Written to: Chasing Cars - Snow Patrol, crosspost from AO3.
Arcadian:Idyllically innocent; simple and untroubled by fear or worry.
Thor really doesn't understand the Midgardian fascination with wars and petty quarrels about equally as trivial things. Their lifetimes are so short to him, just a blink of an eye, and he is incredibly puzzled as to why they would throw the gift of life away so easily.
He can understand what the Man of Iron says, about the metal tang of blood in your nose and red in your eyes, of the cries of victory ringing so deeply in your ears that you can't hear anything else. He can understand the glory of war, of conquest.
What Thor doesn't understand is the fear, the intolerance that drives these battles. Differences in their beliefs, differences in the colours of their skin, even the tiniest contrast is enough to set them afire.
The Lady Natasha told him that Midgardians were afraid of things they didn't understand, afraid of the unknowns in the night, around the corner, in their closets. That even though many advocated change, progress towards a better world, there were equally as many who feared it and dug their heels in to try to make time stand still.
"It is a better world now than it was, I guess," she'd said, looking out over the New York skyline as they stood on the tower balcony. The lights of the skyscrapers played across her face, danced across the plane of her cheeks, and not for the first time, Thor was struck by how fragile she was. How short-lived they all were by comparison.
"But humans, we're not like you. We only have a few decades to live, and we all want to spend that time happy in our ideal world. The problem is, our ideal world never matches up to anyone else's. We spend all our life chasing perfection, and then when it's time for us to die, we look back and realise that, yeah, sure, it might not have been perfect, but it was pretty damn good."
Thor thinks about this for a long time, long after Natasha takes her leave to go to bed, and he watches the red and gold lines of traffic speed away underneath his feet.
When he returns to Asgard, Loki is already curled up on his side in their bed, fast asleep. Loki had been feeling a bit under the weather, and his body has automatically redirected his energies towards healing himself, causing his glamour to fade.
Thor clambers onto the bed, carefully, so as not to disturb his sleeping brother, and takes one of Loki's hands in his. Loki's chilled blue fingers lie elegant against his own, and Thor runs his thumb across the deep red-purple etchings across Loki's skin.
He lies down fully, drawing Loki close to him under the fur blankets. His brother's face turns towards him, the soft candlelight dancing across his indigo lips. Loki's brow, for once, is not furrowed in exasperation or irritation, and Thor clutches his brother's hand and presses a kiss to his forehead.
Thor slips quietly into dreams, Loki's breath cool against his throat.