Whoa guysss. First multichapter HiNaBN fic. What do you know. Anyway! I have no idea how many chapters this will be, but I will go ahead and say I have a lot in my head planned for this, and have also been sketching out a lot of things from this story. Just to make things clear: This is a YOUNG Conrad and Worth fic. It's starting off T for swearing and sexual themes, but will eventually become M. Aren't you all lucky? 8D This is written from Conrad's perspective, and so you all know, I got the idea for this based off of one of Tessa's pictures of young Conrad called Was Nothing Wrong Originally (Which you can view here: .com/gallery/#/d2gx484).

I want to thank Blue for being my Beta! My very first and I appreciate it so much because my brain autocorrects so much and I get tired of reading my own crap, ahah! I hope you all enjoy (:

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I never understood what he saw in me, Luce Worth. He was always so popular. I always felt so out of place. When it came to things between me and Luce, I was just about as confused as I could possibly be. Things between he and I are nowhere near normal. He is in college, me, in high school. I'm freshly sixteen, he's twenty-one. Verging on twenty-two if I remember correctly. Age aside, I'm an outcast. I'm a mental case.

I feel even more nervous the more I think about it when in a place like this. I'm sitting in a chair, in the center of a room, facing a desk, some new psychiatrist seated there. My mom tells me something's wrong with me. She tells me I'm a problem. I could be dangerous to society if I am allowed to keep going on with life untreated. To be completely honest, I never thought anything was wrong with me. I think I had a pretty normal childhood. Well, as far as broken homes and paranoid mothers go. I played with racecars and had friends. Well, a few friends. The older I got, the more awkward I got. I suppose it doesn't help that I need glasses, and the current pair I own are really large, and very, very round. They weren't my choice, believe me. Sometimes my mother has odd modes of punishment, my glasses being a perfect example. When I needed a new pair, not too long ago, she had picked out these hideous things and told me that until I learned to cooperate with the psychiatrists, I would have to suffer with them as a reminder that I'd been ungrateful for the help she was trying to provide me with. Not to mention all the guilt she gave me about the monetary aspect of all these doctor visits. But if I had my way, I would just hole myself up in my room and draw, and probably never come out.

Maybe there is something wrong with me.

Allowing my mind to wander is never a good thing, especially when I am sitting here, fidgeting, biting my lip and playing with the hem of my sweater, my eyes darting to the clock on the wall every other minute it seemed. We're at a stalemate. To be completely honest, I can't even remember what he asked me. I respond automatically these days. Each psychiatrist always asks me the same questions on the first visit. Stupid questions. How I feel about my mother (shitty of course). How I feel about school (I don't really care, I just go and deal with it). How I feel about my other relationships (what other relationships? Sure, there's Luce, but I'm never, ever going to tell anyone about that). How I feel about myself (I don't know).

This was my third shrink in the span of a month. The last two claimed they saw nothing wrong with me, other than that I might be a bit too shy and need to get out more. Mother would have none of this, and of course complained directly to their faces, saying that they clearly don't know how to do their job, and that they should learn to search for mental illnesses better. Maybe my biggest problem is really embarrassment whenever I'm around her.

"Conrad?"

"Hm."

"Are you going to answer the question?"

I stare blankly at him. I guess this is enough information for him to realize I've already drifted off to another land inside my own head and have no idea what's going on in reality.

"I asked you if, aside from your mother, you have anyone you can talk to?"

"I can't talk to my mother." I say bluntly without really thinking about it, feeling irked as I watch him scribble a few things down, as if it was a miraculous gem of information I had just provided him with.

"And…" I really contemplate whether I should even think to go there. But, the last thing I need is for this quack to think I am a complete loner. I basically am, but I'll do my best to avoid those pitiful looks. "Yes, I do." Luce Worth. The blonde med student to be that smells like tobacco and who goes to college only ten minutes away, who I see nearly every day, no matter how hard it is to sneak out, and who is completely and utterly strange in my opinion, but someone, nonetheless.

"Oh?"

Well don't act so surprised. "Yes. I do."

"Do they go to school with you?"

"…Yeah. He does."

"Would you say that you have a healthy friendship with this young man?"

Hah. Really good question. If only this idiot knew that the person I was talking about was not who I made him out to be. But now those questions got me thinking about what I was really talking about. Healthy friendship? I felt strange around him. He is crude a lot of the time, and he always gets drunk and parties when I'm not around, and I feel even more like a little kid when I spend time with him. But he has his good moments, when he'll wrap his arm around me for no reason while he talks to his roommate, or give me a half smile before he goes to do something nice like buy me a coffee. But then again, healthy probably isn't something like having sex with him when it's seriously illegal. But, even though I've come to this conclusion, there's no way in hell I'm throwing this shrink a damn bone.

"Yes. Very. We tell each other everything, and he's never let me down. I would say he is my best friend, and I wouldn't trade him for the world." I smile, showing all of my teeth, and I wonder if I didn't do that well enough, and that he caught on to my sarcasm. I really couldn't help myself. I was getting very tired of these visits.

"I am glad I have him as my friend, and I don't really know what else to say… but it's exactly two minutes until the session's over, and I have a lot of homework, so I think we're good." I stood up without waiting for him to agree and simply grabbed my book bag and high tailed it out of the room. I think I'm pretty soft spoken, but after months of this constant crap, I think I've gotten a bit ballsier. Ballsy enough to end the session for him and leave because I'm seriously sick of this.

When I get back to the waiting room, my mother is expectantly waiting there, looking over me the same stupid way she always does when I leave. It's as if the shrink might have discovered what was wrong with me, and it somehow physically manifested itself since the epiphany. I look at her pretty firmly for a moment before I cast my eyes away and take a seat once more, watching as she gets up and leaves to go talk to him herself. More alone time, more waiting. I am at a point where I don't know if I like being alone or not. I like to be away from my mother and people who are constantly trying to diagnose me, but being alone isn't the… best feeling.

I want to see Luce. I want to see him right now. I had told mother earlier that I needed to go to the library to do some work with a classmate, and she bought it. Considering how paranoid she is, it's a wonder to me at all that she lets me get out. I guess it could be she knows as well as I that I am a social outcast, and can't imagine that I would have anyone to sneak out to see. There's also the bonus that she knows I like reading and being in libraries anyway.

So the minutes tick by, and I try to be as patient as I possibly can, I really do. Soon enough, she comes out, giving me a frown. Great, nothing's wrong with me, what a surprise. Now I'm going to have to get an earful as if this was, once again, my fault for not being as screwed up as she wants me to be.

"He doesn't know what he's doing." She grinds out in my direction as she readjusts her purse in an annoyed way, giving me an expectant look as she begins to walk out. I follow. I always follow, like some stupid lost puppy who doesn't know better, and it really annoys me deep down.

"He says you have depression." She sighs, holding a slightly crumpled paper to her nose to read it better. She should just go ahead and get glasses. Big round hideous ones like mine.

"He also says that you appear to be very resistant to speaking to others, so you should learn to socialize more before it develops into anything else. But he doesn't see anything wrong with you. I'm getting you depression medication. And I'm looking for a new psychiatrist."

Figures. I knew it was going to come to this. Soon enough, mom wouldn't be satisfied, and they're just going to start loading me up on pills, thinking it'll fix anything. But they won't. Depression, whatever. That's one thing I won't deny having. I get depressed a lot, but maybe it's because my mother is determined I am retarded when I'm not. I really don't think I have a chemical imbalance that makes me depressed, or that I am a threat to society. Does she think I'm going to be like all those weirdoes out there who take katanas to grocery stores, or steal giant tanks and parade down the streets with them, leaving a path of destruction in my wake? Does she think I'm going to be some serial killer? I couldn't imagine hurting anyone, really, not to the point of serious injury unless it's necessary to defend myself, and it isn't like I have a history of animal abuse. I love animals. I remember there was a stray cat a few years back that I took care of. I would sneak out of my window to feed him whenever I could, and he was really nice, especially for being feral. When she found out, she grabbed him from me and called the pound, and told me I can't be around cats because I'm allergic.

I'm allergic? I guess so, if she says I am.

"Sorry, mom." I am at least going to try to side with her on the outside so she'll lay off for the rest of the day. "Hopefully someone will be able to figure it out." I said that a bit distantly. I didn't really care, and I still don't believe it.

"But, uhm, mom? I have to go to the library for studying and a project, remember?" she looked me over as if deciding if she would change her mind or not. Eventually, she rolled her eyes and pulled over to the bus stop, giving me the usual lecture to keep her informed and have my cell phone on loud and by my side at all times, and that I am not to be home any later than nine o'clock. Nine… pretty generous. Regardless, I was finally free. From my mother's scrutinizing eyes and those stuffy waiting rooms and uncomfortable chairs. I could finally go see Luce. I pulled out my phone and brought up his number, immediately composing a simple text, telling him I was done and on my way. I clutched my phone and waited for a response, but I never got one. I knew he had read it, and knew I was coming, but he never really responded back to messages like that.

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The bus ride was only fifteen minutes or so from where she had dropped me. Considering I have been with Luce for about four months, I know the campus really well now. I remember how happy I was when I found out that the library was open to the public at certain hours, and that was actually where I met him. It was a nice day, so I was reading outside instead, and without warning, he walked into my life and completely took it off its course. He was smoking a cigarette, of course, and he gave me the strangest look, one that still makes me a bit flustered. I don't think I'll ever know what possessed him to initiate conversation with me that day, but he did. Sure enough, we saw more and more of each other, and I guess I can admit to myself I started going more often just to see him. The attention he gave to me was just so new, and I liked when I was around him, even though he isn't someone I could really see myself being attracted to. How it happened, I'm still not sure. It isn't like Luce is the kind of guy to ask someone out on the date. It just sort of… came to be over time. One minute I was reading a book or sketching, idly chatting with him, then next thing I knew, I was in his dorm room, being told his roommate wouldn't be back until the next day.

When I knocked on the door, it wasn't Luce who answered. Rather, it was the infamous roommate who he had, Lamont Toucey. He was really weird to me. He always gave me strange looks and creepy smiles, but it wasn't like he did anything bad. I guess I should have expected him to be weird considering the fact that he was the only other person who knew about Luce and me, and didn't seem to give a damn. In fact, he just spent most of his time when he was around both of us laughing his weird donkey laugh and going about his own business.

"Oh Luceeeeyyy, your girlfriend's here!" he sang towards the back room before stepping aside and returning to the couch, leaving me to help myself inside with my nose scrunched and a pretty annoyed look on my face. I hate it when he calls me that.

The dorm is pretty amazing in my opinion. It was suite style with a small kitchenette, a bathroom, two rooms, and a living room. Basically a small apartment on campus with only students. As I set my book bag down on the small chair at the kitchen table, I heard footsteps coming from the direction of Luce's room. I don't know why I still get so shy and embarrassed, but I busy myself with my bag, probably looking very idiotic, until I feel the weight of an arm around me.

"Hey Connie."

I melted. I really did. I don't know how it happened, but I'm so enamored with him, I can't help but get excited when he's around, or when he's touching me. I stand up straight and turn to look up at him, and offer him a little smile.

"Hey Luce." I always feel so lame when I talk to him. I feel like an awkward child speaking to someone so much more intelligent than me. Well… he is. It isn't like I'm failing school or anything, and it isn't like I'm barely making it. But Luce is really smart.

He takes his arm from around me and sits at the table, propping his feet up before lighting a cigarette and sighing, stretching out. And this time I really look at his face. His hair is so blonde. And not that super yellowy kind. It's kind of pastel, a creamy, light yellow. And his eyes are dark, and his face is smooth and perfect and just pretty. He's in a white dress shirt, and it's a bit unbuttoned, and black slacks with black socks, his shoes having been abandoned by the door. Really. What on Earth does he see in me?

I sit down in the chair beside him and try not to make it obvious I'm admiring how he looks. "Did you have another presentation today?" I ask, chewing on my bottom lip as I lean forward on the table, resting my hands in my palms, propped up on elbows.

"Today… has been a day." He sighs, tilting his head back and blowing smoke towards the ceiling. Smoking was prohibited in the dorms, but he did it anyway. He said he 'didn't give a fuck', and his parents would just pay the fine once they moved out.

"Yeah. Fuckin' presentation about ATP and the Krebs cycle. I swear to fuckin' God, that shit's so elementary, and I've had to go over it a million fuckin' times. I'm going to go to medical school. I think by now we should be focusin' a bit more on shit like medicine and cuts. That's what I get for havin' to major in this strictly Bio shit. I don't need to learn about goddamn plants to be a doctor either, those fucks." I nod dumbly at him, happy to listen. I remember going over those things in my biology class last year. For me, it wasn't elementary. I have to try not to flush at the fact that I feel stupid in comparison. But like I said, Luce is smart. And even the way he swears sounds elegant with his accent. It's actually something I really like about him. He's basically living a life I wish I could in a lot of ways.

"I'm sorry Luce." He raises a brow at me, shaking his head, leaning forward to dab his cigarette in the ash tray on the table before sitting back again. "Eh, don't need to be apologizin'. Ain't your fault anyway. What'd you do today?"

One thing I keep forgetting: I don't tell him about the psychiatrist bullshit my mother pulls on me. He knows she's pretty crazy, but I'm not about to dump those problems on him.

"Just school." I shrug, "Took me some time to get my mother to lay off."

"Heheh. Sneakin' around jus' to see me, huh?" then he smiled at me. I love it when he smiles at me. I've come to find that I may have a really big problem. When I'm around Luce, I can't keep my eyes off of him. When I'm away from Luce, I can't keep my mind off of him. Luce has his good and bad days, but considering he put his arm around me, and is smiling at me, I can tell already that, despite what he had said, he was in a good mood. I can't help but smile back and keep to myself while he finishes his cigarette. In a setting like this, I've quickly learned to let him initiate the talking… It's his few minutes of personal time no one is allowed to interrupt without his permission. Once he's finished, he wastes no time in going through my book bag and pulling out my sketch pad. Yes, I can barely hold my excitement. He only fishes through that when he's very happy. I sit in silence, unafraid. I caught on quick and started hiding the sketch book with more emotionally personal drawings, so I know whatever he's viewing is okay for him to see.

"Busy, busy. You've drawn three more, Connie." Curiosity striking me, I reach over and grab his backpack, pulling out his notes to look over. His handwriting is really scratchy, but the lines are all very thin and clean, making it easy to read so long as I concentrate. He really is meant to be a doctor, I guess. Shitty handwriting and all. Thank God he doesn't want to be a psychiatrist.

We spend a lot of time just talking, sitting at the table. I can tell Luce is tired and I am afraid to overwhelm him, so I let him lead the conversation. Then again, I guess I do that most of the time anyway. Like everyone says: I'm socially awkward.

Far before I'm ready to go, he tells me he has things to do. I suppose it's better that way, it's already seven, and I don't think mother would be happy if I came home at nine anyway, even though she told me that was my curfew. As I stand to start gathering my things, he stands as well and comes closer to me, one of his nimble hands coming to brush through my hair and ruffle it. Even though he's in a good mood, I guess beneath everything I was starting to feel scared. I mean we are together, right? And not having any physical contact with him the whole visit was a little scary…

I try to smile at him to let him know that I appreciate what he's doing, but I guess it didn't really reach my eyes because he tilts his head and he looks a little lost, if only for a flicker. But he doesn't ask me what's wrong. He never asks me those kinds of things. Considering I am asked that so often by psychiatrists, I want to say it's better he doesn't add to it, but I don't know if I really mean that or not. Regardless, he bends down and his lips are on mine and I close my eyes and shift onto the front of my feet because it feels so good I can't help myself.

I didn't really know how much I missed this, or how much I love it until it happened. His lips are a little chapped, but I don't really care, and for once, I don't care Lamont is right behind us, sprawled out on the couch and scribbling in his notebooks. He tastes like cigarettes and that's okay with me too. He's too consuming. I lift my hands to grab onto his shoulders and I get a little lost in the kiss, tilting my head and moving my mouth against his.

I really needed him today.

I know this now.

But all good things have to come to an end, right? So he pulls back and he chuckles at me because I pouted a bit without realizing it. Resigning myself to my complete embarrassment and the truly pathetic and lame look I must have just given him, I stand straight and smooth my hoodie before grabbing my book bag and slinging it over my shoulder, heading to the door. He follows and tells me to text him before patting the top of my head and kissing my temple, and I leave a mess, a frazzled mess, holding my face and sliding my fingers through my hair with huffs and sighs.

I'm unsatisfied. I don't want to leave his side. I want to be able to say I tell him absolutely everything, but I don't. But maybe that's the comfort I need. Being able to be with someone who assumes I'm normal, and who helps me think I am as well.

But it's too late, I'm out the door, and I'm panicking. I think I'm losing it. I had felt okay only moments ago, but now I worry. I'm scared. I'm afraid of the distance I'm feeling. I don't like feeling so lonely, especially when I'm with him. He didn't seem as attentive today, even though he was in such a good mood.

Maybe I'm over thinking these things.

Maybe I'm right. He's older than me by about six years. I'm a stupid child with depression and who the hell knows what else.

Maybe he was just tired from his long day.

I'll just believe that last option before I really start to freak.

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I got to avoid dinner with mother today, which was an especially relieving thing. I'm sure she would only talk about the newest failure of a psychiatrist and make me feel uncomfortable all over again. So instead, I go upstairs to my room after she asks me about my project. I just made up whatever I could and left as soon as possible. I sat at my desk and pulled out my 'secret' sketchpad and went to work on a few things to calm down before rest. I ended up drawing Luce, and I hated it. I struggle with drawing him because it's always missing something. I would love for him to pose for me and be a live model, but I don't think I have the courage to ask for that.

I'm an idiot.

I'm an idiot.

I'm a stupid idiot and I don't know what I am doing or thinking.

But Luce has such nice features and hair, I can't help it.

Stupid.

That's about the only thing I can think of as I crawl into bed and stuff my face into the pillow and pull the covers over me. School tomorrow and I hate it. And I'm sure I'll have to take those depression pills too. I hear those can really screw you up. Great.

I close my eyes and sigh. Why is everything so mixed up in my head? Why can't I just be normal like everyone else? I'd give anything to just feel happy and be able to close my eyes and fall asleep without all these negative things going through my head.

But I'm not normal, am I?