This was originally an X-Men First Class fan fiction I wrote a year ago (and when I read it again, the first thing I thought was Loki, so I changed it). I don't know why I even wrote this back then.
A drabble-esque one-shot about you and Loki (because I just like writing InsertCharacterNameHere/Reader stories). :)
Back when he was still a friend, Loki was always with you.
And at those times, you would notice how your hands would always brush his – by accident or not (courtesy of your actions). You'd cherish the moment for a second, feeling his warm and soft hand, until it'd brush off completely. You couldn't explain the emotions that would surge in when it would happen, but you'd come to admit at some point that you long for his touch – for Loki's hand to, not just brush, but completely hold yours.
But you'd also accepted that a certain thing wouldn't happen. You were hundreds of miles apart – worlds, even – despite you being inches away from him whenever you'd stand by his side. There will never be such a thing as you and him – not ever.
Because, as time passed, you saw him slowly drifting away from your gaze – disappearing into the darkness.
And what replaced his hand was the cold breeze, brushing its way on yours.