Perhaps the runes weren't a permanent fix, but they would be enough to help Jem last for a while longer. That would give them some time to enjoy the night as well as actually make it home in one piece without either of them passing out. Will was just as happy to pretend they were just a couple of teenagers relaxing in a park rather than a pair of parabatai still covered in ichor from a demon hunt. He was reminded of their soiled state when Jem pulled away, and though he missed the warmth he made light of the situation as always. "I apologize for the stench, I must smell like a demonic sewer." He told himself that was the reason for Jem putting more distance between them, unable to stomach the thought that he was genuinely disliked in any way by his one shining silver star in the dark abyss that had swallowed his life whole.

Snorting softly as Jem rebuttoned his sleeve, the paramount of propriety, Will slouched down further against the tree. This time it was he who leaned against Jem, head on his shoulder as he listened to the subtle drumming of Jem's pulse. It was a reassuring sound for so many reasons, none of them to which he was willing to put words. Tilting his head back to look up at Jem, he studied him from the unusual angle, the way he could see each pale eyelash above his almond eyes. "Won't you come with me?" he asked, frowning at the thought of being separated. It wasn't possible, as far as he knew from parabatai lore, but that wasn't the only reason he disliked the notion. "I'll hire you as a translator and you can help me woo all the local women," he teased, fiddling with the edge of his shirt sleeve where it had been dissolved by acidic ichor. "And then we'll fall in love. Distance is difficult to overcome and very boring, but a translator falling in love with the poetry of his employer only to deliver it to another is appropriately angst-ridden."