Written to: Painters - Joe Hisaishi, Hana-bi OST, crosspost from AO3
Amaranthine: Undying, immortal, eternally beautiful; a deep purple-red.
It is the red in the corners of Loki's eyes that tells Thor when Loki is not feeling very well. A scarlet hue bleeds into the white, and many times Loki himself is unaware of it, all the while rubbing at his nose and trying to itch the tickle in his throat as he bats Thor and promises of hot chicken soup away, trying to convince himself that he is fine. Princes aren't supposed to get sick, and certainly not gods, and Loki is both.
It is when his skin begins to turn cooler, the colour of a twilight sky snaking up underneath his cuticles and smudging at the corners of his mouth with violet, that he finally admits to himself that perhaps he is a little bit ill. It is when his skin is fully navy and his purple lips are chapped and flaking that Loki allows Thor to pamper him with foot massages and steaming mugs of tea wrapped up in cloth so that he doesn't burn his frosted hands.
Loki breathes heavily through his mouth, whistling like a tiny kettle from somewhere deep in his chest as he dozes lightly in the armchair by the fire, wrapped up in furs and warm blankets. Thor smiles at him fondly, tucking the quilts a bit more tightly around his leaden limbs, before carrying their basket of laundry to the Bifrost.
When Heimdall raises a questioning eyebrow at him, Thor just shrugs and tells him that he wants it to be a surprise for Loki, a little bit of help since Loki has not been feeling very well. Heimdall just rolls his eyes and tells Thor that he is not to blame if Thor loses loose socks and other garments on the trip to Midgard. Thor assures him that he will not.
On Midgard, the basket of laundry balanced on his hip, Thor eyes the washing machine in the tower suspiciously. Pepper had often complained to anyone who would listen how the washing machine must have been possessed, it kept eating socks and not returning them. Thor pokes it tentatively with Mjolnir's handle, and when the machine does nothing, decides it is most certainly not possessed and cheerfully begins to load the garments into the machine.
He watches in awe as the machine begins to spin the clothes around, watches in fascination as water swirls in amongst the clothes, watches with horror as suds begin to spill out of the mouth of the machine. He jumps back as the washer foams at the mouth like a rabid animal, and quickly prays to the Norns that the Midgardian appliance would not eat his soul.
Clint comes in with a load of clothes, his and the Lady Natasha's, looks at Thor cowering in the corner of the laundry room, hiding from the wrath of the washing machine. He sighs, rolls his eyes, and instructs Thor on how to use the device, how much soap was appropriate to add. Thor listens to him intently, all the while watching the washer out of the corner of his eye just in case the metallic beast were to rise up in rebellion.
The next load Thor does, he does it perfectly, adding the right amount of soap and not overloading the washer, but, unbeknownst to him, one of Modi's red booties slips in, hidden in the folds of one of Loki's white night shirts.
When Thor sheepishly returns to Asgard, a basket of pink shirts in his arms, it is the red streaks high in Loki's cheeks that tells Thor that Loki is not particularly amused, even as he strips himself of his sweaty nightclothes and buttons up a fresh, pink shirt around himself.