for a moment too long before looking down at his tray.

Her heart tripped, though she forced herself to focus on peeling the crust off her sandwich.

Conrad answered easily enough, though his tone stayed even, careful. He wasn’t an extrovert by any means, but he knew how to hold his ground, how to be polite without over-sharing.

Still, Belly couldn’t shake the feeling that the more they looked at him, the more something twisted in her stomach.

---

And then, just as she was about to steer the conversation back to safer ground, a familiar voice cut through the noise.

“Belly.”

She turned, relief and something else flooding her chest. Marcus stood there, tray in hand, smiling that easy, confident smile she’d gotten used to. He leaned down, kissed her cheek lightly, and settled beside her like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Conrad froze.

For a split second, his brain didn’t process what he’d just seen. Then it did. The kiss. The boyfriend.

The air around him shifted, the easy politeness replaced by something tighter, something he wasn’t sure he could name.

“Conrad,” Belly said quickly, her voice catching. “This is… my boyfriend. Marcus.”

And Conrad’s world tilted.

Chapter Text

Chapter 5: Cerulean

For a second, the cafeteria seemed to hold its breath.

Marcus had just kissed Belly on the cheek like he always did—casual, practiced—but the tension it sparked was anything but. Conrad’s jaw tightened imperceptibly, the muscle there ticking once before he forced a slow breath. He hadn’t expected this. A boyfriend.

Marcus set his tray down, slinging an arm easily around Belly’s shoulders, his tone light but edged. “And you are?”

“Conrad,” he said evenly, polite to a fault. “Nice to meet you.”

Belly’s stomach twisted. She managed a small, careful smile. “He’s—um—my pen pal. You know, the one I used to tell you about?”

"Yeah nice to meet you man. Belly told me a lot about you." Marcus smiled, slinging a hand over her shoulder. 

Conrad followed the gesture with his eyes before letting out an answer.

"Yeah. Belly is a really good friend."

Another row of silence follows.

Marcus cleared his throat, the sound breaking through. “So, Fisher. You play sports? You look like you do.”

Conrad gave a noncommittal shrug. “Yeah. I... uhh play football.”

“Ah,” Marcus said, nodding. “Cool. Guess I pictured you more like a… library kind of guy.”

Conrad’s mouth curved faintly. “I am,” he said easily. He leaned back slightly, eyes steady. “Doesn’t mean I can’t do other things.”

Marcus smiled, but it was tighter this time. “Right. Of course.”

“Nice. Brainy type, huh?” Marcus said, half-teasing.

Belly jumped in, smiling. “He’s not just brainy, he’s annoyingly good at explaining things. I literally passed chem because of him.”

Marcus blinked, glancing at her. “Wait—you guys talked about school too?”

“Yeah,” she said casually. “He used to send me little study tips and diagrams and stuff.”

“Oh,” Marcus said. “That’s… cool. Sounds harmless.”

Belly looked between them, sensing the quiet friction. “Okay, okay,” she said, laughing nervously. “Let’s not turn this into some weird competition, please.”

Something flickered in Marcus’s gaze—curiosity, maybe challenge—but his grin stayed fixed. “Right. Nerd-slash-athlete. Pretty convenient combo.”

Belly shot Marcus a look, trying to smooth the air. “Marcus—”

But Marcus wasn’t quite done. “So, what, you two wrote each other about homework and… feelings?”

Conrad’s lips quirked. “Mostly about everything else,” he said. “She’s easy to talk to.”

Belly, sensing the shift, tried to lighten the air. “He literally sent me a whole care package once because I told him I cried when we ran out of peanut butter during finals week.”

Conrad shrugged, the corner of his mouth twitching. “It was important.”

Marcus chuckled, pretending it didn’t bother him—but the hand on her shoulder tightened just slightly. “Guess I should start writing letters, huh?”

“Wouldn’t hurt,” Conrad said mildly, a teasing edge in his voice.

Marcus gave a small, tight smile. “You’re funny.”

“So I’ve been told.”

Marcus leaned closer to her, almost as if to make a point. “Anyway,” he said, his tone light again, “sounds like Belly kept you pretty busy. She has that effect sometimes.”

The words were smooth, harmless to anyone else’s ears—but Belly caught the undertone, the way Conrad’s expression flickered for just a second.

“Yeah,” Conrad said quietly, his gaze holding Marcus'. “She does.”

Belly’s pulse jumped, her mouth dry.

For a moment, no one said anything. Then Marcus finally sat back, flashing that easy grin that had first won her over. “Well. Glad you finally got to meet your pen pal, Bells.”

Conrad nodded once, a polite smile ghosting his lips. “Yeah,” he said softly. “Me too.”

Something in his voice made Belly’s heart trip a little. He wasn’t teasing. He meant it.

She found herself staring at him longer than she should have until Marcus waved a hand in front of her face.

“Earth to Belly?” he said, half-laughing. “I asked if you’re still down for the party on Friday. I already told Sandra we’d be there.”

“Oh. Yeah, um, I’m down,” she said quickly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Taylor and I already picked out our outfits.”

“Can Conrad come?” Belly blurted before she could stop herself. “He’s new, and I thought—maybe he could meet more people.”

Marcus’s smile faltered, just for a second. “No, Bells. Taylor’s already your plus one. And it’s not my party to invite people to. Plus having gatecrashers are seriously annoying.” His voice softened as he leaned in and pressed a kiss to her temple. “Next time, okay?”

Belly forced a small smile, nodding even though her stomach twisted. She expected Marcus to say no but the passive aggressiveness in his tone didn't slip from her mind. When she looked back at Conrad, he was already smiling—gently.

“It’s okay,” he said easily, voice low. “I’m not really a party guy anyway.”

But before Belly could reply, a voice chimed in from across the table.

“You can be my plus one, Conrad.”

Aria, her teammate from volleyball, grinned at him. “You seem like fun.”

That got the table’s attention.

“Yeah,” another teammate added. “Sandra’s chill. She wouldn’t care who shows up.”

“Exactly,” Aria said, smirking at Marcus. “The more the merrier.”

Conrad leaned back, a small laugh escaping him. “Well, if that’s the case…” He glanced at Belly, his eyes catching hers like he knew exactly what she was thinking. “Guess I’m invited after all.”

Belly felt heat rush to her cheeks.

He gave a shrug, the corner of his mouth lifting into that calm, boyish grin. Then, quietly, he mouthed: People just like me.

She rolled her eyes, scrunching her nose at him in mock annoyance—but she couldn’t stop her smile from breaking through.

Marcus didn't miss this interaction, staring at Belly whose smile was a little different than the one she usually gives him.

---

The final bell rang. Everyone seemed to flood the hallways all at once, laughter and chatter bouncing off the lockers.

Belly was shoving her books into her bag after AP English when she looked up and froze.

Conrad was there.

Leaning casually against the wall right outside her classroom door. Like he’d been waiting.

“Conrad?” she said, eyes wide. “What are you—how did you even—?”

He smiled faintly. “Your last class is AP English, right?”

Her brows drew together. “I didn’t tell you that.”

He tilted his head, a little smug. “I asked around.”

“You asked around?” she repeated, incredulous. “You seriously went up to people and—?”

He chuckled under his breath. “Relax. Just your friend from volleyball. I had class down the hall anyway.”

Belly crossed her arms, trying not to smile. “That’s… considerate. Thanks but uhhh... why were you looking for me? Did you need help with something?”

“No,” he said, straight-faced, before pushing off the wall. “Figured I’d walk you to your car.”

She blinked. “Steven is waiting for me—”

“Yeah. And you'd blast music and force him to sing along.”

That earned him a laugh—soft, embarrassed, real. “Wow. You actually read my letters.”

“I mean— I love reading your letters,” he said lightly. “They... distract me.”

Her heart stumbled a little at that, but she tried to keep her face neutral. “That’s… weirdly flattering.”

They fell into step together, weaving through the thinning crowd of students.

“So,” Conrad said after a moment, glancing at her. “Where’s Marcus? Thought he’d be walking you out.”

Belly hesitated. “He, um… had swim practice. Or something.”

Conrad’s tone was mild, but there was a trace of disbelief underneath. “Swim Practice? On a Monday at 5?”

“Yeah,” she said quickly. “Yeah, I think.”

He nodded slowly, as if he didn’t quite buy it but wasn’t going to push. “Right.”

They walked a few more steps in silence before she spoke again, her voice softer now. “I wanted to say I’m sorry. About earlier. Marcus—he’s not usually like that.”

Conrad looked at her then spoke softly. "You don't have to apologize for anything Belly."

“I know, but…” she trailed off, fiddling with the strap of her bag. “He just—he can get jealous sometimes. I think seeing you today kind of threw him off.”

“Because of the pen pal thing?” Conrad asked.

“Yeah. I probably talk about you too much.”

Conrad’s mouth curved in a small smile. “I don’t mind.”

They walked the rest of the way in a comfortable silence. Outside, the dark starts to surround the sky. Steven’s car was parked by the curb, the radio faintly thumping some old 2000s pop song.

Steven spotted them before Belly even had a chance to wave.

He leaned halfway out the car window, grinning. “Belly! Took you long enough! I was about to leave you!”

Belly rolled her eyes. “You always say that.”

Conrad followed a few steps behind her, hands shoved in his pockets, backpack slung lazily over one shoulder. He wasn’t trying to eavesdrop, but the way Steven’s grin faltered when he noticed him standing there was almost funny.

“Uh—hey,” Steven said, eyes flicking between the two of them. “You’re not Marcus.”

Conrad gave a small, polite nod. “Nope. Definitely not.”

Belly turned, cheeks pink. “Steven, this is Conrad. He’s… my pen pal.”

That earned him a raised eyebrow from Steven. “Pen pal?” He smirked. “Like THE Conrad? Aren't you supposed to be a scrawny looking nerdy kid with glasses?”

"STEVEN!" Belly hit Steven's arm. Steven let out a loud yelp in return.

"What? I always thought Pen Pals were fucking weird. Like what are you, eighty? Hello? E-mails exist?" Steven teased Belly.

Conrad laughed softly. “Guess we’re bringing it back.”

Steven eyed him up and down—white fitted t-shirt with a gray hoodie hanging loosely in his left hand, broad shoulders, dark hair. Then he whistled low. “Huh. So you’re the guy she never shut up about last year.”

Belly groaned. “Steven!”

“What?” Steven said innocently. “You literally talked about him every time the mail came. ‘Conrad wrote again,’ ‘Conrad found this cool book,’ ‘Conrad says I’d like this band.’ You were like a walking love letter.”

Conrad tried—and failed—not to smile. “Didn’t know I had a fan club.”

Belly crossed her arms, mortified. “Ignore him. He’s a moron.”

Steven grinned. “A moron who’s right.” Then his tone softened, just a little. “So, where’s Marcus? Didn’t think you’d be walking home with anyone but him.”

Belly’s smile thinned. “He had practice.”

Conrad glanced at her, just briefly, then looked away. Steven seemed to catch the awkwardness, his eyes narrowing slightly before he shrugged. “Good. Never liked that guy anyway. Kind of dim.”

“Steven,” Belly hissed.

“What? I’m just saying.” He looked back at Conrad, grinning. “At least this guy looks like he’s got more than two brain cells.”

“Uh—thanks?” Conrad said, half-laughing.

Steven nodded approvingly, stepping aside and jerking a thumb toward the car. “You wanna ride, man? We can drop you if you need.”

“No. I'm good,” Conrad said gently. “I’m close by. Just walking.”

As Belly reached for the car door, Conrad’s hand moved at the same time—his fingers brushing against hers before closing around the handle.

The touch was brief, but it was enough. That same jolt from that morning zipped straight up her arm, hot and startling, like the air between them had a pulse.

Conrad froze. “Sorry,” he said quickly, pulling his hand back, his voice lower than usual. “Didn’t mean to—”

“It’s fine,” Belly blurted, even though her heart was hammering.

“Hey, uh…” He shifted, hand sliding into his pocket, eyes still on her. “Speaking of electronics—mind if I get your number?”

Belly blinked. “My number?”

He nodded once, calm. “Just thought it’d be easier. You know, if I wanted to check in.”

“Check in?” she echoed.

He smiled faintly, his gaze steady. “Make sure you’re okay.”

Something fluttered in her chest. She handed him her phone before she could think twice.

Conrad typed it in, the brightness of the lamps hitting the side of his face, his expression unreadable but softer than usual. When he handed it back, his fingers brushed hers again—light, deliberate.

“Got it,” he said. “Text me when you get home.”

Belly and Conrad stared at each other, the smile creeping on her face.

“Thanks… for waiting,” she said softly.

“Anytime,” he replied, and he meant it.

“Can I just interrupt your little staring contest?” Steven leaned across the car to lower the music volume. “I know Conrad is dreamy but c'mon Belly, we have dinner.”

“Steven!” she groaned again, slamming the car door behind her as she got in.

Conrad watched them pull away, her brother still teasing through the open window, Belly half hiding behind her hands. He stood there for a second longer than he meant to, watching the car fade into the stream of traffic.

Then, quietly, almost to himself, he muttered, “I'm fucked.”

Because the truth was—he knew how this ended. He was already losing a game he hadn’t even meant to play.

Losing her wasn’t just blue.

It was every shade of her he’d ever memorized.

Chapter Text

Chapter 6: Sliver

When he got home, the house was still half full of boxes. The move had been rushed—Susannah’s treatments starting again in a few days, the doctors closer here in Philly. 

“Connie?” Susannah’s voice floated in from the kitchen—warm, teasing, the kind of sound that always made the house feel like summer. “How was your first day?”

He followed the smell before he even answered, the buttery scent of grilled burgers hitting him halfway down the hall. When he stepped into the kitchen, there she was—standing at the stove, spatula in hand, like she hadn’t been told a dozen times not to.

“MOM,” he groaned, eyes widening. “I told you not to move. You’re supposed to be resting. You have an appointment tomorrow!”

Susannah turned, eyes sparkling like she’d been caught doing something much worse. “Oh, please. I got tired of your unseasoned chicken. A woman can only eat so much protein before she loses the will to live.”

Conrad was already crossing the kitchen, taking the spatula gently from her hand. “I said I’d handle dinner,” he muttered, slipping into her place at the stove. “You shouldn’t even be on your feet this long.”

She just smiled, leaning against the counter like she’d planned the whole thing. “You say that, but if I left it to you, we’d both be chewing on dry chicken breasts again.”

He flipped one of the burgers, trying not to smile. “I can learn to cook other things, you know.”

“Mm-hm,” she hummed, clearly unconvinced. “I’ll believe it when I taste it.”

Conrad shook his head, a quiet laugh escaping before he could stop it. “Yeah, yeah. Just sit down, Mom. I’ve got it.”

And she did—smiling softly as she lowered herself onto a stool, watching him take over like she always knew he would.

"You still didn't answer me. How was school Connie?

He gave a little sigh and tried for a smile. “It was fine.”

Her eyebrows arched, amused. “Just fine?”

He shrugged, pulling a bottle of water from the fridge. “Met some people.”

“Any of them cute? Or... Belly?”

“Mom.”

Susannah laughed, the sound soft but tired at the edges. “Just asking. I have to make sure my son’s settling in.”

"So? How was she? Was she as wonderful, like how you've always described her?"

Conrad smiled, remembering his day again.

"Better mom. Her smile is just so... Indescribable. Like everything in the world is going to be okay no matter what." 

Susannah smirks at her son's words.

"Sounds like you really like her."

He gave her that small, crooked grin—the one she loved. “You would love her. Promise.”

She squeezed his arm before turning back to her tea. “Your brother texted. He misses you already.”

“Yeah,” Conrad said quietly. “I miss him too.”

He did. Jeremiah was always the noise to his quiet—the easy laugh, the one who could make friends with anyone. Without him around, the silence felt heavier.

He went upstairs to his room after dinner, stepping around unpacked boxes. The window overlooked the street, the same one Belly had driven down earlier with Steven. He hadn’t realized how much he’d memorized that silver car until it was gone.

On his desk sat a single letter. Hers. The last one she’d sent before he moved. The corner of the envelope was bent, the strawberry sticker slightly peeling.

He picked it up and unfolded it carefully, even though he could probably recite the words by heart.

You’re like the calm version of chaos, she’d written once. You don’t talk too much, but when you do, it’s like everything you say matters.

He didn’t know what to do with that.

He sat on the edge of his bed, elbows on his knees, and finally took out his phone. Jeremiah’s text lit up the screen.

Jere: how’s the new place?

Jere: how’s mom?

Jere: met anyone yet or still pretending not to care?

Conrad smirked, typing back.

Conrad: Mom's fine. And I met Belly.

Jere: THE Belly?? pen pal girl??

Conrad: Yeah.

Jere: dude finally. how was it

Conrad: Complicated

Jere: you? complicated? shocker.

Conrad huffed a quiet laugh. Typical.

He didn’t reply after that. He didn’t know what to say. It was good, she’s real, she’s better than I imagined, but she has a boyfriend.

Yeah. That would’ve gone over great.

He leaned back on the bed, one arm over his eyes. The faint scent of dust and cardboard filled the room. For a moment, he let himself replay the day:

Her voice when she said his name for the first time, like she was still tasting it.

Her laugh in the hallway.

The way she’d blushed when Steven said he looked better than Marcus.

The phone beside him buzzed. Once. Then again.

He glanced over.

Belly: Just got home. Steven says you have “main character hair.” I told him to shut up but he’s convinced he’s right.

Conrad’s lips twitched, a smile threatening to form. He stared at the text for a second before replying.

Conrad: He’s wrong.

Three dots appeared. Then—

Belly: About what? The hair thing?

Conrad: Yeah. It’s not “main character hair.” It’s just… hair.

Belly: U literally flipped it out of ur eyes like you were in a movie earlier.

Conrad: Did not.

Belly: Did 2!! Steven almost said something but I gave him the death glare.

Conrad: Appreciate the save.

Belly: Don’t thank me yet. He’s now convinced u and I have a secret alliance.

Conrad: He’s not wrong.

Conrad's fingers hesitated before typing the next words.

Conrad: Can I ask you something?

Belly: Sureeeee

Conrad: Why didn’t you ever tell me?

Belly: Tell you what?

Conrad: About Marcus.

There was a pause that stretched too long. The little dots popped up, disappeared, then came back again.

Belly: I didn't think it was important.

'Right.' Conrad thought to himself. Belly doesn't owe him anything. They were literal strangers before today.

Conrad: Well I'm glad he's taking it well.

Belly: I didn’t mean to hide it from you. I just didn’t think it was that serious at first.

Conrad: You didn’t?

Belly: No. I mean—we just started dating like 3 months ago. Honestly, I was shocked he asked me out. He's really popular at school because he's in the swim team.

Conrad: Don't say that about yourself Belly.

Belly: What? I'm just saying the truth Conrad. Anyway, yeah. He just approached me on a bleacher and asked if we could go on a date and the rest is history. He's a really sweet guy once you get to know him.

She paused before sending the next one.

Belly: I'm just shocked he asked me. But hey at least I have someone to go to prom with now.

Conrad's fingers flew by how fast he typed the next words.

Conrad: I thought I was taking you to prom.

Belly: RICBDRHWOIDJDE CONRAD SHUT UP! That joke is like a year old. I didn't know what I was writing back then lol. Imagine asking a random stranger to be ur prom date. That is so cringe.

Conrad: If he falls through, I could take you.

Belly: No way. I'm chaining that man to me until prom!!!

Conrad's hands tightened on the phone.

Conrad: I'm glad Marcus is ok with you having a pen pal though and us being friends now.

Belly: He's not a really big fan of you.

Conrad: Me?

Belly: Don’t act surprised. You’ve got that whole quiet, smart, broody thing going for you. Plus you're tall.

He laughed under his breath, but it sounded tired.

Conrad: Right. I’ll make sure to slouch next time.

Belly: I don't know why he gets especially riled up.

Conrad: I don’t want him to be. I’m not trying to—whatever. It’s not like that.

Belly: I know. That’s what I tried to tell him. Ur my friend. You’ve been my friend since forever, really. 

Conrad: Those letters were the best part of my week sometimes.

Belly: Mine too. I should’ve told u about Marcus. I just didn’t want things to change. You and me were this little thing I got to keep to myself. Something good that didn’t need explaining.

Conrad: You don’t owe me an explanation, Belly. Really.

Belly: I know. But I wanted to give you one anyway. Because u matter to me. A lot.

His chest tightened. He could almost hear her voice in the words—gentle, sincere, just a little unsure.

Conrad: You matter to me too. Always have.

Belly: Good. Because ur kind of stuck w/ me now.

Conrad: Oh no. What a tragedy.

Belly: Tragic. Utterly devastating.

Conrad: Guess I’ll just have to deal with it.

Belly: u will

Conrad leaned back against the headboard, phone still in his hand, the faint glow of the screen painting his face in soft light.

For the first time in a long time, the ache in his chest wasn’t sharp. It wasn’t even painful. It was something slower—something he could live with.

He didn’t need to say what he felt out loud. He didn’t need her to choose him.

Because even if it was just a sliver of her world, she still let him in. And that was enough for now.

Chapter Text

Chapter 7: Sunshine

It was the evening of Friday. He hadn't seen Belly since Monday afternoon when he walked her to their car. Almost like she's avoiding him.

On the bright side, he passed his football tryouts and is now the quarterback of Chesterbrook High. On top of that, he finally had some friends (outside of Belly).

He gave one of Belly's friend, Liv a ride to the party. As technically, he's her plus one. The music was loud, and the living room was crowded with people laughing, drinking, shouting over the bass. Belly shifted awkwardly near the snack table, holding her cup. She spotted Conrad through the crowd — with a bottle of beer in his hand, swirling it, surrounded by a group of guys from the football team, half-listening to whoever was talking to him. His eyes flicked to hers for half a second, a silent question. She smiled.

He immediately stood straight, mentioned something to the crowd surrounding him and  walked over, brushing past a few people, and stopped right in front of her.

“So,” he said, voice barely audible over the music, “we haven’t really talked all that much this week. How’s your day been?”

"Do you know how obnoxious it is to go from class-to-class and hear girls and guys talk about you or ask about you?" Belly smiled, teasing him.

"Well if you weren't avoiding me all week, I would know." Conrad teased back, his eyes squinting mimicking her expression.

Belly laughed softly trying to avoid the topic, “My day's been fine. Calculus is kicking me in the ass, honestly.”

Conrad smirked. “I can help you with that.”

“Really?” she tilted her head skeptically.

“Yeah. It’s a tough subject. I honestly had a hard time with it as well.”

“Had?” she teased, raising a brow.

“Well, you know,” he shrugged, eyes glinting, “not anymore.”

She gave him a mock glare. “Okay, Mr. Genius.”

He chuckled, leaning closer just a bit. “No, trust me, Belly. It’s easy. You just need a good teacher.”

“And that’s you?”

“Could be,” he said, voice low and teasing. “If you say yes.”

“Ughh, fineee,” she groaned, pretending to roll her eyes. “God, you’re actually so persuasive, you know that?”

“I know,” he said, grinning. “It’s one of my greatest assets.”

“Ew. You sound so cocky.”

“Sorry. But yeah, if you need help I'm definitely down to tutor you.”

She fought back a laugh at his words 

“Right. So where’s Marcus?” Conrad looks around.

“Oh, I don’t know,” she said, glancing around. “I came here with Taylor. Speaking of which, I haven’t even introduced you to her yet. C’mon, let’s go get her.”

---

They wove through the crowd together. Conrad followed a step behind, hands tucked in his pockets, watching the way her hair caught the light as she moved.

When they reached the hallway, the noise dulled a little. Belly pushed open the door to one of the quieter rooms—and froze.

There, on the couch, were Steven and Taylor. Definitely not talking.

Belly’s brain short-circuited.

“What the hell, Taylor? Oh my God!” she yelped, eyes wide.

Taylor practically fell off the couch, face flushed. “Belly—wait! It’s not—!”

"Steven has a girlfriend! You know that!" Belly tried to approach Taylor but Steven stood in-between them.

"Stop Belly. I'm the one who cheated." Steven stood straighter as Belly looks up to him. But she felt sick as she did.

Belly turned, half in shock and half in disgust, storming out of the room.

Steven tried to scramble after her, but Conrad quickly stepped in, his arm shooting out in front of him. “Steven, hey—don’t,” he said firmly, his tone calm but protective. “Give her a minute.”

Steven's mouth opened, guilt flashing across his face. “Conrad, please—”

He shook his head slightly. “Don’t worry. I’ll go get her.”

---

Outside, Belly had found her way outside, near a sidewalk by the grass. The music thumped faintly through the walls. The air was cold, the smell of grass mingling with her frustration.

She wrapped her arms around herself, blinking hard to keep the tears from falling.

'God, how could Taylor not tell me?'

“Hey, Belly,” came Conrad’s voice softly behind her.

She didn’t turn. “No. I don’t want to talk right now.”

He stepped closer anyway, careful not to push too fast. “Belly…”

She took a shaky breath, voice wavering. “It’s just—it’s Taylor. She didn’t even tell me. I feel stupid, like—like I didn’t even know what was happening right in front of me. And Steven. God Steven has a girlfriend right now. She knew that! She knows.”

Conrad nodded slowly, letting her speak. His tone was gentle when he said, “You’re not stupid. You just… care too much. You expect people to be honest because you are.”

"Oh God! Shayla! If Shayla finds out, she'd be devastated. I can't believe Steven would do this. I feel sick." Belly started crying again. Belly starts to spiral as she said those words.

"Stop. Look at me. Deep breaths ok?" Conrad held her shoulder and turned her to make Belly look at him.

"This is Steven and Taylor's mess to clean up. You are not involved in any of this. Let them handle it." Conrad said with a stern voice.

That made her throat tighten. She blinked hard again. “Conrad, you also surprised me, you know.”

He tilted his head, letting go of her shoulders. “How so?”

“I don’t know,” she said, turning to face him finally. The moonlight hit his face just right, and her heart did something traitorous. “I just pictured you so differently. Like… a sweet guy with a nice smile and a gentleman.”

Conrad smiled slightly. “With glasses?”

Belly laughed through her sniffle. “Yes. With glasses.”

“Are you... disappointed?” he asked, raising an eyebrow, a serious tone in his voice.

“No,” she said honestly. “I mean, you are that guy. But… better? Your looks aren’t sweet. You’re like… attractive, Conrad. And I don’t know, I just want to be honest with you.”

He looked at her for a long second, lips curving into a soft smile. “Great. I like your honesty, Belly. It’s one of the reasons I lik—” He stopped mid-sentence, biting his tongue. “—liked our pen pal thing.”

Her heart skipped. “Right. The pen pal thing,” she said, wiping some of her tears away.

“To be fair,” he continued, “I didn’t expect you either. You’re a breath of fresh air. Your smile is so bright, Belly—it could literally rival the sun.”

“Stop,” she said, embarrassed, shoving his shoulder lightly.

The wind blew her hair across her face, and before she could move, Conrad reached out instinctively and tucked it behind her ear. His fingers lingered just a second too long.

“I’m serious,” he said quietly. “Anyone who doesn’t see how special you are doesn’t deserve any piece of you.”

Her breath hitched. “You can’t say those things. It’s like hearing one of your letters come to life.”

His smiled faded faintly. “Sorry. I didn't mean for it to sound like that.”

“I have a boyfriend, Conrad.”

“I know,” he said simply. “And that’s why I’ll beat the ever-loving shit outta him if he ever makes you lose your smile. You got that?”

She huffed a laugh despite herself. “Not like you can throw a punch.”

He stepped a bit closer, teasing glint in his eye. “You know who I am, Belly. I have no problem getting into fist fights. And I’ll assure you right now—I don’t lose.”

Belly stared at him, amused and flustered all at once. “You’re crazy.”

“And you’re dramatic.”

She laughed for real this time, brushing her tears away. “I am.”

Conrad smiled softly. “I'm crazy too.”

For a moment, neither of them said anything. The music thumped faintly in the distance, and the wind rustled through the trees. There was something about the quiet that made everything sharper—their closeness, their words, the unsaid things hanging in the air.

He finally broke it. “You feeling better?”

Belly nodded. “Yeah. I just… hate being blindsided. I thought Taylor and I told each other everything.”

“People mess up,” Conrad said quietly. “Doesn’t mean she doesn’t care. Sometimes people just… handle things badly.”

“I should talk to her,” Belly said, looking at him. “Thanks Conrad.”

She smiled faintly.

“Anytime.” Conrad stared at her for a good minute.

The tension melted into something lighter—comfortable, even. They walked back toward the house, slower this time, their shoulders almost brushing.

“Still want that calculus help?” he asked.

She grinned. “Yes. Please Sir."

"Sir?" Conrad's ears perked up at her words.

"Yeah you know. Like a teacher, you call them sir." She smiled, innocence lacing her voice.

A million different images zoomed across his head. Then shakes it off.

"Don't call me that." He muttered seriously.

"Why?" Belly laughs at Conrad's expression. She was confused. Why is he so serious? But decides to let it go.

She laughed, hands raised. “Fine. I’ll behave.”

“You definitely should.”

---

Meanwhile, inside the house, Marcus was standing near the kitchen, his expression tightening. Someone had mentioned seeing Belly run out crying—with Conrad right behind her.

He didn’t say anything. Just clenched his jaw and looked toward the door, where they were now coming back in, side by side, smiling.

Belly’s eyes were still a little red, but she was laughing at something Conrad said. Too close. Too comfortable.

Marcus’s grip tightened on his drink.

Chapter Text

Chapter 8: Storm

The night air was still heavy with music and the buzz of the party when Marcus appeared at the door, eyes dark and jaw tight. He scanned the porch once, then fixed his stare on Belly and Conrad — standing too close, the glow of the porch light outlining them like something intimate.

“Belly,” Marcus called, voice sharp enough to slice through the noise.

Belly froze. “Marcus?”

He didn’t say another word — just marched over, grabbed her wrist, and pulled her toward the house. His grip was firm, rougher than usual.

“Hey—Marcus, what are you doing?” she hissed, stumbling a little as he dragged her inside.

Conrad stepped forward immediately. “Hey, man, let her go.”

Marcus turned sharply, eyes blazing. “Stay out of this.”

Conrad’s jaw clenched. “You don’t talk to her like that.”

“I said stay the hell out of this, Fisher.”

The look Marcus threw him was enough to make half the room go quiet. A few people glanced over but quickly pretended not to notice.

Conrad's fist was turning white from how tight he was gripping it.

But Belly noticed.

"Conrad, I'm fine. Me and him are just gonna talk. Stay here." Belly tried to assure him.

Conrad nodded wordlessly but never breaking eye contact with Marcus. Marcus started dragging Belly by her wrist.

Belly, heart pounding, tugged against Marcus’s hold. “Marcus, stop! You’re making a scene—”

But he didn’t stop until they reached one of the side rooms — quieter, dimly lit, door slamming shut behind them. The muffled bass of the party thudded faintly through the walls.

Marcus turned to her, breathing hard. His eyes were wild, his voice low but shaking with anger.

“What the fuck are you doing with him alone outside?”

Belly blinked, thrown by the venom in his tone. “What? I—I had a fight with Steven, okay? So I ran out. He just followed me to talk.”

“Talk?” Marcus laughed bitterly, dragging a hand through his hair. “Right. Because that’s what you two were doing. Talking. That guy clearly likes you, Belly! Anyone with eyes can see that.”

Belly’s pulse spiked. She yanked her wrist from his grip—and winced. His fingers had left a faint red mark blooming just above her hand. Marcus’s eyes flickered down, and for a moment, the anger cracked into something like guilt.

“Jesus, Marcus,” Belly said, voice breaking between fury and disbelief. “I knew you were jealous, but you’re acting crazy right now! Conrad doesn’t see me like that! I was crying—thank you for noticing my red fucking eyeballs! He was trying to make me laugh!”

Marcus took a breath, trying to steady himself. His voice softened just a fraction, but the edge was still there. “Fuck, Belly. I’m sorry you were crying. I am. But you have to stop talking to Conrad. It ends tonight.”

Belly just stared at him, wide-eyed, her confusion morphing into anger. “What? Why? What are you—what are you even saying? Jesus, we were just talking!”

“Belly,” he said, voice tightening again. “I was looking for you the minute I walked in. I couldn’t find you anywhere. And then someone tells me they saw you walking with that dickhead outside — laughing, smiling like everything was perfect. What the hell am I supposed to think?”

“You’re supposed to trust me!” she shot back. “God, Marcus, you’re acting like I cheated on you!”

He scoffed. “You think that’s trust? When you’re out there looking at him like that?”

Her face fell. “Looking at him like what?”

Marcus opened his mouth, then closed it. He didn’t have the words—only the sick feeling twisting in his gut.

“You know Conrad,” Belly said quietly. “He’s a gentleman. I’ve always told you about him.”

Marcus’s lip curled. “Yeah. Formerly known as your old nerdy pen pal.”

The way he said it — like it was something shameful — made her chest ache.

“Don’t be like this, Marcus,” she said, her voice low, shaking. “We were just talking. Nothing more.”

He exhaled sharply, pacing a few steps away before turning back, eyes stormy. “You don’t get it. You don’t see it. That guy’s in love with you, Belly.”

Her heart stopped for a second.

“That’s not true,” she whispered.

“Really?” he shot back. “Because I saw the way he looked at you. Like you were the only person in the room. And you’re too blind to notice it because you think everyone’s harmless and kind and just wants to talk.”

Belly crossed her arms, fighting the burn behind her eyes. “And what? You think yelling at me fixes that? You think controlling who I talk to makes you look like the better guy?”

Marcus’s silence was deafening.

She shook her head, tears threatening to spill. “You know, I thought you’d at least ask me what happened before jumping to conclusions. But I guess you already decided who the villain was.”

“Belly—”

“No,” she cut him off. “You can’t keep doing this. You know how important he is to me! You made a scene outside and embarrassed me! Acting as if I cheated on you!”

“I’m scared of losing you,” he said quietly.

That stopped her.

He looked tired now — like the fight had drained out of him, replaced by something raw and unguarded. “You don’t get it, Belly. Every time you smile at someone else, I feel like I’m one step away from being replaced.”

She stared at him, heart twisting. “That’s not love, Marcus. That’s fear.”

He swallowed hard, jaw tightening again, like he didn’t want to believe it.

Outside the door, they could both faintly hear the hum of voices — and maybe, just maybe, Conrad’s footsteps pacing near the hall, waiting, trying to decide if he should intervene.

"Please Belly. I'm sorry. I don't know what happened to me. I-I just saw red and—" Marcus was slurring his words by how fast he was talking.

Belly sighed. Marcus has never acted this way before. Maybe he was just scared of losing her.

'God, what have I done? Did I turn him into a jealous monster without me knowing?'

Belly brushed Marcus' hands.

"Marcus, this cannot happen again. You hear me? You're my boyfriend ok? So stop focusing on Conrad. He's just a friend." Belly tried to reassure him.

Marcus looked at her and saw the sincerity in Belly's eyes.

The door opened, and she stepped out — face flushed, eyes glassy — only to find Conrad standing there, leaning against the wall, waiting.

He straightened instantly. “You okay?”

Belly nodded quickly, but her voice cracked when she said, “Yeah. Totally fine.”

Marcus appeared behind her, his gaze locking with Conrad’s like a silent challenge.

“We're fine here, Fisher. Move along.” Marcus said lowly.

Conrad’s jaw flexed when he saw the bruise on Belly's wrist. “Yeah right.”

The air between them went taut — electric, dangerous. 

Belly stepped back, her hand trembling slightly as she pulled it away. “Conrad, it’s fine,” she said, voice quieter than before, the exhaustion bleeding through. “We’re going to head out. Marcus will drive me home.”

Marcus blinked, his eyes slightly glassy. “Yeah,” he muttered, “I'll drive.”

Belly gave Conrad a pleading look when his eyes squinted, as if looking for a fight.

Conrad sighs.

Fuck.

"Yeah. Get home safe. Text Steven when you get home. I'll let him know you're going." Conrad's voice softened as he talks to Belly.

Belly nods with a sigh of relief in the back of her mind. She offered Conrad a tired smile before pulling Marcus by the hand so they can go.

Marcus gave an annoyed grunt before briefly following Belly.

Conrad watched them walking away, shoulders tensed before going to get the strongest alcohol he could get his hands on.

Chapter Text

Chapter 9: Solace

A week and a half.

That’s how long it had been since the party — since the first big fight she had with Marcus. All because of Conrad.

And then… nothing.

In respect to Marcus' wishes, she didn't respond to Conrad or talk to him. No texts. No run-ins. Not even a glimpse of him in the hallways. It was like Conrad Fisher had disappeared off the face of the school.

Except he hadn’t.

Everyone knew who he was now.

The new football guy from Boston. Quiet, but in that way that made people lean in when he talked.

Even Taylor, who didn’t really care about football, had mentioned him this morning as they walked into homeroom

“Everyone's talking about your Conrad.” she’d said, waving a sheet like it was proof of something. “Friday night’s game. Apparently, their quarterback’s a god.”

Belly had rolled her eyes, pretending to fix her hair in the window reflection. “His name is literally everywhere.”

"Yeah babe. I mean based from the letters you told me, I really didn't think he would be all that. But then again, he is YOUR Conrad."

Belly groaned. “Can we not call him ‘my Conrad’? Please.”

Taylor, of course, grinned like the devil. “You never said he was that hot.”

“He’s not—he’s just—” Belly stammered, then sighed. “He’s fine. Anyway, he’s been busy. And I’m with Marcus.”

“Uh-huh. Marcus, who practically carries your backpack now.”

“Taylor,” Belly warned.

Her best friend put up her hands. “Hey, I’m just saying. Every since you two fought, he's always beside you. This guy didn't even bother watching your games and now he acts like this? You don’t need a guard dog. You need a boyfriend who—”

“—swims,” Belly interrupted, cutting her off, “really, really fast.”

Taylor snorted. “Deflection level: expert.”

Belly gave her a small shove, trying not to smile. It was nice — this easy banter again. After the fight at the party, after weeks of silent distance, she and Taylor had finally made up. The tension was gone, replaced with something normal, steady.

Still, every time someone mentioned Conrad, it was like an invisible string pulled at her.

---

At lunch, that string tugged again.

Conrad was sitting with a group of guys from the football team — three tables down, facing the other way. It shouldn’t have mattered. But it did.

He looked the same but different somehow. He looked comfortable.

He was wearing his signature hoodie, the dark gray stretching over his shoulders in a way that made her throat go dry. He was laughing — really laughing — at something one of the guys said, his head tipped back, eyes bright.

For a second, Belly forgot how to swallow.

“Earth to Bells,” Taylor said, waving a carrot stick in front of her face. “Are you even listening?”

“What?”

“I said, are you going to the game Friday or not?”

Belly hesitated. “I mean, Marcus said he might have swim practice after and I have to prepare because I have a volleyball game on Saturday—”

Taylor groaned. “Belly, come on. You can still go! It’s not illegal to support your friend.”

Belly looked down at her sandwich. “I'll think about it.”

She then took out her phone and started typing.

---

“Yo, Fisher, that’s your third pick in a row. You trying to show off or something?”

Eli, the team’s linebacker, shoved him lightly on the shoulder as they stepped off the field, helmets tucked under their arms.

Conrad smirked, breath still heavy from the scrimmage. “Just trying to keep practice interesting.”

“Man’s a machine,” someone muttered behind him. “Blasted Rory's ear off last season and now Coach can’t shut up about you. The difference is uncanny.”

He didn’t respond to that. Compliments always made him a little uncomfortable.

What he didn’t say was that football wasn’t the plan — not here, not anywhere. He’d joined mostly because of his dad.

Now, he was “the new star.” Whatever that meant.

They were heading toward the locker room when his phone buzzed.

Belly: Hello Mr. Quarterback

He stopped walking for a second, thumb hovering over the screen. Tried to rub his eyes, in case he was seeing things.

Conrad: Hey Belly. Haven't heard from you in a while.

Belly: It's been a week Fisher, calm urself.

He smiled before he could stop himself.

Conrad: A week and a half. God you're bad at math.

Belly: Leave me alone meanie. Anyway, I was wondering when we're gonna start our tutoring session?

Conrad: I'm honestly only waiting for you.

Belly: Finals won't really start until next month. Can we start next week?

Conrad: Yeah no problem. Just set a date and time. I'm there.

Belly: Thanks Conrad. You're the best!

The next text he typed felt like his body possessed him to.

Conrad: I missed talking to you.

There was a pause — a long one. He could almost feel her hesitating through the phone.

Then finally—

Belly: Same.

Conrad stared at the text until one of his teammates yelled, “Fisher! You coming or what?”

He pocketed his phone and jogged to catch up, pretending his chest didn’t feel weirdly lighter.

---

Gym class had never been her thing, but today she couldn’t stop glancing toward the bleachers — toward the group of football players roughhousing after their drills ended early.

Taylor caught her. Of course she did.

“Don’t even think about it,” she said under her breath.

“I’m not thinking about anything,” Belly lied.

Taylor gave her a look. “You’re thinking about him.”

“Marcus?”

Taylor rolled her eyes. “Sure. Marcus.”

And maybe that was the problem.

Because when she thought about Marcus lately, it wasn’t bad — it just wasn’t the same. Things between them had settled. They’d gone out for ice cream. He’d shown up at her locker with coffee and an apology the morning after the party.

He’d been trying. She could tell.

But the clinginess… the way he always seemed to have a hand around her wrist, or waist, or shoulder — it was starting to feel like something else.

She told herself it was love. Maybe it was.

Still, when Conrad looked up from across the gym and met her eyes — just for a second — her pulse betrayed her.

---

He wasn’t supposed to notice her anymore. He’d told himself that. She has a boyfriend, he needs to respect it.

But there she was — laughing at something Taylor said, hair falling into her face, sunlight spilling through the windows behind her like some cinematic curse.

She didn’t see him watching.

He told himself it was fine. That it was better this way.

He was already too far gone.

---

Later that afternoon, he and the guys sprawled across the football field bleachers, half-drunk on Gatorade and post-practice adrenaline.

“Yo, Fisher,” Eli called out, tossing him a bottle. “You hitting the game afterparty next week?”

“Maybe.”

“You have to. It’s like, tradition. We win, we celebrate. We lose, we drink anyway.”

Conrad smirked. “Tempting.”

Someone else chimed in, “Bring that volleyball chick you talk to.”

He looked up, brows furrowing. “What?”

“Isabel, right? The one you sat with at lunch that one time. Heard she’s cute.”

Conrad forced a laugh. “She’s got a boyfriend.”

“Marcus Franklin? Swim team guy?”

“Yeah.”

“Man, that guy’s intense.”

Conrad didn’t reply. He’d seen it too. The way Marcus’s hand always seemed to claim her when he walked into a room. The way Belly’s smile dimmed when it did.

He exhaled, glancing at the horizon. The field stretched wide and endless, painted gold by the afternoon light.

“Yeah,” he said finally. “He is.”

---

After class, Marcus was waiting by her locker — still damp from practice, a half-grin on his face.

“Hey,” he said, kissing her cheek. “You coming to the meet tomorrow?”

“Wouldn’t miss it.”

He smiled, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “You okay? You seem quiet.”

“Just tired,” she lied.

“Okay.” He leaned closer. “You know, you don’t have to hang out with Taylor so much. I barely see you anymore.”

Belly blinked. “Marcus, she’s my best friend.”

“I know. I just—” He hesitated, then gave a small laugh. “Guess I’m jealous of your time.”

That should’ve sounded sweet. It almost did.

But as she watched him walk away, towel slung around his neck, a strange ache settled in her chest.

---

He spotted her again the next morning.

She was standing by the vending machine, squinting at the buttons like she couldn’t decide between chips or candy. Her hair was still damp from a shower — swim team practice for Marcus, probably.

He told himself to keep walking.

But then she looked up.

And smiled.

“Hey,” she said softly. “Star quarterback.”

He smirked. “Hey, captain.”

She laughed. It was small, but real — the kind that crinkled her nose.

He missed that sound more than he should’ve.

“So,” she said, pressing the button for a Coke. “Big game tomorrow, huh? Your first game since coming here.”

“Yeah.”

“Nervous?”

“Not really. You coming?”

She hesitated. “Marcus has a meet.”

“Right.”

Something flickered between them then — quiet, unspoken, fragile.

Finally, she said, “Good luck anyway.”

“Thanks.”

She turned to leave, but he called after her, voice low. “Hey, Belly?”

She glanced back.

“I’m glad we’re talking again.”

Her lips curved, soft and uncertain. “Me too.”

And for the first time in a week and a half, it felt like gravity had shifted — pulling them back into orbit.

Chapter Text

Chapter 10: Gravity

Friday came faster than she expected.

The hallways buzzed with the kind of restless energy that only game day could bring — jerseys over hoodies, girls wearing the players’ numbers scribbled in glitter across their cheeks. Even the teachers looked a little looser, like everyone was waiting for the day to end.

Belly wasn’t.

She’d told Marcus she’d come to his swim meet that afternoon, but when he texted her at lunch that the event had been postponed due to maintenance issues at the pool, she felt something in her chest loosen — like an invisible door creaking open.

Conrad: You're gonna watch? I heard the pool needs maintenance.

Belly: How'd you know, nosey? 🤔 

Conrad: Some friends told me. I have SOME you know. Also let's meet later, I need to give you something.

And so, after asking Taylor with two promises of free ice cream after, they ended up in the bleachers just as the sun dipped low, painting the field in shades of orange and gold.

---

Belly was at her locker when she heard his voice.

“Belly.”

She turned. Conrad stood a few steps away, backpack slung over one shoulder, his football jersey in his hands. Number 12, stitched in navy and gold. His hair was a little messy, eyes tired in that way that made him look effortlessly good.

“Hey,” she said cautiously. “Aren’t you supposed to be in the gym? Pep rally or something?”

“Skipped it,” he said with a shrug. “Too loud.”

“Wow. Rebel.”

He smiled faintly. He held up the jersey. “Here.”

She blinked. “What’s that?”

“My spare. You’re supposed to wear it.”

Belly’s laugh was startled. “Why me?”

“It’s good luck.”

“For who? You or me?”

“Both, ideally.”

She crossed her arms. “Conrad.”

He tilted his head, innocent. “Belly.”

“Conrad.” She laughed nervously. “I can’t. Marcus would—”

He cut her off, that half-grin tugging at his mouth. “It’s a tradition. You wear someone’s jersey for good luck.”

“Someone’s girlfriend, you mean.”

His grin deepened. “Or someone’s friend.”

“You have, like, an entire school of fangirls who would kill to wear your jersey.”

He gave a small, disbelieving laugh. “The jersey is supposed to be worn by someone who knows you the most.”

The words hung between them for a second — soft, unguarded. She opened her mouth, unsure what to say, but he was already nudging the jersey toward her.

She tried to hide her smile as she stuffed it into her bag, hoping no one saw. “You’re gonna get me in trouble.”

“See you at the game?” He said lightly.

“Maybe.”

He tilted his head. “I’ll take that as ayes.”

---

The first thing Belly noticed was the noise — a constant hum of cheers and stomping feet, whistles cutting through the air. The field looked bigger under the stadium lights, almost unreal, every blade of grass glowing electric green.

The second thing she noticed was him.

Conrad, number 12, helmet tucked under his arm, hair messy from warm-ups. He was laughing with the coach, jaw sharp in the fading light, eyes bright and steady.

Taylor nudged her. “Okay. I definitely get the hype.”

“Shut up,” Belly murmured, though she couldn’t help smiling. She tugged at the jersey she’d put in her bag before finally caving and wearing it, the fabric soft and warm against her skin.

Taylor’s eyes widened. “Is that—Conrad’s?”

Belly groaned. “Don’t start.”

“Oh my God. It is. You’re wearing his number. You are so dead.”

“It’s not like that,” Belly hissed. “He just—he made me take it.”

“Sure. He made you.”

“I’m serious! It’s a superstition thing.”

Taylor arched a brow. “Funny how his superstition involves you.”

Belly swatted her arm, but her face was already warm. “Stop.”

Taylor smirked. “You little tart.”

Down on the field, Conrad glanced up — like he’d felt her looking.

And when their eyes met, his mouth lifted just slightly, enough to make her breath hitch.

She didn’t wave. She couldn’t. But he smiled anyway, eyes lingering a little longer on his jersey draped over her shoulders before turning back to the game.

"He's my friend." Belly mentions to no one in particular.

“Right. A friend you were basically in love with the whole of last year? Like how can you even like someone without even seeing their face?” Taylor scoffed at her.

She didn’t answer.

---

Marcus texted halfway through the second quarter.

Marcus: where r u?

Belly: w/ taylor

Marcus: u didn’t tell me u were going to the game

Belly: It’s just a game marcus.

Marcus: you know i don’t like that guy

Her chest tightened. She typed out a reply, deleted it, then locked her phone. Taylor caught the whole thing out of the corner of her eye.

“Trouble in paradise?”

Belly sighed. “He’s just… being Marcus.”

“You mean jealous.”

“Yeah.”

Taylor leaned back on her elbows. “He doesn’t own you, Bells.”

“I know. He just—he doesn’t get it. Conrad’s my friend. He was there before Marcus even knew I existed.”

Taylor gave her a look that said, Exactly.

Down on the field, Conrad was lining up for a play. The crowd hushed, the quarterback crouched, and in one smooth motion, the ball snapped back.

He moved like it was instinct — quick, precise, his body flowing through each movement like muscle memory. A blur of white and green streaked down the field, and then—

Touchdown.

The stands erupted.

Belly found herself on her feet, cheering before she realized it, the sound lost in the roar of the crowd. 

Taylor screamed beside her, half for the score, half for the sight of him jogging across the end zone with that quiet, easy grin.

And when their eyes met, he gave her a half-smile, shrugging while tilting his head to the side. As if to say, 'easy as fuck.'

Belly laughed then rolled her eyes at the gesture, pretending not to notice the way her heart hammered.

---

After the game, the field was a blur of celebration — players slapping hands, helmets tossed, flashes from phones lighting the night. Conrad stood near the sideline, sweat still gleaming on his neck, his hair damp and messy.

He looked up, scanning the stands like he was searching for someone.

And when he found her, his whole face changed.

Belly’s breath caught.

She waved once, shy, uncertain. He smiled back — small, private, just for her.

Taylor elbowed her. “Okay, that was a look.”

“It wasn’t.”

“Sure.”

Before she could reply, someone from the team shouted Conrad’s name, pulling him back into the crowd. He gave her one last glance before disappearing into the locker room.

---

They waited near the parking lot afterward, Taylor scrolling through photos of the game while Belly fiddled with her bracelet.

“Hey, I’m starving,” Taylor said. “Wanna grab fries at The Shack?”

Belly was about to answer when a familiar voice called out, low and warm.

“Belly.”

Conrad.

He was walking toward them, duffel slung over one shoulder, hair still damp from a shower. His hoodie hung loose, sleeves pushed to his forearms.

“Nice game,” she said quickly, trying not to sound like she’d been waiting for him.

He smiled. “Thanks for coming.”

Taylor grinned and nudged Belly. “I’ll… go find the car.” She winked, then disappeared before Belly could protest.

“Traitor,” Belly muttered under her breath.

Conrad chuckled. “She’s subtle.”

“She’s something,” Belly said, hugging her arms around herself. The night air was cooling fast. “You were really good out there.”

“Thanks,” he said again, quieter this time. “Didn’t think you’d actually show up.”

“I almost didn’t.”

“What changed your mind?”

She hesitated. “I guess… I wanted to see what all the fuss was about.”

He laughed softly. “And?”

“It’s justified,” she admitted. “You’re—well, you’re good.”

“Good?”

“Okay, maybe great.”

He tilted his head, watching her. “That’s better.”

For a second, the world went quiet again — the same way it had at prom, that same breathless space between them where everything else blurred.

“Yo, Fisher!” one of his teammates called out, waving from near the exit doors. “Time to go! We have an after-party to attend!”

Another chimed in, grinning. “Dude’s totally gone! Look at him—Fisher’s smiling! That’s a first!”

“Shut up,” Conrad said, his eyes glaring as he turned to face his teammates.

The guys started laughing, nudging each other. “Who’s she, huh? Your secret good luck charm?”

Conrad gave them a look. “Just a friend.”

“Sure,” one of them teased. “You’ve ignored, like, every girl who went up to you—except this one.”

Belly tried to hide her smile, pretending to look at the ground. Conrad glanced at her, a quiet sort of warmth in his eyes. “Go on,” one of his teammates yelled. “Don’t keep your girl waiting.”

“She’s not—” Conrad started, but the guys were already heading off, still laughing. He sighed, turning back to Belly. “Sorry about them.”

Belly shrugged, tugging on the hem of his jersey. “Guess I kinda asked for it.”

He looked at her for a long second. “You didn’t. But… it looks good on you.”

One of them approached Belly and Conrad.

"Hi. My name is Eli. Conrad, where are your manners? Invite her to our party." Eli briefly elbowed Conrad.

"No. It's ok. I have stuff to do. But you guys go." Belly waved her hands as if to shoo them away.

Conrad turned to look at Eli.

"Yeah you go first man. We're just waiting for her friend then I'll head on over." 

Eli gave him a teasing look while wiggling his eyebrows.

"Ok if you say so bro." Eli laughed while jogging away with the rest of the team.

Later, when Taylor finally returned (with suspiciously greasy fries), Conrad offered to walk them to their car.

The parking lot was mostly empty now, the air smelling faintly of rain and turf. Belly trailed beside him, their shoulders almost brushing.

“We still on for next week?” she asked.

“Wouldn’t miss it,” he said. “Though you might regret it once I start making you do improper integrals.”

She laughed. “Hey! You offered.”

They stopped beside Taylor’s car. The headlights reflected in Conrad’s eyes, soft and golden.

He hesitated, shifting his weight. “Thanks again. For coming tonight.”

Belly smiled, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear when she remembered.

“Oh, and—” she tugged at the jersey, “I’ll wash this before I return it.”

He shook his head. “Keep it.”

“What? No, I can’t—”

“It’s tradition,” he said with a small grin. “Remember?”

Belly rolled her eyes.

“Go enjoy your after party Fisher.”

His lips curved, slow and genuine. “Okay. I'll see you around Belly.”

Taylor honked once, impatient.

“Go,” he said, smiling. “Drive safe Taylor. I'll see you around.” He waves at Taylor through the window and Taylor nodded.

“Bye, Conrad.”

“Bye, Belly.”

She climbed into the passenger seat, heart still thrumming. As the car pulled away, she looked back through the window — and saw him still standing there, hands in his pockets, watching her go.

---

That night, lying in bed, she traced the embroidered number on his jersey with her fingers — the faint scent of grass and detergent clinging to it.

The game replayed in her mind — the crowd, the lights, the way he’d looked at her when she cheered for him.

And somewhere between awake and dreaming, she realized:

Gravity wasn’t always about falling.

Sometimes, it was about what you couldn’t pull away from —

no matter how hard you tried.