Domesticated
When I woke up that night, it was in the fashion of a familiar panic. Immediately sitting up to follow the breath that escaped me in a loud gasp, my eyes widely taking in my surroundings.
The predatorial fear of imminent danger settled in my brain and I slowed my breathing. I flopped back onto my back in a huff. Just a nightmare.
I always felt silly after having nightmares. Like I should be embarrassed of my imaginary fears. I turned my head to the clock on the night stand. 3:02 am. Witching hour just begun.
I breathed deeply, knowing I wont be able to fall back asleep for a while. Nonetheless I closed my eyes and willed myself to relax under the crushing atmosphere of a moonlit post-nightmare environment.
I was startled again by the sound of a knock on my door followed quickly by someone swinging it open.
I knew only one person who bothered me at abnormal times of day. Or night, for that matter.
'I think this was the worst book of them all. Absolutely horrendous. I just finished and- oh, you're actually up? I thought I would have woken you.' Loki rambled as he stepped into my room, book in hand.
'We don't sleep well. You. I. I thought that was known.' I said as I gathered my blankets to rest on the lower half of my body.
'Right, well. I've come to bother you for another.' Loki said as he put the book back in its respective place.
'I don't have anymore, that's it. Pick a new genre.'
Loki looked at me with his brow furrowed. He was thoroughly disappointed. 'That's it? Ugh. Well fine. Pick something else for me.'
'Just pull one off the shelf yourself' I huffed, fixing my bed head.
He looked at me again, 'Why cant you pick one?' He was again, disappointed. I didn't think he actually valued my opinions that much.
'Because I'm not wearing pants. Pick your own book.'
I could swear I saw a hint of blush on his face as his eyes lingered down from mine to my body, 'Love, that is a very poor excuse. Surely you know I would have absolutely no problem with you not wearing pants.' He smirked. I rolled my eyes away from him.
'You're annoying. Here, take this one-' I waved my hand to fly a book from my nightstand to his hands, he caught it graciously, 'I just finished it. Its not a thriller but thoroughly enjoyable and I think you might appreciate it as well.'
He hummed in approval as he tumbled it between his hands, examining it.
After a minute, he said, 'It'll do. Are you going to be up for a while? I could make us some coffee? Well, you a coffee. Tea for myself.'
I looked back at the clock, oh what the hell. There's no way I was going to fall back asleep. 'Sure, step out so I can put pants on.'
He smirked again, 'Well there's no need to do that, love.'
I rolled my eyes.
***
The next few weeks were a blur of empty mugs, trips to the bookstore, and lounging with Loki as we shared a couch reading together in a secluded corner of compound's library. No one else ever bothered to go there, and if they did they never noticed us tucked away in the back corner.
The two of us were rather domesticated. I took up most of the couch, I never had a habit for sitting properly. I legs reached out and invaded Loki's personal space, crossing over his own. He didn't seem to mind, and would often rest his hand on the lower half of my thigh, tracing his fingers across it absentmindedly.
I wondered if he was enjoying my company as much as I was his. If he did, I'm sure he would never show it. Neither of us were big on admitting any sort of feelings other than general annoyance or disinterest. We appreciated that in each other.
I thought about Iowa, and how Loki asked if he could get to know me. Back then it seemed impossible, but it was happening in small doses. He knew how I liked my coffee, how I hated wearing my hair up, what colours I liked and what patterns I didn't, he knew I liked to bake when I was stressed but only in the dead of night when no one would bother me.
These were superficial things, but they were things that no one else knew. I never thought how nice it would feel to have someone know me like that.
I've come to find that I know him too. I knew he brushed his hands through his hair when I said something he liked, I knew he hated trivial tasks but loved leisurely ones, he only liked the sun when it was coming or going, and he dog-eared the pages in books to hold his place rather than using a bookmark.
What I didn't know was why he watched me so closely. His eyes often grazed me when he thought I wasn't looking. Maybe he just found me interesting to look at, but it was always when I was doing the most mundane things. Writing, fixing my hair, focusing on something I was reading, tracing an area of interest in a book. There was a level of warmth in his gaze, as if he was keen to do more than watch me.
Maybe my eyes were playing tricks on me.