The Invisible String Theory

Chapter 4 - Where the Magic Lingered

"It's the least I can do" Loki murmured, already adjusting the cuffs of his own conjured attire—dark slacks, a white button-up, and a vest he probably didn't need but wore with theatrical ease. The look suited him: timeless, sharp, annoyingly perfect.

I let the hum of it all settle in my chest. It was a quiet sort of freedom. No one chasing us, no magical threats. Just the smell of sugared fruit and baked spice, and the way the locals smiled like they didn't know who we were. Or what we were.

Loki walked beside me, all long strides and languid charm. His conjured shirt had been unbuttoned just enough to annoy me, sleeves rolled up to his forearms now. Of course he looked like he belonged here. People looked. Some didn't bother hiding it.

One girl in particular gave him a lingering glance as she passed. Her hand grazed his as though by accident, and her smile lingered far too long. I didn't react. Outwardly. But the cup I reached for from the vendor was fuller than necessary, and I drank it far too quickly to be casual. The drink fizzed at the edges of my thought– sweet, light and far too pleasant. I distanced myself, scurrying to another stall that had caught my eye. I lied to myself, just enough to mask what I was actually hiding. He had lost me for a second, but caught up after a clearing in the crowd.

Loki glanced sideways at me. "What's gotten into you?"

"Just... enjoying myself."

"Really?." He sounded skeptical.

"I can do that, you know," I said, lifting my chin. "It's not illegal. Also, have you noticed the length of the tether now? Something back there must have made it stretch..." I added after to try and divert the topic. He gave me a sidelong look. I saw the corner of his mouth twitch. And then the music changed.

A surge of fiddles and drums lifted through the square, and like clockwork, the crowds responded– people spinning into pairs, laughter and cheers rising like a wave. Before either of us could step away, a pair of festival-goers caught our arms.

"Solfire night!" someone called. "No standing still!"

Loki protested first, voice sharp, "I don't–"

But we were already being pulled into the spinning mess of movement, passed from partner to partner like leaves caught in a current. I laughed. I couldn't help it. The tipsiness took the edge off everything, even him. I let myself move, stumbled through steps, and spun without trying to remember how. Loki didn't seem quite so charmed. He held his posture stiffly, trying to mimic the steps but always a half-beat off. He wasn't bad– of course he wasn't– but there was hesitation in his limbs I hadn't seen before.

When our paths finally curved back together, he caught me with both hands, steadying my spin. My palms landed lightly on his chest. And I didn't step away. He did. Or he tried to. The music slowed around us. Couples drew closer. The pulse of the drums softenbed to something quiet, intimate.

"Don't overthink it," I said, voice barely over the music. His eyes flicked down to mine, uncertain.

"This isn't wise, Miravyn."

"Neither was arguing with me in the ruins," I murmured, "but here we are."

For a moment, Loki didn't speak. His hands rested at my waist, not tight, not loose– just present. There was something unreadable in his expression. Not fear. Not embarrassment. But discomfort. Not with me– at least, not entirely. With the closeness. With what it meant.

I titled my head, a quiet smile playing on my lips. "Are you afraid of dancing, Loki?"

"I've been to war," he muttered.