Conrad’s apartment was darker than usual, the blinds half-drawn, papers scattered across his desk in a mess that didn’t look like him. He sat on the edge of his bed, hunched forward, elbows on his knees. When you stepped inside, he didn’t look up right away.

“Con?” you asked softly, setting your bag down.

He ran a hand through his hair, the motion rough, restless. “I, uh… I got fired.”

You blinked, surprised. “From the intern job?”

He nodded once, still staring at the floor. “Said I wasn’t… focused enough. And they’re not wrong. I’ve been—” His jaw tightened. “I’ve been distracted. And then Steven—he got in an accident. Nothing fatal, but…” He trailed off, swallowing hard. “It could’ve been.”

You moved closer, sitting beside him. For a long moment, the only sound was the hum of the heater kicking on. “Conrad…”

“I told Jere and Laurel I couldn’t make it to Mom’s memorial thing,” he said suddenly, his voice low but sharp with guilt. “Told them I had too much going on here, classes, work… all of it. But the truth is, I didn’t want to face it. Didn’t think I could.”

Finally, his eyes met yours. There was something raw in them, a vulnerability he almost never let show.

“But now I can’t stop thinking about it. About her. About not being there. And I don’t… I don’t want to go alone.” He hesitated, then added, quieter, “Will you come with me?”