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Loki
He can’t stop thinking about her. The kiss. Her eyes right after. All loss and exquisite pain, and beyond that, overwhelming joy.
And then shadow swallowed the light in her eyes. She shoved him away from her. Away from the horror. Now she is all alone out there, alone with her fury and impending emptiness. Loki knows how it feels to let go. He had been there, lived that. He wouldn’t wish it on his worst enemy, let alone her.
“I’m not you,” she had said. And she wasn’t. That was the most wondrous part. Two hearts. Two minds. Two lives lived, with all the fleeting victories and, many, many defeats. But their spirit? All mischief and chaos and fun and rage. That blazing capacity to love and hate in equal measure.
Loki knows exactly what he saw in her smile. Two people, sure. But one soul.
Perhaps Sylvie believes she had shoved him away so he wouldn’t interfere in her plan, her life’s work. So that she wouldn’t have to kill him to win. But Loki suspects that was only partially true. He hopes, no, he knows, that she did it because she can’t bear for him to see her at her worst.
Loki sighs, adjusting the remnants of his battle-torn shirt, removing what was left of his tie. She needn’t worry. He knows a thing or two about rock bottom. And he can’t let her stay there alone.
It doesn't matter where she had sent him, thrown him, across the universe and to the other side, lost in some cosmic mobius strip. A darker place than the one they had left. It doesn’t even matter that she had sent him away in the first place. He will find her again. Sylvie needs him.
Sylvie
Alone. Sylvie curls inward, hugging herself. It is over. The man behind the curtain is no more. After so many years, after a whole lifetime of running and fighting and clawing for each moment of existence, she has won. And yet..she has lost everything.
She can’t stop thinking about Loki. The kiss. His eyes, right after. All desperate hope and soaring joy. Just for one glorious moment. She was happy.
Happiness. What a foreign, precious thing. A second golden memory to add to the only other in her collection. And yet, it just wasn’t enough.
She had pushed him away. Clawed that glimmer from her chest and cast it out with him. She had to. Another trick from the Goddess of Mischief. But it wasn’t a lie. She had fashioned her trick out of truth. In another life, in another story, she would have dissolved into his arms and let him lead her away from the bloody path she has walked for so long.
But that is not her story and not her ending. She had needed to finish what she started. That is who she is. Or...was? Sylvie wonders if she can choose to be someone new, now that she has splintered the universe into an infinite array of possibilities.
Sylvie cannot trust. But she wants to. Loki (Loki, with his eyes shining with hope, Loki with his lips on hers) cannot be trusted. But she’ll trust in his love anyway.