Chapter Text
Belly still couldn’t believe the view from Conrad’s apartment was real. The California sun sank low over the water, turning everything gold, and from the little balcony off the living room she could hear the faint crash of waves. It felt like the world was quieter here,like all the noise and confusion of the past summers had finally been left behind on the other side of the country.
Her suitcase lay half-unpacked on the bed inside, clothes spilling out in a way that looked exactly like her,messy, excited, half-living in the moment. Conrad leaned against the doorway with his arms crossed, watching her with a smile that he didn’t even try to hide.
“You know you don’t have to unpack everything in one night, right?” he said, voice warm and teasing.
She turned, holding one of her sweaters up to her chest. “I know, but I want it to feel like I actually live here. Like… this is ours.”
The word seemed to hang between them. Ours.
Conrad straightened slightly, like it landed somewhere soft in him. “It is ours,” he said quietly.
She felt her cheeks heat up, which was ridiculous—he’d been her first love, then her almost-love, then her nothing, then everything again. They’d been through chaos and heartbreak and years of not knowing how to breathe around each other. But somehow the simplest moments—him saying ours, him smiling at her from the doorway—still made her heart do that stupid little flip.
Belly tossed the sweater aside and walked over to him. “Help me, then.”
He raised a brow. “With unpacking?”
“With pretending I’m organized,” she corrected.
Conrad laughed, that soft, subtle laugh he only gave when he was really relaxed, the one that made his eyes crinkle just a little. He pushed off the doorframe and wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her in until her cheek rested against his chest.
It had taken them a long time to get here. So long that she hadn’t realized until now that being held by him like this,without tension, without fear—was something she’d dreamed about even more than Paris.
“You smell like coffee,” she murmured, closing her eyes.
“You smell like airport terminals and half a croissant,” he teased.
“Excuse me, I finished that croissant.”
Conrad laughed.
She swatted his chest lightly, but she didn’t pull away. She liked being this close. She liked how his chin rested on the top of her head as if he didn’t even think about it. She liked that his hands traced slow circles on her back like he was memorizing the moment.
Eventually he let her go, though not fully—just enough to take her hand and lead her to the kitchen.
The apartment wasn’t that big, but it felt like him. Clean lines, books stacked everywhere, a surfboard leaning in the corner because he “didn’t know where else to put it,” and a single plant he was definitely keeping alive by sheer luck. The fridge opened with a squeak he’d been “meaning to fix” for three months.
“Hungry?” he asked, pulling out a carton of takeout.
“You didn’t cook?” Belly gasped dramatically.
“Oh, I did,” he said. “I cooked the part where I walked to the place down the street and said ‘Hi, one teriyaki bowl, please.’”
“Master chef,” she said solemnly.
“You’re lucky I’m in a good mood,” Conrad warned, bumping her hip with his. “Otherwise I’d make you eat cereal.”
“You’d never.”
He paused, and smiled thinking it over. “Okay, true.”
They moved around the small kitchen easily, naturally—like two people who’d known each other forever, who fit even in tight spaces. She grabbed the forks, he found the napkins. She opened the cabinet to look for glasses and he said, “Top shelf,” without even glancing up.
It hit her then,how well he knew her, and how well she knew him. How this wasn’t new, not really. It was just finally uninterrupted.
They sat on the floor to eat, backs against the couch, the coffee table still cluttered with books and a half-finished crossword Conrad had abandoned. His knee brushed hers every few seconds, and each time she felt that warmth again, like she was falling in love for the first time, even though it definitely wasn’t the first.
“So…” Conrad said, between bites. “Jeremiah texted me. He wants to visit next month.”
Belly’s fork paused in mid-air. Not stiff, not tense—just processing.
“Yeah,” she finally said. “He told me.”
“How do you feel about it?”
Belly took a deep breath. “He’s part of our life. We’re figuring things out. I’m… good with it.”
He watched him carefully, waiting for the old shadow to pass through her eyes. But it didn’t. She looked calm. Maybe even hopeful.
“I think it’ll be nice,” Conrad said softly.
Belly nodded. “We’ll take him to the pier. Let him get sunburned. He’ll complain for days.”
He laughed. “Definitely.”
They finished eating, and when she leaned her head onto his shoulder, he didn’t shift or tense, he just tilted slightly until she fit perfectly there.
“Do you wanna watch something?” Conrad asked.
“Yeah,” she said, then added, “But something cozy.”
“You want Sabrina again, don’t you.”
“…Maybe.”
He groaned but reached for the remote anyway. “I’m dating a menace.”
“Your menace.”
He didn’t argue. Instead he kissed the top of her head—quick, almost shy, but full of familiarity and something deeper.
As the movie started playing, Conrad pulled a blanket over both of them. Belly curled into his side, his arm coming around her shoulders automatically. She felt his chest rise and fall, steady and slow, and it made her own breathing match his.
This was what she had wanted. Not the grand gestures or the dramatic confessions. Not the heartbreak or the almosts. Just this. Conrad looking at her like she was home. Conrad making space for her in his life and his tiny apartment. Quiet moments. Domestic routines. Soft mornings and sleepy nights.
And for the first time, Belly felt like she wasn’t chasing anything anymore.
She had arrived.
And he had too.