Work Text:
He was sunshine
I was midnight rain
He wanted it comfortable
I wanted that pain
He wanted a bride
I was making my own name
Chasing that fame
He stayed the same
All of me changed
Like midnight
The bachelors and the bachelorettes end up in the same club, late at night. Conrad’s not too sure how, because it definitely wasn't part of the plan, definitely against his itinerary. But, there he is, watching Belly shake her hips to the sound of Ariana Grande’s We Can’t Be Friends.
It’s not his ideal Friday night. It’s not his ideal any night. Clubs weren’t really Conrad’s thing, if he had to, he’d take a bar. Somewhere he could nurse a drink and share a smoke, but drunk girls and dancing and loud, neon music wasn’t really his scene.
But the bachelor party wasn’t for him, so Jeremiah was in charge. Whatever the groom-to-be wanted, the rest of the bachelors followed.
There’s a glass of cold water in his hand as he leans up against the bar. Steven and Denise are somewhere to his right, talking in low voices that he can’t make out, stood a little too close to just be friends, swaying a little too flirty to not pretend. He’s happy for them, truly.
Jere and his fraternity brothers are bopping in the crowd on the dance floor somewhere, loudly and awkwardly. They’re easy to hear, Redbird’s voice is booming, even with the loud music and the singing. Jere puts on this jovial, bro-sort-of accent around them that isn’t hard for Conrad to miss either. Not because it’s loud but because it’s so unlike the Jeremiah he is used to.
And then, there’s Belly. There’s always Belly. As the best man, Conrad’s supposed to be keeping an eye on the groom, but his eyes can’t seem to leave the bride. She’s on her own, somehow. Her eyes are closed, firmly really, scrunched up in the corners. There’s a pink flush to her cheeks that Conrad can only just make out through the flashing lights of the club.
He thinks she’s happy. She’s moving freely.
Taylor sighs next to him, and Conrad glances away from Belly to look briefly down at Taylor. She, too, is leaning against the bar with a forlorn expression on her face.
Conrad lets out a little laugh, “Are you bothered about Steven and Denise?”
Taylor looks up at him and her lips quirk. She takes a little sip from her cocktail, her other hand smoothing the silk fabric of her dress. “No.” She looks back to Steven and Denise.
He chuckles at her again but his eyes move back to Belly. He watches the person she’s dancing next to spill a little bit of drink on her white dress.
“You’re one to talk,” Taylor’s voice is smooth but Conrad can clearly hear her distaste for him. “You haven’t stopped watching her.”
Conrad’s hand runs through his hair, it’s not even like he can deny it. With no defence, he stays silent. Belly is moving still, she hasn’t stopped. But her motion seems a little laggy, maybe it’s the club lights and the fake smoke, or maybe Conrad really is just in tune with her every move. Then she stops, all of a sudden, her eyes opening fully for the first time in a while.
She appears to fold in on herself, her palms going to her knees, her hair tipping over and covering her face. Conrad’s eyes flick to Jeremiah - he’s dancing and laughing, his arms around two of his college friends. There’s a little bubble of something rising up his throat, Conrad doesn’t want to say anger as it’s unreasonable to be angry at Jeremiah on his bachelor night when he’s five nothing wrong.
He watches Belly’s back rise and fall, fast, too fast, for only a second longer. Then, he’s moving. In one swift movement he puts his glass on the bar and turns to push his way through the crowd to Belly. The people part easily for him.
She’s so breathless she’s almost gagging when he reaches her. He puts his hand on the top of her back, carefully, but she swings around instantly.
Her eyes are wild when she looks at him. Her hand flings up to his chest, not to bring him closer but to keep him at bay. She looks fearful of him and it breaks Conrad’s heart more than anything else.
He has watched Belly, over the course of their lives, go through a plethora of feelings for him. He’s never been oblivious to her feelings, no matter what he has made her think. But, fear had never been one. In the twenty-one years Conrad had known Belly Conklin, she had never once been scared of him until now.
Her hand only touches him for less than a second before she’s moving backwards.
“I just, I need some air,” She says breathlessly, her eyes darting about, over him, behind him.
Conrad nods his head. “Yeah, no, yeah.” He’s unsure how to help her.
There was this one summer years ago, Belly must have only been nine or ten and she fell really ill. So ill, that Laurel and Susannah had contemplated taking her to the emergency room. Conrad had been told he wasn’t allowed in her room, for risk of catching it himself. But, on the third night of her summer illness, he had heard her crying through the walls. These desperate, childish little sobs.
He’d hesitated before pushing open her bedroom door. But when he did, he padded across the floor to her bed instantly. Belly’s bed seemed to swallow her. She was a tiny, fragile thing cocooned in the middle.
As he crawled into bed with her, she looked at him through big, bleary eyes. She was red and snotty, rather gross but Conrad still wanted to make her feel better.
He led on top of her blanket and opened his arms out, the way his mum had done for him and Jere, the way he had done when Jere was tiny and would crawl into his bed after a nightmare. Belly had fallen into him then, she was so much smaller than he was that year, Conrad having had a massive growth spurt.
She had snuggled into him then. Conrad had said he wanted her to feel better. Little Belly had said that he made everything better by being there.
Conrad’s desire, less like desire and more like an instinct, to make Belly feel better had never faded. And looking at her in the club, in that moment, the desire to look after her surges in his chest.
She’s pushing past him and through the crowd, following Conrad’s previous route to reach her. Conrad rushes after her, not thinking too hard about what he’s doing, feeling the blood rush to his ears. He doesn’t think about Jeremiah, somewhere in the crowd.
Taylor goes to follow Belly as they rush past the bar, but Conrad shakes his head at her. She purses her lips, but complies, and settles back into her spot. She’s glaring at him in a way Conrad knows means that if he makes things worse, she won’t hesitate to hurt him.
He doesn’t even think about it as he follows Belly into the women’s bathroom. He closes the door behind him as Belly bends herself over the porcelain sink.
Her breathing is sharp, jagged and she’s rocking back and forth in her heels.
He wants to reach out to steady her, but remembering her previous reaction to his touch, Conrad restrains himself.
”Belly, what’s wrong?” He asks, a little desperately, searching her face for any sign.
She’s panting, she's not looking at him. Conrad thinks she might be sick. But then she starts to talk. “You- you got me the big unicorn. And, you got me my mum.”
Conrad feels his chest tighten. She’s scratching slightly at the base of her neck, a telltale sign of anxiety. She’s gasping between words.
“The glass unicorn?” Conrad asks quietly. He wants to know the importance, but maybe now is not the time. It feels like she’s on the brink of something important. He’s unsure if she’s truly aware of his presence.
Then she stills, statue-like, and looks up at the ceiling. He watches her inhale, slowly. When she exhales, her face lowers as she releases her breath and she’s staring at his face.
“It’s just the wedding,” She gasps next, waving her right hand helplessly. Her left is still gripping the edge of the sink like it is the only thing keeping her standing. “It’s all happening so fast.”
Conrad nods, yeah, he can see that. “Okay, okay.” But Belly doesn’t pause for him to say anything.
“And I think I, I think I just need time to think.”
He nods again, slower this time and his hands cautiously reach out to touch her forearms. “Belly,” he says, voice a little breathless himself, “you need to breathe.”
He thinks this might be the most intense eye contact they’ve shared all summer. The peaches, the bathtub, they’re nothing compared to this. She’s looking for him to help and Conrad doesn’t know what he can give.
There’s makeup smudged under her eyes and the apples of the cheeks are visibly flushed even through her makeup.
“Just breathe with me, yeah?” His hand moves down her forearm and gently pulls it away from the sink and to his chest, the left side, above his heart. Her palm flattens against him. Any other time and Conrad would be overwhelmed by the touch
She’s touching him, almost gripping him, but she shakes her head as he tries to get her to breathe.
“No, no,” she says adamantly, shaking her head dramatically. Her sluggish movements make Conrad realise how drunk she really is. “Y’know I never even had a dream wedding, you know - it wasn’t like this.”
She’s leaning on him so much, Conrad thinks he might be left with a bruise over his heart in the shape of her palm. It would be fitting. He doesn’t know what she is saying is leading to, but he nods along like he understands.
“It wasn’t like this, not with the- the flowers and the dresses.” Her eyes are begging, begging him to understand. So he tries.
He can see why she’s panicking, he can see why getting married so young, so fast, might make anyone panic.
The words are hard to force out of his mouth, but he does. “You love Jeremiah, you want to be married to him.”
But still, Belly is shaking her head like he doesn’t understand. “I never, I never saw myself marrying him and it’s all, it’s all wrong.”
Her eyes are watering and it might be the saddest Conrad has ever seen her. He thinks of prom, all those years ago, and his mother’s funeral. Was this how she looked then? No, no, it wasn’t. She was heartbroken, but she still seemed so sure, so Belly, so certain.
“He cheated on me and now we’re getting married.”
The world pauses when Conrad processes what she’s said. His body tenses and the hand that is not touching Belly balls into a fist at his side. He has never been so furious with Jeremiah. The blood rushes into his head and the rage is blackening. There is nothing he wants more than to go back out into the club and confront him.
But Belly is there in front of him, drunk and tearful and in need. So Conrad takes a deep breath and pushes her around, moving her to sit down on the closed toilet lid. He crouches down in front of her and places his hands on her bare knees.
Her admission seems to have shocked her into breathing, perhaps she hadn’t expected to say it as much as Conrad hadn’t expected to hear it.
His thumbs move absently against her knees as she watches his face. He’s waiting for her to say more.
Her eyes move away and up to the ceiling, she takes a deep, exaggerated breath. “I’m sorry,” she apologises, “I’m just so drunk and high.” She laughs then, even though they both know that isn’t it and nothing is funny. “I’ll be fine in the morning.”
“Belly,” Conrad sighs, “what do you mean Jeremiah cheated on you?”
She looks down at him, almost absently her hands move to cover his on her knees. He takes them in his, revelling in the closeness.
“Over spring break,” she says quietly, “he was so sorry but it just feels like he proposed to cover up what he did.”
Conrad looks down at their joined hands. “What do you need me to do?” He wants to fix it all for her, like he’s been trying to all summer. But he’s at a loss. Once upon a time, he thought his superpower might have been knowing what Belly Conklin needed at any moment in time. “I’ll drive the getaway car if you need me to.”
She sighs, her mouth forming a delicate ‘o’. She pulls away from him to wipe at her eyes. “I think I just want to go home.”
”Yeah,” Conrad agrees, “I’ll drive you. I haven’t had anything to drink.”
Conrad’s aware that he’s leaving the rest of the bachelors to find their own way home, but he doesn’t care too much to inconvenience his brother. Not in the current moment. Not after finding out what he knows now.
He stands up and offers his hand out to Belly. She takes it and only drops it once they have left the safety of the women’s bathroom. She’s cautious as she walks out, her eyes looking for Jeremiah or any of his bros, maybe even Taylor or Steven. But Conrad feels perfectly calm and composed as he walks behind her. He’s not sure if it’s just the knowledge of his brother's infidelity that sparks this confidence or the knowledge that Belly is doubting everything.
He doesn’t want to take pleasure in her pain. Maybe it’s foolish and reckless, but part of him feels hopeful for the first time in years. The part of him that loves Belly Conklin like he needs to breathe.
He trails after her through the club, not close enough to touch but he never loses her from his sight.
The air outside is chilly and Conrad lets out a little shiver. Belly, however, seems to be warmed by the alcohol in her stomach. Still, he stands much closer than he probably should, looping their bare arms together.
It’s a comfortable silence as they walk. He’s aware Belly has a lot to figure out but just being there, being a factor in her decision means more to Conrad than she’ll ever know. She holds him a little tighter a few minutes into their trail back to his car. So close that her head almost rests on his shoulders.
“Will you make me some chicken when we get home?” She asks as they round the corner to the parking lot.
Conrad laughs, properly, for the first time that night. “You hate my chicken.”
”No,” She pouts, looking up at him. Her nose is a little red from the nighttime chill and her makeup is smudged under her eyes, but he still thinks she’s beautiful.
He still thinks all of the things he shouldn’t about his brother’s fiancé.
“It might be a little late for chicken,” he says, letting her arm go as he reaches into his pocket for the car keys.
Belly sighs as he unlocks it.
He walks her to the passenger side, opening the door for her as he proposes, “What about some toast?”
She thinks it over as she buckles herself in and Conrad settles himself in the driver’s side. She decides toast isn’t good enough.
”What about a milkshake?”
”That, I can do.” He chuckles and starts the engine.
She reverts back to silence on the drive home. His eyes flicker to her every few moments in the mirror, just to check that she’s okay. He can tell she’s thinking, from the furrow in her brow to the way she’s forlornly looking out of the window. He longs to read her mind, to know her thought process intimately, to know her decisions before she tells him.
He doesn’t interrupt her pondering as he drives. It’s a quiet night, the roads relatively dead.
When he pulls into the summerhouse, they just sit in the car for a minute. Belly types a message, probably to Taylor, whilst he watches her. He wants to know what she’s saying, what she’s admitting to and what she’s keeping to herself.
She takes a big breath, a steadying breath that Conrad is far too familiar with himself. Then she looks at him and smiles, saying, “You promised me a milkshake.”
They get out of the car and trail up the path to her front door. She’s walking steady, their previous walk and the car journey must have sobered her up.
The house is messy when they get inside. He watches Belly look around in distaste. Her nose scrunches up where the faint smell of cigarettes and weed lingers.
“Leave it,” Conrad says, as she moves to collect the empty beer bottles and dirty cutlery. “It’s not your mess. Jeremiah can clean it in the morning.”
“It’s my wedding,” Belly protests but she stops trying to clean and moves to sit herself atop the counter. She’s eye level to Conrad like that.
There’s silence as he gets the blender out of one of the bottom cupboards and sets it up. He doesn’t look to her as he does so but can feel her eyes on him.
“So, what flavour?”
Belly hums, thinking. “Strawberry.”
Conrad works in silence. Belly watches him, clearly thinking, but doesn’t express any thoughts out loud.
He thinks this moment is, pardon the word, a little ridiculous. He’s making a milkshake for his brother’s fiancé who is questioning her entire engagement. It’s not normal.
But then Belly isn’t just Jeremiah’s fiance. As much as Conrad has tried to diminish her in his head, the way Belly makes him feel is not something to be squashed out. He’s tried and tried and tried, over and over again.
And yet, any lover he takes to bed all he can think of is Belly. None of them compare to the times they had shared as teenagers. Not even just sex-wise, dates too, conversation. Intimacy that expands beyond the bedroom.
Even now, merely making her a milkshake, makes something so vulnerable and intimate stir inside Conrad. He thinks his heart might be swollen with love just from the sight of her sitting on his kitchen counter.
Her bare feet are dangling in the air and the bow she had had in her hair was resting next to her on the side.
She still looked messy, confused and probably a little drunk still.
Maybe Conrad was taking advantage of that, sober, Belly would not have wanted to spend this much time around him.
He finished the milkshake, pouring it into a glass cup. Before finding one of her fancy glass straws out of the cutlery draw.
“Ta-da!” Conrad passed it off to her. She took a sip and let out a happy little sigh.
Conrad leans against the counter, perpendicular to her. He’s uncertain as he asks, fearing the answer. “Have you decided what you want to do?”
Belly lets out a frustrated huff. “It’s wrong of me to put you in this position,” she says.
“Maybe,” he gives her, “but I’m here, Bell.”
She looks up at him, mouth over her straw, her eyes a little wide and uncertain. “You’ve been here all summer when you’ve had no obligation to be.”
There’s blood rushing through Conrad’s body. He can feel the pounding of his heart not only in his chest but echoing through his ears.
“Belly,” he says, leaning forward slightly, their faces too close now, “I have to say this, once at least.”
She holds her breath.
“Fuck,” he swears, he knew the words would be hard to get out, but he didn’t expect the way they felt they would gag him.
Conrad had spent the past three years wishing he had said these words when he had the chance. And now he has another shot, and it’s still a struggle. He couldn’t count the amount of times he had through the words, thousands at least.
Every time he has thought about her. Every time he looks at her. Every time he dreams about her. Every time his father talks about Jere.
It’s shameful how far gone he is.
“Fuck it, I love you.”
Her eyelids flutter shut and Conrad waits for her to say something but she never does. She’s as still as a statue.
And so, he continues. “I don’t think I’ll ever get you out of my system.”
Her grip tightens on her glass.
“You will always be there. Here.” Conrad places a hand over his chest, where his hearts beats fast underneath. Belly is not looking but he does anyway. “It’s always. I fucked up four years ago. You remember that night in the motel? When I told you I still wanted you?”
She gives the smallest nod of her head.
“I couldn’t sleep that night. I loved you. I know I did. I know I do. But I knew that if I kept you with me, I would hurt you.” He clears his throat, tears welling in his eyes. “I couldn’t have that. I knew it. And I thought you and Jere made each other happy. So I tried to let you go.”
There’s a tear running down her cheek. Conrad reaches out and wipes it away with his thumb.
“But being around you again, and talking the way that we used to. And you looking at me the way that you used to.” He leaves his hand against her cheek, so gentle he wonders if she even feels his touch.
She’s so still, so solemn, she almost looks like a weeping angel.
“I love Jeremiah. He’s my brother. He’s my family and I hate myself for doing this but when I see the two of you together I fucking hate him.”
At this, she folds, tears falling so fast from her eyes that Conrad can’t wipe them anymore. If she looked at him, she would see that same ache mirrored on his face.
He takes her face in his hands. Properly. At his touch her eyes open, they search his face. She knows and he knows she knows what he’s going to say.
But he says it anyway because Conrad has left so many words unsaid in the past.
“Belly. Don’t be with him. Don’t marry him. Be with me.” It’s a whisper in the otherwise silent kitchen, sacred and holy. They are words that have otherwise existed in the wildest of dreams.
Belly lets out a shaky breath. She gives him a watery smile and for a second, Conrad feels confident, confident enough to allow that smile to cross onto his face.
She puts her glass to the side and reaches up. She copies his precious actions. Wiping the tears from his face with her soft, gentle hands. “I can’t marry Jeremiah,” she says as she does so. “Not just for you.”
Conrad nods, his hands moving to hover over her elbows. He wants to hold her in place, keep her hands on his face forever. Keep them in this kitchen, in this moment of mutual understanding forever.
Her hands move down to his chest, pushing ever so slightly, holding him at arms length.
“I can’t marry Jeremiah while I still have feelings for you. But I also, I don’t know who I am anymore, Connie.” Belly’s bottom lip trembles. She’s done so much crying tonight that Conrad doesn’t know how she has any tears left.
He covers her hands with his palms, atop his chest. He holds them tightly. “That’s okay, we can work it out.”
She shakes her head. “Listen- listen to me. I need to figure it out on my own. I don’t want- I don’t want this to be how we start.”
He falls forward, pressing his forehead to hers. “Okay.” He can accept that. There’s hope, and he will swallow every ounce of hope he can get. It will live in him, grow and fester, until she truly comes back to him.
He pulls away after a moment, completely. He rests his back against the opposite counter. Exhausted, his body feels like jelly.
“I’m going to phone my mum,” Belly says, already typing at her phone. “She’s going to kill me, but she’ll know what to do.”
Conrad nods.
“I’ll ask her to pick me up in the morning, but I’ll talk to Jere before I go.”
Conrad knows he’ll have to go too. Either tonight or in the morning, he’s unsure. But he knows Jere will be furious. Rightly so. It will take work, an immense amount of work, but he believes things can truly be salvaged with Jere.
“Yeah.”
He takes Belly’s discarded milkshake and has a sip before pulling his phone out of his back pocket. He reads his messages whilst Belly excuses herself to the patio to call Laurel.
[Steven] yoooo bro, wya?
[Steven] I’ve left the lads and am going back to the hotel with Denise
[Steven] Taylor said you’re with my sister?????
[Steven] dude
[Steven] Conrad this is going to blow up in your FACE
[Steven] Jere is going to be SOOOO mad
[Jeremiah] suueee whe r youuuu
[Jeremiah] f u kan
Conrad sighs. He doesn’t answer Jere or Steven and closes his phone.
When Belly reappears, she looks up at him, a small smile on her face.
“It’s going to be okay,” she says.
“It’s going to be okay,” Conrad echoes.
Coming from her mouth, he thinks he can believe it.