How The Most Dangerous Thing is To Love.

Days passed, and slowly but surely, Loki began getting used to being—well, himself again. Or at least, he was trying to. Something still felt off, like he was wearing the wrong skin like his body and mind hadn't fully settled into place yet.

Time had never truly been linear for him, but now, it felt unbearably slow. His hands were steady, his breath even, yet his thoughts never ceased.

Sleep was the worst part. Or rather, the lack of it. No matter how exhausted he was, how much his body ached for rest, his mind refused to shut down. He lay awake in the dark, staring at the ceiling, feeling every second crawl by.

Mobius and Sylvie had taken it upon themselves to help him adjust. They lived close to each other, much to Loki's surprise, and they took him around the town, showing him everything as if that would make it feel real.

It was a quiet place, simple. No roaring cities, no grand halls. The wind carried the scent of salt and earth, and the waves moved in an endless rhythm, steady and unchanging. Loki had never thought he would find such a thing comforting, but here, in the silence, in the normalcy, he almost did.

Still, something inside him felt hollow.

He could laugh, smirk, and quip back at Mobius like always, but it didn’t reach deep enough. The spark that made him who he was—the fire, the sharp edges—felt dim, dulled. He wanted to find it again, to feel like himself, but he knew that would take time.

Mobius hadn’t noticed. Or maybe he had and chose not to say anything. Either way, Loki was grateful. He didn’t want to worry him. Not after everything they had gone through.

And he truly was grateful to be here, to be alive. He had a place, and friends who cared. He could breathe freely, walk without fear, and exist without constantly fighting to survive.

Yet, he couldn’t shake the feeling that if he let his guard down if he closed his eyes for too long, everything would be gone again.

So, he didn’t sleep.

Instead, when Mobius rested, Loki wandered. He slipped out of the house, quiet as a shadow, and walked along the shore. The wind was harsh tonight, cold enough to sting, but he welcomed it. The cold had always been a part of him, familiar and unyielding. It did not bite at his skin like it did for others; it wrapped around him like an old companion, whispering that he was real, that he was here.

The waves crashed against the rocks, endless and unbothered by the worries of gods and men. He envied them.

There was a time when he had found peace in chaos, in mischief, in always being one step ahead of everyone else. Every useless and empty trick, every deception—it had been a game, a performance. But now? He wasn’t sure what he was anymore.

A god? A friend? A ruler? A villain? A hero?

The questions never stopped.

He just wished for him... to become him again.

He dug his fingers into the pockets of his coat, his gaze fixed on the dark horizon.

“Can’t sleep?”

Loki didn’t jump, didn’t even turn around. He knew that voice well.

Mobius stepped up beside him, hands tucked into his own pockets, shoulders hunched slightly against the wind.

Loki sighed. “You shouldn’t be awake.”

“Neither should you,” Mobius countered, his tone light but laced with something deeper. “What’s on your mind?”

Loki let out a soft, humorless chuckle. “You’d be here all night if I told you.”

Mobius didn’t push, didn’t ask him to explain. He just stood there, letting the silence stretch between them. It was comfortable, in a way Loki hadn’t expected.

After a moment, Mobius spoke again. “You know… you don’t have to figure everything out all at once.”

Loki glanced at him, brow raised. “Is that what you do? Just… let things be?”

Mobius huffed a small laugh. “Not always. But sometimes, yeah.”

Loki hummed, looking back out at the water. He wished it were that easy.

They stood there for a while, watching the tide roll in and out, the world carrying on as it always had.

Eventually, Mobius nudged him lightly with his elbow. “C’mon. Let’s go back inside before the wind carries you off, or worse, you start brooding so hard you tear a hole in the universe.”

Loki smirked at that, finally turning to follow.

As they walked back toward the house, Loki glanced up at the night sky. The stars above were the same as they had always been, but for the first time in a long while, he wondered if maybe—just maybe—he could find his place among them again.

A week had passed, and still, Loki could not sleep. It was infuriating. He was a god, a being of magic and chaos, a master of time itself, and yet—he could not master something as simple as slumber. Every time he closed his eyes, his mind refused to be still. It was as if something within him rejected rest entirely, as if stopping, even for a moment, would mean losing everything. Again.

He was exhausted. His body ached, and his thoughts were slow, but the moment he tried to surrender to sleep, he would jolt awake, heart pounding like he had just run from a battle. He refused to speak of it to Mobius. He didn’t need his friend to worry, nor did he want to appear weak. He was not weak. He had endured too much to let something as trivial as sleep undo him.

And so, he walked.

Slipping out of the house unnoticed, Loki welcomed the cool night air as he wandered the streets of the city. He wasn’t sure why he found comfort in it—perhaps it was the presence of people, the sight of them going about their lives without the weight of eternity pressing down on their shoulders. Midgardians had such fragile, fleeting lives, yet they spent every moment of it living, thriving, chasing love, dreams, and laughter. They had no idea how much time they had, and somehow, that ignorance made them freer than he had ever been.

Loki envied them.

The lights of the city blurred as he walked, a dull hum settling in his skull. Something wasn’t right. He felt... unsteady. His head was spinning, the world tilting slightly as he tried to focus. He frowned, pausing for a moment, closing his eyes to steady himself.

A mistake.

The dizziness only worsened, crashing over him like a wave, pulling him under. For a brief moment, he thought perhaps it was something greater—some shift in the timeline, something wrong with reality itself. But no, it wasn’t that. It was something much simpler. He had not slept. He had not eaten. His body was finally beginning to betray him.

Loki swayed, blinking rapidly.

Pathetic, he thought bitterly. A god brought to his knees by something as mundane as exhaustion.

He took a breath. Just a moment. Just a moment to steady himself. He closed his eyes—only for a second.

That second stretched, warped, dragged him down, and before he could fight it—darkness took him.

Loki awoke in a place that felt... wrong. The air was thick with the stench of oil, metal, and something else he couldn’t quite place. It made his nose wrinkle in disgust. This wasn’t familiar territory. The space around him was dimly lit, harsh, and industrial, not like any place he’d ever willingly set foot in. He didn’t like the smell. It was foreign, cold, and impersonal, the kind of place that made his skin crawl.

Slowly, he opened his eyes, the pain in his head making him wince. He sat up slightly, glancing around, and immediately noticed he was confined.

 His arms were bound tightly by rough ropes, securing him to the cold metal wall. The chains felt like an insult.

 A rope. 

He couldn’t help but scoff to himself. Fools. If they thought binding him like this would be enough, they were gravely mistaken.

He glanced around more carefully, noting his surroundings. It wasn’t just him in this cell. There was a child—no, a teenager—lying next to him. The boy looked battered, and bruised, and his clothes were torn. Loki’s sharp gaze focused on him, sensing his distress, but what struck him more than the child’s condition was the fact that he, Loki, had been put in a position of vulnerability. It irritated him. His pride, no matter how humbled it had been in recent times, stung at the thought of being captured like this.

“Where am I?” Loki muttered under his breath, barely audible, his voice thick with confusion and irritation.

He rubbed his temples, trying to push through the pain. His mind, despite the fog, was still sharp, and the questions raced through his head. Who were these people? Why had they taken him?

The boy, still staring at him with wide, fearful eyes, didn’t seem to have an answer. Loki watched him for a moment, the silence between them stretching.

“Do you have an idea of where we are, child?” Loki asked, his voice softer now. He didn’t want to frighten the boy further, though a part of him couldn’t help but wonder why the child had been taken too.

The teenager looked down, his gaze dropping to the floor as if the weight of his words was too much to bear. His voice cracked when he spoke. "I'm sorry, sir... it's because of me that you were kidnapped. I just... I wanted to help you. I found you unconscious on the sidewalk, and I... I thought I could do something..."

Loki's eyes narrowed. Kidnapped because of this child? He would have laughed at the absurdity of it, but his curiosity outweighed his disdain. The boy was, if anything, harmless, yet they had gone through the trouble of taking him too.

Loki shifted his weight, testing the ropes binding his arms, and found they were weak—fragile. There was no real strength in the ropes, just the illusion of restraint. He could break free anytime he wanted. His magic was still intact, though the restraints were annoying.

"Why were they after you?" Loki asked, now more curious than angry. His mind raced, trying to make sense of the situation. Who would go to such lengths for a mere child?

The boy’s face twisted in guilt. "I overheard their... conversation," he said, looking up now, eyes wide and serious. "They were talking about kidnapping someone, and that someone turned out to be you, sir. And I... I thought I could help, you know, warn you or something."

Loki’s brow furrowed. Talking about him? The boy had overheard something. He couldn't make sense of it. These people were after him, but Loki didn’t recognize the names or the motives. Whoever they were, they were clearly no match for him. Once he broke free, they would regret ever laying hands on him.

Still, Loki found himself strangely unbothered by the situation. It had been a while since he’d felt this kind of thrill, the rush of something he couldn’t quite explain—a forgotten spark stirring within him. As if his old self, the one that made chaos work for him, was starting to emerge again.

As much as he hated to admit it, being kidnapped had awoken something in him—a spark, a flicker of life. He’d been drained, forced into a corner for so long, but now? He felt that familiar rush—the adrenaline. It was good, so good.

Loki leaned back against the cold wall, feeling the tension in his muscles, his mind already churning with ideas of escape. He couldn’t help but smile to himself. This felt... right.

He turned his head to the boy, who was still watching him, clearly still worried but now a little less afraid. Loki studied him for a moment longer. There was something unique about him, something that didn’t quite add up.

“What is your name, child?” Loki asked out of curiosity, though part of him wondered why he even bothered. The kid, if anything, was more of a distraction than a companion.

“Peter, sir,” the boy answered, his voice still full of that nervous energy. “And, uh... don’t worry. I’m sure the Avengers will get us out of here soon!”

Loki’s lips curled into a smirk, though it was tinged with a bit of disbelief. The Avengers? What a ridiculous notion. The boy truly believed that a group of glorified mortals would come to their rescue. Loki couldn’t help but find the idea laughable, but at the same time, it was a reminder of just how out of touch humans were.

“The Avengers?” Loki repeated, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “And why is it that you put so much hope into them, Peter?”

The boy nodded eagerly, as though his hope was absolute. “They’ll get us out. They always do.”

Loki rested his head against the cold metal wall, feeling the ropes against his wrists, and let out a quiet laugh. The boy’s optimism was... charming in a naive way. The Avengers, however, were probably busy with bigger matters.

But that didn’t matter. Loki was beginning to feel the stirrings of something larger—something that didn’t depend on anyone else. The Avengers wouldn’t save them. But Loki? Loki had no intention of waiting for rescue.

He let the silence linger, and for the first time in a long while, he felt like himself again. A god. A ruler. The god of mischief. It felt good. It felt like freedom.

And soon enough, those foolish mortals would regret their mistake.