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Loki didn't say much, as if his unexpected return to Stark Tower was not at least puzzling. He just appeared, materialised behind Tony and scared the shit out of him by his sudden 'I'll have that drink now, if it is not too much trouble.' Tony considered wearing his suit and giving Loki what he deserved, yet there was something about Loki now, he seemed different, less smug, less full of himself, the little smile he gave Tony was forced, like he was holding back a grimace. Tony cursed himself but the truth was he loved risk and he was curious about Loki now, he decided to play his game.
Loki made no comment when they came back to the very same room they had had their little conversation. He was quiet and only nodded when Tony offered him whiskey. Tony poured himself, too, watching Loki- he drained his glass in one go, blushing a bit. Tony would not admit he liked what he saw. They were facing each other, the countertop between them. It wasn't only about distance- Tony could stare at Loki openly, trying to determine if Loki was being honest. That was the point- Loki knew how to manipulate people, playing a poor victim might be just a trap. Tony was wary, ready to fight back. He refilled Loki's glass, perhaps drunk Loki would have less self-restraint.
Loki avoided Tony's eyes, maybe feeling uncomfortable, being Tony's guest. Maybe he regretted what had happened. Tony was not sure if the whole possessed-by-Tesseract thing was true, yet that could explain the sudden change of Loki's behaviour. He didn't seem like himself- what if this wretched Loki was the real one? Tony felt a weird urge to know this Loki.
'What's bothering you?' Tony asked without much thinking. Asking a casual question is not difficult, unlike listening to the answer. Tony's reservation grew when Loki kept his eyes on the glass, either planning how to trick Tony or genuinely struggling to form a coherent response. 'Why aren't you in Asgard?' Yeah, something more specific was better, Loki cleared his throat and replied bitterly:
'Why. I gather Thor did not inform you that- he is the new king of Asgard. His first decision was to let me out of my cell, only to banish me.' Loki's voice turned to a whisper, hearing himself saying that surely only intensified the pain he was experiencing. Banished by his own brother. 'Thor, hmm, he assured me his decision is- that it's permanent.' Tony frowned, unsure if he felt sorry for Loki. It could all be lies. 'He disowned me,' Loki added barely audibily. Saying that aloud made it only more real, deepening the dull ache he must have felt.
Tony was torn between telling Loki something reassuring and staying silent. Insincere consolation is often worse than sincere silence. Perhaps Loki didn't really expect a heartfelt comforting from Tony. They were enemies. It didn't change just because they were having a drink. Tony assumed Loki just wanted to speak out, being heard, listened to. Tony knew the empty slogans like 'you'll be fine', 'it's not that bad' or 'others feel like that, too' were just utterly annoying and pointless. From his point of view, Loki was lucky to leave Asgard, since he clearly wasn't happy there, now he was forced to find a new place for himself, an opportunity to change not only his location, but also his attitude. For the time being, however, he was still miserable.
'I am- I- two realms- I belong nowhere. Not of Asgard, not of Jotunheimr,' Loki continued holding his glass tightly. 'All alone. Disowned. Both of the places that once were my home- I don't belong there anymore. It makes me think- I was supposed to die, Laufey, my- he left me to die. That was the fate he chose for me. What if I died? Maybe I did die that day, in the cold temple, you know?'
Tony had a very vague idea what Loki was talking about but nodded nonetheless.
'Always the second son, less strong than Thor, less courageous, I was only a shadow following Thor, hoping to be more like him. They seemed to look through me, as if I weren't really there. What if I am only a ghost? It might be the reason why no one in Asgard- why no one saw me.' Loki sounded more confident now, having realised Tony did listen to him. 'This is why they ignored me. I have not really thought about- do I really have a shadow? When I walk , can you really hear my footsteps? It's one of those sounds one hears every day and does not think about it at all. But if I am, if I died? You can't hear me. Can you see me? Really see me? What if I am merely a reflection of someone else? What if I am not real?'
Tony missed the point when he could turn it all into a joke, laugh it off, allow Loki to save face, pretend it wasn't that sad. He couldn't help himself, he did understand Loki. Not being good enough. Fighting for a glimpse of attention and not receiving it. How devastating it could be. How it ruins one's self-esteem.
'This is it. I am not real,' Loki repeated, finally raising his head and meeting Tony's gaze. His eyes glistening, Tony hoped he would not shed his tears. Not because it'd be awkward, he realised, but because he didn't want Loki to suffer more. He needed to pull himself together, forget about his fucked up family, families, and move on. Firstly, though, he had to grieve losing his old self.
Tony knew why Loki said it again. Tony was supposed to not just hear him out but also acknowledge his existence. Prove that Loki was not dead, not a shadow nor a ghost. He was a person, in a dire need of being noticed. He craved attention not only because he was vain, getting attention meant he was alive.
Once the idea popped into his mind, Tony couldn't force himself to stop. Feeling bold, half expecting to be killed in a violent manner, he gently cupped Loki's cheeks, now crimson red and looking deep in his eyes, he said firmly:
'You are real.'
Loki's lips trembled and he shut his eyes.
'You are real.'
Well aware he might regret it, Tony leant closer and kissed Loki, lightly pressing his lips against Loki's, nothing more, a faint touch, more like a promise than a statement. Giving Loki a chance to escape. Loki, though, Loki did not want to run away. Perhaps he was too tired of moving from one place to another. Maybe he needed an anchor. Something... someone who would see his reflection, hear his footsteps, listen to his words. Someone who could assure him that he was real.
'You are real.'