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Loki thinks there ought to be some sort of fanfare to mark Mobius’ arrival. An outrageously absurd one he will have to endure every single time he enters the office. Or a room. Or anywhere at all.
He’d undoubtedly hate it - and that’s precisely why it has to happen.
Though seeing as - sadly - there isn’t a fanfare, Loki has decided to graciously burden himself with this glorious purpose. He now has the arduous task of orchestration. From the forced vibrato in his voice to the percussion of his palms on the table.
“You’re laaaate,” he chimes musically.
Mobius approaches the desk, eyes crinkled with that near-constant faint amusement.
“Actually, I think you’ll find you’re a little early. Raring to go, huh?”
“Well. How could I not be?” Loki exclaims theatrically, gaining exasperated glances from passersby.
Good to know. He hasn’t taken it far enough, then. Waving his hands, Loki ups the antics.
“It’s yet another marvellous, thrilling day in the TVA awaits us! Why I-” laughter at the absurdity almost overcomes his performance, voice cracking around the syllables clumsily. “I can hardly wait to get started, can’t you!?!”
“Oi keep it down over there!” an agent shouts haughtily from the other side of the office.
Mobius takes a moment to rein in his composure.
It’s unclear who started this, but he and Mobius have fallen into a rather peculiar routine of making their morning greetings as deliberately terrible as possible.
Just yesterday, Mobius thought it wise to start with ‘morning has broken and Loki’s awoken’.
Since then, rhymes have been well and truly banned. Of course, that doesn't stop Mobius from doing it whenever he comes up with one.
“Okay, okay...”
Head tilted down a fraction, Mobius quirks a brow. Oh, that must be disapproval - delightful.
“Loki, you’ve made your point and it was glorious-"
“It was, wasn’t it.”
Mobius sighs, eyebrows pinched. How this man just hates to be interrupted - it’s excellent. Brings out the closest thing to genuine frustration rather than the mellow affability that naturally surrounds him.
“Now if you don’t want us to get kicked out and moved to the supply closet or something, take it down a notch. Better - be quiet. Though we both know that’s not gonna happen.”
Eyes sharp, Loki snaps open a file. Entirely for show because he has no intentions of reading anything when Mobius is a walking fountain of TVA knowledge, but the point stands. Petulantly.
“Tell me to be quiet again and I swear to you that all you’ve ever held dear will perish.”
Loki trains his gaze on the leather briefcase and gestures.
“Starting with that.”
Mobius stifles a smile but clutches the handle tighter which is amusing.
“Gee. You just had to jump right into the destruction there, didn't you? Couldn't help yourself. Always stabbing, and scheming and stabbing, and sneaking.” Pause. “And stabbing-”
Loki blinks, slow.
There’s making a point and then there’s whatever this is. Punctuating each word that way is only turning this morning distraction into a whole sordid affair. His expression sours.
Mobius is enjoying this too much.
“You can stop now.”
It’s only moderately funny the first time.
Taking a pen from his pocket, Mobius reenacts some sort of fighting motion slowly. Loki is too aggrieved to point out the absolutely terrible technique. He wonders if this man has ever even wielded a knife before.
It certainly doesn't look like it.
Somehow, that’s rather charming all in itself.
Mobius brings the pen down onto the paper, repeatedly pushing the nib down. Voice hushed yet intent, he continues. Just because he can.
“Stab stab stab. Stabby Mc Staberson of Stabsville.”
“Will you stop, stop it- just!”
“Stabtopia, stab-”
Diving forwards across the deck, Loki snatches the pen away.
“Stop stabbing things!” he growls.
Because he’s feeling petty, Loki throws the blasted thing as far as he can fathom. There’s a startled yelp from somewhere behind them where the pen must have landed.
They both ignore it.
“Loki.” Mobius isn’t beaming but his eyes are and that’s what counts. “You of all people telling me not to stab things is just plain weird. You do get that, right?”
No. Actually.
What’s weird is how Mobius doesn’t scurry after his pen like a mournful dog. Instead, his interest is fixed entirely on Loki. Unwavering, unyielding.
In truth, Loki would’ve much preferred not having to acknowledge the constancy of this thing brewing between them, slipping further out of even his own control. But nothing goes according to plan at the TVA.
For him, at least.
So here they are. Once again.
“Are you quite finished with this tedious slander on my person?”
Chuckling at the question, Mobius drags a spare chair over.
“Nothing slanderous about it, just stating the facts. You know I’m all for stabbing in the right time and place - when the situation calls for it.”
Pointing a finger appreciatively towards Loki, he hovers close to the desk.
“And hey, let’s face it. Nobody does that better than you.”
“Nobody does anything better than me.”
The commotion behind them is becoming difficult to block out. Muffled voices grow louder as do their concerned voices. Loki clenches a fist, pursing his lips. It was just a silly insignificant pen.
Hardly anything extraordinary.
And yet it’s become quite the little spectacle. Loki wonders if these people know there is an actual God in the room. They could do well to show some basic decency.
Reverence, even.
“Are you okay?”
“What the hell just happened?”
“All of you - keep it down!” the same disgruntled worker from before bellows.
That’s it. The final straw in this infernal hellscape of an office.
“You dare dictate what I, Loki, does? Well think again!” Loki counters, spinning in his chair to face the meagre fool who challenged him for the first and last time.
His smirk falters at the familiar person in the corner of the room, dabbing at their clothes. A few others fawn over the scene, unsure how to help.
Oh dear. So that’s what the fuss is all about.
"This sucks! But I’m fine,” Casey groans miserably yet merrily all at once. “I’d be better if this pen that flew out of nowhere and then exploded never hit me, though.”
“Aw, that was my best pen...” Mobius frowns, watching the scene pensively.
The gleam in his eyes is not entirely appropriate, feels more like something Loki ought to be doing instead.
“And look see, see what you did to Casey!”
A wayward finger juts out towards Loki, perilously close to his cheek. Loki leans back, eyeing Mobius warily. If this is meant to be a reprimand, it hardly has the right atmosphere.
Far too jovial.
“Bad, bad Loki.”
“If it’s any consolation, that was an accident!” Loki calls across the room, startled to discover he sort of means it.
Besides, Casey does look rather deflated with his shirt splattered in blotches of ink. His shoulders are slumped, expression conflicted. Too caught up in the situation, it’s unclear if Casey hears those once-in-a-lifetime words at all.
Shame, because Loki won’t be admitting to such things again.
“I’d lend him a shirt.” Turning back to Mobius, Loki folds his arms across his chest. “But as it stands, I only have the one.”
Mobius waves at him the way one shoos a fly. Or some sort of other harmless nuisance. It’s outrageous that he thinks that’s acceptable.
Worse, amusing.
“I told you already, I’m working on it.”
“Work faster. I demand some range of attire for when I ascend this place.”
Loki is not joking. He is definitely leaving. And when he does it will be in style. Both distinguished and daring. In a flare of genius unrivalled and unparalleled.
Yes - it will go down in TVA history as the day they failed.
“Don’t worry that little head of yours, you’ll get your Cinderella moment soon enough,” Mobius quips smoothly by the chair.
He still doesn’t sit, though. That alone prevents Loki from giving in to his visceral knee-jerk response to words such as Cinderella.
Picking up the file he has no intention of reading, Loki smirks behind it.
Magic may not work within these walls, but he has found many a-way to make mischief regardless.
Following the infamous cafeteria Incident, Mobius still double-checks any chair before sitting. All whilst pretending he’s merely adjusting his suit jacket.
Adorable, really, that he thinks it’s a convincing ruse. But nothing escapes the attention of a God. No matter how good Mobius thinks he is at maintaining that air of cool, collected suave, Loki has found cracks.
He’s traced over them methodically, never hitting the same place twice.
Mobius seems to know he’s up to something, but will never be able to prove it.
In his own defence - isn’t he always up to something?
Satisfied his chair has not been tampered with, Mobius sinks into it.
“Hey, listen. I think you should apologise.”
Loki pokes his head over the file to share his indignation. Then he slams it down, like he’s seen some people do with newspapers. The effect feels theatrical enough.
“Excuse me?”
Mobius cocks his head to the side of the office that is looking more and more like a harrowing crime scene. It seems the ink has found itself not only all over Casey but the bookshelf and walls. But why the whole area has been cordoned off with glowing orange tape is beyond Loki’s comprehension.
Part of him doesn’t want to know.
The TVA is truly unnerving.
“Casey looks real upset over there. That may be his only shirt too, who knows.”
Loki leans across the table, curiosity piqued.
“What about you, are you not upset? Wasn’t that your best pen?”
Mobius hums, opening the briefcase to reveal a row of pens. Loki rolls his eyes, irritated at the sight.
Of course, he came prepared. Rarely is he not.
Sincerity alone seems to be just about the only thing that can lower his guard. Quite an interesting weakness, and easily exploitable if Loki played the cards in his hand properly. As he should.
He’s been stalling. He knows it.
“A little excessive, don’t you think?”
“Not at all actually.”
Mobius takes a pen from the briefcase before closing it firmly. Somehow, he seems to know Loki is attempting to surreptitiously get a peek of the rest of the contents.
Their eyes meet and there’s no mistaking that Mobius is beyond pleased to have caught Loki at his games.
A little ambiguity would go a long way, make this a little less notable. Because Loki is wholly disturbed at how little appears to faze Mobius when it comes to him. That steady sureness has been there from the start, paired with a wry smile and laughing eyes.
Kind yet firm.
All his words, all his actions, all his choices - their weight withers. Very few can see through all the smoke, the bravado, the illusions.
Even fewer can make Loki feel transparent and coaxed open.
The most vexing part is that Mobius himself - beyond the shores of his amusement and the waves of inexplicable warmth - is quite an enigma.
Loki likes a good mystery, being capable of unravelling it. He's not there yet.
“One thing you learn real fast working in the TVA, is that nothing is permanent.”
Mobius holds the pen out to Loki, like some bizarre peace offering that means far more than it should.
The air between them is charged. That in itself is highly illogical because there’s nothing special about where they are, but a wistful weary expression clouding the agent’s face is what completes the picture.
Suddenly, this doesn’t seem to be about the pen anymore.
A beat passes before Loki takes the pen into his hands. Mobius is elsewhere, a place that doesn’t appear to be in this room.
To be honest, Loki is more intrigued by this unexpected shift than whatever taking the pen is supposed to signify.
In all their time together thus far, Loki hasn’t seen a look like that. Familiar only because he has felt it on his own skin when shadows grow into towers.
Mobius has been amused - often. He’s been exasperated. Pleased. Displeased.
But he’s never been haunted. At least, not in Loki’s presence.
Mobius is either unaware because he’s gotten swept up into whatever story ghosts across his glassy eyes, or he has simply decided it’s okay for Loki to witness it.
Funnily enough, Loki isn’t sure which scenario is worse - despite the latter working highly in his favour. As far as emotional exploits go, this is pretty up there.
He could use this. It would be easy.
But here’s the extraordinary thing - he doesn’t want to.
Clearing his throat, Mobius rejoins reality. But he doesn’t quite return in full swing. More a memory of his essence. Even his voice is quieter, a mirage.
“Nothing is permanent, Loki. Everything is temporary.”
Frowning, Loki sets the pen down.
“Temporal, you mean.”
Mobius offers a strained smile, which is all wrong and Loki very much wants their usual rapport back. Immediately.
“That too.”
Loki fidgets in the chair, restless and growing more agitated by the minute. He can’t sit here and endure this any longer. In the absence of Mobius’ natural mirth is melancholy.
“So,” Loki tries again. “You think the ink won’t stain?”
In sync, they glance over to Casey currently mopping down his shirt with paper towels. Maybe somebody ought to help. That somebody certainly won’t be Loki.
As much as he thinks Casey is somewhat of a universal treasure, he has a reputation to uphold as the God of Mischief, please and thank you.
“Nah,” Mobius mutters, wisps of amusement creeping back into his rasped voice. “It’ll definitely leave a mark.”
Their eyes catch.
“The best things do.”
In a rather surprising turn of events, Casey has become the person Loki spends a great deal of his days with.
Granted today might be a different story, given the whole exploding pen situation. But Loki is in dire need of a distraction from the eerily pensive conversation looping around his mind from earlier.
And the antics of the office were meant to be just that too - meagre bursts of pithy chaos that could be shrugged away when necessary. To keep things from wading into dangerous waters, to keep his mind from wandering down roads best left barren and desolate.
Now this has all become quite a mess, one Loki doesn’t quite understand.
Distractions are all any of this could ever possibly be.
Yet somehow, it doesn’t feel that way at heart.
In any case, the most logical thing to do about it is bother another person under the guise of goodwill. So that’s what he does.
Loki makes his way over to Casey’s desk with the pile of clothes he found. It doesn’t matter where he found them or how he acquired them, it’s the thought that counts. Surely.
“Surprise!” he says, merrily dropping the bundle onto the table. “A gift from your future ruler. For earlier.”
Things may have gotten a little out of hand, on all fronts. Casey jolts in his chair, eyes blown wide as he stares. Patting the clothes, Loki beams.
“Now you’ll never have to worry about something as trivial as an exploding pen again. You’re welcome.”
“Ew,” Casey remarks, nose scrunching in open disgust.
The expression doesn’t change, no matter how many shirts Loki shoves in his direction.
“I’ve never seen so many hideous shirts in my life. They should be burned.”
“Hold on. Hold on just a minute.”
Loki must settle this immediately. He drags a chair across from the random worker stupid enough to have their back turned in his presence and not expect dire consequences.
As he sits, he absently registers the dull thump as the poor soul lands on the floor as opposed to the stolen chair.
Well.
They should’ve checked, surely they must’ve heard of The Incident by now.
Attention turned back to Casey who remains affronted by the shirts, Loki sighs.
Unbelievable.
“You don’t truly mean to burn them. Isn't that a bit of an overreaction?”
“Uh…” Casey holds a neon green shirt up, quickly discarding it to the rejection pile that is only growing larger. “Not really??”
Loki frowns at that.
Personally, he thought the one with the tropical fruit would look quite fetching on the clowns waltzing around here. Besides, it’s staggering Casey thinks he has any place to comment when his clothes remain stained in black ink.
“Look at this mess. I just cleaned all of this too,” Casey sighs, swatting at the dishevelled workspace littered with the extensive assortment of shirts Loki so thoughtfully bestowed upon him.
The rejection pile falls on the floor, taking a stack of neatly folded paper with it.
“Now I have to do it all over again! Where am I even going to put these? It’s not like I have a house, or a wardrobe...”
Loki ignores that rather weird confession in favour of chasing down his own wounded pride and soothing it. Because he is, truth be told, rather wounded.
Casey is on the floor, scooping up an amalgamation of shirts and paper into one giant ball of madness whilst mumbling words that definitely do not sound like thanks.
“This is absurd!”
Leaning out of the chair, Loki ducks to face the man. It’s an awkward angle, but he has a point to make and he will make it no matter what.
“Here I am trying to do a good deed - just the one, mind you -” he pokes a finger towards Casey to make that very clear. “And here you are complaining about it!”
Hauling himself back up, Casey dumps the pile on the desk. Apparently exhausted from the whole affair, he wipes at his forehead and sinks back into his chair.
Then, remembering he still has company, Casey turns to Loki. He smiles sheepishly.
“Don’t get me wrong, I mean - I’m grateful. Nobody has ever brought me stuff before that I can keep.”
Considering Loki took all of ten minutes to pry these out of old musty boxes, the bar appears to be set alarmingly low around this place in the realm of interpersonal relationships.
“I get plenty of stuff thrown at me otherwise, as you know.”
Casey gestures to his ink-ridden shirt, rolling his eyes. Right. He has quite a petty streak when pushed too far. Loki has his suspicions there is still some work to do rebuilding this bridge.
Eyeing the shirt that has seen better days, Loki exhales.
He didn’t want things to go this far, but he is well and truly immersed in all of this. It’s proving to be the greatest distraction for things beginning with M and ending in S.
Forever, preferably.
And honestly - the more he looks at the wretched thing Casey still wears, Loki does feel a little bad and not in a good way.
Just a little.
“I didn’t know the pen would explode, nor that you were in its path…”
Casey squints in his direction, clearly bewildered by the turns of events.
“The pen should have stayed on the table, and I-”
“Okay, okay!”
Casey holds his hands up in surrender, something close to despair plaguing his face.
“I forgive you - just. Please stop trying to do whatever it is you’re doing, it’s freaking me out.”
Relieved, Loki slumps against the table. That had been verging on one of the most mortifying things he has ever done. Maybe. At the TVA, at least.
Loki plucks out the blue checkered shirt, waving it in Casey's face.
“What about this one?”
“Um,” Casey pinches his nose with his fingers, nudging the offering away. “That one smells like someone might have possibly, uh… died.”
“Oh.”
Loki cranes forwards to sniff and inspect. To his horror, Casey is right. He drops it immediately, wiping his hands on his trousers. He probably should’ve done a more thorough check on these things before taking them out of the inventory storage.
“I can’t believe you went and got me new clothes. Even if they kind of suck. That’s the nicest thing anyone has done for me.”
Hm, nice.
It’s such a pesky word. If he could, Loki would squash it under his shoe and watch it writhe in agony screaming for mercy that will never come.
Yes, that would be nice.
“Tell a soul and I really will gut you like a fish.”
“No you won’t. Your threats are always weird and kind of dumb.”
Raising an eyebrow, Loki struggles to hide the irritation simmering beneath his skin. The gall of this friendly fiend.
“I beg your pardon?”
Casey is curled up on the edge of his desk, using the only available space left to get back to the work Loki has long since distracted him from.
Distractions, that's what this is about.
“You heard me.”
Right, okay.
Apparently, there is going to be no elaboration on that front whatsoever. Loki presses his hand against his forehead, the sharp pressure between his eyebrows is only building.
“Hey, didn’t the pen you explode belong to Agent Mobius?”
Loki bares his teeth in a sardonic smile. Perhaps he should have prefaced this entire conversation with a threat - that things beginning with M and ending in S were supposed to stay out of sight and out of mind at all costs.
Then again, seeing as his threats are hideously underwhelming in the eyes of Casey, what’s even the point.
“He has more. And it was his fault anyway - he started it all with his ridiculous stabbing impression.”
“Yeah.” Casey hums thoughtfully.
He sets the paperwork down and turns the pile of shirts into a makeshift pillow. Resting his chin against it, Casey continues.
“What's that all about, anyway?”
“The stabbing?”
That would be quite a long story, and Loki isn’t in the mood to get into it.
“No. You and that guy, duh.”
Loki does not like where this is going whatsoever. Not in the slightest.
There's only one person 'that guy' could mean.
Blinking rapidly, he flicks his tongue out to catch between his lips. Of course, it all has to come back to this eventually, to the M and the S and the letters in between.
Perhaps it’s a cruel twist of fate, perhaps the sacred time-keepers demand penance through ensuring Loki can never escape this.
“Excuse me?”
“I mean, you obviously aren’t together yet. You’re still in that awkward I like you but I won’t do anything about it because I don’t want to ruin anything stage, right? I can tell. It’s kind of sweet.”
The more Casey talks, the worse it gets. There’s a dreamy look in his eyes, like he finds the subject interesting rather than insipid. Which it deserves to be, for the record.
Insipid. Insolent. Intolerable.
Stunned - Loki is utterly stunned. And no, his ears are not burning. He’s only adjusting the collar of his shirt because it’s gotten rather hot in this particular building. Obviously. It has nothing to do with the nonsense Casey is spewing in his direction.
To think, Loki came here to make amends yet this is what he gets in return. Scorn. Slander. They are virtually one small step away from defamation of his entire character.
“That’s completely ridiculous!” Loki spits vehemently, a bitter laugh cracking the syllables around their edges.
“I’ve never heard anything so ridiculous in my life. You are truly disturbed to have conjured such a ridiculous story but I assure you now that it’s-”
“-Ridiculous?” Casey supplies with a pinched smile, like he knows more but wants to keep it a secret for now.
“You kind of keep saying that word over and over. Sounds like you may be in denial.”
The chair knocks backwards with force as Loki stands. There’s nothing wrong with a little repetition - ridiculous is exactly what this is, after all.
Firstly, there’s nothing to ruin regarding himself and Mobius. And if there were, he would do it. Because that’s what he does, quite brilliantly.
Ruin things.
Secondly, his pulse is racing against his will only because of unbidden fiery rage. Casey’s deluded twisted beliefs on what exactly is going on aggravate him.
Nothing more.
Thirdly, Loki doesn’t have to listen to this. He’s a God. He’s above this.
“I’m leaving.” Leaning over the desk, Loki takes the shiniest pen from Casey’s stationary pot out of spite. “And this is mine now. Enjoy your shirts.”
“Enjoy falling in love!”
“Like a fish, Casey!” Loki shouts furiously over his shoulder, prodding the air with a finger he hopes is utterly terrifying.
The lack of response indicates it does not have the desired impact.
Quite frankly, everything is horrible.
Loki strides down the hallway with a horrible sense of purpose. Far from glorious, far from grand.
Casey has unceremoniously shoved his foot on a proverbial landmine. Perhaps the biggest of the lot at this moment in time. Now it’s been detected and the blast billows out, Loki gets the brunt of it.
Rattled bones, shaken composure. Heat surges to the surface of skin, a once dormant now potent fire that threatens to consume all in its path. And as the initial shock waves begin to subside, in its place are traitorous thoughts, a swell of apprehension.
The distraction has become the destination, the nucleus of nonsense.
“Where have you been?”
Mobius is swivelling absently on the chair, eyes crinkling in the corners. Despite the emptiness of the office, he fills the space with his presence easily.
That is hardly surprising. Mobius has that sort of gravitating effect, people tend to find solace in him.
Part of Loki wonders if he’s still here for a genuine work-related reason, or if he just knew. Knew their stories would wind up entangled and tethered this way, knew that Loki would come back.
Curse this. He knows too much.
Loki hovers on the outskirts of their usual orbit, arms folded. The pronounced distance does not escape Mobius’ attention. He sits up, relaxed demeanour transforming into something a little more rigid.
“You’re awfully quiet,” Mobius muses, curiosity nestled between the words.
Head tilted, Loki gestures.
“As are you.”
“Ah, but I’m not the one who loves to talk.”
“I’d beg to differ,” Loki snarks because he can do this.
He knows exactly how to do this, their warped and wonderful little thing. Where they say both nothing and absolutely too much all at once, where they go nowhere yet somehow reach the wildest place.
This isn’t how it was ever supposed to go. Loki can’t expect to be two steps ahead of the curve when allowing himself to falter time after time. And yet.
“You talk almost as much as me. Possibly more at times.”
Raising an eyebrow, Mobius hums.
“Gotta hand it to you, you are pretty observant. But here’s the thing about observations, Loki - they’re safe. Calculated. Distant.”
Mobius isn’t wrong, that’s part of the problem. That shrewd perception is a hindrance. Loki bristles at the sharpness he can cleave out of the words.
Maybe Mobius does know how to wield a knife, after all.
And he isn’t done yet, apparently.
“Observations don’t have to be attached to anything, so it’s no wonder why you like them so much.”
“Technically speaking - that was also an observation,” Loki spits because what did you mean earlier and why is everything suddenly so confounded sounds silly in his head and will only sound sillier out loud.
“Okay, I’ll bite.” Mobius stands from his chair, crossing the invisible line Loki attempted to draw between them effortlessly.
How fitting - doomed from the start.
“What’s got you all worked up, huh?”
Loki averts his gaze, can’t quite trust himself to look. There’s an ache in his chest that shouldn’t be there but has festered for too long. Now it claws away at his insides, spreading beneath his bones.
Everything is temporary. That's what Mobius said. And it had sounded so morose, so certain.
Loki sucks in his lip and swallows the bitterness building in his throat. He has everything to lose and nothing to gain by shedding the layers and the masks.
But he already knows, Mobius will only think better of him for it - never less. Not that it really matters, in the grand scheme of things.
Nothing is permanent. Nothing is permanent-
With a heavy sigh, Loki folds. As he meets Mobius’ gaze, he finds it to be just as accommodating and accepting as he feared.
“I did something, didn’t I? Some version of me. I did something to you, or I will. That’s the reason.”
Some jaded piece of Loki hopes that it’s true. That would make it more logical and make it all that much simpler to splinter.
“Reason for what?”
Playing coy isn’t warranted in this situation. Loki wants the pyre and the flames and the ashes. If he has to start the cruel ritual, so be it.
He'll return their castle to dust.
“Me at your side.”
This time, there is a flash of dismay on Mobius' face.
“Whatever gave you that idea?”
Because hurting people is what I do. Because why else would you have such a fascination in me and want to know me-
“Well.” Loki gestures between them, the uncomfortable lump in his throat burns. “They do advise it best to keep your enemies close.”
Close. There. He said it.
A hand clasps his shoulder, squeezes.
“Oh, Loki…” Mobius says softly and Loki has to fight the urge to melt against the onslaught of tenderness stewing beneath his bones. His resolve is crumbling.
“Not everybody sees things that way. Me especially. Your worth is not determined by how useful you are, it never was not to me.”
“But I am useful,” Loki counters, just to be contrary - to bite back and resist.
Mobius is unaffected, steering through the turbulence.
“Yeah you are, and I think you can really help us. But that’s not why I like having you around. You have to know that. They’re like two completely different things.”
Loki does know that. Mobius has hardly been subtle about his interest, but it’s not exactly unrequited anymore-
Oh.
Oh no.
Oh dear.
Loki stares vacantly at a spot in the corner, eyes wide. His hands close into fists by his side. Inevitable realisation hits, then. Wholly merciless in its delivery.
The times he finds himself strangely flustered, the persistent playful jibes, the natural magnetism between them anchoring and-
There’s something here against all the odds. Of course there is.
The revelation is terrific and terrifying all at once.
“You good?” Mobius asks with so much sincerity it’s bound to bruise.
But that’s fine - better when even the memory of kindness stings.
The hand on Loki’s shoulder has trailed absently up to the back of his neck. But it’s not a threat, merely a soothing gesture. Mobius’ thumb dips under the collar, rubbing hypnotic yet maddening circles into his skin.
Sucking in a sharp breath, Loki meets the unrelenting sensation head-on. He can address the ramifications later, mull over the consequences of their inherent foolishness.
But now, now he is compelled.
He wants. He needs.
“I will be. Once I’ve done this.”
In one frantic motion, Loki tugs Mobius forwards by the tie. They crash together gracelessly. Mobius seems to have expected that, shifting to align them better.
And maybe nothing is permanent, maybe this is only temporary. One day this will be a lost echo in the vast cavern of the universe. One day they will be here, one day they will not. Rather than glimpse resignation on that horizon, Loki finds solace.
This is good though, this might be enough.
When they part Mobius looks, as ever, hopelessly amused. A fondness sneaks into his expression, far less subtle than before. His hand moves from Loki’s neck, palm caressing and catching skin reverently before the touch slips into obscurity.
Loki holds his ground, refusing to chase desperately after it like a witless fool.
Something about his expression must be mortifyingly conspicuous, for Mobius strokes a thumb over the curve of his jawline in an instant.
It feels nice. And this time, Loki doesn't want to stamp on the word.
“Mischievous scamp,” Mobius teases good-naturedly. “Took you long enough.”
Patting Loki’s cheek, Mobius steps back to adjust his askew tie. He’s remarkably composed, navigating them with such unwavering patience that the shift is already seamless. Simple.
It’s a little too much thinking about just how Mobius pivots around every obstacle, has a knack for coaxing weathered sincerity out of him.
Eyeing Loki over, he chuckles.
“Don’t tell me I broke you, we’re only just getting started.”
Loki blinks in sheer disbelief at the startling lack of tact. Mobius even winks, utterly shameless.
“And to think, we probably have an exploding pen to thank for all of this…”
Well. Speaking of pens. Loki reaches into his pocket for the one he stole from Casey earlier.
Intrigued, Mobius leans forwards.
“What’s that?”
Now he's just being obtuse on purpose.
“What does it look like?” Loki snaps tetchily.
He realises giving Mobius an opening is a mistake the second the words come out. There’s a twinkle far too entertained setting his eyes aglow.
Before Loki has to hear the ensuing nonsense, he ploughs ahead.
“Do you want the blasted thing or not? Because I can very easily explode yet another-”
“No, no, wait - I want it…” Mobius breathes in awe, prying the pen from Loki’s hands. Like he’s never seen one before in his life, like it’s something sacred.
Ridiculous.
“This is kind of fancy. Where did you get this?”
Pause.
Mobius practically lights up.
“Loki, did you steal it?”
For some reason, he doesn’t seem at all bothered by that. If anything Mobius is even more fascinated. He doesn’t even need an answer, already certain of the truth.
“You did!" he exclaims gleefully. "You did steal it, you stole this for me."
Loki hangs his head, sighing. Annoyance is a convincing ruse to hide the hammering in his chest.
“Wow…”
Okay. Nobody is that excited about pens. Ruse over, now it's real. Snapping his head back up, Loki glowers.
“Are you quite finished?”
“For now I guess I am.” Mobius puts the pen in his suit jacket, pats the spot fondly. “Let’s get out of here, yeah?”
He outstretches a hand. Loki almost takes it like an utter fool, until Mobius ruins it by wiggling his fingers and stifling a raspy laugh poorly.
Well. See if Loki does anything even moderately generous like stealing things for anybody ever again.
He spins on his heel, marching out the room. Mobius jogs after him to catch up, which is somewhat satisfying. There are probably other ways to make him breathless, maybe they'll find out later.
“Loki, come on! I’m just messing with you. You can take my hand if you want, it’s totally fine. In fact, I would really like that.”
Loki folds his arms over his chest to tuck his hands away pointedly. To make a point. Pointedly.
“Cute,” he thinks he hears Mobius murmur under his breath.
Unbelievable.
Somehow, Mobius is still enjoying himself too much. Eyes narrowed, Loki musters his best glare. Considering his lips can’t quite depart from the hints of a misplaced smile, it’s quite difficult.
“Say that again and I’ll stab you.”
Mobius snorts, mirth unhinged and roaming free.
“Oh yeah, with what?”
“Your pen!”
“See, now we’ve come full circle.”
“I’ll show you full circle,” Loki quips back, striving for ominous and menacing.
“…That doesn’t have the effect you think it does. Quite the opposite, actually.”
Oh for goodness sake. Loki snatches Mobius by the hand, dragging them off to someplace private.
Whether or not any of this is permanent according to the laws of the universe and the demands of greater powers is irrelevant. Because all that aside, Loki can be sure of one thing undoubtedly in the only way that matters.
This is timeless.