Work Text:
Mobius M. Mobius, age twenty-three, philosophy major, isn't quite sure what to make of his new roommate. Especially considering that it's three months into the semester and he technically hasn't even seen the guy yet.
At this point, all he knows about his mysterious housemate is that he's rich, he likes knives, and everything he owns is in green and gold. And also his name is Loki Odinson, but Mobius only knows that because it's written on the door.
Loki comes in late at night after he's already gone to bed, and is out the door again so extraordinarily early that Mobius often wonders if Loki gets any sleep at all. He probably couldn't recognize his roommate if he were standing right in front of him, which is just ridiculous. Mobius likes people, mostly, and he likes making friends, and it has begun to endlessly frustrate him how little contact he actually has with the person he shares his living space with.
"Loki Odinson," Mobius says, slowly rolling the name over his tongue. "That sounds Scandinavian, don't you think? Maybe he's Icelandic. Or Norwegian. Do you think he's a transfer student?"
Ravonna sips her coffee and raises an eyebrow at him. "Maybe he just likes his privacy."
"It's been three months," Mobius stresses, "and I don't even know the color of his hair. His hair, Ravonna. It's a tragedy." His own drink—a comically tiny juice box, because he has an inexplicable fondness for them—sits untouched next to his salad.
"You're obsessed."
"I'm not."
She looks deeply unimpressed with him, which is just unfair, really. When she stands to leave, she plucks his forgotten juice box off the table and neatly punctures the top, then brings the straw to her lips. Over her shoulder, she calls back, "By the way, his brother is in my earth sciences class!"
It's been three months exactly, and Mobius has learned that Loki's brother is named Thor Odinson, that he's a tall, muscled tower of a man with a love of snakes, and has a harem of conventionally attractive young men with wealthy parents who seem to flock around him like he's the shining star of the greater universe. He's a nice enough guy, if more than a little obnoxious, and not really Mobius' type.
All Mobius has learned about Loki is that Loki likes to cause his brother grievous bodily harm via stabbing, which is apparently considered an affectionate bonding activity in the Odinson household.
"Ravonna thinks I'm being obsessive," Mobius says.
"You are," Hunter replies. She's sitting on Loki's bed, slowly spinning one of Loki's ornamental knives in her hands, since it's only seven in the evening and Loki won't be back until after midnight. "But it's not unreasonable. It is creepy. He could be a serial killer, for all you know."
"He's not a serial killer."
She shrugs, as if to say your funeral. "These are sharp," she notices, tilting the knife and watching the light glint off the shiny green hilt.
After she leaves, Mobius puts all of Loki's things back precisely where they belong, only a little guiltily.
A week later, Mobius leaves a plate of chocolate brownies in the fridge with a note taped to the plastic wrap that says:
Loki,
Feel free to have some.
- Mobius <3
When he wakes up the next morning, both the brownies and note are gone. Clipped to the fridge is a new whiteboard with green and black dry erase markers.
thank you. next time, might i advise adding more sugar? the flavor was adequate, though admittedly lacking.
- L
Mobius laughs quietly to himself. Cheeky bastard.
Loki,
Duly noted. Leave some of that Olive Garden salad for me.
- Mobius <3
Loki does not leave some of that Olive Garden salad for Mobius. The whiteboard displays only a green >:) ! drawing when Mobius sees it again.
"Now you're psychologically tormenting each other via whiteboard messages?" Ravonna asks in disbelief over brunch.
"I'm not psychologically tormenting him."
"Sorry, he's tormenting you."
"Nobody is tormenting anybody!" Mobius protests.
On Tuesday of week six, Mobius opens the door to discover a brown-skinned woman with her long hair tied back in a braid rummaging carelessly through Loki's belongings.
Before he can say anything—and he isn't exactly sure what he would've said, anyway—she turns and spots him. Her eyes narrow and she jabs a finger at him, almost accusingly.
"You," she says, in a tone that makes him wary. "Mobius, right? You're Ravonna's friend? Have you seen Loki's calculus textbook?"
"I'm sorry, do I know you?"
"Probably not. I'm Brunnhilde."
"Nice to meet you." The look on her face implies the sentiment is unrequited. "Can I ask why you're in here?"
She gives an irritated sigh. "Loki's a lazy bastard who forgot their textbook, and I was the closest person to their dorm, so. I don't know why I put up with them, honestly."
Mobius makes a mental adjustment to his list of Loki information that looks something like: cishet? gender non-conforming? non-binary?? "It's on the shelf, on the bottom I'm pretty sure."
"Thanks." Brunnhilde grabs the textbook and straightens, lifting an eyebrow at him.
"Does Loki—" Mobius starts, then stops. He shakes his head. "Never mind. Have a good afternoon. Tell Loki I said hi."
"You too," she says flatly. "The uh—afternoon, thing. Not the—you know what I mean."
"Yeah."
She stares awkwardly at him for a moment before closing her mouth and hurrying out with the textbook tucked under her arm.
Mobius erases the last message on the whiteboard and writes:
Loki,
Your friend Brunnhilde seems nice. Out of curiosity, what are your pronouns?
He considers asking something else, but stops himself, and just signs his name instead.
The next morning, there's a paragraph of green text apologizing on Brunnhilde's behalf, because apparently Loki thinks she's a 'menace to civilized society' and a 'drunken nutcase', but she's also 'surprisingly helpful at times' and 'insightful beyond appearances'. At the very bottom, crammed into the corner, reads:
my pronouns are he/they/she. thank you.
- L
Mobius smiles.
Once, Mobius runs into Thor while waiting for Ravonna outside of her earth science lecture.
The blond giant of a man's face splits into a wide grin when he sees Mobius, strolling over in long, powerful strides that seem like they should be shaking the earth. He's several inches taller than Mobius, and has to look down to look him in the eyes.
"You are Mobius, correct?" Thor says, voice booming.
"That's me," he says.
"My brother Loki speaks of you often. He seems to find you amusing."
"Loki talks about me?" The thought makes Mobius feel off-balance.
"Of course! He finds your 'whiteboard' conversations—" Thor says the word 'whiteboard' like it's an entirely foreign concept to him, "—highly entertaining. It is a rare thing indeed when my brother's positive attention is captured by another person."
Mobius thinks he should be flattered, but he sort of wishes Loki were telling him this instead. "I'm glad." He thinks he is. But Thor's whole demeanor is just on the wrong side of condescending.
"However, I should warn you," Thor continues, oblivious, "Loki grows bored very easily. He is not the most pleasant person to live with, so I suggest you remain unobtrusive to him, as you have been thus far, should you wish to avoid provoking his ire."
"I think I'll be fine," Mobius says, now feeling unmistakably annoyed on Loki's behalf. "Good talk."
"Aye, it was a good talk!" Thor claps a friendly hand on Mobius' shoulder, then saunters off, still grinning that obnoxious smile.
Mobius narrows his eyes. Growing up with someone like Thor for a brother must have been agonizing.
His and Loki's conversations via whiteboard continue, all the while both of them neglect to ever speak in person. Mobius has come to realize that Loki is insanely busy all the time, with such a full schedule that it's a wonder he makes it inside their shared dorm at all. He learns that Loki's father, Odin, puts immense pressure on all of his children—at least, the ones not in prison—to succeed and prove themselves as worthy heirs to Asgard, the multi-million dollar pharmaceutical company he runs with his wife.
The fun facts he learns about Loki range from mundane to traumatizing; how Loki hates coffee but loves tea, how he's a political science major, and how the news about his adoption nearly destroyed his entire family several years ago. The sheer dysfunction of the Odinsons makes Mobius grateful that the most he had to deal with as a kid were his parents being doomsday cultists.
Loki continues to steal Mobius' food from the fridge whenever Mobius is sleeping, so to combat this annoying habit he's begun baking an obscene amount of brownies and cupcakes to deter Loki's ridiculous sweet tooth. It has not worked yet but Mobius is still holding out hope.
Around the second month, the green and black markers start to dry out, so Mobius buys new ones and replaces them with a pair of blue and red.
The next morning after this purchase, Mobius wakes up to find Loki has scrawled out in huge letters, overlapping in red and blue:
THIS COLOR SCHEME IS HIDEOUS. FIX IT
Mobius' leftover chicken parmesan has also been eaten and the dish abandoned in the sink. He buys another set of green and black markers.
Ravonna still likes to tell him that he's only invested in this for the mystery, and once he actually meets Loki he'll end up disappointed. Hunter still likes to tell him that owning so many color coded daggers, knives, and swords is an undeniable sign of psychopathic behavior.
Loki still likes to tell him that his intellect is fascinating, and that though he usually finds philosophy unbearably trite, Mobius is able to put an illuminating spin on the most tedious of concepts that could hook even the most apathetic mind.
Mobius learns that Loki is a bit of a poet, and that he may be developing a heart condition.
Finally, one night, Mobius comes home to find Loki actually physically in the room. Loki is lying flat on his back in bed, earbuds in, eyes closed, chest rising and falling slowly. He's dressed in a green sweater and black pants and shoes, looking for all intents and purposes like he walked in and just immediately collapsed there, still fully clothed.
Mobius lets himself look. Loki's hair is black and curly and long, falling down to his shoulders in shiny waves. He's pale, though not unhealthily so, with sharp cheekbones and slender fingers that are folded neatly across his chest.
Now that Loki is actually here, Mobius isn't sure what to do. Should he wake the guy up to say hi? Would that be weird? Will the friendly banter they have over whiteboard messages still translate to real life conversation?
He'll be the first to admit he's not exactly the most socially adept person. It takes a certain kind of personality to roll with Mobius like Ravonna does, and even she gets annoyed with him.
He doesn't want Loki to be annoyed with him. God, he wants Loki to like him.
This is starting to be embarrassing.
Mobius hasn't come to a decision yet when Loki sucks in a breath and opens his eyes, immediately spotting Mobius, who's been hovering across the room and staring at him. Loki's eyes are vibrant, intensely green.
"Hey," Mobius says, interrupting the silence that threatens to descend over them. "Sorry if I woke you."
Loki sits up, taking out his earbuds and wrapping them up with one hand. "You didn't wake me," he says. His vaguely European accent is rich and cultured, a low roll of syllables that sends a thrill up Mobius' spine.
"That's good," Mobius says absently.
They stare at each other.
Loki says, "So, you're the enigmatic Mobius, then."
"I wouldn't say enigmatic. I'm always available to talk. If anything, you're the enigmatic one."
"Perhaps I am." Loki is smiling sharply now, gaze intent. "Do you consider me a mystery? Puzzling? Difficult to understand?"
"Nah, not really."
Loki looks affronted at this. "Oh? How so?"
Mobius is hoping he isn't treading on dangerous ground, but as usual, he's incapable of keeping anything to himself. "People tend to have a fixed idea of you, and you don't always like it, but it serves you. You're curious and creative, but used to being overlooked, so you're very bitter and resentful of the people you love. You do still love them, though. I think most of all, you need to feel above everything, because you're afraid you're not."
For a long moment, Loki stares at him, expression unnervingly blank. Mobius begins to wonder if he's overstepped.
Then Loki says, quietly, "All that from just a whiteboard and a few minute-long conversations with my brother?"
"What can I say, I'm a perceptive kind of guy."
Loki eyes him, distinctly appraising. Mobius can almost see Loki reevaluating him in his head—it's a little endearing. "I suppose you think you know the sum of me from just that, don't you?"
"Oh, no, I wouldn't dare to presume. I just think you're not as contrary as you'd like everyone to believe."
"For someone who wouldn't dare to presume, you do seem to be presuming quite a lot."
Mobius laughs softly and turns away from Loki, towards the kitchen. "What do you want for dinner? Leftover pad thai or leftover Little Caesar's?"
"... Pad thai is acceptable."
After that, Loki starts coming home an hour or two before Mobius goes to bed, and leaving two hours earlier to make up for the lost time. They still talk through the whiteboard, but now they can talk in real life too, and Mobius finds he likes both equally.
Loki is sarcastic and witty and irritatingly persistent, but for every annoying cheap shot Mobius has something cutting to respond with, and it keeps them on even ground. Mobius gets the impression that Loki doesn't have many people to just talk to in his life, and it shows in Loki's growing enthusiasm, the way he begins to peek out from behind his defensive walls and reveal the perceptive and lighthearted personality underneath.
While Loki has gained a reputation among his peers as a malicious troublemaker, Mobius sees something else—he sees someone naturally playful, desperate for recognition, and willing to get attention through any means necessary. Someone who just needs a little bit of TLC.
Mobius wishes other people would see the real Loki, and not the illusion that everyone seems to just fall for. Seriously, if you give the guy even a scrap of positive attention he'll start acting like you're the center of the solar system, for Christ's sake.
He doesn't share these realizations of his with Ravonna, but she seems to understand anyway, as while she doesn't drop her comments about Mobius' poor judgment, she does also begin subtly implying certain things about the state of his 'newest crush'.
That he doesn't deny her teasing accusations is incriminating in itself.
Hunter meets Loki exactly once and hates him on sight. Loki regards her with a sort of affectionate hostility. This is unsurprising to all parties involved.
Around week thirteen, Mobius invites Loki out to breakfast at a café down the street. They sit in a booth by the window and chat over plates of syrupy pancakes and waffles with cream, Loki leisurely sipping her pitaya boba tea and Mobius swirling around the ice in his iced latte with a plastic straw. At one point Loki gets started on a rant about free will and launches into an animated monologue on the topic, gesturing emphatically with her fork and the piece of buttered pancake speared on it, and Mobius catches himself more than once simply watching her with an absently fond smile on his face.
Both of them are so wrapped up in their conversation that the only reason they remember they're not alone and are, in fact, loitering in a public space, is because the irritated staff eventually start shooting them ill-concealed dirty looks.
Mobius is a little bit sheepish about the inconvenience, but Loki is, predictably, utterly unrepentant.
Loki goes back home for Christmas break, which leaves Mobius a little at a loss. He hadn't realized just how much time he'd been spending with Loki before he left. He spends his two weeks trying out new recipes, catching up on his assigned reading, and surprisingly, hanging out with Brunnhilde. It turns out that she doesn't have anyone to spend the holidays with either, and they actually sort of tolerate each other. Brunnhilde has dozens of humiliating and hilarious tales to share about the Odinson brothers, and Mobius in turn has plenty of stories about Ravonna, Hunter, and Casey from their high school days.
The first day of the new year, Loki trudges back into their dorm, drops his bags unceremoniously on the floor, and immediately collapses onto the couch next to where Mobius had been reading. Loki lets out a low groan, arm tossed melodramatically over his eyes, still decked out in his expensive green silk button downs and dress pants because his family has weird formal attire rules that Mobius still doesn't entirely understand.
"That bad, huh?" Mobius asks.
"Dreadful. Just when you think they can't get any worse."
"My holiday was pretty boring. I missed having you around to make things interesting."
Loki peeks at him from underneath his arm. "Cheap flattery is beneath you."
"It's not cheap flattery. I mean it."
There's a silence; Mobius turns a page, not looking at the expression on Loki's face.
Slowly, carefully, Loki shifts close enough to gently lean down and rest his head on Mobius' shoulder. Mobius stays still, even as his heart rate kicks up three notches, but he does find himself no longer quite able to focus on Plato's Republic anymore.
"Is this alright?" Loki asks, not nervously, never nervously, but Mobius hears the fragile hesitation in his voice all the same.
"Yeah," Mobius says softly. "It's fine."
Neither of them move away.
It's... nice.
Mobius stirs blearily at four in the morning to the sound of raised voices out in the hall. He sighs and reluctantly gets up, intending to yell at whoever's making the racket so late at night—early in the morning?—until they stop, because he's barely getting enough sleep as it is and he can't be nodding off during his morning lecture again for the third time this week, but right before he opens the door he recognizes Loki's voice. He can't hear the person Loki's arguing with, so he assumes they must be on the phone.
"—not going to solve anything?" Loki is snarling, his voice harsher and more furious than Mobius has ever heard it. "You don't have any idea who I am or what I want... I am not the same person I was six years ago... How dare you speak to me like—" He cuts off with a nearly inaudible hiss. "This is why I don't come see you every month like Thor does. Because you always do this to me."
Ah. Family. Probably Odin, then. Mobius backs away from the door, grimacing. That is a giant melting pot of issues he doesn't want to dip his fingers in any time soon.
"Oh, yes, because shouting at me worked so well back then," Loki is saying sharply. "You understand nothing."
There's a long silence. Mobius lingers nearby, just in case, though he's not entirely sure why. Finally, the door opens quietly, and Loki slips back inside, a stormy scowl on his face and his eyes suspiciously red.
"... You okay?" Mobius asks.
Loki doesn't look up from where he seems to be trying to burn a hole in the carpet with his mind. He doesn't seem surprised that Mobius overheard them. "I don't see how that's any concern of yours."
"That sounded pretty heated."
"My father seems to be laboring under the impression," Loki mutters, "that I should consider myself indebted to him for providing the absolute bare minimum for a child he kept around solely out of political convenience."
Mobius winces. "I'm sorry."
"Why?" Loki lifts his head to glare at Mobius, shoulders hunched. "It's no fault of yours."
"Still, I know how hard it is, when the people who are supposed to love you unconditionally hurt you. It's really difficult, and I'm sorry you have to deal with it."
Loki scoffs under his breath. He runs a hand through his unruly curls in a distracted, angry motion.
"If you ever want to talk," Mobius begins, but Loki interrupts him.
"I don't understand you."
"What do you mean?"
"You—" Loki gestures vaguely at him. "How can you be real? I don't understand it. You're just so decent to me when I don't deserve it, and I cannot fathom why."
"I don't like to think of it in terms of 'deserve' and 'not deserve'," Mobius replies, tilting his head a little. "Can't it just be enough that I like you, and I don't like seeing you unhappy?"
"But why?"
Mobius tries to not feel angry at everyone who's played a part in intentionally or unintentionally convincing Loki that it's an absurd notion that anyone might be concerned for his wellbeing. "Maybe I just want to, because that's how I am. If nothing else, can you believe that?"
Loki's expression is raw and desperately lost. "I don't..." He sucks in a shaky breath and scrubs briefly at his eyes, swallowing visibly. "You bewilder me."
"I wish I didn't." Mobius takes a few steps forward and slips on his shoes, giving Loki a comforting smile as he gently clasps his shoulder. "C'mon. Let's go for a drive."
Not many places are open and in business at four in the morning, so they drive to a fast food joint down the street and eat shitty fries and ice cream on the sidewalk curb, shoulders touching and knees knocking together. Mobius describes all the worst foods he's ever tried, and waxes poetic about the merits of watermelons and salt in the summertime. Loki in turn lectures Mobius about his terrible culinary tastes, and vows to take him to truly delicious gourmet establishments someday, if they survive their finals.
By the time the sky has lightened to a pale cornflower blue and the sun is peering over the horizon, Loki seems pleased with the attention and company, if still a little subdued.
He doesn't mention Odin again, and Mobius doesn't bring it up.
Mobius shows up to lunch on a Wednesday to find Ravonna already at their table, and Loki sitting in his usual spot.
He stops and glances between them, a little alarmed. He hadn't even considered that they might band together and join forces, but now that it seems to be a legitimate possibility, he feels deeply worried for what a united front of his two best friends may look like if directed at himself.
They both stop talking when he arrives; Loki has an innocently blank expression on his face, and Ravonna just seems slightly bored. Not a good sign. Not a good sign at all.
"Are we having a party without me?" Mobius asks, moving to pull up another chair to join them.
"Oh, no need," Loki says easily as he rises to his feet. He gestures at the empty chair. "By all means. The lovely madam and I were simply resolving a... misunderstanding. But I believe it's all sorted now, yes?"
Ravonna nods, stirring her coffee with one hand and drumming her nails on the table with the other.
"Excellent." Loki wobbles forward in a strange little motion that makes it clear that he'd started to sketch a bow before remembering that no one bows to other people here. Mobius smiles fondly at him. "Have a wonderful, er, lunch." He hurries off.
Mobius sits down, eyebrows pinched in confusion. "What was that about?"
Ravonna takes a sip of her coffee. "It's not important."
It feels important, and Mobius gets the sense he's missed something vital, but she changes the subject before he can figure out exactly what.
"This is stupid," Loki says.
"Most things in life are," Mobius replies.
They're staring, mutually dismayed, at the spider on the wall they've been trying and failing to kill for half an hour.
"How did it even get in here," Loki groans. Mobius pats them on the back in sympathy. "What if it has hundreds of little spiderlings and by killing it we'll have set them free?"
"That's certainly a possibility. I'm trying not to think about it."
"We could move. Get a new dormitory."
"We have this broom, if you get close enough you just have to smack it really hard."
"Me? You can smack it. I'm not getting any closer to that thing."
"It's just a spider, it can't hurt you."
Loki glances sidelong at him, aghast. "I'm not ending up in the hospital because I blindly took your unprofessional advice on handling potentially deadly arachnids."
"At least you can afford a hospital visit, if it is venomous," Mobius reasons. "My student debt has reached the Earth's core by now. Hey, here's an idea," he says, "let's call Brunn. She'll know what to do."
"More likely she'll just laugh at us until she hemorrhages and dies," Loki grumbles. "And since when is she 'Brunn'?"
"Since she came and picked me up with no prior warning that time my car broke down five miles out of the city, that's when."
"I don't understand why the two of you are friends."
"Believe me, I don't either."
They stare at the spider some more. It skitters a few inches to the right before going still.
"Fine," Loki relents with a shudder. "I'll call her."
While they begin to dial Brunnhilde, Mobius gingerly lowers the broom he's been keeping aimed at the spider, and that's how the two of them learn, quickly, that the fucking thing can jump.
Brunnhilde shows ten minutes later up to find them sitting out in the hall, their door firmly shut, a deck of Uno cards between them and identical expressions of anxious guilt on their faces. She sighs, says "where is it", and goes in to rescue them.
"You're our savior," Loki tells her afterwards, eyes wide with gratitude.
She jabs a finger at them. "Don't call me again unless you're on death's door, or I'll give you something to really be afraid of."
"Fair enough."
While he's watching reality television and eating dinner alone one night—box pasta, because he's exhausted—Mobius gets a text from Loki, who should be studying in his calculus lecture right now.
Loki <3: have you seen this nonsense
Loki <3: [IMG Attachment]
The photo is of a garishly colored flyer pinned to a bulletin board. From the words that Mobius can make out despite the grainy quality, he figures it's an announcement for some event, sponsored by the theatre department.
Mobius: What is it?
Loki <3: the fools downstairs are throwing ANOTHER dance
Loki <3: i hardly sleep enough as it is
Mobius: Is there a theme?
Loki <3: yes
Loki <3: "royalty", why?
Loki <3: you can't honestly be considering going
In fact, Mobius is honestly considering going. He's not one for parties or big social events in general, because he finds them altogether too overwhelming. But he might enjoy himself if Loki is there. Also, as soon as Loki said "royalty", Mobius has started picturing Loki in a gold crown, and now the image won't leave his mind, because as Ravonna likes to say these days, he's head over heels. It's becoming a pressing issue in his daily life.
He looks back down at his phone, which is vibrating insistently.
Loki <3: we're NOT going
Loki <3: mobius
Loki <3: i haven't attended a party in seven years you can't do this to me
Mobius: It might be fun.
Loki <3: you have warped and twisted ideas of fun.
Loki <3: we are not going a royal themed dance for fun mobius
They are going to a royal-themed dance for fun. It actually wasn't Mobius who pressed the issue, but Ravonna, who cornered both of them in their dorm and practically threatened them into it. Mobius wouldn't have thought of her as someone who enjoys dancing, but he's coming to terms with the fact that he'll only ever know things about her that she allows him to know.
Loki gripes and groans and complains but when the day comes, he's the one who spends two hours in the locked bathroom to get ready like some sort of diva.
Mobius loiters in the hallway, picking at and adjusting his clothes. He never wears anything this fancy, but Loki had insisted, claiming that since they were committed, they needed to be committed. He's dressed in a white suit cut in a style he doesn't recognize—the clothing arrangements had been delegated to Loki's family's tailor—with a spiraling blue pattern tracing across the shoulders and down to the chest, glittering in the light. The simple plastic crown Mobius had bought at the dollar store is spray painted white as well.
He feels ridiculous, but he doesn't know how to tell Loki no anymore. And besides, he's the one who'd suggested they do this.
"Mobius," Loki calls, from inside the bathroom.
"Yeah?"
"Why don't you go ahead," he says. "I'll catch up. This is taking longer than I expected."
"I can wait."
"No, I insist. Go find your friends, I'll be there."
Mobius hesitates, feeling awkward and uncomfortable in the finery, and apprehensive of walking down to the floor below by himself.
"It's really alright," Loki says.
"... If you're sure."
"I am. It will only be a few minutes, I promise. Trust me."
Mobius sighs. "Fine. But I'm holding you to that."
Loki's muffled laugh is gentle and amused. "I wouldn't expect anything less."
So Mobius exits the dorm alone. Luckily, several other students are also headed in that direction, looking nearly as foolish as he feels, so he isn't as out of place as he'd feared. The place where the dance is being hosted is a large storage area that's been converted into a makeshift ballroom: warm, hazy lanterns hang from the ceiling; classical music crackles from an actual phonograph in the corner; people are milling around in various dresses and suits, some in genuinely expensive clothes like himself, and others in thrift shop amalgamations that aren't half bad.
He spots Ravonna and Brunnhilde off to the side. Brunnhilde looks beautiful, but uncomfortable and stiff in a slim blue dress, while Ravonna pulls off an elegant maroon gown with such ease it's unfair.
The two of them are... definitely not talking. Mobius doesn't think talking involves that much groping. Or tongue.
Turning around, he leaves them to it, shaking his head and smiling. Good for them.
Which, for some nigh unfathomable reason, reminds him of the fact that the person he's here for isn't here. He hopes Loki hasn't decided to bail and leave him alone at the last minute. Loki probably wouldn't do that, but he's unpredictable on his best days.
Just when he's seriously considering bailing himself, there's a soft tap on his shoulder.
"Surprise."
Mobius spins around, and—
—Loki looks incredible.
He's a vision in green and black and gold, all glimmering sheer fabric and sleek leather. The vibrant green cape trailing from his shoulders swirls around his shiny black boots, every buckle glinting. His eyes are framed with deep black eyeliner and a dusting of bright golden eyeshadow that Mobius swears he's seen Ravonna wear before, and his black lipstick is striking. A blue butterfly clasp—the only part of the ensemble that doesn't match—pins his dark hair back, out of his face. And atop his head sits a sparkling gold crown.
Loki grins at him, shifting a little to make the cape sweep along the floor. "So? What do you think?"
Mobius thinks he's lost the ability to speak. He swallows hard, mouth dry, watching how every inch of Loki positively gleams in the light of the lanterns.
"Well, now, no need to be so slack-jawed," Loki says warmly, still smiling that maddening smile. "Don't tell me I've befriended an idiot after all."
Working some moisture into his mouth, Mobius manages to say, soft and unintentionally reverent, "You are... stunning."
Loki's green eyes sparkle with mirth. "Not so terrible yourself." He tips his head in the direction of where people are beginning to sway to the light, gentle piano music from the phonograph. "Shall we dance?"
There's no other response he could have made. "So we shall," Mobius says.
Loki holds out his hand, bent slightly at the waist, perfectly poised. Mobius accepts the hand as gracefully as he can, and Loki leads him out onto the floor, drawing him in close. With their hands clasped, Loki's arm around Mobius' waist, Loki begins to spin them, slowly, in languid circles.
"When I was young," Loki murmurs, close enough that Mobius can feel his warm breath on the shell of his ear, "my mother gave us lessons in ballroom dancing. Thor never saw the point in it; I never had use for it."
"Until now?" Mobius says, breathlessly.
"Until now."
Loki draws back with a small smile and picks up the speed, not by much, but enough to turn their lazy swaying into a real waltz. Mobius focuses on not stumbling, on keeping his balance as Loki's confident steps lead them back and forth in a lilting rhythm.
"I've never danced," Mobius admits, looking down at his feet. "And once I got to college I never really had time to learn."
"Quite lucky for you, then, that you have such a capable and gracious teacher."
"Have I ever told you how arrogant you are?"
Loki laughs, swinging Mobius into an easy but dizzying spin, then pulling him back in close. "Many times. I'm starting to think you like it."
"Maybe a little."
The other students around them fade into the background as Mobius gazes up into Loki's eyes, green and bright with humor and warmth. The lanterns cast Loki in a golden haze; all splendor and beauty and effortless grace. Together they dance with each other, not particularly elegantly or with perfect form, but none of that seems to matter as Loki's soft hands trail across Mobius' skin and Loki smiles down at him with unbearable affection, twinkling musical notes from the phonogram drifting overhead.
"We're going to do this right," Loki tells him, when the song begins to gradually wind down. "Mother would be terribly disappointed if I neglected to show you her favorite part of this dance."
"Okay. Show me."
Loki tightens his grip, then without much warning, releases Mobius' waist and spins out to the side, tugging him back towards him as Mobius intuitively steps right back into the space Loki's created. The world tilts, and all at once Mobius leans back into Loki's arm and Loki lowers him into a shallow dip, a delighted laugh escaping him, face hovering over Mobius', head haloed by a yellow lantern.
Mobius surges upwards and kisses Loki.
A startled noise escapes him, but then there's a cool hand cupping the side of his face and Loki's kissing him back, slow and gentle, tongue briefly teasing his bottom lip before he pulls away, pale skin flushed and eyes blown wide. Mobius can't resist the starstruck grin that begins to spread across his face. Somewhere off to the side, someone that sounds suspiciously like Brunnhilde makes a loud booing noise.
"What was that?" Loki asks breathlessly, thumb stroking over Mobius' cheek.
"No need to be so slack-jawed," Mobius replies with a grin. "Don't tell me I befriended an idiot after all."
Loki leans down and kisses him again, hard but chaste, and Mobius' pulse rockets into the stratosphere. "My dear, one day that snark will land you in trouble."
"You're such a flirt."
"And you're sure this isn't just because I look amazing in this outfit, and you were only momentarily consumed by a desperate lust for my devastatingly attractive visage?" Loki says, glancing down at himself with a smirk.
"Fairly certain."
"Only fairly?"
Mobius reaches up and loosely clasps Loki's wrist, eyebrows raised. "We'd better go back to our dorm and make sure. Just in case."
Loki's answering smile is knife-sharp. "I suppose we'd better."