Loki didn't move. He stared at her, his eyes still blank. Ara pressed her fingers against the counter behind her, eyes narrowed. After a few tense seconds without a response, she spoke louder. "I said, get out." She wasn't sure why she was so certain, so confident in her request. Her voice didn't even quaver. She watched as he paused, tapping his fingers against the wooden kitchen table, eyes on her. Finally, he reached across it, his wrist sliding slowly across the wooden boards.
With a start, Ara realized he was grabbing the spear he had picked up from the crater in the woods. He'd put it down on the kitchen table along with his outerwear when Ara asked him to sit. And now he held it firmly in his hands, weighing it from left to right. From up close, Ara could suddenly see the danger the spear held, sharp and silver and covered in rusty blood.
Ara's mouth opened in sudden fear. She was stupid to be so rude to him. He was a God. He could hurt her with that thing. He could kill her. Just as she was about to apologize, offer to let him stay, he looked up from the spear, meeting her eyes.
"Okay," he said quietly.
"W-What?" Ara whispered. She shook, blinking rapidly, the apology on the tip of her tongue.
"Okay, I'll get out." He paused for a moment before letting the spear rest at his side, pointed towards the ground. His eyes, green, and ultimately, beautiful, stared into hers. With sudden decisiveness, he broke eye contact and strode past her, grabbing his leather jacket and clothing from the table as he went. Reaching the door, he pulled on his boots and slipped on his jacket without bothering to put his shirt on first. Turning to her, Ara could see the sudden pain, almost expectant realization in his eyes. "I'm sorry, Ara," he said quietly. "I was never going to hurt you. I'm sorry, for whatever I did." Then, without another word, he opened the door and stepped out, closing it softly behind him.
Ara hadn't moved from the counter. She let out a deep breath, sinking to her knees, eyes on the spot where he'd stood. What had she just done?
What had he just done?
Whenever Ara was flustered, she drew. Or painted. Or sketched. Anything to calm her nerves. Ara stumbled out of the kitchen into the hallway, ignoring the buzzing fear climbing into her throat. She knew it was a stupid thing to do, to be painting right after she'd offended a freaking God, but it was her coping mechanism. And right now, she needed coping. Reaching a door in the hallway, she turned the knob and pushed herself into the room, her art studio. She closed the door behind her and ran to her easel, squeezing paints onto her palette as she did. Desperately, she reached for her paintbrushes and began to the throw the colors onto her blank canvas, almost panting with ecstasy.
When she'd finished her painting, it didn't make her feel any better. The swirled colors on the canvas depicted Loki, his eyes bright and green, his mouth set in a grim, taunting smile. Another painting Ara didn't even remember doing, yet she'd just been smearing those green eyes onto the canvas a moment ago. With a sharp scream, Ara grabbed the wet canvas and turned it over, knowing she'd smeared the wet paint all over the easel behind it.
Her adrenaline rush was suddenly over. Ara sighed, laying her forehead against the back of the canvas, wondering what in the world she was thinking. She'd nearly just gotten herself killed. And Loki existed. Just that thought alone was enough to make Ara's head spin. She let her paintbrush drop to the floor, her eyes wandering her art studio tiredly. Ghostly half finished paintings and angry sketches lay across the floors and walls, showing countless hours of work. The sun had set, now. It was probably almost nine o'clock.
Ara pushed the door to her studio open again, walked across the hall, and opened the door to her bedroom. She'd gotten paint all over herself during her sudden panic attack. Groaning at the mess she'd made of herself, Ara stripped down and threw herself into bed, completely nude.
She would forget about him. That's how she'd always dealt with traumatic experiences in the past. Shove them somewhere in the cellar of her mind, shut the door and lock it, and walk away. She would forget the Asgardian Prince, and go on living her life. In fact, she would go back to the forest tomorrow to paint the sunset just as she'd intended today.
For some reason, this train of thought pleased Ara immensely. "A God can't disrupt my life," Ara whispered to herself. "I can move past this. I can forget him. He's gone. I made him leave. He's gone."
Finally content, Ara pulled the covers up over her head and buried her face in her pillow, ready to sleep.
Ara had always had a tendency to ignore important things. So the next morning, she took a shower, scraping the dried paint from her body, and slipped into regular clothing, not once dwelling on the fact that a God had been in her home the night before. She ate breakfast, brushed her teeth, and applied her make up almost mechanically, before determinedly marching downstairs and getting into her truck. There was no sign of Loki anywhere; it helped her to tell herself she'd imagined the whole thing. Perhaps he'd never existed at all, she told herself. She drove into the forest without a hitch, right past the crater, and stopped in the clearing, ready to paint the forest sunset.
It was only then she realized it was eight o'clock in the morning.
Ara painted the forest anyways, because she needed something to keep her mind off Loki. Subconsciously, he was there in the back of her mind, but she focused on mixing the colors and ignored him.
She had gotten back to the apartment before lunchtime, and Loki was still nowhere in sight. Grabbing her finished forest painting from the truck, she marched purposefully up to the front doors. Her property manager, Mr. Bishop, was standing there, as usual, but this time he stopped her before she got in.
"Miss Ara," he said quickly, before she could get to the stairs.
"Yes?" Her voice was flat.
"I don't know how else to say this… but your rent is two months overdue. I need the money. Now." He tapped his fingers impatiently against his thigh.
Ara froze. In the excitement of last night, she'd forgotten all about her rent. It had all seemed so small after meeting Loki. She'd meant to go into the market yesterday to try and sell some of her artwork, but it had been closed and she hadn't bothered to find another way to get the money.
"Um," Ara gulped. "Uh, I have, let me see… here. A…a hundred dollars cash." She fumbled with her purse, dropping the forest painting. "I… I don't have the rest," she said quickly, picking up the painting from the ground. "Not right now. Just…just give me another week or two." The next flea market wouldn't be until next Sunday, when she could next try and sell.
Mr. Bishop sighed. "Miss Ara, this isn't even a fraction of what you owe. I need over another two thousand dollars."
Ara bit her lip nervously. "I know, I know. I'm dreadfully sorry. Look, I can get you another thousand by tomorrow morning." If she had that much in her bank account…Ara was well aware that she was pretty much flat-out broke. "I just, I really need more time. Please." She could feel the panic creeping into her voice.
Mr. Bishop shook his head. "That's what you said last week, Miss Ara. You haven't exactly been consistent with your payments, either. I'm sorry, but if you can't get me the money by tomorrow morning, I'm going to have to call the property owner and ask permission to, uh, vacate your apartment."
It took Ara a moment to register this. "You mean you'll kick me out?" Her eyes went wide with realization and fear.
Mr. Bishop shifted uncomfortably. "Well, I mean, yes. You're not proving to be a reliable tenant, Miss Ara." He coughed. "And we have others lined up that seem to be far more qualified."
"Please, Mr. Bishop," Ara whispered. "A week. That's all I need."
"As I said before, I need the money by tomorrow-"
He was cut off as the door opened. Ara turned, not sure if she should be happy or angry at this sudden interruption, but her frantic thoughts were stopped when she saw who it was.
Loki.
She'd almost convinced herself this morning that he wasn't real. Yet there he stood, at the door, in his ragged leather jacket and boots, the spear tucked behind him.
"Is something wrong, baby?" his voice was, as always, quiet, but it held some kind of seductive venom behind it. His eyes met hers as he said it, and something clicked in Ara. If she wanted a way out of this, she was going to have to trust him.
"Oh, yes… darling," she didn't pause as she said it. She'd always been a good liar. "I was just telling Mr. Bishop I need another week on my rent."
"Who is this?" Mr. Bishop asked, eyeing Loki. His voice was filled with something that sounded like a mix of suspicion and fear.
"I'm her boyfriend," Loki said without hesitation, not bothering to look at Ara as he said it. "And she's right. We need another week on the rent."
Ara didn't bother to wonder at why he was helping her. She just knew she needed it. She watched as Mr. Bishop spluttered, "But, now, you see-"
"I said," Loki interrupted, his eyes suddenly burning, "We need another week." Ara watched in fascination as Mr. Bishop froze. She could see the slight wave Loki made with his fingers, and the shadow that passed over Mr. Bishop's eyes. The whole time, Loki never broke eye contact with him. There was a pause.
"Why, yes, of course," Mr. Bishop suddenly quipped, smiling. "Of course. You'd best be on your way then, Miss Ara." He gave a half bow in Loki's direction, then turned on his heel and walked away.
Ara blinked. Something big had just happened. Ara felt as if she should be in shock.
Instead, she followed Mr. Bishop's advice. She turned to the stairs, not looking at or acknowledging Loki as she went. There was silence behind her. It made Ara pause, and she felt the guilt sweep over her. He'd just helped her, and she was ignoring him. She'd kicked him out the evening before and he'd just aided in her in escaping a situation that could've ended with her homeless. Even if he was a scary God with a freaky spear, Ara knew she was being stubborn and unfair. He'd never even hurt her and she was acting like he was a monster. Suddenly embarrassed at her childish behavior, she turned back.
"Well, come on, then," she muttered in Loki's direction, feeling her cheeks burn.
"Come on where?" Loki practically purred. Ara clenched her fist. Of course he noticed her embarrassment. He'd probably helped her just to see her humiliation.
"To the apartment," she said through gritted teeth. "I don't know why you helped me, but I owe you one, now. And since I kicked you out last night, I guess inviting you over is the first step in repaying you."
Loki smiled almost approvingly, and Ara could see the smirk in his eyes. "Okay," he said, his voice even.
Ara spun around again and continued up the stairs, ignoring the temptation to stomp her feet. Once she reached her door, she jammed the key into the lock ferociously, trying to ignore how foolish she looked. Even now, she couldn't stop acting like a child. When the door finally opened, Loki reached past her to the couch, which sat stoically beside the door. Ara blinked, realizing he was grabbing his green garment thing. He'd left it on the couch the night before. Ara sighed. Even if he hadn't come back, she would've seen it eventually, and all her hard work to pretend he'd never happened would've gone down the drain.
For some reason this irked Ara, and she had to fight to not show it. She peeled off her jacket and shoes before stalking into the kitchen to start a pot of coffee, watching Loki out of the corner of her eye. He was shaking out the green thing, which had been so covered in dirt and dust she hadn't realized how green it had really been. The once dull and dusty piece of fabric was suddenly transformed into a bright, beautiful green cape. It could touch the ground when Loki held it to his shoulders, and the brilliant hue matched his eyes.
"A cape?" Ara couldn't stop herself from snorting.
"Hmm," Loki answered, not bothering to explain further.
"You really don't like talking, do you?" Ara muttered under her breath, quiet enough so he couldn't hear.
"No, not really," Loki answered loudly.
Ara sighed. Well, apparently he had super hearing. "I'm guessing you don't have a place to stay?" It was a half-hearted question, since she was pretty certain of the answer.
"No," Loki replied, smiling. "I don't come to Earth for annual vacations or anything, so I didn't bother to buy a cottage here." The sarcasm in his voice was so palpable that Ara couldn't help but sigh. Loki draped the cape back over the couch, grinning. "In fact," he added, almost to himself, "I haven't been to Earth in some thousand years or so."
Ara ignored his last sentence and carried on her questioning. "So… why don't you go back to Asgard?"
She was pretty sure she already knew this, too. "I can't," Loki purred. "I don't know how." He paused for a moment. "But also I don't want to," he added, almost like an afterthought.
"So you need a place to stay," Ara sighed, once again ignoring his last sentence.
"Mmm hmm," Loki smiled, already knowing what she was going to say next.
Ara made a face. "Fine. You can stay here. I have an extra bedroom. But only because you helped me, okay?"
Loki laughed, and Ara knew full well this outcome was probably his plan from the moment he stepped between Mr. Bishop and her.
"Of course you need a place to stay," she muttered to herself. "And now I'm stuck with the God of Mischief under my roof."