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Tim was never quite sure what to think of your practices at first.
It took a while for them to even come up, though there were hints here and there--bells hanging off the door, dried plants and herbs hanging on the walls, a little cinnamon broom you always snuck away to mess with when you wanted an out when guests were over--but over time, it started becoming more frequent. You started becoming more comfortable with practicing in front of him.
He wasn't really sure where he stood on it. He never considered himself a superstitious man. I mean, he'd cracked jokes about things in his life being bad omens or him being bad luck, but that was more pessimism than anything. That, and he figured a supernatural entity with no face and limbs that were too long kind of broke that barrier, honestly he was still figuring out where he stood because of that. And part of him figured he just didn't want anything to do with it because of his past; he liked things grounded, where he could better discern what was real and what wasn't, it made things easier, made it easier to keep track of his hallucinations and what he HOPED were hallucinations, made it feel safer without popping that bubble. And the idea of witchcraft DID just that in his mind, the idea of wearing dark clothes and chanting in a low voice over a bonfire to summon demons or whatever.
But your craft wasn't like that, and that was throwing him for a loop.
He figured it wasn't like it was in the movies anyway, nothing ever was, but he didn't expect it to be so gentle either. There was a certain earnestness when you did it that always swept him up, a certain tenderness. Little acts like stirring intentions into your coffee, leaving amethyst in pillowcases to chase away nightmares, lighting candles filled with cinnamon for protection and lining the windowsills and doorframes with moon water to cleanse the house. It was bizarre, but it was difficult for him to be cynical about it while he watched you do it, even if he wasn't sure he believed. He always found himself enraptured by it when he caught you doing it, standing at a distance leaning against the door as he watched you, enchanted...
Hah, "enchanted". Like in a spell.
But that was all it ever was for a while, just him observing you and almost humoring you, a passenger to your craft.
Until something struck him differently one day.
He'd just woken up from another one of his episodes, however many miles from home, wearing that tan jacket and that stupid mask he could never seem to get rid of, and while cursing life and the world at large on the trek back home, he stuck his hand in his jacket pocket and discovered a tiny vial. Now, he didn't know everything about herbs and their correspondences, but he knew enough to recognize a few things--red pepper, rosemary, black salt, cinnamon.
And then suddenly, it hit him:
It was a protection jar.
You made him a protection spell jar and snuck it into his jacket for whenever he had another episode.
Maybe it's just because it was you, maybe it was because this wasn't the worst episode he'd had and he'd walked away with no broken bones and no major damage, but he couldn't be cynical about it. Not right now, and not with you. And he couldn't ignore how he felt on the way back home, the warmth he felt in his chest, feeling loved, cared for and, yeah, a little safer.
And after that, his curiosity flowered even further. Magic was no longer something to observe, but something deeper, a love language only you two shared. Covering the bedroom walls with lavender bundles and leaving amethyst under his pillow was an act of kindness, you offering a branch of support by tapping into the highest power you knew.
And if that didn't just strike a chord with him that made his heart soft...
And that led him to where he was tonight, sheepishly approaching you while you were making dinner to finally pop the question.
"Sorry, what?" You looked up from the stovetop and met eyes with him, stepping away from the sizzling pan so you could hear him a little better.
"It's nothing really, I just...y'know, I..." He bit his lip, looking down, and you could see the wheels turning behind his eyes. You knew him well enough by now that you could almost hear his thought process; hear him trying to word something right, asking himself why he would ask this, shaming himself for it for this or that reason, and eventually just blurting it out.
"Could you tell me about what you do? About your magic?"
It caught you off guard, you weren't sure what you were expecting but it wasn't this, but soon enough, your chest tingled warm and a small smile played across your face at the question. At the curiosity you could see sparkling in his brown eyes, lingering just below his apprehension.
You chuckled softly, a quiet, good-natured thing.
"Well, c'mere. What do you wanna know?"
"Are you sure no one can see us?"
"Trust me, no one ever comes out this late. And even if they did, what're they gonna do?"
The two of you sat cross-legged on the back porch a few hours later, the sun nearly fully descended behind the worn fence and making the backyard glow a soft orange, surrounded by a various assortment of herbs, a purple candle and a glass vial sitting between you two. You could see Tim tensing in the low light, the soft lines between his eyebrows, a look of uncertainty.
"Hey, look at me." You put a hand on his. "It's ok. You don't have to be nervous. And it's ok if you don't quite believe in all this yet or if you decide it's not for you, I'm just happy you're here."
"And I'm happy that you let me in."
He said after a small pause. You gave a little smile.
"Ok." You grabbed the lighter in front of you--Tim's, worn and clearly having seen better days--lighting the candle between you two, watching the flame sparkle within it's glass holder. "Let that melt a little bit. Now grab the bottle."
Tim did as you said, holding it in his hand. You put your hands over his, holding it tight.
"And say your intentions." You cleared your throat. "You are protected. You are safe. You are guarded. Light follows you always. Now say it back."
He did, a lilt of uncertainty to his voice, but a look of determination in his eyes. You released your grip and he set the bottle down.
"Now let's do the herbs. Pass me the rosemary."
You both took turns loading the jar with various herbs, Tim eyeing you while he added every one to make sure he was doing it right, almost like he was asking for permission.
"Ok." You said, taking the jar and capping it. "Now we just have to seal it. You ok with doing this part?"
"Mm-hm." He took the candle, a bit gingerly, and held it over the vial, tipping it over and watching as purple wax spilled over the cap. You couldn't help but feel your heart soften as you watched him do it, watched him actively participate in a practice you held dear. The feeling had been present since he approached you earlier, but it blossomed further and further as the night progressed, and now you could feel it reaching it's peak, spilling warmth into your chest.
And as the wax finally cooled and Tim took the bottle in his hand, the two of you exchanging a tender look and kissing each other beneath the indigo sky, you could feel the warmth seep between you, a mutual thing. And you couldn't be more grateful for each other.
Because whether you knew it or not, you were magical to each other.