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Hope, he thinks, is a fragile thing.
It was something he had not let himself feel for a very long time.
But then, Belly had looked at him the way she used to, and talked to him the way that she used to, and he had let himself feel hopeful for the first time in what felt like forever.
Hopeful that she still loved him, that they could still have this.
Have everything.
Now, as tears pool in his eyes, he looks out the window towards a sort of welcoming darkness. Catching his own reflection, bloodshot eyes, flushed cheekbones, hair messy, Conrad exhales.
It's okay, he reminds himself. It won't always feel like this.
His right hand steadies over his heart, a painful reminder that it's still beating, despite its ache.
Eyes falling unfocused– unblinking, lips downturned and eyebrows furrowed as the piercing heaviness inside his chest grows with each heartbeat, and his trance, he curses himself for what was supposed to be a lighthearted joke that had flipped everything on its head.
Conrad had always seen them as something precious, seen her as someone precious. So, hearing her voice how she was feeling– feels tears welling up in his eyes by just thinking of her face falling, her voice breaking. He had never seen them like that– or thought his love for her was fueled by his mother's wishes. He had loved her long before he knew what love really was, and by the time he knew, it felt like something natural. Like how the sky was blue, or how grass was green.
Conrad Fisher had always, and would always love Isabel Conklin.
But, he thinks that he can't fault her for feeling unsure either. His mother, as wonderful as he would like to remember her, also had a tendency of pushing her thoughts and feelings onto you. It had taken him a while to detangle himself from her expectations, even after her passing, and it was still difficult at times, knowing that he wanted to make her proud without losing himself in thinking what she would have wanted.
And Belly, she had loved Belly so much– had likened her as her own daughter.
But, she had bought her dresses when she wanted to wear dungarees, had wanted to take her to Italy when all she wanted to do was stay at the beach house.
As much as he had been his mother's boy, Belly had always been her little girl. Her perfect little girl.
The weight of that, he thinks– especially wanting to do right by her in the end, must have almost crushed her.
And now, now she has this new, incredible life she has built for herself, and who is he, really, to blow in like a hurricane, and make a mess of things.
It is in that moment, that he decides to let her be, that he will simply love her from afar, and make peace with the fact that she is out there, living her life.
All he wants for her, really, is to be happy.
And so, as his heart breaks– a million pieces shattering inside his chest, he'll have to trust himself to pick them up piece by piece, little by little.
For the sake of her, he lets her go.
"Is this seat taken?"
Later, as her head rests against his shoulder, nose brushing at his neck, he smiles, tears watering– happy, this time, he presses a kiss to her hair, and she, with her arms wrapped around him, presses impossibly closer, as if he'd disappear were she to let him go.
And before he can really think, he mumbles "I'm sorry."
Belly's head turns upwards, his to face her, noses almost bumping.
"For what?"
It's but a whisper– she sounds tired. Perhaps he should wait.
"I didn't mean to hurt you, earlier."
Her hands cup his cheeks, eyes glossy, lips trembling.
"You didn't. You didn't hurt me, Conrad."
His younger self would disagree with her, would argue, that it feels like he did. Now, however, he allows himself the comfort of her, and of her words. Of the warmth of her palms cupping his face, of her fingers brushing away the tears that fall from his eyes unbidden.
Lets himself fall into her, sealing his faith against her lips.
"I love you."
It's a murmur against his lips, her breath shaky, unsteady.
Presses his mouth to hers again, tear stains freshly dry on his cheeks.
"I love you," he whispers back, softly and surely.
"Happy tears," he continues in a chuckle, "this time".
"This time?" Belly wonders, hands wrapped around his neck, sliding into his lap from her own seat, clinging onto him like a monkey.
"I'm sensitive, you know," it's a feather light thing, now. Almost as if the person before she showed up didn't exist anymore. Darkness slipped away as soon as she stood had before him.
Humming, with her legs draped over his, her eyes– he thinks– are shining in this light.
Something shifts then, something in her eyes– in the line of her brows.
"Then, I'm sorry."
Crushes against him, arms tightening around his neck.
"Sorry."
"Hey, look at me, it's not your fault, you should not be worried about hurting me for speaking your mind, and for being honest."'
Sighing, she pulls back to look at him.
"It feels like I haven't been this honest with myself for a very long time. Years, even. Just seeing you again pushed it all to the surface. Like I've been trying to push this down for so long, instead of facing it. Like I've been running away from it. But I don't want to do that anymore."
"I think–" he starts, a hand reaching out to cup her cheek, smiles as she leans into it, "–that it takes a lot of courage facing something, anything, that makes you scared, or terrified even."
"It's not scary anymore, or, I don't know if it ever was. Just– uncertain, and I think that's what scared me. Not my feelings for you. Just being here like this–" moves to press a kiss to his palm before leaning into rest her head against his chest– "is everything."
Wrapping his arms around her, he exhales.
The weight of everything in the past simply floating away, as he holds her close.