Loki Misses the Asgardian Prison System

Chapter 164

It's been months since he moved into the compound, and Loki is finally getting around to listening to his music outside in the yard.

He hasn't used his phone's music player much — when he's in his room, he still uses his CD player, and there aren't really any other times or places he's had an urge to play music. He might have to play around with his phone a bit to figure out how this works, but that's alright. It will give him something to do.

He pushes open the back door, ready to head outside and enjoy the fresh air...

And then he stops.

It's snowing.

It's snowing.

It shouldn't surprise him as much as it does. It's winter, after all, and it's not as though he's never seen snow on Midgard before. He watched the flurries fall from his window in Avengers Tower more times than he can count. But he hasn't been in the snow in years; not since...

Not since he found out what he is.

Loki closes his eyes and takes a deep, calming breath. This is fine. He's going to be fine. It's just snow. It's no different than rain, and he likes the rain, in small amounts. This is just colder rain. He can handle that.

He sticks a hand out, palm facing the cloud-filled sky. A single snowflake lands in it, then melts in his hand. It wouldn't do that to the Frost Giants, he's sure. They run cold, far colder than he does. He's not one of them – not really; not in any way that matters. And that's not going to change if he touches the snow. It may be the habitat of the Jotun, but to him, it's nothing. It's no different than the rain. No different than the sun, even. It's just... weather. That's all.

He takes a step outside, and his boots sink into the snow beneath him. There's not much on the ground yet, though that may change as the storm goes on. A part of him wants to watch it. A part of him wants to get as far from the snow as he can. It's irrational, he knows, but he can't help it.

He forces himself to take another step, and he lets the door close behind him. He's outside now. He's fully outside; standing beneath the falling snow. He is in the snow.

He looks down at his hands. They're as pale as ever – paler, even; the cold is already getting to them. But they're not blue. That's what he'd been worried about. His hands are still his own. He's off to a good start.

He walks out further into the yard. He just has to take it one step at a time. One snowy step at a time...

One thing he hadn't really thought of when he decided to go outside despite the snow is that there's nowhere for him to sit now. He usually sits on the grass, but there is no grass anymore, and though his clothing is largely water-resistant, he's not going to sit in the snow. He could probably go back in the compound and look for a chair, but he doesn't want to take one that somebody is going to look for later – and he doesn't particularly want to go back inside, either. He's not sure he'd be able to force himself back into the snow if he did.

He lifts his gaze to the roof, but it's no less snow-filled than the ground, so that won't help. He glances around for something, anything, to sit on, but to no avail. This whole yard is stupidly barren. Can't a guy sit down and listen to Taylor Swift sing about love and heartbreak that he's never experienced before without searching the whole world for something to sit on?

His gaze strays to the trees. In a perfect world, he could just sit on a branch, but a world ruled by Odin is far from perfect, and those branches are just out of reach. Still, he might be able to make it work. He'll just have to get a bit creative.