Author's Note: I changed something in the last chapter's texts between Lim and Heath. You might wanna to re read them. Also, I don't own the art in this chapter. Credits to the respective owner. I know it's digital but it's so good that I couldn't help but use it
"I am really not that interesting," Heath laughed awkwardly, wondering why Greg Gray seemed to be so amused by him. He wondered if he should go back to sketching or talk to the man. Would it be rude? He really needed to impress the seniors somehow. So far, they liked the framework of his ideas but edited them very often.
"All humans are interesting," he said, folding his legs, "What really matters is how much of yourself do you show for people to call you interesting."
"It sounds like something Conan would have said," Heath blurted immediately though he couldn't grasp what he was saying.
"Do I sound like him?" he asked, his eyes turning soft. It suggested sadness.
"I mean what you said before sounded Conan-ish," he said in clarification. Every parent liked to think their kid was like them but his dad made it seem like he would rather Conan not be like him at all. If he did think so, Heath didn't get why. He seemed like nice man, unlike his own father. He guessed Conan was at fault too. Sometimes, parents needed appreciation too.
"He doesn't sound all that philosophical to me," he said, frowning and probably pondering on what the reason for that was. "But I guess he is different with his friends."
"Yeah, maybe."
"When did you start drawing?" he asked him as he saw him make a few rough strokes over his sketch book.
"I think in second grade," he said, drawing a patchwork jacket thrown over his shoulders. "Or in third; I don't remember."
"It's nice to see creative kids," he said, laughing appreciatively. "You don't see many kids doing this anymore."
"It's nice to see people who appreciate creative kids," he said, smiling a little. "You don't see many adults doing it anymore."
"I-" he began but then was cut off by someone. Conan.
"Hey, dad," he said, looking at him. "Hey, Heath."
"Hi," Heath said, immediately closing his sketch book. Unknowingly, he had added a few rough strokes and features to the face of the model. It wasn't much but if Conan saw it, he would know he was drawing him. Has his dad seen it? Probably.
"I will leave you boys alone," his dad said, grinning again. He got up, stretched and left them both to themselves. For second, they were standing by each other and he saw how differently they looked. It was hard to believe they were related.
"Hi," Conan said, brushing his curly hair away his fingers. Heath liked his hair a lot. He low key wished he would let him touch it some day.
"Hi," he said, inhaling sharply. Did he always smell like a fresh clearing?
"Sketching?" he asked, sitting beside him. Heath almost jumped over the metal armrest.
"Yeah," he said nervously. He was wary that he would ask him to open it. How many pictures of him had he drawn? He distinctly remembered settling on his bed the day before and sketching Conan using a picture from his phone.
"Can I see?" he asked hesitantly, his hand mid way in the air.
"...yes?" he said, mentally slapping himself for sounding so doubtful. "Your dad liked it."
"My dad likes everything I like," he said, reaching out for it and flipping to the first one. He didn't sound mocking but as if he was adoring him.
The first page was a rough drawing of Lim. She was lying on her bed, arms folded and her mouth open as if tired from laughing. Her fake glasses perched upon the crook of her nose, were almost falling off.
"She looks so good in this," Conan said and Heath wasn't sure if he was admiring his drawing or the girl itself. "You didn't complete it."
Heath stared at the bottom of it, where her hands were supposed to reach out and the undone part of her hair.
"I got bored," he said. "You will notice that trend in this book."
He flipped through more incomplete drawing or designs. Sometimes clothes, other times random animals, a few comics and-
He flipped over to one of the later pages and gasped. Heath knew it was coming. It was a beached themed drawing of Conan. He supposed it wasn't exactly beach themed but filled with bright and popping colors. What was even more shocking to the boy, he presumed, was that it was one the very few complete pieces. And it wasn't even a sketch but a completed drawing.
"Yes, Heathcliff Charles," Conan said, laughing and smiling at the same time, "We can be friends."
"I-" he started.
"I might just kiss you after seeing this," he blurted and when he saw the flustered look on the Heath's face, he started giggling.
Heath's face burned red too. He could feel his heart pounding through his rib cage. He didn't know why he was feeling so-
"Oh my god, you look so embarrassed," he laughed and Heath covered his face with his sketchbook, even his ears turning pink. "Aww, you are so fricking cute when embarrassed."
"No, I am not!" he protested, his face pressed against the hard book, wanting to dig a deep hole and die inside it. He felt Conan's hands reach either side of his cheeks. He pulled his face up. Heathcliff stared at his dark brown cocoa eyes with the smallest flecks of black. He didn't know if Conan was feeling the same the same tension as him. It was like his lungs were on fire and his whole body was combusting. His skin was prickling and felt as if it was crawling with worms, where he was touching.
"I-" he said, leaning in.
No, Heath thought. He pulled back. This isn't right. I can't.
Conan looked hurt, his eyes recoiling with the sadness that came with rejection. He reached out and pulled something through his hair.
"It was a leaf," he coughed softly. "I was leaning in to get the leaf."
"Yeah," he said, entirely sure that his face was burning. He looked away. "A leaf."