𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚠𝚘𝚖𝚊𝚗 | 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚛𝚊𝚍 𝚏𝚒𝚜𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚛

one.

"the other woman has time to manicure her nails"

• • •

That's how it always began, with Conrad standing at my door. He cast a shadow over me. I could see the solemn look in his eyes, it was the same every time. It said 'I need you'. No matter how much I told myself it was bad for me. No matter how much I tried to muster up the courage to say 'no'. The way the porch light reflected off of his stupidly perfect hair and stupidly perfect face never failed to shut me up. Over time I got used to it, and it became part of my routine.

I trained myself to recognize the way he knocked. He always tapped out the rhythm of  AC/DC's "Back In Black"— lazily, might I add — which happened to be the song I played for him when I first learned guitar. Con did it either on my front door or, more scream-inducingly, against the pane of my bedroom window. Even with the latter, we always ended up at the door, him staring holes into me.

• • •

The first time it ever happened was when we were about 16. It was a quiet Saturday night in late May, I was cramming the AP US History study guide into my brain for my exam the following week. A faint sound hailed from the front door. It was barely a whisper over the music playing through my speaker, but I heard it nonetheless. I turned the volume down, and there it was again. An eighth note followed by a joint sixteenth, and another eighth. It took only the first measure for me to figure out what, and who, it was.

I trudged over to the door, which conveniently was right outside of my bedroom. My hand grasped the handle, attempting to unlock it, ultimately remembering it was broken and it only worked pulling it upwards. There he was. Standing with his hand pressed up against the door frame, his body covered in a layer of sweat that made it very obvious he had run from his house to mine. His sweatshirt crinkled with every heaving breath he took. I then noticed— not for the first time — how ineffably attractive Conrad Fischer was. Thoughts ran through my head— again, not for the first time— about pulling him by his collar and standing on tip-toes to lay one on him.

As if he could read my mind, he was the one to do it first. He didn't say anything. Not a word. He just put his hands on my cheeks and leaned down to my level. His lips were soft, warm. The way his breath, heavy and hot, washed across my face was not as unenjoyable as I expected something of the sort would be. His fingers finding their way into my hair made me forget to question it. A twisting, tingly feeling arose in my gut. I couldn't tell if it was good or bad, and I honestly couldn't care less.

I let him drag me to my room like it was his house. He still clung to my lips, as if I'd accidentally put on superglue instead of chapstick. With each inch that he shifted towards a spot on my neck below my ear, I fell further and further away from my better judgment. It was only the velocity of my body hitting the mattress that finally snapped me back to reality. "Con," I whispered. He detached himself from my neck to meet my eyes. "I... I don't think this is a good idea," I avoided looking at him directly, knowing it would only mess me up again. He slipped away and sat on the edge of the bed, looking downcast. "Con, I like you... but this doesn't feel right. I'm just confused and I at least want to hear your voice before anything else," I mumbled a lot of it, but his head turning in my direction proved that it was audible enough.

My hand found its way to his shoulder, feeling the curve of his collarbone under his sweatshirt. There were many times I almost let myself believe I fit perfectly there. His eyes traced my body. Focusing on each part for long moments. I never thought much about how skimpy my pajamas— an oversized shirt that I'd stolen from my friend, which fell over my shoulder and exposed it to the night air, as well as a pair of pajama shorts I'd owned since I was a kid— were. His eyes lingered, seemingly counting each freckle and mole that covered my skin.

"You're really pretty."

That was it. Three words. The only actual words Conrad would say that night. It only took three words to make me fall limp to the tension that hung thick and hot in the room.

It only took three words to change the course of my life forever.

• • •

The simultaneously most thrilling and awkward part of our little thing was that we'd always have to pretend it didn't happen during the weeks at Cousins. Aside from knowing glances, hands brushing up against each other, and impromptu sleepovers in each other's rooms, we carried on as if we were never anything more than what we'd been our entire lives. As far as anyone was concerned, I was just Con's friend who lived two blocks away.

Things would've been much simpler if I was just that. Life is never that simple though.

One night, as I was sitting next to the lamp reading a book, Conrad came into my room. He quietly knocked while he was opening the door, which completely ruined the meaning of the gesture. "You're disturbing my reading time for what," I glared at him. He smiled in the annoyingly perfect way he always did, shutting the door behind him. "Sorry Kitty," he meandered over to sit on the opposite side of the bed. There he just sat and stared for a couple minutes. It was commonplace for Con to just stare at me sometimes. Not like I was complaining, though.

I made a mental note of the page I left off on and set my book on the bedside table. Then, I turned back to Con, "What's up?" He continued to stare off into the infinite void that was his teenage boy's brain. I clapped my hands in front of his face, "Earth to Connie! Hello?!" He flinched at the sounds but quickly tried to act like he didn't.

"Sorry... uhh, what did you say?"
"I asked you 'what's up'."
"Oh right. Nothing just wanted to come in."
"Well, you can't just barge into people's rooms whenever. What if I was changing or something?"

He didn't say anything, but the look in his eyes said it for him. I pushed him playfully, "Ew! Don't be a perv!" His face scrunched up, all the muscles in his jaw struggling to hold in his laugh. It failed. Even if he was being annoying, I liked to hear him laugh. Never in his growing up did his laugh change. It was a perfect laugh as far as I was concerned. No matter how old he got, the moment he started laughing it was like we were little kids again.

In the same vein, no matter how old I got, I never stopped loving Conrad Fischer.

• • •

Author's Note: Finally finished writing the first chapter, sorry it took me so long lol. Hope y'all like it and I'll try to make my next updates faster <3