Chapter 18
Buzz buzz.
I hear the phone buzz again, lighting up the dim living room—along with the TV and Christmas tree lights.
No doubt it’s either Pepper or my mom; one telling me more about the conversations she’s had with her doctor friends about my ‘predicament,' and the other tempting me to go out with them for New Year’s Eve. Loki called me earlier too, but I didn’t answer.
My mom means well, but we couldn’t tell her anything about what was going on with me. She just knows that something was wrong with my voice.
And I have no intention on going out tonight, either. For once, I think it’d be a better idea to just stay at home and deal with this myself. Like a goddamn adult. No matter how much I wander aimlessly around the apartment, or how much toilet paper I buy just to sustain my newfound anti-anxiety tea drinking habit…
I stroll back from the kitchen and set my fifth cup down on the coffee table, trying to focus my brain on something other than how shitty I feel. Meanwhile, the same pile of unpacked boxes in the corner has been catching my eye again and again, and one more time as I plop down on the couch.
One in particular is the culprit, leaning against the rest…
Among the myriad of books and miscellaneous household items, is an electric keyboard still in its box, leaning against three larger ones behind it.
At this point, it’s just depressing to look at. Five days of coming to terms with everything that happened hasn’t been nearly enough. I’d bought the keyboard a long while ago, since the majority of my work with the academy turned dance-related, I was no longer using their pianos to train vocally anymore. It was time to bring that home, so I bought a newer, nicer keyboard and tossed the old one that I had.
I stare at it for a moment, from across the room.
How long has it even been since I used it? And what am I supposed to do with it now?
What happened on Christmas Eve felt like being gutted, like being stripped down to an empty shell… To have an affinity for something, for that something to become such an integral part of your entire life, and then have it taken away?
These past few days, it’s been nothing but regret about how I took for granted all the time I had with it. How I let the stresses of everyday life pull me away from music—especially now, that I don’t have the option to go back…
I stand, trying not to think too much about it, and wander over to the keyboard.
Honestly, it’ll just keep haunting me if I don’t take it out eventually…
Bits of tape fold over my fingers as I run them along the top of the box, before prying away the edge. The keyboard slides out slowly as I shift it to the side, leaving the box itself to topple over behind me, as I sit down on the ground with it. Power cable in hand, I roll backward to the nearest outlet and plug it in.
The buttons light up as I turn back, and stare down at the keys for a moment—feeling a lump rising in my throat. Slowly, I reach down and press one of the notes within the comfortable portion of my range, preparing myself to hum to it.
Until all the muscles in my body tighten with a rising sob instead, tugging and pulling down at my throat—begging me not to sing. Not to embarrass myself again.
After all, the….sound that had come from me was humiliating. Like a second set of vocal cords, pulled left and right by a new set of muscles that weren’t there before, and had never been used.
I wipe the newly shed tears away as I stand, and head back toward the kitchen to start boiling the kettle again.
I really have been peeing nonstop because of all the herbal teas. And while another cup’s waiting for me on the coffee table, I know I’m going to need more…not that tea’s going to fix any of this, but the idea of something helping has an effect on its own.
I know it won’t help, though—not really. Nor will the butter pecan ice cream I find in the freezer shortly after…nor will the old, mostly-finished bottle of Grey Goose vodka that I’d bought months ago for a get together.
As much as I was a recreational drinker, I never opened it alone. And I’m not sure why I haven’t thought to throw it out yet either, since it could kill me now if I tried.
The glass is cold and frosty as I pull it out of the fridge, eyeing it a bit longer than anticipated. Longer than necessary, really—thinking hard about how violently my body rejects it now. I stare until an abrupt bout of music from the TV snaps me out of it, and I set it down on the table—will throw it away later.
My phone lights up again as I come back around the couch, and pick it up.
Thurs, 8:54 PM/Mom: “Come up with a plan of action to figure out what it is, and attack it.”
Thurs, 8:57 PM/Mom: “Don’t just stay home on NYE and miss work for no reason, you’re an adult and that’s not a mature way to deal with your problems.”
Thurs, 9:32 PM/Pepper: “We wanted to go check out that new place downtown, they’ve got a really nice view and it’ll be a party… let me know if you change your mind”
Thurs, 9:47 PM/Loki: “You’ve not answered your phone. I’m coming over there.”
Thurs, 10:18 PM/Mom: “I just asked Patty if she’s ever had a patient with something like that, and she said you could see a laryngologist, Cerys.”
Thurs, 10:19 PM/Mom: “Let me know what you decide.”
…wait.
I scroll back up the list.
“You’ve not answered your phone. I’m coming over there.”
My eyes widen as I note the time stamp—9:47 PM.
Almost thirty minutes ago.
I jump up from the couch in a twinge of panic, a little less enthusiastically than I may have under different circumstances, but barely get around to the little wall mirror before a knock comes at the door.
Shit…
Why is he even here? He didn’t give a reason in his text, and I didn’t have time to ask—probably just to check on me, right? Why the hell else would he come right to my door?
And if it is him, then he’ll see me in this state… Hell, I didn’t want anyone to see me like this—that was the whole point of staying home.
I saunter toward the door, and light pours in from the hallway as I turn the knob and open it. Emerald eyes flash up to me from the ground, briefly darting back and forth over my face. Loki himself doesn’t seem dressed for a fancy New Year’s celebration…just a grey v-neck, dark jeans, and his leather jacket.
“Hi,” he says.
“Hi,” I murmur, trying not to look too perturbed—though I doubt he’d be able to see much of it in the dark lighting of my apartment. Maybe from the hallway light? “What’s up?”
Loki presses his lips together, eyes flickering over me concernedly. “Um—may I come in?”
“Yeah, yeah, sure…” I step back—hardly considering the awful mess that’d culminated in my depressive state. “Sorry, it’s kind of a mess in here…” I murmur as he walks past me, towering over me by at least a head.
“It’s alright,” he says, looking around my apartment for the first time. “It’s rather quaint.”
“Thanks,” I mumble, keeping an eye on him as he looks down at the keyboard, tilting his head a bit.
“And it looks like you’ve kept busy…” he pauses. “Is that why you’re not answering your phone?”
“No—and what’re you doing here?” I ask a bit abruptly, stepping around him to pick up the keyboard, and set it off to the side.
“I hadn’t heard from you, and Pepper mentioned you hadn’t responded to her either.” He turns and faces me in the middle of the living room, still scanning the space grimly—pausing at the vodka bottle still on the table. “So I came to see if you were alright, and…why do you have that?”
I shrug, biting my lower lip. “It’s just an old bottle… I mean, obviously. Not like I can drink it anymore.”
His eyes narrow suspiciously. “Right…is that all?”
“Yeah?”
Loki trails his eyes back up to mine—hands going back into his pockets. “So, you…you seem like you’re doing alright, then.”
I offer up a tiny grin, and nod. “Yeah, I’m okay…all things considered.”
“You don’t look like you’re sleeping well,” he says, stepping toward me—studying my face. “Or eating…you look gaunt, Cerys.”
“It’s only been five days, come on.” I step back, walking over to the corner of the sofa and sitting by the armrest. “Can’t look all that different…”
“Well you’ve managed to do it,” he says, footsteps carrying him to the side of the couch.
Not knowing what to say to that, I shrug, turning my head toward the TV instead. Loki lets out a steady breath and turns his gaze about the apartment, studying everything with an intense look of concentration. I look over at him as he saunters over to the only bookshelf I own—only half full from all the boxes I haven’t unpacked yet.
He lays a hand on one of the top shelves and slides it across the smooth wood, as though checking for dust, before averting his gaze to the pile of boxes in the corner—where the keyboard is now leaning against its own box.
He nods toward it, “Now there’s an interesting development.”
“What?” I watch as he walks toward it. “What do you mean?”
“You took this out of its box,” he murmurs as he lifts it up effortlessly. “Must mean something.”
I shake my head sullenly. “Not really.”
Loki strolls toward me with the keyboard in his hands, and leans it against the couch—leaving it there as he steps over my legs carefully, and sinks onto the cushion beside me.
“Well have you tried, since then?” he asks a bit more solemnly, while the light of the television pours over the side of his face. “To sing, I mean.”
“Yeah.” His emerald eyes narrow a bit as he studies me, and I look away. “I did, for a few seconds…didn’t end well.”
“Tell me.”
I nearly flinch as fingers suddenly graze my jaw. I glance over at him, and Loki’s eyes widen minutely at my reaction—and he pulls back his hand.
“There’s nothing to tell,” I say, shaking my head—trying to control the simultaneous flush to my cheeks, and lump in my throat. Michael’s face suddenly flashes in my mind for a moment, and the lump grows.
“Yes, there is,” Loki says, eyes jumping to the keyboard. “Though if you don’t want to talk, you can show me what you’ve tried…”
“What?” I furrow a brow, looking back at it—realizing the implication. “No.”
“…why not?”
“I just don’t want to,” I mumble, feeling the lump lodging itself more tightly in my throat.
“Cerys, there’s nothing to be embarrassed of-”
“There’s nothing to show, Loki,” I choke out, and then clear my throat. “It’s not singing anymore. I tried, but…you heard what it sounds like. I just can’t, now.”
“And why can’t you?” he leans forward. “This isn’t better than trying nothing at all.”
“I’m just tired,” A loose tear falls down my cheek, but my voice stays steady—thankfully. “I don’t even understand what my life’s turned into—there’s just nothing normal about it anymore. One thing after another, and I feel frustrated and guilty for dragging everyone else into it…”
“You’re not dragging anyone into anything,” he answers sternly. “We’re here—I’m here, by my own free will. You couldn’t force me to do anything I didn’t want to do—don’t you know me well enough by now?”
Warmth swells up a bit in my chest, and I cast my eyes down to my knees and shrug. “Sure, I guess, but—”
“You still haven’t told me what’s different,” he interjects—with just enough conviction.
I look up at him. “Different about what?”
“Well apart from the obvious—you’re speaking to me normally. I don’t understand why you can’t sing.”
“Yeah,” I bob my head. “You’re not supposed to use your throat when you sing, same vocal cords, but you’re using a different muscle group.”
“Alright,” he nods, voice growing more intent as he listens. Features tightening with concentration. “Go on.”
“So when I sing now, it feels like the sound is coming from deeper down, and just…spasming in my chest.”
“Can you learn to control it?”
I swallow thickly. “It took years to learn to sing the first time, Loki. It takes a huge amount of control and practice.”
“So what?” he furrows a brow. “You say that like you don’t have years ahead to learn it again.”
“I sang normally in the beginning, not like this,” my voice breaks a bit. Tears brim up in my eyes again, while I reach down for my tea. “Who knows how long it would take, even if I could do it.”
Loki pauses for a moment, looking over me as resolve spreads over his features. “Cerys,” his voice grows low as I sip the tea, barely able to swallow it with the tightness in my throat. “By saying these things, you’re digging yourself more into a hole than you’re actually in. Understand and accept that these are the cards you’ve been dealt. These are your circumstances. Feeling sorry about it won’t accomplish anything.”
“I know that,” I retort. “Aren’t I allowed to just feel crappy about it a bit?”
“You’ve had time to do that already.”
“Well, what if I need a little more time!?”
“Then take it,” he says, suddenly reaching out and grabbing the tea out of my hands, and setting it down on the table. “But the circumstances have changed—if you want to survive what’s happened to you, you’ve got to change with them.”
I freeze, eyes widening.
I’d replayed those words again and again in my head the last time he said them to me. At the airport, the day he left for Norway. His eye color looks brighter under the TV light, and his features still as he holds my gaze.
“Turn on the lights,” he suddenly demands, turning and grabbing the remote off the table.
“Wait, what? W-why?”
“Just do it,” he says, lowering the volume before leaning over, and pulling the keyboard up over the couch. I watch for a moment as he gently sets it down on the table, and removes his jacket. With the new freedom of motion, he slowly feels around for the power cord. “I said turn on the lights,” he orders again.
With a furrowed brow, I stand and saunter slowly back over to the kitchen, turning on the dimmest light. It pours over Loki’s tall backside as he stands, stretching to his full height as he shuffles over to the wall. The shirt hugs his shoulders tightly, each movement rippling as he bends behind the couch and plugs it in.
“Alright,” he says, standing and facing me from the other side of the coffee table, and gestures to the keyboard. “Show me, now.”
“Show you what?”
“Show me what you can and can’t do,” he says, glancing down at it.
I swallow thickly before shaking my head. “I can’t, Loki.”
“Yes you can,” he says. “You’ve got two lungs and a heartbeat—so you can do what I ask.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Good thing this isn’t about my qualifications, then,” he says, lowering himself down on the couch. “It’s about getting you to act—now,” he turns unceremoniously, and looks over the keys, brow flickering confusedly before tapping his finger down on one of the notes. “Sing that for me.”
Tightness spreads through my torso again, reaching up into my throat. I shake my head as it grips it tightly. “I can’t.”
“Yes you can,” he looks down at the keyboard, raising a large hand to it once more. His fingers dance along the keys slowly for a moment, and then he presses the same note again. “Try,” he says, reaching up to brush bits of dust off the rest of the buttons, without looking at me. “Look, I’m hardly paying attention.”
Embarrassment flushes through me, horrified by the idea of the sound that would come out of me. “I don’t want to…” my voice trembles.
“Why not?”
“Because, it’s—it’s embarrassing.”
Loki stops mid-movement, parting his lips reluctantly. “Cerys,” he looks up at me and mutters. “You don’t need to be embarrassed in front of me. There’s nothing about this to feel ashamed of.”
“I’m ashamed of the sound I’m going to make, Loki,” I insist. “You saw how those people looked at me at the party, like I was disgusting or something…”
He rolls his eyes annoyedly. “And among those people, I’d heard you sing long before any of them had, before any of this happened. And your voice is assuredly the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard in my life,” he answers quickly, tautly. “Matching the fact that you are the most beautiful being I’ve ever beheld—and I’ve seen many in my time.”
A weight suddenly drops—like a brick falling straight through my body—all the way down to my feet. The lump in my throat dissipates, and I stare at him quietly for a moment.
He looks up at me, without a hint of a grin or anything else ghosting his lips. “You can’t tarnish my opinion of you.”
I press my lips together in a weak smile, feeling my cheeks flush with heat. By the way that Loki’s eyes flicker down to them, I’d wager he notices too—though he doesn’t say anything as he looks back down at the keyboard, and touches the note again.
“Sing,” he orders.
I swallow hard, feeling the tightness return. Even as he looks back down, fixing his gaze on my tea. The anxiety doesn’t abate, even as I steady myself and draw a breath in. Everything inside me claws at my throat, and the weak sound that escapes is already abhorrent. I throw my hands up to my mouth, all the warmth being forced out by embarrassment.
Meanwhile, Loki maintains his expressionless stare at my cup of tea, and nods again as he presses the note. “Try again.”
Tears brim my eyes. “I can’t…”
“Yes, you can,” he says, a bit more softly. “Try again.”
With another breath, the same sound comes out again. My face contorts angrily.
“Are you doing everything correctly?” he asks, nodding toward my torso.
“Huh?”
“The breathing—whatever it is you do, are you doing it right?”
“Um,” I blink, and a couple more tears fall. “I—I don’t know,” I strain a moment, focusing my mind on everything I’d learned. The breathing techniques, the form… Hunched over the way that I am, taking shallow breathes—no, I’m absolutely not doing it right. “I guess not?”
“Then do whatever it is you have to do, and try again.”
I exhale heavily, keeping my eyes on him as I nod sharply to myself. Straightening up, pulling my shoulders back, and breathing in with my diaphragm. Loki touches the note again, and I follow suit. One quick sound.
A grin touches his lips, and he blinks up at me. “See? That time was a bit better.”
I furrow a brow at him. “Was it?”
“It was.”
The corner of my mouth pulls back into a little bit of a smile. “Are you sure?”
“Yes,” he nods. “You’re well trained, and when you remembered that, it made a difference—in fact, I think this may take even less time than you anticipated. Didn’t you hear it, yourself?"
“I don’t know, I mean…yeah, I don’t know.”
Loki eyes me for a moment. “Well that’s alright,” he says, looking down at the keys again. “A few more tries, and you’ll be on your way—try again.”
I nod, feeling a bit more confident—a bit more relaxed.
And after a few more tries, Loki turns out to be right—I do start hearing the difference. Just the tiniest bit, like taking a few different muscles and tugging them together the slightest way. It's negligible, considering the vast amount of disorientation and lack of coherency still sounding from me.
Still, it's something…
"Can't believe you doubted yourself," Loki says, donning a bit more enthusiasm for my sake, as he looks up at me with a glimmer of pride. "And what did I tell you? To think it's not even midnight—"
"Oh my god, midnight!" my eyes suddenly widen, life beating through my voice and features. "Oh shit I forgot, it's almost the new year!"
Loki smiles broadly, likely at my display of enthusiasm, and reaches up—as though to pull me back down to the couch. "Well come and sit, then—we'll greet the new year together."
And I hold up a finger instead—glancing at the kitchen. "One sec," I say, and saunter around the couch to turn off the lights again—leaving us back in the ambiance of the Christmas lights, and the television. "Gimme the remote," I order when I come back to the table, and Loki reaches over and hands it to me.
Turning the volume back up slightly, I switch the channel to the news—to the countdown in Times Square.
Still a few minutes away, so all they're showing is the bunches and bunches of crowds waving flags around spastically through the air.
Loki shifts a bit as I lower myself down on the couch. For a few moments, we sit in silence watching the program. Me leaning back against the armrest, and Loki with his arms crossed relaxedly.
I look away from it for a moment to observe his profile. For a quick second, I could swear his eyes darted to the side a bit—back toward me—but he doesn't say anything. Not even as a bright, red flash catches my attention from the program.
I look over, squinting my eyes at the TV. "Wait, is that—is that Tony?"
Loki nods, snorting at the image of Iron Man descending down onto one of the platforms. "Yes, looks like it… We could've been there with them, you know."
I smile, keeping my eyes on the TV. "Yeah, you would've hated it."
"Please," he murmurs wryly. "I can be fun, you know."
"Yeah, I've heard—God of Mischief."
A smile spreads over his profile. "That's right," he says, his voice suddenly dropping low.
Redness flushes to my cheeks, but I nod to the TV without acknowledging it. "Remember the last time we spent New Years' Eve all together?"
"Of course I do," he murmurs, glancing back at me—knitting his brows together slightly in an expression of remembrance. "I especially remember a certain dance partner of yours."
"The French guy?"
"Yes—quite the charmer, wasn't he?"
I smirk. "Jealous, much?"
"Obviously."
I look back over at him sharply, my cheeks filling with color as the countdown begins. His lips quirk upward in a smile—as though he sees me looking out of the corner of his eye—but he keeps his gaze fixed on the screen.
"10…9…8…7…6…." the crowd chants. "5…4…3…2…1!"
Lights flash across the television screen, filling the room with a kaleidoscope of color. Excitement brims in the crowd's faces, while I look over at Loki—still sitting cozily beside me on the couch.
I pull my knees up to my chest, and Loki turns toward the movement, trailing his eyes up to me.
People are supposed to kiss at midnight, but… yeah no, that's not going to happen. I'd wager to guess that Loki's got the same thought running through his head though, as he stares across the way at me for a few moments.
Finally grinning, he says, "Happy New Year, Cerys."
Kiss or no kiss, the fact that I have someone to say that to right now is pretty great—considering how I planned to spend the night. Curled up alone on the couch, watching some movie to take my mind off things, and sinking into sleep like I have done every night this past week.
I smile, my chest filling with gratitude. For all that he could've been there, he still chose to be here, despite knowing what a pathetic mess I've been. He couldn't have know if he could change the course of the night, but he tried, and he did.
Not that all the problems are gone, but… now at least it feels like there's a road out of this situation.
I reach out and take his hand, wrapping my fingers around his coarse hands, and press his knuckles to my lips with a thankful kiss. "Happy New Year, Loki." I pause for a moment, watching as his grin falters noticeably—eyes flickering downward. "And…thank you for coming here. For being here."
"'Course," Loki breathes out, eyes narrowing intently. "Nowhere else I'd rather be," he says in a low voice, without moving—without so much as a smile.
Green eyes. Beautiful green eyes peer back at me through the darkness—looking just as unsure of what to do with himself, as I am. Only certain thing is that I have to remind myself to keep breathing.
"So, um…" I loosen my grip on his hand, but he doesn't pull it away. "I mean, midnight's over I guess, so… what should we do now?"
Loki blinks, shaking his head slightly. "Whatever you want."
"Um, we can, just…" I pause, finally looking down at the remote—head nearly spinning as I lean toward it and nod. "…Movie."
Loki bobs his head subtly too—eyes glazed over a bit. I swallow hard as I switch over to my HBO subscription—my brain cells struggling to spark coherent thoughts as I navigate over to the comedy section, choosing the first familiar thing that my eyes fall upon. The movie "He's Just Not That Into You." I sink back against the armrest, letting the minute bit of cold air movement pull me back to my senses.
"Have you seen this?" I look over at him, and Loki blinks—shaking his head a bit, as though snapping out of a quick thought.
"No, I haven't."
“Okay, well, it’s a classic,” I hit the ‘play’ button. “So you’re gonna watch it tonight.”
Loki presses his lips together in a strained smile. “I did say, whatever you want…” he says, a bit more amusedly than before.
I sink a bit into the couch, careful not to let my legs press against him. But when I shift a couple more times, Loki looks back over at me. “Do you want me to move?”
“No, no,” I shake my head. “Sorry.”
“You look a bit uncomfortable.”
“I’m okay,” I offer a small grin. “It’s fine.”
“‘Fine,’ isn’t comfortable, but…” his voice trails off a bit as he locks his stare on me—as though weighing his next words carefully. “Perhaps,” he pauses. “I can make a suggestion.”
“What is it?”
He presses his lips together, narrowing his eyes thoughtfully. “Well, you might not like it.”
I grin a bit. “Tell me, and we’ll find out.”
Loki looks around the room for a moment, pausing on a blanket folded on one of the other couches.
He stands and strides over to it, picking it up and unfurling it. For a moment, he stops and stares down at it—again looking like he’s weighing his options—but then holds it up with one hand, walking over to the other side of the coffee table. Standing just there, he displays it to me through the darkness—with the dim, ambient lighting falling over his form.
“With no expectations,” he says. “We can both lay extended on the couch.”
Michael. My heart sinks a bit. “You…want to lay down with me?”
“With hands in appropriate places, and no expectations.”
I stare for a moment, and then smirk. “You’re sure you can do that?”
He pauses, a hint of a smile haunting his features. “If you want me to be.”
I’m sure that’s true…mostly.
I nod to the space behind me. “Okay, sure.”
Without the smallest expression of enthusiasm, Loki lowers the blanket, letting it drag behind him as he saunters around the table. Carefully, he throws a knee into the space behind me, and crawls up against the backside of the couch. His heat washes over me immediately, growing even hotter as he throws the blanket over the both of us. I sink down a bit against the pillow, while Loki remains propped up on his elbow above me—slowly and carefully draping an arm over my waist. I rest my arm on it comfortably, careful not to brush my fingers against it.
Guilt and temptation launch a wrestling match over the steering wheel. It’s been over a month now since Michael and I broke up…but he’s somewhere out there, and I’m here. For all I know, he could be sleeping with someone right now.
Roughly halfway through the movie, I start drifting off to sleep. A quick glance up at Loki tells me that he’s actually fallen asleep already, head resting against the armrest. And judging by the blank peacefulness etched across his face, I’d say he’s been out for a while… looking the same way he did on our plane flight to Switzerland, which was the last time I forced him to sit through a movie like this.
I, however, have no chance at sleeping comfortably at this angle.
Since I’m still propped up about forty-five degrees, I slide downward even more, pulling him with me to adjust the pillow.
Might as well accept that we’ll be ‘sleeping together’ tonight, after all. PG version, at least. And not that it’d ever be Michael’s business to find out about this, but it’s not like this is just some quick, sexual heist. Not by the way my heart is pounding against my chest, freaking out from the closeness. The sense of security, the care…
He loves me.
Loki’s eyes drift open slightly, and he looks down heavily for a moment as he slides further down the couch beside me. I shift slightly, pulling the blanket just under my shoulder—over halfway up Loki’s torso, since he’s a smidge higher than me.
I’m close enough now to feel his chest rise and fall with sleep. But instead of racing, my heart calms to a steady, comfortable beat beside him.
Just as I finally settle in comfortably, preparing to close my eyes, a large hand suddenly sprawls unceremoniously over my cheek—turning my face toward him against the pillow. All in a quick, half-asleep movement, Loki slides across the pillow—slating his soft lips over mine in a gentle, chaste kiss, his fingers curling over my jaw as they relax. All thoughts of everything and everyone else goes out the window as I shut my eyes, memorizing the soft movements until they part with a quiet, smacking sound.
“Fuck,” I breathe out as I open my eyes again, and Loki’s own sleepy eyes widen slightly.
“I’m sorry,” he murmurs.
No, I’m the one who should be sorry—sorry for everything.
“No, it’s okay,” I whisper back.
Loki’s eyes dart between mine for a moment, and he pushes toward me again—stopped by my fingers against his lips.
As much as I want to…
God, as much as I really want to…
“I—I need to think…”
“What’s there to think about?” Loki mumbles quietly, his breath brushing through my fingers as I curl them against his chin.
I shake my head. I’m not ready for this—not now. I can’t do this if there’s even a smidgen of guilt left over from everything. I need to talk this out, need to reason out why I feel the way I do, instead of acting impulsively. Clearly ignoring this isn’t going to work anymore… but that doesn’t mean I should dive head-first.
“I just—I need some time.”
His lip quirks upward kindly. “Alright. I can wait.” He trails his eyes over to the TV. “Your film is still playing.”
“Yeah,” I whisper. “It’s okay, I can sleep with it on.”
His arm tightens as he looks back at me, eyes nearly shut. “Then sleep, my love,” he breathes out, settling against the pillow.
….fuck.
If something could snap inside me, it probably would’ve just now. And I can’t help it, I just can’t help myself—I lift my head up slightly and press my lips against his again for a moment, letting him reach up and move a few of the curls out of my face. I pull away, avoiding the eye contact that would surely cripple me, and lick my lips as I turn over to shimmy back down onto the couch—melding against him and the pillow comfortably.
Filled with a different type of heaviness than I’d started the evening with, I sink into the softness of the couch. Further and further into sleep, with an arm draped over my side, and Loki’s steady breath fanning my shoulder.