It’s all Billy can do not to grab Loki by the collar of his shirt and punch him in the face repeatedly until he begs for mercy.
Under Billy’s scowl, Loki is looking properly chastised, without a word having been uttered. They’ve been here too many times. He’s fucked up too many times. The message of disapproval rings clear as a bell. Clarion call, actually.
When Billy finally manages to wrangle his emotions and reel in his anger a bit, no doubt largely due to the tempering appearance of Teddy’s hand on his shoulder, his face softens slightly. “Why,” is all he says, and it’s more disappointed than curious. He knows why. It’s always the same reason.
“I…” Loki starts but does not finish. He knows they know his explanation. One he wishes to simultaneously both embrace and defy with every fiber of his somewhat divine being.
He looks down, ashamed.
When he looks back up, Billy’s eyes are squeezed shut, as if he’s struggling against a great turmoil. Teddy’s hand remains on Billy’s shoulder, but he’s looking away, also locked in an internal debate.
Is he worth this?
Loki is certain this is the question they are both pondering.
He feels a hitch in his throat, air suddenly blocked by the wet, painful lump that’s forming there.
“I’m…” sorry.
They already know.