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@appasionato
APPASIONATO : with passion, with feeling.
drowned by leon ( 25+ ) , this is an independent and selective portrayal of conrad fisher from the summer i turned pretty. a romantic, plot driven blog.
i. character doc. ii. infinit8worlds, fromanne, reborns, wolf-out,
QUIET STORMS, half-smiles, devotion, grief that silences, the pull of something infinite; waves that never rest, the boy, the beach, late nights, undying love, AND THE ACHE OF GROWING UP.
@fromanne 𓊝﹏ ࣪ " oh, god. i thought something happened to you. don't scare me like that. "
two days of silenced notifications and unanswered calls. the dreadful silence of a stretched mind. anne seeks him and he turns away. unintentional, yes, but arguably cowardly all the same. days like this lead to greater reflection, and the thought that perhaps gentle flowers should be left to sway in the breeze and restorative sun. untouched by hands of grime. conrad hangs his head shamefully, his tired, half-smile hoping to soothe. ❝ sorry ... i had to sort some things out. i didn't want to worry you. didn't want to make it your problem. ❞
※.·:·.※ 𝐘𝐎𝐔'𝐑𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐔𝐂𝐊 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐌𝐄 𝐍𝐎𝐖 ··· a collection of chosen bonds, found family, & unconditional belonging roleplay sentence starters. genre: platonic love, hurt and comfort, loyalty.
• You know you don't have to keep checking on me, right? I'm fine. • How are you? Wait, did I ask that already? • I don't know what I'd do without you. I mean that. • Oh, God. I thought something happened to you. Don't scare me like that. • You're not alone in this. You know that, right? • We're family. That's what we do. We show up. • Make yourself at home, okay? This is your place too now. • Get out of here with that. You're not a burden. Don't ever say that again. • Is there anything you need? Food? A blanket? Someone to just sit with you? • So, what's next for us? • I have to admit there's a small part of me that's terrified you'll wake up one day and realize you don't need me anymore... that you'll leave. • It's just... I've never had this before. People who stay. • Why are you still here? I mean, you could go anywhere. Be with anyone. • I know I'm not easy to deal with. But thank you. For staying anyway. • [Name], I don't know what I'm doing half the time, okay? But I know I'm not doing it without you. • I don't really know where else I'd want to be, except right here. • You're the best thing that ever happened to me, you know that? • I really think you saved my life. Not dramatically. Just... by being here. • Hey. Bad dream? Come here. I've got you. • You don't owe me anything. This is what family does • Stop apologizing. You're allowed to need help. • I made your favorite. Thought you could use some comfort food today. • You look exhausted. When's the last time you actually slept? • I'm not going anywhere. You're stuck with me, remember? • We've been through worse. We'll get through this too. • You don't have to be strong all the time. Not with me. • I brought you something. It's stupid, but it made me think of you. • Come on. Let's get you home. • You matter to me. More than you know. • I've got your back. Always have, always will. • You're shaking. Here, take my jacket. • I know you're scared. It's okay to be scared. • You did good today. Really good. • I'm proud of you. I don't say that enough. • Stop pushing me away. I'm not leaving. • You think I'd let you face this alone? Not a chance. • I'll stay up with you. I don't mind. • You're safe here. I promise. • Tell me what you need. Anything. • You don't have to pretend with me. • I trust you. Completely. • You've got this. And if you don't, we've got this. • I'd do anything for you. You know that, right? • You're not too much. You're never too much. • This is your home now. For as long as you want it. • I'll fight for you if you can't fight for yourself right now. • You make me want to be better. A better person. • I chose you. I keep choosing you. Every day. • You're allowed to fall apart. I'll hold the pieces until you're ready.
so often, a man who only lingers, never rooted. so often, a man who vanishes before the world can see his dawn. today, though, he wants to push through the silence. his back is to her as he stands in the morning light of the kitchen. their battles hum in his mind, all the parts of each other they have equally bruised and loved. belly is his endless siren. conrad closes the fridge and turns around, an intentional and vulnerable shift in stance. ❝ i miss you, @infinit8worlds. ❞
thinking about conrad fisher while i drink coffee. love him.
i should’ve known the parking lot would feel too ordinary for something this devastating. there wasn’t a sunset or an ocean breeze — just beige concrete and cars baking under the sun and the indifferent hum of students drifting between exams. conrad’s car sat angled near the curb, dark paint gleaming, exactly where he’d left it that morning. for a moment, it seemed safe — like a neutral place where secrets could be kept and nothing consequential would happen. but safety was an illusion. jeremiah stood beside me — not too close, but close enough that the warmth of him was impossible to ignore. we’d been talking for what felt like forever and also like no time at all — about college tours, about what came next, about feelings we’d both tried to bury because they were too messy, too real. he looked at me with eyes that were open and honest in a way that had been rare all season, and i felt my breath catch in that familiar, aching way. i was certain then — not confused, not hesitant, not unsure — i just was certain.
and then he kissed me. not slowly. not carefully. but with a clear sense of devotion, like he wanted this to be true just as much as i did. his lips were warm. his hands were gentle. and for the first time in such a long while, i let myself believe in something that wasn’t fear or memory or half‑spoken dreams. i kissed him back. i didn’t think about how it would look. i didn’t think about timing. i didn’t think about the sparks inside me that still belonged to someone else. i just let myself fall into the moment, because it felt right — because it felt honest — because it felt like the first time in forever that something wasn’t tangled up in grief or longing or loss. but then i heard footsteps. not loud. not dramatic. not the kind of entrance that comes with a yell or a shout. just… footsteps that pulled my eyes open. there @appasionato stood. conrad. he wasn’t yelling. he wasn’t storming toward us. he just looked — like he had walked into the exact thing he had been taught to fear. his eyes found mine, and in that instant everything stopped. the heat of the pavement. the warmth of jeremiah’s body. the way my heart had felt full just seconds ago. it all vanished. his expression was too still, too composed, too hollow — like someone who had rehearsed heartbreak but never expected to actually feel it. there was no fury, no accusation, no dramatic sweep of emotion. just that stillness, like a quiet echo of a truth i’d been trying to avoid. i couldn’t breathe. jeremiah froze — lips still brushing mine, hands tense against my back — but i didn’t think about any of him. not then. all i saw was conrad’s face.
and he turned away like the waves fading away. like something irrevocable had just passed through him. my heart dropped into a pit of ice. for a moment i stood paralyzed — stunned by the way he walked off without yelling, without accusing, without even looking betrayed. it was worse than drama. it was indifference disguised as heartbreak. then i heard jeremiah’s voice — quiet and steady behind me: go after him. it wasn’t a suggestion. it was a plea — a knowing that even if conrad refused to look at me, i couldn’t just let him walk away. and so i ran. ❝ conrad! ❞ i shouted, breath trembling in my throat. my shoes skidded across the hot asphalt as i chased after him, stomach twisting, heart hammering so loudly it felt like it would burst. i wanted to tell him it wasn’t about him. i wanted to tell him i hadn’t meant to hurt him. i wanted to say so many things i didn’t even understand yet. but all i could manage was his name — over and over — like a prayer and a confession and a question without an answer. he moved faster than i expected, shoulders tight, feet pounding, heading toward the far side of the lot like this was something he could outrun. but still i followed. the sun beat down. the world blurred. his back was a thing of light and shadow and distance that my heart kept chasing even when my lungs burned.
darkening joy, the waves pull him under. to be rejuvenated by those he loves in one moment and shredded by them the next is disorienting. he thinks back to the everlasting night, a group of kids batting away the claws of sleep for him, to ensure he could shine bright today. laughter, dancing, all of them sick with sugar and love. the exam was written, the future was lit, and all that remained was to let the golden truth spill from his mouth, to tell belly that maybe he didn't need to linger in the shadows / no longer did he need to desire her, silently, from across rooms. his whole world was drenched in their history and today the bell chimed and he was brushed with a feeling of acceptance.
( but it doesn't matter. of course this is happening. punishment for waiting too long. fearful when jeremiah never has been. fine. )
conrad breathes in the silence. the world slows to a crawl, the breeze light against his face, and the edges of his vision blur, become dewy. he doesn't remember the moment his feet decided to move. he doesn't remember when he started walking, then running, but he's dashing through the courtyard of brown with no destination. just get away. his name pushes through the clouds of his mind after a while and he spins around, the movement sharp and harsh. ❝ why are you following me, belly? i don't want to talk to you right now. if you want to be with jere, be with jere. i don't care. ❞
“ conrad? ” name spoken softly, breaking the lingering silence. while it was a comfortable silence, she had found herself thinking. what’s new? “ has anyone ever told you that you have eyes blue like … crystal waters? ” her tone was somewhat quieter, feeling slightly embarrassed. what if she paid attention too closely for his liking? what if her comment was not well-received? oh, anne shirley-cuthbert, that would be your luck. “ and the beauty mark by your lip, ” she blushes, gaze falling to her hands. “ i find it very cute… ”
under the willow trees, he opens his heart to her. gentle words guide him to warm fields, to a land where armor and shields are rested against boulders by the lake. there is no threat to prepare for, no soul to save but his own. conrad rolls himself up to a seated position as she fills the air with her sweet speech, his palms resting flat against the checkered blanket they have laid across the grass and the daisies. ❝ you're the first. ❞ bestowed upon her, a title to cherish. ❝ i thought you were going to say something else. ❞
anne has a joyous spirit and a delicate heart. he half expected her to speak about the gloriousness of the sun or the pleasantness of the water from the nearby stream, but instead she awards him with intimacy. ❝ that was... nice. ❞ a delayed but genuine acceptance. he nuzzles his chin into his shoulder, breaking eye contact for a brief moment. ❝ i find you cute, too. your hair, your face, the way you talk... but mostly, i like your mind. ❞
conrad fisher, you are the first boy I loved, the only boy I’ve ever loved and im so thankful to call you my boyfriend every single day
ps. I’m still getting you back for that hot cocoa comment <3
tenderness blooms. her name on a screen is enough to bring the sun to him, to ward against the cold and colorless. not once did he believe a lover could be a remedy of all things until she wrapped herself around his heart and promised to remain. to not falter against the force of his melancholy.
﹙ imessage ⋆ belly ﹚i've been at a conference all day. you have no idea how much this filled my tank. thank you, belly.
he attaches a photo taken earlier in the day. a group of future doctors with arms thrown around one another. all of them in pursuit of the warmth of goodness. maybe helping her feel included is enough to soothe the cuts from his constant critiques of her hot cocoa. even when it's good, which it is these days, he still pretends it's not.
﹙ imessage ⋆ belly ﹚wish you were here.
i hear him before i see @appasionato — an uneven thump up the stairs, like something’s wrong but he’s trying not to admit it.
when i round the corner into the bathroom, he’s sitting on the edge of the tub, shirtless, trying to keep the towel wrapped around his leg. i can practically hear him telling me it’s fine before he even opens his mouth. he says he got cut. that he’s okay. that he can take care of it himself. i see the blood trail up the stairs, see the way he’s favoring that side — no, this isn’t fine. my chest tightens, my hands clench. i'm not going to let him pretend anymore. i kneel down and grab the towel tighter. then i say it — sharp, irritable, more exasperated than gentle: ❝ can you just let me help you, for fuck’s sake? ❞ it comes out sharper than i meant. i see him flinch, and a little of the tension between us loosens — but not enough. he still stiffens, jaw tight. i almost roll my eyes at him. almost.
i kneel down, tugging the towel closer. my fingers tremble slightly, but i pretend they don’t. i focus on the scrape, on the sting of the saltwater hitting it, on the small, careful movements that make me feel like i’m doing something right. he doesn’t say anything. he doesn’t need to. i can feel him there, breathing unevenly, shifting just enough to make me aware of how close he is. my chest tightens. i tell myself it’s just blood and salt, just him needing help, nothing else. but my hands linger a second too long. my eyes catch his without meaning to, and i look away immediately. i turn on the water, wash the blood off his leg, and suddenly every tiny shift he makes sends a little jolt through me. his skin is warm. his breath is uneven. when the rubbing alcohol stings the cut, he leans in — just barely — onto my shoulder. i don’t pull away, not fast enough. i freeze for a second, aware of how close he is, of how much his presence presses against me. my hands linger on his leg, even though i’ve already done what i came to do. my heart is racing, but i tell myself it’s just the adrenaline, just the scrape, just the salt stinging the wound.
but it’s not.
i can feel the warmth of his shoulder against mine, his steady, uneven breaths brushing over my arm, and i realize i’ve been holding my own. holding my hands, holding my thoughts, holding everything i’ve wanted to say all summer. i want to pull back. i want to step away and act like nothing happened. but a small, stubborn part of me doesn’t. part of me wants to stay exactly like this, to memorize the feel of him leaning in, even if only for a second. i bite the inside of my cheek, trying to focus on the task — on finishing the bandage, on the antiseptic, on anything that isn’t the heat of him so close to me. when i finally step back, pretending it’s nothing, the quiet is heavy. i tell myself i’ve done my job, that he’s safe, that’s all that matters. but my chest still feels tight, my hands still feel warm, and for the first time, i notice the small ache of wanting him to stay, even just a moment longer.
and i wonder… is it always going to feel like this with him?
to be in the waves is an everlasting comfort. the sea knows him intimately, and he knows what to expect back. conrad understands the tides, the currents, the patterns of a variety of waves… today, though, he fails to gently unravel, to lose all thought or worry and flow like the shimmering, sun-lit water. his body could embrace the rejuvenation of the sea but his mind had been tormented by frenzied thoughts of the girl waiting for him back at the house. concentration slipped and, in an instant, blood spilled from a gash on his leg. now he is here: in the upstairs bathroom, limping unsteadily towards the tub after passing by belly in the kitchen. she looked ethereal in that shirt.
her arrival distracts him from the pain.
he begins a small protest, some heroic part of him wanting to dismiss her aid and act as though her concern is unwarranted because he's a med student, he knows how to clean a wound, but belly is nothing if not stubborn and it isn't long before her fingertips are brushing against his skin. his heart responds favorably to the lost touch. something he'll chastise himself for later. he has to let this go. fresh water hits the cut, the sting of alcohol closely following, and he falls against her shoulder with a groan, damp hair soaking through the fabric of her top. when she's done cleaning him up, he slowly lifts his head, pausing to find her sweet gaze. shards of sunlight cut through the bathroom window and it's fitting, seeing her lit like this. she was his sun today. a warm guardian with a tender touch. ❝ … thanks. ❞ the appreciation lingers, or perhaps something else, something molten, because belly hesitates to separate from him, and he is certain her eyes fell to his lips. spellbound and a tad weary from the injury, a dangerous idea drifts through his mind. the thought that maybe she isn't over him. ❝ belly? what're you thinking about? ❞
i don’t think he understands how easily he undoes me just by being here, by existing in the same room like it’s the most natural thing in the world, like we didn’t fracture and splinter and pretend we healed cleanly. christmas has always made everything feel thinner, the space between what is and what could’ve been, and with the snow falling outside cousins it feels like we’ve been tucked inside a snow globe — paused, preserved, untouched by consequences. i keep telling myself this is just comfort, just familiarity, just two people who once knew each other too well sharing a night because flights get delayed and storms decide for you. but my heart has never listened to reason when it comes to conrad. it still reacts before i can stop it, still reaches for him like muscle memory, like he’s warmth and i’m cold. i wonder if he feels it too, this fragile truce between past and present, this ache that doesn’t quite hurt but never leaves. i want to ask him a hundred dangerous questions — if he’s happy, if he ever misses us, if i still feel like home to him — but i don’t. it’s christmas. i want soft things tonight. i want fires and cocoa and old movies and the illusion that we are untouched by time, that nothing bad has ever happened to us. i want to live in this quiet, sacred pocket for just a little longer, because when conrad looks at me like that, like i’m the calm in his storm, i forget how to be careful. and that scares me. but i let it happen anyway.
❝ i’ll stir it until my arm falls off this time, i swear, ❞ i say, grinning at him. i can still taste the last attempt — the powder floating stubbornly on top, gritty on my tongue — and i remember how he laughed at me like it was the most charming thing he’d ever seen. his thumb brushing my cheek without thinking… i shiver slightly at the memory. that night had changed everything, quietly, irreversibly. i shift my weight against the counter, arms crossed loosely. ❝ school’s… a lot, ❞ i admit. ❝ lectures, essays, lab reports. sometimes it feels like i spend half my life in the library, surrounded by books and papers, just trying to make sense of it all. and i’m still working at bher’s on the boardwalk. closing shifts mostly, which means my fingers are frozen half the time and i smell like fryer oil when i get home, but… it pays for textbooks, coffee, little things that make the days manageable. sometimes it’s nice, though. familiar. like a thread connecting me back to the summers i spent here when everything was simpler. ❞ i tuck a strand of hair behind my ear and glance at him, kneeling by the fireplace, moving the logs carefully. ❝ my roommate, anika… she’s loud. full of questions, energy, and constant chatter. she checks in on me more than anyone probably should, but i think she’s right to. i have a tendency to disappear into my own head. ❞
the first flickers of flame catch, and i can feel the tension in my chest unwind a little. even jeremiah — the thought that usually lingers at the edges of my mind — fades. being here with conrad is like a full exhale. the world suddenly makes sense, even if just for a moment. ❝ when i’m with you… it’s different, ❞ i say softly. ❝ everything feels… clear. i don’t overthink. i don’t feel like I’m being pulled in a million directions. i feel like i can just… breathe. ❞ i step closer, letting my hands rest lightly on the edge of the counter, watching him adjust the logs. ❝ sometimes i forget about everything else. everything i usually carry with me — the stress, the plans, the expectations. it’s like being here with you is the only truth that matters. ❞ i tilt my head, hesitant. ❝ what about you, though? ❞ i ask gently. ❝ california. your life out there. do you like it? does it feel like home? are you happy? ❞ i swallow, my heart fluttering. ❝ and… do you ever think about coming back? or is it like home only exists in memories now? ❞ i watch him closely, giving him space, trying to ignore the nervous flutter in my chest. i don’t want pretense here. not with him. not tonight.
they move nimbly through conversation. it has always been this way: unforced and effortless. whenever belly begins talking, his entire body responds. he shifts to face her and his eyes lock onto her softness, her grace, entirely spellbound, consumed by the simplest of stories. he imagines her going through the motions of a day, balancing academics with the responsibilities of a life well-lived, tired but never faltering, doubtful at times but certain of her own promise, and he finds himself yearning for her. desiring to exist in those moments alongside her. what does her hair look like after a long day of lectures? how does it fall and sit on her shoulders when, after an arduous study session, she unclips it? ❝i'm glad you have someone like that.❞ a roommate and friend to care for her, to guide her through the uncharted islands of young adulthood. conrad has thought about the transition often, has hoped she found a rock to hold onto. to know that this was their moment of splintering, to know that he would not always be able to follow… it has been painful. ❝i bet you're managing on your own, though. even if she left you alone and never checked up on you, you'd be fine. you're scrappier than people give you credit for.❞
he is fully turned from the fireplace now, seated on the ground with his arms crossed and dangling over his pulled-up knees. it's a comfortable position, fit for a night of lounging and sweet remembrance. his gaze flicks from hers to the warm, dancing flames as she asks about the roads he has travelled down. the home he has built away from her. does he like it? he likes how far it is. to know he will never walk down the street and feel the cut of accidentally bumping into them while their hands are all over each other is a special kind of peace. ❝it's okay,❞ is the answer he decides on. ❝it feels like i'm moving forward. i'm learning a lot. when you're working towards something you really want, something incredibly difficult, and it clicks into place because you're good at it… man, what a feeling.❞ conrad drifts through the things he misses and the people that exist in those spaces. ❝i miss parts of it. what you said… home being a memory. that fits. sure, i'm always going to feel drawn, but coming back would be juvenile. life is motion. nothing ever stays the same.❞
i hesitate before speaking, letting the quiet stretch just a second longer, because silence with him isn’t empty — it’s charged. it hums with everything i’m afraid to say. i think about how he sounds when he’s tired, how there’s always something careful in his pauses, like he’s bracing for impact. i know that feeling. i live inside it. loving conrad has always felt like standing too close to the ocean at night, knowing one wrong step could pull me under, but never stepping back anyway. sometimes i wonder if he knows how much space he still occupies in my life. how even here, surrounded by new people and new routines, he’s the constant. he’s the voice that slips through the cracks when the day falls apart. i don’t tell him that there are moments i pick up my phone just to stare at his name, waiting for night to give me permission to call. i don’t tell him that i’m terrified he’ll decide one day that this — us — is something he needs to outgrow.
because if he does, i don’t know what i’ll do with all this wanting. it’s a dull ache that never leaves, a constant pull toward him, toward the sound of his voice, the shape of his words, the way he can make me feel like the only person in the world even when i’m surrounded by everyone else. and some nights, when i think about him too much, it’s like my chest is too full, too heavy, and i have to remind myself to breathe. but tonight is different. tonight, i’m outside, and the air is cold and sharp, but it feels alive. i tilt my face toward the stars, and they scatter like tiny sparks across the sky, and the moon hangs low and silver, calm as if it knows all the secrets i’m holding. it makes me think about him — where he is, what he’s seeing, if he’s looking at the same moon and imagining me somewhere under it, thinking about him too. it’s a little ridiculous, and maybe a little hopeless, but it makes me feel close to him anyway. i think about the way he smiles, the sound of his laugh, how his voice carries warmth even through the phone. i think about the times we’ve spent together, the little moments that are ours alone, and the nights we’ve stayed up until hours that don’t even have names, just talking. the thought of those nights is like a soft ache, like the tide pulling at me from somewhere far away. i cling to it because it reminds me that even with the distance, even with all the chaos of this new life, he’s still mine in some unspoken, irreplaceable way.
sometimes i imagine him here, just leaning against the wall of my dorm building, smiling like he knows exactly what i’m thinking. i imagine that if i reached out, i could touch him, just barely, and it would be enough to steady me. i know it’s impossible, but it doesn’t stop me from picturing it. i tell myself that as long as i have his voice in my ears, as long as we keep talking, i can survive the rest of it. i pull my sweater tighter around me and feel the chill creep in, but it doesn’t matter. it’s just background noise. the important part is the quiet, the night, the sky, and him. even miles away, he’s here. and for now, that’s enough. ❝ okay, so first… you’re not going to believe this, ❞ i finally say, my voice soft against the night. ❝ i spilled an entire cup of coffee on my notebook in class. like, a total coffee tsunami right over my notes. and it happened just as i was supposed to be presenting. everyone stared, and i froze. i tried to make it look intentional — like, ‘yes, this is modern interpretive coffee art, very relevant to symbolism.’ no one bought it. my professor just… stared. looked like he was about to cry. ❞ i laugh quietly, imagining how he’d roll his eyes at me. ❝ then i went outside to get some air, and i ended up wandering through the campus paths, just staring at the stars and the moon for a while. it was freezing, but the sky was amazing, conrad. i thought about how far away you are, and it felt like maybe we were sharing this same night, even if we’re apart. ❞ i pull my sweater tighter, fingers brushing the strap of my phone. ❝ and then, because my day apparently likes chaos, i slipped on some ice near the fountain. not badly, just enough to scare a guy walking by, who offered me his scarf. i laughed so hard i nearly fell again. ❞ i pause, letting the quiet settle over the campus. ❝ by the time i got back, freezing and a little late for dinner with taylor, i couldn’t stop thinking about how absurd today was… and now talking to you, it feels perfect. which was honestly the best part of my day. now, can you beat that? ❞
he looks to the midnight sky, cell phone pressed to his ear. the moon hangs silver and lovely. he rests here, on this bench, the campus courtyard emptying with each drifting minute, eyes fixed on the glow above as belly walks him through the trials of her day. an expression of anguish appears on his face as the tale of the coffee-drenched notebook is told, a terribly unfortunate way to begin one's morning. it is amusing, though, the way she can find brightness and humour in it now, how she can sit here, in the late hours, and turn herself into a punchline. his face softens. he's thankful for the light found in her voice… if he sensed even a splash of sadness, he would have been wounded by this story, compelled to rescue and hold.
the narration of her day continues, a day licked by chaos, and he shakes his head upon hearing of the next event. ❝are you serious? belly, i'm going to hire you a bodyguard.❞ someone to hold her coffee, grab her by the arm when she loses her balance. someone to keep her alive. he grins against the phone. ❝not year round, though. i can take care of you in the summer.❞ conrad is warmed by her final statement: this is the best part of her day. he, too, shares this sentiment. the cold has left him for the first time in several hours and he will be radiant all through the long night.
❝well…❞ he pauses, considering the moments he has lived through this day. it was a monotonous day. every hour felt the same. compared to her, he feels dull, and he does not wish to push his gloom into this conversation. ❝i had a bagel for breakfast. butter, no jam, because breakfast isn't supposed to be sweet. i was up early so i took advantage of the laundry room being empty and washed some clothes. i went for a walk… some older lady talked to me about birds for a while. she was sweet. i had classes after that. when i got back to my room, i pretty much just studied. tried my best to ignore my roommate. he doesn't do well with silence. he's one of those people that always needs to fill it. and… now i'm with you, and it gets harder to hang up every time.❞
﹙ imessage 𔓘 ocean eyes ﹚ it is always a nice time with you. ﹙ imessage 𔓘 ocean eyes ﹚ would you not say that winter is one of the most breathtaking times of year? ﹙ imessage 𔓘 ocean eyes ﹚ the falling snow, white blanketing over the fields and cliffsides, icicles hanging off of porches, glistening ice coating the bark of trees and foliage, festive spirits, hot cider in hand, people laughing as they throw snowballs or build snowmen. ﹙ imessage 𔓘 ocean eyes ﹚ as silly as it might sound, winter is as though we step into another world ... or as close to it as we can. ﹙ imessage 𔓘 ocean eyes ﹚ it is funny that you said snow elf. if i ever played d&d, i would play an eladrin. eladrin are fey-touched elves with emotional ties to the seasons. winter and spring are the two that i feel align with me most. ﹙ imessage 𔓘 ocean eyes ﹚ i am so sorry. i am rambling now.
@fromanne
﹙ imessage ⋆ winter anne ﹚you know, i used to be mostly a summer guy. nothing made me more excited than a summer at the beach house. surfing every day, being by the water... but the older i get, the more i've come to appreciate the way winter makes me slow down. and yeah, it's breathtaking. ﹙ imessage ⋆ winter anne ﹚no, it's okay. i never want you to stop rambling. i like that you're comfortable being yourself. ﹙ imessage ⋆ winter anne ﹚i was watching lord of the rings analysis videos on youtube and then i saw something about d&d on the sidebar, so i clicked and went down a rabbit hole. this person was talking about how to turn legolas into a d&d character using the game rules. not going to lie, it almost convinced me. ﹙ imessage ⋆ winter anne ﹚eladrin sound cool. i didn't know there were so many unique kinds of elves. i looked up a photo and they're depicted among flowers a lot. that's very you. what kind of magic would you use?
soft sc. @appasionato
he is already waiting with a towel — the cold wind is biting at the back of his exposed neck, but he is not soaking wet and wading towards the dry shoreline. he is not fighting against what must be an icy surf. regulus stiffens his jaw to hide the wrinkle in his nose, meeting conrad halfway to the lapping water. he throws the soft cotton around him without warning, pressing it into his shoulders with a steady concern. "i told you—it's too cold today."
across the waves, the heavy, grey sky, and the miles and miles of openness was the kind of silence that helped him hear. conrad felt more connected to himself when his feet left land and despite the low temperature, this day was one of contemplation. why does the water feel alive? why does he wake in the middle of the night, pulled from a dream of drowning, of yellow eyes at the bottom of the sea? ❝i didn't sleep well last night. paddling wrecks my shoulders and tires me out.❞ strands of wet hair fall into conrad's eyes and he glances through them at regulus, his own expression softening at the care shown to him in this moment. ❝you're probably colder than i am and you're wearing a shirt.❞ conrad says this while his lips tremble. he tugs the towel closer. ❝fuck… yeah, that wind's brutal. worth it, though. nothing more meditative than surfing.❞
he was drugged. shane knew it too because the pain would probably be a lot worse, but he felt great. his eyes followed conrad as best he could, having to squint just a little bit when some of the stray sunlight from the window caught him and had his head pounding ( that definitely hurt ). he lifts a heavy arm, all of his limbs feel a bit heavy right now, and beckons him closer with a single finger as though he's going to tell him a secret. ❛❛ i'm very good at skating, ❜❜ his voice isn't quiet in the least bit, but to him it is. shane drops his hand back down to his side and huffs out a sigh. ❛❛ unless someone hits me, then i'm not very good. ❜❜ his brow momentarily furrows in thought because he's pretty sure that's what happened but the details are fuzzy and thinking too hard makes his head hurt. he lulls his head back in conrad's direction, a dopey sort of smile appearing. ❛❛ you wanted to hang out with me? we can hang out - i'd like that. ❜❜
endlessly amused by his playfulness, he leans closer and feigns surprise at the secret. ❝good job. i don't think anybody heard that.❞ conrad grins, hovering at the other's bedside, his hand falling to smooth out the edge of the bed sheet. shane is unaware of his own volume, his mind muddied by the alchemy of doctors and caretakers. he is not worried for his new friend today, he has seen his charts, and this knowledge gifts him a sense of peace. all he must do now is embrace the comfort of conversation, of a shared moment that conrad will remember much more deeply than shane. he will remember the initial woe, the groans of pain, and the hour that shane crossed the threshold, his stability and healing marked by laughter, smiles, and loud, drawn-out words. most notably, he will remember his answer, the clear and bright agreement.
❝well, cool. when you're on your feet again, we can go get food or something. or… do you not do that stuff anymore? i don't really know how it all works when you become… noticeable.❞
@rushplay asked, ❝need a ride?❞
the black night passed slowly. it stretched and stretched, a bonfire blazing on the beach, wisps of flame drifting through the air, and the sea's breath combing through his hair as he sat on a rock, away from the warmed bodies. he did not notice when people began to dim and go home. it was the voice of another that pulled him from the webs of his mind, and conrad slid his gaze from dark waters to land. ❝yeah,❞ he says from his spot on the stone. he may have felt world's away tonight but he would be a fool to decline: it would take him nearly two hours to walk from belle isle to downtown detroit. ❝i'll just be a minute. meet you up there.❞ the words, sounding more dismissive than he would have liked, nudge him to say more. ❝ ... surprised your fan club stopped following you around.❞
god, he’s still impossible. even across the table, with a glass of wine in his hand and that damn smirk, he’s impossible. my eyes keep finding him, like magnets i can’t control. i should look away — be casual, be normal — but why would i? not when he’s looking at me like i’m the only thing in the room that matters. every little thing about him pulls me in. the tilt of his head, the way his lips curl when he’s amused, the heat in his gaze that makes my stomach do that stupid flip. i know i’m probably blushing, and i don’t care. not when i want him to notice. not when i want him to see me like this — bold, teasing, alive. i take a sip of my wine, pretending it’s casual, but my hand is shaking just slightly, because being this close to him — him — it’s electric. and the worst — or maybe the best — part? i don’t want to pull away. i want to lean in, keep this tension alive, see how far it can go before one of us breaks.
the wine warms my cheeks and makes my words feel braver than usual. i keep catching glimpses of him out of the corner of my eye — the way he’s leaning back, that smirk playing on his lips, the slow curl of his fingers around his glass. i shouldn’t stare… but i can’t. not when he makes it feel like the whole world has shrunk to just this table, just this moment. i take a slow sip of wine, trying to steady the flutter in my chest, and it hits me — i have changed. i’ve grown braver, bolder… i don’t let things scare me the way i used to. maybe that’s why i feel like i can say what i’m thinking right now, even if it’s half reckless, half tipsy. i lean a little closer, letting my shoulder brush his, and my voice slips out, low and teasing: ❝ i swear… you make me forget everything else in the room. the way you look at me… it’s unfair. ❞ a soft laugh bubbles up, and i tilt my head, letting my hair catch the light across my cheek. ❝ and i think you know it. maybe that’s why i can’t help teasing you. you deserve it. ❞ the warmth of the wine, the glow of the lights, the pull of him… it all makes my chest tight in a way i don’t want to fix. i don’t want to fix it. i want to lean in a little closer, see if he’ll lean too, feel how far this tiny spark between us can stretch before it catches fire.
there are images in him: young summers spent glancing at belly from across the room, their eyes meeting for a fleeting moment, tangled grief and hurt preventing them from linking arms. he remembers the intimacy that crowded a dimly lit porch, under darkened skies, and the torturous seconds of need, a fantasy where conrad had the courage to slide his hand across the railing and feel her fingers against his. it was a terrible thing to have the proximity without the character, the trust, the belief in self. tonight is different, though. in her eyes, surrounded by new companions, he sees willingness. this closeness feels like an evolution, a second form. possibility that can only come from change. ❝i've always looked at you like this.❞
it is said with sincerity. there has never been a time that belly has not motivated his heart, mind, and behaviour. in the faded light of the restaurant, her voice quiets enchantingly, the clinking of silverware and wine glasses distant but comforting background noise, like the other hushed conversations taking place at the table, and it all keeps him held firmly in place. rooted to the girl he still dreams about. ❝you tease me, get me to change my plans…❞ he shifts closer, ever so slightly, shoulders and body pulled forward, and the chains continue to loosen. ❝wouldn't be able to tell you what i was doing yesterday. wouldn't be able to tell you what i'm supposed to be doing tomorrow. i know there's something, but…❞
hi! happy weekend. i'll be bouncing between drafts, inbox stuff, and world of warcraft. spend some time doing something that brings you joy today.
