Archive of Our Own

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

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

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

It started hours ago.

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

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

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

Except it was too much.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I pulled my hand from where I was tugging at the collar of his shirt and moved my body an inch from him. “Taylor can you just- I mean Steven's in the bathroom he can hear you,” I defended myself, or tried at least.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

“Yeah?” I say, looking up at him.

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

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

“Belly, just- tell me.”

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

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

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

“Oh.”

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

There’s a beat.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“God, Belly,” he mutters, a little annoyed.

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

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

“What do you mean?”

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

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

“Oh yeah?” he asks, breathless.

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

“By-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Me too.”

“But what if we break it?”

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

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

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

“Do you have a word in mind?”

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

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

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

A beat passes.

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

“Yeah, I have something.”

“What is it?” he asks, his voice low.

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

“Yeah?”

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

“Will those wishes have an expression date?”

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

“No, baby. They'll be infinite.”

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

“You're on.”

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It's supposed to be easy.

And it was… until now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This man is fucking electric.

***

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

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

We never do.

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

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

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

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

Everything does.

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

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

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

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

It feels like a warning. Or maybe a promise.

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

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

***

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

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

He looks adorable.

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I love you.”

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

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

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

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

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

But I unfortunately can't.

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

I forgot about the minutes.

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

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

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

“You gonna be in the lab today?”

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

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

“Okay.”

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Uh huh.” He sits back up.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then he drinks it. He finishes what’s left in one go, like it’s not water he needs.

I know it's not water that he needs. I have the exact same need.

He sets the glass down in the sink with a heavier sound than it should make.

Neither of us say anything.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Into our bedroom.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That's what we’re calling it?”

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

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

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

“And I think you’re enjoying it.”

I shrug, like it’s nothing. “Maybe.”

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

That lands.

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

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

That’s it. That’s the line.

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

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

“Am I?” I murmur.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His mouth twitches. “You’re stalling.”

I raise a brow. “Am I?”

He hums.

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

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

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

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

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

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

He pulls back.

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

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

“Sweet dreams, Conrad.”

***

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

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

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

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

Conrad's hard against my hips.

And he's very hard.

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

But I won't. I can't.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Too controlled.

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

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

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

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

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

“Nothing,” I say easily.

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah,” he says finally. “They are.”

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

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

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

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

“That they’re coming over.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I press my lips together, pressing down a giggle.

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

***

I can't stop thinking about it.

Just how unproductive my day went.

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

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

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

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

Just once.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Me: no babe, no need to buy anything.

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

Me: love you <3

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I pause for half a second, staring at them.

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

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

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

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

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

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

I shake my head quickly, still half-laughing.

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

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

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

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

Jake lets out a laugh. “No way.”

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

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

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

It’s so him.

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s one way to put it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And my attention changes.

I become more focused about what they're talking about Not because I feel jealous that he had a life when I wasn't here –when I was still not honest with myself and was living a wrong life that didn't fit right– but because I want to hear more about the pieces of his life that I had missed.

I want to hear more about that version of Conrad.

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

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

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

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

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

And for a while, it works.

But then something happens.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A polaroid picture.

Oh.

Oh.

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

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

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

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

But for me… for me it's everything.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah,” he breathes out. “I did.”

***

When the door finally clicks shut, the noise of the night fades all at once, leaving something quieter in its place. Something sharper.

Conrad turns toward me, leaning back against the door like he needs an anchor at this moment.

There’s a hesitation in the way he looks at me. Like he's about to handle a very delicate situation. Like he’s bracing for something. Like he’s not sure how I’m going to react. It makes something in me soften immediately.

I feel my chest physically warm with the affection and love I have for him.

“So,” I say, stepping closer, closing the distance until there’s barely any space left between us. “I have a couple of questions.”

He lets out a small breath, looking down, eyes flicking away for a second before coming back to mine.

“Belly-” he starts, then stops. Runs a hand through his hair, a nervous habit he hasn’t quite grown out of.

“It’s not-” he tries again, quieter this time. “I didn’t keep it like… like that.”

There’s a faint crease between his brows now, like he’s trying to explain something he doesn’t quite have the words for. Like he’s worried about how it might sound before he even says it.

And a little part of me gets annoyed with him for it. You don't have to be shy about a nice thing that you did, you beautiful idiot! I want to scream.

And honestly if he goes on like that –like it was weird that he kept the picture that I didn’t even remember existed for years– I might as well do so.

“I wasn’t-” He shakes his head slightly, almost frustrated with himself. “I’m not, like… holding onto it in some weird way.” The undertone is there.

Loud and clear. Don’t misunderstand this. Don’t make it something it’s not.

I feel my lips curve before I can stop them. “Conrad,” I say softly, but there is a little edge to it. I need him to snap out of whatever he's in.

He still looks unsure.

Still watching me like he’s waiting for the moment it shifts. “It’s not a bad thing. Why would it be a bad thing?” I genuinely ask him, my hands running up and down on his arms by his side.

I look at his face, searching, waiting for the doubts to vanish and go away.

That catches him off guard. “What?” he blinks.

“I love that you kept it. It shows that you care, that even after everything we've been through you still cared for me enough to keep it… I think it's beautiful.”

The words land slowly.

I can see it in the way his expression changes. Not all at once, but piece by piece.

The tension in his shoulders eases just slightly. The crease between his brows softens. “You do?” he asks, like he’s not entirely convinced he heard me right.

“Yeah,” I say, stepping even closer, my voice gentler now, something tender lingering on my lips. “I really do.”

“I mean… I thought you wouldn’t be surprised.” I lift my hand slightly, gesturing toward my necklace. “I kept this too.”

His gaze drops immediately. His finger follows a second later, slow and careful as he traces the curve of the pendant. The corner of his mouth twitches.

“Yeah, but…” he tilts his head, eyes still on it. “This- this means something good. Something clear.” He exhales softly. “The picture… it’s-” He pauses, glancing up at me. “You know what happened right after that.”

The memory hits before I can brace for it.

Fast and sharp.

I thought we loved each other.

We did.

If only he said we still do. The thought slips in so easily, but I shake it off just as quickly. We can’t change the past.

“I do,” I say quietly.

“But…” I take a breath, steadying myself. “Conrad, I don’t want you to feel regretful about the mistakes we made. That night… yeah, it was a mess.” I shrug lightly. “But it was our mess.”

He’s watching me now.

Really watching. “And I know it felt like we were stuck,” I continue, softer. “Like we’d reached some kind of dead end.” Another small breath. “But when I look back now…” My voice dips, steadier than I expect it to be. “I can see that that dead end brought us here. To this.”

I gesture faintly between us.

“And I wouldn’t trade that. Not for a cleaner version of the past. Not for anything. I believe that everything happens for a reason. And I know you do too.”

I lightly tap my finger on his sternum as I say the last sentence.

“So, for me when I look at the picture, I don't think about the bad parts: I think about the good parts. Like how you look at me in it.”

Silence settles between us. A full one.

For a second, he doesn’t say anything. Just looks at me like he’s trying to take in every word, every piece of it, like he doesn’t quite trust that it’s real.

And his gaze is so tense that I feel like I'm drowning in it. Like I'm going under water, quiet and willingly.

There’s something almost disbelieving in his expression. I can almost hear him think: How did I get this lucky. (A sentence he repeats to me at least once a month. But who's counting?)

His hand lifts from my necklace, but instead of dropping, it finds my cheek. I don’t pull back.

Honestly, nothing can pull me away from his touch right now. His thumb brushes lightly along my skin, grounding us into this moment.

“You have no idea how good it felt to hear you say these words,” he says quietly.

“I know, we've already talked about pretty much everything and agreed not to get stuck in the past but…” he shrugs. “I'm still a working progress,” he jokes lightly.

I let out a chuckle, wrapping my arms around his neck as I listen to him continue.

He exhales, a soft, almost breathless sound. “Thank you, Belly… and I'm sorry that I didn't tell you about the picture.”

“You don't have to be sorry about it. I'm glad that we're in the clear now. I mean we are right?”

His lips curve faintly, but there’s something deeper in it. Softer. “Yes, Belly. We are.”

“Good,” I lean up, my lips brushing his for a moment before I close the gap between us.

Our lips collide in a kiss that makes me feel like my bones are mending as he tightly wraps his arms around my waist.

The kiss tastes heavy with the words we don't say.

It feels like our relationship has evolved into something more solid, something more grounded, in this very moment. I slowly suck on his bottom lip, pulling him down to me from his neck, wanting to be as close to him as possible, just like the way our souls already are.

He cups the back of my head with his palm, the warmth of it making my skin prickle. When we slowly pull back, I feel my eyelids growing a little heavy with the heat between us.

I feel dizzy. Dizzy with love.

I take in the way Conrad looks, his lips are swollen as he wets them with his tongue, his cheeks pink under the twinkling light, his pupils have grown bigger, the black taking as much space as the green.

There’s something quiet in the way he looks at me then. The weight of the years loosening. His shoulders get broader.

He pauses, like he’s deciding how much to say. “I wanted to put it next to the others. You know like the framed ones of… all of us.” he adds, glancing at me briefly. “But I didn’t.”

I tilt my head slightly. “Why not?” Another pause.

“I don’t know,” he says at first, almost automatically. But then he exhales, like he’s letting that answer go. “That’s not true,” he corrects himself quietly. His gaze meets mine again, steadier now.

“I think I just-” He hesitates, but it’s different this time. Less guarded. More honest. “I wanted it to have a special place.”

I pull a tiny step back to look at him better.

“Well, Conrad, I don't know about special. It did fall out of a book called Atlas of Human Anatomy.” I say, teasing. We both laugh a little at that.

“Well, Belly,” he starts, mimicking my tone. “It wasn't there the first time.”

I blink, my eyes widening. “Wait, where was it?”

One of his hands leaves my waist, going to the nape of his neck, scratching it. “In a junk drawer in the kitchen,” he says hesitating.

My lips part. Then, out of nowhere a big unexpected laugh escapes my lips. It's a whole chested laugh that I can't stop.

Conrad joins me a few seconds later, louder, fuller. We both get caught in, our shoulders shaking, the sound of it taking up a huge space in the room.

“A fucking junk drawer?” I manage to say between my cackles.

I try to stop myself, to swallow my laughter. A big snort comes out of me as I do so. Conrad does the same.

“In my defense, it was the top drawer.”

“Oh, that makes it a lot better.” A moment passes.

“Wait, why did you change its place?” I ask, “And when did you?” 

“Uh,” he huffs out a breath. “Right before I went to pick you up from the airport when you first moved in.”

“Oh,” I say, blinking. “I was so used to seeing it every time I opened that drawer, that I just forgot to think about putting it somewhere else. Somewhere nice. And when I realized that you were literally moving into this house in a few hours… I just panicked and hid it in the first place I could think of.”

His gaze falls down to the TV set. “And then I forgot that I did that until tonight.” I nod. “Okay, thank you for telling me.”

“Of course. And Belly, you're not judging me because it was just a junk drawer right?” I smile at him. “No, Conrad. I'm not.”

Neither of us say it but I know why he kept it there.

I know that it wasn't just a ‘junk drawer’. I can see right through him.

I know that he hesitated to act like that polaroid of us was something special, like he had no right to feel that way –even though he knew no one would ever know.

But, I also know that he put it into a junk drawer because it was a safe option. It was something that he would use everyday, and with that way he would be seeing the picture of us without it being intentional.

Oh, I love this man. And this love makes me feel incredibly secure.

Like standing on solid ground after years of thinking you had to keep your balance. I always loved him. I never stopped. But it has evolved into something infinitely more real and grounded since we got back together.

And the reason for that is, with every passing day, I see him clearer than ever –all of him.

The parts he used to hide, the things he still struggles to say out loud, the weight he carries even when he pretends he doesn’t.

And he lets me.

That’s the difference from the last time.

He lets me see him. And somehow, I know he sees me too.

Not the version of me that tries to be easy, or more fitting, or less complicated. Not the one that bends to keep things from breaking.

Just, me. As I am.

And he stays.

Something in my chest tightens, but it doesn’t hurt. It just is. Real. The shift happens so quietly I almost miss it.

The air between us changes. Like everything we’ve been circling around finally lands in the same place.

I let out a small breath, my fingers brushing against his without thinking. “Let's go to bed.”

When we finally turn off the lights and settle under the sheets together, Conrad immediately pulls me on his chest without a word, tugging me as close to him as possible.

I wrap an arm around his waist, hugging him just as tight.

I think about everything that happened today.

And how the starting of the day –him being hard against my back and me not being able to stop thinking about him the entire day– feels like something that happened to different people.

I don't give a damn about the bet for the first time since it started.

The pull, the tension, the constant awareness of how close we are and what it could turn into doesn't mean anything at this moment.

Like something that doesn’t matter as much as it used to. Because this, us, fills my soul in a way that nothing else really can.

My chest feels full, almost unbearably so. In a way that settles me.

Right now, as I listen to the rhythm of Conrad's steady heart beat under my ear as we lay with our bodies tangled with each other, I don't think about the sexual tension or how easy it would be to let myself lose this bed.

Everything else that had been bothering me for the past three days fades away.

And I realize being with Conrad, having him like this, being seen by him like this, is already everything. It's not about winning for me anymore –which I know it's an unusual thing coming from someone as competent as me. I've already won in life.

***

When I wake up, it's late.

Very later than the time I usually wake up. It's a late Saturday morning where neither of us have absolutely nothing to do. 

I love waking up to days like this, where we can do any lazy thing that we want. Like trying out a new recipe and taking our time doing it. Like showering together watching each other's hair as if we are one of those corny couples. Like going down to the beach and just talking about everything and nothing at the same time. Like having sex in every corner of- 

No, not that. Definitely not that. I just had a beautiful revelation last night, where I told myself that I don't need anything else as long as I have his love to carry with me, and I meant it. I really did. 

So, now I'm going to stick to that mentality for the rest of the bet and definitely not go back to firing up in sexual tension. 

When Conrad wakes up I feel him stir beneath me, I look up at him from his chest. He's squinting as he tries to get used to the light of the bright morning.

 “Hey,” I whisper. 

“Hey,” he answers, just as soft. And my chest feels lighter than ever.

 The kind of lightness that makes me think, maybe we can actually do this.

 The morning stretches without pressure. We don’t rush out of bed. We don’t test anything. It’s calm in a way that feels new –like we’ve finally learned how to exist around each other without tipping into something overwhelming during this week. 

We make pancakes together late into the morning, moving around each other in the kitchen with a kind of quiet rhythm. He hands me things before I ask. I nudge him out of the way without thinking. 

Our shoulders brush, hands almost brushing, and neither of us makes it into something bigger. 

We are just Belly and Conrad. 

By noon, we’re still in it. In that softness, that we’re okay feeling settling deeper than the tension ever did. 

I almost believe that I can get through this. Almost.

But then, the one thing I least expected happens.

Conrad reaches for something –maybe the edge of a cabinet, maybe a pan– and misjudges it just enough to catch his hand wrong. A sharp inhale, a quick pull back.

“Shit!” he screams.

I immediately stand up, the chair I'd been sitting on almost falling to the ground. I go to his side. “What happened?”

It turns out to be nothing serious. A small cut in his palm, thankfully it isn't deep

. But the second it happens, something in my chest tightens.

The memory flashes through my mind, too fast, too familiar. For a split second, I'm not even here anymore.

I'm back in Cousins –sunburnt skin, salt in the air, the sharp panic of seeing blood all along the stairs.

The way my stomach had dropped, the way everything had gone too quiet around the sound of waves.

The day Conrad cut his leg surfing. That summer.

My breath catches, just slightly. He shakes it off like it’s nothing, rinsing his hand under the tap.

“I’m fine,” he says, already moving on. She nods. “Yeah. I know.” And we both pretend that something didn’t just shift.

The rest of the day is just off, misaligned.

We both try to fall back into the rhythm from earlier quietly, but it doesn’t sit the same way.

There’s a new awareness now.

Everything is sharper.

And a couple of hours later, when we both are reading books on the separate ends of the couch, something else happens.

Something that probably wouldn't have caught my attention on a normal day.

He bumps his knee on the coffee table as he tries to stand up, and lets out a low “Jesus,” rubbing at it with a small wince.

I let out a short breath, half a laugh. “Okay, what is it with you today?” I try to hide my frustration by making a joke.

It doesn't work. He looks at me, confused.

“What?”

“All of a sudden you can’t stop injuring yourself.” He huffs out a quiet laugh.

“I’m fine. Just a little distracted.” His gaze falls down to my chest for a fraction of a second. I notice it.

I also look down. I'm wearing a brown coloured deep v-neck top with matching brown shorts. Something that I've definitely worn in front of him before.

“Got it,” I say, but there’s something in my tone, light, but not entirely.

We both let it go. Again.

By the time the evening comes around.

We're in the kitchen again, making dinner, the air has settled into something different from the light one we had this morning. I'm chopping peppers at the counter, glancing at him every so often as he moves around the kitchen.

“You gotta cut them into cubes, Belly,” Conrad murmurs.

“Well, forgive me for not having hands like a surgeon,” I joke.

He puffs out a breath, walking behind me. “We can change that,” he murmurs against my ear as he presses his chest against my back.

He places his hands on mine, arms wrapping around me. When we're not even four slices in, I say something stupid.

“Try not to injure yourself three times in a row again just because you know what it does to me,” the sentence leaves my mouth almost absentmindedly.

He pauses. “Again?”

My hand stills for half a second. Oh. “Shit,” I mutter under my breath. “When was the last time I injured myself three times in a row?” he asks, dropping the knife on the counter, turning me towards him, brows slightly furrowed.

I shrug quickly.  “I didn’t mean it. It just slipped out.”

“What?”

“Never mind. It’s…nothing.”

“Belly.” The way he says it makes it very clear that he won't let go of this.

“Just tell me.”

I exhale, leaning back against the counter. “It’s stupid,” I say.

“Try me.”

“Remember that summer? Before I left for Paris.”

His expression shifts immediately, a muscle in his jaw jumps. “Yeah,” he says.

I let out a soft breath, shaking my head a little, a faint smile pulling at my lips despite myself.

“I swear, I thought you were going to make me lose my mind that entire time.” His brows lift slightly.

“What?”

“With the tension,” I add, glancing at him.

“We just kept pushing. And then acted like nothing was happening… I know we already talked about it a little but-” I sigh, “there were a few times where I came really really close to just saying fuck it and… you know.”

“Oh,” is all he says. “I thought you were already aware of that. I mean, that's one of the reasons why I never even mentioned it.”

“I wasn’t. Or maybe I was. I don't know,” he takes a sharp inhale. “Well, deep down I always knew that you still loved me but- I guess never really thought about the tension part of it. I mean I felt it. I definitely did, Belly. But I always thought it was me and only me who was feeling it. I didn't realize you were also…”

There’s a beat.

“Really? Not even the day you cut your leg surfing. I was literally about to fall into your mouth, Conrad.”

“Well, Belly. At that moment I was pretty busy trying not to let you see that I was about to fall into your mouth.”

My eyes narrow. “Oh, don’t-”

“I’m serious,” he says, a quiet laugh slipping into his voice. “You think I wasn't affected by having you like an inch away from me?” I cross my arms. “You were in a lot of pain though. I thought your body was only occupied with that.”

“Belly,” he exhales, shaking his head. “I am capable of feeling two things at once.”

“Even though they are totally opposite from each other?”

“When it comes to you, yes. Even though they are totally opposite from each other.”

His voice comes out raw and deep, making my breath hitch. I study him for a second, not sure if I should believe him or not after thinking that it was all me.

“Really?” I ask.

“Yeah,” he says, stepping a little closer, lowering his voice just enough.

“I was trying not to completely lose it half the time.”

My breath hitches, just slightly. 

“And today?” I ask before I can stop myself, the question coming out breathless.

There’s a small pause before he answers. I keep my eyes on him as I wait for him to say something. Or just finally break.

“Not much better.”

I swallow sharply, my gaze falling to his lips before I can stop it. And suddenly, the space between us feels a lot smaller than it did a second ago.

“You’re really bad at this,” I murmur the first thing that comes to mind.

“Yeah?” he says quietly.

“Yeah… you keep saying things like that,” I add, softer now.

“Like you’re not making it harder.” His eyes flicker, something shifting behind them.

“Oh, but I thought edging was welcome in this bet.”

He leans a fraction closer to me. “Yeah, but I think there should be a fucking line, Connie,” The sentence is a warning to both him and me. Conrad hums.

“Don't act like I’m not the only one,” he says.

I let out a small breath that almost turns into a laugh. “I didn’t say you were.”

Another silence stretches.

The tension feels like it could snap if either of us leans in even a fraction more. But neither of us does. At least not yet.

“You mentioned that summer first, Belly,” he says after a second, sharper now, like he’s tracing something back. My lips part slightly. “You made me remember it.” I gesture between us with my hand. “ With your… you know.” I scratch the back of my neck, feeling trapped between him and the counter.

I shift my weight, but it only brings me closer instead of away. “That doesn’t help,” he murmurs under his breath.

My voice drops without meaning to. “What doesn’t?”

“This,” he says, not moving, not looking away. I tilt my head. “And what are you gonna do about it?” I try to ignore the way my pulse is spiking.

There’s a flicker in his eyes. It's quiet in the most dangerous way. He leans in closer, his lips hovering over mine.

I feel my eyelids getting heavy, as if I'm getting dizzy.

For a moment we breathe each other in. Then I feel him lean half an inch closer.

“Conrad, the bet,” I start, but I regret saying it, regret being this fucking competitive.

He exhales, placing his right hand on the counter next to my hip with a loud smack, like he’s trying to steady himself. I hear him gulp.

“Belly. You can't ask me a question like that and expect me to give shit about that stupid fucking bet,” he grits through his teeth. This might be the first time I've ever heard Conrad swear so sincerely in a row.

“Stupid? I thought you were fine and didn't care about it.” He lets out a quiet huff, something between a laugh and frustration.

“Okay, fine I got a little competitive at first. And you- you looked like you really wanted to. And I thought I could resist it.” he admits. “But now it’s worse.”

“Me too. I mean we did long distance for a year and you know the other stuff too. I thought we'd be fine and just have fun.”

His eyes hold mine, knowing. “Fun?”

He puts his other hand on my side too, totally hovering over me now, his voice drops. “Belly, I gotta be honest with you, I love you so much. And if you said you wanted to wait until marriage when we first started dating I would do that for you in a heartbeat,” he leans closer, mouth pressing to my ear.

“But now, I know that I can have you whenever I want with a six-letter word that will come out of my mouth. And that drives me crazy.”

He leans back, facing me again. His pupils are blown wide as his gaze falls down. First, to my mouth, then to my chest, and finally back to my mouth.

I feel my entire body burning with heat. But it's nothing compared to the heat that's in between my legs. I can feel myself soaking into the thin material of my pajama shorts.

My lips part.

“Velv-”

“Velvet.”

We both say it at the same time, given into surrender on our fourth day.

For a moment everything just stops. Conrad looks at me.

The shock in his face is clear as day. I look back at him, wrapping my hands around his neck.

He opens his mouth to say something, maybe to ask me if I'm sure or not. But the words die in his mouth when I pull him in and crush our lips together in a kiss that feels like coming home.

Knowing that we don't have to stop before things take a different turn feels like exhaling after holding a breath for too long.

My body just gives up the fight before my mind can catch up. If I have to be honest with myself I think both of us deep down knew that this was inevitable.

That this moment was already coming. We just happened to finally stop acting like this was something we could outrun at the same second.

Conrad kisses me roughly. He kisses me so roughly that it signals the way the rest of this evening is going to be like.

I run my tongue over his bottom lip, waiting for an invitation that I had been craving for the last four days. He parts his lips wider and lets me in.

I try to pull him as close as possible to me, pressing him down by his neck. But he doesn't let me.

He pulls away.

Our foreheads are still touching but I can't help the wine that escapes my lips. He lets out a chuckle, the sound of it low and brutal.

I want to protest, I want to pull him back down and kiss him without stopping for hours.

But before I can do any of that, Conrad picks me up, his large hands gripping my thighs with ease and he walks us toward the other counter –the one that doesn't have any vegetables on it– and he places me on it.

I bite my lower lip, looking up at him with intense attention, waiting for him to do his next move before I combust.

He kisses me again, but this time it's softer and quicker. Then his lips travel down to my jaw, neck, and chest.

I feel incredibly grateful that the neckline of this top extends almost to my navel.

His kisses are sloppy and open-mouthed, just the way he knows that drives me nuts. I grip the counter with one hand, my other hand immediately flying to his hair.

He reaches with one hand and drags the fabric of my top aside, freeing one of my breasts. He does the same with the other side. He looks at my chest like he's a starving man before he finally presses a kiss on one nipple. His tongue follows right back.

My head falls back. I grip the counter tighter. His movements are driving me crazy, the way he swirls his tongue, the way he massages my other breast, the way his unoccupied hand travels up and down my body like he needs to remember the shape of me.

His mouth closes over my skin, making me grow needier than ever. His thumb brushes over my other nipple, soft at first, almost like testing how much I can take at the same time.

Then, without any warning, he pinches it sharply. My hips stutter, a broken moan leaving my mouth. He swirls my nipple between his fingers with perfect pleasure.

I press his mouth closer to my chest, my fingers running between his soft hair.

Conrad stills for a moment, and my eyes fly open. I find him on his knees, looking up at me under his lashes, his bottom lip dragging against my skin.

I swallow sharply as I watch his gaze fall onto my shorts. I lift my hips without a word, just enough for him to get rid of my clothing. He hooks his fingers under my panties and pulls everything down.

The second the chill air of the room hits me I let out a gasp.

“Fuck, you look so pretty when you're dripping for me, Belly.”

he rans a finger through my folds, bringing it to his mouth and licking it clean, his eyes closing as he does so.

His thumb brushes against my clit. At first so soft that I might've even imagined it. But then he presses with the right amount of pressure and starts to rub it slowly.

The cold metal of his watch brushes against my inner thigh. I shiver. A loud whine escapes me as I watch the way his hand works.

“Tell me, baby. Have you been this fucking wet without saying anything to me for days?”

I nod furiously.

“Yes,” I breathe out.

“Hmm, and you've been such a good girl acting like you weren't getting affected as you were teasing me didn't you?”

His thumb presses in harder, his head leaning closer, hovering inches above my center, but never touching.

“Conrad, please.”

“Please what baby?” “I need your mouth on me. I need you to make me come. Please,” I practically beg him.

“You know I can't say no to you when you're asking me this nicely,” and with that, he finally closes the distance, and latches his mouth on me.

The first touch after all of the desperately waiting and the anticipation pays off even better than I expected.

Conrad doesn’t start slow at first like he usually does. He licks me from slit all the way up to the sensitive nub, his tongue stroking firmly. He then parts my lips with two fingers and keeps lapping at me like that for a while until my pleads get louder and louder.

As his mouth shifts its attention to my clit, flicking his tongue around it, he slips two fingers in me at the same time, fast but still taking time to discover my inner walls all-over again.

I grip a handful of his hair as he starts sucking like his life depends on it. I feel the fire pooling low in my abdomen as I start to grind my hips against his face. Conrad's fingers start to sink into me deeper and even faster.

My eyes squeeze shut as my moans start to sound much like his name. “I'm so close, keep going,” I hear myself panting.

And he does. He keeps going, his entire focus on me and me only.

I start to chase my pleasure until the world around me stops spinning and I'm coming against his mouth with a long shattered moan.

The shockwaves ripple through me, my back arching, my hand gripping the counter tighter as my vision fades into black.

Then, I go still, leaning on one elbow so that my back doesn't meet the cold surface entirely.

Conrad stays between my legs, he continues to lick and kiss until the aftershocks come to an end.

And even after that he doesn’t pull right away, he plants kisses on my inner thighs, and stomach.

When I feel like I can finally breathe properly again, I lean toward him and pull him upwards, making him face me.

“You did so good, honey. So good,” he says, his voice coming out raw as he places my head on his chest and starts caressing the back of my head.

I plant a lazy kiss on his collarbone, letting myself have a moment of silence with him just like this.

When I feel like I'm finally put together, I pull back enough to look Conrad in the eye. My hands immediately reach for the hem of his shirt, he lets me pull it off of his head but when I go for his sweatpants he stops me by wrapping a hand around my wrists.

“Let me take you to the bed first,” he says, his eyes locked on mine, his chest heaving with the shallow breaths he is taking. I nod fastly.

“Okay, be quick.” When Conrad finally places me on the bed and hovers over me, I exhale sharply.

We undress each other quickly, our clothes getting discarded and thrown on to the floor without a second thought.

Conrad places one of my legs high around his waist.

He lines himself on my entrance, rubbing his cock up and down, gathering my wetness before he starts to sink into me inch by inch.

A rattled groan escapes his mouth as he watches himself slowly disappearing inside me. And once he's fully settled all the way in he stills.

“You good?” He whispers.

I nod, my eyes shut tight as I feel him stretch me. “Yeah, you can move.”

He shifts his weight, pressing me down, his weight settling over me as he starts to thrust his hips against mine, going slow at first as he makes sure I'm actually good in his own way.

I reach up and grab his neck, pulling him down to me and kissing him fiercely. He starts to set a rhythm, a fast and unraveling one. I moan into the kiss, already gone, already feeling like a moment away from shattering.

One of his hands grabs my thigh, hard enough to leave a mark, feeling good enough to make me hope for it to. “Fuck, I missed this,” I pant out.

“Uh huh,” is all he can manage to say. His lips find my neck, leaving wet and sloppy kisses all over it.

My nails dig into his back. I drag them up and down as he starts to move faster. He bites the soft spot below my jaw, making my breath hitch.

My feet dig into his back as an attempt to pull him as close as he can be. Our rhythm turns into something mind-boggling. He breathes my name like it's the only word he knows. I claw my nails deep into his shoulders like he's my anchor to life.

“I don't ever want to have you within arm's reach but never truly have you.” He sets an absolutely different pace, sinking deeper into me as he grabs my hips and shifts me creating a better angle.

“Never again, Belly. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” I cry out. “I do.”

“Good girl.” he slips a hand between us, two fingers finding my clit. He starts to rub tight circles, the pace of it matching his hips.

“Fuck, I'm so close. You feel incredible,” Conrad says.

I can't find my voice so all I can do is to just nod and hum in agreement.

I feel my climax building again, the world outside this room fading into nothing.

When it hits, it feels like electric jolts all over my body. The waves crash over me harder than my first orgasm in the kitchen. Conrad's rhythm falters as he follows behind me with a shattered groan. My head spins as I feel like I'm falling off a cliff.

Once the aftershocks come to an end he drops his weight on me.

We stay like that for a while, waiting for our heartbeats to go back to their steady rhythm.

Then, pressing a quick kiss on my forehead, he pulls out of me. I expect for him to just lay by my side but instead he gets out of the bed, gathers me in his arms and carries me to the bathroom.

I don't say anything as I let him pull me into the shower and wash the sweat off of our bodies.

We start to shower together in a comfortable silence. He massages my shoulders as I lean back against him under the warm water.

I wash his hair, making a beard for him with foam. Steam curls around us, the water steady, grounding, washing away what’s left of the last few days.

We start to talk about everything and nothing at the same time. The conversation flows way easier now that there's no lingering tension getting in the way. I feel my chest lightening.

“So,” he murmurs, voice low against the sound of the water, “who won?”

I let out a soft breath that turns into a small laugh, tilting my head back slightly to look at him. “Seriously?”

“I’m asking a valid question,” he says, a hint of a smile in his voice.

I study him for a second, eyes lighter than they’ve been all week. “It’s a tie,” I say.

Conrad hums, like he’s considering that. “A tie,” he repeats.

“Yeah.” 

His hand shifts slightly at my waist, more deliberate now, thumb brushing once like he’s grounding himself in the moment. “I think we were never going to win that,” he admits.

I shake my head, a quiet laugh slipping out. “Yeah,” I say, “I think we just wanted to pretend we could.”

 “So what happened to the prize?” Conrad asks. I consider it for a moment.

“Hmm. Would you like it if,” my hands settle on his chest, “we both win the prize?”

A mischievous smile spreads across his face, his hand at my waist tightening for a second.

“I'd love that… I love you,” he murmurs.

We lean closer to each other under the running water, our lips colliding in a tender kiss, his lips incredibly soft against mine.

We kiss for what feels like hours, our bodies in need of each other. When we pull back we rest our foreheads against each other.

The water still runs, but everything else fades out. “Me too.”