Archive of Our Own

Conrad Fisher knew a lot about everything. 

He knew that there were approximately eighteen paces between the patio doors of the summerhouse and the steps to the pool in the backyard. He knew that the process of marking a stamp unusable for future postage was called hand-cancelling. He knew that the speed of a ship was measured in knots rather than miles per hour because, instead of anchors, sailors used to throw a wooden chip into the water and count how many knots ran through their hands as the rope unspooled. He knew that, due to epidermis shedding dead cells, humans got a brand new outer layer of skin practically every month. He knew that the first English edition of Encyclopaedia Britannica had forty pages dedicated to algebra but contained no facts about children. He knew that his hair turned a caramel colour when it was exposed to the sun for too long, that he was the best at off-platform throws in his team, but that he wasn’t going to play football anymore. Because he knew that his dad was a scumbag who had cheated on his mom during her chemo a few years ago, and he knew that her cancer had come back and—guess what!—it was terminal this time and she wasn’t telling any of them that she was dying so he just had to pretend that nothing was wrong and that this summer was perfect and—and—and—

Conrad also knew that Belly Conklin was a very precious person to him.  

He’d known that since he’d known what it was to know things, to hold facts close to his heart like, if the information was stored in his chest securely, only he could access the vault. 

He knew that he had to be the one to help her whenever she needed it, that he got this warm and inexplicable burst of happiness inside of him whenever she bestowed that look of pure adoration upon him as if he’d singlehandedly saved her life; as if he’d hung the moon with his bare hands. Whether it was simply handing her his ice cream for her to polish off when hers dropped into the sand, or if it was pushing her off onto his bike so that she didn’t have to lag behind with her training wheels. He’d grab the best muffins just to bring a smile to her face. He’d have toast for breakfast instead of her favourite cereal if the box was running low. He’d show her how to dance. He’d let her get more points than him in Shoot Your Shot just so that she could get confidently competitive, only for him to beat her anyway and sneak extra strawberry laces into her pick-n-mix cone afterwards as a silent apology. 

Whenever she was lost, he could point her in the right direction, and the weight of that compass thrilled Conrad, filling him with a sense of importance and validation, especially when the moms would praise him for ‘always looking out for Belly.’

He also knew that it wasn’t just him looking out for her, and protecting her because he was the oldest and that was simply his job. He knew that he knew her, better than he probably knew himself. He knew that chilli heat was her favourite flavour of tortilla chips, and that she always went for the cheese-and-chive dip first out of the platter. He knew that she sometimes ate like someone was going to snatch the food out of her hands any second, leaving her a little bit breathless, sometimes with evidence of her meal staining her mouth—an urgently-drunk Slurpee painting her tongue red, Sour Patch sugar sticking to her upper lip, chocolate coating her teeth. He knew that she always double-knotted her laces, and that she liked evening swims, and he knew that she pretended to be in Broadway musicals in front of her mirror at 3AM, when she didn’t think anyone could hear her thumping around and lip-syncing to the music blasting through her headphones. He knew that she tugged her shorts or dresses down whenever she felt self-conscious, that she fidgeted with her necklaces or bracelets if she was experiencing a bout of anxiety, and that she always blinked rapidly before beginning to cry. He knew that she’d once spritzed her pillows with his cologne because she’d had a crush on him since they were little, and that she only shampooed her hair every other day, but conditioned it every day.

He knew that she had him wrapped around her finger, and he knew that he would continue to let it linger.

Because, here was the thing:

Conrad may have known that Belly held his heart in her palms but he didn’t know why. 

In fact, he wasn’t sure he’d realised just how strongly he felt about Belly Conklin until she was being kissed by that curly-haired dork who had introduced himself as Cam-Cameron, and he’d bit down on his tongue so harshly that he’d tasted metal. His knuckles were still sore from punching Jumper on the beach, and yet he had to clench his hand into a fist again to stop himself from flinging the door open and flying at the overly sweet Cameron to destroy his stupid face. Because he was kissing Conrad’s girl, even though he knew that Belly didn’t belong to him. He was kissing her when she was dressed in that skimpy pink dress that was practically see-through and made Conrad feel like a pervert because, when she’d fallen down in front of him and Nicole, he’d actually been a little disappointed when she’d tugged the fabric back over her ass. 

Because he knew a lot about everything, but he didn’t know what Belly’s lips felt like under his. 

He didn’t know whether she kept her mouth closed at first, or if she dove straight in with tongue. He didn’t know if she moaned softly or whined in delight like she did whenever she got a good spoonful of Ben & Jerry’s cookie dough ice cream. He didn’t know if she liked her hair pulled, if she liked to be made love to, sweetly and slowly, or if she loved to be ravaged and fucked; a dark horse hiding behind those innocent eyes. He didn’t know if she’d whimper when he bit her lip, or if she would grind into his lap, or if she would tug on his hair until he groaned into her mouth. He didn’t know what it felt like to run his palms up her thighs, teasing the edge of her denim cutoffs or her swimsuit until she was squirming under his touch. He didn’t know what her mouth would feel like on his cock as he threaded his fingers through her silky hair, or if she would like dirty talk. If she did, he didn’t know whether she liked to be called a good girl or if she wanted to be degraded within an inch of her life. 

Conrad didn’t know any of this, and it was killing him because he knew that he knew her; knew everything about her so surely he was entitled to this information, too? Surely he should just stop overanalysing why he shouldn’t be thinking about knowing this, about finding out the answers to his questions. Surely he should just learn, like he had with everything else that he’d filed away in his brain. But, there was something about Belly that stopped him in his tracks; something that held him back as if he was scared that, if he finally took that leap, then she would know him as well as he knew her. She would see him for everything that he was, not the idealistic crush she’d harboured for years, and she wouldn’t like what she found out. 

If Conrad didn’t like his reflection in the mirror, how could he expect her to stare at his jagged edges as if they wouldn’t cut her upon first touch? 

He couldn’t. That was another thing he knew. 

He knew that Belly deserved better than the dark, miserable creature he’d turned into. He knew that she thought that he was better than he was, too, and Conrad didn’t think he could take the disappointment in her eyes. He was already so disgusted with himself. He didn’t need to know if she would be, too. He was better off not knowing, and she would be more suited to a life of oblivion, instead of her dreams of who she imagined him to be turning out to be nothing more than a nightmare. 

Conrad knew that. And yet, when Belly rejected his offer of going to get some of the good muffins before everybody else was up to go and see about a whale (what the fuck?), he’d never felt more cursed by his own knowledge. 

Because, suddenly, he knew that he wanted to be on the boat that Belly was chasing. 

ㅤ♡ྀི

Conrad was about to go downstairs to play video games with Jeremiah and Steven when he heard the unmistakable sound of Belly in the shower. 

It wasn’t that he knew exactly when she was in the shower—he wasn’t that much of a creep, thank you—but rather that he could hear the faint screech of her voice as she sang along to whatever Broadway cast album she was blasting. He was fairly certain it was the musical about Orpheus and Eurydice and, even though he’d spent most of the day sinking into despair because he could’ve sworn that his mom’s wrists were getting thinner, he leant against his doorframe and listened to Belly sing I’m coming, wait for me against the pitter-patter of the shower. A slow smile crawled over his face, his head shaking in fondness as he ruffled his own wet hair (he’d just been in the shower himself, and his cheeks pinkened at the thought of her being naked in the same space that he’d just been inhabiting). 

Then, as he went to finally join Jere and Steven, he noticed that the door to her bedroom had been left open slightly. Casually curious, he glanced into her room and saw the pile of clothes that she’d clearly just taken off before going in the shower. The thought of her undressing sent a bolt of heat directly through him, especially when he saw her discarded underwear on top of the denim shorts and oversized top that she’d been wearing. It was just a simple pair of white cotton panties, but Conrad’s dick throbbed in his shorts anyway, and he swallowed as his fingers itched to pick them up, just to see whether they were as soft as he thought they would be and—

The music had cut out. Belly stepped out of the bathroom in nothing but a towel, and Conrad stepped back into the doorway of his bedroom so quickly that he nearly tripped. 

“Conrad!” Belly said, in surprise. 

He felt downright insane as he desperately tried to keep his eyes fixed on her surprised face instead of the way that the towel was tucked directly over her tits, the bottom barely brushing the tops of her thighs. She was naked. Naked in front of him. Belly Conklin. Naked. Well, in a towel. But, still more naked than she had ever been in front of him, and Conrad’s brain was genuinely short-circuiting and—

“Nice,” he said, before scrambling for what the fuck he was supposed to mean by that; what was he doing? “Singing, I mean,” he added awkwardly. Smooth. Good save, Con. 

Belly’s cheeks flushed. “I didn’t know you were listening,” she said. 

Of course I was looking—I mean, listening, he thought. “You were being very loud,” he replied, instead. 

“Sorry,” she answered quickly, and Conrad’s eyes fluttered closed for a brief second because the summer had only just started, but he was doing everything wrong already; all of his words were tumbling out incorrectly and he already couldn’t stand the way her eyes flickered downwards sometimes, as if she could tell that he was fucking everything up, and she wasn’t interested in being a part of the damage he was dealing. 

“Don’t be sorry,” Conrad told her, hoarsely. He was still trying to look everywhere but at Belly in a towel, because Belly in a towel meant that he was the closest to a naked Belly than he had ever been, but that was a disgusting thing to think because she was literally fifteen and God, what was wrong with him? Why couldn’t he stop thinking about what would happen if he just stepped forward and pushed her towel down so that her tits spilled out and he could finally see what she was hiding under those swimsuits that he’d looked at for years and—

Fuck. He was staring. He hadn’t realised that his eyes had roved over the length of her body, but he knew that he had when Belly’s lips parted slightly, the air between them suddenly charged and electric like she wouldn’t actually be opposed to him flinging the towel aside and planting his mouth onto her breasts with the reckless abandon of a boy who would happily lose himself in her chest. 

“Did you wash your hair?” Conrad asked, and Belly blinked languidly, as if dazed. 

“Yeah.” Belly bit her bottom lip, and he suddenly was so interested in the peeling blue paint on her bedroom doorframe. 

“But, I thought you washed it yesterday.” He didn’t think so. He knew. Because, yesterday morning on the beach, the alluring scents of her strawberry shampoo had drifted over him as he’d laughed with a lighter in his mouth because Belly telling him that he couldn’t smoke had been so fucking adorable that he’d privately thought he’d give up the ability to breathe if it was his oxygen that she demanded. 

Belly stared at him. “I did.”

“Right.” 10/10 conversational skills, Connie. “Then, why did you wash it again? I thought you—” Conrad cut himself off, because he didn’t just think that she only washed her hair every other day…he knew, for a fact, that she only conditioned her hair everyday, and washed it every other day, but that was such a weird thing for him to know that she’d probably just be freaked out about how much attention he clearly paid to her shower schedule. 

“Well, you’ve washed your hair, too,” Belly said indignantly, and he felt like he was going crazy. Why were they comparing hair-wash routines? Wait, how did Belly know that he had washed his hair? His curls were drying now, and his shampoo bottle had seen its final days this afternoon, so he’d put the empty plastic in the bin—and not the bathroom bin, but the bin in his room. 

“How do you know that?” Conrad asked, suddenly wondering if he wasn’t going mad. Or, if he was, then she was at least equally as insane as he was. 

Belly blushed, then, and he wanted to taste the heat of her cheek underneath his tongue. “Because you always raise the shower head when you’re washing your hair, and I have to re-adjust it to wash mine because I’m smaller than you.”

Conrad was struck with the image of a Belly—still very much naked in his mind’s eye, by the way, because that towel was still wrapped around her, and he was doing so well at not watching the droplets of water slide down her bare legs, thank you very much—standing on her tip-toes to alter the shower head to where she needed it. Then, his imagination only expanded, and he wondered what would happen if she just took the shower head off the wall entirely and turned the pressure of it to her—fuck, he was going to combust if he didn’t either walk away right now, or rip that towel off her. 

“Wow, do you memorise everything I do?” he teased, but the words came out of his mouth all wrong, and he watched as her eyes shuttered and she wrapped her arms tightly around her body (no, no, no, his view) as if she was embarrassed; as if he’d humiliated her. Conrad never wanted to do that but, as her lips pressed together and a frustrated huff of air came out of her nostrils, he realised that it was too late. He’d already pissed her off. He’d already fucked everything up. 

“Get over yourself,” Belly said, repeating her words from last night, in the pool. “God, do you have to always—” she trailed off, hands clenching in the air out of frustration. 

“Have to what?” Conrad asked, bewildered. Because he actually didn’t know. But, Belly clearly thought he was being obnoxious on purpose. She scowled at him as she flounced away, the door now clutched in her hand as he mourned the fact that he couldn’t see her in her towel anymore. He wondered if focusing enough on her bedroom door would give him the ability to see through wood (and cotton, for that matter) so that he could—

“Don’t play dumb, Conrad. You know all too well what I mean,” she seethed, before slamming the door in his face. 

Conrad gaped at the closed bedroom door for a moment, before smacking his mouth shut and wondering why she seemed to think he knew exactly what he was doing, teasing her like that, when actually he didn’t know; when it had just been a playful remark that had hung in the air incorrectly, like laundry mixed up on the line. 

And now he was thinking about her white cotton panties again. Great. 

He looked down at his shorts, and palmed his erection shamefully. It looked like he wasn’t going to be playing any video games anytime soon. 

ㅤ♡ྀི

“Dude, focus,” Jeremiah grumbled, as Conrad’s fingers slipped on his controller and he lost them a life. 

He blinked, mind still on the way that Belly’s towel had sat over her tits, and how her cheeks had flushed prettily as she’d admitted that she knew that he heightened the shower head whenever he washed his hair, making his comment about her hair less strange because, clearly, they knew a lot about each other that they shouldn’t, not really, if there was nothing going on. He wondered why she’d been showering—had she been swimming and wanted to wash the scent of chlorine off her skin? Did she want wavy hair for Laurel’s event at Whale of a Tale tonight because, if she let her hair dry naturally, then it often took on this rippling frizz that made his blood electrify and—

“Con!” Steven groaned, head dropping onto the back of the couch. “That was such an easy shot, you idiot.”

“Sorry, man,” Conrad murmured, though he wasn’t sure whether he was apologising for not shooting the zombies, or if he was sorry for lusting after Steven’s little sister. “I’m just a little distracted.” 

“Ain’t that a surprise,” Jeremiah said snidely. He’d had to put up with Conrad’s mood swings ever since April, so he was well and truly fed-up with his brother. 

“You need cheering up? We could go out tonight instead of my mom’s book signing?” Steven wondered out-loud. 

“Uh, I dunno.” Conrad successfully aimed for  a zombie, lining up the shot and getting ready for the kill—

“We could crash Belly Button’s date at the drive-in?” Jeremiah suggested, with a wicked grin. 

And Conrad dropped his controller. Both Steven and Jeremiah groaned as another life was zapped from their team. But, Conrad didn't care. His brain was whirring like a radioactive storm was brewing. “Belly’s going on a date?” he blurted out. 

“Yeah, it’s disgusting,” Steven said. “She’s going to have her tongue down the throat of that guy she met at the barbecue so, no Jere, I do not want to go to the drive-in.” 

“Surely she wouldn’t,” Conrad said faintly. Was that why she’d washed her hair again? Was that why she’d got so annoyed by his teasing, because her sights were set on someone else; on that whale-loving dork? “Belly’s never…”

Been properly kissed was what he was going to say, but then he realised that he actually didn’t know if that was the case. He knew that Jeremiah had pecked her in a game of Truth-or-Dare once, but that didn’t really count, and he didn’t know if she’d ever kissed anyone else, other than Cameron the other night. He only knew what she got up to during summer and, suddenly, the thought of Belly kissing other boys back in Philly made him feel rather sick. How far had she gone? Had she let anyone touch her over her clothes or, God forbid, under her clothes? She’d shown up this summer seeming so grown up that, actually, he wouldn’t be surprised if she had all the boys at school looking at her. 

He’d always known that he thought she was very pretty, but he didn’t know if other boys thought so, too. In part, he wanted them to. Because Belly deserved to know how gorgeous she was. But, in the same breath, he wanted to punch every single boy who even looked twice at her, because she was his to dream about; his to long for; his to kiss…

Except she wasn’t. And Jeremiah was sending him a strange look as if to say Why do you care if Belly’s kissed anyone? Conrad didn’t have an answer for him. Maybe it was just because he’d always been the one to teach Belly everything. She’d always asked him questions about the things he knew, and he would share that information because she would always get a little smile on her face at his undivided attention, and she would thank him in that breathy little voice that vibrated with admiration and boosted his ego. He liked being the first one to tell her things; to teach her, so maybe the thought of not being that person for her when it came to the one thing he’d always wanted to do was driving him a little insane. 

Steven and Jeremiah were talking about some party at Liam’s that they might go to, their focus off the video game and, as a result, Conrad. So, when he mumbled something about needing to go to the bathroom, they barely paused their conversation. He walked upstairs in something of a daze, and only broke out of his trance about why on Earth he was crashing out about the thought of Belly kissing other boys when he heard her voice. She was clearly getting ready, if the general thunks of drawers opening and closing were anything to go by, and she was blasting another song from a musical that Conrad actually recognised this time—Rocky Horror, one of his mom’s favourites. He froze in the hallway as the lyrics (and Belly’s singing) drifted over him:

“I was feeling done in…couldn’t win. I’d only ever kissed before…I thought there’s no use getting into heavy petting. It only leads to trouble and seat wetting. Now all I want to know is how to go…I’ve tasted blood and I want more…”

The sound of Belly singing the words I want more washed waves of arousal over Conrad that he was genuinely choked-up by. Her door was propped open and, as he walked slowly towards her bedroom, he could see her dancing around in front of her mirror. He smiled, endlessly endeared by the vision of her belting into her hairbrush, whilst also being incredibly turned on when he watched Belly move the hairbrush suggestively in the air as the song said, “You need a friendly hand…and I need action.”

Conrad closed his eyes, thinking about Belly’s fingers grazing over the front of his shorts, where he was fairly certain he was getting hard again as Belly sang, “Then if anything grows, while you pose, I’ll oil you up and rub you down.” He wondered if she’d noticed earlier; if she’d seen the effect that she had on him, or if she was going to remain oblivious for the rest of her life and experience all of her firsts with Cam. His eyeline flooded with red, and his blood physically boiled at the idea of her giving a friendly hand to the boy with two first names. Would she even know what to do? Had somebody that wasn’t Conrad already shown her?

“Oh, touch-a touch-a touch-a touch me, I wanna be dirty…” Belly wiggled her ass, spinning in a circle as she spritzed perfume in the air. She was wearing tight shorts that made him feel crazy and a daisy-print crochet top that showcased a slight strip of her skin that he longed to run his hand along. “Thrill me—Conrad!” 

Fuck. Without even realising what he was doing, Conrad had swung her door open in its entirety, and Belly was now staring at him, slack-jawed and pink-cheeked, as he was pretty sure he looked absolutely deranged, chest heaving. “Sorry,” he said, throat dry. “I just—”

“Was I being too loud again?” Belly asked, a little mischievously, and it was almost as if she knew what she was doing to him; what she’d been doing all along. 

(Chill me…)

Conrad inhaled carefully, trying to act like his heart wasn’t about to burst out of his chest. He leant against her doorframe with his arms folded. “Something like that. I heard you’ve got a hot date tonight.”

Belly flushed even deeper, and his body thrummed with a warmth possessiveness. You may be going on a date with Cameron, but can he make you blush like that? “Something like that.”

(Fulfill me…)

“Shame,” he drawled. “I was really looking forward to hanging out with you at Laur’s signing.”

(Creature of the night…)

He knew it was mean. But, he also knew how badly Belly always wanted his attention—she wasn’t exactly discreet—and a jealous part of his brain just had to capitalise on that; had to take advantage of the fact that Belly would be gutted to miss out on hanging out with him, even if he probably just would’ve spent all night by the wine table, ignoring everyone. She didn’t know that. And Conrad knew that she always believed whatever he said, so if he pretended like he wanted to spend time with her, then she would believe him. It wasn’t like it was a lie, after all.

Belly’s eyes widened, and a gulp slid down her throat. He wanted to taste it. “Oh.”

(Oh, touch-a touch-a touch-a touch me…)

“It’s fine,” Conrad said, even though she hadn’t apologised or anything. He was a little disappointed that she hadn’t, actually. He’d expected a different reaction out of her, but maybe he didn’t know her as well anymore. “I think Steven said we might go to Liam’s party anyway. I’m sure Nicole will be there to entertain me.” God, he was awful. Belly’s jaw tightened. 

(I wanna be dirty…)

“Do you like her?” she blurted out, and there she was. There was his girl, suddenly looking like the last thing she wanted to do was go on a date with stupid Cameron, and Conrad knew that it was cruel of him to pray for this sort of reaction but, when her eyes flashed with jealousy, how could he ever see it as a sin?

(Thrill me…)

“Oh, Belly,” he said, a little condescendingly. He stepped into the room. She was still standing in front of her mirror, hairbrush clutched in her hands, and she didn’t break eye contact with him even as he shut the door behind him. “We’re not in middle school anymore. Who still says like?” 

Belly exhaled, and it was shaky and everything he’d ever wanted. “Sorry that not all of us are as experienced as you, Conrad,” she gritted out. 

He made a little scoffing noise. “I wouldn’t say that I’m experienced,” he said, because he wasn’t. As much as he was trying to get to her, he didn’t want her to think that he was some sex God or something. Yes, he’d had sex. But, he’d never quite got a kick out of it as much as he did talking to Belly Conklin about her first date. “What about you, Belly? Would you not say that you’re experienced?”

(Chill me…)

Belly bit her lip, and he let his gaze drop to it for a second before fixing his eyes back onto her face. She’d applied a little bit of highlighter to her cheekbones so her pink cheeks sparkled in the evening sunshine dappling through the sheer white curtains. “No,” she whispered, and it was almost as if she was embarrassed. And, well, Conrad couldn’t have that, could he? He had to make that better. 

(Fulfill me…)

“Don’t be embarrassed, sweetheart,” Conrad replied, half-wondering where all of this fucking confidence was coming from. And the petname, for one. He nearly took it back, but it was too late now. Belly was still looking at him like he was speaking a foreign language and he liked it. He liked the fact that he was clearly being unpredictable enough that she hadn’t known he had this dark creature inside of him. “I’m sure that Cam-Cameron will change that.”

(Creature of the night…)

Belly’s mouth fell open, like she really hadn’t expected him to go there. “I–I don’t—”

“Isn’t that what you want?” Conrad continued, suddenly a little drunk off the power. He stepped closer to her. She hadn’t moved an inch. “Isn’t that why you’re listening to this lewd song and shaking your ass? Because you want Cameron to touch-a touch-a touch-a touch you?” He didn’t know why he was torturing himself with the thought of what Belly and Cameron could get up to at the drive-in, or why he was planting ideas in her head. Maybe he just wanted to hear her say no, Conrad, that’s not what I want. I want you to touch me, instead. 

Belly’s tongue darted out so quickly that he was sure he imagined it. His blood was throbbing, and he was definitely hard again. He just had to hope that she didn’t look down; that she kept her eyes right on his face. “It’s not a lewd song,” she said quietly. 

(Creature of the night…)

“Isn’t it?” He cocked his head to one side, taking another step. “And you didn’t answer my question. Are you listening to it with thoughts of what you’re going to let Cameron do to you in his car?” 

“Conrad!” Belly’s chest was heaving, her eyes shining. For a moment, a sadistic part of Conrad wondered if she was near-tears and he felt instantly terrible for inflicting his lewd thoughts onto her, until he realised that her fingers were white from where she was gripping her hairbrush. Oh, she was into this. She was just as fucked up as he was. A new resolve gripped him, as gleamingly ravenous as a shining carving knife. 

(Creature of the night…)

“What?” Conrad played dumb, an innocent smile quirking up his lips as if she was being silly. “Are you not thinking about it? You’re going to a drive-in, Belly. You’ve read enough books to know what typically happens at those. Hell, didn’t you read a book last summer where the two characters get kicked out of a Meg Ryan triple-feature for passionately making out?”

Belly swallowed. “I can’t believe you remember that.”

“Of course I do,” he said, softly. He wasn’t even trying to be condescending with that one, as he reached forward to tuck a lock of her hair behind her ear. You’re mine, of course I remember, he thought. “You told me. I remember everything you tell me.” He knew he meant it, and he knew that it should’ve scared him, being so vulnerable with her, but it was worth it for the way she smiled up at him, like he’d just handed her the moon on a platter. 

“You do?” she asked, looking every part the little girl who stared at him with stars in her eyes. God, what he’d give for her to look at him like that all the time. But, if she knew what was actually brewing inside of him, she would never look at him like that again. Which was why he had to tread carefully, lest he trip over his own advances and get trapped by her alluring smile. 

“Yeah,” Conrad replied, a little thickly. He cleared his throat, winding the lock of hair around his finger a little tighter now. He didn’t imagine the way that Belly was holding her breath. “And I’ve never told anyone else, have I? Which is why I promise that I won’t tell anyone your fantasies about Cam. It’ll just be our little secret.”

God, he hoped that this would work. Because, if it didn’t and Belly actually started talking about how she was going to dry hump Cameron in his car, he might actually drown himself in the pool tonight instead of going to Laurel’s book signing. If he knew her; if he truly knew her, then it would work. And, as the Rocky Horror song crawled to a finish and Belly opened his mouth, he knew it was going to ruin him. But, he also knew that, at the same time, it was exactly what he’d wanted.

“I haven’t been fantasising about Cam,” Belly admitted, a little shyly. Her eyes kept darting between Conrad’s face and the possessive grip he’d locked onto her hair. “I–I wouldn’t even know what to think about.”

Conrad smirked, slow and sure. “Don’t play the innocent card with me, Belly. I know you read those smutty little romances on the deckchairs.”

Belly’s face was bright red. “I–I don’t—”

“It’s okay,” he reassured her, his tone hushed. “I won’t tell anyone.”

She fidgeted with her hairbrush. “Promise?”

“Yeah,” he whispered, finally letting go of her hair. Disappointment flashed across her face, and he felt a little high on how smug he felt. “Now, tell me what you imagined you and Cam doing in his car.”

“I already told you, I haven’t been imagining anything.” Belly’s voice had gone a little reedy and high-pitched, like he knew it did when she was nervous. 

“Liar,” Conrad said. She gaped at him soundlessly. “C’mon, Belly. I know you may not be experienced, but you’ve read books. You know how sex works, even if you haven’t done it.”

“How do you know I haven’t had sex?” Belly fired back, and he stilled. His blood ran cold. 

“Well, have you?”

Belly pinged one of the bristles in her hairbrush all the way back. “Yes.”

“Don’t lie,” Conrad said instantly, though a voice in the back of his head sneered: What if she has had sex? With someone who isn’t you? What if a boy has already taught her how to do everything that you wanted to teach her?

“How do you know I’m lying?” she asked, a little breathlessly. 

“Because you’re not looking me in the eye. Not quite.” Conrad skated his fingers underneath her chin and tilted her face so that her eyes were boring into his. “Tell me,” he urged gently. “Tell me that you’ve had sex. Tell me that you’ve been completely naked in front of someone else. Tell me that you’ve let someone touch you, and that you’ve touched them. Tell me that they’ve made you come. Tell me every little detail, Belly, and don’t hold back. Then, I’ll believe you.”

Belly quivered under his touch, and he briefly wondered if she was wet beneath those denim shorts. She licked her lips, and he definitely wasn’t imagining the hungry look in her eyes now. “I can’t,” she rasped out, voice cracking. 

“And why is that?”

“Because I haven’t,” she whispered. 

“Haven’t…” Conrad frowned in faux confusion. “Sorry, haven’t what?”

“Haven’t had sex,” Belly mumbled, and her skin was hot underneath his fingers. “I haven’t been naked in front of anyone. I haven’t touched anyone or—or…” Her pupils were dilated. “...let them touch me. I haven’t done any of it, Conrad. I’ve only ever been kissed before, and even then…even then I didn’t really know what I was doing. I still don’t know what I’m doing.”

“Oh, honey,” Conrad murmured. God, his cock was so hard…he was sick in the head. But, from the way that Belly was looking at him, maybe she was just as twisted as he was. “That’s okay.”

“I’m nervous,” she said, then. “What if—what if Cam does want to do all of that with me? I don’t…I know I’ve read books, but I wouldn’t know what to do.”

Suddenly, Conrad was struck with a thought that was so wicked, he almost pushed her away from him because, clearly, he could not be trusted around her. But, he’d got this far, hadn’t he? He was hazy with lust and the controlling urge to teach Belly all of the things he’d taunted about her wanting with Cameron, and he knew that it was such a fucked up thing to suggest. And yet, his mouth still opened. He still said it. Because he knew her, and he knew that she’d say yes. 

“What if I teach you?” Conrad asked, watching as Belly’s eyes widened. “Then, you’ll know what to do. You won’t have to be nervous anymore.”

After all, whenever Belly needed help with something, he’d always prided himself on finding a solution. This was a prime example of her needing help. He could teach her how to kiss; how to chase her own pleasure. That was a perfectly friendly thing for him to do, and it didn’t mean anything; didn’t mean that she had to know just how fucking insane he felt about her. It didn’t even need to be about him at all. It could all be about her. Because, honestly, Conrad was pretty sure that he’d get off on her needing his guidance just as much as he would if her mouth was around his cock. 

Maybe he didn’t know her perfectly, though. Because Belly didn’t say yes right off the bat. She hesitated, and Conrad was hit with the slowly-dawning horror that maybe she didn’t want him anymore; maybe her childish fantasy had come to an end; maybe she actually just thought he was really fucked up and he’d trapped her in this situation so she probably felt stuck and pressured and, oh God, she didn’t want him, did she? He’d told himself he wouldn’t care if that was the case because he’d never let her see the parts of him that he didn’t want anyone else to know, but this was like being struck with a fucking thunderbolt and he was going to—he was going to—

“A-are you sure?” Belly breathed out, and Conrad’s impending panic settled. He locked back in. 

“Of course I’m sure,” he murmured, as if he hadn’t just been mere seconds away from an anxiety attack over his childhood crush not wanting him to kiss her. “It can be our own private hang-out. You tell me what you’re not sure about, and I’ll teach you. Just like the old days.” Conrad reached out, and brushed the tip of his thumb across her lip, parting it slightly. Belly looked like she was going to melt into the floor and God, that really got him going. 

“Okay,” she exhaled, and the weight of it flooded Conrad’s body with relief. 

“Where do you want to start?” As wildly possessive as he felt about this, he still wanted her to be in charge; to take the reins. This had to be about her, not him. “We can stop whenever you want, by the way.”

Belly laughed, as if he wasn’t quite clued into a joke that ran through her head. “I don’t think I’ll want to stop.” She sounded a little giddy, and it was so adorable that Conrad wanted to scream. “Can you…I mean, can we kiss? Just a little. I-I just feel like I never know what to do with my mouth and, obviously, you can say no but I just—”

“Hey, shhh, shhh.” Conrad smoothed his hand over her hair, and the anxiety shuddered out of her at his touch. “We can do whatever you want. C’mon.” He held out his hand, and she blinked at it for a second before taking it with such a crippling shyness that he had to hide his smile. She was so sweet; too sweet, even. He tugged her over to her bed, sitting down next to her as if they were side-by-side in a drive-in. 

“What—” Belly giggled.

“Imagine we’re sitting next to each other in a car, okay?” Conrad had to very carefully make sure this was all related to her date tonight, or else he might get carried away. “Before I start anything, do you want to come up with a word you can say if you’re feeling overwhelmed? If you want me to stop?”

“I won’t want you to stop,” Belly said, as if she was sure. As if she knew it, for a fact. 

“Belly…” Conrad replied warningly. She’d definitely clocked how hard he was by now, and he was a little relieved that she hadn’t pointed it out. 

She huffed, the brat. “Fine. Lemon.”

“Lemon?” His eyes crinkled. 

Belly flushed. “Don’t make fun of my safe word. That’s mean.”

“I thought you liked it when I was mean.” He nudged her shoulder. 

She glowered at him, petulant. “You wouldn’t be mean to me if we were on a date. Which we are. Get back into character please, Con.”

“Sorry, Miss Director,” he said, and he was grinning widely now. “Okay, action.” He placed his hand on her thigh, and Belly’s laughter died in her throat. “Eyes on the film,” he murmured, feeling a thrill of pleasure run through him when Belly obligingly snapped her eyes towards the dresser in front of them. 

“What are we watching?”

“Hm, I don’t know.” Conrad glided his hand up and down her thigh, occasionally squeezing because he liked the soft sound that escaped from her mouth when he did so. He was having a very hard job trying to pretend that he wasn’t into this, so maybe he should just pretend he was really invested in his role if she asked. “Rocky Horror?”

Belly tensed at the mention of the song she’d been playing. The room was eerily silent now, and he was surprised that she couldn’t hear how fast his heart was beating. “Which part are we up to?” 

“Let’s make it a little romantic,” he decided. “Brad and Janet have just got engaged, and he’s telling her how much he loves her. That would be a fitting point for something to start, don’t you think? 

“I guess,” Belly said.

“Oh?” Conrad played with her hair, his hand stilling on her thigh. Belly was doing a very good job of remaining still, but he could hear how heavily she was breathing due to how closely they were sitting on the bed. “Do you have another idea?” he whispered in her ear, breath hot against her skin. 

She squirmed. “I was just…I think Sweet Transvestite is quite an, uh, sexy song, don’t you think? That could be a pretty cool place to start.”

“Oh yeah?” God, she was insatiable. He wanted to eat her out so badly, but he had to contain himself. This was for her. All for her. “Okay, so the, uh, mad scientist…what’s he called?”

“Frank,” Belly whispered. 

“Frank,” Conrad repeated. “The Frank guy is singing about how he’s not much of a man by day but by night, he’s one hell of a lover. And I’m running my hand up your thigh. What do you think will happen next?”

Belly turned her head to face him, and they were so close that Conrad actually felt a little breathless. “I don’t know, Conrad. I thought you were supposed to be teaching me.”

Fuck. She was good. How had this rapidly unspooled out of his control? His heart was going at a million knots per second. “I’m just making sure there’s class participation,” he breathed. “I thought you were a good student, Belly.”

“I am,” she said thickly. 

“Okay, good,” he whispered. Then, he leant in. He was going to kiss Belly Conklin, the girl of his dreams, and she didn’t even know how long he’d wanted it; she’d never know how much he wanted her. “Eyes on me, then.” 

Her gaze met his, and he was undone. Her mouth was shining with whatever lip balm she’d lathered on, and envy shot through him at the thought of her doing that for Cameron because she wanted him to kiss her. But, before he could overthink it, he was tasting the cherry flavour on her lips, kissing her softly as his hand squeezed the soft skin of her thigh. She made a pretty sound into him, as he softly brought his teeth into her bottom lip to open her mouth further. Then, he dove his tongue in and swallowed the choked moan she bit out at the sensation. Conrad pulled away briefly, watching with hooded eyes as a bit of their joint saliva hung between them, and tried to act like he wasn’t blacking out. 

“Have you ever been kissed with tongue before?” he asked her. Please say no. Please say no. Please say—

“No,” Belly mumbled, cheeks a delicious pink and eyes glazed. “I don’t—”

“Don’t worry.” Conrad ran his thumb over her bottom lip again, parting her mouth for him. He nearly slid his thumb between her lips, longing to see her sucking on any part of him for his own personal fantasy, but he held himself back. This wasn’t about him. “Imagine we’ve just kissed at the drive-in. We’re in a car. Frank’s asking Brad and Janet if they want to stay for the night, or maybe a bite. What do you think you could do next? Use your sources,” he added playfully, nudging her. “All those smutty romances had to be good for something.”

Belly giggled, and he wanted to bottle the sound. “I–I guess I’d want to climb into your lap. If that was okay,” she tacked on, wide-eyed and unsure. His blood hummed in approval. 

“Oh, it’s more than okay, ba–Belly,” Conrad said. He could not call her baby. She’d know, then, how he felt about her. “Okay. With tongue, don’t be too aggressive at first. Match me, stroke for stroke. Just copy my movements. I’ll guide you. When you’re making out with someone, you can pull on their hair and move your hips into them, if you’re sitting on their lap. It’s something that most people like.”

“Is it something that you like?” Belly asked daringly. 

Conrad’s heart stuttered. Yes, he longed to say. I have dreams about you tugging on my hair and grinding into my lap. Instead, he shrugged. “It can be, for our little game. If that’s what you want. Do you want to climb into my lap?”

Belly nodded eagerly, starting to scramble up, but he stopped her with a hand to the knee. “Ah, ah. Patience, sweetheart,” he told her. “Let’s kiss for a bit. Practice with tongue. Then, when it feels natural, clamber into my lap. Okay?”

“Okay,” she said sweetly, and then she was kissing him again, and he lost herself in the sensation of her mouth. Conrad brought his hands up to cup her cheeks, and she threaded her fingers through his hair, pulling on the locks in a way that made him muffle a groan into her lips. He felt her mouth quirk into a smile at the noise he made, but he couldn’t even find the urge to be annoyed at himself because she just tasted so damn good. He felt downright filthy as he coaxed his tongue into her mouth, feeling like he was corrupting something innocent, but that thought was instantly erased from his mind when she matched his pace, devouring him hungrily and letting him guide her into a melodic make-out. 

“Make sure you let each other breathe,” Conrad panted out, his hands now sliding into her hair, before Belly was capturing his lips again, hesitantly copying his technique in biting on the lower lip to open his mouth more. He let out a shameless moan into her when she did that, and he couldn’t even care anymore; he wouldn’t care anymore. This was everything he’d ever dreamed of and, when Belly tossed her leg over his lap, following her body’s natural instincts, Conrad genuinely thought that he could die here and he would be perfectly happy. She settled against his crotch, a soft gasp escaping out of her mouth when she felt how hard he was through his shorts. “You feel that?” he murmured, out of his mind at how good she felt against him. “That’s probably what you’ll do to Cameron if you make out with him at the drive-in.”

Belly froze a little at the reminder of Cameron, as if she’d forgotten that was why they were doing this, but he could see how aroused the remark made her. Conrad gently manhandled her thighs so that she was more comfortable in his lap, his hands finding the dips of her waist. “If you find yourself like this,” he told her as he lathered her neck in heated kisses that made her squirm with a beautifully mind-numbing friction against his erection. “Then, just relax into the other person, okay? Relax into me. I’ve got you. And, if you want, you can start to move your—oh fuck, Belly, yes, just like that.”

Conrad’s eyes rolled into the back of his head, and his grip on her hips turned almost bruising as she started up a rhythm with her hips that genuinely had him thinking that he was about to come in his jeans like a teenager. Fuck, she felt amazing. “That’s good,” he praised her. “You’re a quick learner. Jesus Christ. Does that feel good for you?”

“Yeah, feels so good,” Belly murmured, sounding a little hysterical as he dragged his tongue against the pulse fluttering in her neck. “Conrad, I–I don’t know what—”

“Have you had an orgasm before, Belly?” Conrad asked, placing his hands on the volume of her ass and dragging her gently up and down his hardness, feeling how damp she was through her shorts. She whimpered as he moved her, and he swallowed the sounds like honey, feeling the sweetness of her pleasure drip down his throat.

“Mhm.” She closed her eyes, fingers scrambling to hold onto Conrad’s shoulders as he pushed himself up into her, meeting her grinding with his own thrusts, watching the way each jolt of pleasure shuddered through her. She was insatiable. She was so fucking sexy. He felt like he was having a divine revelation, and it was only dry humping. 

“Did you do it yourself? Did you touch yourself?” Conrad eased her hair out of her sweaty face as she whined, the friction clearly doing a lot for her. He brought her into another kiss, languid and sloppy as she gasped into his mouth. “Tell me, c’mon. I’ll keep your secret. You’re doing so well, my sweet girl. Such a quick learner. I’m so proud of you.”

Belly choked out another sound, and he clapped his hand over her mouth. “Careful,” he warned. “We wouldn’t want anyone to hear us, would we?” Her hips stuttered against him as he said that, and a thrill ran down his spine. “Oh, do you like that? Do you like the idea of someone hearing us and knowing what we’re doing, in here? Or do you like the fact that we’re doing this, and no one knows what I’m doing to you?” He pulled his hand away from her mouth, as she looked at him like she was desperate to taste something that she’d never tried before. “Are you going to answer me?” Conrad questioned, deciding to be mouthy so that she didn’t have to hear how much he was losing his mind over how good this felt. “Participation, remember.”

“Sorry,” Belly whined, sounding downright wrecked. “I–I like it. The fact that we’re doing this, and no one knows. I like the thrill of maybe being caught,” she told him, flushing as if it was a deeply embarrassing fact. “Conrad, I’m—”

“Ah, ah.” Conrad stilled her hips, and she threw her head back in palpable distress. “You didn’t answer my other question, Belly. You’re not going to get a very good grade for this. I asked: did you touch yourself?”

Belly tried to move, but his grip was punishing. “Yes,” she whispered, breathing all staticky like a scratched record player. “Now, please move, Connie. Oh God—” She made another syrupy moan, and Conrad felt like a madman as he reached, throat thick, for her crochet top so that he could ruck it up. Belly whimpered as he bunched the top into his fist, head spinning at the sight of her perky tits sitting neatly behind the daisies. She was wearing no bra. Fuck. 

“Here you go,” he murmured, moving the bunched-up fabric near to her mouth. “Bite down on that, that’s a girl. Wouldn’t want anyone else to hear your pretty moans, now would we? Only me, right?” He slid the top between her lips, muffling her next moan as he pushed his clothed cock into her shorts that were now sodden with the heat of her arousal. He could smell how badly she needed to come, could feel her thighs shaking on top of him, and he filed all of those tells in the Encyclopedia of Belly Conklin that he had stored in his brain. 

“Now, tell me…” Conrad locked his eyes onto her as he hovered his mouth near to her left breast, blowing a breath across her nipple so that it would stand to attention. God, he was going to dream about this for years to come. “What did you think about when you touched yourself? Did you think about Cameron?” 

Belly shook her head, mouth still full of fabric as her grip on his shoulders turned a little onto the good side of painful. He felt downright evil. “I can’t hear you,” he mocked and, as she went to spit the top out of her mouth, Conrad pushed it back in between her teeth, practically gagging her. The top was so skimpy that he had to get imaginative with how he silenced her, but it was genuinely so hot that he didn’t care. He latched his mouth onto her breast, sucking and nibbling as she writhed in his lap, jutting her hips back and forth with a reckless urgency that was almost animalistic. “Did you think about me?” he asked, the question muffled around her nipple. When she didn’t respond (because duh, gagged), he flicked her nipple and twisted hard. “Did you think about me?” He tugged the fabric out from between her teeth, Belly’s gaze wild and unhinged. 

“Yes,” she gasped out, and he re-adjusted her rather clumsy thrusts into a beautiful drag of the seam of her shorts against his lap. “I thought about you. I took your cologne from your room and I sprayed it on my pillow and I fucked myself against it until I was on the edge, and I–I—”

“You what, Belly?” Conrad asked, licking a stripe across her nipple and watching in awe as she physically shuddered. Another one for the books. He dug his teeth into the underside of her right breast, sucking a bite into the skin, and she trembled in his hold. 

“I–I thought about you. I moaned your name—” Belly’s head had completely rocked back, eyes squeezing shut, and her thighs were clamping around him. He knew she was close, even though he didn’t quite know that information about her. It was obvious. He flicked her nipple whilst sucking gluttonously on the other one. 

“Yeah?” Conrad said, voice raw. “Say my name now, then. You’ve done so well, baby. You’ve been such a good girl. Say my name when you come. Let me know how good I’m making you feel.”

“Oh, Conrad,” Belly moaned out, and he instantly clapped a hand over her mouth because he hadn’t expected her to be that loud. “Conrad, Conrad, Conrad…” she mumbled into his palm as he pushed his covered cock into the lip of her denim shorts, desperate to feel the way she humped and panted against him because fuck, it felt so good and he couldn’t come in his boxers; he wouldn’t come in his boxers, even as she was ricocheting into a feeling so ungodly and sinful that he couldn’t help but groan as she shuddered down from her high, slumping into him and feeling his still-hard cock twitch against her drenched shorts. 

“Oh, well done, Belly,” Conrad soothed, running a hand over her back as she dropped her head into his shoulder. He tucked her top back over her tits, arousal shooting through him when he saw that there was a bite-shaped saliva ring over some of the crocheted daisies. He tidied up her hair, combing his fingers through the silken mess it had become, and hugged her to him until she finally brought her head up, a lax and almost bashful look in her eye. “You did such a good job for me,” he told her, watching as she relaxed at his reassurance. “You’re so beautiful.”

He knew he should’ve ended it there, but he couldn’t not kiss her one last time. He captured her lips in his, tasting the salt of the tear that trickled down her cheek; probably a mixture of relief and embarrassment. Conrad held the back of her head as she watched him with a heavy-lidded gaze, and he gently detached them because he was fucking aching in his shorts and, if she stayed in his lap, he would actually come in his underpants like a hormonal twelve-year-old boy.  

“Thank you,” Belly whispered, and he was reminded viscerally of why they’d been doing this. For all of his determination to make her stay in the scenario, he’d lost himself a little in the throes of her pleasure. She looked absolutely wrecked, lips plump and kiss-bitten, her shorts damp, and her top ruffled. He’d ruined her, and it had never felt so damn good yet so crushing at the same time. What had he done? 

“You’re welcome,” Conrad said, moving away from her. He silently handed her the hairbrush that she’d thrown onto her pillows when they’d moved to the bed, and Belly slowly dragged it through her tangled locks, wincing. “C’mere,” he mumbled automatically, pulling her by her hand to situate her between his legs, on the floor. The mental image was a little dizzying for his pent-up erection but she looked so fucked out and dazed and he’d caused that, which was so arousing and yet he was filled with the urge to look after her. 

Just for a moment, he told himself. Just whilst she comes back to herself. 

They settled into a comfortable silence as Conrad brushed her hair out, with a gentleness that genuinely soothed his soul. Belly leant her head into his knees, making small noises of contentment as he massaged her scalp slightly, scratching his nails up and down just so that he could watch her shiver happily. This is nice, Conrad thought. I could get used to this. 

Which…no. He’d told himself, hadn’t he? He’d known that he couldn’t let Belly know all of the monsters he was harbouring; the creature of the night that he was. So, when her phone pinged with a message from that dumb Cam from where it was sitting on the bed, directly next to Conrad’s thigh, he’d never been more relieved for an out. If he stayed here any longer, he might do something stupid like drop a kiss onto the top of her head and ask her if she wanted to go for a drive with him where they watched the stars twinkle in the sky instead of an Audrey Hepburn movie. 

“Your hot date has texted you,” he said stiffly, dropping the hairbrush and handing her the phone.

“Oh.” Belly turned to face him, cross-legged on the floor in front of him. She looked at Conrad as if he was going to tell her what to do and, when he simply stared impassively at her, she fidgeted with her necklace. She was anxious. “I guess I’ll tell him I can’t go anymore.”

“Why would you do that?” Conrad asked, trying to act like he didn’t feel like he was dying inside. 

Belly blinked rapidly, eyelashes fluttering in quick succession. Was she going to cry? “Because we—we just…” Her throat bobbed on a swallow, and he stared at a spot over her shoulder so that he didn’t watch the movement with as much lust as he felt. 

“Did we?” He sounded so cold, but this was for the best. “I think that was all you, Belly.”

This was what he needed to do, for her benefit. She wouldn’t like what she found out about him, if he let her get any closer. Besides, it wasn’t like he’d come into her room with the intention of stopping her from going on her date. He’d come in because he couldn’t stand the idea of her being with someone else so what he’d really done was just stake his claim in the most horrible way possible. Because he wanted to go to the drive-in with her. Because he had a control problem, and he was disgustingly possessive, but that wasn’t like it meant anything. 

Belly got to her feet slowly, tugging her damp shorts down her thighs shakingly. Fuck, he’d made her self-conscious. It was better this way. It had to be. She was trembling with the effort to not cry, widening her eyes in a vain attempt to stop herself from blinking her way into tears, and her fingers trembled around her necklaces, which vibrated with every heave of her chest. Even with all of the tells that he knew about her being upset and his urge to fix whatever had her feeling like this; his urge to fix himself because what the fuck was wrong with him, Conrad couldn’t take back his words. They were already out there. 

He’d hurt her, when he’d sworn he would always fix whatever hurt her, so therefore his job was done. Her lesson was learnt. Don’t kiss the broken boy, even if you think you will be the one to fix him. Nothing—and no one—will be able to glue back together the cracks of his heart. 

“Fuck you, Conrad,” she said, anger threading through the sentence’s seams. 

“Yeah, you wish,” Conrad shot back, and the bullets of his words lodged into her brain, sending a tear skating down her cheek. He had to curl his fingers into a fist to stop himself from wiping it away. “I mean, you tried to, didn't you? 

Belly’s lips parted, the look in her eyes so full of abject heartbreak that he longed to take it back; wanted to beg for her on his knees until she was sighing happily into his mouth again. “I–I didn’t. It wasn’t just me. You said that you’d teach me but I thought that—”

“What?” His laugh was like cold water. “You thought that it was all just a front disguising how much I wanted you?” It was, you fucking fool. Stop it, Conrad. Stop ruining everything.  “Well, it wasn’t. I was just teaching you a lesson. Now, you can use it. Practice makes perfect.” He stood up, glad that his erection had very much disappeared, thanks to the self-deprecation flooding his veins like poison, and slid past her. “I hope Cam enjoys the movie.” He purposefully brushed the front of her come-soaked shorts as he whispered in her ear, “Because you made such a great Janet.” 

And, as Conrad left Belly shell-shocked in her bedroom and entered his own, he knew one more thing:

He had just fucked up something—someone—very precious to him. But, he knew it was for the better. 

Because he knew a lot about everything. He knew that, if he hadn’t ruined it now, he would’ve only ruined it later. He knew that, if Belly had seen the parts of him that only the night got to swallow, then they would’ve stumbled eighteen paces back from where they were supposed to be. He knew that he would’ve marked her heart as unusable, knotting everything that made Belly so Belly into withered scraps of rope tossed from a harbour. He knew that he could’ve shedded everything about himself, but nothing would’ve changed how dedicated he was to her, and there would never be as many pages about her loving him on an equal amount, not once she was exposed to the heat of him for too long. 

Conrad also knew that he had the potential to be the best boyfriend to Belly because he knew everything about her—he knew what made her tick, what made her smile, what made her come.

But, he knew he couldn’t keep her with him. He knew he would only hurt her, and the tragedy of them would be terminal. So, he had to ensure that nothing as wrong as that (even if something had never felt so right) happened. He had to pretend like nothing had happened between them. 

Because, when you really thought about it, it had been everything nothing really had.