The Things That Bind Us- Damirae

Chapter Eighteen

"Ugh- yeah no- that's a real nasty one," Klarion scrunched his nose, peering over Damian's shoulder.

"Administered through the skin," the man looked up at the Witch, "so not what we're looking for."

Klarion beckoned a thick tome from the end of the table. It floated over and landed atop the book in front of Damian. Miffed, he glanced at Klarion. The Witch seemed not to have much regard for the personal space of others. Damian tended to be very much the same. Unsurprisingly, they'd left the library in a state of disarray.

"This is so much woooork!" Klarion groaned scrunching his hands in his hair.

The pages ruffled frantically, as if blown by a gust of wind. A bluish glow surrounded the book. Klarion'a magic. The man glanced at the Witchboy from the corner of his eye; Klarion's eyes were screwed shut. Then, black as night, they opened, and the pages fell still. He grinned.

"Jackpot. I knew there was a chapter in this book." The Witchboy was triumphant.

Damian was in the habit of storing information about those he encountered, building mental case files of each. Klarion, he noted, seemed to display an emotional immaturity of sorts. Perhaps that is how he kept his grave powers balanced. Or he'd grown in a sheltered environment; or quite the opposite. Klarion radiated magic- danger. He was coy, and pretty, and Damian reckoned he could make a friend out of this Witch.

Sighing, the man wondered if his mother's side was responsible for his affinity for magical beings. Or his father's attraction to danger. Either way, Damian was screwed from conception with those two as parents.

A hand rested on his chair. The ghost of an elbow brushed the air besides his head. Magic buzzed against the exposed hairs on Damian's neck. He raised an eyebrows and turned to face the Witchboy. Klarion had bent down to be at head-height with the seated man.

"So," he hissed, smirking. "You and Raven. What's the deal?"

Klarion had a habit of hanging on his fricatives. It was sinister. It suited him well, Damian thought. He turned around and raised an eyebrow, so close that he could see perfectly the red waves in Klarion's irises.

"Really now, you'd better spill the details of your of volition- I don't want to have to pry it out of you."  The Witchboy prodded. He looked to the side, around the table. "Shall I pull up a chair? Then we can have a nice little chat."

Damian answered, "If you like..." unimpressed.

The truth is, he wasn't sure where they stood.

Nestling in to one of the library's comfier chairs, Klarion clasped his hands together in his lap. His eyes were wide, imploring. It made a change to their usual piercing coyness.

"Right, let's begin with what stage of the relationship you're at. How far have you gone? Wait- you've hooked up right?"

Damian folded his arms, affronted, "I'm not disclosing anything."

Klarion raised an eyebrow and summoned a pot of tea.