Birds are more similar to dragons than you think. Let me list my reasons;

One, wings are the most obvious. Birds fly to travel, to hunt, to hide, as do dragons.

Two, same instincts. This could apply to animal, but the sheer fiction (well, what you think is fiction) of dragons brings a more unique factor into the equation. Every animal, big or small, carnivorous or herbivorous, fictitious or non-fictitious, even humans. We all possess the need and want food, water, satisfaction, sex, love and enjoyment, as opposed to becoming starving, thirsty, dissatisfied, celibate, unloved, displeased creatures.

Of course, there is a scale on how much animals excuse their wants and needs. Humans are in the middle of the scale. We often get along just fine with our own wants and needs; finding a snack, drinking water, reading a book, finding a willing lover, watching a good show, whatever tickles your fancy in the moment. Sometimes we complain, but get along just fine. Bird babies may cry to their mother for a bit of food, but grow up to be quieter. They get along silently, doing the same as us humans, but with less willingness to complain. Dragons will bellow and yell, destroy and crumble, kill and murder. They will stop at nothing, and are never fully satisfied.

Three, same horrifying calls. Don't get me wrong, birdcall can be beautiful. But as my life continues, stuck in London, viewing the world, the call of the woodpigeon and the lark frolicking in the back garden at fifteen hours and thirty-seven minutes through a hot summer day, the little girl I was licking at an ice lolly, sat in the little plastic pool fully clothed in my rainbow dress and sparkly red sandals. They drowned out by the roaring of dragon-vans scraping past on concrete streets, the garden withering into a fire-pit and a depressing mouldy deck, staying inside during the sweltering heat as my teenage thoughts slowly rot me from my core, hating every inch of pale skin on my oversized bones. They sound no different from each other these days.

Four, they are both beasts from hell, sent to murder you in cold blood. Birds often more metaphorical. How many times have you been on Brighton Pier, prepared to sink your teeth into a donut or chips or something else, and a seagull snatches it from your fingers with his yellow beak, a goatee of red haunting his chin? Or parakeets screaming from their treetop perches as you try to have a quiet walk home from a long day? Dragons also do that. They will never say no to a sweet treat. Or ripping off your head, leaving only your body standing with the rest of your neck bones hanging out of your torso like the way you would leave the oddly gory stick of an ice-cream. Or screaming bloody murder at you, begging you to leave the building before its primal instincts take over and its tail whacks into the room, impaling you on its spines.

I think these four are reasons enough. Although, dragons and birds are not friends. They will never be true allies. Let alone acquainted. God forbid friendship or love falls between them; the world will crash down. If one of them dies, or steps one inch out of line, it kills not just all humans, but the whole world as we know it. Crumbling into piles of rock, ash, bone, and flesh. Dragons enjoy revenge, and birds are far too dainty and susceptible to danger. The dragon would end the world with a snap of his fingers. The bird would kill himself, grief-stricken, lacking protection from his ally.

To put it in simple terms: Kristoffer is a dragon. Ashton is a bird. That is why they are so close yet so far. In London, sticking in opposite corners of Lewisham. They do think about each other sometimes; moments of quiet, moments of noise, moments of nothing, moments of everything. Sometimes it's all of the above combined into one. But they'd rather not admit to their friends to how much they think of each other. It'd bring both groups to rage. 

Two birds with one stone.

 I guess I should tell you about Kristoffer. Oh my, how do I begin? Kristoffer Piercebridge, a young man who works for the AMI. He's a top assassin, but an awful man. My, a very awful man. He is a two-faced, ambiguous, selfish, dauntless, audacious man. He had left his friends and family behind for a quick buck. Scummy, but he had regrets.

I feel as if I should tell you how he looks. He has dark brown skin, green eyes and a messy mop of straight black hair. He sits at a table in a small room, tapping his nails against the table. He is rather nervous for the prospect of what was going to happen. The door bursts open. His boss, Sam Strangelove, stands in the doorway. Her waist length silver hair was messed around and tousled, and her green eye had a glint of anger flickering like a flame. He can hear her whispering under her breath something rather rude about her husband.

'So, Piercebridge,' She snaps back into her general kind persona, a soft grin teasing the corners of her mouth, 'How have you done on the last case? I presume it went well. Sutharastan can't have been to hard to catch.'

Kristoffer swallowed the lump in his throat, knowing he had destroyed a family by killing a loved daughter, 'It did go well, Ms. Strangelove. I feel as if I am ready for the next case.'

'Wonderful!' Strangelove trills, grabbing something from her large handbag. Kristoffer cranes his neck to see what she was fishing for. She produces a pair of glasses and a folder of cases. She rifles through the pages. She then pulls two pieces of crinkled paper from a section labelled, "Difficult Cases". Strangelove then places them on his side of the desk, her long red nails scraping across the table.

'Since you're such a good assassin, I made the decision to give you two difficult cases,' She says as he squints at the cases. His stomach lurches as he sees the names scribbled in red ink at the tops: Ashton Rockwell and Alexis Florakis. His stomach falls further as he sees the pictures. One is of a young man with fiery ginger hair and a mad glint in his green eyes: the other of a dark haired woman, her amber eyes with a glint of fear. Half of her face was turning into a different person, someone he didn't know.

'Ready to take up the cases?' Strangelove asks, an eyebrow raised.

'Y-yes Ms. Strangelove,' He splutters, unsure of what to say.

'Good! You have 6 months at maximum to bring them back here,' She says, standing to leave. She gives him a fond yet cold smile, 'I wish you luck, this is a hard case.'

She shuts the door behind her. Kristoffer's breath shakes, a tear pooling in his eye. He wipes it away and leaves too.