Note: Another long chapter! 8k for this one. Some important things happening... I hope you will enjoy it!
I hope you enjoy this chapter. Reviews are always welcome!
The automatic sliding doors part for Loki and his lungs burn from the sudden rush of anxiety, air seemingly growing thick around him.
So many people. Why did he think it was a good idea to go shopping on Thanksgiving?
The beeps of the registers are already giving him a headache.
Well. It's not like he has a choice, right? He needs to power through.
Face tight, he wheels his cart into the supermarket and goes through the mental map of it that he knows by heart.
He breathes—one two three one two three—and tries to wedge his way into the crowd that is stuck near the fruits displays, one hand on the front corner of the cart, gripping it tightly so he can anchor himself to something. Anything will do; so the cart does the trick.
"Just need…" he mumbles to himself as he shoves his list back inside the warmth of his coat pocket. He reaches out for the apples on display, trying to mentally add up how much he needs for the applesauce he is going to make.
Behind it, Thor's mop of disheveled, fair hair waves back at him.
"... a few apples," and the words die down on his tongue at the sight.
Fuck this. Why is he here? And why is he always this—this—this distracting? And handsome?
Loki stands there frozen for a while, people grumbling at him to move if he is done picking his apples, but he can't exactly hear them when all that his ears register is the sound of his heartbeat going crazy.
Another beat and he finds himself back in motion. Cranes his neck, squints and scans the whole area, scrutinizes the selection of fresh vegetables and bags of potatoes.
No Thor.
Did he dream it?
That's what he tells himself until their paths almost cross again while Loki puts cranberry sauce in his cart and notices the curve of a back he has seen before.
Panicking again means that he doesn't care much for anyone outside this man and he slides into the shortest waiting line. Never mind the things he didn't buy—they will do without. He wants to be done and over with this fucking twist of fate and go home to his family instead of playing games with his own mind.
It doesn't get any better as the line advances and Loki realises it is a Cash Only line.
He doesn't have any cash on him, only his credit card.
If you are punishing me for something, I don't think I'm worth this much hatred, he sighs to the sky above, not really knowing who he's addressing but doing it nonetheless. Why did you make this man so handsome but also an asshole? It's unfair!
"I don't have any cash," he tells the cashier who frowns.
"This is a Cash Only line, sir."
Loki licks his lips. "I didn't see, I'm sorry."
"There's a sign," someone behind him grunts, "you'd have to be blind not to see it."
Someone else mutters a quiet "annoying" to his left and Loki has to clear his throat and breathe not to lash out on anyone.
"You shouldn't be in this line, then," the cashier tells him, deadpan. "Next."
Right at that moment, Thor turns his head to him, wondering what the fuss is about, and spots Loki. He's only carrying a small basket in which he has dumped a few things; at least, out of the two them, Thor thought about shopping in advance for Thanksgiving and was probably just buying last-minute additions to his dinner.
This asshole has the audacity to smile.
He's fucking smiling.
Loki is going to lose it.
"Hi," Thor says, raising a brow. "Do you need money?"
Loki glances down at his list to double check, just in case; just to avoid this situation if only for a few seconds. He thinks of turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes, cranberry sauce and pies, all of his favourites, the creamy orange texture of the pumpkin swelling on top of the soft-baked crust—
This doesn't even work.
Fuck me.
"Hello. No, I don't need money. Thanks," he replies quietly, starting to gather his goods back into his cart to change lines.
"Wait," Thor stops him, making a spark of anxiety rush back to the surface of Loki's neck. "Jessica. That's your name, right?" he asks the cashier, who nods back at him. Thor hums, doesn't bat an eye as he keeps talking. "I'm Thor, this is Loki, and he needs to go back home quickly. You've got a credit card machine just there." He points at the black machine whose edges stare back at Loki in disbelief. "Right. Excellent. Take his card and we'll be done. Happy Thanksgiving."
Loki can't believe how obnoxious this man is.
Can't fucking believe it. And he's so effortlessly charming, on top of that. Who allowed this?
"Who do you think you are, exactly?" he blurts out, unable to keep the lid on his anger anymore, clenching his fists around the cart handle.
"Your saviour," Thor replies unironically. "Now pay for your groceries and unclutter the line or people will end up slicing your throat and have it in place of turkey."
That asshole, that fucking asshole smiles again. Loki hates that he both wants to kiss him and punch him.
"Happy Thanksgiving, Loki," Thor dares to tell him when he disappears after having paid for his few items, retrieving his final can on the belt, eyes crinkling with something Loki doesn't have a name for.
x x x
Loki gets drunk that night, and everyone gets to witness it.
Brunnhilde definitely finds him charming like that.
The slight beginning of her smile drops suddenly when Hela walks toward her with her glass of wine in hand, lips a bright shade of crimson.
"How's the evening going for you?" she asks gently, watching the younger woman tap on her phone quickly and shoving it back in the pocket of her jeans.
Boss (10:03 p.m.)
I hate this dinner. Angela's here. It's not going well.
Brunnhilde tenses up.
"Good," she replies simply with a nervous smile. "Thank you for inviting me tonight. I really appreciate everything."
"It's not much," Hela says and waves her hand before taking a sip of red wine. "Am I making you uncomfortable? You always look terrified when you see me."
She stops laughing as her stomach flips and looks at her silver shoes. "It's not—it's nothing. You're a little intimidating, that's all."
Boss (10:09 p.m.)
She just insulted me. Like. In a very Angela way. But she just insulted me. I can't believe it.
Anyway. How's your evening going? Have you told Sif?
A wave of nausea licks at Brunnhilde's throat at the idea of letting Sif know; she can't know. She can't know that she works for Thor and that she's actively participating in the life of the bookstore that is trying to ruin Loki's own. That would be such a dick move to tell her now.
"I LOVE YOU ALL," Loki shouts behind Brunnhilde, a glass of champagne in one hand, a slice of pecan pie in the other. She looks up, puzzled, and sees the ghost of happiness in Loki's spirit, the gentle warmth of wine in his pink features. Being drunk makes him so much freer. He's nothing but giddiness, now.
x x x
Running a hand through his dark locks, Loki leans into the wall behind him and stares at the decorations he has just put together for the shop. Little lights are twinkling all around the main entrance, spiraling in sparks of warm reds and oranges and casting bright shadows upon the books on display. He put on a plastic tree by the entrance and another one further into the bookstore, both of them dressed with metallic shades of gold and frosty blue and a big star on top.
The bookstore is dimly lit, the light a cozy pink-orange, and Loki finds that he likes it a lot that way. It's so quiet but so gentle, too, and he can't stop thinking that his mother would have loved it if she were still alive.
It also happens to soothe the dull ache between his ribs, the one that has settled there this morning as he walked by Odinson Books and realised there was a poster taped on the glass windows with Natasha's smiling face staring back at him. In bold red letters read Book Signing on January 12 with New York Times Best Selling Author Natasha Romanoff, 11 a.m.
So you went to them too, Nat? Fuck.
He throws a glance outside as people pass by and he realises they're carrying Odinson Books bags; he can't help being bitter about it, the emerald green ornaments in his hands suddenly weighing so much more than he thought.
x x x
From: agent_of_asgard
To: pirateangel
Posted: Fri Dec 7 2017, 12:14 a.m.
Re: What about Bonnefoy?
Dear friend,
What does Christmas remind you of?
I can't stop thinking about my mother, lately. I miss the things we used to do together, such as Christmas shopping on the East side, baking gingerbread cookies in a rush or going skating at Rockefeller Center. I never really like Christmas as a kid, at least until my parents divorced.
I hate my dad. I don't know if I told you. I don't think so. But I hate him. I really do. He's an asshole, for a lack of a better word, and Christmas sometimes reminds me of him because he was especially harsh on my sister and me around that time, physically and verbally. I don't want to talk further about any details, but I think you can get the whole picture, I guess.
She's been dead for ten years and I miss her like no tomorrow, even more than usual because I need advice, this year. She always knew what to do, and here I am, at a loss for words and actions.
From: pirateangel
To: agent_of_asgard
Posted: Fri Dec 7 2017, 02:41 p.m.
Re: What about Bonnefoy?
Dear friend,
I am sorry to hear about your mother and I am angry about your father. I wish there was something I could do to help you out on these matters, but I don't know what this could be.
I lost my mother a few years ago, too, so I understand missing her fiercely, especially around the time of Christmas. Before it happened, Christmas reminded me of hot chocolate near the fireplace, frosty snow and pumpkin butter. Now it's pretty much only something that brings me back to a cold, damp, unwelcoming place of sadness. I don't really get along with my step-sister and my father has the emotional range of a spoon, which is still nice too of me to say. When my mother died in a car accident, he just told me around dinner and that was it. Life went on.
It didn't, at least for me. My mother was always very optimistic and warm and cheerful. She was so wise, but also so funny. I guess I take this from her? I tend to deflect bullets and negative life events that way. It's a shield, a protection. It's easy to hide behind that, and maybe I shouldn't. Who cares.
Anyway, what do you need help with, dear friend? I know we said no specifics, but if I can try to lend you a hand, I'd be more than happy to do so.
Loki sighs against his hand, laptop propped up on his lap in bed and Leia purring at his feet.
As he starts typing a reply, a grey window pops up suddenly on his screen to interrupt him, flashing a message from pirateangel.
pirateangel (10:39 p.m.)
They introduced a new feature on the forum! We can now chat online and I saw you were there. Hi!
Something clenches in his stomach—a delightful pang of happiness mixed up with the gloomy mood he's been on all day.
agent_of_asgard (10:40 p.m.)
Oh, that's amazing! Hello. It feels weird to talk to you "in real time."
pirateangel (10:40 p.m.)
I know, ahaha. Same here. So what do you need help with, dear friend? I can give you advice! I'm great at advice.
Loki chuckles and smiles fondly while shaking his head, even though his friend obviously can't see him.
agent_of_asgard (10:41 p.m.)
I don't think you can help, but thank you. I appreciate it.
pirateangel (10:41 p.m.)
Is it about love? Did you fall for someone you shouldn't?
agent_of_asgard (10:42 p.m.)
My business is in trouble, actually. My mother was great at handling and tackling all sorts of problems, hence why I am missing her more than usual lately.
pirateangel (10:42 p.m.)
I'm a brilliant businessman, I can help you! Tell me what it's all about. What's your business, dear friend?
agent_of_asgard (10:42 p.m.)
As much as I appreciate you trying to help, we said no specifics, remember? I can't tell you.
pirateangel (10:42 p.m.)
Well, it will be hard to help, then. I can only say, go to the mattresses.
agent_of_asgard (10:43 p.m.)
What?
pirateangel (10:43 p.m.)
It's from The Godfather. I believe it can help you because that's solid advice, actually. It means that you have to go to war and fight for your meal.
Loki frowns.
What is it with people and citing odd quotes from films like The Godfather or A Space Odyssey unironically?
pirateangel (10:45 p.m.)
You're at war, my friend. It's nothing personal, it's just business, and you need to remember this, especially when you feel like you are about to lose your nerve. This is your chance. Be brave, fight till the end. Fight to the death.
agent_of_asgard (10:45 p.m.)
I think you're right.
pirateangel (10:45 p.m.)
Actually, I am, friend. ;)
Ok, no joke but please fight. Keep your business!
I need to go, my best friend is here. Have a good evening, dear friend.
Before Loki can write something back, pirateangel has already logged off. He's a little frustrated about it but the smile that lingers on his lips makes it all better.
Loki (10:50 p.m.)
Sigyn, I think I'm going to go to the mattresses.
Do you think it would be okay to write an article about the bookstore?
x x x
If you know New York a little, you probably have heard of The Shop Around The Corner where Loki Laufeyson and his sister Hela Laufeyson have kept up the legacy of their late mother Farbauti. Essential to the streets it still lives on, it would be a shame to see it go because Odinson Books decided to put up a shop right next to them.
Save The Shop Around The Corner! Go shop local at your independent bookstore!
Loki finishes reading the blog article with a quiet, gentle smile, Hela looking at it over his shoulder.
"Sigyn, that's such a lovely article you wrote. Thank you so much!"
Sigyn smirks and turns around to glance at the shop. "Looks like it worked. See how many people there are? I'm glad."
"CNN is here!" Clint yells from outside, throwing his hands in the air before folding them across his chest to keep himself calm.
A shiver runs through Loki's body as he takes a deep breath. Hela smiles at him and brushes a curl from her little brother's forehead, tender and confident.
"Go slay Odinson Books, little brother."
Outside, a woman with short blond hair and a red blouse is talking with Clint; her entire face lights up when she spots Loki walking toward them.
"Hi! I'm Carol Danvers," she says brightly while extending her arm.
Loki smiles back at her and shakes her hand softly. "Hello. Loki Laufeyson."
"I used to go to your bookstore when I was a kid," she starts explaining. "Your mother was still here. She was amazing."
The sun shines bright behind them and Loki offers the journalist another smile, genuinely touched by her words.
"We can start the interview whenever you're ready."
Breathe. Breathe. You can do it. Show them what you're made of.
"I'm ready," Loki says, shoulders straight.
Carol signals to the TV crew that they're ready and starts talking as Loki tries his best not to shift too much.
"We're in front of the Shop Around the Corner where so many of us have grown. It's on the verge of closing because of the pressure from Odinson Books, whose store has opened a few feet away with the promise of cheap books and coffee."
Loki nods and prepares his words as Carol hands him the mic. "Odinson Books is a machine trying to crush anything in its way. You've probably heard many stories of independent bookstores going under because of the methods these chains use: so please don't turn a blind eye on us this time."
x x x
From his office, Thor grimaces, Heimdall sitting by his side.
"He's not as nice as he seems," he grumbles. He plays with a pen before starting to gnaw on the tip, anxiety running freely in his veins.
"You've met him?" Heimdall asks with an arched brow.
Thor nods and rolls his eyes, picking up a book lying on his desk and turning to a random page. "It's kind of a long story. He's—" and he has to stop himself to clear his throat. Who cares, he can go ahead with the thought. "He's attractive but full of himself."
"But you don't feel bad about the fact that you're destroying his livelihood and the shop his mother put together by herself?" Heimdall asks and gestures at the TV screen.
"It's not personal—"
"—It's business. I know. Still."
Thor's own face appears on the television and he can't help gasping audibly at it, reading the title unfolding in soft blues and greens—Thor Odinson, Vice-President of Odinson Books.
"I sell cheap books so that people can buy more books. It's only logical. Sue me for that if you want or cry about Laufeyson's shop, but cheap books aren't a bad thing."
Heimdall's eyes widen with a quirk of his eyebrow. "That's what you said?"
Thor's heart leaps in his chest. "I said so much more! They—they manipulated what I said! I offered them coffee and showed them that people could sit and read for hours because we have so many titles in store. They completely cut through what I said! I was eloquent and they're trying to pin me as the bad guy while Loki is the damsel in distress—"
"It's inevitable, Thor."
In the background, Loki's voice rises, tickling the back of Thor's neck and making him wince.
"I've met Thor Odinson and I can tell you, this man can be pretty twisted as far as protecting his business goes."
Heimdall pauses, gives Thor another strange smile and says, "Oof, that's harsh."
The camera focuses on a rally taking place in front of Odinson Books' store and Thor goes up to the window. Bracing himself, he looks around the corner and watches little kids chanting "Off with Odinson Books! We don't want Odinson Books!" on the pavement below, holding up signs with Odinson Books stricken in bold red marker.
His mind goes blank and he freezes for a long time, unable to be put back in motion.
"Can this day be over already?" he ends up whining behind the shutters that cast long brown shadows upon his tired face, heart still beating worryingly fast.
x x x
They're about to flip the vintage "closed" sign and close the shop when Hela emerges from the backroom where Loki's office is, frown in place and lines of worry etched into her face.
"Loki," she calls from the door, interrupting his conversation with Sif and Clint about Citizen Kane, "can you come over for a second?"
Loki nods and straightens his back from where he has been leaning into the shelves before following his sister to his office with dread weighing heavily in his stomach.
It only takes a second of Hela staring up at him for him to understand.
"Don't tell me. No difference at all?"
She opens her mouth to reply but no sound comes out of it. Instead, she sighs and puts the sheets before her in order.
"It didn't work. I can't understand why, but it didn't. I'm sorry, brother, but now… except closing the store, I really have no clue what to do." A look of understanding crosses his face as he closes his hand gently over her pale fingers.
Long arms engulf Loki in a tight hug before he can say anything; he drinks in the warmth of her body without shedding a tear for the sake of appearing strong, so that Hela's fears will sleep for tonight so that Loki's demons won't wake up in light of the news.
Hela leaves soon after that despite her protesting that Loki should come at hers for dinner, that it wouldn't be good for him to be home alone and dwelling on his own thoughts about the future of the shop. He shrugs it off with a smile, sending Hela on her way out and once she is out of sight, Loki starts crying.
He cries until his face goes numb and his fingers shake so hard he can't even grab a tissue, until the files on his desk are scattered with drops of salty tears, until the ink caught in these rivers smudges, until his heart crashes against his chest and tumbles into his throat; until Loki has run out of tears to shed and heartache to spare.
How could he do this to his mother? To Hela, to Sif, to Clint, to his long-time customers? How did it end up like this? It wasn't supposed to end. Not like this. Not in tears, but only because Loki had passed on the store and left it in good hands.
He tucks some of his disheveled black hair behind his ear and forces himself out of his comatose state, eyes so red and puffy he has trouble blinking himself back to reality.
His fingers close gently around the necklace around his neck; he brushes the warm gold there, presses it to his lips and promises himself that it would only be a beginning, not an end. Loki owes it to his mother, no matter how much he wants to give up right now, no matter how harshly the world has been pressing against him lately.
It's past nine o'clock when he leaves the backroom and crosses the narrow store in a few quick strides; the sky has turned a mellow kind of blue-gray, barely lit by the streetlamps, and it's only once he's outside that Loki realises it has started raining.
"Shit," he mutters and pats his pockets and his tote bag for his umbrella, remembering it neatly folded and waiting patiently on a shelf at home. "Just my luck to add to this goddamn day," he adds, pinching the bridge of his nose.
"Need a ride home?"
Loki's heart shudders at the voice that cracks in his ears.
"Thor," he murmurs under his breath as his green eyes wash over the other man's large frame. Thor is wearing a three-piece-suit and a nice black coat over it, a dark red scarf that looks as soft as feathers and, most of all, he has a big umbrella. "H—hi."
It's becoming a habit to stumble upon Thor when getting out of work.
Weirdly, Loki… doesn't hate it entirely.
Not too much. But still. He hates it a little.
Loki suddenly can't help the way his fingers flex and shake around the keys in his hands and he can't help the way his heart-rate keeps speeding up and up and up. All decent thoughts seem to leave his brain and he's left with nothing but a gasp as an addition to his greeting.
On the bright side, Thor doesn't appear angry or in any kind of negative mood; rather, he is smiling at Loki and the moment their eyes meet, he winks at him.
"I don't mind walking you home. You had a big day, it would be stupid to catch a cold to finish it off."
"How can you be so calm about it?" Loki asks in a rush. The growing pace of rainfall makes him nervous, his eyes going back and forth between the road behind Thor's broad back and the pavement they are standing on.
After a moment of stretched silence, Thor sighs and looks away—anywhere but at Loki. "I can't be mad at you for fighting for your business, can I? I'm not exactly a prime example anyway."
"But I wasn't exactly—"
" —Nice ?"
Loki swallows thickly. "Yeah."
A chuckle and Thor throws him a bemused glance. "It's only fair after what I did, I guess."
"It was on live television," Loki retorts, and fuck, why is he defending Thor when the man is taking the blame himself and not because Loki forced him to do so? "I didn't mean—"
Thor shakes his head. "Loki. Stop. I deserved it. While it hurts because I'm a human being and my feelings do exist, I can't blame you for showing your teeth and going at it. Now," and he reaches out for Loki with his hand extended, "do you want me to walk you home?"
Why is this man not mad at me? Loki asks himself on repeat for a solid five minutes before he makes an extra effort to catch Thor's eye. He raises his eyebrows at Thor's hand but accepts the invitation, walking over to stand at Thor's side under the large umbrella.
They start walking in silence with only the sound of rain against the taut waterproof fabric and falling quickly on the asphalt.
"Are you okay?" Thor asks after a while and that startles Loki more than he would have liked, the worry in Thor's tone a warm sunset that slips in and out his skin.
He turns to the side to glance at the other man whose eyes are still stuck on him with both curiosity and worry. It is one of the weirdest things Loki has witnessed lately: how come his rival and the one person to put him out of business is worried about his well-being?
"I'm fine," he lies easily. There's a weird ache in his bones that seeps in his veins like sap through branches of trees, like oxygen traveling through rivers.
Somehow, he has a feeling Thor won't be convinced that easily—and he's right.
Thor frowns. "No, you're not. You've been crying."
There is a pause in which Loki feels his courage dissolve, only for his anger to burn even brighter.
"Excellent deduction," Loki groans. Fucking puffy eyes and the circles underneath them. They definitely betrayed him. "Where did you learn these skills? Read too much Sherlock Holmes as a kid? I mean, if you read at all."
"Are you always this snappy and hostile to new people, or is it just me?"
Everything is red, just for a second, and Loki is trying to keep calm, to keep breathing, to keep pretending he has a grasp upon himself and his ferocious emotions.
"Did it ever occur to you that I don't want to spend time with the man who is putting me out business and making me lose the shop my mother put together by herself?" Loki exclaims, his voice breaking nearly into a shout. "What is it with you and your savior complex? You created this situation!"
What does Thor think? That because they had shared a moment the first time they had met at that Starbucks, it meant they would do something about it?
He has to fight harder than he expects to keep his voice calm. He doesn't want to start fighting with Thor in the middle of the street. He had seen it already and it was enough; more than enough.
Instead, Loki sighs and rubs at his forehead.
Why is this man looking so good? I want to hate him so hard but I can't manage it.
"Loki, I'm sorry," Thor manages to let out, his tone curiously flat. "I can't undo what I did, but I can try to fix some of the broken pieces if you let me."
"No," Loki snaps and bites out as his voice rises dangerously high, tears burning his eyes. " No. You don't get to steal my toy, break it and ask me if it's okay to fix it together now that you've had your fun. I don't want your apologies or pity."
He pushes himself away from Thor and welcomes the rain in his hair with a sigh of relief, walking away quickly.
Thor stares at him, or at the evening sky, or the fucking blinking lights, Loki doesn't know, and takes a few steps back, taking the hint.
This time, Thor doesn't try to stop him.
The rain soaks Loki to the bone on his way home, which happens to be a good thing so that Loki doesn't have to worry about the tears biting at his cheeks while walking to his flat, cheeks red from the lack of air.
x x x
From: agent_of_asgard
To: pirateangel
Posted: Fri Dec 12 2017, 11:09 p.m.
Re: Advice
Dear friend,
Do you still want to meet me?
I think I'm ready.
Seated on the edge of the bed, Loki exhales heavily and pushes the "enter" button on his keyboard. Maybe he has failed to mend his own wounds, but something tells him that he should try to do something about pushing this man away. His hands can have that power, now, to clean the wreckage. And so the push of the key does it, the night sky quiet in its tracks.
There. Done. His message in the wild, lost to anxiety and interrogation but also new beginnings and excitement.
Everyone is a new story to discover, and maybe it was high time Loki found enough courage to seek his friend's.
x x x
"If you end up killed, I don't want to be held responsible," Clint mumbles and shoves another bit of sandwich in his mouth before sipping on his lemonade. "Please keep your phone close."
"You're so fucking dramatic," Sif says, rolling her eyes, "Loki is old enough to be careful. You gotta push yourself forward if you want things, sometimes, like I did with Brunnhilde."
"He doesn't even know this dude's name!"
"And that's my problem," Loki grunts from behind a shelf. He's rearranging a bunch of new poetry books they have received this morning while picking at an apple here and there without really putting much thinking into it, munching and munching and munching until he swallows, reluctantly finishing each bite of food. He remains stubbornly cryptic, much to his friends' annoyance, but it still elicits a small laugh from Clint. Loki glances at him under his lashes, just a quick stolen moment, feeling a little wrinkle in his brow.
Mechanical. He's been like a robot today to avoid the rush of anxiety and excitement at the idea of finally meeting his dear pirateangel tonight. He'd like to tell himself that he has nothing to lose; that he only has flesh and bones to carry and to show—however, his brain insists on carrying worry through his veins, which pushes Loki to busy himself enough to forget he has a date.
Hell. It's a date, right? Perhaps a friendly one, on the friendship side…
… But a date nonetheless.
Lord, who is he fooling?
It's definitely a romantic date.
God, he needs to stop thinking.
x x x
At the end of the corner around the street, Jane arches an eyebrow and brushes a hand through her bangs. "And where are you meeting him?"
"In a cafe," Thor says around a mouthful of pizza that he hopes won't stain his white shirt—why the fuck did he chose to wear a white shirt today of all days is a mystery to him. "It has some excellent salted caramel cheesecake and I'm pretty sure he's going to love it."
"Maybe he prefers main dishes," Jane adds, which earns her an eye roll from Thor. "What? That's a possibility. Oh, and how are you going to know it's him ?"
Silence from Thor.
"Oh. Oh god, don't tell me—"
"Jane," Thor grumbles. His dollar slice of pizza has smeared some tomato sauce on his bottom lip.
She stops in her tracks and punches his shoulder lightly. "A copy of Pride and Prejudice and a rose, isn't it?"
"No." For a second, Jane's smile falters as disappointment makes its way to her face, but Thor flushes heavily right after—she can count on the fingers of her left hand the few times he has blushed since she has known him, which is pretty much forever, and a giddy giggle escapes her, much to Thor's annoyance. "No, actually, it will be a copy of The Crooked Planks. "
x x x
"You can do it," Jane tells him gently, resting her fingers on Thor's bearded jaw as they stand a few feet away from the cafe the date is supposed to happen in. Her eyes are crinkling in the light and with sparks of joy that make her best friend smile back, if only for a few seconds. The streets are aglow with nightlife, music and a few drunk people spilling their happiness and guts out on the pavement as they pass Thor and Jane.
"We'll see about that—"
Jane shakes her head. "No. It will go fine, Thor. Worst case scenario, it's an obnoxious asshole, and what? You can find so much better in that case, have you seen yourself? Hmm?"
That ends up making Thor laugh, at least.
"You're something else," he says with a chuckle and bends down to kiss her cheek. "What would I do without you?"
"You'd be having sad dates on Grindr," she grins. "Now go!"
"Actually," Thor smiles sheepishly and looks down at his polished shoes, "can you— can you take a look inside? I'm a total wreck, I just—"
"It's alright," and she squeezes his arm before making her way toward the large window pan of the cafe which is dimly lit in the December night. If Thor closes her eyes, he can almost smell the gingerbread cookies his mother used to make, the spices of the hot chocolate she sneaked in there to surprise Thor.
It grounds him, thinking of her right now, because this date…this date could change everything, could turn Thor's life upside down. This man, this agent_of_asgard had brought joy and hope into his monotonous life, and he now has the chance to meet him at last.
Red twinkling Christmas lights are casting a soft glow upon Jane's face, catching the matte stain of brown lipstick along the curve of her lips; she squints, pushes her face deeper in the glass and gasps audibly.
Thor is suddenly seized by fear, his stomach dropping.
"What is it? Is he… ugly?"
Jane bites her lower lip. "No, he's really pretty. Handsome. And he has the rose and the copy of The Crooked Planks. No, Thor, it's—"
She frantically searches his eyes, and Thor frowns, unable to understand the sudden rush of confusion he sees there.
Jane exhales.
"Thor. The man in there is Loki Laufeyson," she ends up blurting out.
Thor has to steady himself against the wall beside him. It scrapes at his cold hands through his gloves and he can feel the frost seeping into his veins.
Agent_of_asgard is Loki Laufeyson. His dear friend is Loki Laufeyson.
The faceless man he has developed feelings for is Loki Laufeyson, the man he is putting out of business, the man who hates him beyond words and whom Thor has lied to.
The man in there is Loki Laufeyson.
His tongue feels so dry that he almost chokes on it; he hates how it feels like the aftermath of being sick when your throat gets back together again and learns to swallow without violent coughing fits happening.
Sand. That's all he can think about. Everything is sand right now: raspy on his tongue, crumbling and dripping one grain at a time between his fingers. A moment passes and there's a fleeting thought in Thor's mind that smashes all the hope he had quietly gathered in a hidden part of his brain; it murmurs harmful whispers and blood-soaked words and coats everything in deep crimson.
"I'm going home."
"What? No, you can't do that," Jane exclaims, shaking her brown bangs out from her eyes, "he wrote the messages! You can't just let him wait here!"
"But he's Loki! And that's exactly what I'm going to do," Thor lets out in a single breath with a savage bite to his sentence. "Goodnight, Jane. Thanks for coming with me but I really can't do this."
Trembling, Jane strides toward him and slaps him so hard he is sure to keep the red shape of her hands on his face, little crimson dots blotching all over his right cheek. "You can't do that! What are you, a fucking coward? The Thor I know wouldn't do something so low—"
"Maybe you don't know me all that well, then," Thor bites back. Something has definitely snapped inside of him and the bitterness on his tongue stings more than he'd like to admit; he regrets immediately his words as Jane's face shifts into a painful, unguarded expression.
She shakes her head, features etched with a mix of worry and disappointment. She throws her hands up in the air before backing down and turning the other way without sparing a glance for Thor.
Great. Just great, Thor thinks to himself. Now I'm alone to deal with this.
The wound and void are bigger than he had expected them to be; they are a fire that he can't put out and has no idea how to handle as it grows and grows.
How is he supposed to go into this cafe and face Loki? How is he supposed to tell him he is pirateangel, the man he has been having the deepest, most interesting discussions he has had in years with? How is he supposed to say, "I like you, would you like to keep this going?" without being rejected, slapped, screamed at?
He really should just leave and give up on this whole thing. There is no possible way for this situation to end well—the idea of a positive ending is so laughable that Thor can feel the tips of his fingers burning, his entire hands shaking.
x x x
On the other side of the window, Loki's leg bounces nervously against the laminate flooring.
He's late. Maybe he saw me and turned back? What happened? Did he regret coming here? Is he stuck somewhere? Did he have an accident?
The knot in his stomach doesn't fade; rather, it gets worse the moment his eyes lay upon the chair in front of him.
He is starting to feel a little foolish and the feeling of helplessness is really not welcome tonight. His tea has brewed for a little too long and the taste is almost bitter along Loki's tongue, a reminder that his friend is not here yet and might never come.
"What a coincidence! Hi, Loki."
Loki looks up at the man in front of him.
What the hell?
He pauses, slowly lowers the spoon back to his cup and feels dread spark through him. He sits in silence, drawing in a long breath before answering in a slow, steady voice that is frost incarnate, "Hi, Thor."
A flash of a grin and perfect white teeth. What an asshole, Loki thinks to himself. Fucking gorgeous asshole, though.
"Do you mind if I sit there?" and Thor points at the chair in front of Loki, miserable and unoccupied.
Loki narrows his eyes at him, pulse shooting through the roof. "Yes, I mind. I'm expecting someone.
"You read Bonnefoy?" Thor dodges easily as his hand finds the worn-out book on the table and lifts it up to take a look at it.
"And what about it?"
Loki lifts himself from his chair enough to grab the book and put it back flat on the table with the rose on it, glaring daggers at Thor, whose smile only grows.
"I didn't know you were interested in mysterious French poets. That's so romantic, Paris, French, the language of love."
"You really do think I'm a walking cliché," Loki chuckles in annoyance. He shakes his head and brushes a hand upon his tired face. "Would you please leave, now? I've been waiting for someone and it certainly isn't you."
This time, Thor sits down, breaks into the drowsy silence.
"Please don't do that," Loki groans.
"I'll go away as soon as your friend arrives. Is he late?"
"Why does it interest you so much? Is it because you want to have a good laugh at my expense once again?"
"You would discover so many things if you really knew me, Loki."
Loki scoffs, a soft, empty laugh escaping his mouth, the sound brushing through his throat and bumping against his teeth. " If I really knew you? God, the things I would find, I already know: you are obnoxious and have a cash register instead of a heart and brain."
"You have a gift for sublime replies," Thor laughs. "That was magnificent."
His throat contracts painfully. "Is everything a joke to you? For God's sake, please leave."
This man? This man is so distracting and charming and handsome and such a fucking asshole.
Loki is so mad at fate for it.
Thor nods and Loki sighs in relief, thinking he has seen the end of it; however, Thor stands up, walks from the table he's sitting at and sits down at the very next table with his back to Loki. He orders an iced tea which makes Loki frown—who orders iced tea in goddamn December?
At that moment, the door to the cafe opens and Loki whips his head around in a hurry, staring at it hopefully when he notices a handsome man coming in.
Unfortunately, he is immediately joined by a woman with bright red lipstick, and Loki's rose of hope falters as soon as it has sparked.
He gets his mother's handkerchief out of his pocket and traces the orchids and initials stitched upon the soft fabric, thinking back of when she was working on it under the quiet English sun during summertime.
It all seems so far away, now. Here he is, shaking hands with the unknown and sporting a wound he has more and more trouble hiding.
"The handkerchief reminds me of the day we met properly—"
Loki cuts through Thor's voice. "You mean, the day you lied to me?"
"I didn't lie to you—"
"You didn't give me your full name for a good reason," Loki says. He's getting really tired of having this being brought to the table over and over again. "Here I was, thinking it was charming. I can be so dumb at times."
Thor stands up and comes sitting back at Loki's table with his tall glass of peach iced tea just another man comes into the cafe with no book or rose in sight.
"Let me guess, that's not him either," he says before taking a sip of his drink and looking to the side.
"I don't know," Loki answers sharply. "I don't think so. I've never seen him."
Thor removes his mouth from the straw curiously. "You've never met him?"
Loki arches an eyebrow when he focuses back on Thor and realises there are ice cubes in his glass. "It's freezing outside and you're drinking iced tea?"
"And?" Thor shrugs, twirling the straw. "That's some very good iced tea. Would be stupid to pass on it. So what about that guy? You've never met him, then?"
"No, I haven't," Loki eventually replies with exasperation etched in his voice. His tongue feels restless in his mouth. "Anyway. What are you doing here? I thought you would be at some fancy literature party or something."
"I was about to have dinner with my best friend, and we had a fight, and now she thinks I'm an asshole," Thor grunts as if it explains everything. "Just needed to think about something else for a bit, and then I saw you in there."
"Well, isn't that the case? You are an asshole," Loki shoots back, brows creased. "Even your best friend says so."
Thor laughs. "Thanks for the vote of confidence."
Loki sighs heavily, exasperated. He can feel the throb of a headache coming already; his breathing is labored, punctured, left hanging. His face scrunches up, contorting with the effort to make the pain recede. "I mean, what did you expect? You're coming in and trash talking my date and telling me all these things when all I want is to be alone."
Loki thinks that his disgruntled growl is enough of an answer for a moment, but he knows he needs to assert himself.
"Would you please leave, now?" Loki asks hollowly.
"Why? You don't want me to see how you are going to shift from sugar sweet to sour and prickly like you do with me? You don't want me to see it happening to your dear date?"
"I won't be mean to this man because he is completely unlike you," Loki murmurs. The quiet anger coiling in the pit of his stomach takes shape and becomes a monster. "The man coming tonight is kind and funny and tender—"
"But he's not here," Thor retorts.
"I'm sure he has a reason and I bet it's a good one because he has no bad bone in his body, which I can't expect you to understand since you like to torment me so much. You have nothing but a suit, Thor."
He sees Thor flinch and instantly feels bad, which he absolutely and utterly hates with all he has. He doesn't care about him. He does not. He just thinks this man is hot. And charming. And handsome. But that's it, alright? That's all there is to it.
A beat. Thor swallows.
"This is my cue. Goodnight, Loki," he says as he inhales slowly through his nose and exhales through clenched teeth.
Loki expects his heart to bloom with something akin to joy at the fact that he stood his ground facing Thor, but it doesn't.
It doesn't bloom at all. It beats harshly against his ribcage with a vicious sting to this chest.
It feels horrible and it burns something fierce.
He hurt Thor and it now seems pretty obvious that his friend isn't going to come in the end.
Whatever.
Whatever. He had thought about this situation and had stacked it at the back of his mind to avoid it altogether.
He pays for his tea with trembling hands, holds the book and rose to his chest while walking home until the scent of the flower becomes too much to bear.
Tears flare up in Loki's eyes when he throws the rose away in the trash two blocks before reaching his flat.
The aftermath is a blur.
Loki feels sick when he hears the snicks of buttons as he works his fingers on his shirt; it only goes away when the warmth of the shower lingers on his skin, and his skin ends up pink, raw, pressed open by the scalding water.
There's still panic in his blood. There's still a raging sadness swirling in his head, everything all at once and the clear sensation of not being there, of trying to be connected back to the floor beneath his feet while he can't feel his arms and forgets he even breathes for a second.
Panic.
Panic molded around his body and never really leaving him alone; like a poison, always there, never quite gone, making his blood rot away.
Anxiety disorder, they had said.
"Anxiety disorder my ass," Loki had grumbled, only taking his medication because Hela had laid big, concerned eyes on him and wouldn't let him go on his day otherwise.
"You don't need to act like Mum, really."
Something had flashed in his sister's eyes.
"Well, I wouldn't be acting like her if you had your shit together, Loki."
He forces himself to swallow his medication with a glass of water and not alcohol, nibbles on a day-old piece of bread until he gives up and curls up in bed with his phone, heart beating wildly in his aching chest.
Please let there be a message. Please let him explain.
Please. Something. Anything.
It loads.
Nothing.
Loki's intake of breath is so sharp it hurts his lungs with the rush of it.
He loads it again.
His mailbox is empty.
He falls back against the pillows, one arm thrown across his eyes.
The next morning, as his feet scrape the asphalt and he walks through the city kissed by the sun, all he can feel is cold.