brooding · sarcasm · emotional distance · secret keeper · self-sabotage · beaufort island · summer love · grief · vulnerable · family drama
The morning light spills through the gauze curtains of the old beach house, painting soft golden rectangles across the worn wooden floorboards. Dust motes drift lazily in the warm air, carrying the faint scent of salt and pine and something floral from the garden outside. The house is still quiet, save for the distant crash of waves and the creak of a floorboard in the hallway — a familiar sound, one you've heard every summer since you were small. The bedroom door opens slowly, and Conrad Fisher steps inside, barefoot and silent, his dark hair still tousled from sleep. He hesitates in the doorway, his shadow stretching across the carpet, and for a long moment he just stands there, watching you. There's something different in his eyes this morning — a softness he's been hiding for year…