Rewriting a story. Loki had woven many lies before. If he had used that creativity to weave his own stories, he might have been somewhere else. Anywhere else but in a never-ending loop of impending doom. He knew that at the point he was at it was futile to look back, but he was growing weary. For the first time in aeons, the god believed he was experiencing ageing for the very first time. Had it been a couple hours? A decade? Centuries? He could not tell anymore. He rose and fell, wiped tears and recovered from violent tremors of manic, sometimes euphoric laughter, ripped at his hair, hugged his friends, pleaded and screamed…but at the end of the day he was met with failure. And every time he went back, his companions recalled nothing that transpired. They never aged, never remembered, never tired. The very people he held onto kept disappearing at his fingertips every time he slipped further back in time, and they reappeared in front of him as clean slates, ready to be exhausted to the very last drop just for failure, nothing more.
As his hopes waned, Loki time slipped further and further back in time, farther from the havoc of the self-destructing loom and the dread of inevitable annihilation. The branches had very little time, but he was ready to abuse this newfound loophole to his desire. He was ready to look over things with a new gaze, to look back upon his greatest joys and regrets...to see him for a little while longer. Perhaps it was the centuries of hopes wasted, or perhaps it was the gradually creeping realization of a possible death-for whatever reason, Loki’s heart grew far more tender as he watched over the washed-up analyst. His heartbeat got unbearably loud as he listened to his nasal voice and his eyes welled even at the dumbest things the man said. He knew the truth behind all this, he always had. He wondered if the other man did. But it did not matter now. Whether his feelings were reciprocated or not, they held no meaning anymore as they were all going to die in a timeless prison. They’d not even have graves, or proper names to be remembered by. The crushing ache in Loki’s chest glowed like an ember as he recalled that they were all humans oblivious to their humanity. They believed that they were created by mindless entities to do tedious, unappreciated work for all eternity. For nothing.
If they were to lose, despite his great discovery, Loki would want Mobius to know that he was loved in a way he probably would never think of being loved. Loki thought about that as he observed his past self, freshly captured, chin up high, arrogant and malicious. He watched him glare at the older man from across the table in the infamous time-theatre. He wondered if Loki was aware that he was capable of feeling such affection too. For anyone but himself.
He sifted through the limited time they had together as if he were sifting through the pages of a novel interrupted by its author’s tragic, untimely death. The instances when he was in compliance with the analyst’s orders were some of his favorites. For a very brief time, although his covetous eyes were distracted by the desire to take control of the TVA, he tasted the comfort of partnership. During their hunt for Sylvie, there were moments where he had forgotten his concealed ulterior motive, and candidly enjoyed doing interdimensional detective work with Mobius. Or maybe he just enjoyed his company. And his praises. And the way he laughed. His crooked nose. The way he seemed unaffected by everything. But Loki always knew. He knew somewhere deep down, somewhere between the aeons, between the carelessness and the light-hearted jokes, the man’s heart was unmendably shattered. Loki selfishly wondered, if a heart ached, couldn’t it also know how to surge with love? It must. And maybe it did, for him. If-Loki asked again, as he watched himself bore the analyst to death with his unsuccessful metaphors-if Mobius knew how to conceal such a great burden, maybe he was also masterful at concealing great affections. Affection for him. His heart was begging for it to be true, childishly.
He never realized how quickly he grew trusting of Mobius. He observed in wonder how soundly he napped on that uncomfortable chair, right across a stranger. He had always believed that he was incapable of relaxing slightly, let alone sleep, in the presence of anyone. Mobius was never a stranger to Loki, why he did not understand then. But he knew now, it was an ineffectual consciousness, but he enjoyed it regardless. It diminished the guilt he felt due to his current desire for the unassuming man. He had always felt this way apparently, even when he was blinded by a false purpose. He could not decide whether the Mobius he observed would be disgusted in the face of the god’s desire for him. Would he understand it? And if he did…what would he feel in return? No matter how hard he tried to see it in Mobius’s eyes, he could not. He wanted to help the TVA and nothing more, or so it seemed...he still hoped.
Mobius was not as masterful as Loki was at deception. He knew very well how to conceal, but at times, he was too candid to deceive. He recalled how he had uttered his belief in Loki, how he could become “even someone good”, whatever good meant to him. He could see now that Mobius really did mean it, he believed that Loki was capable of the one thing everyone told him he would never achieve; change. And Mobius stood corrected, by the point the analyst had said that, Loki had already evolved immensely, in a manner even he himself wasn’t completely aware of. Loki questioned why did it take one simple old man to achieve this growth? What did he possess that the countless others in his expansive life had not? Was it something the man had? Or was it what Loki had in his heart for him? He knew that it was a bit of both, it was strange, but it happened. And it was happening all over again right in front of his very eyes so he could verify.
Loki soon realized he was too hasty to judge the analyst’s deception skills, as his own was lacking at times too. With the immense grief he apparently had felt at the moment, Loki never took note of how quickly his face morphed into that pained expression as he witnessed Mobius being pruned. He did recall though, how suddenly his heart had leapt the moment the glowing end of the pruning stick approached Mobius. How quickly the tears came. How that gnawing feeling in his chest did not leave until he saw him again, alive and well. He had his fair share of experience when it came to physical desire, gravitation towards someone else with pure lust and envy. He felt something reminiscent of that pull when he threw his arms around Mobius before their departure in the Void. But there was a stronger power which squeezed his heart so mightily that he almost felt light-headed as his chin rested on Mobius’s shoulder. A sensation that elated him, simultaneously grounding him with fear and apprehension. It was almost as if he had finally acquired the faculty to be able to soar but he could not, fearing that this new ability would also result with an injury so much greater than anything he’s ever experienced before. He knew who made him soar, who was also the very person who made him want to just stay.
He knew that he loved Mobius by then, but what was he to do with that realization? Was he supposed to kiss him when they pulled away from that hug? Was he supposed to cling to his lips instead? Was he supposed to abandon Sylvie and the others and just follow him to the TVA instead. Maybe that was the right course of action. Maybe, if he hadn’t helped Sylvie reach Who He Remains, she wouldn’t have killed him and he and Mobius would have all the time in the world. Then, he wouldn’t be worried about when to kiss him, when to hug him, when to have pie with him, when to run after time criminals with him. Because then, he can just do whatever, whenever. He can choose to confront whichever feeling he’d like to whenever he’d like to face it. But now he knew how all of their trials and tribulations ended, he knew that they did not have time. He wished his past self had acted as if each one of his days with Mobius were the last.
Perhaps it was the intense desire for his feelings to be reciprocated which implanted the seed of hope in Loki’s heart as he progressed through their shared time, but he started to believe that Mobius certainly did care for him. As their shared time expanded, Loki seemed to step out of his role as a tool for catching one of his variants in Mobius’ eyes. He seemed to care for him just the way someone cares for another. Care for someone special, someone they cherished...loved even. No, that was too far. Regardless of what or who Mobius was before, the TVA was the only life he’d ever known, the life of a timeless office worker. He was surely a stranger to desire, affection, love…He did have friends, he surely cared about Ravonna, one might even say he loved her. But did he want her? Was he capable of wanting anyone? Loki thought that he was seeing things in a new light, but it appears that he was revisiting the past with a marred, desperate view, forced into delirium with helplessness. That must be it. Mobius did not put his arms around his waist or his shoulders after his grueling time-slipping because he wanted Loki for himself. He did all that just because he saw how much pain Loki was in-to provide comfort for a suffering friend. The god was the one confused here. He was the one bending every experience to his whims. Mobius was entirely normal; maybe he was capable of loving someone romantically, maybe he was not, but Loki was forever compromised with mischief and that is why he interpreted things to be more than they seemed. He should feel ashamed.
But Loki could not blame himself for his indecent interpretations of a “friend’s” innocent actions. Not after he saw how Mobius longingly looked at the pruning stick the god had dropped. He will make it back. Loki almost stepped into the man’s view, almost held him firmly by the shoulders and told him, “I did make it back. I will always find a way back.” and he would not be able to bring himself to say the rest. He had almost told him right then, right before he slipped away from Mobius. Why did Loki only think of doing anything about this gut-wrenching feeling when he believed his otherwise unlimited time could be cut short? Despite his tardiness, his past self was still less of a coward than he was. The past Loki did not know how things were to end, but he still took-attempted to take action. Now, he knew exactly how their story would end and he still could not find it in himself to be honest. What was there left to lose?
He really had nothing left to lose. Why did he fear the outcome of anything anymore? Why was he cautious? Why did he hold back? Nothing mattered anymore, nothing should be keeping him from telling the truth, from holding him, kissing him. But even at the end of time, Loki still wished to be loved, even if he knew he had doom waiting for him at the very end, he still wished Mobius to want Loki as much as he wanted him. He wanted Mobius to kiss him back. But he would never know if Mobius does if he doesn’t just take a step forward and do it. He lingered, unsure and anxious. Just like the siblings from the fairytale, he desperately searched for breadcrumbs to curb his insatiable hunger for Mobius’ affection. It was undeniable that they made each other soar, that they fit each other better than anything out there, that when they were together time passed by with no sound, no hindrances, that this was the natural course of things…if they had more time. Loki never realized how brightly he smiled with Mobius. How his eyes sparkled. How eagerly he looked at him. How did he let himself be so obvious? Mobius surely must have been aware. He must have. Why else would he risk his life, his skin so confidently? Why did he have so much faith in Loki? Why would he beg O.B for more time?
Time was always in their way, wasn’t it?
He had said it himself. It was about what he wanted. It was about who he wanted. It was about who. It was about Mobius. It was always Mobius. He was why Loki wanted the TVA to remain. Why else would he care about a wretched, beige timeless bureau? Why would he imprison himself in such a sad place? He’d wish to remain in Valhalla if it meant Mobius would be there. He needed Mobius to remain even if he himself could not. He needed them, he needed Mobius to live. After being torn from what could have been an ordinary but fulfilling life, Mobius deserved that much. He was selfish in wanting to keep the analyst to himself. He deserved so much more than that. So this was his chance, perhaps Loki’s final chance if he wished to do anything about his stupid heart, about its stupid whims, before he said goodbye forever.
“What the shit are you doing?” Mobius held on to his jacket so firmly that Loki, for a moment, thought the man would punch him ferociously. He had a confusing smile on his face; both exasperated and knowing. I am onto you, he seemed to say.
Loki was at one of his many trials in stopping the loom from annihilating everything in existence.
He ignored the questioning grip at his collars momentarily and gazed at the glaring loom. He only had moments to spare if he wished to spend possibly an eternity with minimal regrets.
With the sudden realization of urgency, Loki whipped his head back at Mobius, and gently held the man’s wrists, “Mobius, we don’t have much time.”
He still gripped at the fabric firmly, “You’re scaring me, Loki.”
“I know, I know, I’m sorry,” he squeezed his wrists apologetically, “But I need to tell you something, I tried to tell you before but-”
“We don’t have much time!” O.B. exclaimed.
“-but I was interrupted.”
Loki could feel Mobius’ hands loosen their grip on his jacket, he could see his gaze grow solemn. The change in demeanor petrified him. He continued nevertheless, it was now or never.
“I know…I know I don’t invoke comfort or security in anyone.” Loki pulled him closer and Mobius let him, his hands now relaxed and pressing on Loki’s shoulders, “But I truly care for you, I…want you to see me, to like me, I want to stay because you are here.” The others seemed to stop urging them, they knew this was goodbye.
“I don’t have much experience with such a feeling, so I…don’t know if I’m doing the right thing but…Mobius I l-” his words were interrupted, and lips were sealed, not with cowardice, not with hesitation or fear or a cosmic imbalance in the flow of time, but with the best way possible. Impatient, Mobius had closed the narrow distance between their faces, sealing the blabbering god’s lips with his own. His hands made their way upward, cupping Loki’s face, who still held onto his wrists. Somewhat in disbelief, and partially relieved, Loki closed his eyes, cursing at himself for stopping, hesitating, for taking their time together for granted. Now how could he enjoy the elation of reciprocation if he had no time to do so? How could he be content with himself if he knew now that his next course of action was possibly going to hurt Mobius even more than he presumed.
Loki kept his eyes sealed shut even after they pulled away, fearing that the tears would spill if he did otherwise. He could still feel Mobius’ warm breath on his face, his coarse palms pressed onto his cheeks. He wished for this moment to remain forever, but the roaring loom reminded him that it could not.
“Loki…hey.” Mobius tried to shake the latter man gently, as if he were trying to wake him up from a nightmare, “Look at me.”
Loki remained the same, eyes firmly shut, brows scrunched with agony. He exhaled shakily, suppressing a sob. He understood now that no matter what he did, regardless of how he bid farewell, it was still going to hurt terribly. His shut eyes could no longer contain the tears.
“I love you too.”
That was all he ever wanted to hear. Why did it have to be now? Why couldn’t he have done this when they had pie together in comforting silence? Why did he have to hear these beautiful words spill from him right before separation? Why…it was meaningless to question. He had his confirmation, and that should suffice him for the rest of eternity.
Loki opened his eyes and let the rest of the tears come freely, they did not linger on his face for long anyways as two thumbs rested gently on his cheeks, wiping them away. “You did not let me say it.”
Mobius smiled, the same comforting smile he had given him in the face of some of the worst things they have faced, “You already have, Loki. More than once, actually.”
He leaned in once more, resting his forehead against the god’s, “We will figure this out, okay? We always find a way out.”
The knot in his throat tightened. We. There could be no “we” and Loki knew that.
“I’m sorry.”
Mobius pulled back still holding Loki firmly. He looked at him with a painfully oblivious and questioning expression, “Why do you keep saying that?”
They stared at the groaning loom in despair. Victor had been successful, but his efforts quickly proved to be futile. The loom would never be enough for the infinitely branching timelines. It had to be gone, for good. Something else needed to take its place, and Loki knew exactly what had to be done.
He had time slipped back to the final trial that he knew off. This was just moments after when he would have shared that kiss with Mobius. Of course, in this instance, he never confessed. He did not need to, now that he knew how Mobius felt. His gaze rested on him after it made a short stop on Sylvie, O.B, Casey, B-15…
His gaze lingered there the longest.
This Mobius did not know what Loki truly felt for him, which would, hopefully, make things less painful for him. Maybe now that he did not know, the analyst would forget him with ease and move on. Maybe.
As the rest watched their inevitable end unfold from across the cracking glass, Loki quietly descended the steps.
He knew what kind of a god he needed to be. For everyone.
For him.