I am 15 chapters ahead on my patreón, check it out if you are interested.
Patréon.com/emperordragon
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Chapter 116: Margins and Moments
The history paper sat half-finished between them, but the air had shifted. At first, Lucas read paragraphs and scribbled notes with his usual focus, yet soon their rhythm slowed.
Erica, who had been quietly reviewing her own notes, leaned forward slightly to glance at what he was writing. Her hair, loose and just slightly frizzy from the humidity, brushed lightly against his arm. It was a small touch, accidental, but it startled something in her—like crossing a line she hadn't realized was there until she touched it.
"You've got good handwriting," she said, aiming for casual, but her voice came out softer than she expected—more careful, more deliberate. There was an undertone she hadn't intended to let slip, but once it was out, she didn't try to reel it back in.
Lucas looked up, eyebrows raised slightly in surprise. "Uh… thanks? I guess I've never really thought about it."
She gave a short, almost embarrassed laugh, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Trust me," she said, smiling now, "I've seen my fair share of essays that look like they were written by caffeine-fueled raccoons. Yours is practically calligraphy by comparison."
Lucas smirked and shook his head, jotting another sentence. "Well, I'll consider that my greatest academic achievement."
She smiled at that, but as he looked down again, her gaze lingered a beat longer than it should have. There was something quietly magnetic about him when he was focused like this, the way his brow furrowed slightly, how he tapped the pen against his chin when he was thinking. She hadn't noticed these things before—not really. Or maybe she had, and just hadn't let herself dwell on them.
The room fell into a companionable quiet after that, broken only by the soft ticking of the clock on the wall and the faint hum of traffic beyond the window. Pens scratched paper again, but the energy had shifted—gentler now, warmer.
After a while, Lucas reached absentmindedly toward the plate of cookies they'd been sharing. At the same moment, Erica reached for one, too. Their hands brushed—briefly, lightly—and both pulled back like they'd touched something too hot.
"Sorry," Lucas muttered, his voice low and slightly awkward.
"No, it's fine," Erica replied quickly, her voice a notch softer than before. She looked down at her lap, trying to act nonchalant, but the flush that rose to her cheeks betrayed her. She could feel it blooming, warm and impossible to ignore.
Lucas, completely unaware of the storm he'd stirred, nudged the plate toward her. "Go ahead," he said, flashing a half-smile. "You probably need the sugar more than I do—you're carrying this whole thing."
That earned a quiet laugh, genuine and warm.
They continued, Lucas occasionally asking questions, Erica explaining with a spark in her voice. It struck him how alive she seemed here, in her space. Not the quiet girl at school, but someone sharp, funny, and… well, comfortable.
At one point, Lucas leaned back in his chair and rubbed his temples. "History's messy. Every side thinks they're the good guys."
"Exactly," Erica replied, eyes lighting up. "That's why it matters who tells the story. Power decides the version that gets remembered."
Lucas looked at her then, really looked. "That's… actually a good point. Better than anything in this paper."
Erica blinked, surprised by the compliment. "Thanks," she said quietly, her voice almost a whisper. She looked away, biting her lip to hide the smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.
The rest of their session blurred into a softer rhythm—an easy back-and-forth of ideas, half-serious banter, and shared silences that didn't feel awkward anymore. Erica found herself leaning in closer without realizing it, and more than once, she caught herself smiling when Lucas wasn't paying attention. She wondered if he could feel the shift too, or if it was just her, caught in this new awareness of him.
By the time the paper was done, the sky outside her window had gone dark. When they finally finished the paper, Lucas let out a long breath and stretched again, arching his back with a groan.
"We actually pulled it off," he said, sounding almost surprised. "Thanks, Erica. Seriously. I couldn't have done this without you."
Erica's heart squeezed, a tight and unexpected feeling that made her chest ache just a little. "Anytime," she said, and this time she meant it with her whole heart.
Lucas smiled at her then—not distracted or polite, but real. It was the kind of smile that stayed with you after someone left.
He began packing up his notes and books, and the quiet sounds of zippers and shuffling papers filled the space between them. Erica watched him, her fingers absently fidgeting with the edge of her sleeve. She tried to keep her expression neutral, tried not to show how much she didn't want the night to end just yet. But inside, something tugged at her—an odd mix of satisfaction and sadness, like the closing of a really good book.
He stood, slinging his bag over his shoulder. "I'll see you at school?"
"Yeah," she said, forcing a smile, though her voice caught just slightly. "See you."
And just like that, he was gone.
The room felt a little quieter without him in it.