Work Text:
The Big Sad was bad again.
You were lying in bed on a Saturday late morning in the dorm room at Brown that you shared with your best friend Belly. She was away for the weekend with her dad. Ordinarily, it would be fun and refreshing to have the apartment to yourself - you could sing karaoke as loud as you wanted and stay up late with all the lights on. But your depression had been getting worse the past couple weeks - you'd stayed in a few weekend nights while the rest of your friends went out to places you usually loved. You'd skipped a few morning classes because it took you several hours to motivate yourself to get out of bed.
Belly made you pinky swear that you'd call if you were upset and needed to talk while she was away - but you knew that you wouldn't want to bother her while she was having fun. You stared at the ceiling, too anxious to sleep but too depressed to do anything. It was brutal. Since this morning, you'd scrolled through TikTok for a few hours, ate a sleeve of Ritz crackers and watched a few hours of TV.
Your phone buzzed next to you and you looked over at it, pleading it wasn't someone asking you to go out and do something - but it was. "Hi," the text from your close friend Conrad read. The next one said: "running to the grocery store in a bit if you want to come with?" It was nice of him to think of you because you didn't have a car on campus yet, but there was no way you'd be able to get out of bed, and you knew that. You ignored the texts. It was easier than responding and trying to explain what was going on in your head.
You dozed off for a while and woke up to your phone buzzing with a phone call. Conrad. Your heart leapt. You had a little - okay, a little more than a little - crush on Belly's boyfriend Jeremiah's older brother. Since you met Belly and she introduced you, you'd had an eye for him. He felt way out of your league, though, so you never did anything about it.
"Hi," you answered the phone, voice still raspy from sleep.
"Hey, did you, uh, see my text?" he asked. He almost sounded nervous.
"Umm..." you didn't want to lie. "Oh, yeah, I see it now, thanks."
"Wait, did I wake you up?" he laughed. "It's three p.m." Your brain was still fuzzy.
"Yes you did, and I can see that," you said, maybe a bit too snarkily. He hates you, your brain said. Just push him away so you can stop being a burden to him. Conrad was silent for a moment. Your heart hurt - you didn't want to push him away - but you couldn't handle it right now.
"I can't come, but thanks," you answered.
"Why, what are you up to?" Conrad asked.
"I just...have a thing." It was taking all the energy in the world for you to get the words out between your lips. You wanted so badly for him to drop the topic - it'd be so embarrassing to admit that you were too depressed to get out of bed. How could Conrad ever want a girl like that?
"What thing?" he asked pointedly. You rolled your eyes, exasperated.
"Connie, depression is literally kicking my ass this week. I haven't left this room in 24 hours. I'm too nauseous to even think about food and I actually want to curl up into a ball and die immediately, and the fact that I have to admit this to you is horrifyingly embarrassing, so thanks," you spit out sarcastically. He didn't say anything immediately, and the anxiety started rising in your chest - that you'd freaked him out, that you'd lost him forever as a friend, that he'd immediately written you off as a crazy weirdo.
"I'm coming over. I have Belly's spare key, so you don't need to get out of bed. I'll be there in fifteen," Conrad said. Your eyes widened. He was coming over here?
"Oh my god, no, I wasn't trying to ask for help or ask you to come over, you don't have to-"
"Enough," Conrad interrupted you. "It's fine. I'll see you in a bit." He hung up the phone. Your hands were shaking as you put your phone back on your bed. Conrad Fisher was coming over here to - to what? Take care of you? Check on you? The only thing you could think to do was put your head down, close your eyes, and try not to think about it - until you heard a key fiddling in the lock. A few polite knocks on the door, and you heard it open. You felt paralyzed and pretended to be asleep.
You listened as he kicked his shoes off at the entrance to the doorway. You kept your eyes closed as he took a few steps towards you. Then, you felt a large hand on your shoulder, softly rubbing it over the blanket you were buried in.
"Hey," Conrad whispered, gently "waking" you up. You popped open one eye and shifted around a bit. He was here now - there was no way you were going to avoid this anymore. He was wearing a red regatta hoodie and grey sweatpants, with messy hair and a pencil behind his ear, probably from the advanced engineering homework he was always working on.
"I'm here. I just wanted to keep you company," he explained. "I don't know if Belly or Jere ever told you this, but I've had some pretty bad episodes of depression myself." He looked at the floor. "So I know what it's like, and I don't want you to be alone, and I just want to make sure that you, uh, stay alive. I know I can't fix things completely, but if I can ease the pain a little..." He choked on the last few words. You involuntarily started tearing up - this may have been the nicest thing someone's ever done for you.
"Connie," you squeaked out, "thank you." He brushed your hair behind your ear and looked at you with pure compassion. You felt seen. Even though the pit in your heart was still there, Conrad was climbing in and starting to fill it. He turned around and picked up a few pieces of trash from your desk and floor.
"You don't have to-" you began saying.
"I want to, and I'm going to," Conrad said seriously, and kept working. You laid your head back, too exhausted to fight, and watched him fill up a garbage bag and take it out, then put all of the clothes on your chair and ottoman and floor into a laundry basket. He found a Lysol wipe somewhere in Belly's stuff and sanitized your windowsill, desk, dresser, doorknob. It smelled like lemons now instead of two-day-old Chinese takeout that had been sitting on top of the fridge because you didn't have the energy to take it outside.
You tried to hide your tears because you didn't want Conrad to feel guilty - but you were so overwhelmed by the genuine display of kindness he was showing you that you couldn't help but choke up.
"Hey, hey," he came over to the bed when he noticed you sniffling. "You're alright." He laid a hand on your shoulder, hesitating.
"Can you, um..." You felt awful asking. "Can you lay with me?" The words came out weakly.
"Yeah, of course," Conrad replied. He was so much taller than you that he didn't need to jump like you did to get into the lofted bed - just lifted himself up and fumbled with the covers to join you underneath them. You turned to look at him - he was blushing, and half-smiled before wrapping his arms around you. When he pulled you into his chest, smelling like soap and Christmas tree candles (his favorite), you started to cry again.
"It's okay, pretty girl," he whispered into you, before kissing you chastely on the top of your hair. If you weren't so upset, it would've been a magical moment. He rocked the two of you gently, just slightly, while you wept. "Let it out. You don't have to be strong around me," he assured you, squeezing you in tight.
"I'm getting... snot all over your... sweatshirt," you said in between sobs. "I'm so sorry."
"You're right," he looked down and admitted, "but don't be sorry. It'll be funny later. Probably." You laughed a little bit.
"Good girl," he said, happy that he could make you smile for just a second. "You can get through this. I'm here." Slowly tracing his fingernails down your arm, he said, maybe even a little bit to himself, "You're not alone. I've got you." Even though you were sad, empty, numb, at least now you felt safe. "I'm going to stay here as long as you want me to." He readjusted your bodies so you were lying down, your face still pressed to his chest. Your fingers were grasping his hoodie for dear life, trying to pull him closer, lean into the comfort.
"I don't deserve you, I don't deserve you being this nice to me," you admitted. Conrad immediately shook his head.
"Everyone deserves to be helped in their time of need," Conrad reminded you. "You're feeling sick. I care about you and I'm going to take care of you as much as you'll let me." He traced the skin of your cheeks with the pads of his fingers, ever so lightly, then leaned in and placed a kiss on your forehead, lingering for a few seconds, not ready to let the moment go.
"Do you want to watch something together?" he suggested. You put on an episode of New Girl, which was one of both of your favorite shows, and enjoyed Conrad's comfort, his presence.
You managed to fall asleep, and as you were dozing off, he whispered, "I love you."