The uneasy truce over coffee stretched into the late morning.
The sun, finally free from the clouds, streamed through the large living room windows, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air and casting a warm glow on the polished hardwood floors. Milo, having finished his coffee, was now nervously polishing a framed photo of his mother—a young, vibrant woman with a smile that mirrored his own. Elias, still a study in quiet intensity, sat in the armchair from the night before, observing everything with a careful, analytical gaze.
"So," Milo began, breaking the long silence. The awkwardness was still a palpable third party in the room, but the morning had diluted its suffocating power. "Are you just going to sit there and silently judge my decorating choices, or are you going to tell me something about yourself?
-I'm curious.
I mean, you know my life story, and you've seen my… you know. So, fair is fair." He gestured vaguely towards his still-reddening face.
Elias's gaze, which had been fixed on a particular knick-knack on a shelf, slowly shifted to Milo. The familiar blush, faint but definite, crept onto his pale cheeks, and his wolf-ears flattened slightly in mortification.
"I know nothing of your life story," he replied, his deep voice lower than usual. "Only... fragments."
"Yeah, well, you know enough to know I'm an orphan and I talk too much," Milo quipped, trying to lighten the mood. "Come on. Give me something. Anything. I'm not a creep, I just... I want to know who I almost died helping in an alley in Westkilo, Calin City."
Elias was silent for a long moment, considering. He took a slow breath, his gaze meeting Milo's directly. "My name is Elias. I am eighteen cycles of the moon."
Milo's eyebrows shot up. "Eighteen cycles of the moon? What, are you a werewolf? A vampire? I thought you were a dragon-wolf hybrid."
Elias's lips twitched almost imperceptibly, a hint of genuine amusement in his eyes. "A cycle is an orbit. A year. I am eighteen years of age."
"Eighteen!" Milo exclaimed, a genuine grin spreading across his face. "No shit. I'm eighteen, too! I just had my birthday."
Elias tilted his head, a small, subtle movement. "Your birthday. When?"
"August 1st," Milo said proudly. "When's yours? You look older, by the way. No offense."
Elias's blush deepened, and he looked away, staring back at the knick-knack. "December 25th," he mumbled, the words almost lost in the sudden quietness.
Milo's grin widened. "Christmas Day? Wow, that's… that's cool. I bet you get all your presents wrapped in a single, glittery paper." He chuckled, and this time, the sound didn't feel as nervous.
He looked back at the framed photo of his mother. The faint, sad ache was still there, but it was lessened by the simple, shared moment with Elias. He saw Elias's gaze land on the photo, those dark green eyes filled with a new kind of curiosity.
"She was beautiful," Elias said softly, his voice a low, gentle rumble. "And... you look like her."
The unexpected kindness of the comment hit Milo like a physical blow. He felt a lump form in his throat, and his fluster was instantly replaced by a deep, profound gratitude. "Yeah," he said, his voice a little thick. "Yeah, she was. Thanks."
Elias looked away again, seeming embarrassed by his own show of emotion. He was still and silent, a quiet force in the room.
"So," Milo continued, trying to get the conversation back on track, "what do you do? Hobbies?
-I like to cook.
-It's calming.
And I play a few video games, mostly old RPGs. What about you? Besides, you know, being an incredibly rude, beautiful, horned asshole."
Elias's face flushed again, a deep crimson that was unmistakable. He ignored the last part of Milo's statement entirely, but the corner of his lips twitched, as if fighting a smile. "I... enjoy the forging of small trinkets. And the study of ancient lore." His voice was still quiet, but it was filled with a surprising passion. "There are some things lost in this world that are... important to remember."
Milo leaned forward, genuinely intrigued. "Like what? Ancient lore? You mean like, history? Dragons and stuff?"
Elias's eyes met his again, and this time, the look wasn't disdainful, or even flustered. It was a deep, knowing look, a shared secret between them. "Something like that," he said softly, a quiet, almost tender warmth entering his gaze. His wolf-ears gave a tiny, involuntary twitch, and in that moment, Milo was dumbfounded.
Milo didn't know Elias was not just embarrassed by their night. He was already, without even realizing it, falling. The raw, primal intimacy of the night before had somehow, impossibly, forged a quiet, deep, and secret affection in the heart of the proud, young dragon.