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Thor always awakens with the rising of the sun.
He tries his best to be quiet, but Loki never fails to feel him stir. And his footsteps are those of a man not built for clandestine movement. Still, Loki appreciates him trying. At least after Thor has left the bedroom, he can drift off again, surrounded by the pleasant scent of freshly brewed coffee.
On rainy days, however, the tables turn.
It strikes him as dreadfully ironic–the fact that the God of Thunder would sleep like a rock during every early-morning rainstorm, and yet that is the way it has been for as long as Loki can remember. Not thunderstorms, mind you, no Thor is fully awake for those, his eyes alight with a sort of energy that Loki finds equal parts frightening and enthralling. Only rain, soft, and soothing, pattering against the windowpanes in a way that would make anyone want to curl up beneath the covers and sleep.
Only, for Loki it never really has. He’s drawn to it for a reason he can’t quite grasp. It calls him from the depths of slumber, urges him to slip from bed, and walk out onto the porch so he can watch the downpour as he drinks his coffee. It’s mesmerizing almost; not like the furious might of a thunderstorm or the blinding beauty of snow, but more serene, calming. The feeling it gives him is much the same as when Thor pulls him into one of his warm embraces–content, complete, safe.
And perhaps that’s why he loves it so much, perhaps the rain reminds him of his brother just as much as thunderstorms do. Because, for all his raging fire, and booming glory, for all his fierce protectiveness, and unquenchable love, Thor can be incredibly soft.
Like when he holds Loki through the terrors of a nightmare, and when he makes him tea and wraps him in a blanket and just sits with him until he is ready to talk (and understands if he never gets to that point).
Or when he insists that they celebrate his birthday, although Loki tells him that it’s a truly ridiculous tradition and if his years were counted out with candles they would burn down the entire house and they don’t even know when he was truly born damn it because he was adopted and no one will ever tell him, “Oh, dear boy, you were birthed on this special day.” Yet every year without fail, Thor brings out the party hats and makes a fairly decent cake, and calls all of New Asgard to celebrate ‘his little brother.’ And he will never tell him, and he’ll stab anyone who tries, but it makes Loki feel like the most special person in the world.
So, yes, perhaps that is the reason why he loves rain so very much. Honestly, he doesn’t truly know, and doubts he ever will. Mother was right when she said he lacks perception of his own feelings and motivations. It’s a curse he’s forced to live with.
But when Thor finally awakens, and pads out onto the porch, and greets Loki with a tired smile; when he places the blanket he never fails to bring snuggly around Loki’s shoulders, and sits down beside him, and holds him close; when he murmurs, “good morning, brother,” in a voice so full of wonder and joy that they are alive, that they are here, that they are safe and happy and together, it no longer matters why he loves it, why he loves this. All that matters is the feel of his brother’s arms around him, as they sit together in the home they fought for, the home they made, looking out on the town they now rule, and listening to the patter of the rain.