Everything I Never Told You ( Conan Gray )

XXXIII. Control Freak

Heath didn't know how it had turned out to be like this. His dad had finished reading him a bedtime story. It was Cinderella. His dad had asked him if he liked it or not. He told him he had. He asked him why it had been so. 

"Because," he had said, rolling his eyes as if the answer was obvious, "The prince was charming and handsome. I wish I could get someone like that."

He had dropped the book to the ground, his hands shaking. He gave him a furious look and he wondered what he had said wrong. He tried to reach down for it. He to reason with him and show him what he meant.

His mom wasn't home. She was running a late shift at the grocery store they owned. His dad had made him food and smiled at him proudly as if feeding his child magically made him some god when his mom did it everyday.

 That was the first time his dad hit him. It didn't take much time or effort really. Just a flick of his wrist and he had been lying on the ground clutching his now very red cheek. But hadn't he told him the truth? The reason he liked the story was because he liked the drawings of the prince. 

He would hit his son again for painting rainbow coloured knobs, in a month. That would the last time they would be under same roof. 

"You sure you want to paint you want to paint your nails?" Heath asked Conan, raising a bottle of nail polish. "You could get a lot of shit for it."

"I am okay, really," he said held out his hand. Heath took it, a reluctant look over his face. "Does your mom know what your dad did?"

He didn't look up but his voice was surprised. "She does. She cried a lot when Griffin told her but they hid it from me."

He didn't know how to react to that so he just cleared his throat. "How did your parents meet?"

Heath must have realized he was hiding his real question behind another. Why did your mom marry such a dick? His eyes glanced at his face to see if he was mocking him. He wasn't. 

"Mom never really talks about him," he said, concentrating on his nails. "He left us- more like they left each other- when I was in third grade so I never really asked her when they were together." 

"My parents met at some party," he told him and he smiled for some reason. "College party and dad asked her out in an hour."

"Your dad was smooth," he laughed but then stopped because he almost messed up a nail. Painting it properly, he left his hand and grabbed the other one. Conan exhaled sharply has his fingers wove through his, interlocking. And the thing was, they fit perfectly together, like they belonged there and were two pieces that complemented and completed one another. Heath seemingly found that uncomfortable too because he just placed his hand on Conan's thing and began painting. His back bent over his hand, he could see the back of his neck and the skin underneath his t-shirt. 

"So smooth that he could never stick to one woman," he said. He didn't know why he was dissing the guy. He loved his dad but sometimes he felt like he could have had a better childhood if he hadn't been so-

"Food!" Janet yelled. 

"Just a second mom!" Heath said, turning his head towards the door. "I am doing his nails."

"I liked your dad," he said not to no one in particular. "He would give me free coffee coupons in the parking lot of our school."

"He did?" 

"Of course," he grinned, lifting his head. Conan was unable to tell if he was kidding or being serious. "I think it's okay for people to be flawed. That's what makes them lovable and human."

Conan almost cringed at the declaration. Was this what he had been telling himself about his dad? His thought process sometimes came off as so normalizing to him, so often. 

"But there is a limit to it," Conan said, trying to be subtle and not scold him. Heath looked up, smiling wryly as if he understood the message he was trying to convey.

"I still hate my dad," he said, dipping the brush in the nail polish. "I don't think he is flawed. He is just a control freak."

He lifted Conan's hand off his thigh and smiled turning his nails towards him. "Do you like it?"

He had painted his nails with a light shaded, barely visible orange. If the light hit it a certain way from a direction, it's gloss was visible. To a normal person, his nails would be lighter than usual. His work was amazing. Conan always fucked up nail polish. He had coloured inside the boundary, not letting a speck fall on his skin and painted in one stroke. 

"I do," he said, nodding with approval. "But how long will it take to dry?"

"I didn't think about that," he laughed, running his hands through his hair. "You could use my hair dryer."

How about you feed me?

Heath blushed, turning the very shade of orange the other boy's nails were. Conan realized he had said that out loud.

"Did I day that out loud?" he asked, eyes widening. 

"You did," he grinned, bottling the nail polish. 

"I mean you don't have to," he said hastily. "I-"

"Boys," his mom said, opening the door and her dark eyes peeked in. Conan could see her hiding a smile. Had she eavesdropped on their conversation and how much had she listened to?

"Dinner is ready," she said. "Come on."

"Coming, Miss Locke," Conan said, turning a shade of purple. Heath and Cone got up, following his mom down the stairs. 

"He is so nice to you, bud," his mom whispered to Heath very loudly as he caught up with her. He turned around glancing at Conan who just gave him his most charming smile. Even his mom ships us, he thought. 

"He is not becoming my step dad," Heath chastened playfully and Conan could only grin wider.