Thread of Time

It’s another customer, Mobius thinks, when his phone begins to ping in his pocket. It’s an unknown number.

He’s sitting on his desk at the store. Soft sunlight spills through the glass doors, illuminating the store’s display. Buyers stream in and out of the area, footsteps thumping on the linoleum floor. The smell of freshly baked donuts hangs in the air.

Mobius is poring over the paperwork, a steaming mug of coffee in hand. The phone pings incessantly as he finishes the past week’s records.

Mobius wonders if he should even pick up the phone. Business is fast today, and he needs to be on alert in case someone needs him. But, upon looking at the other salesmen engage in conversation with the customers, he decides to do it anyway. It could be a big sale after all.

He presses the phone to his ear. “Hello?”

“Mobius!” It’s Sylvie. Her voice sounds frail, like she’s terrified. Mobius doesn’t remember giving her his number.

“Sylvie!” He greets. “Didn’t know you had my-” 

“Mobius, you need to get home right now.” There’s a nerve to her voice that he can’t quite place, something that is uncharacteristic for her. Mobius’ heart hammers rapidly in her chest. Something’s definitely vey wrong.

“What happened?” He asks breathlessly. “Are you okay?”

“It’s- it’s Loki.”

He drops his coffee. It falls to the floor with a thump, its contents spilling everywhere.

“What happened?” He snaps up from his chair, already making his way out. “Is he alright? Sylvie, what happened?”

“He’s not alright.” Sylvie breathes out, her voice pained. “Come home. Please.”

Mobius nods, instantly ending the call. His hands are unsteady as he darts out of the store, hesitantly explaining to his coworkers about an unexpected guest. His heart has leapt to his throat, his breaths laboured, as every fibre of his being fights to rush to the God.

****

When Mobius steps into his home, he spots Sylvie hunched over the staircase, her hands digging into the hard wood there. Her overcoat is hanging loosely by her elbows. Her eyes are hazy, unfocused. He doesn’t take it as a good sign.

”What happened?” He asks, before skittering forward to the important question: “Where is he?”

”B-bedroom.” Sylvie stammers. She steps closer, and Mobius alarmingly notices little grains of sand nestled in her hair. “It’s- it’s all my fault. I shouldn’t have let him see the Variant- I should’ve-”

“Hey,” Mobius cuts in, worry tingling in his heart. “Slow down. What the hell’s going on?”

“Loki,” She whispers. “He was unconscious when I found him, woke up screaming. Wh-when I brought him here, he went in the bedroom and locked the door! He won’t let me in.”

”Wha-” Mobius doesn’t even throw her a second glance before hurrying up the staircase. His stomach is a cocktail of fear and sorrow and doubt, while his mind brims with one question: What aren’t they telling me?

He reaches the door of the bedroom allotted to Loki, which, as Sylvie said, is closed. Mobius reaches forward, pressing his palm against it. He knocks emphatically. “Loki!” He yells.

His heart crumples when he hears the sound of ragged breathing on the other end of the door, ending with a wretched sob. Mobius’ stomach drops, chest swelling with worry as he rams against the door. “Loki! Hey, it’s Mobius. Let me in.”

Mobius presses his ear against the wooden surface, hearing Loki struggle even more. The God gasps and whimpers, but the breath doesn’t come. The analyst grits his teeth. He has studied the God long enough to know that Loki isn’t one to acknowledge pain— and the fact that he’s locked himself in the room, doubling over in sorrow, means that something is really wrong. Mobius suddenly can’t resist the urge to go in there and fix it. 

“Loki.” He prods. “You know I won’t go till you open this door. I wanna help. Just let me in. Please.” His voice stutters at the end, and he presses both hands against Loki’s door.

He waits, feeling his own breaths thunder sharply through his nose. At last, with a flash of green, the doorknob loosens. Heaving a sigh of relief, Mobius pushes it open, stepping inside the bedroom.

His eyes scan the room, white and orderly. They come to rest on the figure slumped on the bed. Loki’s thin shoulder blades shake with his aching breaths, his head down, hands crumpled over the white bed sheets. His thin raven curls sway with his trembling body.

Mobius’ heart breaks at the sight.

“Loki,” He whispers, his voice quivering, as he moves to kneel before the God. 

Loki’s head snaps up to face him. Mobius can’t help but let out the small gasp at the sight. A deep flush is painted over his paper-white skin. His eyes are red-rimmed and swollen, his quivering lips parted at the slightest. 

“Hey, what’s wrong?” He asks softly, taking both of Loki’s hands in his. A surge of protectiveness rises inside him, something that ignites a blaze in his heart.

“I’m- I’m fine.” Loki stutters, even though he’s swaying with inconsistent breaths.

“No, you’re not.” Mobius says, stroking a thumb over Loki’s hand.

Loki doesn’t relent, though, eyes roaming everywhere but into Mobius’. The analyst frowns. He needs Loki to be honest with him, so that Mobius can find whatever put him in this state and destroy it. He recognises that Loki has closed himself up in fear of being judged, and Mobius needs him to know that he isn’t here to do so. So he tries it a different way.

Mobius’ hands close around Loki’s, and he slowly pulls them to his chest. He presses Loki’s hands to his own ribs, gently squeezing them. Loki twitches, jerking in his grip. The tenderness of his gesture seems to send him over the edge. The God lets out a low whine, before a stream of tears leaks down his face.

“It’s okay.” Mobius soothes, trailing one hand across Loki’s forearm, the other keeping their hands laced together. “You’re okay. You’re safe. You’re with me.”

Loki shudders in his grasp, and that’s when Mobius notices the heat radiating off his impossibly pale skin. That’s not normal, he thinks with no small amount of concern. He strokes Loki’s arms tenderly until the God looks up at him again.

”A-am I a- a monster?” He stutters.

“Loki.” Mobius gets up on the floor, and sinks into bed next to Loki. He wraps an arm around the God, pulling him close. Loki lets himself be held, and lowers his head onto Mobius’ shoulder. Mobius’ other hand rests on Loki’s thigh, giving it a comforting squeeze.

”Loki, you’re not a monster. Don’t you ever think that. You’re the bravest person I know.” Mobius rests the side of his head into Loki’s hair. “You gave everything up for us. You made this sacrifice, despite everything you’ve been put through.”

Loki whines into his shoulder, a sound that makes Mobius pull him even closer. Mobius feels himself nearly come apart as he rubs the trembling God’s back. He turns his head to press a soft kiss onto Loki’s temple. It’s scary, how much he cares for Loki. 

He feels a sizzle of fear in his heart. This isn’t like Loki- broken, beaten down, doubting. Loki trembles like a volcano about to erupt and turn the world into ash. Like a fruit in a blender, splashing everything with the raw liquid thundering inside. 

“I’m here. I’ve got you.” He whispers. He feels the words at the tip of his tongue, but refuses to let them fall, lest he ruins the final moments he’s got with Loki before they catch the Variant and Yggdrasil finishes growing. 

You have no idea how loved you are.

He can’t explain the cocktail of fear and sorrow and care that’s pouring inside him as he holds the God. It’s something entirely different from his usual sense of compassion, something even more pure. Loki’s never had someone who loved him for who he was and what he did, Mobius thinks in dismay. No one to go to in a moment of crisis. No one to draw comfort from.

And he can see how much that’s destroyed him, how much it made him fear his own emotions. Mobius can only hope that this, whatever it is that he’s doing, is enough to pull him from his self-proclaimed fears. 

He then decides to slot his hand against the God’s forehead, wincing when he finds the skin hot to the touch. “You’re burning up.” He murmurs, concern blossoming in his own chest.

Loving Loki is like diving deep into the ocean, to feel the cold waves beat down on your skin, being suffocated by its weight, barreling forward to find the treasure buried within. And Mobius is ready to swim, to drown in it for the rest of his life.

“M-mobius…” Loki stammers. “I w-went back to 2012. To c-confront the Variant.” Mobius raises his brows, turning to look at the God’s face.

”He stole the Tesseract. From- from my past self.” Loki murmurs. “I- I had a vision last night, of him doing it. It was sc-scary.”

“What?” Mobius twitches out of surprise. “A vision?”

”I don’t know.” Loki whispers. “My m-mind was possessed by him, somehow. All I could see was him punching my past self and taking away the Tesseract. H-He did it again.”

“Loki.” Mobius says softly, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I’m sorry.” Loki’s eyes pinch shut, and more tears stream down his pink face.

“Hey,” The analyst slowly draws up one hand to rub at Loki’s warm, wet cheeks. “It’s alright.”

Loki says nothing, but his breathing seems to have slowed down. He sniffs, and Mobius frowns against the warmth of his skin. He pats God’s shoulder. “Loki, you need to lie down.”

He gently guides Loki onto the bed, easing his head onto the soft pillow. He drapes the silk sheets over Loki’s body, and watches as his features clench. “Does anything hurt?” He asks immediately.

Loki shakes his head, but it seems more of an instinct than anything. Loki’s eyes snap open to look at him. “Headache.” He murmurs.

Mobius nods, crawling to the God’s side. With a careful look at Loki’s face, he presses his fingers onto his forehead. He gently massages the clammy skin, feeling a flutter of relief at the satisfactory sigh that leaves Loki’s mouth.

Mobius continues to rub at Loki’s burning forehead, feeling his own thoughts race. A vision? What could possibly be its root cause? And how did Mobius, sleeping only one floor above Loki, separated by only a slab of concrete, not notice anything? He begins to feel a ripple of guilt.

At last, when Loki’s heavy eyelids fall closed and his body finally stops shaking, he withdraws his hands from the God’s head. His heart aches. He hates seeing Loki being torn apart like this, trampled by his own thoughts. He wishes he could suck those intruding thoughts from Loki’s head.

But he finds he can’t. All he can do is stand as Loki’s beacon in the sea.

****

Loki is fast asleep when Sylvie strides into the room. She looks at the God, and then at Mobius, who’s sitting next to him with his face pinched in worry. The light is dimmed from when Mobius pulled down the curtains. He snaps out of his momentary daze, and glances up to the Godess.

”Did you know?” He murmurs. 

Sylvie inches to the side of the bed. “He told me this morning.”

Mobius grunts, shaking his head. Sylvie extends her arm, as if to aid her point. “Mobius, he was worried you’d stop living your real life for him. He didn’t want you to be upset when it all ends.”

“My real life?” He snaps. How could he tell her that Loki was everything that made his life real? That it would feel incomplete without his presence?

“Mobius…” Sylvie takes a seat at the foot of the bed, opposite the analyst. Her tone is heavy, and emphatic. “Are you happy?”

Mobius opens his mouth to answer, but the Godess cuts him off.

“Answer honestly. Please.”

Mobius’ words die in his throat, replaced by a quivering lump. He cards a hand through his silvery hair, throwing a glance at Loki. He’s curled into a ball on the bed, letting himself dip into the haze of sleep because of the firm belief in the fact that he won’t be harmed in Mobius’ presence. The feeling causes his stomach to warm up.

“I try to be.” He whispers. He rests his hand on Loki’s head, fingers curling into the thin black wisps of hair. “I really do.”

Sylvie’s eyes widen, and she tilts her head in puzzlement. It’s as if she can read the emotions plummeting through his heart, and the fact that his love for Loki goes beyond the threshold of friendship. She leads forward, pressing her hand on the sheets. “Do you…?”

“I do, Sylvie.” Mobius replies, his hand giving the God’s head a few strokes before coming to rest on his own lap. 

The Goddess nods knowingly. “And does it bother you that you’re not his true purpose?”

Mobius inhales. It does, more than what’s ideal. Much more. “It- it shouldn’t.”

Sylvie scoffs, pressing a hand to her face. “You’re both hopeless.”

“Sorry?” He enquires.

She shakes her head. “Look, I can’t tell either of you anything, because it’s not my secret. But I think you should tell him how you feel.”

“I can’t.” Mobius mumbles, feeling his voice break. “What if I make him uncomfortable? What if he doesn’t want this? What if it makes him go away?”

“Mobius-”

They’re interrupted by a stuttering sob. Mobius’ head snaps to Loki, who’s twitching in the sheets, his cheeks red with fever. His lips part in low, desperate croaks.

”M-m-mother…M-mobius…d-don’t g-g-go..”

“Loki.” Mobius raises his hand to clasp it around the God’s. “It’s okay. It’s alright.”

Loki’s breaths come as desperate heaves, but his body seems to relax ever so slightly at the touch. He curves towards Mobius, his eyes still clothes, but still searching for solace. Mobius is more than happy to give it to him. Sylvie watches as the analyst moves his other hand to squeeze Loki’s trembling shoulder.

“I’m right here, yeah? I’m not going anywhere. I’ve got you.” Mobius whispers, thumb trailing soothing patterns across the God’s shoulder.

Loki silences at the words, before his trembling ceases entirely and he slumps back down on the bed sheet, tired. Mobius leans down, slowly, to plant a soft kiss on Loki’s swollen cheek. He withdraws, and turns to face Sylvie. 

“Are you really sure about what you said?” She asks, her gaze roaming between the two men. “He cares for you, y’know. A lot more than you think.”

“I know.” Mobius replies heavily, leaning back on the pillows. His hand press onto his face, and he lets out a laboured exhale.

“And I am sure.”

*****

Loki is disoriented, for just a second, upon waking. The bedroom floats before his vision as he fervently blinks his eyes. And then the events of the day cascade upon him like a waterfall— the vision. Meeting Fraser. The meeting with Frigga.

His throat feels raw. A layer of heat has collected on his face, and his breaths are hoarse. His hand curls into the sheets. And then he hears it— the quiet breaths on the other side of the bed. Groaning, he turns around.

Mobius is sleeping next to him, the blankets drawn up to his chin. His silvery hair is ruffled, and the lines of worry on his face have disappeared entirely. A spell of relaxation has lapsed across his round face.The sight itself is so endearing that Loki forgets his own worries for a moment. 

Adorable, he thinks, before he can restrain himself.

Tenderly, Loki reaches his hand forward and lets a small sliver of skin brush against Mobius’ soft cheekbone. He wants to keep this sight for himself, to cradle and protect it for life. But he knows he can’t, and it causes his insides to pool with sorrow.

Those wide eyes snap open, and Loki feels a pang of regret. He didn’t want to wake Mobius up. The analyst’s face crinkles in concern when he sees Loki. Mobius’ hand comes to rest on his forehead, and some of the concern disappears. “Your fever’s down.” He mutters.

“How’re you feeling?” Mobius asks, propping himself up on one elbow.

“Better.” Loki croaks, rubbing at his face. 

Mobius nods, reaching to the bedside table and picking up a bottle of water. Loki watches him pour the liquid into a glass. It is not until he is handed the brimming vessel that he realises how thirsty he is. Loki accepts the glass gratefully, chugging down most of its contents. Having drunk his fill, he hands the glass to Mobius, who places it back on the table.

“Listen.” Loki murmurs, drawing Mobius’ attention to himself. “I really am sorry.”

Mobius narrows his eyes at the God, and opens his mouth. 

“Mobius, I’m alright, I promise. I’m fully conscious of what I’m saying.”

The analyst tilts his head towards Loki. “Why didn’t you?”

Loki sighs. “I didn’t want you to be affected by what’s happening in my life.”

“And why is that?” Mobius presses.

“Because it’s gonna be harder for you, for us, when…” Loki’s voice trails away, and his breath hitches.

“I understand.” Mobius murmurs. “But you have to see, Loki, that I care about you. I need to know if anything’s wrong. I promise I won’t let that stress me out. You don’t have to worry about me.”

“Alright.” Loki raises himself so that he’s at Mobius’ level. He regards the analyst, giving him a warm smile. “Thank you, Mobius.”

Mobius’ face crinkles, almost immediately, into a smile mirroring his own. “Thank you, Loki.” He remarks. 

And as much as Loki wants to confess, to unleash the storm brimming inside, he would stop at nothing to protect this. These little moments are slivers of comfort, of happiness, a happiness he was ready to die for.

He had already, and he would over and over again.