Work Text:
You stare down at your phone and chew your lip as you deliberate what you’re going to do about the text on the screen:
“Hey, are you coming out with us tonight?”
Your fingers mindlessly tap the edges of the screen, not actually typing your answer. Are you going? Can you handle going? Can you get away with not going? Do you have an excuse that’s believable? Maybe. Here goes nothing.
“Sorry, I can’t tonight, work has me swamped.”
It’s a lame excuse, but nobody ever questions it, you don’t use the work excuse often. A few “take care!” and “We miss you!” texts come through the group thread and you feel grateful they’re so understanding, but at the same time, there’s that whisper of doubt: They’re tired of you never being around. They see through your excuses and they’re going to stop asking you to hang out. And then you’ll lose them for good. And you know Loki will follow. And then work.
Work. Oh shit. Sure, you usually work from home, but you haven’t sat down and actually done work in quite a while now; you’re too far behind on your responsibilities. Pulling out your laptop from its bag, you open your email inbox and stare in blank panic at the increasingly threatening subject lines from your boss:
“New Assignment” “Progress Check” “Due ASAP” “Due TODAY” “PAST DUE” “Meeting Needed” “CALL ME”
You can’t catch your breath, feel simultaneously like the walls are falling in and like you’re drowning, flailing and getting nowhere, pushed further down by the weight of responsibility you can’t handle anymore, and the voice is back:
Lost your friends, lost your job, just wait until you lose Loki! It won’t be long until you’re alone and have to admit to your parents you fucked up your life and have to move in with them. What a failure, you really screwed up this time!
“Stop!” The word is shrieked out loud and then the world is quiet, the voice silent. You open the emails, scan them for important details and quell your panic, shutting it in an emotional box for later. You reply to the last email, give a long explanation that’s half a lie, and shut the computer, taking multiple deep breaths and trying to strengthen your mental walls to be able to handle the stress you’re drowning in. You grab your anxiety pills and take one, then open a notebook and start a to-do list, feeling like maybe this time you’ll get your shit together and be a successful adult. The list fills up the whole page, but it’s mostly baby steps or basics that need accomplished, things like “Do the dishes. Shower. Order dinner. Read the first chapter of the story (to be edited).”
You stare at the list, trying to decide what to do first and finally land on ordering pizza. It’s an easy task, considering the shop has an app, so the task is done in seconds, and you scratch it off with a sense of relief. Deciding you can tackle something a little more, you start the dishes, filling up the sink with water and soap and placing some plates and silverware in to soak, but then Loki comes in using the key you had given him, and everything is forgotten. “Loki!” You exclaim, drying your hands and throwing your arms around him as he steps up to you and kisses your forehead.
“Hello there my love. How was your day? I hope it’s okay I stopped by?” He looks at you with his signature playful grin and you can’t help but smile back, nodding enthusiastically.
“It’s always okay when you stop by, Loki. Having you around is a blessing.” You wince at how needy that sounds, but he doesn’t seem to notice. Instead, his eyes lock on the pill bottle and concern paints his face.
“How are you feeling, (Y/N)?” He asks cautiously, and you flush, embarrassed knowing he caught sight of your meds.
“I-I’m fine, Loki. I had a moment, but I’m good now.” You give him a tumultuous smile, lying through your teeth because you’re still shaky on the inside, and he smiles softly at you, pressing a kiss to your forehead and giving your waist a squeeze.
“If you need me, you can always call, you know that,” Loki murmurs, and you nod, even though you have your doubts. If you called him as often as you needed him to calm you down or give reassurances, you’d be calling him nearly every day, if not more frequently, and you know that’s something you can’t do, not without being seen as too fragile and weak, so it won’t happen. You can’t look weak.
Someone knocks on the door and you extract yourself from Loki’s hold, grabbing your wallet and sending him a guilty smile. “I got a pizza , I was hungry. You’re welcome to some if you want!” You offer before opening the door and exchanging the money for the food, your stomach growling as the delicious smell wafts under your nose.
You then shut the door and return to the couch, setting the pizza box on the coffee table in front of you. Loki grabs a slice out and picks up the television remote, queueing up your regular show on Netflix. He settles in, smiling as you relax with your own slice and cuddle up to him.
~~~
A few weeks pass, and your mental health has only gotten worse.
Your apartment has become a mess with laundry, trash, and dishes piled everywhere. You rarely leave unless absolutely necessary; and you haven’t been in touch with much of anyone lately. You’ve texted Loki a few times, and your friends even less, leaving them all worried about you. Loki has fielded concerns and complaints from your friends, and he knows your behavior isn’t healthy, knows that it’s time to confront you.
Knocking on you door, he waits patiently, but there’s no answer. He knocks again, waits again, and finally, after ten minutes of waiting, lets himself in, picking his way through the mess on the floor to you, who is sitting in a chair in the kitchen, staring at the blank computer in front of you, not seeing a thing.
“(Y/N)? Princess? What’s going on?” He asks quietly, kneeling down beside you, and it takes you a few moments to acknowledge him, turning your head towards him, your red-rimmed eyes meeting his.
“I… I just had a bad day, that’s all.” Your voice is hoarse, cried-out and rusty from days of non-use. Loki, frowning, takes your hands in his firmly, pulling you from your seat and over onto the couch. You can feel the nerves and panic churn in your belly, feel your palms start to sweat; this is definitely about to be a serious talk. Dread mixes with the concoction of fear already there, and you fight down the panic attack as Loki begins to talk.
“(Y/N), sweetheart, you’ve been having a lot of really bad days lately, and… Well, I think you need to get some professional help, go see a therapist. Me and your friends, we love you and we want to help you, but…” he lifts your hands and presses a gentle kiss to them, “there’s only so much we can do, so much we can shoulder, and we’re reaching our limit. It hurts me to do this, to say this, but you need to hear it. I… I really hope it’s the wake-up call you need.”
When Loki looks up at you, tears are in your eyes, as they are in his, and he has to look away, the pain from seeing you hurting too strong for him to face. The saying goes that the truth hurts, but hurting you is the last thing he ever wanted to do. However, you’re hurting far too much, and like he had said, you need more help than he and your friends can offer. Confronting you like this was a good decision, one that will hopefully benefit everyone.
“Oh Loki, I… I’m so sorry!” You sob out the words, and it cracks Loki’s heart to hear, but he doesn’t say anything, staying quiet to let you continue. “I’ll try to better, I really will! I’ll go see a therapist, talk to someone. I’ll do whatever it takes, so long as you don’t abandon me.” The idea wracks your body with another round of shuddering sobs, and Loki pulls you to him, holding you tightly.
“I couldn’t abandon you, my love. I promise,” he murmurs as you cry, your body shaking. Absently he marks surprise that you’re still producing tears, but he banishes that thought almost immediately, rubbing slow circles across your back in an attempt to comfort you.
When your crying slows to a stop and you compose yourself, you pull away from him and grab your laptop. “Will you help me look for a good therapist?” You ask hesitantly, and he agrees without a thought, settling in for a long night of research.
~~~
The therapist you find has some unconventional ideas and ‘treatments,’ but they actually help, according to reviews, at least a little. And she has an emergency 24-hour line that you can call if things get really bad. Loki even comes with you as encouragement when you go in for a meeting, to see if she’s someone you’d want to work with in the future. You aren’t sure at first if you can regularly go, if you want to admit to yourself that you need to go, but one night it feels like rock bottom and you know it’s time to start doing something about your mental health.
Staring at the mirror, mascara streaked down your face, you sit by an inbox full of unopened emails and a phone full of unanswered texts, knowing you can’t go on like this. You feel so alone, so abandoned, so lied to. Loki said he’d never leave, never abandon you, but he’s gone, off on some Asgardian responsibility trip, and you can’t bother him, not with this, not now. Your friends? Gone, stopped talking to you what feels like a long time ago, unable to handle the dramatic failure you are becoming, so you can’t turn to any of them now. There was only so much they could do to help, that’s what Loki had said. It seems like they’ve given up on you. Scrolling through your phone, your eyes land on the emergency number for a therapist you’ve visited and talked to only once, and in a desperate attempt for some connection, some acknowledgment, you call.
The conversation is nothing short of hysteria on your part, full of pain and little hope, and it’s a complete blur in your mind, the words lost in the haze of panic and despair that had taken over before you had called.
~~~
It’s been a few weeks since you had called the therapist, Dr. Engleton, and things are looking up, thanks to weekly meetings with the doctor. As prescribed, you take your meds and constantly stick Post-It notes everywhere in the house with messages like “It’s just one day, you can do it” and “Life is too short to spend another day at war with yourself,” sayings that are meant to encourage and strengthen, especially when you’re struggling. Your life is by no means perfect, you are by no means perfect, but life feels more manageable, and you’re slowly mending your life and relationships.
The first person you apologize to is Loki. Meeting him in a coffee shop once he’s back from Asgard, you hand over a letter you wrote, a plea for forgiveness, an admission of guilt and weakness and fear that you feel covers only a fraction of what he deserves. He forgives you immediately, saying he’s just glad you’re finally getting the help you need. The two of you return to your house, where you pull him to the couch for your own serious talk.
“Loki, I need your help. Again. I will need you to keep me accountable, keep me going to sessions and doing the work Dr. Engleton has me doing. Right now though, mostly, I need you to help me be strong enough to write these apologies, explain what happened and what is happening.” You take a deep, shaky breath, and look him in the eyes. “I need people to know that I’m struggling, that I’m thankful for all they’ve done, and that I am working on getting better.” Loki’s smile is wide and he nods enthusiastically, committing himself to you all over again.
“Of course I’ll help sweetheart. Anything you need,” he promises, and you both let out nervous chuckles when your stomach growls. “Maybe my first contribution will be pizza.” He jokes, but then pulls out his phone and places your usual order anyway, before you can really protest. Order placed, Loki stands and presses a kiss to your forehead. “I’m going to get the food, get us some drinks, and grab some snacks for later. If you feel like it, go ahead and start writing, but if you can’t, don’t force yourself. I’ll be back soon. I love you. And maybe when I’m back, you can explain the sticky notes around the house.” He grins and points at a few of the aforementioned sticky notes, presses another kiss to your forehead, then walks out the door, leaving you to face down your fears as you pull out blank sheets of paper to start apologizing to everyone you’ve hurt.
You stare long and hard at the piece of paper in front of you, debating on what to say, then get to work, writing out your apology:
“To everyone I’ve hurt, to everyone who’s stuck beside me even when I’ve disappeared:
I’m sorry.
The good news is, I’m getting help. I’m going to therapy. I’m working towards getting better. It’s not complete, it’s not perfect, and I’ll never truly be okay, but that’s okay. I’m never going to stop getting panic attacks, or going through depressive, isolating periods, but I will know how to deal with them, how to let someone know I’m struggling, and I’m even starting medication that is supposed to help…”
The letter continues and once it’s done, you set it aside and look over at Loki, who has just walked in with the pizza. He smiles at you and you return the smile, then hold up the papers before you, indicating you started writing the letters. You glance at the sticky notes stuck around the room, knowing there are more throughout the rest of the apartment, and a fond smile flits across your face.
Things aren’t perfect, but they’re getting better, and that’s what matters.