by Namita Singh
touches had taken place. Those were the ones which made me realize that I shouldn’t even encourage those slight touches. I don’t answer Neal. A few seconds of silence pass, but this time Neal seems to be adamant. Not that it’s a surprise, I am just pointing.
“Would you speak up?” he demands.
I huff at him, “Neal, it’s nothing. Why are you making a scene of it?”
“Because it never seems like ‘nothing’.” Neal pauses, “Is there something I don’t know?”
“…what are you expecting?” I almost give him a droll look.
“I don’t know.” He humorlessly laughs, “All I know is that I fucking hate secrets.” He stresses on the word ‘secrets’.
I stare at him. He is angrily staring back. I can brush off the topic again, but somehow his angry stance makes me hesitate. Neal hates secrets; that is something which is not unknown to anyone. Be it knowing about his abilities and what it entails; be it knowing about his failure of a pseudo family; be it knowing about him being my partner and what that entails; everywhere Neal prefers to be aware of the whole situation, even if the knowledge is not to his liking. I can brush him off now, what about tomorrow? Next week? Next month? Hell, next year? What about after ten years? Will I be lying to him even then? It’s strange that I have already assumed that he’ll be constant around me through my life. But it’s sort of an automatic thought now.
“Well?” Neal prods, a steely look on his face.
“Seriously? We’ve probably got ourselves tailed, with our elders on a homicide watch, and you’re asking me questions, answer to which may be as vague as ‘germaphobia’.”
“We’ve got all the fucking time in this world, Lichinsky. I can listen to hundreds of vague lies before you decide to spill the fucking truth.”
He is cussing more than he does in his normal stubborn mode. He is definitely pissed off.
I sigh, rubbing the back of my neck with my left hand. I can forget having it easy with Neal by my side. I mentally scoff, slightly ticked off at how he always gets all the things his way. “It’s a therian thing.” I mutter, averting my eyes.
“I figured that much.”
“Just leave it be. It’s no big deal.”
“What, are therians supposed to be allergic to their partners?” He asks, ignoring me.
Quite the opposite, I want to say, but I refrain. Now I am wondering how come we even landed in this conversation, when we have such bigger issues on our head. But I guess whatever Neal is adamant about, that becomes automatically important. I still feel heat creeping on my face at the potentially embarrassing conversation that is about to take place.
“You know,” Neal starts, his voice much calmer, “all I have been asking of you since the beginning of this whole ordeal is that you be honest with me and don’t hide things from me, at least the ones that concern me. Is that too much to ask? But fine…you just want to go with your whims…” Neal looks doubtful for a second as he goes on. He purses his lips in distaste suddenly, “Fuck it.” He snarls, back to his bitchy tone, “Just tell me what it is?”
I smirk slightly. He almost, almost said that it’s fine if I am not comfortable with sharing, but seeing as how he couldn’t even finish that sentence, I can safely conclude that consideration of others is not Neal’s strongest point.
My smirk vanishes as Neal continues to glare at me. I mentally fidget as all of his focus centers on me. Here goes nothing.
“I don’t want to become accustomed to it.” I say in one breath, hoping my face is not as red as it feels.
Neal frowns, “Accustomed to what?” Dubiously, he leans back, his expression suggesting that his mind is in the gutter.
I speak before he can assume the worst. “Your aura feels too potent on touch.” I explain, “I don’t want to get accustomed to that.”
Neal takes a long time to contemplate over that, frowning through it. “I thought….I thought my aura is potent to you as it is…”
I sigh, “Yeah…that was in comparison to others. While others hardly get affected, your aura is too empowering for me. On touch, it is even more potent. Your aura doesn’t get time to dilute in space and so I get slammed with its highest potency…so…”
“What’s the problem in getting accustomed to it?” he asks.
I stare at him for a long time, wondering if he is playing me. Neal is not this dumb.
“You mean, what’s the problem in getting accustomed to touching you?” I rephrase, focusing on my last two words.
Neal realizes what his question entails and he opens his mouth to probably correct himself, “I meant,” he briefly closes his eyes, furiously frowning, “Why the hell would you get accustomed? No, I mean, why will it make you accustomed to it? Wait…what I mean is…even a simply handshake is forbidden now?”
“You mean how can even slight touchesmake me habitual?” I ask, guessing from his scrambled questions. Neal is rambling. It’s weirdly funny, considering the situation. I have never seen Neal taken so off guard. He is usually collected, even at the most embarrassing of things.
“Yeah and…well, this is fucking stupid.”
I shrug, “I have been hanging around you since a lot of days and not even once I thought that your aura constantly around will get me habituated. But I got used to it, too much in fact. This last two weeks weren’t pleasant for me.” I turn my gaze away, “Obviously I do not want to get used to with something even more empowering.”
Neal doesn’t say anything for a long time. When I turn to look at him, he is frowning, his eyes glaring daggers at the bed sheet.
“I don’t get it.” He says suddenly, lifting his head to look at me.
I raise my eyebrows at him.
“I thought my aura made you feel on top of the world.” He says.
“Um, yeah, kind of, yeah.” I stutter.
“So, sensing my aura through touch feels better than being on top of the fucking world?”
I contemplate his question for a moment, “As I said, touching offers me your aura without dilution. The highest concentration of aura possible. Imagine 98 percent sulfuric acid instead of 10 percent.”
“Acid burns.” He babbles.
“I talk in terms of strength, not the effect.”
Neal’s eyes flutter impatiently at my innuendos, “I am not asking for technicalities. What does it feel?”
“Eh….just…higher version of what I usually feel of your aura.” I shrug.
Neal frowns, “So…just more sappily happy?”
“…Yeah.”
“Josh?”
“Yeah?”
“What does it feel?”
Jesus, I really don’t want to have this conversation.
“Lichinsky?” he says sternly when I don’t respond.
“Ugh, you’re worse than Aakir.” I mutter.
Neal doesn’t falter, glaring at me incessantly. I don’t think I have much of a choice than be openly honest. And I am counting on Neal’s irked stance to lessen the awkwardness. Because god knows I am not in the mood for an uncomfortable air.
I sigh, “I am able to feel the senses exhibited in your aura.” I tell him quietly. He leans forward, to listen better.
“You can sense it without any contact as well.” Neal points out.
I shake my head, “I can determine the feelings disposed in your aura, but I cannot feel them. I just know that your aura expresses excitement, a positive apprehension and a sense of deep felicitousness. And it makes me feel good upon sensing it, like rejuvenation, acting as a source of equanimity for me. But on touch, I can even feel the emotions of your aura and the goodness that I am already feeling due to your aura gets further enhanced.”
I am very pleased to notice that our conversation is not as awkward as it was the first time I disclosed the effects of his aura. I suppose we have grown enough comfortable with each other in the gone weeks to not make a fuss of such revelations. But we are not completely competent, still managing to somewhat be inept. That small maladroitness in our f
riendship is something that I can never imagine going away. I will always be reluctant in revealing something absolutely mushy to Neal regarding our bonding, despite feeling reprieved afterwards. I will always have a slight blush on my cheeks, despite the comfort level I have attained with Neal. And I will never understand the exact reasons behind such ineptness of mine, especially when I am aware that Neal is enough mature to not regard my admissions to be blushing worthy.
Neal clears his throat, snapping me out of my reverie. He seems to be thinking, looking confused, surprised and amused all at once.
“That’s it?” he confirms, lifting his eyebrows.
I shrug, “More or less.” I mumble.
Neal suddenly smirks, though it looks tired, “You therians have twisted lives.”
I roll my eyes, “It gets weirder when you have a vaticinator for a partner.”
“I didn’t ask for this life.”
“You’re saying as if I demanded this life of mine.”
Neal shrugs, rubbing the side of his face, looking thoughtful. After a moment he begins, “You said that last two weeks weren’t pleasant?”
I hum, averting my eyes again.
“Well, I meant in regard to my aura.”
I look back at him, feeling exceptionally surprised to see Neal’s face tinted pink. To his credit, his expressions are set, not giving away that he is blushing. Blushing for whatever reason.
“Yes.” I say. Neal gives me a dull look, making me sigh. I should know that I will have to elaborate anyway. “It just kept me on edge.” I tell him. “Skittish.”
“That’s weird.” He comments.
“I suppose. I just know that I