#『 i’ll be getting over you my whole life — conrathea 』

[incalescentia]

@tiny-as-a-firely // prev. post

She said yes.

Meaning they were shoulder-to-shoulder on another busy New York street, exactly how it used to be. Stealing excited glimpses of one another, wanting to reach out to grab her hand to make sure it was real. That Dora was here and she was smiling and happy to see him, even if it wasn’t on her own accord. Conrad restrained himself, settling for accidentally grazing the cuff of her jacket and looking away with a knowing smile.

They were strolling with no direction. Quietly for a few moments before Dora spoke up, catching Conrad off guard. “I’ve never seen you wear a turtleneck.”

He chuckled. Suddenly self-conscious of the thick sweater and blazer, ruffling his curls with his fingers. “Is it bad? How about the glasses? Mom says I look like dad now.”

There was a surprising amount of comfort in the casual conversation, making him forget that minutes ago he was being scolded in front of countless strangers. His dad would have called it fate, that the universe brought them together because they were in the right place at the right time. Who were they to argue with that logic?

“How’s the soccer team?”

“Oh, I don’t know. I don’t do that anymore.”

“What? You loved that team.”

“Well, I took a job at NYU about two years ago. I’m a professor now. Do you believe that? I teach about the Renaissance and the French Revolution. In exchange, I get free reign to write my silly little Medieval Magic essays that hopefully will get its own class in the spring. It’s a pretty good gig.” Conrad downplayed the career change, shrugging his shoulders as if it wasn’t a big deal. It didn’t feel like that at the time, despite all the energy he invested into getting his PhD, because the person he was supposed to celebrate the triumph with wasn’t there. “And I hated being called ‘Mr. Hawkins’. A solid reason as any to switch jobs.”

With a grin, Conrad glanced back and noticed Dora had stopped in her tracks, causing him to falter as well. Her expression was soft, and happy? She was glowing in the sunlight. “I’m really, really proud of you, Conrad.”

His heart sank from his chest to his feet. After all this time, that’s all he prayed to hear. That she was proud of him. That she loved the person he had grown into, even if it meant doing it without her. He licked his lips, nervous again. That was easy for her to do to him.

“Thank you,” he whispered, and he wasn’t sure she could hear him over the horns honking. Staring at her mouth a little too long, wanting to be reminded of what she tasted like, if he would still get a whiff of eucalyptus and peppermint from her skin. If she would still wrap her arms around his neck so tight he couldn’t breath. If she would kiss him back.

Instead, he shook his head and said, “Tell me everything I missed.”

[incalescentia]

Oh, sweet, pretty girl. Flattery was her strong suit, strong notes of citrus and apple escaping with every word. Reminding him that she was vulnerable. Champagne always surfaced the truth, like the time when they were sixteen and stole a bottle from his mother’s fancy dinner party, sneaking into his bedroom and sharing between sips. Before they knew it, they were drunk and lost in fervent kisses, grasping onto anything they could. Legs, back, shoulders, neck, hair. Whatever brought them closer, burning with passion. Dora pulled away long enough to tell him she loved him, and he said it back. 

That was the night Conrad swore he would never live without her. He found his soulmate, his better half. Oblivious to how young and dumb that sounded as a teenager. If his heart felt it, it was true and, god, was it singing as Dora looked at him like that. A lot of moments in their love story had the tendency of repeating themselves. A reminder of how deeply etched their names were into each other’s souls, how distance didn’t matter when everything about their existence needed the other to survive. 

This was one of those moments. Her eyes were screaming, ‘I love you’, as she mapped every arch of his face. Their noses collided, dangerously, intoxicatingly close. Conrad’s hands trail down her arms until meeting hers on his chest, grabbing them tightly. “N-no, not like this,” he stuttered out, licking at his lips as his mouth dried, lump in his throat harsh. 

He meant it. He really, really did. Their first kiss after five years apart shouldn’t happen this way, without being swayed by liquid courage, but Conrad couldn’t resist. Everything within him was desperate to feel her lips again. Any sense of hesitation dissipated when he gave in to the urge, meeting her mouth with eagerness. There it was; that spark, all too familiar, going from a flicker to an explosion. They were on fire. 

@incalescentia // prev. post

"You called me 'love'." Dora giggles again, humming happily as she curls her fingers around Conrad's coat and tugs it tighter around her. "Mm, smells like you." She murmurs, inhaling deeply. Her heart was singing loudly and happily now that her Connie was near. Dora tucked the ring in her pocket and scooted closer so that their knees were touching.

“I was looking at the stars. I’m trying to find the Dora.” She glances up again for a moment before tilting her head down again, not wanting to strain her neck. Dora recalls doing this exact same thing while on her travels, looking up at the sky on her saddest and happiest nights, trying to find the brightest star in the sky, wondering if Connie was doing the same somewhere. Even in her drunken state, something kept her from revealing this intimate truth to him.

“Connie, you’re so handsome.” She continues rambling. Dora’s smile widens as she lifts her hands to cup Conrad’s face, brushing her thumbs across his cheeks, feeling brave. It was all she wanted to do since seeing him again on that horrible double date - she wanted to touch him all over, relearn every inch, discover everything that was new. 

“You look different, you know? Your hair is longer.” She runs the tips of her fingers through his hair softly, tucking a stray lock behind his ear. “I love your eyes. I’ve always loved them so much. Your eyes are…deeper now. I always feel like you can tell exactly what I’m thinking. It’s really scary.” The tips of her fingers explore the curves of his face, and she dares herself to brush her thumb across his lower lip, softly, relishing the way that he exhales in response. She touches the the pad of her thumb to the new scar on his chin. 

“You look…really good.” She exhales, voice rough, features softening. Dora looks up into Connie’s eyes again, leaning forward to touch her nose to his, a nervous laugh dancing out of her as she places her palms against his chest, feeling his heartbeat. “Connie, do you still want to kiss me?”

[incalescentia]

@tiny-as-a-firely // prev. post

“Jacques Maillet, 2013. The Savoie.” It’s the first thing he can bring himself to say since they had arrived and his voice cracked mid-sentence. Ava’s eyes bore into the side of his, begging to tell him something surely enough, but Conrad nervously grabbed his glass of water and chugged. He wished this was alcohol. “Eh, no. Something white. Red stains my teeth.” Dora likes red, you idiot. His thoughts were daggers aimed at James. What did Dora see in him? Conrad couldn’t imagine what they had in common. He had trouble speaking to James longer than twenty minutes on a good day. Always steering conversations toward himself, where he had traveled, what he has seen, and who he has been seen with. Standard New York socialite working a cushy corporate job given to him solely based off of his last name. Maybe Conrad was exaggerating. Maybe he shouldn’t be staring threateningly across the table. He hoped it wasn’t obvious. That he was jealous. It was jealousy. His gaze found Dora again, tilting his head to the side and raising an eyebrow in skepticism. Really? This guy? “What part of town did you live in before you left, Dora?” Ava questioned, sounding like she was getting into interrogation mode. Manhattan. St Marks Place and 1st Ave. In the apartment you’ve been to a hundred times, Ava. “Oh, my god. So we have all lived in this area and have never met until now. It’s funny how this city is, isn’t it?” Dora must have answered because Ava was rambling on with a laugh. The waiter interrupted to take our drink orders, a grace from God. James went against Conrad’s suggestion and chose an obnoxiously expensive white wine. They brought it out to them with haste, chilled in an ice bucket, and poured them each a glass. Standing tableside, waiting for each of them to have a taste before walking off. The way most snobby French restaurants did, where the rich and powerful pretended they knew anything about what they were drinking. Embarrassment washed over Conrad. He has spent his life surrounded by people like this. Technically, his parents were these people. But, to sit across from Dora and have her see him fully submerged in this world, one he always diverted away from, made him shrink in size. She didn’t belong here either. They should be at the Indian place two blocks from the apartment, where they would sit for hours and challenge each other on who could eat the spiciest curry. Conrad never won. 

But would that be what Dora would want now? All these years later, to come back and fall into the same routines? It’s long enough that they might as well be strangers. Conrad doesn’t know a single detail about how she’s been living, except she had a job at the New Yorker. That James knew first. That she didn’t call him when she got the offer, or when her flight landed, or when she was mere minutes away. She didn’t want to see him. She doesn’t want you.

“Yeah, Dorothea —” James was smiling, prepared to boast about his new girlfriend, when Ava cut him off.

“Dorothea? That’s your full name? Dorothea Hawkins?” Gears were turning in Ava’s mind. It was the same look when they spent late nights at the offices consumed by thousand-paged literature and she discovered something worthwhile. Ava glanced between Dora, then Conrad, then Dora, then Conrad again. “That’s your fucking ex-wife, and you’re sitting here pretending it’s not? Are you fucking kidding me right now, Conrad?” Her words are venom, meant to poison Conrad. The least he could do was explain himself after spending the last year and a half with Ava. She deserved that. Not someone with his mouth half open, unable to produce any sound because he doesn’t want to scare off one person at this table and it’s not his fiancee. Center stage, all eyes on Conrad. Other dinner guests pretended they weren’t listening as Ava’s voice rose with dismay. “Wait, you were married? To Conrad?” James chimed in. He sounded more puzzled than angry until it clicked for him too. “That’s… messed up.”

When Conrad finally spoke, he couldn’t stare at anyone but Dora, swallowing the lump in his throat. “Yeah, we were married.” There was plenty he could have added to that to calm the storm. That it didn’t matter they were married because that was five years ago and his feelings for Dora subsided long before he met Ava. That Dora forgot about him too. That they were adults and they could have this dinner without hitting repeat on history and stealing glances of affection. But he would be lying, and Conrad couldn’t do that. His silence was enough for Ava. “Screw you, Conrad.” She threw down her napkin in a fit of fury, pushed back her chair, and stormed out.  James stood up with her, gawking with disbelief between the two.  “I have to go after her.”

They were alone. Chest heaving with every deep breath. Neither waver their eyes from the other.

“Hawkins?” The edge of Conrad’s lips twitched; he almost smiled. 

[incalescentia]

closed for @tiny-as-a-firely

OCTOBER 2028 — FIVE YEARS LATER

Whoever said time can heal any wound lied.

The first year was the hardest. Everything in this godforsaken city screamed her name. She may have moved on but it couldn’t forget her. Neither could Conrad. He spent most nights scrolling through her Instagram. Paris. Rome. Greece. Thailand. Japan. Amsterdam. Her smile, the true masterpiece with every changing backdrop. It was different. Conrad couldn’t put his finger on it until he showed his mom. “Happier,” she said, “She looks happier.” Shying away from the truth wouldn’t do him justice so he appreciated the brutal honesty. Even when it kept him awake at all hours, bare feet pacing back and forth, glass of wine in hand. Usually drunk and usually crying, an especially sad scene. Dialing Dorothea’s number to see if she would pick up. We’re sorry; the number you are trying to reach is… Click. He knew he would get disappointed but he had hoped she would answer and tell him, “I’ve been waiting for you.”

By the six month mark, he remembered he only needed to make one cup of coffee. He remembered he didn’t need to buy two of everything at the grocery store. That Friday nights weren’t date nights and that he didn’t have to go to their favorite restaurant to sit at their favorite table and eat alone. He remembered to send the weekly flowers to Dora’s mom instead of her vacant office, attached with a favorite book quote and a ‘wishing you the best’. He remembered to take down their pictures and throw away their marriage certificate and put the ginger-colored desk up for sale.

Year two wasn’t any better. Another Christmas, another New Year spent alone with his parents. While they did their best to smother him in love and affection, it only temporarily numbed the aching feeling. He wondered how she was spending her holidays and if she was alone. Every time he asked his parents, who warned him early on they didn’t plan on cutting Dora out of their lives, they wouldn’t spill a thing. “That stopped being your business the second you signed those papers, Connie,” his mom told him with a smile, like that would soften the blow. The closest to hearing her voice or getting inside of her head he could get was through her writing. Her words jumped out from the page and, for a moment, it felt like she was sitting beside him on their couch, rambling on about the Louvre or Kyoto.

By year three and four, Conrad began to figure out how to survive. That’s what it would be, right, when he no longer could live? He applied for his dream job and received an offer. Teaching at NYU, where he could have an intellectual conversation and not get in trouble for saying the founding fathers were full of shit. Then came Charles. A fluffy golden retriever who was attached to Conrad the second he walked through the door. To fill some of that loneliness, Conrad brought him home. Less nights of wine, more nights of walking Central Park and throwing a tennis ball against the wall and belly rubs. The first time a genuine laugh comes from Conrad and the first time he focused his love on someone that wasn’t her.

Somehow Conrad made it to year five. If someone told him back then he was about to be on a double date with his fiancée and her brother, he wouldn’t believe it. How could he have moved on? The truth was, it just happened. Like everything else just happened. Ava was pretty, and smart, and liked soccer, and they worked together. The perfect place for two lonely people to be less lonely together. Getting lost in the comfort of it, like a blanket to keep him warm.

Ava’s brother had a way of taking over any room. That’s what happened with his booming “hey” as he approached. Conrad was laughing at one of Ava’s jokes, glancing over a bar menu. Not entirely paying attention while standing to greet him and his date.

Dorothea. Curly hair cascading over her plaid jacket, high-waisted jeans complimenting her long legs, and confidently wearing heels despite her towering over everyone. She saw him first. He can tell because of her expression. Jaw clenched, eyes wide. The siblings are giving introductions but it sounded like white noise.

“Oh, it’s so nice to meet you, Dora! I’m Ava, and this is Conrad.” Panic coursed through his body as Ava placed a hand against his chest. Was there a nice way to disclose their preexisting relationship without damaging the ones in front of him?

Dora made the choice for him, reaching her shaky hand out to him, pretending there wasn’t a history book with their names on it. He met her half way. The simplest of touches, lasting less than a second, yet surfaced every emotion Conrad has ever felt for her. No words have left his mouth. There’s nothing to say, nothing to think, except one thing.

I love you so much.

[incalescentia]

Relief washed over Conrad when Ava decided to leave early. He leaned in for a kiss on her cheek before she could steal one from his lips. Everything between them had shifted; it felt wrong kissing her anywhere else, and he didn’t want to make this harder than it was. Dismay was written on her face but she didn’t bring it up. Not here, not after the commotion at the dinner, when Conrad was so close to slipping through her fingertips. His foot was halfway out the door, ready to bolt at any sign of trouble, back into Dora’s arms. 

That was who he searched feverishly for among the crowds, where he bumped into his mother who said she thought she saw familiar curly hair stumbling toward the rooftop stairs, and she was right. Dora was sprawled out on the ground when he reached the top of the steps, holding something high into the air above her. From the distance and the darkness, he couldn’t make out what it was until he walked closer, hands stuffed in his pants pockets. 

The sound of glee that escaped her when he approached was enough to turn Conrad into pure mush, along with surfacing a nagging guilt. He left her alone all night while he walked the gallery with someone else, and now she was… Intoxicated? Squatting down beside her, he was finally close enough to see the redness in her eyes and lopsided smile, one that only appeared when she had too much to drink. If further evidence was needed, the bottle of champagne was a dead giveaway. 

“You’re drunk, love.” His face softened, enamored by the mere sight of giggly Dora. Not that he ranked versions of her but this one was usually his favorite. In the past, this would have led to sloppy make out sessions and Dora repeatedly telling Conrad how pretty he was. His golden brown eyes, crooked nose, soft curls. She would point out everything she found cute. It was endearing, and he could see that spirited look in her eye right now. 

“Why don’t we get you some water, hm? You’ll feel better.” He tucked a strand of hair that had fallen back into her bun, taking the chance to rub his fingers down the side of her face and settling on her chin. “And it’s fucking freezing out here. You’re going to get pneumonia.” The early November air wasn’t cold enough to bring New York snow but it was enough for Conrad to see the goosebumps on Dora’s arms. Without hesitation, he shrugged off the suit jacket and wrapped it around her shoulders. “Put your arms in. Come on.” He had to help guide them in before she snuggled into it, her smirk never wavering. She didn’t have any intention of budging, that was obvious, so Conrad took a seat, legs crossed, in front of her. “What are you doing up here?” 

@incalescentia // prev. post

Dorothea’s heart sank when Conrad dropped her hand. 

Her cheeks reddened slightly once more, not from butterflies this time. She shoved her hands back into her pant pockets, embarrassed that she’d worn her ring here, in front of so many people. 

She turns and forces a smile at Josephine and Ava walking in their direction.

“Hi Jo. Hi Ava, it’s nice to see you.” Dora says politely, using the opportunity to lean in and give Conrad’s mom a kiss on the cheek, putting distance between them both. 

“Hi Dora.” Ava replies while taking Conrad’s hand into her own. The same Dora had just been holding. She forces herself to look away, look towards the art piece they had been observing, the one that Conrad’s mom had made just for them, when she overhears a not-so-quiet whisper from Ava. “Why is she here?”

Anger boils over in Dora’s chest. This was Dora’s family. Her life. She belonged here. 

“Oh, Jo and I are best friends.” Dora says, plastering a sickly sweet smile on her face as she loops her arm through Connie’s mom’s own. “From when Conrad and I were married, remember?” 

Ava opens her mouth to say something, but Dora cuts her off.

“Jo, will you come with me? I wanted to ask you about some of your paintings.”

“Let’s get to it, then.” Josephine gives her an amused smile as the two of them walk away. Dora forces herself not to look back.

***

Dorothea is drunk.

She’s never been one to drink too much at these functions - usually one or two glasses of red, but they had real Champagne, and she was by herself. She couldn’t have asked Josephine to babysit her the whole night.

Plus, Connie was always with her in the before times to make sure she was feeling okay.

That’s how Dora finds herself on the roof, high heels beside her along with a mountain of expensive cheese piled on a plate and a bottle of Champagne that she stole from the serving staff. She’s pulled her curly hair up in a high bun, her makeup starting to fade.

Head fuzzy and warm, she lies down on the cold ground in the chilly air to hold her wedding ring up above her face. She giggled every so often, squinting one eye while using the gold band as a makeshift telescope.

“Dora?” She hears a familiar voice call out, a door closing.

“Connie!” She squeals, turning to look at him through her ‘telescope’. He looks so good in his turtleneck and matching suit, and the thought causes her to giggle again as butterflies dance around in her stomach. “Connie, will you come sit with me? Please?”

[incalescentia]

Glistening gold caught Conrad’s eyes when Dora locked their fingers together. The elegant chandelier dangling from the ceiling was the ring’s spotlight. ‘Look, she loves you,’ it pointed out with each swaying of their crystals. The band wasn’t there before, that night on the couch, where they collided and unfolded in a matter of hours. Actions speak louder than words, and this was screaming.

There wasn’t time to mention it. Not when Dora snuggled comfortably against his side, losing his train of thought. He squeezed her hand, ridden by the fear of the familiarity of everything around them as she babbled about the painting in front of them and how it came about. The smell of her perfume clouded his senses. The smell of home. Now that he found it again, he wasn’t sure if he could ever let go.

“I think this one’s my favorite.” He hadn’t seen any of the other paintings but the enthusiasm in her voice made it a fact. “It’s beautiful. Quite like you.” The redness appearing on her cheeks caused a smug grin to form. Simple compliments always made Dora blush and he wanted to know if he still had that effect on her. Of course he did. She’s wearing the ring.

“It’s funny you say that though. My mom did the same thing to me with this one.” He pointed at the art closest to the one Dora was describing. “At home, from the bedroom window. She wanted to hear the street, as if she hadn’t walked it a million times before.” Conrad pulled Dora with him, keeping her near, to get close enough to read the caption.

THREAD OF FATE: invisible, binding two people who are destined to be together regardless of circumstances.

He missed it; the red string filling the gap between the two paintings. Loops and swirls, some parts cut and tied back together. They connected. Was this them?

His mouth fell open, about to point out the obvious message, when footsteps approach them. “Connie,” his mother’s voice rang out from behind, a knowing look across her face. With a slight jump, Conrad dropped Dora’s hand. Reluctantly. That woman had impeccable timing.

As he turned around, his stomach sank to the floor. Ava stood next to his mother, dressed to impress in something with a price tag larger than his mortgage, and she was smiling affectionately at Conrad. Shit, he had forgotten about her. Again.

@incalescentia // prev. post

Dorothea was pouring herself into her work.

It was all she could do to get through the days. To try to forget the fact that the love of her life was currently seeing someone else, she gave herself entirely to her other great love - her words.

That is until Conrad would send her a text in the evenings, talking about whatever silly thing happened in class today or sending videos of Charles barking a squirrel up a tree. The two of them would talk all night, a smile plastered to her lips as he made her laugh, asked her questions, told her stories. 

One night, she finally accepted one of the endless calls she’d been receiving from James.

Where the fuck have you been? He asked.

I think we should break up. She replied.

She was surprised by how easy it was. 

And so the days went by, and so she sat at her desk in the mid-tier hotel room that work was still paying for and every-so-often asking how the apartment hunt was going. Wrong. Every place is wrong.

And so she found herself staring at Conrad from across the room at the art gallery that his mom ensured he wouldn’t be at. Dora can’t help but smile a bit. That woman always has her own agenda.

The look on his face as he turns to her takes her breath away. The utter relief that she sees in his features, the immediate smile that she brings to his face. She tries not to think too hard about the fact the last time they saw each other their lips had been an inch apart. 

Dora freezes momentarily when Conrad stretches his hand out to her. She knows what he’s doing. She knows that he needs this. And she does too.

But there’s no way to take his hand without him noticing the thin gold band on her ring finger, currently hiding from view as her hands curl into fists in the pockets of her flowy pants.

I would not wish any other companion in the world but you.

Dora hadn’t meant to start wearing it again. She slipped it on the night of their almost-kiss after staring at it for hours. She wanted to feel it again, the smooth metal on her skin a reminder of the promise that he had once given her. Something of Connie's that was only hers.

Fuck it, she thinks to herself as she closes the distance placing her hand in his, threading their fingers together like they’d always done. Dorothea forced herself to face the painting in front of them, begging her hands not to shake, not to betray the effect that he had on her now, so many years later. Trying to ignore the fact that her wedding ring adorned her hand once more.

“You know your mom was on the phone with me when she painted this one?” Dora starts to ramble nervously, his hand in hers sending electric currents up her arm and down her back. “She said that she wanted to see what it was like to paint a landscape with only sound as a reference. So she called me while I was in Venice, every day for like, a week straight, and asked me to put her on speakerphone so she could hear everything. She’d occasionally ask me what I was looking at, what was going on, but mostly we just sat together, her painting and me writing on my balcony. It was my favorite week there.” 

Somewhere along the way, as her words tangled together, Dora leaned in closer.

[incalescentia]

Please come back. Delete.

Let’s talk about this. Delete.

I never stopped loving you. Delete.

The unsent texts for the next hour were endless. One after another, backspaced as hastily as they were written out. To say Conrad was overwhelmed would be downplaying it. Head resting in his hands as he shed a tear, unable to call it a night as today’s events were on replay. Finally, he settled on something to say.

I hope you got home okay. Send.

She replied with one word. Yes. That was the validation Conrad needed. Whatever this was, it wasn’t over yet.

************

Two weeks had gone by since Dora ran off from their almost kiss. Somehow Conrad missed her more than he ever did before. Knowing she was close yet not in arms reach. Focusing on work and his life seemed impossible. That night they stayed up until 4 am, messaging back and forth. Pretending like nothing happened between them, like they were sixteen again and discovering each other for the first time, spiraling head first into the depths of their love. Now he anticipated each message, checking his phone every couple of minutes, hoping she was thinking of him too.

Even while he arrived at his mother’s art gallery opening, where he was supposed to meet Ava. His fiancée. The title felt wrong. Probably always has. Seeing Dora again brought that to the surface, but Conrad didn’t have the guts to call it off yet. Not when he didn’t know what they were — him and Dora — or if they ever would be again. It was a selfish act. One made out of fear of being lonely. Conrad couldn’t handle that again.

The turn out was wonderful, as they usually were, for the show. His mother had a positive reputation throughout America and people would fly from all over to catch a glimpse of her latest work. Crowds of well-dressed strangers huddled around cocktail tables and extravagant paintings. A waiter offered champagne to Conrad and he didn’t hesitate to take it as a few friends of his parents greeted him. He wasn’t out of place, never had been, at events like this. Growing up around the arts taught him how to mingle and, when it came down to it, he loved the stimulating conversations. Or lack thereof. Being a fly on the wall for the rich was priceless.

Call Conrad biased but his mother’s art was his favorite. Each brush stroke had a purpose behind it. Like the love in our lives, she would tell him. He always left these openings with more questions than answers and something about that was fulfilling. Conrad decided to start his rounds from the back of the gallery. People typically haven’t made it that far yet and it gave him room to get lost in himself.

Someone else must have had the same idea as he heard his name being called, almost as if they didn’t believe it was them. “Conrad?” He could recognize that voice anywhere.

“Dora.” Conrad turned around on the heels of his leather shoes as fast he could. His smile showed relief. Finding a calmness knowing she was here too. He didn’t know why he didn’t expect her. His mother knew she was back before he did and she would never not extend an invitation to Dora. She was family, more than blood.

Impulse told him to finish what they had started when they were on the couch, before she had time to overthink it, but he’s frozen to the floor. Gathering enough courage to hold out his hand in Dora’s direction. Please take it, Conrad begged with his eyes, wanting her to crave his touch the same way he did hers, to interlock their fingers together and wander each hallway like they did countless times before. He convinced himself whatever her response to his trivial action would hold the answer to everything he needed to know. Please take it and prove to me you want me too.

@incalescentia // prev. post

Dorothea exhales quickly, every molecule of air leaving her body she second that Conrad touches her face. 

She places her hand over his chest, right where his heart is. Feels his heartbeat under her palm, wonders if his is pounding as hard as hers. How many times has she dreamt about this moment the past five years? How many nights has she looked up at the stars from a foreign balcony and tried to recall exactly how it felt for him to caress her skin, touch her cheek, look at her like that. Like she’s it for him. Like she’s the center of his world, the only thing that matters.

Dora gives into the feeling, lets the magnetic field between them guide her, brushing the tip of her nose against his as she parts her lips. Ever so slightly curls her hand closed, the fabric of his shirt tickling her fingertips, allowing the familiar music to serenade them like a lullaby.

She lowers her gaze from his for a brief second to try to get her heart under control.

A brief second is all it takes.

“Oh my god.” She whispers, frozen. Her brows furrow slightly as she stares at the pair of heels next to the coffee table. How could she have missed them before? They were definitely not hers. She would never wear something so strappy and unsupportive. A comfortable high heel is a woman’s greatest weapon, her mother used to say. Don’t let yourself get caught unprepared. “Oh my god.”

Ava. How many times has Conrad carried her shoes for her? How many times has she been here, sat in her spot on the couch, listened to Connie’s vinyl collection? Shared a kiss in this exact spot?

“I have to go.” Dora swallows roughly in an attempt to fight back her tears, pulling away from Conrad and standing up. She sees Charles perk his head up from the corner of the room as she grabs her coat off the stool and shrugs it on, picking her own heels up off of the ground. 

“Wait, you’re leaving?” Connie rasps from where he’s still sitting on the couch, stunned, not so much angry as he is confused. Dora spins around to catch the exact moment he spots Ava’s shoes, is looking straight at him as he spins his head back around to look back at her, regret in his eyes. Regret for who?

Dora spins around again, anger coursing through her, at Conrad, at herself, at the last five years that they spent apart.

Her hand lands on the doorknob right as she feels herself being tugged, Conrad’s hand tightening around her in an iron grip.

She turns to look at him again, about to ask him to let go, but the look in his eyes stops her. Please don’t leave me. And she knows that he doesn’t just mean right here, in this moment, right this second. Dorothea is reminded of the last time they were both standing by this door, looking at each other speechlessly.

Dora sniffles softly as she reaches for his phone, pulling it out of his pocket. She forces herself to ignore the fifteen missed calls from Ava, is surprised to find that his passcode is still the same. Their anniversary. 

It takes her a few moments to punch in her new number, handing the phone back to him. “You have a girlfriend, Conrad.” 

Dora turns again, opening the door this time, pausing.

“You were stupid for not chasing me halfway across the world.” Dora says, unable to look at him, the tears dangerously close to making an appearance. She knows it isn’t fair. She’s the one who left. And she has a boyfriend as well.

But nevertheless, she shuts the door behind her, a quiet sob erupting from her chest as she brings her free hand up to cover her mouth. She bites back her tears again as she makes her way down seven flights of stairs, eyes red and watery.

She was stupid to hope he would have waited. And she was stupid to think it could all be the same.

[incalescentia]

“Dr. Conrad Hawkins,” Conrad repeated, hearty laughter following suit. Shifting between each foot nervously before setting his own glass on the coffee table and taking a seat on the couch beside Dora. Hearing the title in her voice felt different. Official, as if before that it wasn’t, not until she made it. “Never call me that again, please.”

They were close. Such a short distance between them, legs brushing against each other. It wouldn’t take any effort to reach out and caress the back of her hand, to be reminded of how soft her skin was under his fingertips. His heart skipped a beat at the thought. How they could fall back into each other effortlessly and all the stars would align. Conrad didn’t know what was worse — that he wanted her with every fiber in his body or that he didn’t feel guilty about it.

“I wrote everything on that shelf,” Conrad paused to gesture between the bookcase then to the kitchen table, “And I’m working on something there. Early medieval triumph of Christianity and their failed attempt to squash paganism. Basically really, really old witch trials, I guess. It’s boring.” It wasn’t. Not to Conrad. He simply hated going on his tangents about his work. Nothing about it was too unhinged, but he has encountered too many people confused and bored by the topic. Understandably.

Dora was staring at him with that look. The one she used to give him when she was enjoying listening to him. It didn’t matter what he was on about; she always had that smile. Maybe not toward the end but the countless years before that. There was comfort in knowing some things never changed.

Conrad could swear he could read her mind like this. They were both thinking the same thing. I love you. A million times over. Not even the hurricane of their turmoil could put out their fire. He was terrified. How simple it would be for him to be engulfed in the flames, or worse, burned.

Chugging his wine was the solution, or the start of his indiscretion. Dora understood his cue because she copied his action, holding out her glass for seconds. Instead, Conrad took it from her to set it down next to his, scooting to close the smallest space that separated them. His thumb brushed her cheek, then her jawline, then her chin, pulling her face to his. Not forcefully, giving her the choice to stop it. She doesn’t. Holy shit, are we about to kiss?

@incalescentia // prev. post

I’m going to grab that wine and you can keep telling me how stupid I was for not chasing you halfway around the world.

Dorothea’s head whips around as she gapes at Conrad, eyes wide, so many questions on her lips. But  he’s already gone.

She purses her lips, trying her best to bury the memories that come forward of the last night the two of them were in this house, a younger version of herself wanting nothing more than for Conrad to fight for her, to say that he would follow her anywhere. To chase her halfway across the world, even if it meant to never return.

Instead, she lets herself explore. Dora walks along the wall closest to the entrance first, eyes scanning the frames on the wall. She remembered a frantic phone call to her mom that one morning five years ago, begging her and her dad to come and help her pack as many of her things as possible. This was the aftermath - bits and pieces of empty space along the walls, on the shelves.

But there are also new things. New pieces of art that she recognizes as Conrad’s mom’s. New books lining the shelves. New academic journals.

And most glaringly, framed articles, written by her. 

A smile danced across her lips as she explored the room, identifying which one of her pieces Connie chose to frame. A lot of them were her favorites, but some of them were throwaways that she assumed no one would read. Her chest tightens.

Dora instinctively walked over to the blanket draped along the back of the couch, folding it neatly before setting it back down on the couch cushion. 

A flash of pale red catches the corner of her eye. Dorothea walks over to the window and looks down, a large, red splotch on the hardwood glaring back at her. Her breath catches as she remembers, thinking to the small scar she has on the bottom of her foot from when she stepped in glass the morning after. A pang of guilt hits her at the realization that Connie wasn’t ever able to get this stain out. How many other stains had she left on his life? How many other ways had he had to scrub her clean?

Dora feels something wet on her hand.

“Hello, Mr. Dickens.” She kneels down to face the gentle dog who is wagging his tale a mile a minute. Dora smiles back at him, putting her cold fingers in the long hair along the back of his ears, giving him a scratch, causing him to lick her face from chin to temple. Dora laughs.

“He likes you.” Conrad’s voice startles her, causing her to jump a little as she looks up.

“And why wouldn’t he?” She quips, giving him one last good scratch behind the ear before walking back over to the couch and sitting down in her usual place. Dora’s heart thumps out of her chest as she watches Connie open the bottle of her favorite red wine and pour her a glass, which she accepts, tucking her legs under her. Is he as nervous as I am? She wonders.

“You changed the place.” Dora murmurs before taking a sip, allowing the familiar warmth to settle into her. “I like it. It feels like you. I’m sorry I didn’t let you decorate more back then.” She lifts her glass again to point at a stack of papers and journals neatly arranged on the shelf. “Did you write all of those? Tell me about Dr. Conrad Hawkins.”