He draws his eyes away from her skin (the red marks being leeched away by flesh blood) to glance up at her face, hoping for some sort of clue in her expression--does she like it? Does she hate it, think it strange? Most people do. It's one of the many reasons he keeps to himself when he can. This place, and all the magic in it, is the only reason he's been so careless with who he touches.

He has half the mind to make a crack at her obvious attraction towards him, but decides against it. He does seem to be on a kind streak, after all. "It's... something that happens, with me. It's kind of hard to explain."

Now it's his turn to look back down, focusing on his hand at her side. "It's like... my body is a container, but it's constantly producing more magic, and more energy. Eventually the container becomes so full that when I touch people, it leaks out into them and back out into the world. It's not harmful or anything--" He assures her, quickly, "It should just go right through you. And the feeling will disappear in a minute or so, once it all levels out."

... He's happy to use that as the excuse for why his hand is still resting at her side, long after it really had to be there.