Chapter Text
Chapter 1
Belly
It turns out that when you find out your boyfriend of four years cheated on you during a so-called "break," a girl is left with two choices.
One: you take him back. Tell yourself it was a mistake and hope it never happens again. Hope you're not teaching him that betrayal comes without consequences. Hope the two of you can somehow come out stronger on the other side.
Or...
Two: you leave. You walk away before wasting any more of your precious time on someone who's already shown you they aren't capable of considering you in the way you deserve.
I'm assuming you can guess which option Isabel Conklin chose, given that she's currently somewhere over the Atlantic and hasn't looked back since.
She chose herself.
She put an ocean between herself and her ex, booking a one-way ticket to Paris. It felt almost like a liberating fuck you. He'd been the reason she'd given up studying abroad in the first place, and now she couldn't think of a single reason to stay at Finch.
Was it impulsive? Yes.
Was she already on the plane, well past the point of turning back? Also yes.
Could it end up being the best decision she'd ever made? Or the worst?
She’s about to find out.
౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹🦢⊹₊ ⋆୨ৎ
You might be wondering where Belly's grand dreams of living abroad began.
The truth is, it started long before she ever knew where Paris was on a map.
Isabel Conklin grew up in a lower-middle-class neighborhood outside Philly with an older brother who was a genius and two parents who loved each other very much, but could never seem to make it work. Their divorce wasn't some earth-shattering surprise. If anything, Belly and Steven had been waiting for it. The writing had been on the wall for years.
That didn't make the fights they would overhear any easier, though.
When the arguments got especially bad, Belly would lie awake staring at the ceiling, imagining a different life for herself. She clung to movies like Sabrina, captivated by the idea that a girl could leave everything behind, disappear to some faraway place, and come back transformed.
On the worst nights, she'd retreat to the floor of her bedroom closet with the little dollhouse she and Taylor had built together as kids. Inside lived the dreams of a little girl who longed for something more, hidden inside Barbies, tiny furniture, and handwritten scraps of paper for anyone who looked close enough. Her favorite piece was the miniature Eiffel Tower tucked into the corner. She'd cradle the dream house in both her tiny hands, squeeze her eyes shut, and rock back and forth, just like Jenna did in 13 Going on 30, wishing with everything in her heart that a little fairy dust would carry her somewhere else. Years later, she'd learn there was a name for what she'd been doing all along: self-soothing.
The only thing that carried little Belly through those years was the promise she whispered to herself over and over again: one day, she'd become someone. Someone who would leave this place behind and never look back.
But sometimes dreams are put on hold.
It starts one afternoon when Belly comes home from school and finds her mother lying on the kitchen floor.
She drops her backpack and rushes to her side, gently patting her shoulder. "Mom?" she whispers. "Mom." Again and again, until Laurel finally blinks and looks back at her.
Laurel offers only a tired smile. She cups Belly's cheek, tells her not to worry, then stands up and starts on dinner as though nothing happened.
But something had happened.
And then it happened again.
And again.
Until, one day, Belly's life changes forever.
When she loses Laurel (more on that later) every dream she'd been quietly nurturing is forced aside. The future she'd imagined for herself is replaced by survival. While her classmates worry about dances, college applications, and first loves, Belly spends her high school years caring for her father who moves in and is supposed to be looking after them, reminding him to eat, making sure he bathes, and learning how to carry a grief no teenager should ever have to bear.
Steven does his best to help her, but she has never felt so alone.
(Meanwhile, a few states over in Boston, a teenage boy is experiencing that same kind of loss, grieving someone he wasn't ready to lose and wishing, more than anything, that there was someone out there who understood what he was going through.
That wish wouldn't see the light until years later.)
One of the last gifts Laurel ever gave Belly was a snow globe with the city of Paris inside it. On the night of the funeral, when the house finally went quiet and the reality of what had happened started to sink in, Belly held onto it like it was the only thing keeping her from falling apart.
She shook it.
And shook it.
And shook it.
She'd watch the tiny flakes swirl around the miniature city, the one her mother had always promised they'd visit together after Belly's high school graduation. Paris. Her senior trip. A promise that now existed only inside a glass globe.
Sometimes Belly thought that if she shook it hard enough, time might reverse itself. Maybe Laurel would walk through the door and climb into bed beside her one last time. Maybe the life she'd once been so desperate to escape hadn't been so unbearable after all.
But the snow always settled.
And when it did, Belly was left laying alone, wondering how she was supposed to find her way through the rest of her life without her mother.
౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹🦢⊹₊ ⋆୨ৎ
Years passed and by her senior year of high school, Belly was made captain of the varsity volleyball team. She took all of life’s frustrations out on the court and left them there which seemed to help more than therapy ever did. And in walks Jeremiah, one of the jocks with curls and an easy smile, who started noticing her this year. He'd stop her in the hallway just to compliment her shirt, or tell her her hair looked nice. He showed up to every single one of her volleyball games, something not even her father had done. Sometimes he'd even offer to drive her to school and pick her up after practice.
Jeremiah made her feel seen—maybe for the first time in her life.
When he kisses her outside the locker room, catching her off guard, it wasn't how Belly had always imagined her first kiss would happen. In fact, she was almost annoyed that he'd taken it just like that. But that feeling didn't last long. It was quickly replaced by something else: the feeling of being chosen. Like she'd finally become the girl who was living, instead of the one lingering on the sidelines, hoping someone would notice she was there.
Not long after, they made it official, cementing their place as high school sweethearts.
Taylor insisted she should date other people, reminding her they were months out from graduating and leaving for college, but Belly never saw the point. She knew what she wanted—or at least she thought she did. And that’s how she and Jeremiah ended up at Finch University.
At first, everything was perfect.
Then, little by little, Jeremiah started to change. Or maybe he hadn't changed at all. Maybe college had simply shown her a version of him that she would have never seen otherwise.
For a while, Belly blamed the fraternity. It was easier than admitting this might have always been who he was. But now that she could see it, she couldn’t unsee it. He talked about girls at parties like she wasn’t sitting in the room with them. Left dirty tissues and laundry scattered across his dorm which she’d eventually clean up and resented him for because he knew she’d do it. He was hungover nearly every single weekend. Weekdays, too. Pouted whenever she wanted to spend time with her friends instead of him, making her feel guilty until she canceled her plans.
Instead of coming to college with the hopes to find herself, Belly completely lost herself.
And that’s the thing. It doesn’t happen all at once. It happens so slowly you don't notice until one day you look in the mirror and can't remember the last decision you made for yourself.
By the beginning of her junior year, Belly barely recognized the girl staring back at her in the mirror. And as the spring semester went on, it felt like she and Jeremiah couldn't go a day without bickering. They fought over the stupidest things, until the little things didn't feel so little anymore. Communicating had become exhausting. Something that had once felt so effortless between them felt so difficult all of a sudden.
So, she started spending more time with her friends again, rediscovering parts of herself she'd neglected for months. Jeremiah hated it. He accused her of choosing Taylor over him when Belly told him she was going to spend spring break with her, while Belly argued that she was simply trying to have a life outside of their relationship. She had no interest in going to Cabo, not that he had invited her anyways. She was tired of being the girl in the corner at fraternity parties. She was tired of being known as Jeremiah’s girlfriend and not being called by her actual name.
It turned into their worst fight yet where they both threw in the towel. Belly would always insist that it was a break, not a real breakup. There were rules, or at least she thought there were, things that go without saying. They just needed space from each other to figure things out. But Jeremiah interpreted it differently. The way he always did.
And for that entire week, Jeremiah ignored every call and every text she sent. Even if it was some silly meme or funny Tiktok she knew he’d like. By the end of the week, Belly stopped reaching out altogether. She had no idea that, halfway across the country in Cabo, Jeremiah had already decided what their break meant. He’d betrayed her trust.
She wouldn’t find out about his infidelity until that May, at a fraternity party where Belly would overhear Lacie Barone enthusiastically recount every detail of her incredible hookup in Cabo.
It didn't take long for her to piece all of it together. The timing. The details. The sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. And the moment Belly opened the door and saw Lacie's face drain of color, her stomach dropped. Lacie's expression told her everything she needed to know.
As awful as it sounds, part of her almost felt relieved. Finally. She had a good enough reason to let go of this relationship she'd been trying so hard to convince herself was worth saving.
That didn't mean it didn't absolutely devastate her, though.
Because Jeremiah wasn't the first person to teach Belly that love could hurt. Her parents had done that years ago. Their constant fighting and eventual divorce had left cracks in her idea of love long before Jeremiah ever came along. But he had also shown her the other side of it. How love can feel safe. How it can feel warm. How it can feel fun. She’d spent four years of her life with this person. Four years. So, when she found out he'd not only slept with someone else, but lied to her face about it and continued sleeping with her for months afterward as if nothing had happened, it shattered so much more than her trust in him.
It shattered her faith in love itself.
She’d deny it, but at her core, Belly was a true romantic. And despite her parent’s history, she'd just had to believe that real love, the kind she’d grown up watching in black-and-white films and every rom-com she could get her hands on, was out there. She refused to let Jeremiah take that away from her when he’d already taken so much.
After she’d done her grieving and moved out of her dorm, Belly made a haste decision.
She was going to spend the summer in Paris.
What she didn't tell anyone was that she'd already missed the study abroad deadline. She wasn't enrolled in a program. She didn't have an itinerary, a backup plan, or any real idea what she was doing.
All she knew was that if she didn't go now, she'd spend the rest of her life finding reasons to stay.
Something had been calling her there for years.
Maybe it was the promise she'd made to the little girl who kept a tiny Eiffel Tower tucked inside a dollhouse. Maybe it was the trip she and her mother never got to take. Or maybe it was simply the hope that somewhere across the ocean, she might find the person she knows she can become.
Whatever it was, she knew she had to follow it.
She had to find out for herself.
౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹🦢⊹₊ ⋆୨ৎ
Weeks earlier, after deciding she was really going to do it, she was going to Paris, Belly had spent hours searching for short-term apartments, trying to figure out what was even possible.
She ran the numbers over and over, calculating how many shifts she'd have to work, maybe even under the table, just to afford rent, wondering if she was completely out of her mind.
Then she saw it. A tiny studio. There was nothing remarkable about it on paper, but something about it refused to let her click away. The kitchenette was barely bigger than a closet. A small balcony overlooked a quiet street. Even better, the rent was far below anything else she'd seen.
She messaged the owner immediately.
The replies came in awkward, broken English. They explained they were temporarily abroad and needed someone to take over the lease for the summer. Belly told them she could be there within weeks. From there, everything seemed to fall into place.
During her flight, she checked in one last time. The owner apologized for not being able to meet her in person but assured her they'd leave the keys with a neighbor once the security deposit was transferred.
Belly hesitated, but sent the money, draining most, if not all, of her savings.
And here we have it, hours later, exhausted from delays and jet lag, Belly is dragging her suitcase through unfamiliar streets until she finally reaches the address. The place she’ll be calling home for the next few months. The building exists. The street looks exactly like the photos.
But when she steps forward and buzzes the apartment number, nobody answers.
She tries calling the owner. Nothing.
She messages again.
Read.
No response.
And if the universe needed to remind her that starting over wouldn't be easy, it begins to rain.
Belly stands outside the building, suitcase beside her, frantically refreshing her WhatsApp messages and trying to get ahold of the landlord. At first, she’s convinced it was just bad service. She was in a new country, after all. Maybe her phone wasn't working properly. Maybe the messages weren't going through because of the Wi-Fi.
But then her messages start failing to send.
She realizes with a chill that she’d been blocked.
It takes her a few minutes of panic, confusion, and denial before she finally bangs on the door of the building, hoping someone will answer. Thankfully, a resident is on their way out, looking irritated, speaking quickly in French that Belly struggles to understand. She tries to explain the situation, pulling up the listing on her phone, but their confused expressions tell her everything she needs to know.
The apartment was never for rent.
The listing was fake.
Belly had been scammed.
The resident throws up their hands, pushing past her, muttering something in French that isn’t very nice, and walks away, leaving her standing there with nothing but her suitcase and the sinking feeling in her stomach. But Belly didn’t come all this way to give up yet.
She catches the door before it can close and drags her suitcase up the stairs toward the apartment that was supposed to be hers, thinking maybe the person inside it will understand. Maybe this could still somehow be fixed.
But when she knocks, no one answers.
She waits then knocks again.
Nothing.
Whether no one is home or they simply don't want to answer, Belly doesn't know. All she knows is that she's running out of options.
So she waits. She doesn't know what else to do.
She sinks down onto the stairwell, burying her face in her hands as the daylight starts to burn outside. The rain is still coming down hard, and she knows she can't stay there forever.
Eventually, someone is going to tell her to leave.
She's already gotten enough annoyed looks from residents trying to squeeze past her on the stairs, clearly wondering why a girl with a suitcase has been sitting in their building for hours.
After one final knock and another stretch of silence, Belly closes her eyes.
She accepts defeat.
Swallowing the lump in her throat, she grips the handle of her suitcase and forces herself to walk away from the apartment she’d spent weeks dreaming about.
By the second flight of stairs, her vision has blurred with tears. She barely notices when one of her suitcase wheels catches on the uneven edge of a slippery step.
Her footing slips. The suitcase jerks sideways.
She reaches for the railing to catch herself and misses—
Except she never hits the ground.
Strong arms catch her before she can.
And when she looks up, she isn't holding her breath because she almost fell down a flight of stairs. She's holding it because of the person who caught her.
The first thing Belly notices is his eyes.
They remind her of the ocean, deep, open, mysterious, and almost glittering in the dim light of the stairwell. Damp strands of dark brown hair have fallen across his forehead, curling slightly from the rain outside. His skin is bronzed with the kind of golden tan that seems out of place in Paris, and a scattering of freckles dusts the bridge of his nose.
He's beautiful.
He might just be the most beautiful man she's ever seen.
And then there are his lips, so full and distracting, and they’re currently moving—
Which means he is saying something. Something she should probably be listening to.
“Prudent.” His voice makes her knees feel even wobblier as he steadies her and helps her back onto her feet. “Je suis désolé. Ça va?”
Belly slowly blinks.
“Sorry.” She sounds far more breathless than she should be. “I was just—” She shakes her head, trying to pull herself together. “I mean, désolé. Merci. Je vais bien.”
His hands fall away from her waist as she takes a step back and he smiles.
“Is that a Philly accent I hear?”
Belly immediately looks back up at him with pure disbelief. “Oh my God. Are you American?”
“Ye—”
Before he can even finish the word, Belly throws her arms around him, nevermind the fact that he’s a stranger and damp from the falling rain outside.
Almost as quickly as it happened, she pulls away. The man just stares at her, blinking like she's a stray cat that wandered into the building and decided he was her new best friend.
“Sorry.” She explains quickly. “I just—it's been such a long day, and you have no idea how nice it is to talk to someone who isn't yelling rapid-fire French at me every five seconds.”
He laughs, nodding. “I get it. My first week here was brutal, too.”
Belly laughs, smoothing down her hair.
“So, are you new to the building?” He asks, tilting his head as he takes in the suitcase beside her.
“Yes. Well, no.” She sighs. “I thought I was locked out, but it turns out I don't actually have an apartment.”
“What?”
“I was scammed.”
He looks genuinely sorry. “Oh, shit.”
“Yeah.”
“What floor were you supposed to be on?”
“Um… the one above this one. First door on the right.”
“Wait, seriously?”
Belly blinks.
“That’s my apartment.”
She stares at him as her hand slowly comes up to her forehead. “No shit.”
“Yeah.” He says, almost laughing. “No shit.”
"I knew it was too good to be true." Belly lets out a breathless laugh, shaking her head as she throws her hands into the air. "Oh my God. This is so embarrassing.”
She ducks her head, unable to meet his eyes for more than a second before reaching for the handle of her suitcase.
"Well…" She forces a small, apologetic smile. "It was nice meeting you. Sorry for bothering you. Have a nice rest of your day. Or, I mean, bonne soirée.”
She turns and starts down the stairs, still shaking her head, lugging her suitcase down each step. She only makes it two steps before his voice echoes through the stairwell.
“Wait.”
Belly pauses halfway down the stairs and looks back.
“You can’t just go back out there with nowhere to stay.” He gestures toward the window. “It’s pouring outside. What’s your plan?”
Belly looks toward the window, pursing her lips, realizing he’s right.
The thing is, she doesn't really have one. But this stranger taking pity on her doesn’t need to know that. Maybe she should just go back to the airport.
"Um…" She swallows as the rain continues to pound against the glass. "I think I'm just… going to head back to the airport."
He watches her for a moment, like he's weighing whether he should say anything at all.
"Or…" He treads carefully, rubbing the back of his neck. "You could wait out the storm at my place… at least until you figure something out."
She blinks at him.
"What?"
"My apartment." he says quickly. "Just until you decide what you want to do."
“What?” She laughs at the thought. “No, that's—no. That's asking way too much. You don't even know me.”
"Well, from what I've gathered so far, you're probably not some creepy axe murderer."
Despite herself, she giggles.
"I'm serious." He says with a shrug, taking another step down the stairs. "Besides, I'm a doctor-in-training. I can't exactly let someone get stranded in a foreign city with nowhere to go. That pretty much goes against everything I stand for."
Only then does Belly really look at what he's wearing. The white lab coat. The hospital badge clipped to his chest. The heavy backpack slung over one shoulder.
He doesn't look dangerous. He looks quite the opposite. Like someone she can maybe trust.
"Are you… sure?" She asks quietly, rubbing at her arm. "I don't want to impose. Don't you have roommates or something?"
He shakes his head. "I live alone."
"Oh."
He waits.
"Okay." A tentative smile spreads across her face, easing up. "Thank you. Really. I promise I'll be out of your hair as soon as the storm lets up."
She reaches for the handle of her suitcase, but before she can lift it up the steps, he steps forward and takes it from her with an easy, practiced motion.
"I've got it."
She smiles up at him. He has no idea how much she appreciates that after lugging it around all day.
“Thanks.”
She starts following him up the steps.
“I should warn you.” He says as they round the corner. “It's really small.”
“Oh, I know.” Belly laughs. “I saw the pictures. I'm prepared.”
When they finally reach his door, Belly watches this complete stranger turn the key in the lock, and she can't help but wonder what she would've done if he hadn't been there. If he hadn't caught her when she fell. If he hadn't stopped her from walking back into the rain with nowhere to go. This kind stranger who owes her nothing, knows absolutely nothing about her, is opening up his home to her. Maybe it's the exhaustion catching up with her, or the overwhelming relief of not being completely alone in a city she's never been to, but for a second, all she really wants to do is hug him again.
She knows that's probably too much for someone she's known for less than an hour.
So she settles for a smile.
He pushes the door open, stepping aside and holding it wider.
"After you."
Belly looks at him, her chest tightening with gratitude.
"Thank you. Again." She clasps her hands together, almost unsure what to do with them, before taking her suitcase. "You're seriously a life saver right now. It's been… the worst day in the history of travel days. Maybe even the worst month of my life, if I'm being honest.”
He just laughs, "That bad, huh?"
She nods, still a little overwhelmed.
“You have no idea.”
"Well." The man says, stepping aside to let her in. "How about you tell me all about it over a glass of wine as we wait out the storm? Only if you want to, of course. No pressure.”
Oh, now she really wants to hug him.
౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹🦢⊹₊ ⋆୨ৎ
The first thing Belly noticed about this stranger was his eyes.
The second thing? How tall he was.
She watches as he reaches for two wine glasses, his back muscles flexing through his button-up, his large hands practically swallowing the delicate stems as easily as they had the doorknob.
She swallows, forcing her eyes away.
The third thing? How unexpectedly neat and tidy the apartment was.
He asked her to take her shoes off by the door, which she had no problem doing seeing as she grew up keeping an Asian household.
Her eyes wander around his apartment, taking in the organized shelves, the clean counters, the stack of textbooks, the little details that made the place feel lived-in without being too messy.
“I like your place.” Belly turns back around to look at him. His eyes are already on her as he uncorks the wine.
“Thanks.” He wears a lopsided grin as he pours the wine. “Sorry I took it from you.”
“Hey, you were here first.” She laughs, crossing her arms as she looks around the apartment, feeling a little out of place. She moves a little closer as he corks the wine. "Um…" She hesitates, suddenly realizing. "Sorry. I just realized I never actually got your name."
“Conrad.” He hands her the glass and their fingers brush. They both feel an immediate jolt of something they can’t name. “Conrad Fisher. From Boston.”
“Boston, huh?” Belly raises her brows as she takes it. “Are you a Red Sox fan?”
He laughs and it’s a beautiful laugh. Truly.
“Depends on how well they’re playing.”
She smiles, taking her first sip, her eyes wandering to the large window.
"Good answer."
He smiles, still not having taken a sip of his.
“And yours?”
She looks back at him and if she didn’t know any better, she’d think he was maybe flirting.
She blinks. “My favorite team?”
He fights a smile.
“Your name.”
Oh.
Right.
“Isabel Conklin. From Philly. But everyone back home calls me Belly, so.”
Conrad nods. His eyes don’t leave her as he brings the wine glass to his lips and she wanders toward the window.
“Wow.” She leans in. “I really love the view you have here. The pictures didn’t do it justice at all.”
“Yeah, that’s basically what sold me on the place.” His voice gets closer. “It has a view of the—”
“—Sacré-Cœur. Like in Sabrina.” Belly finishes, smiling to herself. She still can’t believe she’s actually here.
Conrad looks at her, surprised, standing beside her now. “Exactly.”
“I’m surprised you’ve seen Sabrina.” She glances at him sideways. “A guy like you doesn’t exactly strike me as someone who’s into that.”
His eyebrows lift. “A guy like me?”
“Yeah, like…” She immediately realizes she’s digging herself into a hole. “All tall, dark, and handsome, and smart, and—”
Oh my God, Belly. Stop talking, her brain screams.
She takes a very deliberate sip of wine, hoping it will somehow erase the last five seconds of her life.
When she finally risks looking back at him, Conrad is laughing.
“Well, I grew up on all the classics.” He nods, and if the slight pink in his cheeks is anything to go by, he might even be blushing, too. “My mom was quite the cinephile.”
“Was?” She catches it.
He clears his throat, looking down for a moment before he answers.
“Yeah. She, uh… passed away a few years back. Breast cancer."
“Oh, Conrad.” Belly feels an impulse to rest an arm on him, but decides against it. Still, the hand not holding her wine glasses twitches. “I’m so sorry.”
He looks at her with a worn smile. She recognizes that look more than he knows.
"What matters is… she’s not in pain anymore.” He answers diplomatically, his eyes fixed somewhere beyond the window. "That doesn't mean I miss her any less. I do." His fingers tighten slightly around his glass. "I'm just grateful she doesn't have to fight anymore. She deserved to be free from all of that. The chemo was almost harder on her body than the cancer was."
He looks at Belly.
"She's at peace now." He nods. "And knowing that… it brings me peace too."
Belly doesn't think she's ever heard a more beautiful response in her entire life. She wishes she could possess that much poise and grace.
“I understand…”
She looks out of the window and it gives her courage to open up about in a way she so rarely does.
“I lost my mom too.” Her eyes drift toward the Sacré-Cœur in the distance, but she isn't really seeing it. “Believe me. I get it.”
When she looks at him again, she isn’t met with pity or grief or any of the typical reactions. She is met by someone who gets it, who understands her at that level, the way that kind of loss changes everything it touches.
Belly looks away first, bringing her glass to her lips.
"So…" She says, giving the moment time to breathe before gently shifting the conversation. "Is that why you went into medicine?"
Conrad nods.
“More or less. I guess, I just wanted to make a difference. I’ve always liked helping people.”
“You’re good at it.” Belly offers a smile. “If it wasn’t for you, who knows where I’d be right now.”
“Thanks.” He blinks and she wonders if he knows how much he does that, if it’s some nervous tick, or just a very endearing habit she’s reading into. Then he laughs, sipping his wine. “But something tells me you would’ve survived. Like some feral alley cat.”
She raises her brows at that, fighting a smile. She’s not sure if that’s the compliment he thinks it is.
“Sorry.” He rubs the back of his neck and they both laugh. “That… sounded better in my head.”
Belly’s about to reply when out of the corner of her eye, something jumps onto the couch.
“Aww. Who's this?” She sets down her glass with a smile.
Conrad turns toward the small figure jumping down from the cushions and crosses over.
“Luna.” He pets her between her ears and the cat purrs against him. “I rescued her my first night here.”
Just like you rescued me, Belly thinks but doesn’t say. This guy has a really good heart.
"Luna, meet Belly." Conrad gestures toward her. "Belly, meet Luna."
"Hi, Luna." Belly crouches slightly, holding out her hand with a little hesitation. "It's very nice to meet you."
The cat tilts its head, giving her a quick look over.
Then she strolls over, sniffs Belly's fingers, and rubs her face against her hand like they’re old friends, purring into it.
Conrad and Belly laugh.
"Okay, wow. I guess we're friends now." Luna circles around her, completely content, leaning into every bit of attention Belly gives her.
"Well, aren't you just the cutest thing?" She murmurs, scratching gently behind her ears. "Her eyes are very pretty."
"They are."
Belly keeps her focus on Luna, completely unaware that Conrad isn't looking at the cat at all.
"Hey." He wets his lips, glancing toward the kitchen. "Are you hungry? You must be starving. I can make something."
Belly looks up, surprised.
“Yeah.” She chirps, feeling a little guilty. She’s already taken up his evening, his apartment, and now she’s about to accept food from a complete stranger. But the reality is she hasn’t eaten in hours. She gives him a little smile. “Yeah, I could eat.”
౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹🦢⊹₊ ⋆୨ৎ
They spend the next few hours getting to know each other a little better with Luna curled comfortably between them on the couch.
Belly tells him the short version of why she's here, leaving out some parts that she's sure he doesn't care to know, and Conrad tells her he's here via a medical exchange program. Before they know it, hours have passed, though it doesn't feel that way.
She glances toward the window, watching the storm continue to rage outside. The rain streaks down the glass, the city beyond it blurred into shadows and lights.
"Well…" Belly sighs, draining the last of her wine before setting it down. "So much for waiting out the storm."
Conrad follows her gaze, then looks back at her.
"You can just stay the night.”
Belly turns toward him.
The offer is so simple, so genuine, that for a second she doesn't know what to say.
“I would offer you my bed." He jokes, almost like he can see the hesitation on her face. "But honestly? The couch is way more comfortable."
She lets out a small laugh. “I believe you.”
They just share a moment of quiet in the dark, then Conrad stands.
“Here.” He says, setting down his wine glass, disappearing for a second. "I'll be right back."
He returns with a fluffy pillow and blankets.
Luna cocks a brow, eyes flickering between them.
“Are those from your own bed?” Belly fidgets. “Conrad, you—”
“Don’t worry. I still have plenty for myself.”
"Are you— are you sure? About all of this? I feel like I’ve already overstayed my welcome, Conrad.”
He shrugs.
"Seems like the least I can do after you had the worst day in the history of travel days." He winks, and Belly laughs, looking down at Luna as she jumps into her lap.
“See?” He smirks. “Even Luna agrees.”
Belly just looks at Luna then at him, pursing her lips, then nods.
“Okay, as long as Luna’s okay with it.”
They share a laugh.
They end up making the couch-bed together and Belly tries not to pay attention to how it feels when their hands brush. Sometimes it feels like he’s looking at her in the dark, but she knows that's just the exhaustion speaking.
“Alright, well, thanks again." Belly nods, reaching for her phone. "I’ll set an alarm and be out of your hair by the morning, I promise. I really appreciate it."
“Don’t even worry about it. I’ll probably be gone before you even wake up.” He says. “So, take all the time you need, Belly. Really."
“Thanks.” She says and they stand there for a second, just looking at each other. “I, um, I’m going to wash my face and change into pajamas. Thanks again for dinner and everything.”
“Yeah, of course." He nods. "Bathroom is the first door on the left. You can shower if you want. Fresh towels are in the closet.”
She thinks about it.
“Would you mind? I feel like I reek of the airport.”
He laughs. “Go for it.”
"Thanks."
౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹🦢⊹₊ ⋆୨ৎ
In the bathroom, Belly thinks about texting Taylor about this stranger and the past twenty four hours of her life, but she decides it can wait.
Right now, she really needs a warm shower and some sleep.
When she steps back out in fresh pajamas, her hair still damp, she finds something waiting for her on the couch.
A piece of chocolate. A remote.
And with it, a small handwritten note:
Hi Belly,
I had to go to bed. I have to be at the hospital early tomorrow. I’ll try not to wake you.
Maybe your first day in Paris wasn’t as magical as you hoped it would be, but that doesn’t mean your first night can’t be. I leave you with the best chocolate from a store down the street. Luna said it would be incredibly rude of me not to share, and she is very persuasive. There’s more in the cupboard.
Also, I rented Sabrina. Knock yourself out.
I hope this isn’t the last time our paths cross. Paris is a big city, but somehow I have a feeling we’ll run into each other again.
You know where to find us.
— Your first friends in Paris,
C O N R A D + L U N A
Belly stares down at the note in her hands, with tears brimming in her eyes, wishing she could properly thank the sleeping man in the other room.
For the first time since arriving here, she lets herself believe that everything will be okay.
Maybe she was supposed to end up here.
Maybe come tomorrow, she will find it within herself to actually make this work.
And when she curls up on her makeshift bed, wrapped in a blanket that doesn't belong to her, eating chocolate and watching Sabrina until her eyes start to grow heavy, things don’t seem as bad as they did just hours ago.
Sabrina’s words floating from the screen only seem to echo this:
"I have learned how to live, how to be IN the world and OF the world, and not just to stand aside and watch. And I will never, never again run away from life. Or from love, either."
Belly falls asleep, determined, knowing she isn’t leaving until she finds that.
Whatever that is.
Sometime during the night, she thinks she feels someone gently slipping the remote from her hand and taking the chocolate from her other before it can fall. She hears the quiet click of the television turning off, leaving only the sound of rain pouring against the windows.
Then Luna jumps into her lap.
The cat curls against her like she hasn't been a stranger in this apartment for less than a day, and Belly sighs in her sleep as a pair of careful hands pulls the blanket higher around her.
Luna cracks one eye open at Conrad.
"What?” he whispers, like he’s been caught. “What are you looking at?"
Luna only blinks at him before closing her eyes again, letting out a tiny, satisfied purr as she snuggles further into Belly's lap.
Then she turns her big, round eyes on him, looking at him like she knows something he doesn’t.
"I know.” He sighs, reaching down to scratch behind her ears. His eyes drift to Belly. "Me too.”