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...
"If you add a bunch of strokes here," Conan said, tipping his hand that was holding Heath's to the edge of the page and cross hatching. "You make that way easier."
He wasn't sure if Heath was feeling the same the tension as him. They were both lying down next to each other, Conan was holding his hand and trying to help him with a drawing. Heath couldn't hide emotions but somehow he was. He looked like he was happy to have improved. His eyes were glowing with satisfaction and Conan was feeling like his body was on fire. Maybe he wasn't hiding tension but instead he wasn't even feeling anything. He was too immersed in drawing and taking in the easy cross hatching technique Conan had taught him.
"That was easy," Heath said, smiling crookedly. "I think."
He tilted his face and Conan breathed in sharply. Up close his hair weren't black but varying shades of dark brown. His eyes weren't amber but a clever mix of hazel, green and brown with occasional flecks of gray along the edges. He wore the bracelet he had gotten him and Conan wore his own with the gray string. He hoped he wouldn't take it off.
Conan let go of his hand and his own suddenly felt cold.
"Done, I think," Heath said after a few minutes. He probably tried to show it to Conan who was too busy thinking of other things. Like how Heath's hair smelled. He shut the book and slumped his head on the pillow.
"Do you want to do something?"
Yes...but no. I don't know. Why are you asking me?
He checked Heath's expression and it looked like he had meant that as something completely innocent.
"Don't you have therapy?" he asked, pushing out the other thoughts.
"I don't feel like calling him," Heath said, his voice extremely neutral and not gracing the other with hints.
"Go, please," Conan said.
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As much as he feared admitting it, Heath made him feel vulnerable. No, it wasn't that he hurt him or made him feel unsafe. It was that he scared him with his gentleness and calm demeanor. Like now.
"I fucking hate myself," said Conan, tapping his hand against the arm of the couch.
"What happened?" Heath asked, a little surprised.
"I shouted at my dad," Conan admitted, expecting Heath to judge him. He didn't; his expression was unreadable which was odd.
"What did he say?" Heath asked and that was the first thing Conan got scared by. He had texted Alyssa and she had replied, What did you say? Did you do something?
Was this blind trust supposed to be flattering?
"He said I don't visit him often. I told him it was maybe because he gave me a lot of trauma in our old house. He said I would do that for him if I were a good son. I told him I was trying to be the ideal kid. He said I never even tried."
