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: This will be kind of boring but bear with me. I will be getting back to Karla in a while. Also, I have this weird idea. How about I start like an information giveaway? Like, I will pick out a winner and they will get a picture that will explain what is happening in the story. Would you enter? If three people want to enter, I will do it lol
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"You rented this?!" the girl said, her jaw dropping down like it did in animes. "How much did this cost?!"
The three of them stared at the Italian Villa that stood in front of them. It was a wide white cottage like mansion, curving a little around the edges. It had a huge hedge sprouting from the small stone balconies that touched the cemented floor. The plant had flowers so systematically arranged on it that Cone doubted it was natural.
He could see the curving marble halls, the cream colored walls and the beautiful lighting that struck at the right places, in the right amount.
When Heath asked him to direct towards the beach to this path, Conan had assumed that they would camping in some sort of a lodge but Heath had went all out. He almost didn't believe Heath when he asked to stop and park.
"I just rented a room, not the whole place," Heath said, as if that fact was any less alarming. "We can use the porch, the beach connected to it and only three rooms. The rest of the place is under lock."
"Well," Limca said, gulping and gaping, already ready to enter. "Let me steal some shampoo."
"For the night?" Conan asked and Heath nodded, a questioning expression on his face.
"You don't like it?" he asked, a shadow of worry passing over his face. He approached him so only a meter of space was between them.
"No, this is amazing," Conan sputtered. "You-You have a knack for surprising me."
"Well, I hope that's a compliment," Heath said, a smile tugging at his thin lips.
Heaths hand flew to Conan's shoulder but he had already begun his walk to the entrance. He pulled it back in disappointment and Conan pretended he hadn't noticed.
"I also got the art studio," Heath said, catching up to him with a steady pace.
"But I don't have paint," Conan said, frowning a little at the missed opportunity.
"I do," Heath said.
"Of course, you do. You think of everything," He said, trying to hide his smile. "I am glad I finished all the interviews for Overdrive. I can relax a little bit now."
"Is it tiring?" Heath asked as they stepped onto the marble and were illuminated by the light of the lamps. Conan could swear that Heath's eyes were glowing with heavenly fire.
"Doing the thing I love? Never," Conan said. "Writing songs is life but the odd and insane questions people ask are tiring."
