LOVER || conrad fisher x reader

the dress.

"You're in my room this summer," Conrad said on your way up the stairs. You were tracking in sea water through the house. You silently apologised to Susannah, wherever she was now.

"How come?"

"Belly and Jere took his room. Steven's in Belly's old room. Laurel's coming next week with Cleveland so they're in Steven's usual room. The guest room is full of—," he stopped, swallowing slightly. "Mom's old stuff. Stuff that we need to sort through, you know?"

You nodded once, not needing any further explanation.

"And well," he continued. "No one's in her room, so,"

"I get it," you said reassuringly. The two of you stopped on the landing. "Where are you sleeping then?"

Your question is answered when Conrad opens the door to his room. A mattress lies on the floor, new sheets on both the bed and the space on the floor. You immediately suck in a breath and go to protest.

"Conrad—,"

"You're a guest—," he argued.

"No, I'm fucking not. This is your house. You take the goddamn bed. I'll cosy up on the floor," you suggested forcefully. The last thing you ever wanted was for them to put themselves out for you, not when it's been this long, not ever.

You walk into the room, looking at the familiar blue walls and assortment of sailing trophies. Conrad always was a star.

"No way in hell am I letting you sleep on the floor after five years away," he says, and it sounds final. You still feel uncomfortable, turning around to send him a frown.

"But—,"

"No buts," he says.

"But—,"

He comes forward, placing cold hands upon your sopping shoulders with a smile. "No. Buts. Okay?"

His eyes have always been this big, such a deep shade of brown that you could easily fall into. They make a space warmer with the rays they reflect. You'd forgot how easy it was to lose yourself while looking into his face. Conrad was a man of little words when he didn't feel like talking, but his face could always tell a thousand stories.

"Fine," you give in finally. "But I won't object to you sleepily flopping into the bed next to me if you need to, okay?" you say jokingly, his face flashes with a hint of something you'd never seen before—embarrassment, shyness, maybe? A few water droplets fall on you from his arms. "Just..." you push him away slowly. "Not if you're sopping wet and salty,"

"Noted," he agreed, moving past you to the chest of drawers. He opened the second drawer, pulling out some fresh clothes. You suddenly remembered your bags, downstairs.

"I'm just gonna grab my bags from the car," you said, thankful that the keys were still in your fucking pocket, despite the dip in the ocean.

"I'll get them," Conrad said happily, striding forward and all but grabbing the keys from your hands without asking. You stutter immediately, like an engine stopping and starting, from just how startled you are at his host-like behaviour.

"You don't have—," you start.

"Shut up!" he yells slightly, as he whisks past you to the door, throwing his clean clothes on his bed and ducking out of the room. You're amazed, letting out a scoff as he starts on the stairs.

"Conrad Fisher!" you yell.

"You're welcome!" he yells, and then he's gone; out the front door and into the boot of your airport rental car with a huge fuck off smile on his smug face.