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some days you can’t talk. your throat clamps up. your lips part but no sound comes out. sometimes you don’t even notice it’s one of those days. you sit on your bed, or on your sofa, or on your chair, and you stare. sometimes at the tv, most of the times at nothing. your thoughts drift, either pulling you with them or leaving you alone. you can’t tell which you prefer. sometimes, where the thoughts take you overwhelms you, send your skin to crawl and your chest to heave, and only one small voice reminds you to breathe. but when the thoughts leave you behind, the silence is nice at first, and then it deafens you. it spreads across you like a paralytic agent and suddenly you realize how utterly numb you are. how if you took a tooth pick and nicked your skin, you wouldn’t feel a thing. how if anyone said anything to you at that moment, good or bad, you wouldn’t feel a thing. it’s probably why you don’t talk.
and he doesn’t really get it. the god of thunder is a chatter box. he’s always rambling about something and you’d figure he should have already run out of topics by now, but then you remember he’s like a thousand years old and that should probably keep the topics going on for a while. anyways, on those days, you find it hard to latch onto his words. they scramble together into something unintelligible and you feel too bad… no, that’s not the right word. you don’t feel anything… except tired. yes, tired. you feel too tired to tell him.
“afhe oui ay right?”
you blink.
“what.”
“i said, are you alright?”
“oh.”
thor stands at the foot of your bed, his arms crossed and brows knitted. you don’t even remember when he came in, let alone grasp that he was talking, but then again that’s probably why your mind drifted to him. oh. so your thoughts decided to accompany you today. that’s wonderful.
he softly calls out your name, pulling you back to the moment. you realize there’s still a question up in the air.
“um.” you shrug. these days, that’s all you really can offer to people. maybe an occasional mumble.
it’s so tiring.
he looks at you. on any other day, his deep blue eyes would burn your cheeks and drive you to look away, failing to ignore the low chuckle he’d always make. but today, you look back, unaffected, almost bored.
he notices the haze in your eyes.
he’s about to say something when the tv blares behind him, startling the both of you. the screen had been buffering for a bit, but now season ten of project runway plays. since when had you reached season ten?
you turn your attention to the show. and, for a second, it’s like thor has disappeared. it’s just you and the tv. but then, you hear a clearing of the throat and he’s back.
“what are you watching?” he faces the screen, walking back slowly and it dawns on you that he intends to sit on the bed.
“project runway.” you shuffle a bit to give him space. he flops down next to you, which makes the pillows and stuffies bounce a bit. you smile at that, and he catches it before your face falls back to neutrality.
“what’s it about?” he asks, turning to you.
anyone else would have noticed the utter look of adoration on his face, but not you. to be fair, not even on your normal days did you notice, but it’s so painstakingly obvious right now. your heart even flutters for a moment before numbing again. but there is this dull, heavy ache in your chest. it makes you squirm. you chalk it up to the proximity. this is the first time you ever allowed anyone close when you’re feeling like this.
he mumbles your name again as he waves his large (oh wow very large) hand across your face.
you blink, feeling stupid and ashamed. fuck, you did it again.
“yes?” you sheepishly look up at him.
he grins, not mockingly though, just… grins. as if he finds you a bit amusing, but you don’t notice the concern behind it all. you only notice the long blonde tendrils that frame his face, the short beard that accents his jaw, and the blue eyes that pierce you.
your heart thuds in your chest a bit faster. it reminds you of the panics these days sometimes give you and you don’t want them now —absolutely not now, anytime but now— so you advert your gaze and focus on his gentle voice.
he softly repeats the question.
“oh! it’s a show about a competition between fashion designers. every week, they have like a challenge with a theme and some rules and whoever loses has to leave.”
while you explained, he had put his arm around you, pulling you close, his palm settled on your thigh. you didn’t realize until the smell of petrichor flooded your nose and the warmth of his touch lit your skin. the way you sit, slightly turned, with part of your back against some of his broad, muscled chest make your senses go haywire. you’re so aware of his prescence that you finally catch the next question.
“leave… to the death?”
you bite back a laugh, smiling. “no! just back home.”
his lips part in an ‘oh’. he’s about to say more when tim gunn’s voice cuts through the conversation.
“all right, designers…”
you shush thor, who obliges with a frown.
“…today’s challenge is called candy couteur, where you all have to include a product on your designs from this lovely delicious candy store that has decided to partner with us this season.”
the scene follows tim and the designers into the candy shop.
“see? the theme’s week is unconventional. it’s so fun to see what these people do with them.”
“are they always unconventional?”
“nope!” you snuggle into him, absent mindedly. but he takes notice. his arm pulls you closer.
the episode continues and the both of you enjoy it in silence, with some comments and questions here and there, until the end credits start to roll.
“urgh!” you huff, “i don’t understand why she didn’t win. the dress was perfect.”
“at least she wasn’t eliminated,” thor counters, smiling. does he ever stop smiling? “and she did make it to the top three, no?”
“i guess.” you huff again.
thor chuckles. “you’re so cute.”
your cheeks burn. instinctively, you look away, not really saying anything. your stomach feels sick with butterflies and you remember how today started and fear how it might end.
“are you hungry?” he asks, preventing you from spiraling into those thoughts.
you frown. you don’t remember the last time you ate. you don’t really feel hungry, or thirsty, or anything for that matter. it’s so hard to shake the numbness.
“i…i guess?” you admit.
“ok.” he gets up, pointing at the screen. “don’t start without me.”
you grumble your reluctant agreement and he laughs.
during the ten minutes that he’s gone, the tv show remains paused while you scroll through your phone. tiktok really knows how to dull the passing of the time.
when he comes back, he holds a tray with a fresh plate of scrambled eggs, buttered toast, slightly burnt bacon, and a side of cut strawberries. he even made coffee. your favorite kind of breakfast. your face lights up a bit until it falls with a frown. is it morning already? you quickly check the clock at your night stand.
“uh, it’s getting pretty late,” you say after taking the tray with a quiet thank you from him. it balances on your lap, your hand gripping the mug tightly to avoid any spilling, as he settles in beside you. “don’t you have a place to be?”
you grimace a bit. you didn’t mean to sound so rude, but thor didn’t seem to take insult.
the coffee hits your lips with just the right temperature. the mocha tastes delightful on your tongue. the drink’s warmth already spreads throughout your body. you didn’t realize how cold you were before.
“i do,” he replies with a small smile, watching you, “and i’m already there.” his eyes twinkle under the moonlight streaming through the windows.
“oh.” you take a bite of the toast. so good. but that’s weird, did he meant here?
“why?” he mumbles, noticing the look of confusion on your face. “would you want me to be elsewhere?”
it’s said without malice, nor judgement. actually, it’s said with a sense of patience and love that echoes throughout each word. he has been speaking in such a low tone today, almost a whisper, which is surprising. you never pegged thor as a man capable of whispering, hell, he never did even on missions. you thought of it like, finally! a flaw! but an endearing one. of course, his flaws are obviously endearing.
you roll your eyes.
“i could leave,” he says quickly, “if that’s what you desire.”
fuck.
“no! no i—” you frantically try to explain yourself. “i got lost in thought again. no, seriously, that’s— that’s not what i desire.”
“then, what is it you truly desire?”
you can’t hold back your laugh. your mind reels back to scenes of your current favorite tv show and it’s just that… thor is anything BUT lucifer.
he smiles, laughing lightly with you, but more out of confusion.
“sorry! that’s just—” you recollect yourself. “it’s just a thing on this show. this guy, lucifer, has the power to draw out people’s desires when he says that. like he looks into their eyes and everything.” you laugh again. “i’m sorry.”
“you don’t have to apologize.” he hums. “i guess we have the next show on the list.”
“i guess we do.” your attention is back on the food at hand and on the still paused tv. you munch on a bacon, offering one to him. he gingerly takes it with a bite, making you giggle.
“but… what is it then?” he says with a mouthful.
you shoot him a look, like seriously?
his lips curl in a smirk. after finishing the piece, he straightens himself and turns to you. his eyes lock with yours. his voice low and guttural. “what is it you truly desire?”
you’re not laughing now. you’re stunned, frozen in place, heart hammering in your chest. fuck, did he have lucifer’s mojo too? you swallow thickly, unable to break eye contact.
“this.”
and it’s the truest thing you’ve ever said.
he nods, grabbing a toast from your plate (you realize he made enough food for the both of you) and looking at the tv. you take the remote, unpausing the show.
now, the marathon truly begins. the both of you sit together, feeding yourselves and occassionally each other, talking about the best and worst designs, laughing and smiling, enjoying the nightfall without much thought of the sunrise.
today might have not been such a good day…
but it’s a nice night.