In the Woods Somewhere | l.l.
A/N: Hello!! This is my entry that’s 21 minutes late for the Hozier Writing Challenge hosted by @lokissoul. My song was In the Woods Somewhere but there are small mentions of Almost (Sweet Music) as well. I literally came back from the dead to write this so enjoy! GIF is not mine!
WARNINGS: MENTIONS OF SUICIDE, CANCER, DEATH, BLOOD, THOUGHTS ON ANIMAL HARM. ANGST AHEAD!!! LOTS OF ANGST!! also side of medical jargon and cute romance but semi-sweet ending :)
Word Count: 10933
Pairings: Loki x Fem!Reader, Pepperony
My head was war
My skin was soaked
I called your name 'til the fever broke
“You've been getting worse.” Starting awake, you blink the sleep you’ve managed to catch away before taking a quick glance at the clock. It’s nearly eleven, almost noon. Raising your head, you manage a smile as Loki crouches beside you with a cup of water. In his other hand, he cups a pill. Too weak to raise your arms, you open your mouth for him to put the pill in and chase it down with water.
“I’m doing great,” you mumble as he rises to wash his hands in your master bathroom. “I’m not kicking it yet.” He flashes you a weak smile from the bathroom and comes out with a damp towel. The light drains into the room from the open windows of your apartment, casting shadows onto his face as he comes to your bedside again. He cups your cheek, concern etched into his features. With the damp towel, he pats away the sweat that gathers at your brow and touches your forehead, feeling for a fever. You can see where it’s hollow around his nose and cheeks, dark bags beneath blue eyes. His hair, pulled back into a bun, shines with oil and you gently pat his head.
“Your fever’s broken. Rest, (Y/N).”
“I can’t. Too tired,” you whine and he chuckles as you dig your fingers beneath strands of his hair. “You’re oily.” He wrinkles his nose at you with what you think could’ve been offence if you two weren’t in the position you are in now. “You need to shower.”
“And you need to eat.”
“I can’t,” you protest as he takes your hand from his head and presses a gentle kiss to your wrist. “I’ll just throw it up.”
“All the same. I’d prefer it if you could benefit from a bit of it.” He helps you sit up and you groan when your bones bend. You always felt as if you were this close from snapping in half. “Alright?” You nod. He extends his hands to you, pulling you up gently until you press against him. His arms encircle your waist, gently hoisting you to your feet.
Your knees wobble but he keeps his arms around you, careful to never let you take on any weight but still feel the floor against your feet that go through the motions of walking.
“What are you in the mood for, my girl?” he whispers in your ear and you turn to him, eyes meeting his.
“Pasta.”
“Hmm. That can be arranged.” He slides you into one of the kitchen chairs and heads for the cabinets to pull out pots and ingredients. You watch him for a brief moment, admiring his form and cute little man-bun. You taught him that when you first started dating ages ago. He always wore it when you were feeling down. Guess it’s fitting he does it every morning now. “What’s the rating today?”
“A six.” The pain can be worse, you know. You’re thankful you can even get out of bed today. Turning to looking at your arms, you check if you’ve gotten any new bruises overnight or if petechiae has gathered at your legs or neck. “Three years and the best I can do is a six,” you whisper underneath your breath. You know he hears you by the way he pauses for a moment as he brings the pot of water to the stove to boil. But you can’t help the way you feel. Three years you’ve wasted his time when your condition has been unchanging. “I’m sorry.”
“It has never been your fault you got cancer,” he replies sharply and you sit there, staring into your hands. Your spindly fingers weave together as you ignore how thin you’ve become. Your eyes barely stay open, exhaustion pulling at your consciousness but you know sleep never truly comes. He dumps uncooked spaghetti unceremoniously into the pot. “Nor is it your fault your body simply refuses to respond to Imatinib or nilotinib and every other medication your doctors have prescribed.”
“Loki—”
“We must keep fighting, my girl.” He goes to another cabinet, withdrawing a can of tomato paste before going to the fridge.
You don’t know how to tell him that the only reason you hold on is because you cannot bear to break his heart. So, you say, “Well, we only have to find a match and I’ll be okay.” He turns to you, measuring you words with narrowed eyes. You’re making it to be simpler than it was; it’s almost a glimmer of your old self. You always did make mountainous tasks to be nothing more than anthills. Then, he gives you a tired grin, nods and turns back to pasta. “When is Thor coming over?”
“Soon. He’ll watch over you while I go to work.” You nod to yourself. Nothing more than a half-dead pet is what you are. “Would you like parmesan?”
“Yes, please.” He nods, bringing out the grater and you slouch against the table. Resting your head on your arms, you admire his fantastic backside that you haven’t had the luxury to explore in so long and sigh, mind drifting off to so long ago.
.
“This could not get exponentially worse,” the man mutters under his breath as he glances up at the lights for the five-hundredth time.
“Glaring at the ceiling won’t make Fire Department come faster,” you sigh, rubbing your temple. You’ve got no cell service so you have no idea how you’re going to tell your boss that you’re going to be late. Pacing around the elevator, your heels click and he glowers at the infernal shoes for a moment before crossing his arms and looking away. You spare him a glance — he’s well dressed, tall, and he’s got nice hair. You can’t say you’ve seen him before though.
“I’d like to get to work before midnight,” he replies snappily but his tone carries no bite. Instead, he tilts his head up again to stare at the lights. It catches his face in an extremely flattering way.
“You’re not the only one.” Your heels are chafing your ankles but they’re your best pair and your makeup is as on point as you can do it. You dressed to impress and now you’re late. Shifting weight from one foot to the other, you pull a face when you wobble.
“Take off your heels,” the man mutters and your eyes dart up to him. He waves a hand from where his arms are still crossed across his chest. “I don’t mind and you are certainly uncomfortable.” Relieved, you hold onto the rail of the elevator and take each heel off one at a time, cheeks burning. You can’t bare to look at this stranger in the eye and thank him so you mutter a short ‘thanks’ as you get your second shoe off and set them next to your handbag.
“I’ve never seen you before,” you start and he sends you an idle glance. “Are you a tenant?” His answer surprises you.
“Yes, I am.”
“Oh, really?” You’re surprised. You would’ve noticed Handsome Stranger from miles away. What with his fitted suits and tailored looks, this is not the place you expect a guy like him to live in. “This place isn’t exactly five-star. But it’s nice,” you offer and he manages a snarky grin. Rolling your eyes, you lean against the wall and enjoy the cold tile against your feet. “How come I’ve never seen you at the parties?”
“I don’t like parties.”
“I can tell.” He sends you an annoyed look and you smirk. “Where’re you from?”
“A palace, in a place called Asgard.” His pretentious tone isn’t lost on you.
“Okay... Guess there’s no opening up with you,” you sigh, sliding down the wall and sitting with your knees tucked to your chest. It’s gonna be a long day. He sweeps his glance around the elevator as if there’s someone else before slinking down as well. He sits against his wall, you against yours.
“I have a brother and I moved here two years ago from England.”
“That’s better than nothing,” you acknowledge with a small smile. He chuckles huskily, and you smile at the sound, small but genuine.
“I’m Loki.” Your smile grows and so does his.
“I’m (Y/N).”
.
“I don’t like this.”
“Oh, it’ll be fun!”
Thor’s right to some degree. You haven’t gotten outside in ages and even in your wheelchair, you can enjoy the sunlight on your face and the fresh air. Pushing you through the park, the blond chats about absolutely nothing, making pleasant talk about the birds or the sun.
“Loki’s worried about you,” Thor says softly as he parks you beside a bench and sits down. He cracks open his water and takes a sip. “I hadn’t realized you had reached the accelerated phase.”
“Chronic myelogenous leukemia is a bitch.” You raise your eyes to where some kids are playing chase or something down the hill. Another kid’s on his side, rolling down the hill, his shirt stained with green already. “I’ve been fighting this for three years, Thor. None of it works. It’s only a matter of time.”
“You shouldn’t say that,” he says and you turn to stare at the man with storm eyes. He’s your best friend and there are things you can say to him but not your boyfriend. It’s always been like this. You never wanted to see Loki the way you found him again.
“Why? It’s the truth.” The words come out bitter.
“Because if you say that, then Loki will start believing it.” Your legs use to be strong enough to run and walk, to jump into Loki’s arms and climb onto Thor’s back for a piggyback ride. You used to be strong enough to keep fighting. “Loki still believes in you.”
“The TKIs didn’t work.”
“But the stem cell transplant might.”
“It might kill me.” Fidgeting, you look into your lap. “Thor, an allogenic transplant — who knows if I’ll find a match.”
“You have to try,” he murmurs and takes your hand. He’s startling warm compared to your pale, frigid fingers and you clutch onto him. It’s nearing summer and you’re bundled up in scarves and jackets. You know if Loki saw you outside, he’d have a heart attack. Being outside is near suicide for you. But you needed this. Thor’s right. “They can put you on the list today.”
“Thor—”
“Loki loves you. He’s loved you for eight years. Don’t give up on him today.” You bite your lip as you think of every kiss you’ve shared, every night you’ve stayed up laughing and every morning he’s made you coffee. Every day he’s driven you to work and every day you’ve taken care of him when he was overworked. You close your eyes. “Let him care.”
“Fine. Fine. Put my name on the list.”
Thor smiles, then comments idly about the weather.
.
“Loki?” Your voice echoes down the parking lot but you’re sure your eyes aren’t deceiving you. Parked just across the way from where you stand is Loki, loading his bags into his own car. He stiffens at the sound of his name, raising his head tiredly as you walk over with a smile.
It’s been months since you’ve been stuck in that elevator and you sometimes caught Loki coming home from work or going.
You aren’t friends, more acquaintances, but you do know things about him. His brother, Thor, lives in the same city but doesn’t work an office job. He’s a construction worker for Stark Industries, if you recall. They’re close, but Loki hates their dad. He was adopted. Loki’s twenty-six, born in February. He wasn’t class president or valedictorian but he is an eloquent English and accounting major who went to Oxford. You know it counts for something that his silver tongue can make you believe anything.
Still, you never thought you’d see him here.
“(Y/N).” His smile is forced and his tone is pleasant in a fake way, but you take the fact that he hasn’t told you to fuck off yet a good thing. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“You work here?” Your smile turns incredulous because you can’t really believe this man with a double-major and a minor in philosophy from Oxford works in the same place as you who has a human resources degree tucked under your belt.
“Apparently so,” he says as he closes the door and turns to look at you full on.
“All this time, and you never told me?”
“All this time, and you never told me?” he fires back and you surrender to that. You’ve never seen him at work but you work in HR so, figures. He’s a decent guy — no reason for him to go down to HR. “Are you going home as well?”
“Yeah, I cut through the parking lot to get to the bus stop.” You jerk your head to the entrance on the other side where it’s pouring rain. He looks at you, from your dress jacket down to your pencil skirt and heels before staring at you. You stare back, accepting the dubious glint in his eyes. “I have an umbrella,” you say lamely.
For a moment, he continues to stare and then sighs, head ducking. When he raises his blue stare again, it’s blank and disbelieving as he pulls open the door to the front passenger seat.
“Get in.” Your eyebrows struggle to meet your hairline as you take a step back, head jerking back. He can’t be serious. You barely know the guy. “Get in or drown from pneumonia. It’s your choice.”
“You have a funny way of being nice,” you mutter. He takes it as your acceptance and walks around the car to the driver’s side as you duck into his car and buckle in. His tiny smile goes missed by you as you adjust the seat to your height, and he misses your blush as he tells you that the temperature controls are in your hands.
.
When I awoke
The moon still hung
The night so black
That the darkness hums
“I signed up for the transplant list today,” you whisper, voice fading in and out of existence as Loki turns to you. You’ve only a few more days before you have to go to the hospital. It’s getting worse and it’s better for the doctors to keep you for observation they said. “Thor helped me get on the list.” Gently pressing himself against you, he cradles you in his warmth. Your eyes are closed. It’s easier on the pounding in your head if they’re closed. The gentle rumble of the AC accompanies Loki’s breath as he kisses the back of your bald head.
“I’m glad,” he murmurs. You feel cold, even in your robes and pajamas, burrowing against Loki even more to try and find enough heat. Turning around, your legs tangle in his as his arms wrap around you. “Cold?”
“Very,” you whisper and he frowns against your hair as you press your face against his t-shirt.
“Do you want me to turn off the AC?” He goes to move but your weak pulls at his shirt make him pause. A whining sound stems from your throat and he slinks back underneath the covers. The moment he’s back within your reach, you fist the fabric of his shirt in your hands and hold him close with all your might.
“Stay. Just stay with me.” Eyebrows knitting together, his lips press against your brow. He ignores the hot fever gathering between your temples as he places a hand on the small of your back, holding you to him until you drift off into an uneasy sleep.
.
You’d recognize that face anywhere. At your annual Christmas party, you spot him nursing a glass of wine and wade your way over. The venue they’ve rented is decorated nicely, all festive and bright with twinkling tinsel and a Christmas tree in the corner.
“What are you doing here?” you ask once you make it through the crowd and pick your treats from the table. “I thought you hated parties.”
“I do.” His eyes flicker down for a brief moment, scanning your festive outfit and offering a smile “But this one isn’t so terrible with present company. Are you enjoying yourself?”
“It’s always very boring unless someone does something to get themselves fired.” Chuckling, you tilt your head. “Do you volunteer?” He doesn’t reply, finishing his wine so you take that as your answer and your opportunity to admire his attire. He’s wearing an off-white suit compared to his usual all black but it still brings out his eyes all the same. One of your co-workers waves to you, having just arrived and you smile back before turning your attention to Loki.
“I’m sure one of our interns will do the honours.” You roll your eyes at his response, picking a glass of red from the table nearby. “You look ravishing tonight.” Again, you roll your eyes as you sip but you can’t help the way your breath rattles in your chest as you avert your eyes.
“Do I?” you quip with half a smirk. “Thank you. You look rather handsome yourself.”
“And they call me silver-tongued.” Scoffing, you nudge him gently. Finishing off your own wine, you sigh. “Would you like more?”
“Oh, yes, thank you.” Surrendering your empty wine glass, you wrap your arms around yourself and glance around. There isn’t much going on — just mingling and chatter. Boring. Perhaps exploring the venue would kill some time but you can’t just leave such pleasant company alone. He’d scoop his own eyes out with spoons should you leave him alone. You know him.
Once Loki’s returned, you propose exploring the venue and he agrees quickly. Anything to kill time before they are legally allowed to leave without their boss firing them, you joke. It brings out one of his rare smiles.
The two of you escape the stuffy room to explore the other venues the building housed. The one your company rented is relatively small and you admire the golden chandeliers of the main entrance hall, the way you came in. All of it is so glittering and golden, catching the light. From a distance away, you can hear classical music and realize it’s echoing from speakers high up in the ceiling.
“Loki, listen!” you exclaim, turning around to see if your companion’s gone the same way as you. There he is, bowed slightly and a hand offered to you.
“I learnt more than Rousseau at Oxford,” he murmurs and you blink, words failing. His dulcet tones weave into your ears, toying with you. Oh, how dependent you’ve grown on his voice to soothe your worries on the elevators ride to and from work. The few times he’s driven you to or from the office, he’s managed to soothe frazzled nerves and make you believe the most outrageous things much to your chagrin.
Placing your hand in his, you allow him to sweep you into a simple dance but in the arms of his, your feet barely whisper against the ground.
.
I raised myself
My legs were weak
I prayed my mind be good to me
“This isn’t how this was supposed to end,” Loki murmurs, brushing your forehead with a towel. Coughing, you manage a smile. The hospital monitors beeping is the only thing keeping him sane, letting him know you still breathe. The chemo’s been upped and the only thing it’s doing is keeping you alive at this point. “One more day. Please, one more.”
“Fine. One more,” you whisper, fingers bending over his. Nuzzling his face into your joint hands, he merely stares dolefully into your eyes. He looks so small that all you want is to cradle him close, tell him it’ll be okay. “You need to go home. You smell awful.”
“I’m not leaving your side.” Which he hasn’t since you’ve been admitted this morning. Leaning onto the edge of your bed, he sighs and rests his head against you. A warm feeling knots in your chest, making you warmer than you’ve felt in years as you gently shift to the side of your bed and pat the space beside you.
“Come on. Get on here.” He sends you skeptical look but when your sunken eyes glint with an untouched joy, he stands, shedding his suit jacket and kicking off his shoes. He turns on his side, an arm across your stomach as he follows the curve of your nose with his eyes, the hollowness of your cheeks. “I love you, so much,” you whisper.
“I know, my girl. I know.”
You lay awake for hours but he falls asleep at your side. Eventually, the need to pee has you squirming uncomfortably underneath Loki’s arm. Turning to him, you brush hair away from his forehead, kiss his temple, and remove his arm from your abdomen. You can make it to such a place as the bathroom. It’s a meager seven step journey and if you can do one thing, it’s not pee in the bed while your boyfriend sleeps.
Swinging your legs off the bed, you’re hit with a wave of nausea and your head spins. You clutch onto the end of the bed, trying to stop your vision from swimming. Your feet barely touch the floor and when you gently ease onto solid ground, your knees nearly give out. Collapsing, you catch yourself on the rail of the bed and push yourself up. Your breath rattles in your ribs as you tug your leads towards you. The monitor budges and then comes your I.V. It rolls and can be used as a rolling walking support so you wrap bony fingers around cold metal.
One, two, three steps.
You are close to passing out. Black dots flash in your eyes, eyelids sliding open and shut. Your hands are clammy and they slip on the metal pole. Catching yourself, you stumble into the wall and keen over, mouth open to retch.
Three, four, five steps.
“Oh, god,” you whimper under your breath, desperate to not wake him up. All that comes is globs of spit. You feel like you’re drowning, breath coming harder as you try to choke back the foul taste from your mouth. You haven’t eaten in nearly two days; nothing’s coming out. Wiping at your mouth, you scowl at your own pale hand and wipe it on your hospital gown. You’re strong enough for this. You can do this.
Six, seven steps.
“(Y/N)?” Stiffening, you raise your head to see Loki sitting up and rubbing at his eyes. Once he sees you out of bed, he jumps out and takes hold of you. With a withering sigh, you lean against him.
“I just wanted to go to the bathroom.”
“You should’ve woken me up,” he whispered, helping you in. You pull your underwear down and sit, the cold of the toilet seat causing you to shake. Crouching before you, Loki takes hold of one of your hands, the other on your knee. “You need to rest. If you need to move, tell me next time.” His eyes meet yours in the dark earnestly but in the night, you can barely see him. Using your free hand to feel his face, you nod and press your brow against his, thoroughly exhausted. “Be good to yourself. It’s all that you deserve and more.”
“I’m so tired,” you murmur and he kisses the spot between your eyebrows. You pull away to wipe and flush but refuse his help to stand so you can wash your hands. You do, however, allow him to carry you to bed.
.
“You’re an awful dancer,” Loki mutters as the music fades and the two of you break apart. Face flushed with wine and laughter, you stumble away from him and run your hand around a column, twirling around and smirking. “For someone so light on your feet, you’re awful.”
“Now, now. You hurt my feelings.”
He laughs freely, following after you as you climb up the master staircase. Renewed vigor lifts your steps as you run your hand along the marble rail, running with a loud shriek when Loki starts chasing after you. It’s so strange to see such a playful side of him but you shove that thought in the back of your mind. What matters now is that he’s here, he’s chasing you, and you need to get away before his long legs catch up and his long arms catch you.
Your heels click like rapid little gun shots down the upper balcony as you fling open a door and go through another hall, surprised to see no one. The cameras are there though — surveillance is gonna have a field day. Glancing around, you see the rich red ceiling-to-floor curtains and, with a sly smile, set your shoes down the hall where he can barely see them underneath a curtain and shuffle behind one behind it, wrapping it tight around yourself.
“Where are you?” The growl comes accompanied by the gentle pat-pat of his dress shoes. “You can’t hide.” Chancing a peek, you see him just past you, heading for where your shoes are. Sliding out from your hiding spot, you try as hard as you can not to slip in your nylon stockings as you run up to him. “Where—”
“Boo!” Tackling into him, you beam up at him as he turns around with a horrendous shout. His flushed expression has you laughing uncontrollably, his chest heaving against yours from the fright. He quickly detaches you from him, hand to his chest and glaring at you in treachery.
“I hadn’t realized it was Halloween,” is all he says dryly. You can’t help the fits that still seize you as he straightens up, going for the heels you hid. Bending over, he hooks a finger on the straps and turns to you, eyebrow quirked and expression so completely done with you. “I assume these are yours.”
Heading over to him, you grab your heels from him and smile. “Thanks. Come on, I think the balcony is this way.” You two walk across the hall and when you open another set of doors, moonlight streams into the otherwise unlit hall. Silver light catches the marble in giant beams, separated by the shadows.
“‘Think’,” he repeats incredulously but follows all the same. “Put on your shoes.”
“No.”
“(Y/N),” he warns, “I didn’t suffer through you stepping on my toes for you not to wear them now.” Wrinkling your nose at him, you still refuse.
“I see no benefits to wearing them,” you argue and he sighs, turning to you for a brief moment. His tongue flickers out to wet his lips, eyes darting from your eyes to other parts of your face before he turns away. Your breath that had caught in your throat along with your heart when you thought he might kiss you flutters out. “Do you?” Your heart still rises into your head, blood roaring in your ears.
“I am only one in the opinion of many,” he brushes it off and you scowl petulantly. “Oh, wipe that pout off your face. You know I enjoy your legs in heels.” The heat returns to your face and stomach faster than you can comprehend, stunning you until you can’t do anything but follow him to the balcony doors. He glances around, then cracks them open gently. Snow, untouched and glistening, is pushed off the edge by the doors and you suppress a shiver. It chases away the flushing but not the feeling in your stomach.
“Cold?”
“A bit. But it’s fine.” You warily eye his arms clothed in a jacket, knowing any moment he’ll probably take it off. He’s done it a few times before when you’ve had to run in the rain but you don’t know what to think of it now. Instead, you turn your gaze out to view the city. The moon’s bathing everything in gentle white light, darkness hiding behind towering buildings. “It’s so pretty here,” you muse. “Imagine what it’s like in the woods somewhere. On a mountain, or something.”
“I can imagine,” he says and your eyes meet his. In the light, his eyes gleam like blue steel, half of his face shrouded in darkness, the other favoured by the moon. All at once, you’re aware of how close he stands and he smirks, reaching up and pointing at something above your heads. Eyes drifting up, you roll your eyes playfully.
“Was this your plan all along? Play along until you could get me alone?”
“Mmm, perhaps.” His fingers brush against your chin and you shiver for an entirely different reason this time.
“I thought you could woo someone without the use of mistletoe,” you comment, tilting your head up. His fingers explore the side of your neck, hand fitting just right against you. His thumb brushes the corner of your mouth and you chew on your bottom lip, trying to keep your composure. His soft smirk has your knees weak. “Loki—”
“Hush.” Your lips press together firmly, pouting and he chuckles to himself. “Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas.” He pulls you close and you forget all about the heels, letting them drop and flinging your arms around his neck. All thoughts swirling in your mind come to a halt as you just focus on the feel of his lips against yours.
.
An awful noise filled the air
I heard a scream
In the woods somewhere
The sound of a coffee cup crashing against the floor cracks the air. The caffeine beverage spreads across the floor, getting underneath his shoes but he can’t tear his eyes away from the sight behind the partially-closed blinds.
Thor can’t connect the sound coming from the room to the man he knows but somewhere in his mind, he knows. There’s a doctor in the room, his mouth moving but he can’t hear the words. A nurse is talking to him but Thor can’t hear as he steps towards the window, eyes darting to the monitors.
“Sir — Sir, I think he wants to be left alone.” The nurse’s voice is soft and quiet, going through one ear and out the other. Thor can hear someone call for a janitor really far away to wipe up his spilt coffee. His head’s dunked under water, everything sounding like bubbles popping.
“When?” he finally asks quietly. He’s not even sure the words slip past his lips or if the nurse can hear him. He doesn’t trust himself to raise his voice. He’d fall apart otherwise.
The nurse tilts her head, a soft glint to her eyes. “Only a few minutes ago.” She checks her watch. “Time of death was 6:38.” Thor swallows a hard lump. He had checked his phone at the coffee shop. He was getting his cappuccino at 6:38. He was there and not here and he didn’t even get to hear your last words or see your last smile. You, his sister in all but blood—
His hand reaches for the door, fingers meeting cold smooth metal when he hears it. The haunting, flat ring of the monitors sends ice crawling up his veins. Stumbling away from the room, he closes his eyes shut and turns away, hearing it rattle in his head. The awful noise, filled with the mechanical clicking of other rooms nearby drives him towards the elevator, desperate to escape the madness.
In the room, Loki cannot bring himself to want to escape. His hand hold onto yours, whispering promises as he stares at your peaceful face. With every blink comes a fresh round of tears and he lets out a gasping sob.
Forehead to your limp knuckles, he watches his tears fall to their deaths on the bed sheet. Part of him can’t comprehend it, that you aren’t sleeping. That part of him promises you’re just sleeping and you’ll wake up and give him that snarky smile he’d fallen in love with.
“I love you,” he says, voice hushed he can barely hear it over the chaos in his own mind. “I love you, I love you, I love you. Please don’t go.” His words are met with crisp silence. “Don’t go, don’t go.”
.
“Don’t go,” you whinge, pulling him back. Loki collapses against you, smiling against your mouth as you press a good morning kiss to his lips.
“The great outdoors await,” he whispers, leaning on his elbow. You chuckle, tossing an arm around his neck and kissing his jaw languidly. In your sleeping bag, you wiggle around to leech the warmth from his body. “Though, I’d rather much stay in here with you.”
“Camping was a stupid idea for a one year anniversary,” you bemoan, flopping back on your back. “I don’t know why I thought it’d be a good idea.” His throaty chuckle rumbles in your ear as he kisses the juncture of your neck and shoulder. He sits up and rolls out his neck, joints popping before smoothing a hand over his hair to gather it into a bun.
Jumping at the opportunity, you sit up and grab the hair tie from his wrist. “Let me.” You twist the hair into a practiced bun, sliding your hands to his shoulders and kissing his neck. “Good morning.”
“A pleasant way to start they day,” he agrees, pulling your jacket around your shoulders when you quiver. “Come on. Let’s get up and take a hike.”
“I don’t want to,” you mutter under your breath and he turns to you, arching an eyebrow as a delicate smile crosses his face for a second.
“Did you really think we’d stay in a tent and have sex all four days?” he asks incredulously and you smirk, winking. You stuff your feet into your boots and get out into the morning air that cools your insides and stings your eyes. “Next anniversary, I’m choosing where we’re going,” Loki comments crossly, sticking his head outside the tent. Turning around, you stretch your arms high above your head.
“Already thinking ahead,” you tease and he rolls his eyes, ducking back into the tent. Your heart thuds against your chest and you pull your jacket tighter around you to keep your ribs together. If your heart beats any harder, it’ll explode in your chest.
.
A woman's voice
I quickly ran
Into the trees
With empty hands
The first few days after your death, Loki does not sleep. On times he tries, he sees the ring he’s stuffed in his drawer. It was supposed to be a surprise for your next birthday but you hadn’t even made it to that. Others, he sees the memories you’ve shared with him for so long, or that Christmas party of your first kiss. Or the child with the pure blue eyes.
Mostly, he hears you calling for him.
Wine dulls the edge, but he finds vodka does it faster. But it reminds him of the hospital, the smell of antiseptic too strong, so he abandons it after a night where he can’t remember anything he’s done. He can’t remember your face the morning after, and the notion of it makes his heart seize and crush in his chest. He pours what little he didn’t drink down the sink.
His life crumbles in his hands, and he runs out of excuses to drink. It used to be that you died, then his work and stress, and then the pain. But now the pain has disappeared to something numb poking at his fingers so he can’t even say he hurts.
When he sleeps — when he tries, at least — is when he can see you clearest. You smiling or laughing or crying or angry, every bit of you that he misses when he’s awake. He has photos of you, true, but nothing can ever hold a candle to you, the real you.
It’s a week of you screaming for him to save you when he finally even looks at wine again.
Is it worth it? He ponders to himself. To drink you away and forget your face, just to ease my pain? His mind, worn and stretched thin, pleads for him to take a pull, to drown in rich red and white and tequila and vodka. Anything at all—
His heart wins, as it did eight years ago when it told him to kiss you in the moonglow. Absolutely not.
So he goes outside for fresh air and starlight. He runs, the wind melting your lungs with its ice. The park is empty at this time of night but that’s what he likes. The moon draws his tears but the wind chases them away as soon as they fall, burning like fire down his red cheeks. The stars do not judge and the shadows protect him. He thinks he can feel you, the ghost of you holding him to your wisp of a body, and hear your voice, your lips against his cheek. He prays, for the first time in so long, that you’ll leave him alone and that you’ll stay — it changes every other moment.
Thor finds him asleep on the park bench the next morning, with a blanket and hot chocolate. He tells his brother he needs to sleep and that he shouldn’t drink coffee. Loki nearly collapses into tears when he realizes that the hot chocolate almost tastes like how you used to make yours.
.
A fox it was
He shook afraid
I spoke no words, no sound he made
The service was quiet. People from the office came, your family came. They said their words of condolence to Loki who has barely shown a flicker of life since your passing. His blue eyes drift emptily from one face to another, Thor responding in his stead as he stands beside him. The husk of a body Loki stays in goes through the motions the next few days, eating and sleeping as he should.
Two days later, Loki moves out of the apartment.
Thor welcomes his brother with open arms and lets him stay in the guest bedroom. Your clothes gather dust, your notebooks and laptop untouched and cold. He still goes to work but he knows they watch him, watch him work besides your empty cubicle where your pens still sit and your little post-its stick to the monitor.
It’s another week before Thor can convince Loki to go in to the apartment.
“There’s things that need to be donated. Things that can go to other people, I— Loki, come.” The man follows his brother, ghost-like and pale. He drifts in and out of this existence where you don’t exist and another where you do. The line’s getting blurry and he can’t really recall the last time he’s felt anything else but the freezing numbness of the night he spent in the park.
The clothes and blank notebooks, things that you never got the chance to use or the books you used to want to read but never got to, they’re donated to different charities. Your favourite books, your filled notebooks, your laptop and jewelry is what Loki keeps in a box that’s duct-taped shut. Everything else, your old worn uni hoodie, your bleached jeans with too many rips in them, the ratty tee you used to wear to sleep, everything else that held the spirit of you, it’s decided that it’ll be burnt.
Thor brings his brother to a clearing in the woods and builds a pyre, sending the embers and smoke up to the night sky. Loki watches the flames swallow the last bits of you, then looks around and thinks that living around here isn’t so bad.
He moves to a small house on the edge of the city and within driving distance of the woods. On weekends, he stays in a cabin instead of a tent and thinks you would like camping if it is here instead of out there.
Would have. You would have liked camping. He has to remind himself that you’re no longer more than an empty casket lowered in the ground and an urn of ashes hidden in the corner of his new closet. He hasn’t found anything to fill in the gigantic chasm where you had once fit. He wakes up with an ache all over and he doesn’t know if it’s the true heartache or if it’s just another symptom.
On his Saturdays, he takes a hike to the top of the mountain trail and back again. Atop the mountain, he drinks his coffee and talks about his week to the too-thin air, lungs heaving and legs weak, though they slowly gain the endurance for the trail. Sometimes, the sun shines on his face and he pretends it’s your hands cupping his cheeks. Mostly, he sits on the ledge, legs hanging off stone and looks down below. He reads to the air, or he looks at the clouds.
Mostly, he contemplates how far the drop would be from where he sits to the ground below and whether or not the pain will be enough to fill the gaping hole in his chest and force heat into his numbed body.
On his third Saturday on the mountain, he can hear the quick steps of something in the forest. He’s used to birds, but he’s never heard something up and about so early in the morning.
For a while, he ignores it, content with pulling out his homemade granola. It isn’t so bad, sweet just how he likes it and he spills it into his mouth. Besides, he tells himself, whatever it is could be just a deer or someone on a trail with their pets. Then the steps come quicker, lighter and he pauses. He’s heard of mountain lions in this area, other carnivores that can make his a quick death if he doesn’t get out.
Loki wonders for more time than a sane person should take if he should move or not.
Getting off the rock he’s sitting on, he stuffs the container into his pack before slinging it onto his shoulder. Buckling his pack around his chest and waist, he pauses mid-step to hear for it.
It’s coming from somewhere near the ledge. It doesn’t sound like a panther or a bear, or any animal with big claws that could macerate him in seconds. Staring blankly at the edge, he looks down to see how high up he is and then continues inland. The beginnings of the trail he’d walked coming up soon appears underfoot and he sees his own footprints in the mud on the trek up. There are another set of prints, a track that follows his and then split into the leaves.
There’s a soft thud and he steps towards a tree crowded by bushes. His boots crunch against the gravel and rock, dirt shifting underfoot. Pushing apart the brush, he grimaces when a stick stabs his palm but steps into nature. His boots shift in the dirt and a rotten stench hits his nose just as he parts the branches.
Dark amber eyes meet his and Loki freezes. A fox stands, midway through another step and he crouches down, getting a better look. He’s never seen one so up close. The fox lowers his black paw, limping farther towards the tree and Loki sees one of its paws mangled.
Moving forward, Loki goes to inspect the limb further. It’s broken, he’s sure of it. The best way would be to split it but he shouldn’t. A bone is poking out between the fur and it doesn’t even look like an old wound. Flies buzz around the wound and there’s a rotten stench. He read about splinting in one of the books he took with him last weekend. Still, he has not a clue on how to do it and the blood that wells where the fur broke as well as the pulsing red skin makes Loki think there is no time left for this creature.
He’s young. The fox has a pelt that shines in the morning light, russet and white and black melding seamlessly into one another. It’s muzzle is dark, whiskers glinting silver. Too young to die.
Loki finds that that is true for many things on this Earth.
.
His bone exposed
His hind was lame
I raised a stone to end his pain.
“No extraordinary measures,” you say, the minute the doctor leaves your room. You’ve caught the cancer in time and Loki’s holding your hand in a death grip. You’ve got good odds but even then, he can hear the tightness in your voice. “I don’t want them.”
“Think about it,” he says in a way to change the subject, or to stop you from talking, you’re not quite sure. What you are sure is that his world had been just flipped upside down. “In fact, let’s not think about it. Let’s just cherish what time we have—”
“Loki, don’t. Don’t make this harder—” Your words fade when he stands abruptly. His eyes flicker from you to the monitor reading your healthy heart as if he’s sure it’ll stop any second. Sitting up straighter, you reach for his hand. “Loki…”
“Excuse me for a moment.” The words are barely heard, hanging in the air and clicking into their imaginary space as the door closes softly.
.
You lay on your side, staring out the window listlessly. Ever since Loki’s left, you’ve stayed in your room and tried to sort out your thoughts.
Is that it? Are we over, just like that? Your eyes close and you swallow a knot, trying not to let the ache in your heart get to you. He deserves more than this. All of a sudden, everything hurts and you let out an ugly cry. Burying your face into the pillow, you curl into a ball and sob. Spit spreads to your cheeks, mixing with your tears in the pillowcase and an unbridled rage rears its disgusting head within you. It fuels you with such unspoken energy that you throw the pillow off the bed, screaming.
Hands wrap around your shoulders and you thrash, tears burning down your cheeks. A soft voice hushes, wrapping around you as you exhaust yourself. Everything is on fire and all anyone can do is add wood to it. Except—
“I’m here, I’m here, I’m sorry I left.” Loki is water, calm and cool. He quenches your fire, puts it out and you drown in his embrace. You feel smaller now than you did before but you fit into him as you always have. “I… I got the papers outside. When you’re ready, perhaps we could go through them together.” Your eyes meet his and you see the cracks in his heart deepen.
“Thank you,” you say. He never takes his eyes off of you again for the rest of the day. He burns a hole into the hand that signs your paper, stating that should anything go wrong, you’re to be pulled off life support. And though he tells you that he loves you, you know that some part of Loki hates you for signing what he sees as a death sentence.
.
Loki sits with the fox, his hand on a stone. He debates on whether or not to just end it now, glancing from the fox to the ledge. The creature’s on his stomach, eyes flickering shut. It’s leg is slick with dark blood, it’s fur matting with the dirt and Loki leans against the trunk of a tree, extending his legs before him. The fox still hasn’t made a sound, and neither has he.
All he’s thought about is you.
What you would’ve done, what you would’ve said. Loki wants to feel his legs snap beneath him before he dies, he decides. This is a nice place to die. Loki likes the thought of being brave enough to stare death in the eye.
.
What caused the wound
How large the teeth?
I saw new eyes were watching me
“What do you think of kids?” you ask meekly. Loki’s still kissing each knob of your spine down your back and you twist in his arms.
“We’re a bit young to think of kids, my girl,” he murmurs against your neck. You can admit that that’s true, but it’s been nearly five years you two have been together. “But, yes, some day.”
“Boy or girl?” you probe and he chuckles, nipping at your ear.
“Which would you like?”
“A girl,” you say confidently. He sighs, burrowing closer and you kiss his hands that rest on your chest. “And… and,” you trail off and Loki looks at you. Your back pressed against his chest, he kisses your shoulder.
“What?”
“Would you want to get married?”
“When the time comes,” says Loki, “yes, I’d like to marry you.” The thought alone warms you and you smile to yourself, pulling his arm tighter around you. His hair tickles your skin as he rests his head in the crook of your neck and shoulder. “I always thought of adopting a child.”
“I’d like that.” Your eyes close and he whispers a goodnight to you before leaning over you to turn off the light. Loki sleeps easier when you’re in his arms and when you settle, he can’t help the smile that doesn’t cease to fall. For once, his life seems to be planned out before him, clear to see and mapped out.
A week later, Loki wakes you up with pancakes and tells you he loves you dearly before asking if you want to go to the nearby orphanage. You agree.
The orphanage is well-kept and organized, with classrooms and a nursery and rooms with other kids. One of the workers offers a tour and you go to follow.
“Loki? Do you not want to—”
“No, go ahead. I’ll meet you again later.” He pecks your lips chastely before sending you on your way. When you’re gone, he begins to wander on his own. The rooms are aligned straight down the hall, with personalized name tags and other such things. There are toys littering the hallway and Loki smiles when a boy darts out to grab his truck and runs down the hall and down the stairs. Most of the kids are in the play areas and rec rooms. He’s seen a few of the older kids lounging around the TV.
However, down the hall, he can hear one tiny voice talking to someone else and follows the sound. There’s one open door at the end of the hall with no name tag and Loki knocks on the wood. The girl inside is dressed in a long grey shirt-dress and striped leggings. In her hands, she holds some Barbie or other and Loki guesses she’d been playing Pretend before he knocked.
“May I come in?” She nods and Loki steps in tentatively. Crouching, Loki gestures to the doll. “Were you playing Pretend?” Again, a nod. She’s nervous, he can tell, so he asks, “What’s your name?”
“Aloisia.”
“Aloisia. Beautiful name.” Loki looks around the room. Not much is in, the walls still a drab white. She must be new. Aloisia does smile and says he can sit if he’d like though so Loki crosses his legs and gets comfortable. “How old are you?” he asks, picking up the toy horse idly. Aloisia looks up at him with the biggest blue eyes.
“Six. My parents died in a car crash,” she states factually and Loki’s taken aback by how blunt she is. He nods and keeps up the smile but he can’t help the sympathy he feels for her. Children forced to grow up too young are never children to begin with. “What’s your name?”
“Loki,” he says and she grabs the horse from him, her smile ever growing. He doesn’t even realize how much time has passed until you find him in Aloisia’s room. Crouching behind him, you wrap your arms around Loki’s shoulders and greet his new friend. “Aloisia, this is (Y/N).”
“Hey, there.” Your smile is warm and you sit beside Loki.
“Aloisia, why don’t you show (Y/N) all your Barbies?” Loki prompts and the girl gets up excitedly, much more lively than when Loki had first went in. As the girl goes to her trunk to dig up her collection, Loki leans over to you and whispers, “She’s the one.”
.
Loki’s been sitting an hour or so based on the sun. The fox has fallen asleep at this point, the oozing blood drying in its fur. His fingers are curled around the stone and he’s raised it a few times to see if he has the guts to smash it down on the fox’s skull.
You shouldn’t. Let him sleep, a voice says and Loki pauses. It’s his own conscience but he can’t — there’s something about those words that aren’t his. He lets go of the stone. The hairs along his back rise and a wind sweeps under his jacket, gooseflesh following after. The words repeat in his head as he tries to put a finger on the voice.
Aloisia. It’s Aloisia, he realizes with a start. The orphan girl they’d visited up until your last hospital visit where you’d stayed permanently always had a penchant for animals. She is nine now, older and much more mature than she should be. Impatient as well, wondering when they were going to adopt her.
“Sorry, Lola,” you had said, “I’m just very sick right now. We don’t want to be unable to take care of you.”
“I can take care of myself! Let me go home with you.”
The last words of their almost-daughter echo in his head. The two of you should’ve adopted Lola when you still had the chance.
.
The creature lunged
I turned and ran
To save a life I didn't have
Loki wonders then if Aloisia knows you’re dead.
It’s a thought that occurs and he can’t believe he’s even forgotten the little girl he’s fallen in love with over the course of a morning. You always said he was smitten by their little girl.
Our little girl, he repeats, heart throbbing. He has to visit her when he goes back to the city. She likes the hot chocolate you used to make, my girl. And her favourite Barbie is the one like the cowgirl. How could I forget you, Lola?
He’s been sitting here for hours and his back is stiff. Shifting in the dirt, he stifles a yawn just as the fox sniffs and raises its head drowsily. It’s amber gaze is cloudy but once it spots him, its lip curls in a bloodthirsty snarl.
The last thing Loki sees is a flash of russet and black, teeth bared and aimed for his neck. A blinding pang hits him tight and he raises his arms in defence. The fox caught his jacket, growling and raving, but Loki manages to shake him off and run. The boots slap against dirt and leaves as he sprints with reckless abandon.
I’m not strong enough, his whirlwind thoughts scream, not strong enough to face death in the eye. I’m sorry, my girl — I can’t join you yet. Lola’s sweet face burns bright in his mind and Loki tries to breathe through the burning in his lungs. He can’t hear the fox running after him but he still runs. He’ll run until the edge of the forest if he has to. Anything to outrun death’s shadow. He can fool himself all he wants but he is not interested in dying, even if it gives him you.
.
Dear, in the chase
There as I flew
Forgot all prayers
Of joining you
“What happened to (Y/N)?” Lola asks as she helps set the table. Loki pauses from where he’s cooking the meat sauce for the pasta. The little girl’s voice is carefully constructed to give nothing away and Loki wishes that Aloisia hadn’t picked up your knack for masks and hiding. At nine years old and nearing ten, Lola’s quite perceptive. Something Loki normally hopes she gets from him but now dreads. “She’s gone isn’t she? Just like my parents.”
“How old were you when your parents passed?” he asks, hoping to switch the topic.
“Three. I don’t really remember it.” Aloisia sits at the table as Loki wraps silicone grips around the handles of the pot and pours it over the spaghetti. “So is it just you and me?” Setting the dish on the table, Loki takes off the silicone grips and throws them on the kitchen island. He bends over and presses his nose to Lola’s hair briefly before sitting at the table.
“It is just you and me,” he affirms quietly and Lola nods. Serving her a plate, Loki watches hesitantly as she twists her fork in the spaghetti. She’s only been adopted for three days but already, she’s made herself at home. Loki had realized with a painful punch to the gut that Aloisia had picked up a lot of your own tastes. “Is the pasta alright?”
“It’s good,” she says and Loki nods to his own plate.
“You’ll start school soon, and you’ll make new friends. Would you like that?” Loki continues and Aloisia nods. “Good.” He forces a smile and her big blue eyes scan his face for a moment before she stabs a meatball and bites a bit of it off. They eat in silence except for the moment Aloisia asks for a cup of juice. When they’ve had their fill, Loki scoops the leftovers into a container as Lola brings the plates to the sink and sets it on the counter.
“Go shower. Dessert and movie later,” he tells her and she hugs his legs for a moment.
“Okay, Papa,” she says sweetly. Loki’s heart collapses in his chest and he smiles softly down at his daughter, placing a hand on her head. She grins, heading down the hall where her room is. He painted it a shade of blue a few days before she’d arrived and filled it with a huge bed, a closet and shelves. She had loved it.
There are moments when he still forgets you’re dead. Moments so perfect where he’s holding someone who was supposed to be your daughter too, reading her bedtime stories. If he closes his eyes, he can imagine you coming home from work and scooping Lola up, rubbing your noses together as she squeals that little giggle of hers. Then he remembers that urn full of you in his closet and he reminds himself all too firmly how gone you are.
But Lola keeps him busy. Having a daughter is certainly an adjustment and Thor is besotted by his niece. She takes up dance and music and art, curious in all sorts of lessons, and makes friends at her new school that Loki barely remembers how hard it is to keep going without you. On Sundays, they have a family dinner with her Uncle Thor but on Saturdays, they take hikes up to the mountain as long as Lola wants to. Sometimes, they watch movies and sleep in. Lola likes to cuddle on his chest as they watch, and it is in this position they are in as they watch Despicable Me on their second Saturday together as a family.
“Papa, you don’t look like yourself,” she says and Loki looks down at her, frowning quizzically.
“How do you mean?”
“Ever since (Y/N) died, you don’t feel the same,” she says. Loki sighs, hoisting her up and she sits in his lap, leaning into his chest. “Do you miss her?”
“Terribly,” he whispers, pecking his child’s temple. “Let me tell you something, Lola.” He mutes the TV and his daughter twists to face him. “When someone you love very much dies, they always take a part of you with them. I loved (Y/N) for a very long time. I would’ve married her if she asked, so when she died, she stole something from me.”
“She should give it back,” she replies quietly. From any other child, it would sound snobbish and petulant but Aloisia only stares at him with the blue eyes he’d drowned in the first time they met. “I miss her.”
“I miss her, too.” He goes for the remote, his finger hovering over the mute button to toggle it off when a thought pops into his head. “But you know something, Lola,” he prompts and she raises her head again. Loki wonders if he imagines your features in Aloisia’s face or if it was ever truly meant to be. “Ever since you’ve moved in, I am almost me again.” And she’s almost you, (Y/N). Sweet, and kind, and blunt as can be. Mountainous tasks are like anthills to Lola.
“Will you ever be okay?” Lola asks, eyes drifting to the array of framed pictures of you along the desk beneath the mounted TV.
“Of course, my girl. Of course.” And for once, Loki believes the words coming out of his mouth.
.
I clutched my life and wished it kept
My dearest love
I'm not done yet
“You look better, Loki,” Thor says, sipping on his pretend tea cup a child had passed him earlier. In front of them, Aloisia helps baby Morgan Stark begin to walk in the living room. It’s the Morgan’s birthday and Loki had been inclined to go since Tony is Thor’s friend and by extension, Loki’s. “Some colour, some warmth.” His eyes soften as he holds his brother by the shoulder. “Lola’s good for you.”
“I spoil her,” Loki mutters helplessly, running a hand over his head to smooth out any bumps to his bun.
“So? She’s good.”
The Starks have a huge mansion and Loki can hear other kids running around upstairs but Tony and Pepper only have eyes for their small daughter. Their son, AJ — Antonio Jarvis — has his friends over and Loki swears he can hear Peter Parker running around with them.
Sitting down on the couch, Loki sighs and eats the finger foods provided at any regular party. Thor perches on the arm rest, arms crossed and the two brothers watch as Aloisia helps Morgan get up again. Tony’s enthusiastically recording while Pepper claps her hands and encourages her little daughter, on her knees across the wood floor.
“This is something she would’ve loved,” Loki remarks and Thor glances down at him. “I know it. She always wanted kids, even if she never said.”
“Loki—” Thor’s throat cinches shut and he clears it, trying to blink away the blurriness in his eyes.
“I’ll keep the ring,” decides Loki aloud. “It’s what she would’ve wanted, to pass on some heirloom.” Thor nods, trying not to make a noise as he presses his lips together. It’s a hard topic to broach with the huge blond man. He’d lost his best friend after all, and while he loves to support his younger brother, Loki knows Thor feels every inch of your death. A earth-shattering laugh splits the morose air between the two brothers and Thor’s eyes dart to where Morgan is successfully stumbling her way to her mother. Aloisia claps, laughing loudly.
“Papa, Uncle, look! She’s walking!” Lola runs towards them, jumping into her father’s lap and beaming from ear-to-ear. The ray of sunshine in Loki’s lap prompts one of his own chuckles and Thor starts at how genuine it sounds.
“I can see that, my girl,” he teases and Lola sticks out her tongue before sliding off and running towards Tony.
“She laughs like her,” Loki says wistfully once she’s out of earshot. Thor cannot help his own smile when he thinks, And you laugh like you again, brother.
.
How many years
I know I'll bear
I found something
In the woods somewhere
“Do you like the view?” Loki asks. Lola’s arms tighten around his neck and Thor sighs. Setting down the pack, the blond man sits on the ledge. The trek had been long and exhausting, especially when they’ve woken up while it’s still dark out. Loki raises his chin, feeling the wind lick at his face. The summer wind may be warmer but at sunrise, it does well enough. He sets down Lola and turns to her, half a smile on his face.
“Yes, Papa,” she says and holds up the bag she carried for him. “I kept it safe.”
“Thank you, my girl,” he murmurs, crouching beside her. She slides an arm along his shoulders, hugging him for warmth and Loki lets her step between his legs to huddle as he cracks open the urn.
“I never knew you had a view like this, brother,” Thor murmurs, eyes meeting his. With an arm around his daughter, Loki stares into your ashes. The wind already tries to steal you away but he simply kisses the silver embellishment. Tears escape and Lola wipes them away for him. Kissing her cheek, Loki uses the hand that’s around Lola to hold the urn while the free hand sets down the lid and slips into the soft powder.
The wind carries you off his fingers like ashy snow. Thor and Loki take turns, spreading you across the forest and when you are gone with the wind, Lola takes Loki’s hand. For the first time in months, the numbness leaves his fingers and he feels the warmth of the tiny palm in his.
TAGLIST: @teawithbucky @jcc04220 @shenala @dulharpa
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