𝓗𝓮 𝓲𝓼 𝓷𝓸𝓽 𝓹𝓮𝓻𝓯𝓮𝓬𝓽. 𝓝𝓸 𝔀𝓸𝓷𝓭𝓮𝓻 𝓘 𝓪𝓶 𝓲𝓷 𝓵𝓸𝓿𝓮 𝔀𝓲𝓽𝓱 𝓱𝓲𝓶.
"Sometimes in the race to be loved, we forget that the most important person that can love us, is ourselves."
Conan gets a dare to talk to Heather an...
Author's Note: What's your favorite Conan Gray song? I love all of them but somehow 'Heather' hits home hard. I have always loved Cone's music. A lot of experiences he talks about, I haven't personally felt but if someone can put you in a different experience, outside your comfort zone and make you relate, they are elite. I love Cone.
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Heather is in my house.
Heather is in my house.
Heather is in my house.
Why did I invite him? I could have literally let him go, saying I was busy. Why. Am. I. Such. An. Idiot.
Conan lit up a candle on table. It was from Olvera Candle Store. He adored the smell of dry leaves it gave off. It made him calm and reminded him of home. The lazy and waxy scent of it, made his insides tingle. He had to have at least five packets of it right. Ashley would sometimes even tease him, saying he was addicted to it's smell like a drug.
He stole a glance at Heather, who was sitting on one of the chairs, awkwardly, looking around his house. He flushed as he saw the bed, averting his eyes, only for them to land on Conan. He offered him a weak and phony smile.
Conan turned his gaze at the whirring coffeemaker. He retracted the pot from the notch and poured it into two china cups.
What if he breaks it?
Realizing Heathcliff would obviously buy a whole new set for one broken cup, Conan put them in a tray. It had started off as such a good day. He talked to his step-siblings, his dad and Ashley. He had thrown together good verses and saw positive comments on social media. Everything, from the weather to the songs he had heard, were lifting him up. Now, Heather was here. Not because he wanted to be here, but because Conan had invited him.
"Coffee." Conan chimed as he passed the tray in front of the other boy's eyes.
"Thanks." He said, grabbing a cup.
Conan settled into the snuggly chair beside him. "Now, concentrate yourself. Let your inner self out."
"I didn't mean to sign up for a yoga session." He laughed, the sound like a paper shredder tearing up the confetti, his hope. He sipped his coffee, without any annoying noise.
"It's therapy with coffee and candles." Conan corrected, mildly offended. He snapped his fingers. "Let all your problems out. Think about this weeks emotions..."
Conan looked at him to see if he had been following his instructions. Heather looked sick, his face was already dry and sticky but now it looked it like he was cringing at someone's puke. He had a purplish hue that made Cone a little sick too, like his insides were mixing themselves wildly.
"Are you okay?" Conan said, though he wasn't concerned. "You-"
"I am fine." He said hastily, putting his cup aside. "So, where were we?"
"I feel like I am overdoing this." Conan admitted, sipping noisily on purpose. Heathcliff guffawed.
"I think it's okay. Sometimes it's good to abide by the rules, other times it's not." He sipped from the cup he had just displaced. He sipped noisily too and soon their all their thoughts and maturity had been lost in a stream of giggles and hysterics.
"Mom would have smacked my head." Heathcliff laughed for the billionth time. His calm and casual demeanor was now lost and replaced by a very gummy and shy smile. " 'You're being immature, Heath.' "
"Can I ask you something?" Conan asked. "Why did your parents name you Heathcliff?"
"I know what you mean," He said a little irritably, "Heathcliff was a dick. He was dead at the end of 'Wuthering Heights'. I think it was because my mom wanted me to never be ashamed of who I am. She wanted me to break social norms."
"You are very nice." Conan blurted. "Totally not a dick, you know."
Heathcliff looked at him, a little startled by the sudden pronouncement. His eyes widening, not happy but the lofty expression adults often give to kids.
"I-I mean," Conan struggled to find words.
"I know I am not a dick." He said, "I don't think anyone is a dick for the for the matter."
"Yee-haw." Conan said as an expression to show his affirmation. "Some people are just dickier than others."
Heathcliff laughed. "Yeah, it's a spectrum. Some lie more on the dicky side while other are more inclined towards the nice side."
"You remind me of my sister." Conan blurted, licking some froth off his lips. "She is a great philosopher too."
"Which one?" He asked.
"Someone did their research." Conan mused. So, Heathcliff knew he had a lot of siblings. Was this a sign of friendship?
"Someone is conceited." Heather said.
"That someone has earned the right to be conceited." Conan said, morosely. He looked at the boy next to him. The air between them had changed. "People have always called me conceited. I don't think I am conceited. I-It took me a of of years to be proud of myself and achieve self-love. And people expect me not to talk about myself."
"Same with my queerness," Heathcliff said, setting his mug aside, "It took me time to be proud, now people say not to fucking talk about it all the time."
"I guess we are the good conceited people." Conan admitted, staring into the amber eyes of the boy, "I feel like I have known you for a while."
"What?!" Heathcliff said, flinching and backing up a little. He had clearly not been expecting that. "I-We just-"
"No," Conan said, silencing him. "Not like that. I am easy with new people. Even if I just talk to them, I feel like I have known them for a while. I guess you could say," he sighed, "I am good at reading people. So, it's not just you. Even my mailman, I can see the pain and urge for an autograph in his eyes."
