Free A Boy and His Dragon by R. Cooper

hang-ups about morality that a lot of humans did, or at least, what morality they had was different.
    “Yes.” Bertie stared at the unlit cigarette in his hand. “About that….” His pause was heavy and his slight frown made him seem pained again. “You should watch yourself around Beings, Arthur.
    Some of us have a definite type when it comes to humans. A taste, if you will.”
    He raised his head and met Arthur’s shocked, wide-eyed stare.
    Arthur couldn’t quite process what Bertie’s look was telling him. He thought faintly that if Bertie was trying to say Arthur was the preferred boyfriend material for creatures of unbelievable magic, power, and beauty, then that was ridiculous because he wasn’t anything special to look at. He’d never be an underwear model even A Boy and His Dragon
    51
    if he ate normally and gained some weight back. He was a good student who loved his choice of career, if he ever got back to it, but he wasn’t a genius. He was, he thought tightly, a skinny kid with little to no free time who usually had his snub nose in a book when he wasn’t working.
    His conversation was lacking, too, and not just because some dragon seemed to enjoy rendering him speechless. He closed his mouth, at least, so he wouldn’t ask if that’s what Bertie meant, and if so, why, because he’d already put his foot in his mouth once in the last few minutes, and he didn’t want to do it again.
    Bertie shook himself and broke the stare.
    “Were you sad when the fairy left you? He did, didn’t he?” He rose in one fluid, restless motion and went over to the fireplace.
    With his back turned, Arthur only saw the spark and then the thin trail of smoke rising from the cigarette.
    Yes , Arthur thought but didn’t say out loud. He was sad when Clematis left. Sad and lost because knowing a fairy would leave was something he’d chosen to ignore during their time together. Frankly, he’d been so swept away, grateful, and happy to be with someone that he hadn’t wanted to think about it.
    Arthur’s stomach rumbled, the snack reminding him that he did need to stop, and he ought to find some real food if he wanted to make it home without passing out.
    “Yes and no.” He shrugged for show, though Bertie couldn’t see. If Bertie was tasting the scents in the air, all he had to do was lick his lips to sense Arthur’s distress at the memory of waiting for a call that never came and looking for those green-glass fairy wings in his classes, only to realize Clematis must have left the school completely. But Arthur had been an undergrad then—it was years ago. He hadn’t had time to think about it since then, not really. It only stung now instead of making him cry. “He was never going to make it through the history program,” he dismissed it as evenly as he could. “He had no focus at all.”
    Bertie gave a soft snort before turning around again. Arthur couldn’t read his expression, but his eyes were old and sharp, more R. Cooper
    52
    than human. Of course he wasn’t surprised the fairy left. Why shouldn’t a fairy have left Arthur? It was pathetic that Arthur would even try to deny how alone he’d felt afterward, how bereft. It was nice to feel loved by someone other than his sister, and he hadn’t wanted it to end. That was the truth. Having a fairy to teach him things was almost a bonus, like a dream come true—for a while.
    He did his best to focus on the present and to keep his face blank, but those eyes were still on him.
    “Is it true that no one can fool a dragon?” Arthur was rough and loud again, and swallowing did nothing for his voice. “Because when you look at me like that, I feel like you’re weighing my soul, or at least reading my mind.”
    Arthur couldn’t believe he’d said it. Maybe it was the embarrassment of talking about his fairy ex-boyfriend or the pity he knew Bertie had to be feeling. He really was softhearted for a fearsome dragon. He already offered to feed Arthur. Arthur