BROWN SUGAR DAYDREAM
OLIVIA’S OLD BEDROOM IS ONLY SLIGHTLY DIFFERENT THAN IN HER MEMORIES. A few boxes, a stray stripe of dust here and there.
Admittedly, he has limited experience with it, but…
He thinks his favorite way to wake up is next to Olivia.
She looks so calm, splayed out on the bed, her hair absolutely everywhere. Her face is serene and worry-free— an expression he knows she doesn’t often make. It creases a little, his only warning before her head turns so she can squint at him.
“Morning,” she mumbles groggily. He smiles a little, the action almost entirely involuntary.
“So it is,” he hums. “Sleep well?” It’s a tease— he knows very well that she didn’t get that luxury. Bruce kept her up half the night watching some nature documentary. It was about penguins, he thinks?
Olivia groans, rolling over to huddle into his chest. He gladly shields her from the unforgiving daylight, wrapping his arms around her— even though the curtains are shut, so there isn’t actually any sunlight in the room.
“Sleep longer,” she sighs, burying her head a little deeper into Loki’s chest and grasping his shirt. He would respond, but by the time his mouth is open, she’s already asleep.
He stays awake a moment longer, cherishing the moment, his arms wrapped around her like a shield protecting his most precious thing.
He slips back into oblivion with his chin on top of her head.
***
Loki wakes up alone in Olivia’s bed. There’s muffled laughter echoing from beyond the bedroom walls, and the bed hasn’t fully cooled yet. He makes his way into the hallway, where the kitchen is visible, leaning heavily on the wall.
Olivia and her mother are baking cookies in the kitchen; there’s powdered sugar all over their hands. Olivia dodges a swipe from her mother, who’s sporting a powdery hand print on the back of her shirt.
“Come here, come here,” the older of the two coos, still laughing. Olivia’s grin is so wide it almost hurts, and she sticks her tongue out at her mother.
“Should’ve dodged,” she taunts. Her mother grabs her tongue in a snap, and Olivia makes a face, coughing at the taste of raw powdered sugar. Rebecca takes this opportunity to smear the whole hand’s worth on her daughter’s shirt.
It’s adorable and domestic and downright loving.
“What a mess,” he comments, his voice intoned with disgust. Olivia wheels around, and her mother’s smile dims.
“Babe,” his girlfriend greets cheerfully. “We were just making cookies; come on, I’ll teach you the recipe.” He hesitates, but slides forward, intending to insult the cookie batter in its raw form.
Instead, Olivia completely silences him by grabbing his face and kissing him.
Smearing powdered sugar all over his cheeks, of course.
He blinks at her, then frowns. She laughs at him openly.
“Don’t be a buzzkill, rich boy,” she teases lightly. “You’re more than welcome to be part of the mess.” He starts to form a sentence about her cleanliness, but it dies in his throat when he sees the look Rebecca is fixing him with.
It’s like she can see into his soul. Is that a power that all mothers possess? He feels childish and petulant now, for jealously lashing out at his girlfriend’s familial joy.
“Mom, don’t give him the look,” Olivia scolds, turning back to the cookies without even glancing at her mother. “He’s not hurting anything— and it’s Christmas.”
It’s actually the middle of May, but Rebecca turns her attention back to the cookies anyways.
“Well that’s no reason to be rude,” she mutters; but by the way she reaches for the cookie cutters, the issue is let go.
“Leo, which one do you want?” Olivia inquires, glancing at him from where she stands, her hand skimming the cutters. He glances over them.
“The tree,” he requests. Olivia hands it over without a fight, despite having been eyeing it herself.
He almost misses the smug look on her face.
***
Putting up decorations in the house was equal parts fun and exhausting. Olivia made sure to keep him from feeling excluded. Still, there’s really only so much she can do for him.
He made it through, though.
Atmittedly, he had to step outside as soon as they were done, but he still made it.
Now, stepping inside, he finds Olivia with a string of tinsel wrapped in her hands. Bruce is standing in opposition, a snowflake ornament hanging from his hand.
“But I like the tinsel,” Bruce argues. “It’s festive, it’s fun; do you want Christmas to be boring?”
“Your tinsel looks like shit, Bruce,” Olivia fires back. “We agreed last year that I could choose how to decorate this year; this year I say no tinsel.”
“Well that’s a stupid rule,” Bruce complains, more like he’s 12 than 40.
“You’re a stupid rule,” she answers childishly, suddenly sounding like a four-year-old baby again.
He literally left them alone for five minutes.