The Myriad Misadventures of a Midgardian Queen-In-Training || Loki x Reader

Chapter 47

"Ah. You can hear me, then." He looks around, and you see that, in spite of the light tone, his eyes are bewildered. "Where are we?"

You rise carefully, afraid that this might all be a dream. But he doesn't disappear when you cross the gravelly soil to stand before him, nor when you reach out to touch him, running a hand down either arm to clasp his hands in yours. "Oh my God." Before you can stop to think twice about your actions, you find yourself pushing forward to hug him. "How?"

He leans for a moment into the warmth of the embrace, before pulling back—not fully, just enough to look at you properly. He brushes your hair back, and you find yourself tempted to nuzzle into his palm as he cups your face gently. He runs a thumb across your cheek to catch a tear. "You've been crying."

"I missed you," you laugh through the tears. The mirth quickly falls away as you realize what you've just blurted out. "Wh—that's not why I was crying. I mean, that is..." You cut yourself off, blushing furiously, to turn the attention back at him. "You never answered my question."

"And you never answered mine. Where are we?"

"The Marriott." Off of his confused look, you explain further, "A hotel. A chain hotel, but it's the nicest one they could find in my hometown, I guess. How did you get here if you didn't know?"

He hesitates, drawing his hands back. You fight back the urge to whimper at the loss. "I felt you."

"You...felt me?"

"Heard you," he amends. "Your distress. I heard it."

"Oh." You're not quite sure what to make of that. "Is that...common? In your experience?"

"It...it can develop under many different circumstances." That doesn't seem quite an answer to your question. Before you can call him out on the skillful evasion, he continues, "Family members. Romantic partners. Platonic friends. I've even seen it occur between pets and caretakers from time to time, if the bond is strong enough."

You chuckle at that last part, trying to pretend your brain didn't short-circuit as soon as he said romantic partners. "Well, in that case..." You return to your spot on the stoop, patting the space next to you. "Sit, Ubu, sit."

He looks at you with the same confusion he always does when you reference some unknown piece of Midgardian pop culture, but compiles, folding his long legs almost comically to lower himself to the concrete. "And my second question?"

"What second question?"

"You were crying."

"That seems more like an observation than a question," you attempt. He gives you a look, and you give in. "It's...it's been a rough two weeks."

"Being reunited was as bad as you'd anticipated, then?"

"Worse." You close your eyes and exhale through your nose in an attempt to clear your mind. "I may have let it slip to my parents that I turned down the opportunity to come home for good. Which they took..."

"Not well, I assume."

"Not well at all." You open your eyes to see him looking at you intently, concern coloring his face. "I shouldn't be this upset, I know. It's just...and it's not just them. I was worried that I wouldn't fit in at home, but I'm not the only one that's changed. My parents, my best friend, the whole town is different. I'm even more out of place than I thought I'd be."

Your voice begins to wobble towards the end of this confession, and you feel fresh tears begin to spill over. For some reason, your instinct is to lean your head sideways, onto his shoulder. For some even more inexplicable reason, his instinct is to return the gesture, resting his head lightly on yours.

"For what it's worth," he says quietly, "I'd be hard pressed to imagine you being out of place anywhere."

You chuckle, tears on your cheeks and in your voice. "I can't tell if you're very nice or just very oblivious."

"Both?"

You elbow him playfully at that. "Hey!"

"Neither, then." When you look back at him, he's smiling, clearly pleased at having made you laugh. "Perhaps I'm simply honest."

"Maybe." You blink a few times, wondering if you should say the words on your mind. You give in, if only because you hope that thinking through it out loud may help your scrambled thoughts make some sense. "You know, it's funny. Everything else around me has felt so out of place for the longest time, but you..." You stop to look at your surroundings. The concrete stoop and ugly wall behind you, yes, but also the sky and stars above. "You're the only thing—the only person in the past few weeks who..."

Who's made you feel like you belong.

But you can't say that. You don't know why, but you...you just can't. So you settle for a shrug instead. Your eyes trace his open eyes, high cheekbones, regal nose.

Soft lips.

You jerk your gaze back up to his eyes, which haven't left your face for a moment. You find yourself blushing again, because when and how did you end up looking at his lips? And did he see you?

And if he did, what did he think?

And how did your gaze end up back on his lips again just now? You could swear you feel yourself begin to lean in, ever so slightly. You turn your head away entirely, not trusting your eyes—and lips, apparently—to behave on their own. "So. Um. I should probably head back in."

He stands first, and offers you an elbow to lift yourself by. You both spend a moment brushing off your clothing—gravel—before he turns to you, seemingly oblivious to your awkwardness in the previous moment. "May I escort you?" He snaps, and suddenly his (already very nice) suit ensemble has turned into a bonafide tuxedo. Sleek black lines, green velvet bow tie—the sight of him like this does nothing to alleviate the blood rushing to your cheeks. You struggle to keep your eyes and thoughts from wandering as he extends a hand—much like he did when inviting you to dance the Spider's Waltz at your first masquerade, all those years ago. "I would be thrilled, of course, to meet your family."

That last part snaps you back to reality real fast.

"Um." You blink a few times, heart already sinking at the realization of what you're about to say. "I'm not so sure that's a good idea."

"Oh." His hand lowers. He nods, clearly attempting to swallow back his disappointment. "Forgive me, I didn't mean to be forward—"

"What? No, that's not it. Not at all," you scramble to explain. "I just...I'm already on tense terms with them after I told them I was choosing not to come home."

"Of course."

You grab his hand back in yours, squeezing gently. "I would love for you to meet my family, Loki. Truly. I just don't think..."

"You don't think now is the right time." His expression is heartbreakingly kind. "I understand." He bows, suddenly, and you find yourself almost hoping he'll kiss your hand, almost disappointed when he doesn't. Instead, he begins to walk away.

Just as he raises a hand to the side—presumably to snap himself back to wherever he came from—you call out. "Wait!" He turns back just enough to meet your eyes. "When will I see you again?"

He smiles sadly. "Enjoy your time at home, (Y/N)."

And with that, he's gone.

You wait a few moments more before turning back (with a huge, fake smile) to face the masses.

Alone.