I am 15 chapters ahead on my patreón, check it out if you are interested.
Patréon.com/emperordragon
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Chapter 115: Paper
Lucas eased his car to a stop along the curb in front of a familiar, well-kept two-story house tucked into a quiet residential street. The front lawn was small but neatly trimmed, framed by a short white fence and a row of late-blooming flowers that added a splash of color to the early evening. He turned off the engine, took a steadying breath, and climbed out, smoothing his shirt and casting a quick glance at himself in the side mirror before making his way toward the front door.
He hadn't even raised his hand to knock when the door opened ahead of him. Standing in the doorway was a woman who bore a striking resemblance to Erica—same bright, intelligent eyes that seemed to take in more than they let on—but with faint lines around the corners, the kind etched not just by time, but by worry. Her posture was composed, but her eyes held a weariness, the kind that settles in slowly when you've had to care too long and too hard.
"Lucas, right?" she asked, her tone gentle and inviting, though there was a curious edge to her voice—as if she were still trying to decide what she thought of him.
"Yes, ma'am," Lucas replied, offering a friendly, easygoing smile. "Thank you for letting me come by."
The moment she saw his expression, something in her demeanor shifted. Her features softened, and her hands came together in front of her chest—half-grateful, half-nervous, as though she had been rehearsing what to say.
"So you're the boy who caught my daughter in gym class," she said, a touch of wonder in her voice. "Erica told me all about it. She said if you hadn't been there when she fell, she might have…" Her voice faltered, and she shook her head, blinking back a thought she clearly didn't want to finish. "Well, it doesn't matter now. Thank you. Truly."
Lucas looked down, modestly rubbing the back of his neck, a little flustered by the sudden praise. "Honestly, it wasn't anything big. Just instinct. I think anyone would've done the same."
His voice was sincere, humble. And something in it must have resonated with her, because she studied him for another second, eyes narrowing slightly in silent evaluation—then she gave a small, approving nod and stepped back into the house.
"Come in, dear," she said warmly. "Erica's upstairs. Second door on the right. I'll bring you two something to snack on."
Lucas thanked her and stepped inside, the familiar scent of clean laundry and something sweet baking in the oven washing over him. He moved quietly through the hallway and up the carpeted stairs, his hand trailing lightly along the banister. At the top, he found the room—its door slightly ajar—and knocked softly before nudging it open.
Inside, Erica sat cross-legged on her bed, her attention split between an open laptop and a spread of papers scattered across the comforter. She wore a hoodie a size too big, sleeves pushed up, glasses slipping slightly down her nose. The room around her was unexpectedly vibrant and full of personality.
Movie posters covered the walls—bold, colorful prints of sci-fi adventures, caped heroes mid-flight, and old-school fantasy landscapes. On one side of the room stood a tall bookcase overflowing with paperbacks, game cases, DVDs, and rows of meticulously arranged figurines. Beneath the TV was a gaming console, clearly well-used, and a small stack of notebooks beside it. The room had the feeling of a lived-in sanctuary—one carefully curated by someone who had learned to build her world within four walls.
Lucas paused in the doorway, taking it all in. He hadn't known what to expect—he realized now, maybe he hadn't expected anything—but this felt like a reflection of Erica he hadn't yet seen. He smiled faintly.
If she doesn't get to go out much, he thought, she brought the world in here instead.
"Hey," came Erica's voice, pulling him from his thoughts. She glanced up from her laptop, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Her tone was casual, almost practiced—but the faintest blush touched her cheeks when she saw him standing there.
"Come in. Sit anywhere, just don't mess up my notes."
Lucas stepped in and gently shut the door behind him. He moved to the desk, sliding into the chair while she shifted on the bed to organize the papers, clearing a bit of space.
A few moments later, her mother peeked in, balancing a tray filled with snacks—two glasses of juice, a bowl of chips, and a plate of cookies that still steamed slightly. She smiled as she set it down on the bedside table, her eyes flicking between the two of them with quiet approval before she left them alone again.
Once the door closed, Erica adjusted her glasses and slid a paper toward him, a smirk forming on her lips.
"Alright, rookie," she said with mock seriousness. "Here's the outline. I already handled the hard stuff. You just have to pretend you know what you're doing and try not to fall behind."
Lucas chuckled and picked up a pen. "Guess I'll do my best not to drag down the team, then."
She rolled her eyes in exaggerated exasperation, but her smile lingered as she leaned closer. The two of them bent over the pages together, their shoulders nearly brushing. Papers rustled under their hands, the soft hum of the laptop filled the quiet, and the warm light from the desk lamp cast a golden glow across their workspace.
To Lucas, it felt like just another school paper—one of many he'd have to get through this semester. But to Erica, every accidental brush of his hand against hers, every shared laugh over awkward wording or silly typos, carried a different kind of weight. For her, this wasn't just homework—it was the beginning of something fragile and important, unfolding one small, hopeful moment at a time.