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The idea of wanting is an intimidating concept. To want, to desire, from a place that does not come from sickening negative feelings, but just a pure and innocent place. The idea you can free yourself from painful past situations and allow yourself the ability to not feel like you must prove those past people wrong. Loki does not know how to want in such a way. He knows how to want in a way that would prove himself to others, to prove to people like his father that he has worth. He wants in a nauseating, selfish way to just be seen. Should just a simple desire be so unattainable for him?
For as long as he can remember, this is how he has wanted. The crushing, guilty feeling in his heart when he would want but a shred of affection from his father. The desire he had to learn magic in hopes of getting that brief moment where he was equal to his brother. Arguing at any moment he can, pulling pranks of all varying intensities, lashing out all so he could grasp the elated feeling of being seen, being recognized, even if it meant he was due punishment.
His mother saw him, though. And for a while he convinced himself that’s all he needed; his mother’s love was enough to keep him going. For she never saw him as less than his brother, or held him at an impossible standard that he must reach. But he knows that below her love and adoration for her child, she did not once believe he could be a fit ruler. That everything his father ever set him up for was a sham. Yet she would still hold Loki, so gently and carefully like he was made of glass, and stroke and braid his hair in an effort to calm him down after Father lashed out at him. She would sing him songs from his childhood, and tell him to never listen to what his father says, telling him that he is destined for a far greater purpose than just ruling Asgard.
In those moments came a glimmer of that sort of innocently selfish desire. All he would want is to sob into his mother’s robes and let himself be weak, let himself be comforted. Her words and gentle touches were the glue that held him together for so long. That honey sweet feeling that enveloped him so tightly was the only idea of love he ever knew.
With his mother gone, he did not feel that saccharine love anymore. He did not find himself even capable of being loved. His mother saw the best in him for all his life, until he found out about his true heritage. After that point, whenever they had that chance to meet, she would look at him with a pleading apology written all over her face, begging him to forgive her for her lies. He did not forgive her. He truly regrets it. For now he lay in a bare bed that he was given and wished so deeply that he could have felt her soft embrace one last time. He did not feel that anyone will ever unconditionally love him in that way ever again. No one would take that time to see past his horrid actions and see the person beneath it all. A person who craves nothing more than to be held and told it will all be okay. And he doesn’t dare allow himself to even imagine a future where he would find someone to so delicately desire.
So when he finds himself being pulled into a tentative friendship with Mobius he’s confused. At first, he could only understand this as a way for Mobius to get close to him so he could milk every ounce of usefulness to their cause, and then throw him out. Except, he realized as gentle touches and affirming words were cast his way, that Mobius was not doing this in hopes of manipulation, but rather because he saw Loki more clearly than he could even see himself. He pushed through the layers of malice and chipped away at Loki’s high wall and saw the touch-starved boy who begged for love, the part of himself that Loki locked away long ago and never turned his gaze to. And instead of casting him aside and calling him weak for this buried up version of himself, Mobius embraced him so gently and told him that he’s so sorry for how he’s been treated.
Loki has not cried that hard since he was a child. He couldn’t let himself. But Mobius, with his warm eyes and pure, genuine compassion for Loki, poked at those built up floodgates and broke them. He let himself be cradled, let his hair be stroked and let comforting words of nothing be said into his ear. He realizes, in that moment, that perhaps that’s the first time he was ever seen without rose tinted glasses. His mother would always be biased towards her own child and love him as unconditionally as she could, so her love felt only mostly genuine, always with that lingering bias behind it. But Mobius had no reason to see him in a selfish, justifiable light. No, he just saw a broken person in need of love and stepped up for that role. He saw the full picture, and yet still treated Loki like the most expensive piece of china. And Loki let himself be loved, be wanted.
He let himself selfishly want the sickeningly sweet warmth that surrounded him when Mobius placed such tender kisses to his forehead and reminded him of his worth. As he casts glances into Mobius’ kindhearted eyes, so full of adoration that it’s almost hard to look at, Loki thinks to himself that every single moment of pain and suffering that occurred in his life was all worth it if it meant he could let himself want and have Mobius in such an selfishly happy way.