That night, his dreams are strange. He is a prince, ensconced in the lap of luxury and yet he feels unfulfilled. The walls of his castle are high and adorned with murals. He can see the sky and yet he feels imprisoned. The man that stares back at him in the grand filigreed mirror looks like him, of course, but something is different. Higher cheekbones, stronger shoulders, and eyes that hardly look human staring deeply into his. He's suave, charismatic, even; as though he's become so adept at lying that even he believes himself.
And he's planning something.
The man in the mirror makes Loki's chest tighten with nervousness. He can't quite believe he's looking at himself. He's never looked so assertive, so powerful, so frightening. Chills run up and down his spine and he can't tell whether they come from excitement or pure terror. The prospect of carrying out his plan titillates the Loki in the mirror but fills the one in front of it with feelings of dread.
And then he feels a warm, heavy hand on his shoulder, strong but soft; harsh but tender. And he sees the man from the street reflected in the mirror before him, but could that really be the same man? Younger, taller and exuding an almost unearthly brightness, the man smiles like a child on Christmas. Loki cannot remember the last time someone had smiled like that at him.
"Brother…" Loki breathes in a voice far too regal to be his own. The man's smile widens at the sound. Loki finds himself conflicted. He wants to return the smile, yet the Loki in the mirror feels disgusted.
Naïve, pathetic Thor, engorged on the praise he receives and barely aware of the world around him. He lives a fantasy even among the higher realms. Well, soon his little construct will come crashing down. Loki will see to that. Any sympathy, any affection even, for his brother has been crushed beneath Loki's ambitions. No, Thor will never get in Loki's way again, once Loki's had his way with him.
"No…" Loki doesn't understand. This malice isn't like him, especially toward a man he's just met…toward Thor… "Thor!"
And before he's realized it, he's sitting bolt upright in bed, drenched in sweat and screaming. The man from the street is stirring in the overstuffed armchair he's been sleeping in and tripping over himself as he makes his way toward Loki's bed. Those eerily familiar strong hands, now shaking, slide into Loki's and hold on tight.
"My poor brother, you've been a slave to night terrors since we were children…" the man's voice chokes with emotion as he speaks, "but you remember…you remember my name and you called out for me just like when we were young…I knew it. I knew you really were my brother, my dear tiny Loki."
Loki cannot bring himself to reply. He sighs deeply and lets Thor—if it really is the Thor from his dream—hold his hands, reminding himself that it's only for tonight. Loki will engage a suitable transitional housing facility for this man tomorrow and maybe find him a rehabilitation clinic. He'll be rid of his so-called 'brother' and he'll never find himself so consumed with hatred—or affection—ever again.
…And he wonders just which Loki is thinking these thoughts: the man he thought he was just hours ago, or the master of deception, that virtuoso of lying—including lying to himself—who stared back at him in the mirror of his nightmares.