Author's Note: I think this will be the only Conan fic I write. But you can check out my other works lol #selfpromotion
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.
"Oh my god," he whimpered.
"What happened, Cone?" a voice said.
He froze. The voice, soft and concerned but not in a prying tone. The voice of a singer who preserved it as if it would ever run out. The hesitation, yet a want to be forward. The voice of someone who smiled like a dork.
He felt like his insides went numb. His blood chilled to ice but his heart started beating faster.
A hand on his shoulder, he turned. His eyes met with more dark. His heart thumped faster as if it could push more blood to make up for his minimal breathing. Somehow, he rose his hand, anticipating touch. Anything. Physical proof that the other boy wasn't dead. The flash directed at someone, to find a boy squinting at him. The glare visible in his eyes, his huge golden eyes that shone like a second sun. To Conan, he would always be the sun.
He dropped his phone in a haste. It flipped over onto the sand provided illumination to them.
"I-" he said. Heath's light brown torso was leaning over to him, his eyes widened with fear. He wasn't smiling as he usually did but had twisted his head to the side and was studying him with a determined look. He was here.
Here.
Here.
Here.
"You-" he said but couldn't complete his sentence because a huge wave came and washed over, drenching them both in cold seawater. His lungs constricted along with his heart, the sea water slapped against his skin with a lapping noise. Silence fell once more.
"Why are you crying?" he asked, sitting down beside him after the water receded. Conan convulsed as the wind hit his body.
"I-" thought you were dead. You would kill yourself. He whimpered and sobbed, punching the boy. Something about it didn't give the other boy a playful vibe so he just stared trying to discern what might have happened.
"I saw Julian's list," Cone said and Heath looked at him in surprise, like he wasn't expecting it.
"So?" he asked, turning his entirely to face him. "I mean it's okay but why-"
"I-You've been doing everything he couldn't," he said, wiping off his tears. He felt abashed that he had caught him crying which made him want to smack himself. He shouldn't feel abashed around him.
"I have been trying to," he said, looking away. "He made a lot of lists." He touched his damp clothes and shoes. "I left them on a rock. Must have flown into the water."
Conan realized that Heath was wearing his boxer shorts. Now wasn't really the time to have unholy thoughts. "I-I am sorry."
"For what?" Heath echoed, pushing back his damp black hair. His eyes had a calm, almost glazed look, the kind Conan's mom had when he was three, moments before she was about to spank him. "Aren't you cold?"
"Of course not," Conan snarked through chattering teeth. Heath smiled a little and Conan blushed. Never had he thought his body could be so warm and so freezing. "Aren't you cold?"
"My mom is Russian so I guess I have some sort of in born mechanism against it," Heath shrugged and held his arm out. "So?"
"I could just go inside and get a towel," Conan said, wishing to god the blush wasn't prominent.
"I feel like it's best if we wait it out," Heath said, considering. Conan leaned into the blazing touch of the boy he liked. Here's what the thing was, now he felt too warm. Like he would die if ever deprived of this comfort. He wouldn't be able to live without it.
"But why were you crying?" he asked, looking at him.
"I thought you were gonna kill yourself," he admitted and sniffled at the thought of it. "I am so sorry, Heath."
Heath didn't give much of a reaction. His lips formed a small 'o' and he looked away. It was always looking away and staring between them.
"I wasn't, for the record," he laughed hollowly. Conan didn't find anything funny. "I wouldn't have done it here anyways. Something simpler, like poison or-"
"Fuck you," Conan said and in one swift motion pushed him. He felt momentary pride when Heath looked dejected at being seperated from him. "YOU don't get to joke about this, okay?" He breathes, taking in the air as the tear let themselves bleed out. "I thought you were fucking dead and I hated every moment of it! How could you-"
"I wasn't gonna kill myself," Heath said, cutting him off with a neutral look. "I am sorry I made a stupid joke about it but do you really take me to be like that?" He looked a little pissed and shook the water out of his hair. Conan staggered back. "I am not the kind of person who's life ends because someone I loved is dead." He looked him in the eye, the sadness dominant. He was like a beautiful caged bird. "I love him and killing myself wouldn't be the solution. I know that, Conan. My entire life didn't revolve around him. I am sad, so fucking sad that sometimes it feels I lost an essential part of myself-"
"Then why is there blood on your clothes?" Conan interjected.
"It must have been paint," he said glancing at the shirt. "I really liked this shirt."
A brief pause and neither of them looked at the other. Conan hugged himself tighter and lowered his head.
The little amount of light that was coming from the phone disappeared. His phone buzzed and Conan understood that it had died.
"I was so scared," he whispered, not able to meet his eyes. "I thought I would never see you again."
"You will see my ugly face so often that you will grow sick of it," he said and Conan lifted his head.
"I don't think you are ugly," he said. He had expected some sort of a reply or at least a 'thanks' but the boy only gulped and fixed his nervous stare on the waves.
"We should probably leave," he said, glancing at the sky. It was dark and murky. A storm was soon to come from the clouds in the void. "I checked the forecast too but somehow it's gonna rain."
Limca
Limca: Yo. I clicked pics of u and heath having a moment on the beach.
Limca: *insert pictures*
Limca: Good job boi
Conan: i am flattered. thanks.
Conan: i have a question
Conan: jules seems so perfect. you knew him right?
Limca: no one can replace jules. yes he was the most delightful person on the planet. heath will always have a hole in his heart but that doesn't mean he wont love other ppl. sure he will keep thinking about what could have been but
Limca: he will understand and try to move on.
Conan: Thanks, Micah.
Limca: dont call me that. come down. i have set everything
Limca: uk i really fucking hated u
Conan: but didnt know me...not that uk me now
Limca: no before tonight i felt like u were nice to heath to get into his pants
Conan: fair enough but thats not it
Limca: yeah m realizing that
Limca: not to be rude but u could never replace jules
Conan: i dont mean to.
Conan threw his phone onto the bed and lied down on the bed, his legs swinging off them. He imagined how perfect he must have been.
He must have taken Heath on dates all time, cheered him up with jokes, tackled him with kisses when he would be crying. He seemed like everything he would never be.
"Heath, I think we need to-" Conan said and the bathroom door clicked open. Heath walked out wearing another white shirt except it had light blue stripes. It had short cuffed sleeves that ended on his non-existent biceps. He was also wearing a short black skirt.
Conan's eyes practically popped and Heath laughed.
"I felt like wearing a skirt," he mused.
"No," he said hastily, almost slapping himself. "I like skirts too. I-just-It looks good on you."
"Thanks," he said non-chalantly. Conan found the vibe between them to be a little indifferent. He didn't seem to appreciate compliments. He didn't look him right in the eyes and when he did, he would look away.
"I am really sorry, Heath," he said and Heath looked at him with sad eyes.
"You have nothing to be sorry for, Conan," he said and smiled after what seemed an eternity.