Snuff, by PingeBreenColourficluver

He remembers the day, the day he was sitting there, in his room, fists clenched and an angry lump in his throat. The door opened soundlessly. He didn't look up. He didn't dare look to see who had come for him. He didn't care.

He remembers an arm snaking its way around him. It was warm, impossibly warm and comforting, but he didn't care. He was pulled close into warm leather, a musky, homely smell entering his nose. A hand stroked through his hair, calming him down in a way he wished he could fight. I don't want to care! I don't want to not be angry!

He remembers a hand tilting his chin up so they had to look eye to eye. Rough fingers smoothing away tears he didn't realise had fallen. His hands shook, fighting to rise up themselves and weave into silky gold. The sudden urge to speak - to explain, to apologise.

"I-I am-"

"Hush. No words."

He remembers being dragged closer, impossibly close, until he thought he could no longer breathe. And he remembers them both leaning in at the same time for a sweet collision of lips, all innocence and confusion and magic.

.

The next few weeks are the best of Loki's life. He's never felt so golden, so warm and happy inside, so special. Every day he goes to his University; every day he gets a step further through his thesis. And every day afterwards he hurries home, to where he knows the one he adores is waiting.

He rushes in through the door, bag swinging behind him, thudding against his thigh as he hurries down the hall into the kitchen. The garage is empty - he sees it from the window. Good, he thinks, Father and Mother aren't back yet. He slings his bag on the abused and faded sofa, right next to the spot that's almost carved into the cushions where their father always sits. Running up the stairs two at a time, he sneaks into the small bedroom, opening the door silently.

The blond head is hunched over, right hand carefully sketching out a design on scrap paper, Google Images open on the desktop before him. Loki wraps an arm around the head, one hand covering the eyes as he leans in close to whisper, "Guess who."

He is answered by a chuckle, a deep rumble that vibrates through both of them simultaneously. Thor turns around to look at his brother, a smile lighting up his face as he prises the hands off his eyes. He silently holds up the sketch, a delicate knot of lines surrounding a brilliant star.

"It's beautiful," Loki says, taking the paper in his hands to examine it further. Amongst the intricate swirls are runes, a trademark of all Thor's designs, featured in everything since he learnt to write in Norse letters at the age of seventeen.

"Not as much as you," his brother replies, pulling Loki onto his lap. The younger man smiles bashfully, batting Thor's nose with his finger.

"Oh you," he sighs, placing a kiss on the spot he's just prodded. "When are they coming back?"

"About six. The train arrives at the station at half five, but there's been delays because of an 'accident'." Thor looks dark for a moment, and they both know he's thinking of the time they'd been summoned to the hospital, only to receive the grim news that it was too late, that he stepped on the live rail, and Balder would never be waking up again.

"Two hours. Two hours of just us. How about we go for a walk?" Loki asks, looking hopeful.

Thor nods vaguely, turning back to his computer. "I have to get these designs done for tomorrow...If you bear with me for just ten minutes, and then I have an idea."

Loki moves over to the bed, taking out a notebook and writing down ideas for the next chapter of his project while Thor finishes off. He becomes engrossed quickly, so it comes as a surprise when he is pulled down onto his side on the narrow single and cuddled close, one hand stroking down his back.

"Someone's in a strange mood today," he comments, softly kissing the lips before him. "Rough day?"

"Yeah," Thor muses, looking away a moment. "Some git came in asking for a tat of his girlfriend's ass on his chest. I said even we have limits, and he starts swearing at me, waving his bottle around and everything. Dave had to escort him out in the end, although chuck is more like the right term."

"Sounds fun, but that doesn't explain much," Loki says, catching his brother's eye briefly. "What else?"

"Oh, I have loads of things to do tonight, and I really just want to savour the time with you before they get back." Thor's hands work their way down Loki's body, up and down, up and down.

"Why don't we go out then? That way we can gain an extra hour, if we say I had a lecture or something, and we decided to catch a bite at Burger King afterwards." He pleads with his eyes, worried about his brother's unusually pensive state.

"That could work," Thor says, sitting them up. "I have an idea. A present for you, of sorts. I don't think we have time today though." He kisses Loki gently, moving to grab his keys while keeping an arm around his brother's waist. They lock the door behind them, leaving a note on the coffee table saying where they'd gone.

It's nearly nine by the time they return, laughing and stumbling into one another. Both their parents are in the living room, the door shut and the TV blasting. The pair steal their way up the stairs, hands entwined, into Loki's room where they collapse on the bed.

"Shh, Thor, they might hear," Loki giggles, not really caring but for the nagging feeling in the back of their mind that they only managed to get away with this so far because the day following that special first moment after he'd found out he was adopted, and they had kept it from him until he was twenty-two, both Odin and Frigga had gone away on a cruise to the Caribbean.

"I don't care; do you? I love you," his brother replies, shutting him up with a kiss before turning him onto his back to tickle him all over. Loki squeals, biting his fist to try and keep quiet, but knowing with the TV on that loud that he can hear the smooth tones of Stephen Fry's voice from two floors away they won't be noticed.

After a few minutes though their courage fails them, and they fall silent, instead just resting, curled up together.

"You'd better go," Loki says, reluctance heavy in his tone.

"Do I have to?" Thor whinges, nose brushing the nape of Loki's neck.

"They'll come up once QI's over. They'll notice you're not in your room. They'll find us."

"Let them. What can they do? We're both adults, both with our own lives. They can't touch us."

"They can kick us out," Loki says. He agrees with Thor completely, but he is also painfully aware that while they still live under Odin's roof they will have to abide by his rules. He's pretty sure being in a relationship, if that's what it could be called, with his adopted brother is not one of them.

"We'll buy a flat," Thor responds, almost as if he's practised this argument many times over in his head. Which he probably has.

"They'll disown us."

"We don't need them anymore. We have each other."

But he sees that his brother is right, and once the distant vibrations of the TV are gone Thor climbs out of the bed and slinks into his own room. Loki hears a few scattered words of conversation between his mother and brother, and then silence as the house goes to sleep. He smiles to himself.

Two days later is a Saturday, and Odin goes to play golf. Frigga is following up on some important emails she missed while on holiday, so Thor seizes the chance to give his brother his 'present'. Loki is dragged out of the door with no explanations, onto the 75 bus to the town centre and then round to 'Titanium', the tattoo and piercing parlour where Thor works full time.

Cara, the girl with wispy black hair and cobwebs covering her skin, smiles at him as he drags his brother past the desk and into the back room.

"Please tell me you're not going to give me a nose ring or something," Loki groans, knowing how much Thor loves bizarre piercings - it was why he'd got the job there in the first place, that, and his incredible skill with designing and creating tattoos.

"Nothing as crude as that, but you can have a tongue stud thrown in if you want," Thor laughs, catching Loki's eye roll.

"I will not have my tongue splitting. That is disgusting."

"I'm giving you a tattoo, silly. It's my own design; I did it on Friday night when you were studying. It's a surprise though, so now is your chance to decide whether or not you trust me: yea or nay?"

Loki pauses. A tattoo is a big thing. Does he trust Thor enough? Yes, is the instant reply. "Go on then. Do it."

Thor grins, getting Loki to lie down on the large black leather chair and hitch up his t-shirt so the small of his back is exposed. It tickles as the purple fineliner brushes over his skin, marking out the places to be inked. They stay silent, the only sound the buzz of the needle as it fills over the lines. It hurts, but Loki is distracted by his brother's face, or what of it he can see from his awkward angle. The look of pure concentration as he works his design is beautiful, and Loki wishes he could capture it forever.

The noise stops, and the silence presses down on them until Thor stands up, offering his brother a hand. He gets a pair of mirrors and angles them so Loki can see his handiwork. His mouth falls open. Between the back of his hipbones sits the word 'Thor' in sleek letters, knot work weaving in and out around them. Above the name is a strange character that fits in perfectly and Loki recognises it as a Norse rune.

"It's the symbol for love, because I'll love you forever," he explains, and Loki practically jumps into his arms, smothering him in kisses and 'thank you's.

They walk most of the way home hand in hand, breaking apart only at the end of their street because in that vicinity people are likely to know about the other side of their relationship, the one that makes it infinitely darker than their public face of just a couple of guys in love with each other. Even Thor's work don't know the slender dark haired man who sometimes comes to pick him up is the same person as his 'super-smart and pain-in-the-ass' younger brother.

Once they get inside, they are greeted with a light lunch round the table, in which their parents tell them everything about their trip and Frigga insists they look at the three wallets of photos she's just got developed that morning.

It's two o'clock when they're free again, and they both go to Loki's room because it's farther away and you can pull the ladder up so no-one can get to you. The younger man is examining his new inks in the mirror while Thor gazes at him from the bed. Slowly, he beckons Loki over with one hand, and his brother obeys. Thor gets him to lie down and inspects his masterpiece, bending over to dust the spot with the love rune on it with his lips, soft and gentle. Loki grins, seeing where he's going, and pulls his brother close, relishing in the sensitive tingle he feels whenever a hand brushes that fresh mark, the one place where they are open to one another; the part of Loki's skin where their secrets will be buried forever.

.

Loki never asked. They stayed another month in bliss, and all the while it seemed Thor's adoration grew; whenever they were alone he would seize the opportunity to admire the tattoo, gently feeling it with his fingers or kissing it. It set Loki's soul on fire. Once, he asked why Thor never got one himself, that way they could match. He said he didn't care for that kind of thing on his own skin, and no-one would be able to mark it on him with the same love and devotion as he did to Loki.

Loki never thought it would be because it was going to end. And the worst part was that Thor knew it would, and he still carried on like they had forever.

He can hear it now - the sounds of his brother talking softly with her. They giggle, and then there are other sounds as they begin to kiss, and Loki feels like there are shards of glass sticking into him. He thinks back to the last day. Thor had woken up looking rotten, his eyes puffy, and Loki had slid under the covers with him in an attempt to make the difficult morning easier. Instead he'd been shoved away. It hurt, being tossed out onto that cold, worn carpet floor, but more inside than the bruises on his hip and shoulder from the landing.

"What's wrong? What have I done?" he'd asked, unable to hide the fear in is voice.

"It's...it's not something you've done as such," Thor had begun, staring up at the ceiling. "It's more...I don't think we should be doing this anymore."

Loki's heart stopped. He looked over at his brother, utter confusion on his face. "...What?" he whispered, hoping he'd misheard.

"I-I just think, that we shouldn't be doing this. Being together. Our whole relationship is based on hiding and lies, and I can't live comfortably with the knowledge that if we let our guard down for even one moment, everything will be over. Loving someone should be a joy, not a burden, and all this hiding in the dark is for a reason. What we're doing is wrong."

He didn't know what to say. It was like all the breath had been sucked out of his body, and he was left, clawing for air from someone who would never give it to him, but was letting him beg anyway because they didn't have the heart to end his suffering. "Wrong? How is it wrong, when we love each other?"

"Oh for Christ's sake Loki, we're brothers! It can't not be wrong! We've hit rock bottom; there's no kind of sordid relations that could ever be worse than what we've done. We need to stop, to go back to being innocent people before it's too late," Thor cried, sitting up and leaning against the wall.

"Is that what you think? This - everything we shared - is all some kind of sick problem we have? Is that it?" Loki seethed. He couldn't believe this was happening, couldn't believe Thor was saying this now.

His brother took a deep breath, his entire body shuddering. "...Yes, that is what I'm saying," he eventually got out. In his heart he knew it was a lie, but it would be better to end it all, to suppress anything more deep down until it could no longer disturb them any further. Loki was silent, taking in everything with careful analysis, trying to determine whether he was being lied to or not. Thor hoped his voice was convincing enough. There was a long pause, then eventually Loki whispered,

"And what about the tattoo?"

Thor stilled - he'd forgotten.

"This is why you said no, isn't it? This is why you made me get it, and adored it, but never got your own. Because that way all your desperate, filthy thoughts about me could be buried somewhere where you wouldn't have to face them again, and once you had the courage you could run away, feigning innocence and leaving me behind, marked with your sins. It wasn't a present, a gift of love, it was an act of pure selfishness; you hide your perversion in me and then it's no longer your problem, but mine. You claim me as your own and then discard me because you can. Am I nothing to you, no more than a plaything?"

"Loki, no that's not-"

"I don't want to hear it, Thor. Go on, leave. Run away while you can. It's OK; I'll take the blame for both of us. Go." Loki stormed back to his room, pulling up the ladder and putting on his headphones at top volume. It wasn't loud enough. He still heard the slam of the door two floors away as Thor left the house.

.

It's hard to breathe in his attic room - the air seems thick, grating his lungs as he tries to drag it in and out again. It's like he's drowning, falling forever with no hope of salvation and no strength to kick up to freedom. The room seems to shrink around him, walls covered in posters and photos with dog-eared edges pressing down, trapping him in a claustrophobic nightmare.

One particular picture catches his eye - of him and Thor together, cuddled up on a park bench in their huge winter coats. It'd been taken by Sif, Thor's best female friend, the Christmas after Balder's death: before they were 'together', but when they'd begun to grow to a level of closeness that was bordering on unhealthy. Sif hadn't known they were brothers: none of their friends did. It was easier to lie about that than to hide their relationship from everyone. The memory makes him want to smile, but his lips stay set in the firm line they've been in for the past three days.

He hears the front door close and heavy footsteps going into the room below him. The bang as the bedside table is knocked over. The muffled curse, and then unintelligible muttering that Loki desperately wants to understand. He wants to climb down, to talk to his brother, even if they just end up shouting, because anything, anything is better than this endless silence, the enormous chasm between them only widening.

He tries to sit up but the effort burns his lungs - it feels like he's breathing sand and he can't bear to move from where he lays, crumpled in a heap on the bed and unable to escape the cage his room, the air around him has become.

He hears the call for dinner and it gives him a reason to get out of there, even if it takes forever to just remember how to open the hatch and slide the ladder down so he can leave. The brightness of the landing makes him squint, and he stumbles down the stairs carefully, composing the bland mask he wears every mealtime, every time he has to be in the same room as Thor.

They eat in silence, the two brothers not looking at one another but uncannily aware of the other's presence. Once pudding is finished Loki slinks away, the sudden freedom becoming too much, desperate to return to the confines of his bedroom-cell but at the same time terrified that this time he won't be able to escape.

"Loki, you've done nothing all day but sit in your room. At least contribute to our family life by washing up," Odin says, staring at him hard from over his evening paper. "And since you haven't spoken to your brother at all for days, he will dry and you can sort out whatever nonsense has come between you."

The mug Thor is drinking from shatters in his hand, and he quickly makes for the dustpan and brush to sweep up the shards. He pulls a post-it out his pocket and scribbles down a word - another thing on the list of objects he's broken since he called 'it' off.

Loki fills the sink in silence, suddenly fascinated by the splash guard on the wall. He piles the bowl up with plates and cutlery, scrubbing away the dried on gravy with a sponge. He puts the first plate on the draining board and Thor picks it up, careful to ensure their fingers don't touch in the transfer. He dries it and stacks it away in the cupboard.

When it comes to the saucepan, which is harder to manoeuvre, Loki is purposely careless, pretending to let it slip from his grasp so they could both reach for it together. Thor stiffens when Loki's slippery fingers grab his, a blush creeping up his neck. He pulls away in disgust, other hand drying with such force he'll probably wear away the plating.

"So it does bother you," Loki murmurs, watching every slight move his brother makes with the scrutiny of a hawk.

"Of course it does," Thor hisses. "How can I not be bothered when every day I have to face you, every day I have to pretend that you're my brother and I love you, and every day I'm just angry that we let it go so far, and now we can do nothing but ignore one another."

"You're angry because we can't speak to each other, or you're angry because you started a relationship you knew you wouldn't want to keep but you did anyway because you felt like it wouldn't matter once it was over, because you only care about you and how it affected me doesn't count."

"I'm angry because you're not making this any easier," Thor says, the vein in his forehead pulsing with rage as he tries not to break the bowl he's holding.

"How can I make this easy? How can it be an easy thing to get over, when I'm still in love with you and I still treasure everything we shared - everything which you now look on with shame? What do you want me to do, leave? Because if you think you don't have it easy, then try waking up every morning and aching, aching to go to the person you love and stop them hurting, only to find they don't want you, and wondering if you actually love them, or whether it's just some facade, some camouflage for a deep-rooted anger at the world that forced you to lash out to them in the most painful way you can. Because I don't know if I love you any more, Thor, as a partner or a brother or whatever I'm supposed to be, or whether I just made up half of the relationship because I was angry at everything, especially you, and I wanted to hurt you in the worst way I could." He sighs, slumping down to lean against the door of the fridge and cupping his hands over his nose and mouth. Thor just finishes his drying and leaves, but not before he takes the tips of Loki's fingers in his hand and squeezes them, ever so slightly, in some kind of apology or forgiveness.

.

Thor wakes up the next morning to find the house silent - an unusual occurrence on a Tuesday morning. Normally, Loki is rushing his breakfast and hurrying off to Uni; Frigga is worrying because one of her clients cancelled short notice again and Odin is still looking for a publisher.

Having a lawyer for a mother and a writer for a father isn't easy - both can get temperamental at the drop of a hat because they work in sectors which pay well, but good opportunities are few and far between, so Thor is glad that he actually has a steady job that also allows him to be who he is.

But today it is quiet, and he doesn't know why. He goes down the stairs and into the kitchen, looking for the tell-tale signs of a usual morning. The table is empty. He opens the side cupboard where Loki keeps his bowl and cereal, but they're still there. He hurries back up to find the attic hatch open. Thor climbs up the ladder and into his brother's darkened lair. The blind is still shut, the duvet half hanging on the floor. Most of the beautiful posters Loki treasured are lying torn on the floor. The photos are also scattered, like fallen autumn leaves. He picks them up and counts them. Fifty-six photographs. That means one is missing.

He checks through them, each one familiar, wracking his memory for the missing image. He sees a shred of plain paper lying beneath his leg where he sank to the floor and inspects it. It's the corner of the design he was drawing, that night when their parents returned. He can just make out the edge of the star, but the rest of the image is missing. It comes to him then - the photo that's gone is the one Sif took, after Balder had died: the one of the two of them, cuddled up close on the bench at Christmas.

Thor takes out his mobile and sees he has three texts waiting for him. The first is from his mother, saying she had to go to the office early and she'll be home by eleven. The second is from Orange, reminding him he's out of internet for the rest of the month. The last one is from Loki - two short lines.

If you love me, if you ever loved me, let me go.

And run away before I know.

He flings the phone across the floor, the torn drawing crumpling in his fist. He has no idea whether his brother is actually gone, or if he's just off to Uni early. But the meaning is clear. He packs a bag of his essentials and vanishes for the remainder of the week.

.

When Loki returns he finds that someone has been in his room. The pictures he tore off his walls the night before have been moved into a pile and there is a crumpled up piece of paper on his bed. He hesitantly goes into Thor's room, to find his brother's pencil case, sketch book, rucksack and favourite hoodie are missing. So he left then. He nods to himself, climbing back up the ladder and shutting the hatch, plunging himself into a dim cage of shredded memories and hate.

.

When Thor doesn't come back for three nights running, his parents begin to make the worried phone calls. Frigga does it first, asking him if he's all right, and when he will be coming home. Loki doesn't want to hear the answer.

Odin tries the next one; his requests are less gentle, demanding his son to return and sort out whatever is going on. Loki may be hidden away in his attic, but when Odin is angry on the phone it's hard not to hear his side of the conversation.

"Where on earth are you?" A pause. "Well then get yourself back here right now young man, and don't go running off to her house for days on end without telling us!...No, I don't care if you don't want to come home. I am your father, and you will do as I say! You come home, and you tell me everything!" There is a low buzz as Loki presumes Thor splutters down the line, trying to justify his actions and avoid a return. "We will not be discussing this over the phone!" Odin roars. He slams the receiver down and marches to the living room.

An hour and a half later the front door clicks open. There is the faint sound of talking, and then raised voices. Loki stays where he is, just listening, hoping that Thor lies, that he doesn't give them away because then Loki would lose the only thing they still share that could be considered as happy. But he doesn't really care. There is a knock on his hatch, but he ignores it.

"Loki," Thor's voice travels through the wood. He goes rigid, acutely aware that his heart is hammering in his chest, reverberating around the whole room. "I've spoken to Father. I didn't tell him everything, but there were some things he had to-"

There is a creak as the door opens. Loki stays out of sight, but he can still hear and be heard. "You didn't have to tell him anything," he hisses.

"There are some times when I can't not tell him. You know when he demands to know something, how hard it is to-"

"Stop. Just, please, stop. I don't care what you said; I don't care where we stand any more. You've already chewed me up and spat me out, and my heart has been blackened by your selfishness. If you want to preserve your dignity, then do what I know you will and go. I know you're scared of me, and if you want to keep your innocence just leave. I can't destroy you any further if you aren't there to mar."

He sees Thor nod, turn away and vanish again. This time it's for good.

.

A month passes, then two, and still Thor doesn't come back. Loki thought it would get easier, but instead all he feels is a sort of numbness inside, a hollow where his brother used to be. He figures it's his fate to be unhappy - he's been that way most of his life, never fitting in with his family much, always bullied in his younger years to the point where he completely withdrew from all forms of social contact at age ten. Teenage sort of drifted past as he tried to untangle who he was whilst being surrounded by pressures to focus on other things, never allowed a moment to himself. He entered adulthood a confused and lonely person desperate for some stability in his life.

And then he found out he was adopted, and the only part of him he felt would never change was suddenly torn apart and he was lost. For a brief moment he had a snatch of sunlight, but even that was stripped away until he was left, terrified and shivering in the dark.

He decides it s better this way though. He should have never let himself get that close, never let anyone touch his heart that way, because if he's alone in the world he doesn't have to live through this angry darkness, if he's alone he can't hate anything like he does.

His parents often go to visit Thor in his girlfriend's house, always chivvying Loki to come, but he feigns sickness or pretends to have important coursework to do because he can't face going anywhere with them, never mind to where he is. Loki's taken to skipping Uni at least once a week now. He always goes in to get the work from his professors the following day, and never misses a lecture, but he just can't be around other people any more. It makes him feel physically sick. It's like he can feel them, watching him and judging him, like they know what he did. If he's alone he can forget them. He slips into the background, no longer one of the brilliant students used as a paradigm for the rest of the group.

Frigga gets worried because he never eats with them anymore; he barely even sees them, because he is either out or shut up in his room. She tries to talk to him but he doesn't respond because he hates them, all of them, and above all he hates himself, but if he's alone he doesn't have to feel that and it's the only thing that keeps him going - those sweet moments of tortured bliss that is forgetting.

Odin wants to get him seen and Frigga agrees. They send him to a counsellor who asks him lots of questions about his childhood. He decides he's had enough when they've delved through teenage and asks to go to the toilet. Once he's in there he hastily climbs out the back window and runs home. The house is empty but not for long: sooner or later his parents will find that the psychiatrist isn't keeping him in overtime and that he's vanished, and then he will be greeted by Odin's wrath and Frigga's more passive emotional blackmail.

.

A week after his visit to the doctor he gets home to find a letter on his bed. The handwriting is Thor's, so he automatically rips it in half and throws it away, feeling greatly dissatisfied because it only floats to the floor gracefully, a sickening mirror of the own grace he used to possess before his entire world turned to ash.

He lies on the bed for an hour in the dark, only the wan green glow of his alarm clock giving any sense of passing time. Eventually he sits up, gathering up the two halves of the letter and pulling them out the torn envelope. He puts them together to read a brief note with more crossings out than intended words.

Dear Loki,

Where do I start? I drew you these I know it isn't much, but I don't think you'll want much from me, if anything. I hope you have a Just to wish you a happy birthday. I didn't want our relationship things between us to be like this, but I was scared and confused and I I really didn't. Mother told me about your...I don't know what to call it - depression? Behaviour? If it helps, I'm sorry. I miss you, brother. I hope you believe me.

Thor

With it comes three drawings. One is the original sketch for his tattoo, which he's torn up by accident along with the letter and envelope. Another is a sketch of the five of them at Christmas all gathered around the tree, two years before Balder's death. Thor had been nineteen, Loki just past his eighteenth birthday. He was in the middle, a Santa hat flopping over his head and his legs buried in presents. Frigga had a halo on, Odin a crown made of cardboard and spray-painted pasta that Thor had made in year two. The remaining brothers were both sporting antlers on headbands, arms slung casually around one another's shoulders and lazy grins on their faces. It makes Loki's heart clench.

The final drawing is of something he's never seen before, but is also as familiar to him as his own reflection. He holds it next to the two halves of his own tattoo design, eyes widening. They are identical, except this one has the rune in green instead of red, and the letters read his name.

The bottom drops out of Loki's world. He flips it over to look for a date. His own picture has 25/7 written on it, the day before he'd got it done. Thor's one reads 6/8. He designed it! He was going to...going to...Angry tears spill down his face and he casts the picture away, afraid of ruining it. He doesn't know what to feel. He wants to be angry - how dare Thor not tell him of this, how dare he keep such a crucial thing hidden until it's too late. But instead he just feels infinite guilt, because every dark thought he'd conjured up about his brother to turn the pain of separation into rage, something he thought he would have better luck controlling, suddenly comes back to haunt him. I was wrong, I was wrong. He's just...so-so Thor, even now, even after everything I've done, he's still trying to make me happy. He's only ever been kind to me, and I don't deserve that.

.

It's the run up to Christmas, and the house is buzzing. Frigga has thrown a party for all their friends, and Loki can hear them all downstairs, chatting idly about what the other guests are wearing and how good the food is. He stays in the attic because there are too many people down there, and his irrational fear of other people has only grown, to the point where he can barely talk to anyone aside from his parents anymore; not even his teachers or people behind the counters in shops.

There is a booming laugh as Odin tells his finest joke to his friends from the pub and they all clink glasses. A knock on the hatch grabs his attention and he opens it to find his mother looking up at him.

"Loki, dear, why don't you come downstairs and join the fun? Just for a few minutes?" She suspects it's a lost cause, but she can only try.

His throat feels like sandpaper, and it takes a painful amount of effort to rattle out, "I can't Mother, you know I can't." They'll talk to me, ask me how I am, ask me about my degree, and I won't be able to answer. Then, when I'm gone, they'll talk about me, about how sad it is that I'm so socially inept, and how it all started when Thor stormed out that day. They'll talk about how I always was a funny one, and too clingy to my brother, especially when we all found out I'm adopted. "They'll want to-to...I..." he stammers, trying to swallow the lump in his throat that he always gets now when he's threatened with conversation.

"OK, I understand. I just thought I'd ask," she says gently, sweeping back down to lose herself in the gossip.

At nine o'clock, the doorbell goes again and there is a hush of surprise - who's arriving this late, when a good part of the fun has already happened? A shriek slices through the air and then hysterical laughter, shortly followed by an explosion of voices. Loki strains to catch the name of the new arrival, but whoever it is is causing everyone to talk at once and he can't make anything out clearly.

He tells himself he doesn't care really, it's probably just one of Frigga's more famous friends that hasn't been seen for a while. But curiosity gets the better of him and he slinks down the ladder to the top of the stairs. No-one can see him because there is a half-flight, then a small landing, and the stairs to the hall go down in the opposite direction. His throat begins to itch with thirst, so he goes to the bathroom but there's no glass.

Damn! And I was hoping I wouldn't have to go down there at all...He tries to ignore it, but soon it's unbearable and he has to bite the bullet. Straightening out his collar he quietly descends, hoping he can slip into the kitchen and back again unnoticed. He stops on the landing, debating whether or not he actually has the courage to turn the corner. He does, and as soon as he can see the room below he spots his mother. She looks up at just the right moment to see him, and he calls out to get her to come closer, glad that he won't actually have to go down after all. Her face lights up.

"Loki! You are joining us after all!"

Heads turn to look in his direction and he freezes, wishing he could just vanish into thin air. He recognises few of them, but that could be because their faces are swimming in and out of focus as it gets harder and harder to breathe.

"Loki is here?" one person says, and he watches with despair as the voice's owner turns to follow everyone's gaze, because he recognises that tone, would know it anywhere.

Thor's eyes widen at the sight of his brother. His usually silky black hair is matted and messy, like it hasn't been thought about for days, weeks even. He is wearing a pair of dirty black jeans and a baggy t-shirt that used to fit him perfectly. His eyes are dull, their clarity lost and beneath them are two purple thumbprints that stand out against his pale skin. He looks like a ghost, the shadow of the sly and devious young man he used to be, and it makes Thor want to run to him, to hold him and make it all better, but he can't. Their eyes meet, and Thor hopes he can put all the pain and guilt and regret he feels into his stare in an attempt at helping, but it is pointless because there is no soul inside the dark green gaze to receive his apology.

Loki moves to turn away, deciding that he'd rather endure a lifetime of thirst than stay on that spot, but he is called back by Frigga. "Don't you even have a smile for your brother?" she asks, visibly hurt, and her eyes flick towards the pile of bags by the door. Loki follows her glance and he sags against the set of drawers on the landing. Thor is staying for the night, if not longer.

He stumbles back up the stairs but doesn't have the energy to go to the attic, so instead he curls up into a ball on the floor, shaking with pain.

.

It's two in the morning by the time the last guest leaves, and Thor stays to help his parents tidy up after everything before taking his bags up to his room. He nearly trips over his brother who is still lying at the foot of the ladder in a restless sleep. He scoops Loki up and plops him in his own bed, throat closing up in sadness as he realises just how light his brother has become.

As soon as he's set down Loki wakes up, scrabbling around for a sense of location and stiffening when he realises where he is. Thor is unpacking by his computer and Loki hopes he can slip away unnoticed, but just as he gets to the threshold he's faced with a gentle blue look.

"So, do I get that smile then? Or at least a hello," Thor says, trying not to wince because Loki is trying to escape.

It takes a long time for him to find his voice, and Thor realises Odin wasn't kidding when he said his brother is practically dumb now, but Loki eventually scrapes out a harsh whisper. "My smiles ended long ago, Thor," and the name seems to stick in his windpipe like mucus. "And I don't want to know if I'll ever change back."

And it's true, he doesn't want to know if he can change, because that would mean that he still couldn't control a thing about his life, and it may be the most tormenting thing, but at least if he stays in this black hole of despair then he knows where he stands, and that is an almost cheering thought.