Notes: here's another chapter. Don't hesitate to review it if you liked it!

This story has 8 chapters, so 6 left.

Enjoy your stay!

Loki is sickly pale, but it is nothing new.

He looks back at himself on the black screen of his phone and sighs as he waits for his drink to be made, his eyes glazing over the people in front of him; they aren't half as pasty white as he is. God, his skin is so pale that it looks like he hasn't stepped out of his flat in weeks.

Unlocking his screen, Loki resumes typing his reply to his mysterious writing pal, his hair falling softly from where it was previously tucked behind his ear.

From: agent_of_asgard

To: pirateangel

Posted: Mon Oct 23, 2017 07:45 a.m.

Re: What about Bonnefoy?

Dear friend,

I hate waiting at Starbucks but reading your messages makes it bearable. Do you go to Starbucks often? Do you drink coffee? I'm not a fan myself. I'd rather have tea. I usually order a London Fog or a Chai latte with oat milk.

I'm rambling.

He stops, takes a deep breath. Typing on the screen makes him hyper-aware of the bone beneath the tip of his thumb, rough and weirdly-angled from an old injury as a kid. Hela had decided it would be a wonderful idea to climb trees while on vacation in Bath and Loki ended up falling flat on his arm, breaking it and his thumb in the process.

Sorry for not replying yesterday. I wanted to, however, my sister had the marvellous idea of dragging me to the cinema so we could be up to date for the Golden Globes. I told her we had time regarding that matter but she wouldn't hear about it unless I went with her… so I did and it wasn't half bad, in the end.

Still, I would rather have written to you instead. There is a calming, soothing side to it that I enjoy very much. I have even taken up Pride & Prejudice for you again! If you don't call this dedication, then I don't know what it is—

"Loki?"

The Starbucks employee snaps Loki out of his reverie so badly he startles, phone almost crashing down on the floor. A faint blush powders over his cheeks and up his nose and he crosses the line as quickly as possible to grab his London Fog; he reaches out for his drink at the same time as a tall blond man does, so handsome Loki barely remembers he is not supposed to be gaping at strangers.

He finds himself looking into the bluest eyes he has ever seen.

"Sorry," he says after their fingers have knocked together and he has retracted his hand to himself. "I didn't pay attention."

The embarrassment settles deep in his stomach; it usually is a foreign feeling, but Loki doesn't face gorgeous men like this one every day. He wishes he could be counting the crooked tiles on the floor instead of staring because he can't stop staring and it is so rude and he can't believe himself—

"It's alright," Handsome Stranger replies with a chuckle in his voice, deep and raspy and full of warmth. "Here."

He hands Loki his London Fog carefully while, slowly, the present situation is reaching Loki's brain, and he can only blink himself back to what is happening. There is silence for a moment, nothing but the soft whisper of people ordering and getting their drinks around them; a waltz of sorts, easily choreographed and put together.

Handsome Stranger's smile is a complicated thing, made out of particles and sparks Loki has trouble wrapping his head around; so much that he keeps staring for a while, observing, taking information in for a reason he cannot fathom.

"Are you offering me your drink?"

Loki blinks at Handsome Stranger dully, without understanding.

Oh. Oh, fuck. How long has he been staring?

"I'm sorry, I have been so rude," Loki says, biting the inside of his cheek. His heart leaps into his throat and he cringes a little in his head as he wonders about how much more stupid he can happen to look to this man.

Handsome Stranger quirks his head towards the paper cup in his hand upon which "Loki" is written in bold, dark marker, and Loki follows his gaze, realising he should probably take his drink and stop bothering this poor man who has been so kind and patient already.

It's almost a surprise that his own fingers and hand cooperate when he reaches out for his cup; he is careful not to spill the hot beverage—knowing his luck, it could have been an easy messy situation to fall into—as he welcomes it from the other man's grasp.

"Thank you," and before Loki can add anything else, the man grins softly and is out the door in mere seconds, a fleeting spark lost in New York's tumultuous morning.

x x x

Sif is waiting for him with her own paper cup filled with coffee when Loki turns around the street and spots her long black hair colliding with her bright orange nails.

"Hi," Loki says gently, hot tea in hand. "Isn't it a beautiful day?"

This earns him a frown, as if he had said something really rude to his best friend of twenty years.

Sif looks up at the sky, still frowning. "It's raining, Loki. I wouldn't call that a 'beautiful' day, but sure, if you say so…"

"Rain can be pretty," he answers quietly. He sips on his London Fog, rubs his upper lip once the warmth of it has disappeared in his throat. "A beautiful day doesn't have to be about the weather, Sif."

She nods sceptically, watches the sky still as Loki reaches absentmindedly for the key in his pocket to unlock the shop and crank the gate; he has the doorknob in hand when Sif stops her brain in its tracks, flipping around to face Loki once again.

"You're definitely in love!"

In love? Sif, for fuck's sake. "Yeah, with my shop," Loki answers, and he makes it sound like it is the most obvious thing in the world. Why would she say that out of the blue?

The door opens and he lets her in, flips the vintage "OPEN / CLOSE" sign around to "OPEN" and closes behind him.

Half of his brain is still focused on his recent exchanges with pirateangel and the weird, yet lovely encounter with Handsome Stranger this morning just as Sif's voice rises again in the silent shop, a warmly lit space filled with endless shelves full to the brim with books of all sorts, from children ones to rare Pléiade editions of Albert Camus.

"What's going on with you?"

Loki glances at his phone, which reads nine o'clock; there is no new notification regarding a reply from his favourite pirate and he finds himself slightly disappointed. He'll get over it; he can't expect him to reply so quickly all the time, and the same thing can be said when it comes to Loki himself.

Hanging his coat, he pulls off his scarf as well, phone and London Fog still in hand. "Nothing," he eventually answers while Sif is about to ask again with a clear look of annoyance, and his face scrunches a little, though he can't keep his smile off his face. "Nothing's going on with me. You know me, Sif: I'm the most uneventful person in the whole city."

Sif sports that look with eyes as big as glassy pearls and Loki knows right there that he is fucked.

His pulse jumps in surprise because her voice breaks through the still silent store; it even stops his flurry of motion. "Loki."

He cocks an eyebrow. "Sif?"

"What is going on?"

A beat.

Loki just brushes it away, plays with the hem of his cardigan. He fiddles with a loose thread there; Sif's eyes zero in on it. "Can you start getting the Christmas stocks in order? We need to be prepared," he says instead; tries a diversion, anything that can shake his best friend off his back.

She hands him over a file with the Christmas stocks as if she had been prepared for Loki to say that. "Already done. It's all ready to go," she says, gesturing towards the paperwork. She pauses and her eyes are worried behind her brown-rimmed glasses. "You know that I'm going to stand there until you tell me, so you'd better hurry. We don't have all day."

Loki scowls and looks at her in frustration and sheer annoyance, though it quickly dissolves because he definitely needs to tell someone that isn't his cat.

Several seconds later and Loki finds himself unable to hold back the flow of words practically jumping out of his mouth and the grin that accompanies them.

"I think I met someone?" and his voice is unsure. "It's not—Sif, no," he groans, shakes his head at his best friend's excited expression. "No, I didn't get a Grindr account," he corrects with a wince. Sif's face falls for a moment, until Loki adds, "we met on a literature forum."

"Isn't that amazing? Another book-lover!" the dark-haired woman exclaims, grin broad and full. "What's his name?"

Loki feels his cheeks redden. "It's not like that."

Sif frowns. "What do you mean?"

"I don't even know him, Sif! I don't know his name or his face…I just—I don't know." Loki takes a sip of his drink, basks in the warmth that spreads slowly in his mouth and coats his tongue with melted sweetness. "We talk about books and things in our lives but…we never exchanged personal information regarding our names or our jobs. I'm not even sure I want to."

There's a sudden gust of wind outside and Sif lets her eyes go out of focus, not really looking at Loki but still trying to form a sentence. "Do you like him? Looks like you enjoy talking with this stranger a lot more than you let on."

"I told you, I don't know! I barely know him!" Jesus, it was a bad idea to tell Sif about it, no matter how much he loves his best friend. "Forget it," Loki grumbles and pinches the bridge of his nose. "I don't want to talk about it anymore."

"Loki, it could be anyone! Imagine, it could totally be…"

Just at that, the door to the shop opens with a soft music signalling a new customer.

"... Clint."

Loki's mouth quirks into a smile, but his eyes still bear shadows and frustration. "It's definitely not Clint."

"Hi," Loki says to him. A smile spreads on his lips, genuine this time, and Sif does the same.

For a moment, Clint is left without comment. He stares into his boss' and colleague's eyes until his lower lip curls up, and he waves at them both only to grin harder.

"Why are you smiling like a shark, boss?"

"Sif is being silly so you're being my escape," Loki explains, adjusting his shirt around himself.

"I'm not being silly!" Sif exclaims, throwing her hands in the air. "You're happy, I'm just glad about it! And you made us cookies for today!"

Baking more than thrice a week under the pretence of needing sugar around in case anyone fainted from having so many kids (and people) in the shop has always been Loki's favourite excuse to bring pastries and sweets to work.

He sighs, but his grin remains.

"Actually, I was telling Loki that you could possibly be his Internet crush," Sif smirks. Loki sputters out something as he watches how large Clint's eyes grow by the second—

"An Internet crush, boss?"

"An Internet crush, brother? You didn't tell me!" Hela's voice shots up right behind Clint and Sif, which kind of gives Loki the final blow. Sif's thunderous laugh echoes through the bookstore, and she smacks Loki's back with all her might.

x x x

"I gather that you've met someone, then?" his sister asks over dinner the very same day.

Loki takes a bite out of his chicken and sighs, mouth full, but it's hard to hide his smile. He always smiles when talking about his dear friend. "I haven't met anyone."

A few minutes pass without any answer from Hela, and Loki casts an eye over his sister's living-room. There are files and folders strewn all over the couch along with a pile of notebooks, some open, and Loki can catch her neat handwriting, even from afar—he has always been a little jealous of her skills on that side. His own handwriting looks… well. Not great.

Hela has to bite her lower lip to stop herself from grinning too widely. "Really? So why are you blushing like a maiden, then?"

"Piss off, Hela," Loki grunts, though the heat from annoyance doesn't quite reach his entire face. Residual blushing keeps gathering around his cheeks, as well as happiness. "I'm not blushing."

"He says, as he blushes even more."

Loki sighs once again, scratches at his cheeks as if he could make the godforsaken pink go away and leans back in his chair. He lets out a soft chuckle.

Staring at him expectantly though not without amusement, Hela doesn't miss the subtle line of tension running through her little brother's hands, the way his feet start to curl under the table in anticipation and anxiety.

She licks her lips, patiently.

"It's alright," she murmurs, gentle.

"What?" Loki asks softly, looking up from where his gaze has settled and furrowing his eyebrows in confusion.

Hela sighs. "It's alright if you don't want to talk about it. I just tend to worry, you're my little brother after all."

"It's not…" Loki tries, but his voice trails off. He's not sure what to say, what to share. He breathes in hard. "I don't know. It's such a weird situation. It also makes me happy? It's just been a while since I've had anyone in my life."

A moment passes, cars and people melting in a chorus on voices and sounds outside, and suddenly Loki's throat is dry, full of unexpected emotion.

"Don't be worried—"

He catches the way Hela's spine stiffens, how her eyes grow defensive, almost hard.

"You can't ask me that, Loki. I always get worried. We only have each other left, after all."

He keeps quiet, watches her, sweeping his gaze back and forth before he glances to the side.

The moment her phone vibrates in the pocket of her jeans, Loki thanks all deities quietly because it distracts his sister enough that she drops the topic at hand. She goes on about how her girlfriend just informed her that another Odinson Books store would open soon near their own and how fucked up it is that they dare push little independent booksellers out of business. Honestly, Loki is only half listening; all he can think about is the taste of warm Chai Latte and bright blond hair twirling in the October wind.

When he brings his hand up to sweep the gasoline bangs out of his eyes, he realises his fingers are trembling.

x x x

Thor sighs and drums his fingers against the table, scowling out at the ongoing rain pounding against the pavement. The room smells of new paint and expensive wood and his coffee is a tasteless mud-flavoured drink which doesn't help with the awful sleepless night he managed to pull through.

A good Monday morning, all in all.

"What do you think, son?"

Thor glances to his right to find his father pointing at the files across the table from him.

"I don't think it's quite fair to open up a new store right next to them," he says in a monotone voice. Odin raises an eyebrow. "Dad," Thor mumbles in reply, rolling his eyes, "we have enough money as it is. I get that it is an ego trip for you but you aren't making the most rational choices. Heimdall and I are both a little concerned about the neighbourhood response."

There is a short silence as both his father and grandfather arch their eyebrows at him with hues of impatience.

"Being fair?" Bor, his grandfather, eventually asks with a dash of irritation. "That's never been in our minds. This is a business, Thor, not a non-profit organisation to promote reading."

Odin heaves an exaggerated sigh. "You have always been too soft, my son… we are facing sharks and we can't allow ourselves cheap sentimentalism with money at stake."

Yeah. You've always wanted Angela to take my place, I know that, Thor tells himself bitterly, glaring at the man in complete and total frustration. You're shit at hiding it, Dad.

"What do you care?" Thor grumbles as he lets his head fall back against the upper end of his chair. "As if you didn't have enough money already? Why can't we let that little shop go on?"

"Why do you keep insisting?"

Thor offers a bland smile, shoves his hands in his pockets and feels anger clawing at his throat, annoyance bleeding through his voice. "I don't want to be another big brand that lives off small independent bookshops going under."

Odin shakes his head, rolls his eyes, and takes a good look outside when he turns around in his chair. "I told you, father, that choosing Thor was a mistake."

"That's the kind of game you want to play?" Thor asks suddenly in a fit of rage, fists clenched tightly. "That's what you want, Dad? You think I'm incapable of running a successful bookstore chain?"

Silence again. Odin is staring at him intently as if looking for something—but what sets Thor off is the fact that he sees it: that glint of happiness at having set his son on edge, and fuck, fuck does he hate it.

"Alright," the young Odinson spits, "watch me take your misconceptions apart, dad. I can't wait to make you realise having me instead of Angela was the best choice you could have ever made for this company."

His eyes dart sideways for a split second before he storms out of the room, harsh fluorescent lights engulfing him as he leaves the men in his life behind.

x x x

It is a Tuesday in early November when the message drops off in Loki's inbox in bold letters.

I think we should meet.

Panic creeps up Loki's spine as he reads the words again and again until he can't make them out from one another and everything is just a muddy, blurry mess of washed-out black.

"He wants to meet?" he asks himself out loud. It sounds even weirder when he does, even more unreal. "But why?"

Loki rests his head back against the upper half of his old couch, reveling in the tingling sensations spreading through his extremities as the blood flows in the most chaotic manner.

Why would he want to meet me? Isn't what we have now good enough already?

When he leans in again, his hair falls around his face in disarray, only lifting a hand to wipe the curls away from his eyes as he tries reading the message one more time to make sure he didn't imagine it.

He definitely didn't.

He wants to meet, he texts Sif, whose reply comes within seconds.

Sif (9:17 p.m.)

Who wants to meet? Sexy pirate?

Loki rolls his eyes.

Loki (9:17 p.m.)

I don't even know if he's sexy.

Sif (9:18 p.m.)

He might be the real deal!

Loki (9:17 p.m.)

Sif, come on!

Sif (9:18 p.m.)

So what? He wants to meet you! That's a good thing! He's definitely trying to flirt :)

Loki (9:19 p.m)

Why did I think it was a good idea to text you, again?

Loki gives his phone a reproachful look before he turns on his side, away from it and closer to his cat. Leia—and yes, he has to admit he is a little bit of a Star Wars fan—gives him a gentle nudge and curls up against him with an appreciative purr.

Well. He might be happy about the idea of meeting this man, as well as terribly anxious.

For now, Loki buries his face in Leia's fur and breathes in all the cat hair he can.