Do you remember that day when we met
You told me this gets harder
Well it did,
Been holding on forever,
Promise me that when I'm gone you'll kill my enemies,
The damage you've inflicted temporary wounds
I'm coming back from the dead and I'll take you home with me
I'm taking back the life you stole

We never got that far,
This helps me to think all through the night
Bright lights that, won't kill me now, or tell me how
Just you and I, your starless eyes remain.

- This Isn't A Fashion Statement, It's A Deathwish

Loki had never really given the young man much thought. For months now, he had just been another person in his class, another face in the crowd. Just one more person who didn't – wouldn't – spare him another look.

It wasn't his fault.

He couldn't help it if he wasn't born into wealth like all the others, and couldn't afford the expensive clothes, the lavish trips and the opportunity to become whatever his heart desired. He didn't have the luxury. From the beginning it had been about getting an education so he could get a decent job, get out of the ghettos and – and what? Have the life his mother and father could never provide for him? That's what his mother had always told him, when she was stuck taking care of two small children while her husband – Loki's father – was away at work working the late shifts, double shifts, it didn't matter. Whatever it took to put food on the table for his family.

When he grew from a stupid, naïve little boy into a bitter brooding teenager, he had often bitterly asked his parents why, why on earth would you have child when you can barely provide for yourself? It took him years to finely understand why when he would scream the question at them, they would simply look at him and say calmly "It's because we love you and Thor, Loki." There little family didn't have a lot, not at all, but what they didn't have they made up for with love.

Loki hated to admit it, but he'd hated that he'd left the three of them, his father Odin, His mother Frigga, and his brother Thor, at home. Despite the fact that Thor was older, he continued to live in their childhood home, an old apartment in Harlem, New York, helping out their parents with the rent while working three different jobs to save up enough to get he and his girlfriend Jane a place of their own. Although Loki would rarely never admit it to anyone, he was secretly a little jealous of Thor for having Jane. But he had never seen two people so deeply in love, two people who cared about each other the way that they did. And really, he deserved her, because to Loki, Thor was the hardest working person he'd ever met in his life.

But still, one day he dreamed he'd have someone as loving and caring to come home to as Jane.

In the meantime, however, he was in college, which, when he first found out that he'd qualified for a full scholarship seemed like the best thing on the planet. After he'd met many of the people here, however, it didn't seem so amazing. For the most part, people tended to just ignore him, and Loki was pretty much fine with that. The sideways glances, the whispers behind the backs of hands and the way nobody would talk to him ever? Well, those got old fairly quickly.

That, and he'd met a few very, very strange people while he was supposedly being educated for the real world. The crazies he actively tried to avoid. Unfortunately, at this moment, he was somewhat trapped.

He inwardly cursed himself for losing track of time at the library. As a result of staying 'a little later' (three extra hours) to read, what he considered to be one of the best books he'd ever read (and, no, that's not because he'd happened to glance up at the clock and was forced to scurry quickly back to his dorm right at the fucking climax of the story) he was well beyond curfew. Not wanting to be caught wandering the halls at one a.m., Loki had taken what he thought was a shortcut by sneaking out the front doors and climbing up the fire escape on the side of his dorm.

He was rushing so much that he tripped over something in the dark, causing him to stumble and loose his balance dangerously, his body lurching scarily close to going over backwards as he lunged for the railing. As the bottle of Tequila fell over the side of the metal grate, Loki heard a soft sigh to his right.

Upon closer inspection, the man appeared to be severely intoxicated, to the point where he didn't notice, or didn't care that Loki had just kicked the rest of his Tequila off a fire escape. After convincing his racing heart that no, in fact, he was not actually going to get mauled by bears or something to that affect, Loki attempted to get the man's attention. When that didn't work, he just talked in the hope that maybe he was listening.

"Hey, um, I am very sorry about your bottle, I didn't mean to do that. I couldn't see all that well, what with it being night and all. Um, you know what? I don't really think you'll be needing any more of it anyway. In fact, why are you out here? You look like you're going to fall, so let's just head back inside now and you can-"

"Maybe I should." The voice somehow managed to sound completely devoid of emotion, and waver a little on the last few words. Damn it. God forbid somebody else had to deal with this or anything. But nope. It was always, Hey, Loki, could you watch my man-eating dog this weekend? I promise, he's friendly! Or, Hey, Loki, would you mind talking to my girlfriend for me? She's really upset and sobbing, and y'know, I'm no good with these girl things… And who could forget the occasional, Loki, could you please pick up my grandmother from the airport…yeah, she's blind and deaf…no, no, it'll be fine. Just take her bags for her, and she'll understand. That handbag had had a metal clasp dammit, and Loki found out the hard way that those actually hurt when they hit you in the eye. Besides, she had a mean swing for an old lady, so he downright refused to apologize for that black eye.

"Pardon?" He answered, snapping himself back to reality sharply, this seemed important.

"Maybe. I. Should. Fall, I mean." He hiccupped, looking over the edge gloomily, finally mourning the loss of his beloved drink. "It'd probably be less painful. I dunno, bullet through the skull just seems more violent. Slitting my wrists seems pretty emo, but, eh, what do I know? I'm suicidal, I think that makes me emo by default. What do you think?"

The more the man talked, Loki began to recognize him. This was the genius boy, Howard Stark's kid. He was top in both the Biochemistry and Geoengineering classes that Loki was taking, and, it was rumored, in all his other classes, despite the fact that he rarely actually attended the classes. When he did decide to show up, it was often drunk off his ass and completely incompetent. And yet he still managed to beat everyone by at least double. Impressive, to say the least.

For once, Loki was completely tongue-tied. "Um. Don't? Please? Um…"

"Tony."

"What?"

"Tony. My name. And why not?"

"Look, Tony," With a soft sigh, two of Loki's long, pale fingers found the bridge of his nose. It was really too late for this. "You seem to want to talk." That was an understatement. "So, why don't you just tell me why your considering…this."

"Throwing myself off a building?"

"Among other things, yes."

Stark made like he was going to push himself up and walk away, but before he was even to his feet he staggered, nearly taking both himself and Loki over the edge. "I…I…s'not a pretty story…" By now, his words were almost slurred to the point where they became unrecognizable from each other.

"Well then," He said, settling himself down, keeping one eye on the man, the other on his feet which were now precariously dangling over the edge. "Let's hear it."

Tony didn't know why he did it. Actually, that wasn't really true. He knew why he'd spilled his guts to some boy in his class, but that didn't stop him from being completely disgusted with himself because of it. At first it seemed hard, he didn't know where to start his story. Of course, he couldn't tell him everything, there was quite simply too much to tell, beginning when he was a little boy. Macaroni pictures to A+ math tests to skipping numerous grades and getting into the world's top colleges and schools, none of it mattered to Howard Stark.

Nobody cared for him. Nobody cared about him. What was his future? To take over Stark Corp. and follow in his father's footsteps? No, ever, he refused to be like the man he despised. He would rather be dead, and after today, he'd just seen no other alternative.

"Why now?" The boy asked. Loki, Tony thought sluggishly to himself, he vaguely remembered seeing the mere shadow around campus, slinking around and always clutching an armload of books. Always alone. Never excluded, but still the obvious outsider if anyone were to ever see the students for the first time. "I mean, surely you realized before today that your father was a selfish sonuvabitch, no offense,"

"None taken." Came the airy reply.

"And you've probably known since you tumbled out of your mother's womb that you were to take over the company one day. So, my only question is, why tonight? Up until this point you've seemed fine- "

A snort came from his own mouth. Fine. What a lie. But that was all he was; some giant fucking lie of a man, or at least, that's what she'd told him earlier that same night. She said she couldn't be with someone who lied, even to themselves.

"-or, relatively stable for Tony Stark, anyway. What changed?"

When Tony had said that no one cared for him, he certainly didn't mean that it was and always had been that way. In fact, until mere days ago, he had had the most dedicated best friend/girlfriend (the second part was off and on – more often than not off) he could've ever dreamed of having. But nothing good lasts, especially when it's important to someone. Especially when it's the most important thing, or in this case person, in the world to one Anthony Stark.

Before the word even left his mouth, he balled his hands into fists at his side; he couldn't even speak the name without practically falling to pieces. Pathetic. "Pepper." He barely whispered into the stifled chill of the night.

"Potts?" The voice sounded surprised, and Tony half glanced over at him sitting there, cocking one eyebrow and furrowing his forehead in one fluid movement, asking a silent question. Loki either didn't notice, or made the executive decision to resolutely ignore him. "The red haired woman who always used to hang out with you? What, did you two break up, or-"

"Never going out." The muted reply was bleak and already anticipating the next part of the conversation, one that he usually tried to actively avoid at all costs.

Instead of paying attention, Tony decided to list all the presidents of the United States backwards, beginning with Washington.

"What? Are you kidding me?" Washington, John Adams, Thomas Jefferson. "Never going out? But you guys were always together…" James – Madison and Monroe, John Quincy Adams. "And I swore I saw you two making out at last year's Christmas party…" They had? Well, now, come to think of it – fucking focus Tony. Andrew Jackson. President number seven, best known for- "You guys just always seemed…I don't know, really, really good for each other. Whenever I saw you –and, albeit, it wasn't any more than a handful of times, you two both looked like grinning fools. Where was he? Oh, yeah. Jackson. But who came after Jackson? Goddammit, who fucking came after Jackson? "…I wish I had a friend like her."

Tony Stark snapped.

"Yeah? Well, so do I. Everyone does."

A rather pregnant paused followed this statement, then, "…What happened?"

"Pepper gave up."