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: I think this will be the only Conan fic I write. But you can check out my other works lol #selfpromotion
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First came the dark and then the bad thoughts.
It was pitch black and he ran to the beach frantically, faster than he had ever in his life. His flash directing him to different directions. His lungs started burning at some point but he didn't stop. He was running with such momentum that he felt like his legs would thaw out and he would just drop to the ground. It takes a lot of time to create life but only a second to end one. He tried to think positively. His eyes were flying everywhere with the flash. From owls, to trees to rocks.
He isn't dead. I will reach him. I-He's okay.
Heath's body washing up on the shore. His head split open down the middle, hit on some rock. Or maybe worse, his body never found because the waves took him in too deep. The beach was too big to be searched fully. If Conan ran out on the wrong part, he would probably never find him.
He is a dead boy, a voice said at the back of his head.
"Shut up," he growled.
Get over it. You will find someone else. Someone prettier, better and not depressed. Someone who actually loves you, not someone who is dead.
Fuck off, he snapped in his head. So, what if he's depressed?
It all started coming together coming together in his head, as his eyes started scanning the beach for traces. Blood, clothes, anything.
Heath didn't seem very interested in the hate crime/murder. He talked about Jules as if he were alive and they were together. He had stopped going to therapy ages ago.
He directed the flashlight towards the sand.
Somewhere near the sand he found clothes. He had searched the entire beach. A cuffed white tee with rainbow stripes, jeans and white tennis shoes, all damp. Something about their position told him that they had washed up there somehow. He had hoping for footsteps around them but the waves had washed over them. He couldn't see in the dark anyways. He let out a strangled cry, dropping to the ground. He clutched the sand inside his fist and threw it into the air aggressively. Where is he right now? Dead? Dying?
His life is bleeding away somewhere, he thought, crying louder, like sand slipping through my palms.
He smacked his fist onto the ground and clutched Heath's t-shirt closer to himself, inhaling his sweet scent. He always smelled like lilacs and roses. Even the waves could not wash that scent away. Nothing could wash away his memories, his smile, his huge grin-
I will never see him again, he thought.
His eyes went to the red on his hands. Blood. The clothes had specks and stains of red blood.
