In his considerable cleverness, Loki knew instantly that this was a mistake. Worse than a mistake. This was foolish. Still, the cover of night and an ache that nothing but foolishness could soothe had brought him to Asgard. The shining city bathed in a different light, and when Loki beheld it clad in such silver, it felt almost as though he belonged there. As ever, the truth soured the taste of the night air. The night would never last. It was as fated to shatter against the first light of morning, just as he was fated to struggle against the only one in the nine realms who mattered. The one he had to see, who he deceived, who he loved to the point of breaking… And would they break. The God of Mischief was a flitting shadow in the darkness that held its short dominion over Asgard. He could not afford being glimpsed at; could not set foot on the city streets. No, he flew on wings as black as those of Odin's crows, a deeper shade in the night.
So it was a shadow cast itself over the window of the God of Thunder. Thor, crown prince of Asgard, was blissfully asleep. The thunderer was entangled in his blankets, mighty arms wrapped so tightly around his pillow that it was a wonder it did not cry out for mercy. Loki touched his fingertips to the glass pane, his shadowy form dissolving to leave his glamoured form behind. It was strange to consider that once, he had believed that this was his true shape. Another lie. He felt swathed in them, smothered by them… And there behind the glass was the man who could, by sheer force, unravel the countless deceptions. The thought made the trickster shudder. What would he become, without the very thing that made him? His breath turned to frost on the windowpane, to chasten him, and he recoiled. There had been a time when he might have lain there with the man he now observed, entangled in the very same sheets, or making such violent love that to be released from it felt as though it brought the sunrise with it. That time had gone. They were through. Finished. Over.
Loki had chosen it willingly, though he had not considered the cost. He had left his heart behind in that room, wrapped up in those almost unbearably strong arms. Such gloom summoned forth a rain with it, cold and steady, but still the trickster lurked by Thor's window, peering in at all he had chosen to abandon. Asgard itself seemed manifest in the golden son of Odin… And yet, standing outside in the moon-silvered city, it felt for a curious, effervescent moment, that Asgard was manifest in him, as well. Loki closed his eyes, and the dawn broke. The sunlight set the innumerable raindrops ablaze, gold and warmth where once there had been silver and cold. When the trickster opened his eyes to the daybreak, it was to the sight of his not-brother gazing back at him.
'Loki?' The word was easy to read on Thor's lips. 'Loki!' A plea to wait was no less distinct, and thunder rumbled overhead as Thor burst from his room. The thunderer's swift steps bore him, half-dressed to the window, through which Loki had been watching. The Liesmith was gone.