Welcome back! Let's take a few steps back and return to that Tuesday again, shall we? (did anyone notice how I started this on a Tuesday? Anyone? no oh okay ._.)

Ordis I'm soooo sooooorry. Olek being a total dramatic flair wonderthing isn't until next chapter I totally misrememberd D: I'm sure you won't mind cause we got us some grumpy-gills Loki instead :3

Chapter 2
Luke does not have a favourite day of the week.

They all seem to blur together, at first, and by the time he feels like he has a handle on anything, well, it doesn't seem like it matters. The mortals—people—creatures around him all seem fond of Friday, though he supposes his odd work schedule keeps him from truly understanding why they all hold the day—Freya's day—in such high regard. No, Luke does not have a favourite day of the week, does not have a favourite anything actually. He does, however, hate Thursdays, mostly on principle.

And don't even get him started on Wednesdays.

It's hardly a month before he moves, finds a smaller place farther away from the noise though it means that he has to learn the subway lines and schedules and add more to his plate of not knowing, but he will admit, privately of course, that he is glad that he navigated the stress that is moving without being able to snap his fingers and magic it all there. It means that he met Lethe (don't get her started on her name, he made that mistake all of once), even if he did (apparently? He still is unclear on what exactly 'celiac' means) nearly kill her with the (rather burnt, but he had never baked before) cookies he brought over as a gift.

If, however, one insisted on him picking a day that he liked better than all the others, he would, grudgingly, probably with a number of glares that will make one inwardly cringe, say that Tuesday is not so bad of a day. He enjoys the class he models for that day, early in the morning, and the cappuccino that Olek invariably insists that Luke join him for afterwards—meaning that, for an half hour or so, he has the Russian artist to himself (and Luke does not hate crowds and large groups, he just prefers not to be in them, thank you), and the conversation with Olek is never once dull. And in the afternoon, he usually (but not always) will have dinner with Lethe, who has been teaching him how to not 'burn down' his own kitchen, while they watch (and he would not admit this on pain of death) amusingly good Korean dramas together.

Tuesdays are an acceptable day.

XXXXXX

He's at the library, piece of paper in hand, and getting increasingly more irritated by the fact that he still has not managed to figure out what the string of letters and numbers mean. All he would like is to get his book and leave, especially after seeing what had looked suspiciously like Captain Rogers in the children's section.

Luke is not afraid of Rogers, not at all, which is why he is not allowing it to disrupt his day and why he is going to figure out this atrocious numbering system and get his book, or by the Nine—

He nearly gets trampled.

Trampled, is perhaps, a bit strong of a word, but when he twists to see who nearly walked into him he does not care. Startled blue eyes are looking at him, flush of apology already staining pale skin, and Loki wishes he actually had something besides his pathetically human form so he could reasonably knock out Steve. He stills his face and tries not to panic.

"Sorry." Steve does not recognize him.

"No need to apologize," he says, rather magnanimously if he says so himself, and looks away, because his eyes are still his most distinctive feature.

Go away go away go—

"Do you need help?"

He glances up again. Loki wants to tell him to jump over the nearby railing. Luke thinks that but accepts the help anyway because the call number will not unscramble itself.

"Yes, please. New to the country, and the library system here is… different." It's not really a lie.

There's a flicker of almost-recognition that makes Loki tense, but then Steve takes the slip of paper from him and glances at it and he can breathe again. Loki-Luke follows, and while he cannot ease entirely back into his comfortable forgetting of the past, he can at least push it aside for a little while. Especially as Steve explains what exactly the numbers and letters mean (this Library of Congress perhaps is not as stupid as Luke first thought). He files away M for 'music,' and keeps his face still as Steve hands him the book.

"Thank you."

"No problem." Steve smiles at him warmly, then glances at his watch. "Just ask if you need help, okay? I've got to run though."

Luke-Loki waits until Steve is gone before leaning against the bookcase and letting out one long, unsteady breath, all-too-human heart thundering his his ears.

XXXXXX

"You met Captain America?!"

The nearly fan-girlish shriek is not the response that Loki-Luke is looking for.

"He nearly trampled me! I'd hardly call that meeting." Steve Rogers is a hero here, of course Lethe would not understand that Loki could have died or worse, been recognized.

"Still, you were nearly trampled by Captain America. Gods, was he dreamy? Is he as sweet as he always looks on the news? You have to tell me everything."

Luke crosses his arms and stares at her.

"I was nearly trampled," he repeats, hoping for more sympathy if he adds emphasis. While it will get nothing done, he admits that having a breakdown is an idea that he is not opposed to now that he is safely in Lethe's kitchen.

Lethe stills her face and tries to muster up sympathy for him. They stare at each other for a few moments.

"I am sorry you were nearly trampled," Lethe offers.

"Thank you."

"He would have broken you in half."

"Yes. Well. Maybe. We are the same height."

Mistake. Lethe is suddenly eying him in a way that makes him incredibly uncomfortable. Like how Olek does occasionally when mentioning how Luke should join him on Tuesdays at the bar.

"Valhalla, you have absolutely no sympathy at all for my plight."

"Nope."

Luke rubs the bridge of his nose.

"Can we just… forget I mentioned it."

"No way. Details. Spill."

"I can cook on my own now, thank you. I don't have to stay here."

Lethe raises an eyebrow and he tries not to point out that it's not his fault that he has a tendency to burn things, he just gets distracted by all the other things going on at the same time. Maybe he should order take out this evening.

"I understand that to you he's 'Captain America,' best hero of the Avengers—"

"He is!"

"—but all he does is remind me of the past, and I would really prefer not to discuss it," Luke continues, very firmly. He expects Lethe to object, or to push, to pry about what happened to make Luke not like Captain America; he does not expect to see her eyes suddenly widen and sympathy on her face.

"The attack last June."

Luke goes cold, whole face going still and watching her. He likes Lethe, he really does, she is clever, for a mortal, and he loves her art and her way with inks. He does not want to hurt her or leave, because he doubts that he will meet another (friend) like her. But Loki will, if he has to, because he can't let anyone know (he doesn't want to see the hate on her features when she realizes).

"I'm sorry. You lost family, didn't you? I didn't, mine live out in St. Louis, but I lost a few friends. Reminders are painful, aren't they? If you want to talk about it, you know I'm right next door, right?"

"…yes." He swallows and looks down. "Everyone."

It is not true, not the way she thinks, they aren't dead, but they may as well be. Some nights it aches, some nights he can't help but think of Asgard's golden halls and the way Frigga (mother) smells of indigo on dye days, or the taste of Indun's apples. It has been one month, three weeks, and four days since he arrived on Midgard—Earth—and while he enjoys this life, enjoys the way these people all judge him on his merits, it does not make him miss the halls he does not belong to less.

"Luke," his name almost a sigh.

"I do not wish to speak of it. Look, can we just make dinner? You promised to show me how to make that spicy zucchini thing." He refuses to look up at her, makes a gesture towards the island where the ingredients are laid out.

"Sure."

"He did smile at me."

"Luuuuuuke!"

He grins.

XXXXXX

By next Tuesday, he's just Luke again, comfortable in his new life once more.