Cherreads

The Dragon is in Love with, Me?

Lilliana_5380
35
chs / week
The average realized release rate over the past 30 days is 35 chs / week.
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Synopsis
Elias, a half-dragon with a brilliant mind and a chilling demeanor, has always kept the world at arm's length. His icy exterior and disdainful gaze are a shield,protecting a shyness he precisely hides from everyone. That shield is severely tested by Milo, a human whose ongoing rudeness and blunt observations are as jarring as they are persistent. Milo, oblivious or perhaps uncaring of Elias's formidable nature, finds himself drawn into the orbit of the enigmatic half-dragon through a series of increasingly bizarre and inconvenient circumstances. As their paths continue to collide, Elias finds himself inexplicably drawn to the human's brash honesty, a stark contrast to the polite fictions he usually encounters. Milo, in turn,begins to see glimpses beyond Elias’s cold facade, discovering a surprising depth and vulnerability beneath the dragon's scales. Can a tentative love bloom between two such disparate souls, especially when one is a proud, reclusive half-dragon and the other can't seem to stop being a complete jerk?
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Chapter 1 - Chapter 1; the Streets...

The rain had been a steady, miserable companion for two days now, drumming a relentless rhythm on the cracked pavement of the city. It turned the usual grime into a slick, reflective sheen, mirroring the tired neon glow of a dozen closed storefronts. Even the alleyways, usually choked with overflowing dumpsters and the stench of neglect, seemed to breathe a little easier, their worst odors washed away by the deluge.

Liam hunched deeper into his thin jacket, the fabric already damp and offering little defense against the chill seeping into his bones. He cursed the unpredictable spring weather under his breath. One moment it was mild enough for just a t-shirt, the next, a cold front swept in, bringing with it this endless downpour. His sneakers, worn beyond salvation, squelched with each step, the feeling of cold, wet socks a constant, irritating reminder of his current predicament.

He passed a boarded-up diner, its once-bright windows now dark and opaque. A faded "For Sale" sign leaned crookedly against the door, the letters peeling like dead skin. Everything felt like that these days—on the verge of collapse, just waiting for the right gust of wind to knock it all down.

His stomach rumbled a weak protest, a familiar complaint he'd grown accustomed to ignoring. It wasn't hunger pangs so much as a dull, persistent ache that had settled in years ago. He pulled his hands from his pockets, blowing on his fingers, trying to coax some warmth back into them. The faint scent of stale cigarette smoke clung to his clothes, a remnant from his last shift at the bar, which had ended an hour ago.

The city was a sprawling, indifferent beast, its heartbeat a low thrum of distant traffic and the occasional wail of an ambulance. Most people were tucked away in their apartments, dry and warm, oblivious to the figures like him navigating the sodden streets. He envied them, just for a moment, the simple luxury of a dry couch and a hot meal.

As he turned onto a quieter side street, the only light came from a flickering streetlamp that cast long, dancing shadows. He could hear the drip-drip-drip from an overflowing gutter nearby, a tiny, annoying percussion in the general symphony of rain. It was here, amidst the quiet isolation of the alley's entrance, that he almost tripped over something. Not a discarded bottle or a forgotten box, but something large and oddly still. He stumbled, catching himself on the damp brick wall, his heart giving a startled lurch.

He squinted through the gloom, the flickering light playing tricks on his eyes. It looked like... a person? Lying motionless, tucked into the deepest shadow the alley provided. A cold dread tightened its grip in his chest. This was the kind of thing you just kept walking past in this city, the kind of trouble you didn't look for.

But something held him there. Maybe it was the sheer stillness, or the way the figure was curled, almost protectively. He hesitated, then took a cautious step closer, the rain pasting his hair to his forehead.

As his eyes adjusted, what he saw made him freeze. It was a man, mostly human in build, but undeniably not entirely human. Two dark, obsidian horns spiraled subtly from his temples, disappearing into the long, wet strands of his inky hair that splayed across the damp concrete. A thick, scaled tail curled beneath him, barely visible in the poor light.

He was curled up, one arm thrown over his face, as if shielding his eyes from the world even in unconsciousness. Liam could just make out the profile of his cheek, pale against the grime. And then, as the streetlamp flickered brighter for a moment, a sliver of his exposed face. One eye, a startling shade of dark grass green, was half-lidded, seemingly staring into nothing. Even in its relaxed state, there was an unnerving intensity to it, as if it could truly pierce metal as the old tales said. A jagged, almost starburst-like scar radiated from just beneath his right eyelid, like a tiny, frozen explosion of pain etched onto his skin, a stark, unsettling mark against his otherwise smooth features. This wasn't just a drunk, or a homeless person. This was something else entirely.