Understanding

Loki didn't like the way his brother was screaming. He hated a lot of things about Thor, but his screaming was pretty high on his list. It hurt. It was painful, but nonetheless, he swore he'd never say a word about it. But as of late, it was different; worse, it was like Thor's everything-ness was crushing him, and Loki didn't know how to respond to it all.  

His brother was so much, and Loki was a lot too; he didn't deny it.  

Still, when people compared him to Thor, he didn't think that was fair. Just because he didn't feel the need to open his mouth every time a thought entered his head didn't mean he wasn't as bold. In his opinion, being quiet was fine because he could be just as efficacious without all the shouting and domineering.  

He was strong, just not in the same way as Thor. He never thought of himself as weak, though, except in moments like these. Moments where his brother was showing just how brash and overwhelming he could be. Loki hated how he wanted to fade into nothing every time Thor showcased just how... Thor he was.  

His brother was loud, but not just in volume; he was flashy, and sometimes drivel spilled out of him so quickly and vigorously that Loki felt small in comparison. Thor was a powerful and fine leader; he was unafraid and always ready for anything. Loki was the same in a lot of ways, but none of the ones that really mattered. Because, at the end of the day, he wasn't his brother. It felt wrong for Loki to even be compared to someone like him because he was always two steps away from dropping off the pedestal he and Thor shared.  

So yes, moments like these made him realise just how different they were.  

Thor never felt like this, like his face was on fire and like his insides were a coil being wound up tighter and tighter, waiting to unravel. Loki felt close to tears at all points, even if he had the advantage, if he was being praised. He constantly felt like he was messing up so badly that he got emotional just thinking about it. He wondered if anyone else in the entire universe ever felt this way, because if they did, they all did an exceptional job of hiding it. Loki knew for certain, though, that Thor had never once felt like this in all his centuries of being alive.  

His brother loved him, but Loki knew deep down that Thor could never understand. He'd never get it; he'd never feel it. And that created a rift that Loki wasn't sure he wanted to repair. They were brothers, and they did all the things brothers were supposed to do, like fight and tease each other. Even if their rivalry had been mostly endearing, they were more than willing to push each other's buttons. And Loki loved that; he did. But sometimes, the fact that Thor could push him like that without regard for or even understanding of how badly it could affect him hurt. Still, there was no way to explain that to Thor, because without the teasing and the roughhousing, there wasn't much left. Just a home and shared parents.  

He would be humiliated if Thor ever knew, and embarrassment made him want to smash his head into a table, a wall, anything that would make it stop. A lot of things made him want to do that, and after a while, it became less of a want and more of a need. He needed to get rid of all the crushing embarrassment and pent-up dread that came with hearing sharp or repetitive sounds and feeling small brushes on his arms.  

It was very easy to get wound up, and not so easy to get... un-wound up. Because once he felt a particularly bad pang of discomfort, everything else he felt was heightened in a terrible way. Things didn't feel right most of the time, but these missteps made everything feel downright wrong.  

Today, he felt downright wrong. He'd felt downright wrong for almost a week, actually. Every time he came into contact with another person, tension ran through his body, and all he wanted was for it to stop. He'd twitch oddly in conversation, sharply turning his head away from the other person, squeezing his eyes shut, and gritting his teeth.  

Thor hadn't sensed this.  

He hauled Loki outside to spar with him and his friends. Loki didn't even have the energy to mentally correct himself when he referred to them as Thor's friends because they sure weren't his. Even if Thor really wanted them to be. They needed an even number of people; Thor said it was a friendly training tournament. But it was technically just a game, and Loki hated games.   

He was pitted against Sif, and Thor found it absolutely hilarious; they all did. Loki wasn't sure if that was a joke on him or her.  

It didn't matter; he didn't want to do this. He didn't feel like trying any sleights, so he was on the ground before he had a chance to do anything. Sif tripped him, and he didn't even try to get up. He just blinked rapidly for a few seconds and sat over on a step along the side of the palace, near the small flat they were sparing on.  

Thor immediately chastised him: “You didn't even try!” 

He tried to convince Loki to actually put in some effort. But based on Sif and the Warriors Three's reaction, saying it wasn't fair to give him another try, Loki didn't hesitate. Standing his ground with a firm no. He was relieved when Thor gave up and begrudgingly continued with his game.  

Loki scratched at his neck, and even though everyone knew he lost due to a lack of trying, he felt flushed and mortified. He'd always thought it was better to not try than to try and fail, but either way, he walked out of it embarrassed. He clasped his hands in his lap; if he didn't, he worried he'd try to smack the shame out of himself. He started blinking hard again; it was a horrible habit he couldn't keep himself from doing.  

Most of the time, it wasn't intentional; it was like his body's way of keeping him from expressing his discomfort with his mouth. Making stupid sounds that would only humiliate him further.  

He held his breath and gritted his teeth, indulging in any of his habits that wouldn't draw attention to him. If he made a sound or did any of the things he did in the comfort of his room when he was wound up, like rocking back and forth, knocking his fist against his shoulder, or buzzing, he'd have to deal with a flood of mocking questions.  

Still, when someone else was ultimately disqualified, he decided that gritting his teeth was all he'd allow himself to do. However, he did find himself squinting, trying not to squeeze his eyes closed.  

He watched them brawl; he heard punches landing and loud grunts. He used his hands as blinders, as if hiding his eyes would mask the noise. They shook, wanting to do other things, like tug on his hair or scratch at his face.  

One by one, others sat near him, boos and cheers ringing out around him. He didn't share their enthusiasm; he didn't even know who the final two were. Well, he knew one was Thor. But he felt so disconnected; all of his attempts to unwind were to keep himself from spiralling out all at once, yet they still made him feel so far away.  

He looked up just in time to watch his brother elate as he knocked Volstagg to the ground, as if there was any real competition there. Still, he was jumping up and down like this was the best day of his entire life.  

Thor loved living and appreciating the present. And in that moment, all Loki wanted was to be in the future.  

Once again reminding him that his brother wouldn't get it. No one would. He glanced to the side; if any of Thor's friends felt like this, they did an exceptional job of hiding it. Because while Loki was actively holding back tears, they literally jumped for joy. When his gaze turned back to Thor, his brother was looking straight at him, as if he were going to sweep him off the floor.  

Loki wished he wouldn't. But he knew he would. Thor didn't share Loki's hatred of being touched. At any moment, Thor could grab him and toss him around like it was no big deal.  

“Did you see me, brother?!” He shouted, grabbed Loki's wrists, and pulled him to his feet. Thor lifted him and swung him around in a circle.  

Loki wanted to cry.  

Still, he forced himself to speak: “Are you really surprised?” He stated, trying to escape Thor's grasp.   

Thor was the strongest person he knew; he wasn't surprised that his brother was able to beat his friends while sparring or that he was able to keep a strong grip on Loki. He felt Thor laugh; it rattled through him. This was all a game for Thor, a game he loved to win.  

Thor's entire life was a game that ended with him being king, memorialised.  

And Loki's was an uphill battle that ended with him stuck, stagnant, and forgotten.  

Thor put him down, but trapped him with an arm around his shoulders. It hurt. "Such low expectations, you have of our friends.”  

He dragged Loki over to his friends, forcing him to face them. They were all looking at him, irritated; he felt self-conscious.  

“I'd hardly call it low of them, just high of you.” He muttered the latter half of his opinion. He hadn't meant for it to sound sentimental, but his brother squeezed him anyway.  

He couldn't stop blinking, so he looked down. He was gritting his teeth, and an involuntary grimace had plastered itself on his face. He didn't like being held this way.   

“Aw,” Thor cooed, using his other hand to ruffle his hair. Loki felt his face burning. He couldn't look up at everyone else, so he squeezed his eyes shut. His chest hurt. Everything hurt.  

He wanted to do something that would make him stop feeling like this—a manoeuvre that would completely catch Thor off guard and make him feel like his brother didn't think he was weak. Loki paused at that thought, wondering when he started to think his brother believed it. He didn't treat him as an equal, but he never treated him like he was weak, did he? No, he just treated him like his little brother.  

Loki chewed the inside of his lip. He was hardly any younger than Thor, so he didn't understand why his brother made him feel so small in comparison. He opened his eyes and squinted at the dirt.  

There were a lot of worst parts to feeling wound up; one of them was this. The intrusive thoughts, the overthinking. Sometimes he didn't realise it until he was deep into a recess of lies. As Thor spoke of his friends, he tried to pinpoint everything that led him to get on this train of thought.  

He was quickly distracted by his physical distress.  

His skin felt chafed, like he was getting rubbed all kinds of wrong, and he wanted to cry so badly.  

For a moment, he wondered if Thor could read his mind because he finally peeled himself off of Loki's shoulders. He wasn't sure if anyone caught the relieved gasp that escaped him. He tried not to care as he bit down on his tongue and tried to look up at the rowdy group.   

They were recounting the game in vigorous detail, laughing and arguing. This is how normal people act after doing something fun, he thought. Loki didn't think any of this was fun; it probably could have been if his skin wasn't tingling in discomfort. Or if his heart wasn't beating out of his chest every time he looked at Thor and his friends.   

He watched as Sif, Fandral, Hogun, and Volstagg followed Thor; it was like they were all programmed to move in a pack, no questions asked. They were going into the palace, and Thor didn't try to pull Loki along like he usually would; he was relieved. His brother was too caught up in himself and his friends, giving Loki time to trail behind at his own pace.  

This was good because Loki didn't follow immediately; he didn't follow at all; he couldn't.  

He felt like he was going to actually explode. The physical manifestations of his unease were taking over. Tears were threatening to fill his eyes, and he couldn't stop them. He kept opening and closing his mouth, opening and closing his clenched fists. He was trying to keep quiet, but he kept letting out tiny squeaks and low hums.  

Thor wasn't there anymore; he was far away, he wasn't touching him, and he was almost completely out of earshot, which meant that his shouts shouldn't have hurt his brother the way they did. But Loki still felt like his brother was screaming in his ear. It was like he was experiencing tinnitus.  

He was quickly beginning to miss being able to overthink his brother's intentions and behaviours because, right now, he couldn't think at all. The only thing that resembled a thought in his head was, Stop. He let out a pitiful whimper. His hands started moving sporadically at his sides, and his body was struggling with the urge to cover his ears.  

His vision was blurry and unfocused, but he still looked up and watched as Thor and his friends turned a corner out of his sight. He felt a little better when he couldn't see them, like he had more freedom to shake all the tension out. He let himself thrash his arms around more forcefully; he tried to cover his ears, but finally being able to move the way he needed to just got him worked up. Ceasing the motion was met with painful pressure throughout his body.   

He needed to do more—more movement, more sound. And he needed to do it somewhere far away from other people; otherwise, he wouldn't be able to truly release anything. People made it worse.  

Almost instinctively, he glanced around. No one was there—at least not that he could see. He almost made a sound—a loud one that he wouldn't be able to take back—then he heard a clatter.  

He looked behind him; it was just kids playing.  

They came around a corner and were able to catch Loki off guard; outside was not safe. He didn't know exactly where he needed to go, but his body was faster than his mind. His thoughts lagged, but his feet were moving immediately.  

He was running. He hated running when he felt this way; it was the wrong kind of movement. His feet hitting the ground was a mix of sound and physical contact that made him groan and wave his fingers in irritation. His eyes were mostly closed as he tried to combat the discomfort of sprinting.  

Despite his lack of sight, he'd lived here his entire life, so he trusted his body to take him where he needed to go.  

Tears were dripping down his face. At some point, he let his eyes water, and all the blinking and squeezing them shut tricked them into thinking it was time to start crying.  

Loki was embarrassed pretty much every second of the day, but it was moderate and manageable. Crying, however, awakened something in him. Even if he was alone, it was mortifying. It was the worst thing that could happen to him. To add to the humiliation, when he was like this, he couldn't just cry; he let a few tears slip down his cheeks and move on. He had to sob and rock and pretend he didn't feel like a child.  

As he ran and the crying started, many things stopped feeling real. He was so hyperaware of himself that it was like the rest of the world had just stopped. His biggest problems had gone from “What if someone sees?” to “My arms are touching me too much, and I need to make it stop.”  

His arms were touching him too much; they kept grazing his torso, and it made his ribs feel chaffed. They couldn't touch his sides, but his hands needed something to hold onto to keep him from shaking out. He crossed them over top of each other and held his shoulders. It choked him a bit, and he realised how fast his breathing had gotten.  

Every little breath was like a sharp, painful gasp. The shame made his tears fall faster, and the cries became louder and closer together.  

He tightened the grip he had around himself and put a bubble in his mouth to keep him from making small, painful sounds. When it got hard to breathe, he'd have to let out a small sob and then try again. His face was wet and itchy, and he hated it.  

He tried to focus on the floor, not on the unbearable feeling on his face or the sudden, sharp pain in his ears. He wasn't sure if the crying was initially distracting him from the noise or if things had actually just gotten ten times louder. His running, now just walking, was getting slower, even though everything else was getting faster.  

He needed to get somewhere safe, but he didn't know how he was supposed to do that when his body had already begun betraying him. Still, he kept looking at the floor. If he looked at the floor, he could block out his surroundings and focus on himself again, letting his body go into autopilot.  

Looking at the floor was bad, though. Especially when he couldn't hear properly, it felt like every sound in the entire palace was being funnelled into his ears. He couldn't see well either; his vision was cloudy from tears, as was the overall shutdown his body was experiencing. Across the board, it was a recipe for disaster.  

He ran straight into someone.  

Someone who didn't even wobble when a sobbing teenager smacked square into the centre of their back. Loki didn't look up; he just tried to push past because his body knew that safety was somewhere ahead.  

That and because all of his humiliation sensors were going off.   

But when he passed the person, he was met with another. It was hard to keep himself from blowing up right then because he was being touched everywhere. Something was skimming against him on all sides.  

“-Loki!” His name rang hard in his ears, but he didn't catch much else.  

He was beginning to feel very disoriented. He was a bit confused before, but now he wasn't sure if he knew up from down.  

He reached up and plugged his ears. Then he tried to tighten his entire upper half so nothing felt like it was rubbing against his skin, as well as twisting his arms up so that he still had pressure. It was hard to allow those two requirements to coexist. He didn't even feel the tears and itching anymore, nor did he hear his cries.  

Still, he knew he was no longer trying to hide the majority of his self-soothing behaviours. He was rocking on his feet, no longer trying to push through. He was immobilised by the new intensity of his surroundings.  

He heard laughter, and it was really noisy. He blinked, rocked, and let out a loud, pained groan. It momentarily made his thoughts come back. He realised someone was watching him; someone was laughing at him, and he was not safe. He'd hardly call it a moment of clarity, but it made him realise he needed to stop acting like this.  

No rocking, no loud sounds, just blinking and covering his ears—and maybe a few tears. That's what he'd allow himself to do, which is already more than he wanted to do in front of another person.  

Loki heard his name again and shook his head hard, and then someone shouted, "Be quiet!”  

Loki had to hold his breath to keep himself from screaming and falling to the ground.  

He attempted to walk again, but it, like most things, hurt. So instead, he resorted to taking small steps, almost like he was trying to ease into walking again. He found himself shuffling in different directions, unable to make any real progress without feeling sharp pangs of fear and disorientation stopping him in his tracks. He tapped his fingers against the side of his head, trying to convince his brain to work normally for four seconds.  

He felt like a mouse trapped in a maze. He shook his head again.  

He stopped trying to move and started to make a buzzing sound with his mouth. He would sometimes do this when he needed something—anything—to be louder than what he was hearing around him. He didn't like to do it; it took his breath away, and anyone near him would be able to hear him. The one coherent agreement that he'd made with himself was broken. But in the moment, he didn't care; it made him feel less taut.  

There was no more laughing, but it was still loud, and the noise made his brain fog over. It was as though the stupid thing didn't understand that a little noise wasn't going to kill him. The buzzing steadied him. He realised someone was talking to him; he heard his name three times, and he knew someone had to be making an attempt at a conversation.  

Then there was an arm around his lower back, and he was being pushed. That completely destroyed all the progress he'd made.  

Still, he had somehow managed to keep his composure, and by composure, he meant he hadn't begun screaming and thrashing around on the floor. For him, this was the build-up to the actual outburst. Because even though he was crying, shaking, and doing all kinds of things a normal person his age would never do, he had not yet felt any relief.  

The things he did to stop himself from doing the things he wanted were almost as bad as simply letting it all out. But he'd rather shortcircuit, buzzing and stumbling, before letting anyone see him as truly vulnerable.  

The touching didn't stop, but it kept him moving even when his feet tried to stick to the floor. Yet, there was a moment when they were rounding a corner when he, just for a second, didn't feel smothered. The grip on him became tight and equal, and he felt okay. He felt okay.  

When it stopped and the hold on him was loose, he let out a sob. Not a tiny one. A loud, painful one. It was the kind of thing that made him want to rip his hair out.  

“-fine." He shook his head because it didn't matter who said it or in what context; nothing was fine. He was blinking, buzzing, and wishing he were dead.  

After this, he might as well have been dead; he would never be able to show his face again.  

He tried to look around for the first time since he'd been grabbed, but he could only lift his head a little bit. He looked up enough to have a general idea of where he was going. Even with his tear-clouded vision, he knew this was the hall his room was in. He wanted to go there; his room was safe.  

He realised that's probably where he had been trying to go; he tried to say that, making this person let him go so he could finally break. What came out of his mouth instead was a horrible screech.  

“I know.” No, no they didn't know; Loki felt trapped, like he couldn't communicate, and no one would ever understand him again. The blinking, and the buzzing, and the crying, and the ringing, and the rocking, and the laughing, and the squeezing, and the chaffing, and the blurry vision, were all stacking up. He felt like he'd never recover from this one.  

Then a door opened, and he was cold. It was nice, though, because he knew he was in his room.  

He pushed himself away from the person who'd taken it upon themself to get him here. He swung around to look at them. Thor was there. He shouldn't have been surprised. When he thought back, he'd definitely heard his brother's voice, and only his brother would grab him like that. But this still felt like a gut punch.  

His brother saw him and his childish habits, and internally, he had begun tumbling off of their shared ground. They were no longer equal. Loki gasped—a real gasp, not the muffled kind he'd been doing. Then he screamed.  

No words—just a loud wail straight from his chest. The door shut, and Thor was still inside.  

He screamed again, and again, and again. He wanted Thor out, and he hoped that his brother understood that because he couldn't hold back this meltdown any longer.  

He turned his back and hit his chest with his fist, hard. Then he stretched his arms out; he probably looked like he was pretending to be a bird as he rolled his shoulders out, but he didn't care.  

He flapped his hands, shook his head, and screamed. He jumped up and down, hugged himself, and growled. That was the only word he could think of to describe the sound that had left him.  

His entire upper body jerked like his heart was trying to rip itself out of his chest. His screams turned into loud sobs that resonated through his whole body. The pressure was still there; the tension was getting red and hot, and he couldn't make it go away.  

He scratched at his shoulders, ripping off his top layer of clothing. His undershirt was thinner, and he could actually feel his nails as they clawed against his skin. This hurt too, but in a good way. He was far from calm, but his mind had finally registered what he needed to do in order to unwind.  

“No!" he shouted, his voice cracking right in the middle.  

It wasn't a direct response to anything; he was just letting out all the things that had been playing on and off in his brain for the past hour. So, when his mouth remembered the word,  

“Stop!" He repeated it as loudly as he could, over and over.  

Loki needed good pain. He growled and stomped over to his bed. He used his right hand to grab the giant wooden post. He pulled himself into the shaft, slamming his shoulder harshly. It popped; a rattling pain knocked all the tension out of him. He did it again.  

“Stop!” Smack.  

“Stop!” Smack.  

“Stop!" Smack.  

Loki pulled himself into the post, hugging it. He was out of breath. His face no longer felt wet and itchy; it felt tacky and heavy. A wave of tension pushed through him—aftershocks.  

He groaned loudly and fell to the ground, then took in a big gasp of air and held his breath.  

Loki needed good pain.  

He dug his heels into the floor and pushed himself along his back so that his legs could lay straight. He flailed out his body so that he was lying like a starfish, and then he brought his head up and slammed it back against the ground.  

He did that three times before letting himself breathe again.  

As he gasped for air and coughed a bit, he realised his throat had become raw and his body had grown tired and achy. His chest didn't hurt anymore, and he no longer felt chafed. The wound-up feeling was gone, leaving him with a numb, dull void.  

He felt ashamed, but it didn't hurt or make him feel anxious. It was just there, hovering over him like an unnerving veil of fog.   

He miserably sat up and wrapped his arms around himself. The coming-to afterwards was another one of the worst parts. It was like finally seeing himself clearly and not recognising the person he'd just been, kicking and screaming on the floor like a child. He called it the “ after.”   

The after was full of emptiness and aftershocks of sharp, overwhelming emotions. When his mind finally felt somewhat clear, he realised this wasn't one of the worst parts; it was the worst part. The fight or flight hurt his body, but the aftermath hurt his pride.  

On top of that, he felt overly emotional, like he could cry at any second, or like the slightest nudge would send him into another spiral.  

“Are you alright?” 

Internally, Loki jerked, screamed, and burst into tears again. But on the outside, he just scoffed and turned to his brother pathetically. Thor looked uncomfortable; his face was unlike any Loki had ever seen his brother wear.  

His arms were crossed over his chest tightly; he looked almost anxious. Loki thought he looked younger in a way, tapping his foot and making his stupid, unreadable face. His chest ached; his brother wasn't supposed to see this. Loki couldn't tell what Thor was thinking, and he didn't know if he wanted to.  

He squinted, trying to manage the discomfort his thoughts were causing, and stood up. He felt like he was peeling himself off something revolting; his face tightened into a grimace. He was still exhausted, but the euphoria of finally releasing everything was wearing off quickly. His thoughts felt sour.  

When he broke down, the world around him didn't feel real; after he broke down, he didn't feel real. He felt like his brain, heart, and soul were all floating over his body, and the only way to weigh them down was physically. He needed pressure against his back. Usually, he just puts his satchel of books in the centre of his back, but he didn't want to do that in front of Thor. Sure, Thor had seen everything else, but now he was in his right mind, and this all felt too intimate for him.  

“Loki!” Thor's loud footsteps didn't bother him as much as they usually would have. “What's happening? Are you alright?”  

He threw himself onto his bed, hoping it was enough of a deterrent for Thor to leave him alone. He wanted to curl up under something heavy and go to sleep. Thor kept walking, and he realised that he should probably respond.  

Loki groaned, “Fine,” and his voice sounded horrible. It was hoarse and crackly.  

He knew Thor wouldn't be convinced. He was hardly convinced.  

He heard his brother's footsteps and felt his presence right up against him. Loki's legs were dangling off the side of his bed, and Thor brushed against them as he got closer. The gentleness was irritating to his skin. Loki cringed and moved away from the touch.  

“Are you injured?” Thor kneeled to be at his brother's level.  

“No.” That was the truth; he wasn't injured. As he came down, he felt throbbing in the back of his head and then in his shoulder, but he'd hardly call either of them injuries.  

Thor put a hand on his back and said, “Brother.”  

Loki scrunched his nose up and tried to pull away from Thor's touch.  

“Please don't do that!” His words came out much faster and more intensely than he had intended. He felt the need to clarify very slowly: “I do not want to be touched right now.”  

Loki was so tired, and he needed something heavy before everything felt bad again. He didn't want to deal with Thor; he didn't want to be forced to try and explain.  

He was relieved when Thor stopped touching him. “How am I supposed to comfort you if I cannot touch you?”  

Thor sounded confused, and Loki felt confused.  

“I don't need to be comforted.” It was a statement, but it sounded more like a question. He shook his head. His mind wasn't all there; he needed to be tied down.  

“You're crying!” Thor exclaimed. “Here, let me help.”  

He tried to touch his back again, but Loki let out a tiny sob. He folded his arms under his head and shoved his face into the crook of his elbow. The ease at which the cry escaped surprised him; he hadn't realised the tears were back. He didn't feel particularly sad; he was just so tired. Thor cornered him when he was the most sensitive.  

He closed his eyes; tears followed a trail carved through the stickiness of his face. He buried it further into his elbow, expecting ridicule. “I do not want you to touch me.”  

To his amazement, Thor didn't touch him.  

“What am I supposed to do then?” His voice broke. Loki knew he was crying. He hated when other people cried—almost as much as he hated when he himself cried. “What do you need?”  

Loki wanted to be left alone, but that would be rude now that Thor was crying. He felt stuck, and even worse, he still felt like his body wasn't his. He groaned and crossed his wrists over his neck.  

“You touch wrong.” He said it quietly, like it was an admission of guilt. “It hurts.”  

Thor sniffled, and Loki shook his head a little. He wasn't ready to explain everything else, so he'd start here. He sort of hoped Thor would understand; if he did, maybe he'd stop touching him all the time, but he didn't let himself have high hopes.  

“I don't understand.” Loki sighed, knowing he wouldn't. Hoping he would have was stupid. He couldn't explain it any better; how was he supposed to say that Thor needed to either touch him strongly or not touch him at all?  

He wasn't in the right mind to manage his and his brother's emotions. He wasn't in the right frame of mind to break down his own. And he wasn't in the right mindset to act like a normal, respectable human. His head hurt too much for that.  

“You don't do it right,” was all he said.  

Well, less said and more snapped.  

Thor was still blubbering behind him. It was irritating; he had no reason to cry after he implanted himself in this situation.  

He could've left.  

He should've left.  

But he didn't, and now he was there, being Loki's noisy, immature, never able to get the hint older brother. Crying like a fool. The whole situation was so absurd. It made Loki grit his teeth and fight the urge to squint.  

“How am I supposed to do it then?” He asked, no pleaded. Loki watched his brother try to reason with him, and all he wanted was for him to go. “Just tell me, I know I can do it right!”  

The floaty feeling was getting worse, and he feared that Thor would get him worked up again. All his crying and pushing. Loki didn't want to talk anymore. He felt sick, almost. Why was this happening to him?  

“You can't,” He needed to use his words, but he was starting to be reminded that his body was his too quickly and too forcefully. “Please go away.”  

Thor was quick. “No!”  

Loki growled. He felt real; it was like all the bits of him that had been trying to float away had reached the end of their tethers and were now fighting with his body. It felt like tension, making him want to shake it out—except instead of feeling too tight, he felt too loose. The headache was bad now.  

Loki felt more tears start to well up in his eyes; they burned the skin around his eyes. “Please, you're going to make it happen again!”  

He yelled; he couldn't believe he'd shouted like that. Like a child having a tantrum. He blinked hard and fought back a hum. He needed something heavy right now.  

“Is there a way for me to touch you so that it doesn't hurt?” Thor was as persistent as ever. The floaty feeling was bad; it was long past beginning to hurt.  

He was tired, his head hurt, and he felt like he was being pulled apart.  

“Lay on top of me!” Loki tightened his grip around his neck, trying to apply the pressure himself. He needed something heavy to make him feel grounded again, and Thor wouldn't leave, so it might as well have been him.  

Thor wasn't sniffling or insisting anymore. “What?”  

“If you would like to help, just lay on my back, please.” He tried to speak levelly, but it didn't work. He sounded frantic. This was humiliating.  

Thor finally stood up; Loki knew he'd leave. He knew that Thor wouldn't understand; nobody understood.  

Then he felt a heavy, even pressure on his back. Tears dribbled down his cheeks, and his jaw dropped open. He let out an involuntary sigh of relief. This was better than his books; his books were never truly even, but this was even. This feeling, this full-body pressure. He'd wanted it since he was a child; he had never felt safe in the before, the during, or the after until right now.  

Right now, he felt right.  

He began to cry—actually cry—and he wasn't even embarrassed. The wave of exhaustion that hit him was unlike anything he could recall. But it wasn't bad; it was like a brick wall of relief crumbling on top of him.  

Thor shifted like he was going to get up. “No, stay!” Loki wept. He knew he wouldn't be able to handle it if Thor got up now. He needed this.  

The screaming was so tiring, but then he began to feel light, which got him all worked up again.  

In his mind, he deserved this. Because he hated being like this. He hated feeling so out of control. He hated that he could never just scream away all the hurt; he needed to do so much in order to feel even a little bit normal. He hated himself so much, allof the time. But right now, he didn't feel that way. For the first time ever, he felt completely fine. Tired, but fine.  

Thor didn't talk until Loki had stopped crying.  

“I thought you didn't like to be touched,” he mumbled, resting his cheek on Loki's head.  

Loki bit his lip; it sounded crazy, but he needed to explain it. Even if his brother thought he was insane or continued to touch him out of spite, he needed to explain it to someone, and right now he felt so good that he didn't think anything could ruin it. Even an ill-advised, high-on-fatigue discussion about all the things Loki had spent his entire life trying to hide.  

“I like it when it's heavy.” He said he felt Thor try to say something, but he continued before his brother got the chance to speak. “It needs to be strong and even.” He sniffled; his nose felt stuffy.  

“You are too, Light, and when you do touch me—strong—or hold me tightly, it's uneven.” He was searching and pleading with his mind for the right words, but they never sounded right.  

Thor didn't say anything for a long time; he just breathed slowly. Then he asked something that made Loki feel a little more aware: “Why?”  

He took in a shaky breath and said, “I don't know.”  

Loki had never wondered why. He just knew how he felt and that it wasn't right. He never questioned it; he tried to resist the feelings, but he never thought as to why.  

Thor must not have realised how heavy a question he'd just asked, because he immediately jumped back into the conversation.  

“Is that why you cried?” he asked. He didn't sound as concerned; he posed it as if it were normal, like asking the time. “Because I was touching you wrong?”   

Loki sighed through his nose; he didn't really feel afraid or annoyed, just a bit hesitant.  

“That, and you were all being very loud,” he murmured.  

“Loud?” Thor sounded confused again; it was like Loki could hear the gears turning in his head.  

Loki nodded. “Loud hurts too.” The admission made him blink a little harder than he meant to.  

“Since when?”  

Thor didn't sound like he was trying to mock him; he sounded genuinely perplexed. It was as if he'd never even considered that this was a possibility. Regardless, Loki still felt defensive.  

“Since always!”  

Thor was quiet again. “Do you always...” He paused, like he was searching for his words. Loki wondered if he was trying to protect his feelings with careful words. “Do what you just did, with the screaming and the hitting?”  

“Not all the time, just when it's really bad.” Loki felt surprisingly calm. Sure, there were a couple of tics and tenses, but for the first time in almost a week, he felt no underlying anxiety.  

Thor hummed in thought, and Loki liked the way it rumbled against his back.  

“How long have you done it?”  

Loki didn't have to think too hard about that one; he knew he'd done it for as long as he could remember. He remembered being a small child, barely able to think, on the ground screaming. His breakdowns were the most consistent thing about him. His father called them tantrums and swore up and down at Loki over them until he was old enough to quell them. He grimaced at the memory.  

“Long time.”  

“Can you not do it?” Thor questioned; he didn't even pause before continuing. “And do you still hurt, even when it's not bad and you don't have to do this?”  

Loki felt a bit overwhelmed by Thor's speed; it was almost like an interrogation.  

“I'm very good at suppressing them for long periods, but I cannot not do it. At some point, I have to.” He tried to explain, “And yes, things always hurt; I can't just turn them off. It's like my body's reaction to the sound and touching and all the other little things is to hurt. But I can do small things so that it doesn't hurt as badly.”  

Thor sat up a bit, as if to get a good look at Loki, when he asked his next question. “What kind of small things?”  

Loki closed his eyes, missing the even weight.  

“I blink. And I make sounds that are louder than the ones around me.” He thought for a moment. “Sometimes I have to do bigger things, like rock or—I don't know.”  

He heard Thor open his mouth, then close it. He did this a couple of times, sometimes letting out a little sound like he was going to start talking but couldn't. Loki was about to say something, but finally, Thor found his words.  

“When we were really little, you'd rock back and forth when we watched the old warriors sharpen their swords, or when we were at the dinner table.” Thor said it so quietly. Loki wasn't sure if his brother was speaking to him. “I remember because I asked Mother, and she said you had sensitive ears.”  

“That was for the same reason, yes?”  

Loki felt hot, and for some reason, he thought he'd always been so good at hiding it. “Yes.”  

“Why did you rock at the table? Nothing loud happens there.” Loki let out a low whine; he missed the pressure. Thor seemed to understand because he laid back down.  

He almost gagged at the thought of sitting at the dinner table. The sound of people drinking was hard to process. He hummed loudly. “Some of the sounds are just too difficult. I don't like them.”  

“But how can quiet sounds hurt?” Thor questioned, “If your ears are sensitive—”  

“I don't know; lots of little sounds hurt.” Loki cut him off. “And it isn't that my ears are sensitive; I don't think...”  

Thor huffed, “What sounds is it, then?” He hesitated. “And is it just sound and touch, or is there more to it?”  

“I couldn't possibly tell you all the things that hurt me; it would take too long!” Loki whined, pressing his face deeper into his arm.  

Thor didn't seem too pleased with his response: “Then how will I know not to do them?” He snapped.  

“I don't need you to stop!”  

“But it's hurting you!” Thor sounded hurt himself; he was quiet again, and then he mumbled, “Why wouldn't you tell anyone? Mother and Father could have fixed it, I'm sure.”  

Loki choked up at that, because he didn't know why. Maybe because it was embarrassing, and embarrassment hurt too. Maybe because it meant he was weaker than everyone else thought he already was. He bit his lip, again wondering when he started to think that people looked at him that way. Then he realised why he never tried to tell anyone. It was because, deep down, he knew this wasn't something that could be fixed.  

“This isn't normal.” He finally said. “And no one can make it go away.”  

He wished Thor would disagree. Even if it was just out of pity, he desperately wanted him to disagree. Word-vomit stupid reassurance until Loki was so annoyed he'd forgotten what he'd said. But Thor didn't do that.  

Thor sighed. “I don't know what to do.”  

Loki felt empty. Then he felt squashed. This was no longer comforting. He took a deep breath.  

“You don't have to do anything,” he muttered.  

He squeezed his eyes shut; he didn't like this anymore.  

"What does it feel like when you get all worked up like that?” Thor asked quietly. He sounded scared of his own question.  

Loki tried to imagine it, but he felt too claustrophobic to form a coherent sentence.  

“I can't explain it.” He choked. “It's overwhelming, I suppose."  

He was done; Thor needed to get off now. “I would like you to get up, please!”  

He must have sounded frantic again, because Thor didn't ask why; he just got off of him.  

“Are you alright?” Loki hated being asked that. Most of the time, he couldn't even remember what all right felt like.  

He nodded anyway. “Fine.” Thor groaned.  

“Fine,” he mimicked.  

Loki fought the urge to say it again. He hated being mocked; when he was small, he'd turn it into a competition to see who could go longer. Loki could always go longer; he hated breaking the chain. Luckily, nothing was said for a while. Thor laid down beside him, but he didn't touch him. Loki rolled onto his back; it felt less awkward.  

And they just stayed there until Loki forgot they were having a conversation.  

In silence, he thought about a lot of things. He thought about how hard he tried to keep Thor from seeing this side of him, as well as how hard he kept everyone from seeing it. He thought about the fact that he'd had what probably seemed to everyone else as a full-blown meltdown in the hallway. He hadn't cried in front of anyone in centuries, and now all of his brother's new, older friends had seen him cover his ears and make stupid sounds. They'd see him cry, and they laughed.  

He hated it. It made him wave his right hand uncomfortably, and he tried to forget everything that had happened. Instead, his brain just kept pushing thoughts that made him want to shake his head.  

He thought about being young and being scolded for his tantrums. He thought about when he realised something was wrong when it stopped being because he was a child and started becoming because he had a bad brain. He thought about rocking while listening to the sounds people made while they drank and how afterwards he'd have to sob into his pillow until he stopped wanting to gag.  

He thought about his brother.  

He thought about his brother a lot in the silence. Maybe because he was right next to him. He thought about how hard he was trying to hide this, and wondered why he kept it from him. Thor had never given him a reason not to trust him. He could be a jerk, but at the end of the day, they were little together. He'd never realised how much weight that held. Growing up beside someone for your whole life.   

And for his whole life, Thor protected him. Even though he was only a little bit older, he had always protected him from all the things that scared him and eased his anxieties. Even with the stupid things, like when they had to walk upstairs and Loki would make him walk behind him in case he fell back, or when they'd have to cross water and Loki would cry about water bugs, Thor'd carry him on his back. His brother never teased him about anything that mattered; he wasn't sure why he assumed this time it'd be different.  

They had more than just a home and shared parents.  

“How did I never know?” Thor finally broke the silence. His voice sounded wobbly, and Loki couldn't tell if he was crying again. “If you truly have felt this way since we were tiny, how did me and Mother and Father never notice anything?”  

Loki didn't answer. He pondered on the question. He thought he was amazing at hiding it, but Thor had noticed his aversions. The fact that he had managed to go as long as he did with no notable incidents shocked even him. But he knew, deep down, that it was all luck. He'd had plenty of outbursts in the palace halls, trying to reach his room. He'd had them outside and in the library. He'd had them under the table in the dining area when everyone had gone to sleep, when he was still too wound up from the sound of drinking to leave.  

He hated thinking about all the times he'd broken down.  

He had so many throughout his entire life, and no one had seen them. Sure, when he was younger, they'd all seen the eruptions, but it was acceptable then. No one thought anything of a toddler screaming his head off over loud noises.  

“I really didn't want you to know,” is what Loki ended up saying.  

He finally looked at Thor; his brother's face was all twisted up. “Why?”  

Loki didn't answer; he just took a deep breath and did a couple of hard blinks.  

And that was it. Nothing more was said. But Loki knew that, on some level, Thor understood him.