conrad sits on the edge of the bed, hands clasped loosely between his knees, trying to steady the storm in his chest. the apartment is quiet, the city lights spilling soft patterns across the floor, and yet the silence feels suffocating. he can sense her presence on the other side of the room, small movements, the way she shifts, the faint inhale she doesn’t realize she’s taking, and it twists something deep in him. he’s spent months keeping his distance, convincing himself that walls and time could make the ache bearable, but being here, seeing her, feeling her near — it’s like every lie he told himself unravels in seconds. he swallows hard, jaw tight, thinking of the nights he spent rehearsing the words that never came, of the moments he let slip past because he was too afraid of what they might do. he hates that she has this hold over him, hates that even after all the distance, all the silence, he’s still drawn to her, still desperate for some sign that she feels even a fraction of the way he does. he’s aware of the tension in the space between them, the quiet pull of years and memory, and it makes him both reckless and fragile. he knows there’s a risk in speaking, knows that the wrong words could push @21chaos further away, but staying silent is unbearable.
finally, he leans forward, eyes locked on hers, letting the tension build between them like a live wire. his voice drops low, deliberate, carrying the weight of everything he’s kept inside for years. ❝ i came to paris for one reason, belly… ❞ he says, letting each word linger, almost trembling despite his effort to stay composed. ❝ because i love you. and i needed to know… if any part of you feels the same. if any part of you… feels even a fraction of what i’ve felt for years. ❞ he swallows again, the tightness in his chest refusing to relent, heart hammering in anticipation and fear. ❝ i can’t keep pretending i don’t care. i can’t keep pretending that distance or time made it any easier. and i can’t… not know what you feel. ❞ he leans back just slightly, letting the words hang in the quiet room, watching her, waiting for her to let him in or shut the door again, knowing either choice could change everything.
