Sunrise
The drive back from the airport was miserable. Dead silent, eyes on the road, Thor clutched the steering wheel with white knuckles. Snow fell, wet and heavy, collecting on the wipers and leaving clumps pooled on the edges of the windshield. Loki fiddled with his fingers, twisting them into knots in his lap. It was all far too familiar, every rusty road sign and buzzing streetlight; a reminder of why he had left. He was fifteen again, hiding behind the bleachers until he heard the heavy footfalls of the team returning to the locker room, waiting for Thor long after the rest of the team had gone. Thor insisted that Loki wait until the parking lot was empty before Loki dare approach his car.
“It’s good to see you,” his brother spared him a sidelong glance. Loki wondered if he was supposed to reciprocate.
When no response came, Thor tried again, “I’m glad you’re home.”
Home. Home. Home. The word tasted sour as he rolled it around on his tongue. As each suffocating mile brought them closer to the family estate, the dread festering in his gut sent his heart slamming against his ribcage. Home. He was out of place, the gangly little child overshadowed by his siblings.
“How is he?” Loki didn’t have the patience to entertain Thor’s polite facade.
“Old,” his brother sighed, “Sick.”
Murky clouds churned above them, turning the black sky grey and blotting out the stars. The car slowed to a stop, and Loki felt that horrible feeling swelling in his chest. The drive home was nothing compared to the choked quiet of the driveway.
“I’ll get your bags.”
“You don’t have-”
But Thor was already getting out of the car, shutting the door before Loki could get the words out.
Snow soaked through his shoes. He left them in the entryway, not daring to track anything onto the polished floors. Thor carried his bags all the way up to his room, leaving them in front of the closed door, Loki only a few steps behind him. Thor cleared his throat.
“I’ll, uh, I’ll see you in the morning.”
Loki nodded, lips tight.
“If you need anything-”
“I’ll let you know,” Loki finished.
Thor shuffled his feet, arms crossed over his chest.
“Right. Alright.”
And Loki was alone standing in the hall.
His room was barren, every trace of him scrubbed away. White bedding and white walls. The posters he had tacked to the wall torn down and replaced with soulless paintings that looked like they belonged in a hotel. Loki wondered if his father had purposely placed what was likely the cheapest artwork in the house in his room. It was too perfectly callous to be coincidental. It mattered very little to Loki, but he knew his father, smirking as he tried to make it clear in every way possible that Loki was the outcast. Maybe it was easier this way. Maybe he could keep himself from slipping into disillusion, it was a reminder of how his father felt about him. There was no pretense, his father simply did not care. Not for Loki’s comfort and he refused to entertain Loki’s nostalgia.
Loki sighed sitting on the corner of the bed peeling off his wet socks. Sleep caught him, heavy eyelids slipping closed as he lay back against the comforter.
Mornings had never been kind to him, always inevitable, coming before he was through with the night. A shower of cool, harsh light bursting through dusty blinds. Another unbearable string of hours filled with making small talk and pretending that his family was actually happy to see him.
He rubbed at his face with clammy hands. The clock on the bedside table glared at him in angry red letters. 6:54am. He couldn’t hide from his father forever, but he figured it was worth a try.
He crept through the house, wincing every time a floorboard creaked. He pulled on a pair of Thor’s snow boots after scribbling a note to leave on the kitchen counter.
Out
- Loki
And he slipped out the door, leaving a fresh set of footprints in the pristine snow.
The problem with avoiding family when you’re back in the town where everyone hates you, is that you have nowhere to go. Nothing to do. Nowhere to hide.
So he found himself walking down dark streets, snow creaking beneath his boots. Closed stores mocked him, as he shivered and shoved bare hands into his pockets, smacking himself for forgetting his gloves
His feet carried him along a practiced path while his mind wandered, drifting to his apartment in the city, how easy it would be to call a cab to the airport and book the next flight back to New York. But Thor would never forgive him, and he wasn’t sure he could carry on with any more guilt weighing him down. A silly fantasy, to get him through the day, like those he constructed as a naive teenager. He used to plan his escape, lying awake at night; running away from home and never looking back. To some extent, he’d done just that. But things were never so simple. Here he was. Maybe there was no great escape, and he would always be doomed to return. Never allowed to forget.
Home.
The walk was shorter than he remembered. The sun was rising, pale yellow over the lake, reflecting off the surface in scattered beams. This was the only kind familiarity the town had to offer him.
Icy hands burrowed into his pockets, digging for his cigarettes. He ran his thumb over the raised lettering on the pack. But his lighter was dead, sparking futilely under his raw fingers.
He didn’t hear the soft footsteps coming from the woods behind him.
“Oh, sorry.”
Loki turned, wild eyed, to meet the gaze of the man behind him. He was bundled in a thick parka, a scarf covering his nose.
“There’s usually no one out here this early, I don’t want to bother you.”
“Actually, uh, do you have a light?” Maybe it wasn’t very smart but Loki was frustrated and incredibly alone.
“Uh,” the stranger furrowed his brow, patting his coat pockets, “Yeah.”
He pulled out a cheap blue lighter and offered it to Loki.
“You smoke?”
“Sometimes.”
So Loki lit a second cigarette. The man took it gingerly, yanking off his left mitten and pulling down his scarf to reveal a crooked nose and a grey mustache. Loki watched the way he worked his jaw, jutting it out to hold the cigarette between his lips. Grey hair stuck out from under his hat, curling around his ears, pink from the cold. Loki liked the way his eyes fluttered each time he inhaled.
“I haven’t seen you around before,” he finally said, turning to Loki.
“I could say the same for you.”
The man smiled wryly, focusing on the horizon again, “You new?”
“Not as new as you.”
“So you’re from the area?”
“Something like that.”
“Visiting, then?”
“You ask a lot of questions.”
He laughed at that. It was short and quiet and gentle, “And somehow you’ve evaded all of them.”
“A specialty of mine,” Loki said, sneaking a glance to his left to find playful eyes looking back at him.
The sun was pushing through the clouds, now, eager to shower them in light, making the snow at their feet glisten.
“What about you?” Loki asked.
“What about me?”
“Did you just move?”
“Something like that,” he said, eyes glinting.
“Very funny.”
“I think so.”
“You certainly aren’t English.”
“How did you know?”
“Intuition,” Loki deadpanned.
“That another specialty of yours?” the man asked, smiling.
“One of many.”
Loki flicked the butt into the snow, ash marring the bright white expanse.
“We don’t get many Americans,” Loki said.
He snorted, “You don't want them.”
And Loki almost laughed.
“You’re going to get frostbite.”
Loki had forgotten his hands, his fingertips were turning blue.
“I forgot my gloves.”
“Here,” the man took off his other mitten and pressed Loki’s fingers into his palms. Loki’s mouth went dry.
“How’d you manage a thing like that,” it wasn’t really a question.
“I was in a bit of a hurry.”
And then the stranger was pulling his own gloves over Loki’s hands, “Try to slow down next time.” He smiled, and then he was receding back into the woods.
“What about you,” he called after the distant figure.
“I’ll be alright.”
And Loki stood paralyzed.
“Out where,” were the first words out of Thor’s mouth when Loki came through the door.
Loki sighed, “For a walk, take me away officer.”
“I was worried about you.”
“I’m sure,” he had to restrain himself from rolling his eyes.
“You can’t just leave in the middle of the night!”
Loki stuffed his (not his) mittens into his coat pockets.
“I didn’t.”
“What if you got hurt? What if you got lost?”
“I didn’t.”
“Are those my boots?”
“Deepest apologies, your majesty, I’ll stuff my feet into a pair of Hela’s next time,” he said, dropping the boots at Thor’s feet.
“Would you at least tell me where you’re going next time?”
“I didn’t know where I was going,” he pushed past Thor and started up the winding staircase.
“Loki. Loki! You can’t just ignore me.”
“I can try,” he muttered.
“I heard that!”