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Loki does not hug people.
A certain kind of person might use the gesture to attack, but he would rather (denial notwithstanding) stab people in the back than turn a sacred gesture of affection into a betrayal. Even a Loki must have lines they will not cross.
Hugging is too vulnerable. Too open. Too friendly. He both reveres and fears it.
Even as a child, he had shied away from affection, a reticence that made sense once he’d discovered his origin.
Asgardians are warm people; he is cold.
Nobody ever said Loki doesn’t lie to himself as much as to anyone else.
There is an ice so cold it burns. In truth, he burns hotter than the hearth-fire Asgsrdians, his pain and passion deeper.
If he had only known what he knows now, he might have let Frigga hold him, taken childhood refuge on Odin’s knee, hugged Thor.
Now, at the end of all things, his fear is entirely replaced by longing. The things he once prized so highly fall behind in his estimation, their glitter lost in the desire for real connection—the touch of Frigga’s hand he’d shaken off but secretly adored, the casual feeling of Odin’s arm slung across his growing shoulders, wrestling with Thor before either of them was old enough to mean anything but play by it. His mind flits between memories he wishes he could relive.
One of those memories is recent. One of those memories is of his first walk through the TVA, of his mingled wonder and fear kept bearable by the feeling of a warm hand on his back, anchoring him to sanity.
Möbius had not been afraid to touch him, and the touch had contained no manipulation. It had been a pure act of care, one as undeserved as it was surprisingly welcome.
At the end of all things, hugging Möbius is the most obvious choice in the world. The embrace feels exactly as he’d desperately hoped such a thing might feel—warm, safe, purely comforting.
Loki closes his eyes. It’s only necessary to keep your eyes open when there’s a threat. He feels no threat here, for a split second, only peace.
He doesn’t expect the aftermath, that the feelings of warmth and well-being continue long after Möbius has disappeared. He is too shy to ask Sylvie if this is normal, if this is why people hug so often that it used to equally repulse and enthrall him.
Something in Loki has changed—has at once melted and stopped burning. He doesn’t know if he will live long enough to understand it, but, at the end of all things, he finally feels whole.