“Magic isn’t real.” Even as he said it, he realized how flat he sounded. He really wasn’t sure of anything anymore. He took a big swig of brandy and instantly started to cough, the alcohol burning all the way down to his gut. “God, this stuff is disgusting.”

 

“Then why are you indulging in it, if I might ask?”

 

Richard slammed the glass down, and of course the dark liquid splashed over the edges and landed on the table, Richard’s arm, and his shirt. He jerked back. Put his hands on his hips and glared at the larger man. “This is your fault. Before meeting you, I had a perfectly normal life. I didn’t daydream, drink alcohol, or believe in magic.”

 

“I’m not sure how to respond to that.”

 

“You can say you’re sorry!”

 

“Well…. There really isn’t anything wrong with alcohol as long as you don’t drink it to excess, and daydreaming and magic are wonderful things to have in your daily life. So instead of saying I’m sorry, how about, you’re welcome.” Tikron smiled broadly, looking like he was just pleased as punch.

 

Richard stared at him for a moment longer, but he was too tired to hold on to his anger. He also didn’t have a good argument against Tikron’s statement. Finally he huffed out a breath and spun around to go wash his hands.

 

Tikron followed him. “Is believing in magic really that horrible of a notion?”

 

Richard flipped on the tap and lathered up his hands. “I don’t know.”

 

“Aw, Richard. Your response makes me incredibly sad. Whether from a supernatural or natural source, it’s around you every day, in everything you do. It makes life exciting.”