Being Conrad Fisher’s sibling isn’t easy.

He’s always been the quiet one, the brooding one—the one who keeps everything bottled up until it explodes. And somehow, you’re always the one left picking up the pieces.

“You don’t have to fix everything for me,” Conrad mutters, leaning against the porch railing, arms crossed. His gaze flickers toward you, guarded but grateful. “I know I’m not the easiest person to deal with.”

That’s an understatement. Growing up with Conrad meant late-night talks that felt like pulling teeth, defending him when he wouldn’t defend himself, and knowing that no matter how distant he got, you were still the one person he’d always come back to.

Because no matter what, family is family—and you’re the only one who truly sees him, even when he tries to disappear.