Chapter Text
Something like eight years has passed since Loki last saw Thor. And he’s moved on, completely. He has finished studying, got a job, and moved further north, three hours away from his parents’ place. He has buried those years of his life somewhere deep, somewhere unreachable. He has continued on his journey to success: he has friends, hobbies, his own place. The only thing that serves as a reminder of that time is the tattoo on the small of his back, which thankfully he can’t see, and forgets it exists, unless he happens to get caught in a daydream and occasionally it tingles. If someone sees it and asks, he just laughs it off and claims it was a silly teenage mistake, and that he was super into Norse mythology back then. You know, given his name and all.
“It looks pretty detailed and well done for a “I just turned 18” tramp stamp tattoo,” Freija says when she sees it for the first time on a group trip to Greece. She’s the first friend he made as a postgraduate, and she knows him far too well these days for his own good.
Loki winks at her. “What can I say? Even at 18, I was a man of class.” But behind the smooth smile, he feels the tiniest of stones drop into his stomach.
Loki doesn’t see his family often anymore. Only at Christmas, and around Frigga’s birthday. She made it very clear that that was absolutely non-negotiable. He could move as far away as he liked, but he had to visit twice a year, on those dates. And nobody in his new life even knows he has a brother. Had a brother.
“On one condition. He is not allowed to be visiting when I am.”
Frigga sighs. She does her best to hide the deep pain it causes her to be reminded of how much her sons despise each other. “He doesn’t visit anyway. You know Sigyn doesn’t let him. I haven’t seen him in half a decade.”
“I want your word,” Loki says tightly.
“Fine.”
Loki has dated, on and off, some longer, some shorter. But they never last. There’s always something missing: he’s too lanky, he’s not creative enough, Loki doesn’t like the way he keeps his beard, his hair’s too long, or too short.
“Have you ever considered, given how unsatisfied you are with all the men on Tinder, that you might, in fact, be straight?” Freija teases, as they go through the matches on Loki’s phone and he finds a reason to swipe left on every single one.
“Me? Like women? Your kind don’t deserve me,” he replies snarkily. Freija laughs.
And Loki never, ever thinks about his brother. He’s moved on. He doesn’t need to. He’s adopted, anyway. Thor never was his brother, not really.
*
Loki is awoken on a Saturday morning by the sound of his phone vibrating. Who in God’s name calls at such an unholy hour in the morning? He scrabbles for his phone, and starts when he sees the body in the bed next to him. Memories come flooding back – a bar, cocktails, kissing on the dancefloor, the rush home and the mess that followed...
Loki sighs internally and runs a hand through his hair. This one was definitely a case of “looked better under the disco lights”. He turns back to his phone in disgust, eyes widening as he realises who’s calling. It’s Frigga. He checks the date on the lock screen – still two months until her birthday. What could she possibly want?
Throwing on a dressing gown, he ignores the snoring body in his bed and heads downstairs, answering as he does so.
“What is it?”
“I should have known better than to expect any kind of greeting,” Frigga sighs.
“It’s not even nine o’clock yet, mother, anyone who calls this early on a weekend doesn’t deserve a greeting,” Loki says, attempting to hide his irritation with half-hearted playfulness. It doesn’t work.
“If you say so. Loki, listen. Your father and I would like you to pay us a visit.” Frigga says, a sliver of hope tinging her voice.
“It’s not your birthday for two months,” Loki says flatly. “We had an agreement.”
“We did,” Frigga replies, equally tightly. “But I’ve been clearing some old stuff from the house, and I found some things in your room. Don’t worry, I haven’t looked at them,” she clarifies quickly upon hearing a sharp intake of breath from the other end of the line. “I don’t know what they are or if I can throw them away or not. Can you please just come next weekend and go through your old stuff and tell me what I can get rid of. Or take it and burn it yourself, if you must. It’s all the same to me.”
But Loki doesn’t hear her last words clearly. It feels like someone has poured icy water down his spine. All he can see in his head is the box. The box, the drawings, the letter...
“I’ll come,” he says, voice devoid of all emotion. The drawings... the letter...
“Great. Next Saturday then.” Frigga pauses, wondering if she should say it. “...Your father and I look forward to seeing–”
The line drops; Loki has hung up on her. She turns to Odin, who is sat next to her on the sofa, and who has heard the whole conversation. She smiles weakly, and he puts his thumbs up. It was a small victory, but they’ll take it.
*
Loki realises he’s been staring into space for around thirty minutes since he finished the call with his mother when he snaps back to reality at the sound of the phone buzzing once again.
“Who the hell is it this time?” he mutters to himself. “What do you want?” he grunts as he picks up the phone.
“And a good morning to you too, darling,” Freija responds with a chuckle. “A little hungover, are we?”
“Leave off it, Freija,” Loki grumbles back.
“As much as I would love to, I’m calling to remind you of our brunch date this morning. After trying to decipher your drunken ramblings last night I figured you might need a wakeup call. It’s 9:30 now, so I’ll be over in 10 to pick you up so we get there early. You know the queues for that place are crazy these days, and I want my blueberry pancakes.”
Without leaving him room to argue, Freija hangs up, and reality sinks down on Loki. Brunch with Freija. He’d totally forgotten. And she’d be here in 10 minutes. And that idiot was still in his bed.
“Up! Get up! Get out!” Loki commands, ripping back the duvet and throwing his poor date’s clothes at him. “I have someone coming over in 10 minutes and you need to be gone before then.”
The sleepy blond’s eyes widen as he begins to process the situation. “Out!” Loki roars, and the other man scurries to the bathroom to change. Loki pulls on a dark turtleneck and some fitted trousers, looking every bit a Bond villain. He slicks back his hair and hopes the shadows under his eyes don’t notice too much. His date is bustling out the door just as Freija walks up the stairwell, and as he passes, she raises an eyebrow. Loki glares down at her. “Don’t”. He glides down the stairs, doing every bit to appear his normal immaculate self, but Freija doesn’t fall for it. She’s been his friend for too long.
“How long will this one be sticking around?” She asks slyly, watching Loki from the corner of her eye as they head towards the car.
“It’s a one-time thing. He looked better in the dark,” Loki mutters.
“Shame,” Freija says, watching the poor man hurry to the nearest bus stop. “He’s totally your type.”
Loki turns abruptly to face her, eyes narrowing. “I don’t have a type,” he says sharply.
“Sure you do. Blond, blue eyes, kinda muscular, long-ish hair. Beard. I can’t believe you haven’t noticed the pattern by now,” she says playfully.
Again, Loki feels the ice trickling down his back. He stares forward out the windscreen. Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it. You put that behind you.
He is irritable throughout the brunch date. Freija teases that it’s the hangover talking, and Loki doesn’t correct her. It’s a convenient enough excuse to hide the dark feeling that has started gnawing at the pit of his stomach.
*
A week passes, uneventfully, and Loki has once again wrestled his emotions back into place as he sets off towards his parents’ house. He has decided to drive, since it’s more convenient, and it’s not like he’s planning to stay there long. He just needs to get the box, get it out of the house, and say to Frigga she can do what she likes with the rest.
As he pulls up to his parents’ house, he sees an extra car in the driveway. That small, gnawing feeling creeps back into his abdomen. He considers getting back in the car and turning around, but Frigga’s already seen him, and she opens the door, calling his name.
“Whose car is that?” He asks, not even attempting to hide the anger in his voice.
“Loki...” Frigga starts.
“We had a deal, Frigga,” Loki replies coldly. Frigga flinches, but resolves to stick to her guns. She still fails to understand how their family fell apart this badly.
“The car is here, but he’s not coming back for at least a couple of hours.” She says firmly. “Look, will you please just come and look at the stuff I found. There’re a few boxes that I’m not sure about...”
At the mention of boxes, Loki storms into the house, yanking his shoes off and muttering a terse greeting to his father, who is watching rugby in the living room. He leaps up the stairs, two at a time, and scrambles up the ladder to his old attic room without sparing a glance for what used to be Thor’s bedroom. On the floor by the bed sit three boxes. Two of them he doesn’t even need to open; he shoves them aside, but the third he picks up carefully, as if holding a great treasure. He wants to open the lid, wants to open it so badly, just one more time, but he restrains himself. You have moved on.
Still, the box is too big to sneak out under his jacket, so he has to open it. Open it, put the contents in your pocket, and throw out the rest. You can burn the contents at home. Nobody has to know about this.
He hears Frigga’s feet on the first rung of the ladder and panics, ripping the lid off the box and stuffing the precious contents into his pocket, feeling a small twinge in his gut at the thought of them getting crumpled. Frigga comes up to ask how it’s going, and then proceeds to make them both busy by taking more items out of cupboards and asking him whether something should be kept or not. Loki is just trying to get a hold of himself, absently replying to her questions, but inside the gnawing feeling is spreading, spreading like a sickness into his marrow. Memories start to surface, memories of dark times he’s worked so, so hard to bury, and it feels like he is sinking under water, drowning in the dark, cold, empty feeling he swore he would never let himself surrender to again...
He doesn’t hear the door go, but he hears the voices downstairs. Frigga has gone to greet the visitor, and Loki shimmies closer to the hatch of the attic to listen. He already knows whose voice it is, and that knowledge fills him with a strange feeling: a mix of dread and butterflies in his stomach.
Odin and Thor have settled down again to finish the rugby, and Frigga comes back upstairs. Loki scrambles back from the hatch and attempts to compose himself.
“What is he doing here, mother?” Loki hisses, eyes narrowed to slits as his mother’s face pops into view.
“Loki, listen...”
“We. Had. A. Deal.”
“He’s got a divorce.” Frigga says tightly, and Loki feels like he’s been slapped.
“He– What?”
“He’s got a divorce. From Sigyn. And he needed a place to stay. So he’s staying here for a while.”
The feeling of dread and butterflies intensifies. Loki frowns, mostly at himself. Why do you care? He asks himself. “And you decided that it would be a good idea to invite me over, while he is also staying here? You’re unbelievable, woman.” Loki’s voice is thick with scorn, and he is trying not to tremble, though whether from rage, or a strange excitement, he doesn’t know.
“Enough!” Frigga shrieks. “To this day, your father and I have no idea what happened between you two all those years ago. But it’s been almost a decade, and it’s time to get over yourselves. Thor is willing to talk to you, and we all think it would be best if you could also be an adult, God knows you should be capable of that by now, and listen to him.” Frigga crosses her arms. She manages, somehow, to retain her composure, despite her growing fear that her plan to have her sons reconcile was mere centimetres away from falling through. Before she has time to lose her nerve, she climbs back down the ladder and leaves Loki alone with his thoughts.
Loki doesn’t know what to feel. He is taken aback by her boldness. He is furious at his parents, for their scheming, at his brother for existing, and at himself for letting this throw him. You got past this, he tells himself. They cannot touch you. Put on your armour, and prepare yourself for battle. It’s just like a game of chess, and they are all so predictable. You can win this.
Loki wipes away the tear he didn’t realise was rolling down his cheek, sleeks back his hair, and composes himself as he hears heavy footsteps begin to climb the ladder.
*
Thor doesn’t know what to expect when he reachs the top of the ladder, but he can’t keep his eyes from widening as he takes in the sight of his brother, eight years older, reclining on his bed with a book in his hand as if he doesn’t have a care in the world. There is something so elegant, so intimidating about Loki now, and yet so beautiful. Thor feels his pulse quicken, then change to a roar in his head as Loki looks up from the book and fixes Thor with his icy green stare. Thor feels like a rabbit caught in the stalking gaze of a lynx, and it takes everything he has not to turn back down the ladder, jump in his car and run, run far away where those piercing green eyes can’t find him.
“Congratulations,” Loki says lazily, revelling in the way he sees the muscles in Thor’s neck tighten at the sound. “She finally saw you for the oaf you are and made the right choice. Took a while though.” He turns the page in his book, glancing back down and pretending to read idly for a moment. The message was clear to Thor. I despise you. “I suppose that is assuming that she left you. But of course, she had to be the one to do it. It’s not like you’ve ever had it in you to displease anybody.” Except me. The words hang unsaid in the air between them. “I don’t know why you feel the need to bother me with this information though. I was doing just fine without you. But mother says you want to say your piece. For her sake, I suppose I will spare you a few precious minutes of my life. She has, in a way, done a lot for me.” Loki closes the book, and folds his arms, fixing Thor with a gaze like a wall of ice. Hard. Cold. Impenetrable.
Thor swallows. How to begin? He feels like he’s staring at the sun, or into a black hole, something too deep and vast and powerful; he feels like he is being swallowed whole. He is freezing, melting, withering under that icy green stare. His throat feels dry, like it’s closing up, and he looks away, breaking the spell. He runs a hand through his hair.
“Spit it out, I haven’t got all day. Don’t you realise I’m disgusted by the sight of you?”
“Please Loki, spare me your taunts and games for just a moment,” Thor pleads, feeling tears begin to sting his eyes.
“Give me one good reason why I should–” Loki hisses through clenched teeth.
“I left her.”
Loki’s eyes narrow, and Thor looks up to meet them. He sees only deep, endless fury and hatred that has been the result of a decade of suffering, and feels a stab of guilt in his gut for knowing he is the reason for it. But behind it, for a moment... What was that?
“I left her,” Thor repeats, and he sees it again. Behind the anger and hurt and resentment. A spark of something. It’s his moment. He doesn’t hesitate to use it.
“I knew, pretty early on actually, that it was a mistake. It didn’t feel right. Not like–”
“Don’t.” Loki warns, his voice barely above a whisper.
“But it seemed like the thing I should do, the thing that was expected of me.” One slender black eyebrow rises on a pale white forehead, but Thor ploughs on. “Yes, I know, I was a people pleaser back then, I didn’t have the courage to stand up for myself or what I really wanted. And she was pretty, and nice enough in the beginning, and she was an escape, and I thought it was what I wanted. But I realise now that I couldn’t hide what I really wanted, not really. Damn, I tried though, and you took the fall for that.”
“That’s one way to put it,” Loki mutters coldly. His fingers drum on the cover of his book, every bit the expression of utter boredom.
“It was going okay though, I guess. Except then it wasn’t.” Thor pauses, waiting for a response, but Loki isn’t going to give him the honour. But behind the mask of apathy, Thor senses that his brother is hanging on every word.
“One day, just before we got engaged actually, when I was staying at her parents’ place... we were in her room, and we’d just...uh... you know...”
“Spare me the heinous details.”
“And I... I-I said your name. Instead of hers.” Thor doesn’t break eye contact, doesn’t dare, in case he misses it again, and he doesn’t. The slightest widening of Loki’s eyes, a sharpened intake of breath, and behind that, yes, a glimmer of something that looked like it could be hope.
“What did you just say?” Sigyn asks, face turning red and eyes narrowing. Thor knows his face was flaming too, his mind completely blank. He can’t think of a single thing to say to fix this.
“Did you just call me your brother’s name? Did you just call me Loki?” Sigyn’s features twist into a mask of disgust. Thor just h a ng s his head. “Do you... Did you... What the fuck?” Sigyn pushe s his arms off her, backing away into the corner by the wall. “Why would you say that? That’s fucked up.”
Thor chooses honesty. “It didn’t mean anything Sigyn. I swear. Maybe-maybe once, when we were teenagers, I was confused, we’d just found out he was adopted and I-I don’t know. But I swear to you. It’s nothing now.”
“You’d better be damned sure it’s nothing, Thor Odinsson. You’d better be damned sure.”
“So she made me promise, she said if I proposed to her and we got married and we cut ties with my family, that she’d forgive me and we could move on and live that picture-book life that she wanted and I thought I wanted too. And it worked, for a while. But the entire time I couldn’t stop thinking about you, Loki, and about what I’d done to you, and how you were hurting, so I came to the Christmas party, and I wanted to make amends and there you were, all shiny and new and fixed and cold and unfamiliar and there was another man with you and I didn’t know what to feel. And Sigyn knew something had happened when she came back from her aunt’s after I’d been to the party, and she was angry, and that should have been the moment I walked away but I didn’t, because some foolish part of me still believed that I could make this work and get over you, and on and on it dragged. For eight years. Until I thought I couldn’t live anymore.” Tears have begun to roll freely down Thor’s face, and Loki is grateful for the fact that his brother is looking at the floor, because it gives him the chance to wipe away the tear that is threatening to run down his own cheek. So, he wanted to die. Well, at least he knows now what he did to me, all those years ago.
“So I left her. And now I’m here. And you’re here. And I guess that’s all I have to say–”
“Well that was a lovely story,” Loki interjects. “I’m very moved. But I still fail to see why you felt such a need to bother me with it that you even got our mother involved in this.”
“Just one more thing, brother, please. And then I’ll let you rip into me as much as you want. Heaven knows I deserve it.” Thor takes a deep breath. “I knew you wouldn’t believe me, not really, so I wanted to prove to you that I mean it when I say I still feel the same about you, that I always have.”
Thor begins to unbutton his shirt, and Loki inhales sharply. Turning his back, Thor pulls his shirt up over his head to reveal the full expanse of his broad, tanned back. Between his shoulder blades sits a tattoo, crisp lines indicating it is less than six months old. An intricate series of lines and knotwork around an elegant script reading a single word. At the top, in the centre, a cluster of spiky green lines taking the form of a rune. Without realising it, Loki has slid across the room to inspect the tattoo more closely. Impossibly familiar, Loki’s mind suddenly flashes back to years ago, sat alone in this same attic, pouring over the original design.
“I had a colleague do it for me, I didn’t explain the context or anything, and I don’t think it’s quite as nice as yours, but I didn’t have the original sketch...” Thor’s voice trails off. From under his arm, he’s seen Loki’s fingers twitch as a thin, pale hand hovers over his pocket, from which the corner of a piece of paper is sticking out. He feels breath on the back of his neck, and doesn’t dare move to turn around for fear of breaking the moment. For a heartbeat he feels a feathery touch, as fingers trace the letters of the tattoo. Thor doesn’t even breathe. He pictures Loki’s face behind him, eyes wide with disbelief as his lips silently move to read out the name, his name, forever engraved in Thor’s skin.
The moment is over as quickly as it came. Loki regains composure and recoils, turning away from Thor in disgust. Thor hears him move away and pulls his shirt back down. There’re a thousand things he still wants to say, and inside he feels like if he leaves that attic room now, he will fall apart completely. Still, he knows his moment is over, and moves towards the hatch to start down the ladder. In the seconds before he steps down below the threshold of the hatch, he glances up, and catches Loki staring hard at the wall with pure contempt. But not even Loki, master of composure, is able to hide the flush creeping up his neck.
*
Thor shuffles back into his room and slumps down on the chair. This is it, he thinks to himself. This is how it feels to fall apart. He wrings his head in his hands, dimly aware that Loki should have either pulled up the hatch of the attic to seal himself in his lair by now, or stormed out the house. And that he’s done neither.
Draw. I should draw something. Yes. Drawing always helped Thor clear his head. He has a few commissions to work on, so he pulls out some fresh sheets of paper and his favourite pen, the pen Loki gave me when I first started working as a tattoo artist, he realises with a pang, and begins to sketch some ideas. Thankfully, he quickly loses himself in the work.
Thor doesn’t know how much time has passed, but at some point, his concentration is broken by the prickling feeling on the back of his neck that tells him he’s being watched. He puts his pen down and turns slowly towards the door, jumping slightly at the sight of a slender silhouette leaning against the doorframe. Their eyes meet – green against blue – and without a sound Loki steps into the room and silently pulls the door shut.
Thor’s pulse starts to quicken. A strange mix of anxiety and excitement, as Loki takes one, then another step towards him, seemingly gliding across the floor. What is this, Thor wonders, not breaking his brother’s gaze, yet feeling himself being stripped bare by the relentless stare.
“W-what are you doing?” Thor asks, not quite sure if he said it out loud or in his head. But Loki is moving closer, closer, too close, and Thor doesn’t know what to think. Since when have you been so afraid of him? You’re Thor, and he’s just Loki...
Loki slides himself onto Thor’s lap, draping his arms over his brother’s shoulders and keeping their eyes locked together. He enjoys the way Thor’s breath catches at the gesture. For one sweet, beautiful moment, Thor thinks that somehow, what he said was enough, that he had been forgiven, and that Loki was just a heartbeat away from leaning in to kiss him. Disappointment crushes him as he watches Loki rearranges his features into cruel, twisted smile.
“Ha. So you do still desire me. Your own brother. That’s disgusting. You realise how screwed up that is, right?” Loki sneers, idly looping Thor’s hair around his fingers. Thor swallows, cheeks aflame. Loki leans back, the same clever and oh-so-familiar smirk adorning his features. Thor tries not to think about the warm weight of his younger brother in his lap.
“Did you really think that all it would take is a few pretty words and an ugly tattoo to fix what you’ve done? How naïve.”
Thor winces. “Loki...”
Loki studies Thor’s face, and again Thor feels like all his secrets are being laid bare before them. “Still, it seems you’re starting to realise the extent of the consequences of your actions. You already started to at the Christmas party, actually, but by now I imagine it’s had plenty of time to sink in. Now you know how it feels to break inside. To lose everything and shatter completely.” Loki’s other hand slips under the collar of the back of Thor’s shirt, seeking the spot between his shoulders where the new tattoo sits, tracing circles on his brother's back.
“And now you’ve come here to torture me even further,” Thor says, looking away. Loki’s hand moves to his cheek, turning Thor’s face back so their eyes meet again, and Thor feels himself burning in the heat of Loki’s anger.
“You deserve it. You know you do. And I had to be sure. That you understood the... severity of your actions.” Loki strokes his thumb across Thor’s cheek, fingers lingering to explore the rough texture of the golden beard before coming to rest on the pulse beneath Thor’s jaw. He feels Thor’s pulse quicken, and smiles wider, showing his teeth. It doesn’t reach his eyes. “What’s this, are you scared of me? Big, strong, foolhardy Thor, scared of his shy, skinny little brother? You really are a mess.”
“You’re enjoying this,” Thor grunts.
Loki fixes him with that empty smile once more. But Thor isn’t wrong. Loki is enjoying this. Revelling in the sweet ecstasy of a long-plotted revenge finally realised. Though a small part of him, a part he thought was buried, but which seems to be growing stronger with every second he spends this close to Thor, is relishing in the opportunity to be this close to Thor again, to breathe him in, to touch him...
And even though it hurts to hear Loki speak to him like that, to look at him like that, Thor can’t help but savour the feeling of his brother’s closeness, the feeling of those long fingers twining in his hair. The real torture is not in Loki’s words, but in his warm, clean smell, the feel of his arms around Thor’s neck, the knowledge of what Loki has in his pocket...
Loki stands up swiftly and glides towards the door. “Well, I suppose I did at least get the chance to see if you’ve finally learnt your lesson,” he says haughtily, the familiar mocking smile twitching at the corner of his lips. “It seems like you have.”
And then he’s gone, and Thor is alone once again.
*
“They’re talking. They’re actually talking. And this is the second time, too!” Frigga sighs with relief and dares to flash her husband a wobbly smile.
“About time, the bloody idiots,” Odin grumbles. The rugby is still on, but neither of them are watching. They’re fixated on the murmur of voices coming from upstairs.
“We need to keep this going somehow. Should we try to get Loki to stay for dinner? Can you ask?”
As Frigga finishes speaking, they hear Loki clattering down the stairs, grabbing his coat and shoes and heading for the door. Odin springs up from the sofa and follows him into the hallway.
“Loki, your mother wants you to stay for dinner,” Odin says with a tone that doesn’t leave room for negotiation.
“I’m done here,” Loki retorts. “I did what she asked, and now I’m leaving. Give up on the schemes, father. It isn’t going to work.”
But Odin puts his foot down, striding into the space between Loki and the door.
“Dammit, son. It’s getting dark, you haven’t eaten all day, and you have a three-hour drive ahead of you. For God’s sake, just eat the food she’s made for us. After that you can do what you like.”
Loki’s stomach makes an unhappy sound, and he admits defeat. One dinner couldn’t hurt.
Frigga calls Thor down, and the four of them move to the kitchen. Loki waits for Thor to seat, then pointedly chooses the seat furthest away from his brother as possible, refusing to look at him for the entirety of the meal. Thor is fine with that – he is just trying to hold himself together in front of them all. Odin and Frigga exchange worried glances, their mouths forming thin, tight lines.
They’re both here though, Odin mouths to Frigga across the table. She manages a weak half-smile. It’s the first time the four of them have sat down together in almost a decade.
Once his plate is cleared, Loki swiftly stands up, places his dishes in the dishwasher, grabs his coat, and leaves without a word. Three sets of eyes watch him leave. Thor doesn’t miss that for a second Loki’s fingers brush the spot where his tattoo sits, moments before pulling on his jacket. It was another small victory.
*
Later that evening, the three of them are sat on the sofa, sipping cups of tea with the TV quietly on in the background.
“You talked with him,” Frigga starts. It sounded more like a question than a statement.
“I suppose you could call it that,” Thor mutters in reply.
“Did you... talk about the divorce?” Frigga asks tentatively.
“I told him my piece, if that’s what you mean. Not that he was remotely interested.” Thor tries his best to appear nonchalant, but instead comes across as stiff and awkward. He doesn’t know how to feel. He never thought he’d see Loki look at him like that, with so much anger and disgust and seething hatred. The memory of it feels like knives in his gut. But he could have sworn he saw something else, something bright, like a spark, that had glittered in his brother’s beautiful green eyes for a few moments. Until, of course, Loki had realised it was there, and quickly snuffed it out.
“Thor, he’s your brother. Deep down, he loves and cares about you,” Frigga says comfortingly. Thor chokes on the mug of tea he’s been nursing, and quickly moves to dry off the splatters, hoping the sudden movement hides the flush creeping up his neck.
“I don’t think he cares about any of us, mother. But if he does, it would be you, and even you had to somewhat blackmail him to get him to come here,” Thor says flatly.
“I... It didn’t sound like you two argued...” Frigga says hesitantly, again more of a question than a statement. Odin is watching them both closely. He’d never been good at this kind of conversation with his children.
“Honestly, mother, it would have hurt less if he’d shouted,” Thor spits. “If you’ll excuse me.” He rises to his feet and storms up to his room, Frigga and Odin exchanging concerned looks behind his back.