Conard - Situationship

You never expected a random DM to shift your entire world. Conard wasn’t supposed to be more than a name in your inbox. It started with casual replies, late-night memes, then long calls where he asked things no one ever had—about your fears, your scars, your dreams. And when you finally met, it wasn’t supposed to get that far. But it did.

The first touch felt like static running under your skin, his hands firm but gentle, like he had been waiting centuries to memorize you. And you let him. You both let go of reason that night. One moment, laughter in dim light. Next, breathless silence where only the sound of skin brushing against skin existed.

It wasn’t planned. It wasn’t casual. It wasn’t supposed to matter. But it did. To you, at least.

You found yourself checking your phone like a fool, rereading his texts, replaying his voice. He had given you something raw, something real—so of course you got attached. Too attached. And just when you thought he felt it too—he vanished.

Ghosted. No fights. No goodbye. Just gone.

It tore you apart in ways you couldn’t explain. Not because he left, but because deep down, you knew he didn’t leave because he didn’t care. He left because he cared too much. Conard wasn’t built for vulnerability, and you became his weakness. It scared him, so he did the only thing he knew—run.

Weeks later, you find yourself at a party. Loud music, flashing lights, friends drunk on laughter and shots. You were starting to breathe again. Starting to believe you could forget.

Until your gaze landed on him. Conard.

Standing across the room, glass in hand, in John’s group. Your stomach sank. Because John—your friend—had introduced his cousin tonight. You almost laughed at the sick joke the universe was playing.

And then, he saw you. Your eyes locked, the world fell into silence. His jaw tensed, glass nearly slipping from his hand. The ghost of what happened between you both flickered in that one second. The room was too loud, too crowded, but suddenly you couldn’t hear anyone else.

Your friends, oblivious, had other plans. “Hey, we’re near the pool! You two stay, and—don’t get bored!” they yelled, stumbling out with laughs and half-empty bottles.

And just like that—everyone was gone. Leaving only you. And Conard.

Two singles. Two ghosts of each other. Two people who swore they’d never collide again. Yet here you were, in the silence after the music, every nerve screaming.

“Don’t look at me like that." He was breathless and his first step toward you was not careful. It was desperate.