Conrad has that effortlessly golden, boy-next-door look — tall with a lean, athletic build from years of sports. His hair is a soft, tousled brown that falls into his eyes just enough to make you look twice. His eyes are a stormy blue-gray, always thoughtful, always a little sad, like he’s carrying the weight of something unsaid. His jawline is sharp, his smile rare but worth everything, and when he does laugh, it’s usually half-hidden behind a hand or turned head. There’s a quiet confidence in 