can you pls do more dad!conrad? where she’s still little and teeny. maybe you visit him at the office? or something cute
—doctor visit
if you want i can make her even younger version!
+
you stop by the clinic around lunchtime, your daughter holding your hand tight. she’s tiny maybe two and a half in her little pink sneakers that light up every time she takes a step. her curls bounce as she walks, clutching her stuffed bunny in the other hand.
you peek through the office door window first. conrad’s sitting at his desk, still in his white coat, eyes on a chart. he looks tired. that kind of deep, quiet tired you can’t hide but when he glances up and sees you both, his whole expression softens like someone just flipped a light on inside him.
you open the door slowly. “hi.”
his voice drops instantly. “hey, mama.” then, to the little one: “what’s this? my favorite girl?”
she beams, letting go of your hand and running toward him. “dada!”
he catches her mid-run, scooping her up with that easy, practiced motion. “oh, i missed you,” he says softly, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “what are you doing here, huh?”
“see you,” she says, patting his face with her small palm. “you work.”
he laughs, the kind that melts right into a sigh. “yeah, dada’s at work. and now it’s a good day, ‘cause you’re here.”
you walk in, closing the door behind you. “we brought you lunch. and her apple slices, because she refused to eat them unless you were the one who cut them.”
he shakes his head, smiling. “she’s got me wrapped around her little finger.”
a few minutes later, she’s sitting on his lap behind the desk, holding his stethoscope with both hands while he “shows” her how to use it.
“see, this goes here,” he says, guiding her hand to his chest. “and you listen real close.”
she gasps dramatically, wide-eyed. “boom boom!”
“that’s right,” he chuckles, tapping her nose. “that’s dada’s heartbeat.”
you’re sitting in the chair across from them, watching. your heart doing that quiet swell it always does when he’s with her. he’s patient, calm, explaining like it’s the most important thing in the world.
when she yawns, resting her cheek against his shoulder, he just holds her there, one hand rubbing her back.
“long morning?” you ask softly.
“always,” he murmurs, smiling at her sleepy face. “but this part makes up for it.”
she hums, half-asleep already, tiny hand fisted in the collar of his coat.
you stand, brushing a hand over his arm. “we’ll let you finish up.”
“no,” he whispers, shaking his head gently. “just a few more minutes.”
and so you let him. sitting there with his daughter in his lap, hospital light spilling across his desk, his hand tracing slow circles on her back as she drifts off.
Summary: When you slip out of the party at the peak of the night, heart racing and breath catching without warning, the last person you expect to find you outside is Conrad Fisher…but somehow, he knows exactly how to help.
Words: 3k.
Warnings & Tags: panic attack. hurt/comfort. i’m not a doctor, but i've tried to research medical topics thoroughly. please forgive me if i'm wrong about something. i accidentally deleted this request. english isn't my first language (sorry for my mistakes, be kind please).
Note: I want to give a special thanks to my bestie @captainlakes for being the first person I share my fics with and for encouraging me to upload my first one (yes, you have my Conrad fics thanks to her!). I highly recommend checking out her blog, she's a wonderful writer! ♡
You didn’t feel it coming. Not right away.
It began as a strange tightness, like a string pulled too taut in the middle of your chest. The music had taken on a sharper edge, every beat digging into your skull like it was too loud and too far away. The air inside the house was stifling, dense with body heat and beer and too many voices competing to be heard. You laughed when you were supposed to and nodded as someone shouted a story inches from your ear, but the sound that left your mouth felt borrowed and hollow, like it didn’t belong to you.
Then someone brushed your arm.
A stranger. Just passing.
But it hit you like a fuse being lit.
Your stomach dropped. Your heart skipped once, then bolted forward, beating wildly out of rhythm. Too fast. Too hard. Your fingers went cold. You blinked once. Then again. But everything around you had shifted, warped like you were staring through a pane of glass underwater. Faces blurred. Lights stuttered in your periphery. Someone laughed too loudly, and the sound cracked like static in your ears.
And then the air disappeared.
Not just shortness of breath. Not just lightheadedness.
No air. None.
You opened your mouth, gulped for it, but your lungs refused to expand. There was a weight on your chest now, solid and cruel, like someone pressing down with both hands, squeezing until your ribs couldn’t move. You couldn’t speak. Couldn’t ask for help. The panic was inside you now, fast and snarling, and it didn’t care that you were still trying to smile and act normal.
You turned blindly, pushing through the crowd, barely registering the surprised voices as you brushed past shoulders and elbows and laughter that felt a thousand miles away. Your jacket was slung over your arm, fingers clenched tight around the sleeve. You nearly knocked over someone’s drink. Someone may have called your name.
It didn’t matter.
You were already gone.
Outside, the night air slapped you hard across the face, cold, wet with humidity, but it wasn’t enough. It should have helped, should have grounded you. But the cold didn’t touch the panic.
You stumbled along the side of the building, the soles of your shoes slipping slightly over damp stone and scattered gravel. Your legs moved without your permission, shaky and numb beneath you. You barely registered the dorm’s brick wall until your shoulder hit it, and then you clung to it like a lifeline, nails digging into the rough surface, desperate for something real to hold onto.
But the panic kept rising.
Your hands trembled violently now. Not the kind of trembling you could hide in your sleeves or dismiss with a laugh. No, this was full-body, bone-deep. Your fingers wouldn’t obey you. Your whole body felt like it was vibrating, like your skin couldn’t contain you.
You slid to the ground, your knees buckling beneath you, back pressed against cold brick as the world shrank. Your vision tunneled, black curling at the edges, light from the dorm windows smearing across your eyes like wet paint. Each breath came in shallow, ragged gasps, but it only made the pressure worse. Your throat clenched, your jaw ached, and your lungs burned. You couldn’t catch a full inhale. Couldn’t get enough.
You were drowning.
Not in water, but in yourself.
The thump of music behind the building dulled into something distant and eerie, like echoes from the wrong end of a dream. Laughter, the clinking of glass, someone singing out of tune. All of it hollow. All of it unreal. You pressed your fists against your skull, fingernails biting into your scalp, heart clawing against your ribs like it wanted out. The world was too loud and too far away, all at once.
You sank into a crouch, head between your knees, trying to remember how to breathe.
You are not okay.
You are not okay.
You are—
“Hey.”
The word was soft. Gentle, but sudden enough that it cut through the fog like a knife.
You looked up too fast. The motion sent your vision spinning. You blinked hard, your throat locked up with the weight of unshed sobs, eyes already swimming with tears that had slipped down your cheeks without your permission.
And there he was.
Conrad Fisher.
Standing just a few feet away.
The Conrad Fisher, from one of your classes. The guy who always sat near the windows, his hoodie sleeves pushed halfway up his forearms, scribbling notes like he was solving a code only he understood. The one with sleepy hair, an annoyingly perfect jawline, and a quiet kind of focus that made him seem older than the rest of you. You’d passed him once in the library. Maybe twice. Exchanged a nod in the hallway.
He wasn’t your friend.
He wasn’t even close.
But he was here.
And he didn’t flinch at the sight of you folded into yourself, shaking like your bones might rattle apart. He didn’t ask what was wrong and didn’t offer clichés like are you okay? or don’t be dramatic. He didn’t reach for you or fumble for a solution.
He just crouched.
Carefully. Slowly. Like he knew too sudden a movement might shatter you.
He lowered himself onto the grass in front of you, grounding his weight in the earth, elbows on his knees. His hands dangled between them, fingers loose. There was something practiced in it, not polished, but gentle. Measured. He looked at you the way someone might look at a frightened animal in the woods: steady, quiet, and without threat.
Like he had all the time in the world.
His voice, when it came, was low and even. “You’re okay. You’re safe.”
You wanted to argue. Wanted to scream that he was wrong, that you were not okay, that something awful was about to happen, and your body knew it even if your mind couldn’t explain how. That your brain was a wildfire and your heart was tearing itself apart and everything was wrong—
But all that came out was a cracked sob. Raw. Guttural. Like something breaking open in your throat.
“Hey.” His voice softened even more, barely louder than the breeze. “Look at me. Just me.”
You forced your eyes upward, blinking through the blur of tears and streetlight.
And there he was.
Blue eyes steady and warm, the kind that didn’t dart or judge. His face was illuminated by the golden flicker of the porch light behind him, casting half of his profile in shadow, the other painted in gold.
His mouth was parted slightly, not smiling, not pretending, but soft. Open. Kind.
He took a breath, slow and deliberate. You saw his shoulders rise with it. Felt the quiet weight of that inhale in the air between you.
Then he nodded, just once. “Can you try to breathe with me?”
You didn’t answer, but your eyes didn’t leave his.
You didn’t answer. Couldn’t. But you didn’t look away, and somehow, that was enough.
He raised one hand slowly, palm open, fingers spread slightly, and drew in another breath, deep and controlled, his chest expanding. He exhaled through parted lips, audible and slow, like the hush of wind moving through leaves at night.
You tried to mimic him. You really did.
The air scraped its way into your lungs like it didn’t want to be there. It caught in your throat, jagged and thin. But then, it left your body slower than before. Less like a gasp, more like a sigh. Less like fire, more like fog. It wasn’t smooth. It wasn’t easy. But it was real.
“Good,” he murmured. “Again.”
You followed him, breath for breath. Each inhale was still a battle, but one you weren’t losing anymore. The rhythm was uneven, but it was happening. You were breathing.
And he was still there.
Not rushing you. Not inching closer. Not offering words that meant nothing.
Just staying with you. Knees bent. Hands resting loose at his sides. Breathing like it mattered.
Like it was the only thing that mattered.
His eyes never left you.
Soft. Steady. Unflinching.
The cold in your limbs began to thaw in stages, first your hands, then your arms, and then the sharp ache in your chest started to dull. Like frost melting under soft morning light. Your fingers began to unclench, tingling with pins and needles. You became aware of the dirt beneath your shoes, the cool dampness of the grass under your calves, and the weight of your own jacket still clutched in your lap. The pressure in your lungs loosened. Not gone. But no longer choking you.
The world, which had shrunk down to a narrow, suffocating tunnel, began to widen. Color returned slowly, as if someone was turning up the saturation dial on reality. You could see again. Hear again. The stars above, flickering just past the blur of dorm lights. The gentle rustle of leaves in the trees. The distant pulse of the party behind you reduced to a low throb, laughter, bass, and a bottle cracking open somewhere nearby.
But here, behind the building, it was just you and him.
Stillness. And breath.
He let another minute pass. Maybe two. Never checked a watch. Never shifted his weight to stand. Just stayed crouched in front of you, grounded and calm, his presence steady as the brick wall at your back.
The silence between you didn’t buzz with awkwardness or urgency. It wasn’t something to be filled or rushed through. It simply was solid, quiet, and real. A pause that held space for your panic to settle. A stillness that asked for nothing.
You didn’t know how he knew what to do.
Only that, somehow, he did.
“You’re in my class, right?” His voice was low when he finally spoke again. Softer than before, like it was meant for this space only, not for the party behind the walls or the world beyond it. “Tuesday. Third row?”
You nodded, barely more than a twitch, but he noticed.
He tilted his head, thoughtful. The moonlight caught in the strands of his hair, casting faint shadows across his cheekbones. “Rothman’s lecture last week. The slide about circulation?”
Your brows knit in confusion. The question was so…normal. Out of place. Like someone whispering about homework during a funeral. Why was he asking about that now?
Then Conrad lifted his hand. Slowly. Deliberately. Palm up in the space between you. Not reaching for you, just offering something.
“Do you remember how many arteries run through here?” He asked, his voice gentle, like he was inviting you into something.
But Conrad just lifted his hand between you, slow, deliberate, and nonthreatening. Palm open. Fingers relaxed. You noticed the details like they mattered: the faint indentation from where he held his pen too tightly and a pale ink stain smudged near the crook of his thumb. A small, healed cut just below his knuckle.
“You remember how many arteries run through here?” he asked softly.
You stared at his hand.
Not in fear. Not in suspicion. Just…noticing.
The curve of his fingers, relaxed but strong. The faint callus along his middle finger, maybe from writing too hard or gripping something too tight. The ghost of an ink stain nestled near the base of his thumb. A pale, healed cut traced across the skin just below his knuckle, like a forgotten story.
It was an ordinary hand. But right now, it felt like an anchor.
You swallowed hard.
“Radial…” Your voice cracked, thin from disuse. “And ulnar.”
A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, not smug or patronizing, just quietly proud. “Yeah. Good.”
There was something strangely grounding in the question. Something calming in the way he spoke to you, like you were still in class, sitting two rows apart under flickering fluorescents, scribbling notes about blood flow. Like you were still you. Not the trembling, breathless mess on the ground.
It felt like a trick. A soft, brilliant one.
“Want to try another?” he asked, almost shyly.
You hesitated. Then nodded.
He turned his wrist, slow and fluid, letting the movement catch the moonlight. The veins beneath his skin shimmered faintly, just visible under the surface, blue-gray against the pale tone of his skin. His wrist flexed just enough to show you the way the tendons moved.
“Superficial palmar arch?”
You raised your own hand, shaking but steadying. Your fingers hovered above his wrist, the closeness suddenly intimate in a way you hadn’t anticipated.
Then, featherlight, your fingertips brushed the warm skin just beneath the bend of his hand.
“Here,” you whispered, tracing along it.
His breath caught, barely, but you felt it. A slight shift in the way he held himself.
Still, he didn’t pull away.
Instead, he tilted his wrist more fully into your touch, like he was inviting it. Like he was saying, keep going without needing to say anything at all.
Your fingers followed the soft rise of a vein, skimmed the faint ridge of a callus at the base of his thumb, and traced the smooth stretch of his palm.
“Digital arteries…”
“Yeah,” he murmured, the word quiet and reverent. Like it meant more than just anatomy. “Exactly.”
You looked up at him.
His eyes were already on you.
They weren’t intense. Not in the way that made your skin crawl or made you feel seen in the wrong way. They were still and open, quiet and wondering. Like you were something he hadn’t quite understood until now. Something he didn’t want to stop understanding.
The air between you changed.
Not sharp. Not heavy. Just alive.
Your hand dropped slowly back into your lap, but the warmth of his skin lingered on your fingertips like static. You could still feel the outline of his wrist beneath your touch. A phantom imprint.
“I don’t know how I remembered all that,” you murmured, blinking hard, as if coming out of a trance. “I thought I was going to pass out.”
He didn’t laugh. Didn’t dismiss it.
He just watched you.
Because he knew. Not in theory, not in passing, but in his bones.
He had seen that look in the mirror before: the glassy, dissociated blur of someone halfway out of their own body, desperately trying to claw their way back in. And now he saw it on your face. Or rather, he had. And what a fucking relief it was to see you on the other side of it now. Whole.
“You stopped thinking about the panic,” he said after a moment. “That’s how it loosens its grip.”
It wasn’t a lesson. It wasn’t advice.
It was an offering.
You let out a shaky breath. Not quite a laugh. More like a soft huff, part disbelief, part reluctant amusement.
“That was manipulative.”
Conrad’s smile curled, crooked and unrepentant. “Maybe. But you’re still here.”
The words hit you deeper than you expected. And he saw it, felt it, when your eyes shimmered again, sudden and sharp, like the tide pulling back in. He didn’t say anything. He just sat there. Letting you feel.
“Yeah,” you said quietly. “I am.”
And something inside him pulled tight.
Because he’d wished for that once. Not long ago. To hear those words. To say them and have someone believe them.
To have someone sitting beside him, breathing through it, saying: You’re still here. And I see you.
The night held still. Even the wind seemed to hush, like it didn’t want to interrupt. The thump of the party behind the house faded into a distant heartbeat. Unimportant. Unnecessary.
The grass beneath you was cool now, no longer biting. The quiet was soft. And so was your voice.
“Thank you,” you said, not because it felt expected, but because it felt earned. True.
“You don’t have to thank me,” he replied, his voice low again. Like it was just for you. “Really.”
“No.” You turned to him fully this time, eyes finding his and staying. “I do. I feel like you saved my life.”
Conrad didn’t know what to do with that. Not at first.
The words slid past his defenses like they belonged there, like they were meant for an old version of him that had never gotten them.
And suddenly he was seventeen again. Curled up on the floor of a locked bathroom. Fists clenched against tile. Chest caving in. And no one on the other side of the door. No one to talk him down.
But here you were. Saying he had been that person for you.
He swallowed. Hard.
Something passed over his face, a flicker of surprise, of hesitation, of something unspoken catching in his throat before it could surface.
Then, softly, almost too softly to believe, it slipped out.
“You know…I get them too.”
Your breath caught.
“Panic attacks?” You asked.
He nodded, just once. The movement was small. Honest.
“Sometimes behind library stacks,” he said. “Sometimes in the shower. I don’t always know why. But I know what it feels like.”
He didn’t dramatize it. Didn’t make it a story. It was just truth. Simple and scarred.
And you stared at him, seeing him differently now—not as the quiet, clever boy who always seemed unbothered, unreadable—but as someone who’d carried things too heavy for words.
He had known your silence because it had once been his.
He had known your panic because it had once hollowed him out.
And all this time, he’d been living beside people who never noticed.
Until now. Until you.
He looked like he might say something more, his gaze flickering, lips parting slightly—
But he hesitated.
So you spoke first.
“I’m…”
You didn’t even know what you were trying to say. You just needed to say something. Anything to meet the weight of what he’d given you.
But before the words could take shape, he smiled again. And this time, it wasn’t the half-smile. It was real. It reached all the way to his eyes.
“I know who you are,” he said.
You blinked, thrown off. “You know a lot of things, Conrad.”
He huffed out a breath, amused and warm. “Seems like you do too.”
✧ Crying isn’t pretty. It’s snot, blotchy faces, gasping for air, and red-rimmed eyes. Forget the single tear rolling down like in Hollywood.
✧ Anger often hides hurt. People lash out, slam doors, shout, not always because they’re just mad, but because they’re covering up fear or pain.
✧ Shaking is common. Stress dumps adrenaline into the system. Hands tremble, voices break, knees won’t stay steady.
✧ People go quiet, too. Not all breakdowns are screaming and sobbing. Some are dead silence, staring off, numb responses. Equally devastating.
✧ Exhaustion hits after. The “post-breakdown crash” is real ... headaches, sore eyes, complete emotional hangover. They’ll want to sleep for hours.
✧ Words get messy. Rambling, repeating the same sentence, stuttering, saying things they don’t mean. Emotions trip over themselves on the way out.
✧ Breathing changes. Short, shallow breaths, hiccupping gasps, or holding their breath without realizing. Sometimes it even feels like they’re choking.
✧ Embarrassment creeps in. Once the wave passes, a lot of people feel ashamed, apologizing or avoiding eye contact. Vulnerability often leaves guilt in its wake.
✧ Physical pain shows up. Tight chest, stomach aches, tension headaches. Because emotions don’t just stay in the mind , the body carries them too.
Summary: Conrad for the past few years had convinced himself that him and his daughter were the only two things he needed. And he’d never planned for a time when that would change.
Author’s Note: Maybe the quickest I’ve ever written a request so I hope y’all love this as much as I do akflsjdls
“Come on, honey, we’re going to be late,” Conrad opens the back door of his Range Rover, to where his daughter Maeve was already unbuckling herself from her seat and clambering down, “Look at you! You don’t even need me anymore!”
He scoops her up into his arms, resting her on his hip as he grabs for her backpack too - a bright blue one with sea creatures scattered across it in different shades.
“Are you excited for your first day?” He asks her, slamming the car door behind him and locking the car.
He carries her over to the sidewalk and sets her down.
“Am I going to make new friends?” She asks him, wide green eyes gazing up at him with a slight worry in them.
“Of course you are!” He beams, squeezing her hand in his to reassure her, “You’re going to meet new people, play with a bunch of cool toys, and you get to meet your new teacher.”
“What if they are mean?” She pouts, her steps faltering a little as they near the gate to her kindergarten.
“Hey, hey,” He stops both of them, crouching down in front of her, “You’ve got nothing to be worried about, okay? You’re going to have the best time, I promise. And, if anyone’s not kind to you, what do you do?”
“I tell my teacher and I tell Daddy,” She sniffs, her lips still downturned in their concern.
“Exactly,” Conrad smiles softly, smoothing his hand over the two braids he’d managed to put into her hair - something he’d taught himself from a Youtube tutorial and a lot of practice, “Are you ready?”
She nods and he kisses the tip of her nose quickly, revelling in the sound of her giggle that follows. He opens the gate and they walk the rest of the way to the building, the door opening before they have a chance to do it.
“Hey there!” The woman at the door beams brightly, and the entire space between them seems to warm in her presence, “You must be Maeve Fisher, is that right?”
Maeve nods bashfully.
“Well, I’m your new teacher,” You explain, crouching down to Maeve’s height, “And, Maeve, I am very excited to have you in my class. Are you excited for your first day?”
Maeve hugs into her father’s leg a little more, her nerves creeping back again.
“We’re a little nervous, aren’t we Maeve?” Conrad runs a hand over her hair, looking over to the teacher.
You stand back up, extending her hand to him, “You must be Maeve’s father?”
“Yeah, Conrad,” He shakes her hand, “It’s nice to meet you.”
“You too,” You smile, returning your own name, “And, don’t worry, it’s normal for them to be nervous on their first day. It’s a big change, and a lot of big feelings. But I promise I’ll do whatever I can to make sure she settles in well.”
Conrad smiles, the worry in his chest easing with how reassuring the woman managed to be. She must’ve been around his age. Beautiful, too. The kind of beauty he could tell extended far past her appearance too - like her smile was a reflection of the brightness in her heart. In that moment, he was sure more than ever that Maeve would be in safe hands.
“And you’ll send updates? They told me something about an app so I downloaded it and-“ Conrad pauses, “And I sound just as nervous as she is.”
You chuckle, “Yes, I aim to send at least one update during the day for each child but if there is anything you’re not sure about you can text, you can call. I know how scary it must feel to be leaving her so, believe me, you’re also more than allowed to be nervous.”
He sighs, visibly relaxing, “I should be getting to work.”
“Maeve, is that okay? Are you okay if you come with me so we can let your Daddy get to work?” You crouch down in front of her again.
“My Daddy’s a doctor,” Maeve mumbles bashfully, stepping a little out from beside his leg.
“A doctor?” You raise your brows, an expression of excitement on your face to encourage her, “That’s a very cool job!”
Conrad looks down at you, smiling gently.
“Well, I’m sure he’s got lots of people to go and help. So do you want to come inside with me and meet the other children?” You extend a hand to her, “And then you’ll see your Daddy later today?”
She nods, letting go of her father’s hand to hold yours instead.
“Here’s her bag,” Conrad says as you stand back up, “There’s spare clothes in there, her jacket, a rainsuit, her lunchbox… pretty much anything I could think she might need.”
“Well, thank you for coming prepared, Dr Fisher,” You chuckle, “Cool bag, Maeve! I love dolphins too.”
She smiles a little, the furrow between her brows disappearing as she relaxed.
And, just like that, you both turn around and Maeve starts chatting away to you about how she liked sharks and jellyfish. You reply with enthusiasm to every word she spoke, smiling brightly. And, just before you turn the corner, Maeve looks back and waves wildly at her father. Conrad is sure he feels his heart shatter a little. There she was, walking into her first day of kindergarten. The first day of her entire life where he wouldn’t be there to see it all. He’d spent all night worrying about it. But it had all happened so quickly. And seeing the way you’d taken her under your wing, made her feel so welcome, he was certain that was one less thing he needed to worry about.
As he got back into his car, he found his thoughts momentarily drifting away from his daughter. And instead to the woman who’d held her hand. Those eyes, that smile. The heart that wrapped it all together.
———
The day flies by and Conrad finds himself leaving work earlier than planned so that he can get the car parked in plenty of time to pick Maeve up. There are already a flooding of parents waiting around the door, couples stood together anxiously waiting for their kids to come outside. Conrad stands awkwardly by himself, hands stuffed into his pockets, waiting at the back behind the rest of the group.
One by one, kids start to run out with another teacher in tow, making sure that each one got to their parents. As more families got reunited, Conrad found himself feeling increasingly anxious to be brought back to his daughter. And then, as more and more families start to disappear to return home, you round the corner with Maeve’s hand held in yours.
As soon as she sees him she grins widely, letting go of your hand to run outside to her father. He crouches down instantly, letting her little arms engulf him in a big hug. He feels his heart settle, as if a piece of himself had been returned to him.
“Hey, darling,” He smiles, “How was your day?”
“I got to play shops!”
“You did?” He beams, pulling away from her to look at her bright eyes, “Was it fun?”
She nods energetically, “And we read books and Miss Teacher is the best at reading books.”
He narrows his eyes at her, looking over to where you stood just a step behind, “She always says I’m bad at doing the voices.”
“Ah,” You laugh, “It comes with a lot of practise. And a willingness to completely embarrass yourself.”
He laughs, scooping Maeve up into his arms to settle her onto his hip like a piece of the puzzle he’d been missing all day, “She got on okay then?”
“It’s already a pleasure to have her in my class, Dr Fisher, Maeve was wonderful all day,” You smile sweetly, “She shared with other children, she helped me to tidy up the toys, she’s incredibly smart for her age.”
He feels his heart swell, a pride for his daughter he was sure would only continue to grow, “That’s really great to hear.”
“And we’re ready to do it all again tomorrow, isn’t that right Maeve?” You smile to the little girl, her eyes like a reflection of her father’s.
She nods excitedly, “Yes Miss Teacher!”
“Here’s her bag,” You hand him over the backpack, “Oh, and just one more thing Dr Fisher, just for our records - will it just be yourself picking up Maeve? Just so that the school know who to expect.”
He settles Maeve down onto the floor and she busies herself by trying to fix the large backpack onto her back, “Um, yeah. It’s just me. Maeve’s Mom isn’t…” He looks down as if making sure she wasn’t focused on him, “Well she’s not in the picture.”
You nod, “No problem at all. And, from what I can see, you seem to be doing a more than good job with her by yourself, Dr Fisher.”
“Thank you,” He inhales, “We get by.”
“Well, then I’ll see you both in the morning,” You smile, waving to Maeve.
“Yeah, yeah, bright and early,” Conrad squeezes his daughter’s hand, turning around to start walking away.
He stops in his tracks then, pausing momentarily to look back at you.
“And, please, call me Conrad.”
———
Over the next weeks, Conrad and Maeve both settle into their routine. He drops her off on time every morning, always with the same backpack just as full as the day before. She comes with more and more enthusiasm every day, excited to see you, to see her friends, to get back to a new day of kindergarten. He feels his heart swell at the sight every day, and break a little to accept that his daughter was becoming increasingly okay with being away from him. He arrives on time to pick her up every day until one single day, in December. Work had ran late, traffic hadn’t been on his side, and by the time he’d shown up, every other family had already left.
He’d hurried to the door, the lights still on. He stepped into the corridor, passed the coat hooks now empty from all the children that had already been picked up, apart from one hook still holding a blue backpack with sea creatures all over it.
“Look at that!”
He heard your voice before he saw you, warm, welcoming, relieving.
“Your Daddy’s going to love it!”
“Will he come back soon?” Maeve responded and Conrad felt his heart break a little at the sound of the worry in her voice.
Then, you look up from where you were sat at the desk with Maeve. You smile warmly at him, your shoulders relaxing.
“Well, he’s already here!” You smile and Maeve turns around excitedly.
“Daddy!”
She jumps down from her seat, running over to him faster than her legs can keep up with, bundling herself into his arms.
“I’m so sorry I’m late, honey,” He says softly, holding a hand to the back of her head, “I’m so sorry.”
She doesn’t speak, burying her head into his neck like he’d been missing for a short eternity.
“I am really sorry,” He sighs to you, standing up in his spot, “I tried to get out of work earlier but one of the other doctor’s wasn’t in and then I got stuck in traffic on the way home and then-“
You shake your head, “Conrad, don’t worry. Everyone’s been there.”
“I just-“ He sighs deeply again, “I feel awful.”
He sets Maeve down to the floor and she runs off to go and play with the toys you’d left out for her, picking up where you’d left off. She grabs a teddy bear and places a fake stethoscope to its chest. Conrad’s eyes follow her momentarily before they turn back to you.
“I promised I’d never let work come before her. And then today I just lost track of time and-“ He drags a hand over his face, “I felt sick driving over here.”
“Conrad,” You reach out to touch his arm, “Don’t beat yourself up, honestly.”
You notice then, the contact you’d made, and you pull your hand away bashfully.
“Sorry,” You smile shyly.
Conrad smiles back, taking a deep breath as if he’d visibly relaxed, “Thank you for staying with her.”
You shake your head, “Anytime, honestly.”
He seems to calm then, returning to himself.
“Actually, whilst we were waiting, Maeve made a little something for you,” You explain, taking a piece of pink paper from the table, “She told me this is your house, and this is you and her.”
He holds the artwork in his hands, smiling warmly at her attempt of drawing the two of them. She’d drawn him with a teddy bear in his hand - what she thought he used to make everyone feel better at the hospital. And she’d drawn a teddy bear in her own hand too, matching the one in his.
“Maeve told me when she grows up she wants to be just like her Daddy,” You beam, “She told me it didn’t matter that you were late today because you were saving lives.”
He chuckles gently, “Yeah, yeah, she has a habit of telling people that’s what I do.”
You laugh, “Well, I believe her.”
He looks up at you, his eyes softened with a brim of tears, “Seriously, thank you so much. Maeve tells me everyday how much she loves ‘Miss Teacher’.”
You grin, “Well, I’m glad. But you don’t need to thank me, Maeve’s the kind of kid that makes this job the easiest job in the world.”
He looks over to his daughter, in the middle of telling the teddy bear that he would feel better in the morning, “Maeve, darling, let’s get going. We need to leave Miss Teacher to actually get home at some point tonight.”
She stands up and runs over to you both, reaching for his hand instantly.
“I’ll walk out with you,” You mention, grabbing your bag and your coat.
Conrad waits for you at the door to the classroom as the three of you then walk out to the playground, empty as the dark started to settle over the school. You lock the door behind you, walking out with them towards where Conrad parked his car.
“Is your car nearby?” He stops to ask you.
“Oh, well, normally,” You drag a hand through your hair, “But I had to drop it at the garage earlier today so I’d planned to get a lift with another teacher. But the garage is closed now… and I’ve just realised my house keys are in that car,” You grimace, looking down as if embarrassed by your own mistakes.
“Well no I-“ Conrad stops himself, “I mean, I could drive you somewhere if you want.”
“Oh no I couldn’t ask you to do that,” You shake your head.
“You’re not asking,” He reminds you, “I offered.”
“Only if you’re sure.”
“Maeve?” Conrad scoops her back into his arms, “Do you want to go on a little adventure to drop Miss Teacher home?”
She nods eagerly, “Are you coming in my Daddy’s car?”
“If that’s okay with you,” You smile gently, “That would be very kind of you.”
“You can come with us,” She smiles, letting Conrad carry her around to her side of the car, locking her into her seat.
You climb into his passenger seat, the car looking like it had been freshly cleaned. It smelt of pine and cherry.
“Sorry about the smell,” Conrad grimaces a little as he clips in his seatbelt, “I let Maeve pick an air freshener when I got the pine one because she wanted one for her seat as well and now it just… I don’t think the two go well together.”
You chuckle, “Don’t worry about it.”
“Here, do you want to put an address in?” He presses the screen of his car to direct you to the map, “There might be some weird stuff in there, Maeve likes to sit in the front and press the screen sometimes when we get home.”
You smile, “Yeah, um, I’m actually not sure where to go.”
Conrad looks over to you, “Is there someone who’s got a spare key?”
“My sister does,” You nod, “She’ll finish work later tonight.”
“You can come back with us,” Conrad suggests, “I mean, you can at least stay until she finishes or you figure something out.”
“Oh, no, I really wouldn’t want to intrude.”
“You wouldn’t be,” He assures you, “I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t mean it.”
“That would be great, then, thank you.”
“Okay the other thing you need to be aware of,” Conrad begins, switching to his music on the screen, “Maeve only lets us listen to one band in the car.”
“Band?”
“She loves the beatles,” He grins proudly, “And they’re, apparently, all we’re allowed to listen to.”
“I’m good with that,” You laugh, looking back to her in the back seat, “How did that come about?”
“Well,” Conrad begins, swinging the car out of the parking space, “I used to, very badly, sing Blackbird to her when she was a baby. And then when she was maybe two she started learning some of the words. And then one day when she was a bit older I asked her what she wanted to listen to in the car and she asked for ‘the birdy song’ so we started listening and just never stopped.”
“That’s so sweet,” You beam, “I love that song.”
“Good taste,” He eyes you through the rearview mirror, “Maeve, are you going to show Miss Teacher how you sing your favourite song?”
Maeve starts singing loudly from the backseat, not missing a single word. And Conrad smiles proudly at the wheel, laughing every time her voice rose loudly over the words.
He drives into the streets of Cousins, The Beatles still sounding through the speakers, Maeve still attempting to sing along to all of the songs she knew, Conrad helping her out over the words she wasn’t sure of.
———
Their house was right near the water, grand and towering and somehow still instantly homely.
“Wow, your house is beautiful,” You say to him as you all get out of the car, Maeve hurrying ahead to get to the door.
“Thank you,” Conrad nods, “It was my Mom’s house, and I wanted Maeve to have the same childhood I’d had here every summer. So I figured why not just leave here year round?”
You smile at his response, thanking him as he lets you in ahead of him.
The house smells like fresh laundry and amber. To the right, as soon as you step in, there’s a huge playroom set up for Maeve - a big powder blue dollhouse, an easel, a chalkboard, a big doctor’s playset, trucks and cars, dolls and teddy bears, everything she could possibly imagine.
“She’s been pretending to be a teacher,” Conrad points out as he pulls Maeve’s shoes off, setting them onto a shelf, “I’m her only student.”
You smile warmly, your heart swelling.
“Come on Maeve, let’s go get your dinner ready.”
As if in domestic bliss, you, Conrad and Maeve all go through to make dinner. You help her color in a picture of fish and coral whilst Conrad quickly cooks up pasta for her on the stove.
He brings over a bowl and a bright orange spoon, checking the temperature of it on his own lip before letting her eat.
Both of you entertain her as best as you can, encouraging her until she finishes the whole bowl.
“Well she’s better behaved when Miss Teacher is here,” Conrad leans back in his chair.
You smile, “It comes with the job.”
“We should probably start getting you ready for bed,” Conrad comments to his daughter, wiping her mouth with a cloth.
“Can Miss Teacher read my book to me?” She pouts at him, a look you were sure he could never refuse.
He looks to you and back to her, “Maeve I think she’s done enough work already today. You’ll have to deal with Daddy reading you your book.”
“Oh come on,” You shake your head, “I mean… I’d be happy to if you don’t mind.”
“Wh-“ Conrad smiles softly, “Yeah, yeah, okay.”
You nod and stand up as he lifts her from her chair, setting her onto his hip.
You follow him upstairs as Conrad takes her to the bathroom, getting her ready for bed. You hear her giggle loudly at whatever he said or did, like the two of them were wrapped in complete adoration for each other. He brings her back into the room, setting her down into the plush bed, tucking her in tightly with a beige plushie dog tucked in beside her. You settle down into the seat beside her bed, taking the book they were halfway through and starting to read as Conrad pulls the door almost closed behind him.
By the time you finish the chapter, Maeve is already asleep, her breaths deep and even. You creep out as quietly as you can and back down the steps, hoping they remain silent beneath your feet.
When you get back into the kitchen, Conrad is stood over the stove stirring food around a pan.
“She’s asleep,” You say quietly, stepping over to him.
“Thank you,” He smiles softly, “I’m making some dinner if you want some.”
“Oh you don’t have to-“
“I know,” He interrupts you, “But you didn’t ask, I offered.”
You laugh gently, “Thank you.”
He nods, scooping some food into a bowl for you, and handing it over.
You smile, taking a spoonful and near enough groaning over the taste, “This is ridiculously good.”
He tilts his head, watching you, a soft smile on his lips, “You’re ridiculously welcome.”
You chuckle, taking a seat at the table as he follows you over with his own bowl of food, sitting at the head of the table, at the corner with you.
“Thank you for doing this,” You say, “Not just the food, but… well, you know.”
Conrad shrugs, “Come on, you took care of Maeve, you read to her, that’s worth a hell of a lot more.”
You smile, “She’s a really great kid.”
“You know something?” He swallows, “That’s the first night of her life I’ve not read to her to go to sleep.”
“Really?” You raise your brows.
He shrugs, “It’s always just been the two of us. From the first night we were in the hospital I read her a chapter of the book I was reading. And then I guess I just read every night since.”
“I don’t want to pry but-“ You stop yourself, “What about Maeve’s Mom?”
“Um,” He clears his throat, “She just wasn’t ready to have kids. I don’t think she realised it until Maeve was already born.”
“That must’ve been really hard on you.”
“I’m just happy she left when Maeve was too young to remember it,” He takes a breath, “As horrible as that sounds, I’m just glad Maeve doesn’t really know how to miss her Mom, if that makes sense.”
“Has she ever asked about her?”
“Just once, yeah,” He nods, “The first day she went for a playdate with this girl that lives down the street. She came home and asked me why that girl had a Mom and a Dad and she only had a Dad.”
You furrow your brows, like you could feel the hurt radiating from him, “What did you say?”
“I told her that every family was different, and that ours was just me and her now,” He nods slowly, “And I told her that I loved her and that was it.”
“Do you think-“ You stop, “Sorry, I don’t want to overstep.”
“You’re not,” He assures you.
“Do you think she’ll ever… I mean, would you ever want her Mom to be in her life?”
“When Maeve was younger, like when we had the sleepless nights and she wasn’t eating or when she got sick or she cried and cried… I used to think like she’s never going to deserve her, you know? Like I’m the one doing all of this and she’s not allowed to change her mind and decide she wants this,” Conrad shakes his head, “But now I just think… she’s her Mom. And Maeve’s like the easiest kid in the world to love, who wouldn’t want to love her? If her Mom ever changed her mind then… I don’t know, I’d be reluctant, I’d probably be pretty protective, but I couldn’t deny anyone the chance to have someone like her in their life.”
You feel tears brim in your eyes, “You’re a really good Dad, you know that?”
“Maeve likes to remind me every so often,” He smiles jokingly, “But thank you.”
You smile, finishing off the rest of your food.
“What made you want to be a teacher?” He leans back in his chair.
“Well, I started babysitting when I was in college just to get some extra money and people kept telling me I was a natural with kids,” You explain, “And I just… there’s something so beautiful about getting to somewhat be a part of helping kids to grow up, to learn, to figure themselves out and how the world works. I couldn’t think of doing anything else with my life.”
“It really is like you were made to be a teacher.”
“You think so?” You smile softly, “I’m glad.”
Both of you fall silent for a moment.
“So, how easy is it to date as a teacher?” Conrad asks.
You laugh a little, “I spend my evenings doing arts and crafts for the kids and planning lessons to teach them phonics. I don’t remember the last time I went on a date. What about you - as a doctor and a father?”
Conrad chuckles, “The last person I dated was Maeve’s Mom.”
“Nobody since?”
“Nobody,” He shakes his head, “I can’t imagine trying to explain all of this to them. When I’m not working, my whole life is about Maeve. I’d never want to bring someone into her life that was just going to leave again.”
“I think that’s a really good way to think,” You encourage, “But do you ever think you’ll be at a point where you put yourself first again?”
Conrad pauses for a moment, “I couldn’t imagine putting anyone before Maeve.”
“I know what you mean, sometimes I’m sure I’ll never find someone that I could put before the kids in my class,” You nod, “They’re always going to come first.”
Before he can speak again, Maeve’s voice calls out faintly for her father. He smiles at the sound, getting up from his chair without a second thought and going up to her.
“Hey darling,” He smiles, “Can’t sleep?”
She shakes her head, snuggling against the pillow, “I lost Rosie.”
“Oh don’t worry, she’s just here,” He picks up the toy dog from the floor, tucking her back under the covers with Maeve.
He perches on the edge of her mattress, running a hand over her hair.
“Go back to sleep honey,” He leans down and kisses her forehead softly.
“Daddy?” She says as he pulls away, “Can Miss Teacher come round every night?”
He chuckles lowly, “You like her, huh?”
“She’s my favourite lady.”
“Yeah,” Conrad nods, “She’s pretty great.”
Maeve’s eyes flutter closed then, her head snuggled against Rosie the dog.
Conrad looks down at her, realising then that this was the first dinner guest he’d ever had round that wasn’t his father or Jere or Steven or Laurel. This was the first time he’d welcomed anyone into the routine him and Maeve had that he’d always held so sacred. And somehow you’d fit into it all so naturally, so simply. That was the first time he’d opened up to anyone about Maeve’s mother, being a single father, how he felt about it all.
And part of him was sure he wanted to see you again.
He stepped back out of Maeve’s room, and back down the stairs to you.
When he gets there, you’re fixing your jacket over your shoulders, your bag slung over one arm.
“You’re going?” Conrad swallows the lump in his throat.
“Yeah, um, my sister just got here, she said she’ll drop me home,” You explain, “Thank you so much for tonight, you really saved me.”
He shakes his head, walking with you towards the front door, “You don’t need to thank me. Although I’ll now blame you if Maeve complains tomorrow night that I don’t read her books well enough.”
You giggle and the sound relaxes the nerves in his chest.
“Well, I’ll see you next week, then. Monday morning,” You smile, going to open the front door.
Conrad stops, his hand reaching for the door before yours, pausing with his hand on the door knob, “I wanted to ask you…”
You frown, eyes looking up at him where he stood so close to you.
“Sorry,” Conrad flinches, taking a step back, “I just wanted to ask… my brother’s in town next weekend. I don’t know if you have plans but maybe… well I was thinking I could ask him to stay with Maeve on Friday night and we could… I mean if you wanted to we…”
He sighs then, like he’s giving up on the idea all together.
“Conrad,” You place a hand to his arm, your thumb smoothing over the skin, “I would love to.”
“Oh,” He inhales sharply, “Right, yeah, okay, sure.”
You chuckle gently, “Then I’ll see you on Monday?”
“Yeah, bright and early.”
———
For the rest of the week, seeing Conrad at drop-off and pick-up feels you with nerves like you were a kid with your first crush.
Until Friday rolls around and he’s driving to your place to pick you up, on time and smartly dressed.
He drives you both to a restaurant in town, opens your car door for you and lets you step through the restaurant door first.
He pulls out your chair when you get to the table, smiling bashfully as he sits down opposite you.
“This restaurant is beautiful,” You glance around, watching as he takes the menu in his hand.
“Yeah, I saw it when it opened and I thought maybe it would be a good place for a date. And this is the first date I’ve had since,” Conrad smiles softly.
You chuckle, “Yeah, well, I’m honoured.”
He looks down, a flush of red on his cheeks.
“You know, I have to say,” You pause momentarily, “I don’t… do this. I don’t date my students parents or anything I just… well, I just don’t want you thinking this is normal for me.”
Conrad shakes his head, “I wasn’t thinking that.”
“I’m not even sure if this is a good idea or not but-“ You laugh a little to ease your embarrassment, “Well, I couldn’t say no to you.”
Conrad smiles, taking a deep breath, “Then, for tonight you’re not my daughter’s teacher, and I’m not your student’s father, we’re just two people on a date in a nice restaurant and that is all.”
“Deal,” You return, “So, are you a beer or a wine guy Conrad?”
The two of you talk through a shared bottle of wine, through appetizers that you put in the middle of the table to share, and entrees you make each other try. You talk about your childhoods and the random things you were obsessed with as kids, you talk about how you spent your summers and films you loved and albums you’d grown up with. You talk through so much you feel like you’re starting to know his entire life, the things that light up his eyes, the things he kept close to his heart. And he listens to you, like, really listens. He asks questions, he tilts his head and nods when you respond. You find yourself melting into your time with him, like the entire night could go by and you wouldn’t have realised that even a minute had passed.
And then his phone starts to buzz on the table, from where he’d placed it screen down in the middle.
“Sorry I should-“ He stops as he picks it up to silence it, “It’s Jere, my brother.”
“Go ahead,” You encourage him, “Answer it.”
“I mean I-“ He purses his lips, “It’s just if it’s something with Maeve then I-“
“Conrad, honestly, answer it. It’s okay.”
He takes a deep breath and picks up the call, “What’s up Jere?”
You can’t hear his brother on the other end of the phone but you see the shift in Conrad’s expression.
“Did you read her the book on the nightstand?” Conrad asks, offering you an apologetic smile, “No, no, not that one, we already finished that one.”
You smile gently, thanking the waiter as he comes to collect your empty plates.
“Okay, yeah, yeah, I-“ Conrad stops, “Just give me a minute, Jere. Yeah, I’ll see you soon.”
He hangs up the call and looks over to you, his shoulders dropping.
“Maeve won’t sleep. I think she’s just overtired now but he said she’s crying and she won’t settle, she just keeps asking for me.”
“Then let’s go back,” You encourage.
“I-“ Conrad sighs, “Is that okay?”
“Of course it is,” You promise him, “She needs you.”
He takes a deep breath before agreeing with you, calling for the check and promising you he wanted to cover it, you thank him and both gather up your things, out of the restaurant and to his car in moments. He drives back a little quicker, not excessively so but enough to make you aware that he’s worried. When you get to the house, his brother is already waiting at the door with Maeve on his hip.
“I’m so sorry man I tried everything,” Jere winces as Conrad hurries over, “I didn’t know what else to do.”
“Hey darling,” Conrad beams to his daughter, swooping her into his arms, “You’re up late, aren’t you? Should we get you to bed?”
He holds her against his chest, her tired head resting on his shoulder, carrying her towards the stairs.
“Should we go find Rosie? I bet she’s tired too,” Conrad says to her as they disappear up and towards her room.
Jeremiah looks back to you bashfully as you close the front door behind you, “You must be the girl my brother was very excited to go on a date with?”
You chuckle, “Yeah, yeah, I think that’s me,” You say, offering him your name, “And you’re Jere, right?”
“That’s the one,” He nods, “I’m really sorry to have ruined your night, I just… I don’t know how Conrad does it.”
“How do you mean?”
“Single parenting,” Jeremiah half-laughs, “I couldn’t even do it for one night.”
“Oh come on,” You shake your head, “It just comes with a lot of patience and a lot of practice.”
“Yeah,” Jeremiah exhales, “Conrad was always just so reluctant to ask for help, even from when he first had her, he did everything by himself. This is like the first time I’ve looked after Maeve that wasn’t just to help him out whilst he was working.”
“Really?”
“Really,” Jeremiah looks over to you, “Conrad never does anything for himself. This is the first time since even before he had her that I’ve seen him actually go out and enjoy himself for a night. I’d take that as a compliment if I were you.”
You smile, looking up towards the stairs where Conrad had just disappeared from.
“You two had a good night? Until I interrupted, obviously.”
You look to Jere and nod, “Probably the best date… yeah, the best date I think I’ve ever had.”
“Well, look at that,” Jeremiah’s lips curl into a bright smile, “You have that same look in your eye that he does when he talks about you.”
You look down shyly, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks.
“I should go and check if he needs anything,” He nods politely to you, jogging up the stairs towards his brother.
You walk through towards the kitchen, stopping at the scattering of photos Conrad had framed on the wall in the entrance hallway. Each one was a polaroid photo of him and Maeve, holding a different birthday cake in each one with a different number for each year, each one a different bright color. In every photo, he had Maeve sat on his knee, his arm held around her tightly, both of their smiles just as bright in each one. In every year that has passed it had always just been the two of them. Sure, they might have had some family or friends around, but when the days ended and the night fell, it was just him and her. And it always had been. There was something so admiral about it, you thought, his ability to take fatherhood completely in his stride. And he sure seemed like a natural at it.
“She’s asleep.”
His voice makes you flinch, turning around to see him just stepping down from the last step.
“She wanted Uncle Jere to stay with her so he agreed,” Conrad smiles, “They’re both fast asleep up there now.”
You chuckle, “Babysitting is tiring work.”
“Yeah, yeah, it is,” Conrad comes up behind you, looking over your shoulder at the photos across the wall.
You feel your breath hitch at the feeling of him so close behind you, like you could practically feel his shadow wrapping around behind you.
“That one on her fourth birthday,” Conrad points over your shoulder at the photo, “I’d planned this whole party for her - I’d invited Jere and my Dad, and the Conklins as well. And then there was this storm in Philly and none of them could get here, and my Dad and Jere had some big problem at the company and couldn’t make it. And Maeve woke up that morning and I felt horrible. Like I was the worst Dad in the world.”
You frown at the sound of him talking about himself like that, turning your head just enough to watch him talk.
“And then she came downstairs and she saw all of her presents waiting, and I’d blown up all of these balloons, and she just threw her arms around me and-“ Conrad smiles, his voice cracking over the memory, “I just remember thinking that was all I needed. And then I was all she needed too. We made pancakes, we had a dance party in the lounge, we watched her favorite movie, and then I set up my camera on a timer and we still took our photo together.”
You smile, feeling a lump form in your throat at the thought.
“She told me that night that it was the best birthday she’d ever had,” He chuckles, “I don’t even know if she could remember her other birthdays but… I still believed her.”
You take a deep breath, turning around to face him, “You know Conrad, you’re always allowed to put her first. Always. I don’t want you to feel bad about choosing to come home tonight.”
“I-“ Conrad sighs deeply, “I just felt like I ruined our night.”
“Hey, no,” You shake your head, “You didn’t ruin anything. You had to be a Dad, I’d be stupid and ridiculously selfish to not see that.”
“So, I know you said you don’t date your students’ parents,” He pauses, tilting his head a little as he looks down at you, “But would you break that rule a second time?”
You laugh gently, quietly, like neither of you wanted to disturb the moment between you, “Yeah, yeah, I think I would.”
“Yeah?” Conrad feels the corners of his lips upturn, hopeful for the first time in a long time.
“Yeah.”
Conrad smiles, leaning down slowly, his eyes flicking from your eyes to your lips. And then, softly, gently, his lips meet yours. As you kiss him back, it ignites the confidence in him, his hands moving to your waist, firm and sure of themselves.
You pull away, your hands resting on his chest.
“So I know dinner ended early,” Conrad says lowly, “How does dinner and a movie sound?”
“It sounds perfect,” You smile, a gesture that seemed instinctive as soon as he was around.
“Come on,” He laces his hand with yours, leading you through the house to the lounge.
You both sit on the couch, debating over a movie to watch before settling for a random action movie Conrad scrolls far enough to find. He’s nervous at first, sitting next to you like a teenage boy on his first date. You shuffle closer to him, lifting his arm up from beside him to loop around you. He blushes bashfully, looking down.
“Sorry,” He chuckles, “Can you tell I haven’t done this in a while?”
You lean into his chest, both of you relaxing into each other, “You’re doing just fine.
He shifts his hand so that it’s around your waist, drawing you close to him.
And somewhere in the comfort and the mediocre film and the hour growing late, both of you doze into a welcome sleep.
———
“Daddy! Wake up Daddy!”
You’re bolted awake by two little hands shaking at your legs. And, reluctantly, your eyes adjust to the bright light of the morning, Conrad’s arm still around you, your head still on his chest, and Maeve now stood in front of both of you trying to shake you both awake.
“Hey darling,” Conrad grumbles, rubbing a hand over his eyes to try to get them to focus on the morning.
He shifts beside you as both of you sit up against the couch, his arms reaching up to scoop Maeve into his grasp.
“Good morning you two,” Jeremiah speaks up, walking around to flop down onto the armchair in the lounge.
“Morning,” Conrad mumbles tiredly, sitting Maeve onto his knee.
“Miss Teacher did you have a sleepover with my Daddy?” Maeve asks you, holding her dog toy in her arms.
“I did, yeah,” You smile, tiredly at her, “And you got to come and wake us up!”
“My Uncle Jere told me to,” She says and Jeremiah grins widely from his seat, “Will you stay over again?”
You look over to Conrad and he smiles softly, “Would you like that Maeve?”
She nods eagerly.
“Well I can’t say no to you,” You laugh, looking over to Conrad, “Or you.”
He grins, tilting his head to kiss the top of Maeve’s head softly.
———Eight Months Later———
“Happy birthday beautiful!” You grin widely as Maeve greets you at the door, wearing a bright green dress and a party hat on her head.
“Thank you Miss Teacher!” She grins, letting you scoop her into your arms, her small arms wrapping around your neck.
“Did you have a good morning with your Daddy?” You ask her, “Did he make… pancakes?”
“Lots and lots of them!” She beams, kicking her legs excitedly.
“Hey!” Conrad smiles warmly when he sees you, “I see Maeve got to you before I could.”
You smile as he walks over to you, leaning down to kiss you quickly.
“Do you want to see what presents I got you?” You say to Maeve and she’s quick to wiggle out of your arms to get down to the floor, “Here you go honey.”
She takes the big bag from you and runs towards the lounge.
“Maeve what do you say?” Conrad calls after her and he’s met with a loud ‘thank you’ from his daughter, followed by the sound of wrapping paper tearing
He turns around to you, kissing you for a moment longer.
“Thank you,” He repeats on behalf of his daughter, wrapping an arm around your waist as the two of you walk through to where she was already opening the first gift.
“Daddy look at this!” Maeve yells excitedly, holding up the doctor Barbie you’d got her, “She’s like you!”
“Look at that,” Conrad smiles, eyeing you as he does, “I bought her a teacher Barbie too.”
You grin, “Well, now she can have both.”
He kisses you again, turning to watch as Maeve opens up a craft set you’d got her and a bundle of new books.
“Thank you Miss Teacher!” Maeve scrambles up from her spot and comes over to wrap her arms around your legs, “Best presents ever!”
“Is that right?” You grin mischievously, looking over to Conrad who simply rolls his eyes.
“Are you okay to wait here for a second?” Conrad squeezes your hand.
“Sure.”
You crouch down as Maeve starts bringing you over toys she’d been given - a kitchen set that Uncle Jere had bought her, a bunch of games that Uncle Steven had bought.
Just then, Conrad comes walking back into the room, now holding a small heart shaped cake with white frosting and rainbow sprinkles and the number ‘6’ in a big green candle on top.
“Oh look at this Maeve!”
You grin and lift her up onto the couch, extending your arms to take the cake from Conrad. He drops down onto the couch beside her and she instantly clambers onto his knee, her feet kicking excitedly as you both sing ‘happy birthday’ to her.
She shuts her eyes tightly and blows out the candle and you both cheer.
“Alright are you ready?”
You pass the cake over to Conrad’s free hand as he holds one arm around Maeve’s torso. You grab the camera from the coffee table and hold it up to the two of them.
“Alright big smiles!” You grin, correcting the angle to get them both into frame.
Maeve and Conrad offer you matching smiles as you snap the photo of the two of the, letting the photo print out from the camera.
“Daddy we need to put it on the wall!”
“I know darling,” Conrad chuckles, setting the cake down onto the table, “We’ll put it up before you go to bed, okay?”
You go to stand up from where you are and Conrad reaches his free hand out to stop you.
“Where are you going?”
You frown, “Wh-“
“Come here,” He tugs your arm, encouraging you to sit down beside him.
He takes the camera from your hand and outstretches an arm in front of all three of you.
“Maeve can you do one more big smile?” Conrad squeezes her into him.
You lean in on the other side of him, and all three of you smile widely at the camera as he snaps the photo.
It prints out and Conrad takes it from the top, Maeve wriggling down from his leg to go over and admire her cake.
It develops in front of the two of you and Conrad holds it in his hands.
“Look at her little face,” You smile at Maeve’s cheesy grin, “She looks so much like you there.”
“Yeah, I’m starting to see it more now she’s growing up,” He nods, “I think she looks like my Mom.”
You feel your heart clench and you squeeze his arm at the confession, leaning into him like you were reminding him of any comfort you could give.
He turns and kisses your head, adjusting on the couch to take his wallet from his pocket, tucking the photo inside.
He looks back at you and kisses you longingly, sealing you there in this moment, in this house, in this family. For the first time in a long time Conrad had let himself open his heart and his home to someone and he counted his lucky stars that it was you who he’d done that for.
And as he looked over, Maeve looked back at him with the cheesiest grin and he wondered for a moment if he was finally accepting that he didn’t need to be all she needed. He saw the way her face lit up when he saw you, the way you spoke to her and listened to every word she said, the way you took her under your wing without a second thought. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind that you were a good and bright and needed presence in Maeve’s life, just as much as you were all of those things in his.
And so, for the first time since Maeve had been born, Conrad found himself settling into the idea that their family no longer needed to begin and end with just the two of them. That maybe, for the years to come, there would be space for three people in the photographs.
Every Little Thing about You | Conrad Fisher x Insecure!Reader
Pairing: Conrad Fisher x Insecure!Reader
Genre: Slow-burn romance, angst, fluff
Summary: You have always faded into the background at Cousins, convinced you are not enough. But Conrad notices every little detail like the song you hum when nervous, the way you do your hair, the corners you hide in. He shows you that those little things are exactly why he loves you.
Note: In case you need more of our Connie baby!
--
The first time I realized just how much Cousins felt like a stage, I was fifteen. The house was alive with music. Jeremiah had convinced everyone to dance in the living room, and laughter echoed down the hallways like it belonged to someone else’s life. I stood by the edge of the kitchen, holding a half-empty soda, smiling faintly so no one would ask me why I was not joining.
Back then, I thought maybe it was just nerves, that I would grow into it one day. But three summers later I still found myself in the same spot, hovering at the edge of everyone else’s joy, waiting for someone to notice and knowing they probably wouldn’t.
I told myself I was fine with it. Not everyone had to be loud or bright or beautiful to belong. But some nights the thought pressed so heavily on my chest that I could hardly breathe.
I looked at Belly and wondered how she could look so effortless when she walked into a room. I looked at Jeremiah and saw how people leaned into his warmth without a second thought. Even Steven, who complained about everything, had a way of pulling people in with his energy.
And Conrad…Conrad was different. He did not even have to try. He was magnetic in the way the tide is, slow and certain and impossible to resist. People turned their heads when he walked by, not because he asked them to, but because he was simply that kind of person.
And then there was me.
I sat in corners. I read books no one asked about. I braided my hair when I felt eyes on me because it made me feel safer if my face was half hidden. I hummed without realizing, a tune I had learned from my mother when I was small, whenever my nerves took over. They were the things I hated about myself, the things I thought no one noticed, or at least no one cared to.
But Conrad did.
The night I discovered that still plays in my mind like a turning tide. The others were inside playing a game that made the whole house shake with laughter. I carried a blanket onto the porch, wrapping it tightly around me as if it could shield me from how small I felt. The book on my lap was open but unread. I hummed softly, the sound barely more than a whisper against the ocean breeze.
“You always hum that when you’re nervous.”
I startled, my head jerking up. Conrad leaned against the railing, one hand braced on the wood, his gaze steady but unreadable. The porch light made his hair glow faintly, and I felt a flush rise in my cheeks.
“I did not see you,” I said quickly.
“I know,” he answered, with the faintest curve at the corner of his mouth. “But I see you.”
The words sank into me like stones dropped into deep water. He saw me. Not just in that moment, but in a way that meant he had been noticing long before I realized. My throat went dry, and I said nothing more, but when he slipped back inside, the invisible thread that connected us tugged tighter, and I felt its weight for the first time.
After that, I began to notice how he noticed me.
At breakfast, when Jeremiah cracked a joke and the table erupted with noise, I sat quietly, pushing food around my plate because the knot in my stomach always made eating difficult in the mornings. Conrad reached across without a word and slid the bowl of strawberries closer to me. I blinked, surprised, because I had never told him that strawberries were the only thing I could eat when my nerves were bad. He knew anyway.
At the beach, when everyone shouted and splashed in the waves, I curled into the shade of the umbrella, tugging at my oversized shirt, ashamed of how my body looked compared to Belly’s. Conrad sat beside me with his book, leaning back so close that our shoulders almost brushed. He did not question me, did not tease, and did not try to drag me into the water. He simply stayed, and his silence felt like comfort instead of pressure.
When my hair fell loose and I clumsily braided it again, cheeks burning because I hated the way my face looked exposed, his eyes lingered on me for a moment longer than necessary. Not in a way that made me feel small, but in a way that made me feel like maybe he thought I was worth looking at.
The little things began to stack up, one after another. When I carried too many cups out to the porch, hands trembling, he reached to take the heavier ones before I could spill them. When I sat in the far corner during a movie night, he ended up choosing the chair closest to mine, even though the couch was free. When I laughed at Jeremiah’s jokes but too quietly for anyone else to hear, Conrad’s gaze flicked toward me as if he caught the sound anyway.
It made my chest ache, because these were the pieces of me I thought no one would want. And yet he seemed to memorize them as if they were important.
The night everything came undone started with a bonfire. The flames flickered against the sand, the music from someone’s speaker blended with the sound of the tide, and everyone was dancing, shouting, and alive in a way I could never be.
I sat at the edge, hugging my knees, pretending to smile when someone looked my way, but the weight inside me grew heavier and heavier until I finally slipped away.
The beach was quieter farther down. I sat where the sand was cool, the waves stretching close enough to brush my toes. My chest ached with the familiar thought that I was a shadow in a place meant for light. I did not hear him until the sand shifted under his footsteps.
“You left again,” Conrad said.
“I did not want to ruin it.”
His brow furrowed as he lowered himself to the sand beside me. “Ruin what?”
“The night. Everyone’s fun. I do not belong there.”
The words spilled out before I could swallow them back, bitter and small. I stared at the tide, unable to meet his eyes.
“You really think you ruin things?” he asked, his voice low.
“I am not like them,” I whispered. “I am not funny, or beautiful, or… anything. I am just the girl no one notices.”
Silence stretched, and shame burned hot in my chest. I wished I could take the words back and bury them deep. But then Conrad’s voice broke through, steady and unshaken.
“That is not true.”
I laughed weakly, bitter and sharp. “How would you know?”
“Because I notice everything about you,” he said. His eyes held mine, unflinching, soft in a way I had never seen before. “I notice the way you hum that song when you’re nervous. The way you braid your hair because you hate feeling exposed. I notice how you always take the corner seat at dinner so you can see everyone but no one can box you in. I know you love strawberries. I know you leave when you start thinking you’re not enough. But you are. More than enough. For me.”
The words cracked something open inside me, a wound I had been hiding for years. My throat tightened, my eyes stung, and I shook my head because it was too much to believe.
“Why me?” I whispered.
His chest rose and fell, his voice rougher when he spoke again. “Because you’re the only one who sees me for who I am. Not the perfect version everyone else wants, not the broken version I try to hide. Just me. And because all those little things you think make you less are the things I love most.”
The tide rolled closer, wrapping around our feet. The night air pressed in, heavy with salt and truth. I stared at him, the invisible thread between us now visible, tangible, and binding.
“You cannot mean that,” I said, though part of me wanted so badly to believe.
He leaned closer, his gaze steady. “I mean every word.”
The world seemed to still. The laughter from the bonfire faded behind us, the waves hushed, and the stars above held their breath.
He held out his hand, palm open, waiting. Not forcing, not rushing, just offering.
And for the first time, I let myself believe.
My hand slipped into his, trembling but certain. His fingers laced through mine, careful, as though he knew how fragile I felt. The warmth of his touch spread through me, grounding me, anchoring me. I stared at him, my heart hammering in a way I had never let myself notice, the thread between us tighter than ever.
He lifted his other hand slowly to my cheek, thumb brushing lightly against my skin. My breath caught. His eyes searched mine, soft and certain, asking the question I had been too afraid to voice myself. I nodded, and then he leaned closer.
The first touch of his lips against mine was gentle, almost hesitant, as if he was afraid I might vanish if he pressed too hard. But when I leaned into him, matching the quiet longing in his kiss, all the fears I had carried melted with the tide. My hands went to his shoulders, holding him close, and the world around us disappeared. I felt the heat of him, the steady strength of him, and I realized that every little thing I had thought made me unworthy was exactly what made him want me.
When we finally pulled back, breaths mingling, he rested his forehead against mine. “You are perfect,” he whispered, voice husky. “Every little thing about you.”
I smiled, tears threatening to spill, but this time they were not of sadness. For the first time, I felt seen, wanted, and loved. And that was enough.
--
This is for @alk12 Thank you for your incredible support and request. :)
Can't stop thinking about Conrad Fisher smiling when he says "and the one thing that never changes is that I love you".
It's just a fact of his life now. He's fully accepted, no matter what, he will love Belly for the rest of his life and is so happy and relieved to say it out loud to her, clearly. Even if she doesn't immediately reciprocate.
And he's said this sentiment before ("You're it for me Belly", "whatever happens, we'll be infinite", "I don't think I could ever get you" all before they were even officially a couple, "I love you, I will never not love you") but this time it's as an adult and after Belly has been brutally honest about her insecurities and doubts. He can reassure her knowing he means every single word and that he's not going anywhere, unless she wants him too.
It's not teenage infatuation. It's not part of his grief. It's just a part of who Conrad Fisher is at his core.
Jeremiah loved her as long as it was about him being chosen. If Belly’s choices were centered around him. Because Jeremiah’s issue was about feeling the need to be uplifted and reassured. He would’ve never allowed her to be in Paris to find herself simply because he’d be afraid that version of her wouldn’t choose him. And indirectly, he was holding her back from reaching her full potential.
Conrad loves her even if that doesn’t involve him. He loves every version that Belly wants to show him. He would never center himself around her. He encouraged her to be in Paris because he understood that it was something she needed to experience. And he would’ve been okay if that experience meant that he was losing her for good.
It’s all about intention. Conrad doesn’t need Belly to center him to give his love freely. Jeremiah does. It was starting to feel a bit transactional. Jeremiah wanted all of Belly, and you can’t have everything from a person. It doesn’t work like that.
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