Baton Pass! (Round 6)

“This is stupid, Lushton.”

Sylvie could feel Laufeyson’s eyes on her as she turned a page in the book she’d found—an old company handbook from 1997 that was jammed under one of the boxes. She pointedly ignored him. 

“So, what, you’re just not going to talk to me? All night?”

Sylvie licked her finger and turned another page, pretending to be riveted by Section 22, subsection B, of the employee manual, which stated that employees had the right to sue the company if it violates any federal or state statutes, like the National Labor Relations Act of 1933 and the Occupational Safety and Health Act of 1970. She could hear Laufeyson pacing, but refused to look at him. 

“Fine. I get it. You’re angry with me.”

Sylvie turned another page.

“You know, you really should be angry with someone else. The door manufacturer, for example. Or TVA, for installing it. Or the universe itself, for conspiring to trap us here. Anything or anyone else but me, because I was only trying to help.”

Sylvie spared him a quick, scathing glare. She then returned to her handbook, slowly and deliberately turning another page.

Laufeyson let out a frustrated sigh. 

They had been locked in the supply closet for over an hour now, and her plan for them to stay on separate sides of the room and sit quietly all night had already been an absolute failure.

Not that it was her fault. It was entirely down to her unwilling cellmate.

Laufeyson, as it turned out, was a very fidgety individual. He paced; he sighed; he tapped his feet. He hummed tuneless songs. He was also, apparently, immune to the cold: he had already taken off his suit jacket and tie, and rolled up his shirt sleeves, even though the room was super chilly because for some reason, the single vent on the ceiling was on full blast, pumping cold air into the small room. 

And, worst of all, he loved to think out loud.

He had taken to examining the door handle once every ten minutes or so, as though willing one of the little holes or latches he kept insisting should be there to appear. He’d ask it questions, like, “Where are you, little keyhole?” or “There has to be some kind of release…”

Sylvie was certain that if the doorknob could speak, it would tell him to piss off, too.

But apparently, Laufeyson had gotten tired of talking to inanimate objects, because for the last five minutes, he’d turned his attentions entirely back to her. 

Annoyingly.

Sylvie had been resolute in ignoring him. She was sitting on the floor in her corner of the room, back leaning against the printer box. It wasn’t the most comfortable position—the top of the box kept digging into her shoulder blades, and her foot kept falling asleep. Still, she’d hoped that if she ignored him for long enough, he would give up on trying to talk to her.

Now, though, she could no longer ignore him, because the big, dumb, wedge-kicking, door-closing, promotion-stealing dingus plopped himself down on the floor—right next to her, so that his long, stupid, warm leg was touching hers. She gritted her teeth and turned another page. 

“All right. Look. I’m sorry I didn’t return your pen. And I’m sorry I kicked the wedge. OK? I’m an idiot. Now, can we just…call a truce? Please?”

Sylvie gripped the edges of the handbook so tightly that they bent. She said nothing. 

“C’mon, Lushton. We’ll probably be stuck in here all night. Do you really want to stay mad at me the entire time?”

Sylvie worked the muscles in her jaw, but remained silent. Laufeyson let out a long sigh.

“All right. Fine. We’ll just both sit here silently all night reading old employee handbooks. Sounds like an excellent use of time.”

Sylvie shrugged. “Fine by me.”

Laufeyson grinned. “Aha! She speaks.”

Sylvie rolled her eyes. “I was trying to get you to shut up. Since you’re clearly too thick-headed to take a hint.” 

“Hey. I’ll have you know that my head is just the right amount of thickness, thank you very much.” 

He grinned, raising his eyebrows expectantly. Sylvie glared at him. 

“Aw, Lushton, lighten up. If we’re stuck in here for the next 12 hours or so, we may as well have some fun. You do know what fun is, right?”

“We are locked in a closet, thanks to you. Absolutely nothing about this is fun.” She checked her watch and groaned; it was 6:17, meaning the train she usually catches when she leaves the office late has now gone. Fantastic.

“I bet we can find something fun to do,” said Laufeyson. “We can play road trip games. What do you like? The Alphabet Game? 20 Questions? Several rounds of 99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall?”

“God, do you ever stop talking?”

“Oh, c’mon. You love it.”

“I most certainly do not.” 

“Sure, you do. It’s our whole thing.”

“What is?”

“You know. You act exasperated by my antics and I charm you into begrudging acceptance.”

Sylvie folded her arms. “You think it’s an act, do you?”

“Isn’t it?”

“No. It’s not. That’s never been our relationship.”

“OK. What do you think our relationship has been, then?”

“Oh please. We both know we can’t stand each other.” 

She reopened her handbook, flipped to a random page, and pretended to read it. Laufeyson had gone quiet—suspiciously so. 

After a moment, though, she heard him say, in a soft voice, “You…can’t stand me?” 

“I—” Sylvie looked up, ready to tell him off, but faltered when she saw his face. 

He looked genuinely confused. And more than a little hurt.

A hint of guilt wormed its way into Sylvie’s gut. Had she been misinterpreting everything between them all along?

No. This was absurd. Of course, they couldn’t stand each other. He was always pestering her, and staring at her critically, and secretly judging her. He would eavesdrop on her sales calls, and then copy her tactics to make sales of his own. 

Not to mention the fact that he was going after a promotion that should be hers.

This was just an act—an act to make Sylvie more sympathetic towards him. 

Well, Sylvie wasn’t buying it. 

“Oh, come on. It’s not like you can stand me, either.”

“What are you talking about? You’re one of my closest friends in the office!”

“Oh, spare me,” Sylvie scoffed. “You want to steal my sales tactics. That’s the only reason you talk to me.”

“What?” Laufeyson looked genuinely bewildered. “Lushton, I attended Yggdrasil School of Business—where I graduated with a 3.92 GPA, by the way. When I was 8, I was taking calls in the Asgard offices, wooing investors. I wrote a paper on BANT for my fifth-grade essay. Hell, my first words were practically ‘value acquisition.’ I grew up immersed in this stuff. It’s in my blood, whether I like it or not. No offense, but do you really think I need to steal your sales tactics?”

“Yeah. I do,” Sylvie replied, raising her chin. “Why else would you talk to me?” 

“Is it really so surprising that I like you and want to get to know you?” 

“Oh please,” Sylvie scoffed. “I know your type, Laufeyson. People like you don’t associate with the likes of people like me unless you can get something out of it. I can see right through your little act.” 

“What act?!” 

“You pretend to be nice, asking about my day and bribing me with strawberry-frosted donuts, because you want to lull me into a false sense of security. And then, the second I let down my guard, you’ll swoop in and steal my clients, not to mention my promotion.”

Laufeyson blinked. “Is that what this is about? The promotion?”

“No. It’s about you trying to worm your way into my good graces so you can stab me in the back later.”

He sighed, rubbing his temple. “Wow. OK. Lushton, I hate to break this to you, but there is no big conspiracy here. I’m not plotting your downfall, or trying to work against you. Undermining you is the last thing I want to do. I leave strawberry-frosted donuts on your desk because I saw you eating one on my first day and I knew that you liked them. And I ask about your day because I find you interesting.”

“You never ask Casey about his day. Or Doug. Or Verity.” 

Loki scoffed. “Why would I ask about Casey’s day? The man’s an idiot. Do you know he’s the one who puts fish in the microwave every day and stinks up the break room?”

“Yeah, no shit. He’s also the guy who always has a question whenever a meeting’s about to end and Mobius asks, ‘Are there any questions?’”

“Exactly. He's the worst. I have no desire to hear him prattle on and on. And as for Doug and Verity…well. I guess I don’t really want to know about their days, either.”

“But you want to know about mine?”

“Well…yeah.”

“Exactly. Because I’m a sales associate and they’re not.”

“No!” he insisted heatedly. “Because I thought we were friends. Though clearly, I was wrong.” 

He stood up, agitated—and maybe a bit hurt. He made his way to the opposite corner of the room, by the door, and sat down, legs slightly bent, back against one of the larger boxes on the bottom shelf. He stared dolefully at the shelves across from him.

Sylvie watched him, feeling strangely uncomfortable. 

Had she been misjudging him this entire time? Were his gestures really just acts of kindness, and not intel-gathering missions? Were his compliments to her sincere and not mocking?

Did he really just want to be…friends?

Sylvie allowed the possibility to tumble about in her brain. 

From the moment Laufeyson arrived at TVA, Sylvie had assumed that he was a lazy, entitled rich kid, who had breezed through life by relying on his family’s name, his good looks, and his charm. But was that true? 

Because when she thought about it, Laufeyson wasn’t lazy. He showed up on time every day. He made efforts to get to know people. And, if she was being honest, he was good at his job. He had beat her sales record last month, after all—and he had never stolen a single one of her clients. 

As for acting entitled…well, Laufeyson never brought up his last name except to introduce himself. Sylvie only knew who he was because his father was so famous. She couldn’t recall one time before today where he’d ever actually talked about his family, or his prestigious background. 

And yes, he was good looking, and charming…but that wasn’t really his fault.

And if Laufeyson—Loki—was actually just being nice to her this entire time, with no ulterior motives except wanting to be her friend…then she was being absolutely horrible to him for no good reason.

Sylvie closed her eyes and sighed. 

Shit.

She needed to make this right. 

She stood, brushing dust off the bottom of her skirt, and made her way slowly over to his corner of the room. He glanced at her once, quickly, then went back to glaring at a grease stain on the ground. 

She sat down next to him. He didn’t react. 

They sat in silence for a few moments, side by side, not looking at each other. 

“So you really weren’t just being nice to me to steal my clients, or my sales tactics?” Sylvie asked softly, staring straight ahead.

“No,” said Loki. “I wasn’t.”

“And…you really just wanted to be friends?”

She could feel his eyes on her, though she kept staring straight ahead.

“I mean…yeah,” said Loki. 

Sylvie chewed on that thought for a moment. 

Finally, she said, “OK. Well. If you’re actually being genuine…and if you still want to be friends…then, I guess…I guess that’s…fine.”

“Ah. ‘I guess that’s fine.’ Ringing endorsement, that.”

Sylvie huffed a frustrated breath.

“Look. I’m sorry, OK? I just…I don’t trust easily. I grew up in the system, and…” Sylvie trailed off; she’d never told anyone this before. Honestly, she tried not to think about it at all.

But the memories came flooding back—her dad, surrendering her to the state when she was six, just months after her mother’s death. Being shuffled from family to family, never quite fitting in—never quite being good enough to belong. Hiding her few possessions carefully so they wouldn’t be stolen by the other kids in the house—the kids who belonged, the ones who had parents who loved and wanted them—and fighting to get them back when they inevitably were. Flashes of the faces of various caretakers telling her they were sorry, always sorry, but this just wasn’t working out…

“That must have been hard,” Loki said quietly, snapping Sylvie back to the present.

She looked at him, internally cursing herself. Why had she told him that? Now he was going to pity her, or worse, use the information to his advantage somehow—leverage it to get that promotion, or use it to undermine her if she was the one promoted. 

But to her surprise, she saw nothing in his eyes but compassion and…something else. Not quite pity. Certainly not mockery.

No. It looked something like a genuine concern—as if he cared about her. 

An unfamiliar, confusing warmth spread through her chest.

Huh.

Sylvie realized that Loki was still waiting for her to respond. She sniffed, then lifted her shoulders in a quick shrug.

“It was what it was. I survived,” she said, keeping her voice steady despite the sudden turmoil inside her. “That’s what I do—what I’ve always done. I’ve never had time for anything else. I guess that’s why I don’t have many friends.” 

He bumped her shoulder. “Well. You have at least one friend.”

“You mean Casey?”

Loki laughed. “No, I meant me. An upgrade, honestly. Can you imagine having Casey as your only friend? Goodness. I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy.”

“Mmm, same. Though I might’ve wished it on you, ten minutes ago. Not now, though.”

Loki smiled. “Well. Progress is progress, I suppose.”

*** 

Sylvie was surprised to find that, once she stopped thinking he was going to betray her and steal her clients, Loki Laufeyson was actually kinda nice to talk to.

Over the next hour and a half, Sylvie learned a lot about Loki. For instance, like her, his favorite sport is “none of them.” Despite this, he’s run two marathons, and hopes to do more—something she couldn’t relate to at all. (She didn’t do running—not for fun, anyway.)

He also loved theater—something she could relate to, even though she could never afford to go to any professional shows. He told her he’d gone to theater camp when he was younger, and wrote, directed, and starred in a play he wrote based loosely on Norse mythology. 

And, in the spirit of this whole “being friends with Loki Laufeyson” thing she was trying out, Sylvie even revealed a bit about herself. 

She told him about Mischief, the feral cat who visits her balcony, and about her hatred for her neighbor, Kerry, who seems to absolutely hate women and has a thing for older men with mustaches. She even told him about her shitty apartment above the fishmonger.

“Ah,” said Loki, somewhat delicately. “I imagine the smells are…interesting….”

“Oh, they’re terrible. Mischief loves it, though,” she said. “Probably why he comes around so much.”

“Or maybe he just likes to see you. I mean, you’re pretty great.”

Sylvie flushed. “Eh…I dunno. Don’t think he spares me a though, except as the lady who leaves treats out for him every once in a while,” she said. “Anyway. What's your apartment like? Palatial? Does it have a doorman? Tell me it has a doorman.”

Loki laughed. “No, no doorman. I’m afraid it’s just your standard one-bedroom. Though it is above a bakery, so it’s got that going for it.”

Sylvie blinked. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah. Where do you think I get all those donuts?”

Sylvie shook her head. Of course he would have her dream apartment. A few hours ago, this information might’ve sent her off on a Laufeyson-fueled hate spiral. 

But now…

“Well. Maybe I can come visit sometime,” she said. 

Loki perked up. “Really?”

“Sure. I mean, if their donuts are that good, I can’t imagine how amazing the rest of their stuff is.”

Loki nodded. “The cannoli are to die for.”

“Oh, my god. My mouth is watering just thinking about it.”

As if on cue, Sylvie’s stomach made a sudden, obnoxiously loud gurgling noise. She suddenly realized she hadn’t eaten anything since before lunch—she’d been far too nervous about the interview, and then she’d been too anxious afterward to stomach anything, too.

Loki grinned, amused. “Hungry?”

“Starving,” she admitted. 

“Me, too,” he said. “I wonder if they keep any cafeteria supplies back here.”

They spent the next ten minutes sifting through boxes and supplies, but all they managed to turn up was a case of tiny water bottles on the bottom shelf. Finally, Loki hit the jackpot: a container filled with various breakroom supplies. Buried among the coffee packets, tea bags, flavored half-and-halfs, wooden stirrers, jam packets, old McDonald’s sweet and sour sauce containers, and packets of sugar, salt, and pepper was a bag of individually packaged saltine crackers and a promotional box of 10 snack-sized chocolate chip granola bars.

“Well. It’s not much,” he said, “but it’s something.”

“Are you kidding?” said Sylvie. “I was afraid we’d have to eat paper. This is a freakin’ feast!”

She pulled a granola bar from the box and was about to tear it open when Loki held out a hand, stopping her.

“Hang on a sec,” he said. He nodded to a box on the top shelf. “I want to check out that box up there that’s labeled ‘picnic supplies’ before we eat.” 

“Why?”

Loki shrugged. “It’s dinner time. We should set the scene.” He placed one of his feet on the first shelf and gripped the second to top shelf. “I’m gonna climb up to reach it. Can you hold me steady?”

“What?” Sylvie blinked. She quickly took in the logistics, then shook her head. “No. No way.”

“Why not?”

“Because, you’re so tall that the only way I’m gonna be able to hold you steady is to touch your ass.” 

Loki grinned cheekily. “Lucky you, then. It is a glorious ass.”

“You are a glorious ass. And I’m not doing it.”

“C’mon, Lushton. It’ll only take a second. I promise I won’t call HR or anything. I just don’t want to fall.”

Sylvie rolled her eyes. “Ugh, fine. But none of this leaves this room.”

“Don’t worry. What happens in the supply closet stays in the supply closet.” 

Reluctantly, Sylvie positioned herself behind him, arms at the ready. Loki hoisted himself up; Sylvie reached up and put both hands on his ass, steadying him.

Shit. That is…a really nice ass.

Loki grinned down at her. “Enjoying yourself down there, Lushton?”

“Not as much as you are.”

Loki laughed. He grabbed the box, then Sylvie let go of him as he leaped down. 

“OK!” he said, setting the box down. “Let’s see what we got here…”

They looked through the box. Its contents appeared pretty old. It included a large white tablecloth, along with some assorted plastic silverware, paper plates, empty condiment bottles, and six T-shirts of various sizes with an older version of the TVA logo and “Company Picnic ‘09” printed on them.

“Well. That was anticlimactic,” said Sylvie. “It’s just a bunch of junk.”

“Au contraire,” he replied. He picked up her printer box and moved it to the center of the room. Then, he took the tablecloth and, with a flourish, shook it out and laid it over the top of the box. He then began setting the “table” by splitting up the saltines and granola bars and placing them on two paper plates. He added some assorted condiments and several bottles of water, and finished the look by digging two yellow highlighters from a box and placing them, tip up, in the center, as if they were candles. 

“Voila!” he said proudly. “Dinner is served.”

“Nice,” said Sylvie, charmed despite herself. “Unnecessary but…nice.”

Loki shrugged. “Manners are what separate us from the animals, my dear Lushton. Now, let’s eat.”

*** 

Dinner—if you could call saltines and granola crackers “dinner”—passed by in the same relaxed, easy manner as their conversation leading up to it had. 

The more they talked, the more surprised Sylvie was by how easy it was to talk to Loki. In fact, it wasn’t just easy, but it was also fun. Loki was funny, and charming, and interesting. He engaged with what she was saying, and asked her questions about herself. 

Plus, he was really nice to look at. Not that she’d ever admit that to anyone. 

“So, Lushton,” Loki began before he took a sip of water. “Which business school did you go to?”

“Oh, I didn’t go to business school.”

“You didn’t?”

Sylvie shook her head as she opened another packet of saltines. “Money was scarce after I got out of the system, so I worked at McDonald’s for a few years. Managed to save up enough to put myself through community college and get my Associate’s.” 

“Did you major in business?”

“Nope,” said Sylvie, popping her P a bit. “English Composition.” She broke a saltine in half and dipped it in one of the jam packets. “I originally wanted to go to law school, or maybe become a social worker, but the money wasn’t there to get my Bachelor’s, let alone go to law school. Maybe someday, though.”

“Wow. So, who taught you all those sales tactics you guard so fiercely?”

“I taught myself.”

Loki raised his eyebrows. “You taught yourself sales?” 

“Yeah. I did.” 

“That’s…that’s pretty incredible. I mean, you’re the best salesperson in the department,” said Loki. “But, wait…How did you get a job here, then? I thought TVA only hired Bachelor’s degrees and above.”

“They do, normally. But Mobius helped me.”

“Mobius?”

“Yeah. He was a frequent customer at my McDonald’s for years—used to come in a lot before his divorce, to get a break from his kids or something. I’d slip him a free apple pie every once in a while. When he heard I graduated, he managed to pull some strings and get me an interview. He vouched for me. I owe him a lot.” 

“He’s a good guy.” 

“Yeah. He is,” Sylvie said. “Terrible taste in desserts, though.” 

“Ugh.” Loki pulled a face. “Remember those mini key lime pies he brought in for Employee Appreciation Day last month?”

“Tasted like Lysol.” 

“Lysol topped with shaving cream.”

Sylvie breathed a laugh. Loki smiled at her. 

“So, how about you?” asked Sylvie. “Why did the great Loki Laufeyson, Yggdrasil graduate extraordinaire, decide to get a job at an appliance part reseller that pays in the mid-5 figures? Doesn’t your dad make that much in, like, an hour or something?”

The smile fell from Loki’s face. He was quiet for a moment, his fingers playing with a packet of saltines. Then, he spoke. 

“I had a falling out with my father,” he said quietly. “About a year and a half ago.”

“Shit. Loki, I’m so sorry. I had no idea.” 

“Don’t worry—you couldn’t have known. I don’t really talk about it. It’s kind of a long story.”

“Well. Obviously, you don’t have to share. But we have time, if you want to talk about it.”

Loki studied her. Then, he seemed to come to a decision. 

“My father was married to another woman before he met my mother. They had a child together—a girl, Hela—and then got a divorce when she was young. My father remarried my mother, and they had my brother Thor, and then me,” he said. “Or, at least…that’s the story they told us.”

“Uh oh. That’s never good.”

“No. It’s not,” said Loki. “Anyway, Thor and I always knew we had an older sister, but the topic was forbidden in our house. All we knew was that she was ‘troubled.’ But we’d never met her, or my father’s ex-wife. I forgot she existed, to tell you the truth. But then, two Thanksgivings ago, an older woman showed up on our doorstep during dinner, demanding to see my father.”

“Oh, shit. Was it his ex?”

Loki nodded. “They locked themselves in his study, but you could still hear them shouting at one another. They were so loud that we could make out most of what they were saying, even in the dining room. She was yelling about ‘Hela’s son’ and how my father ‘killed her’ by making her give him up, all because he was too embarrassed to have a teenage daughter with an out-of-wedlock child. Thor and I were confused; my mother, though…” he sighed. “She didn’t seem confused. At all.”

Sylvie felt a sick sense of foreboding. 

Loki continued. “Then, the door to the dining room burst open. The woman stormed in, took one look at me, and said, ‘These people are lying to you. They are not your parents. And you deserve to know the truth.’ And then…the whole story came out.”

“Oh, my God,” Sylvie breathed, as the horrible realization hit her. “Does that mean your sister…”

“...was actually my birth mother, yes,” Loki finished. “And the man I thought was my father for my entire life is actually my grandfather. I was the child that he didn’t want her to have—the one he was so embarrassed about. He had wanted her to get rid of me secretly, but she had me anyway, so he forced her to let him adopt me, so that he and his new wife could pretend I was his. Then, he cut her and her mother off, and left them with nothing. He refused to even let her meet me.” Loki looked down at his hands. “It…it drove her mad, in the end.”

Sylvie stared at him, horrified. “God. That’s seriously messed up.”

“I’m glad you think so. I certainly did. My father, however…” He sighed. “We got into a huge argument about it. He couldn’t understand why I was so upset, and I…well, I couldn’t understand how he couldn’t understand. Things were said that couldn’t be unsaid. It ended with him telling me that my ‘birthright was to die,’ and that he always knew I’d end up a disappointment, just like my mother. Then he disowned me.”

“He disowned you?!”

“I mean, it’s not public, but yeah,” said Loki. “I was cut off, like my birth mother was. No money; no contact whatsoever. Two months ago, I found out my mother—the one who raised me—has cancer, and he won’t even let me come visit her. And my brother isn’t allowed to speak to me either or he’ll be disowned too.”

“God. No offense, but your grandfather daddy sucks,” said Sylvie. Impulsively, she reached across the makeshift table and put her hand on his. “Loki. I’m sorry that happened. I hope you know you don’t deserve any of that.”

Loki stared at her hand. He turned his palm around, so that he was holding her hand, and squeezed. 

“Thank you for saying that,” he said quietly. “It’s been a journey coming to that conclusion myself.”

For a moment, they just stared at each other, holding hands. Then, Sylvie squeezed his hand quickly, giving him a small smile, and let go; she heard him let out a little exhale.

“So, what did you do? After he cut you off?”

Loki shrugged. “What could I do? I moved out. Found a place to stay. Lived off my savings and took some time to figure things out. I was in a really bad place for a while, but I went to therapy and tried to work through it. And then, I got a job at TVA. It’s one of the few businesses in the area that wasn’t beholden to my father, so I saw it as a chance for me to start over, I guess—a clean slate.”

“Well. TVA is lucky to have someone like you.”

“Not as lucky as they are to have you,” said Loki. 

Sylvie snorted. “Sure.” 

“No, I mean it,” said Loki seriously. “I admire you so much, Lushton—I have even before I knew about all you’ve been through to get here. You’re just so…determined. You know what you want, and you’re so driven to get it. It’s like no one can stop you.” He looked directly into her eyes. “You’re amazing.”

Sylvie stared at him, unsure of how to react. 

Amazing.

She’d never been called amazing before. Difficult, yes. A hardass, several times. But amazing? 

It filled her with an unfamiliar warmth. 

Loki sighed. “Anyway. I guess I thought if I tried hard enough, like you, I could prove my father wrong and…well. Be as amazing as you are.”

“Well. For what it’s worth, I think you’re doing a pretty great job,” said Sylvie. “I mean, I’ve had to start over from nothing many times. It’s always hard. Especially when you suddenly have to worry about, you know…paying for things.”

“Oh. That’s actually not a problem,” Loki said, somewhat sheepishly. “I’m not destitute by any means. I still have my investments, and my rather significant personal savings, though I’m trying not to dip into it too much. And stuff like this—” He gestured down at his well-fitted suit. “—came from the before times, when I could afford to drop a few thousand on nice clothes.”

“A few thousand?!” Sylvie whistled. “Jesus.” She pointed to her green suit. “I got this stupid thing for $45 and I thought that was spending too much.”

“Well, I would’ve never guessed,” Loki said. He smiled. “You look…really nice. Green looks good on you.”

“Oh. Thanks,” said Sylvie; she was appalled to feel heat rushing to her cheeks. “It’s my favorite color.”

“Mine, too, actually. I just wear blue a lot because, according to the stylists, it ‘brings out my eyes.’”

“Mmm. Yeah. Gotta accentuate those pretty assets.” Sylvie said teasingly. 

Loki glanced at her, surprised. “Think my eyes are pretty, do you?”

Sylvie flushed. 

“They’re…they’re not bad,” she said; in truth, she wasn’t just referring to his eyes when she said “assets,” but he didn’t need to know that. 

But, given the grin he was currently flashing her, he fully realized what she meant. “Not bad, huh?”

Sylvie scoffed. “Oh, c’mon. I see you strutting around here like a peacock. You know you’re ridiculously handsome.”

Loki’s grin widened. “I do,” he said, “but I didn’t know you thought so, too. Thanks for the ego boost, Lushton.”

Sylvie rolled her eyes, fighting a smile. Then, she said, “Sylvie.”

“Sorry?”

“Just…” She shrugged. “Just call me Sylvie. We’re off the clock, after all, even though we’re still at work. And friends don’t call each other by their last names. It’s weird.” 

Loki smiled. 

“OK. Sylvie,” he said in a soft voice that, strangely, made her heart do a little flip. “And you can call me Loki. Or, if you’d prefer, ‘pretty eyes.’ Your pick.”

“Piss off, Loki.”

He laughed. 

*** 

Several more hours passed—hours filled with more pleasant small talk and laughter. They sat side by side again, keeping each other entertained with office gossip and little anecdotes about their pasts. 

Soon, though, it was nearing midnight, and the day was catching up with both of them. Loki’s stories were frequently interrupted by yawns; Sylvie’s head would droop down onto his warm shoulder for a few seconds until she’d startle awake, briefly unsure of where she was.

The third time this happened—a time where Sylvie suspected Loki had also drifted off and was woken up only by her startled gasp—Loki said, “Perhaps we should try to get some sleep.”

“Mmm. You’re right,” said Sylvie. She stretched slightly, then surveyed their surroundings. “Ugh. I am not looking forward to sleeping on this concrete floor. It’s freezing in here as it is.” She rubbed her arms a few times, then began examining the shelves. “Think any of these boxes have blankets in them?”

“I’m not sure,” said Loki, “but we could always use this.”

He gestured down at their dinner setting. 

Sylvie raised an eyebrow. “What, the tablecloth?”

“It’s not a tablecloth,” Loki corrected. “It’s a blanket. Or it can be for tonight, anyway.” He picked it up, shook off the crumbs, then held it out toward her. “Here. You can have it.”

“What about you? Won’t you be cold?”

Loki shrugged. “I’ll survive.”

“Don’t be stupid. We can just share.”

Now it was Loki’s turn to flush slightly. “I…I wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

But Sylvie shook her head. 

“Don’t be ridiculous. We’re both adults, and this tablecloth is big enough. There’s not much space in here anyway—if we’re laying down to sleep, we’re gonna end up close to each other no matter what we do. We’ll just lay next to each other and share the stupid tablecloth. It’ll be warmer with both of us under it, anyway.”

Loki assessed the room. “I suppose you’re right,” he said. “We can lay down with our heads on opposite sides, if you want.”

Sylvie snorted. “What, and have to breathe in your stinky-ass feet funk all night? I don’t think so.” 

Loki laughed. “OK. Well, then…if you’re sure.”

“I am.”

They spent a few minutes clearing a space and setting up their sleeping spot. Each of them took a handful of “Company Picnic ‘09” t-shirts and balled them up to use as pillows. Then, Loki pulled the chain to turn off the light. 

They settled down next to each other, and Loki spread the cover over both of them. 

“Well. Good night,” said Sylvie, rolling onto her side, away from him. 

“Good night, Sylvie,” said Loki, with a yawn; she could hear him shifting, so that he faced away from her, too.

Sylvie couldn’t explain why, but she felt an odd sense of loss.

Despite how tired she had been just moments before, Sylvie found it hard to fall asleep. As expected, the floor was uncomfortable, cold, and hard. 

But what made it hardest to fall asleep was the fact that Sylvie was painfully aware of Loki’s presence beside her.  Perhaps it was the silence of the room, or the calm of the darkness, but everything about him seemed magnified. Sylvie could sense his warm, solid body as it lay next to hers, could hear him breathing steadily, could feel the tablecloth moving up and down with his breaths. 

She found the whole thing all oddly comforting and strangely intimate. The knowledge that he was so close—just half an arm’s length away, really—and yet still so far was maddening and terrifying at the same time. It electrified her nerves in an unusual, unfamiliar way that made her wonder if she’d actually be able to fall asleep at all.

And as she lay there, trying and failing to lull herself to sleep to the sound of Loki’s steady, quiet breathing, a small part of her wondered if he was painfully aware of her, too—if he was listening to her breaths and finding comfort in her presence, and if he could feel the odd, but not altogether unpleasant, tension that seemed to electrify the small distance between them.

*** 

Sylvie awoke the next morning feeling warm and happy. 

Had she been a bit more awake, and thus more aware, she would have insisted to herself that this warm, happy feeling had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that the first thing she saw when she awoke were Loki’s eyes as they stared softly at her. But, as it stood, the first thing her sleepy brain registered was his pretty set of blue eyes—which appeared almost purple in the dim lighting—and Sylvie was filled with an immediate, deep sense of contentment that her brain couldn’t quite rationalize away.

At some point in the night, they must have both turned to face each other, because that’s how they awoke, still under the tablecloth. They must’ve drawn closer together, too: Loki’s face was so close that she could make out his features, even in the dim light filtering through the bottom of the door.

He smiled; her heart fluttered like a butterfly in her ribcage.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” she said with a sleepy smile. 

She felt a gentle caress along her thumb and realized that they were holding hands under the tablecloth. When did that happen? Did they fall asleep like that? Had they been holding hands all night?

The thought made her heart flutter faster.

“Sleep OK?” Loki asked.

“Mmm. About as well as someone could, on this floor,” she replied. “You?”

“I did. It was…nice, actually,” he replied. “Really nice.” 

“Really nice, huh?” Sylvie raised a brow. “Nicer than the lush and expensive mattress you probably have back at your place?”

“Well. That’s definitely more comfortable,” Loki admitted. “But it’s missing one very pleasant thing, at least.”

He squeezed her hand, staring softly into her eyes, and the fluttering in Sylvie’s chest increased so much that she worried she might be having a heart attack. 

Which, honestly, would be very inconvenient right now.

“What time is it?” she asked.

“Just after 7. People will start getting into the office soon.”

“Mmm. And then, we’ll be free.”

“And then we’ll be free,” Loki confirmed.

They lay in silence for a few moments. Then, Loki spoke.

“Sylvie…” he began. “Do you think…after we get out of here…”

“Yeah?”

“Would you maybe be interested in…” he paused as though looking for the right word. “Hanging out?”

Sylvie smiled sleepily. She nodded, squeezing his hand. “I’d like that.”

Loki smiled, relieved. 

“OK. Good,” he said. “And, um…just for the sake of clarity…would we be hanging out as friends, or…?”

She shifted a bit closer. “Or…?”

Loki’s eyes went half-lidded. His gaze fell to her lips. “Or maybe…as…” 

Their faces drew closer together. Sylvie could feel his warm breath caress her face; she could almost count his eyelashes.

But then, suddenly, Loki pulled back.

Sylvie blinked, confused. “What’s wrong?”

“Sorry. Sorry,” he stammered. “I just…I really want to kiss you right now. And I think you might want to kiss me, too. But I’ve misinterpreted so much about our relationship up to this point that I have no idea if I’m right or not.”

“Well. You could always ask.”

“Right. OK,” he said. Then, he gazed into her eyes. “Sylvie. Can I kiss you?”

“Mmm. Only if I don’t kiss you first.”

Loki breathed a laugh. “You know, not everything needs to be a competiti—”

But he was silenced when she leaned forward and pressed her eager lips to his. 

And that was when Sylvie discovered something else that surprised her: Loki Laufeyson was a really good kisser. 

Like, really good.

Like, she could spend all day doing this and nothing else and want to do it again all day tomorrow good.

Like, it should be a crime to keep a talent like this to yourself good.

Like, she’d rather have this than the strawberry-frosted donuts good. That good. 

And, based on his enthusiastic response, Loki seemed to think that she was pretty good at this whole kissing thing, too. 

Which made her wonder what else they might be good at together. 

Unfortunately, before they could explore this question any further, they were interrupted when the door to the supply closet suddenly burst open. Harsh fluorescent light flooded the small room.

“Lushton? Laufeyson? What are you…?”

Loki and Sylvie jumped apart slightly; they were still caught in a rather close embrace, tangled together under the tablecloth. They both shielded their eyes as they gazed up into the light.

Standing in the doorway, looking confused, shocked, and more than a little bit annoyed, was their manager, Mr. Mobius.

For a moment, they all just stared at each other. Then, Mobius shook his head. 

“Oh, you have got to be kidding me,” he said.