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The doorknob slipped out of Mobius' gloved hand as the fierce wind caught the door itself, flinging it open forcefully, and almost causing damage to the wall behind.
"Jesus," he muttered to himself in a huffed breath, stepping inside and dropping his duffel bag to the floor, then pushing the door closed, brute strength pretty much necessary in order to get it securely latched.
Sagging with relief at being out of the elements, and finally muting the noise of the howling gale, he rested his forehead on the rustically grainy wood for a moment as he exhaled in a rush, then clipped the lock, and began pulling off his gloves and coat.
"Loki?"
There was no answer, although he only half-expected one. It depended on what mood he was in, the majority of the time.
"They didn't have any milk, this late in the day," he carried on anyway, hefting his bag from the floor and wandering towards the kitchen at the rear of the cottage, "They had that long-life shit though, which I know neither of us likes. But if it's only for putting in our coffee tonight, I figure we can probably handle-"
Cutting himself off, Mobius let the bag slip from his shoulder a second time, landing on the polished floorboards with a gentle thud.
The back door was wide open, the forceful draft setting it creaking eerily on its hinges.
"Loki?" he called again.
Tendrils of anxiety took root within and flourished with disturbing ease, tugging at his insides until the tension grew intolerable, and every breath drawn required a little more effort.
The odds of Loki mooching around upstairs were low, so he likely wasn't indoors.
And whatever may have compelled him to set foot outside in such bleak conditions couldn't possibly be anything good.
Frozen to the spot for a moment, he looked towards the stairs, debating whether it was worth heading up there to check before he overreacted.
Because Mobius knew Loki wouldn't go and do anything impulsive or crazy. He knew that.
… Didn't he?
The tension pulled so taut it ruptured, releasing the roiling panic beneath.
With a sharp breath, heart leaping to his throat, he ran out onto the back verandah, stumbling down the short set of stone steps and launching himself into the wild and unkempt garden beyond.
"Loki!" he cried, over the biting wind, which he now barely registered. "Loki!"
Tearing through the knee-high grass, Mobius raced towards the rear of the property, concealed from his view by numerous shrubs and bushes, and a thicket of trees. His eyes were tearing up, making it even harder to see, and it was impossible to tell whether it was merely due to the keen sting of the frigid gale whipping around him, or his near-crippling dread.
Darting this way and that as he weaved between overgrown vegetation, he came to a sudden halt near the far corner of the rear boundary fence, breath leaving him along with most of his strength when he finally spotted him.
It took all of his willpower to not dash straight over to him, immediately noticing he was clad in nothing but a thin t-shirt and sleep pants, as was the norm these days… barefoot too, and slumped lifelessly as he sat in the grass, long legs curled up to his chest, and clearly in desperate need of both warmth and comfort.
But Loki was volatile, after everything that had happened, and despite the overwhelming impulse of his protective urges, Mobius sternly reminded himself to proceed with caution.
"Loki."
Speaking softly enough not to startle but loud enough to be heard, Mobius waited for several seconds before inching forwards.
"Hey. You alright?"
Loki's head fell forward, brow dropping to his knees, and Mobius almost started at the unexpected movement, so accustomed to getting little to no reaction from him much of the time.
"'Kay. I'm, uh… I’m guessing not so much?" Mobius ventured, creeping closer.
And that's when he saw it, less than a metre or so from where Loki sat.
"Oh gods, what happened?" he asked on instinct, even if he didn’t expect an answer.
Because that was one very deceased owl that was awkwardly sprawled upon the ground, and the sight of it broke Mobius' heart.
He gradually approached on Loki's other side, opposite to where the poor creature lay, and crouched down beside him.
Uncertain of what to say or do, he simply waited, trying and mostly managing to suppress his shivering from the chill. But contrary to his usual propensities, Loki proved to be far less recalcitrant than he'd come to expect, and before too long simply tipped to the side, falling against Mobius, and setting him teetering a little as he was nudged off balance.
Loki's skin was like ice, when he caught him.
"Aw, Sprout," he murmured with a weary sigh, rubbing his arm briskly. "What're you doing out here, huh?"
Bestowed as a result of some lighthearted teasing several weeks prior, the arboreal-inspired nickname had been obligingly accepted, though grudgingly, on one of Loki's exceedingly rare 'brighter' days (Mobius' initial proposal of "Sapling" having been met with perhaps harsher derision), and had surprisingly been answered to ever since, as long as Mobius picked his moments with care.
But there was no answer this time, nor any indication that Loki had even heard him.
Throwing caution to the literal wind, Mobius hesitantly wrapped his arms around him, and drew him in close, cheek pressed against his tangled curls. And at the continued lack of reaction, he relaxed a very little, the lack of rejection a very good sign.
He'd learned the hard way to tread lightly when it came to physical comfort, as attempts thus far had generally been met with anything from a sort of docile tolerance, through to outright repulsion.
The complete absence of any response that was more accepting — or, dare he even consider it, reciprocal — was rather more painful than Mobius cared to admit. But he would never allow it to prevent him from trying.
Loki needed him to try.
Their current position and situation of course wasn't the most ideal to remain in for any length of time, but caution and patience were necessary, lest any action or word inadvertently push Loki to withdraw, when the promise of him finally opening up was for once genuinely tangible.
As he waited to see which way it would go, morbid fascination saw his gaze settle upon the poor owl, its beautiful feathers lifting and ruffling in the wind, even as it lay devastatingly still.
He'd be an idiot if he hadn't an inkling of what had occurred here, whilst he was out picking up some supplies at the local store in the nearby village, and demanding any answers of Loki was obviously unthinkable. So against every more practical urge, they remained where they were, both of them shuddering in increasingly violent paroxysms as the dreadful wind battered them ceaselessly.
Mobius absently fell into idyllic fantasies of their cosy living room and a crackling fire, and as such, barely even heard Loki when he finally spoke.
"I tried to save it," he mumbled.
Rousing himself, and taking a moment to clench fingers that were turning numb, Mobius bent his head forward to hear Loki better, and to indicate he was listening. He didn't dare speak, however, fairly certain that Loki would offer more in his own time.
And sure enough…
"I tried to save it, Mobius. With magic."
"Oh. Oh shit," Mobius breathed, suddenly feeling even colder. "Loki…"
"It fell from a tree, as I was standing at the window," he explained, and with all the noise out in the open, Mobius hadn't realised he'd actually been crying until he just now registered his hoarseness and congestion. Pulling him even closer, he strained to listen as Loki continued, "I ran outside as it was blown into the overgrowth with terrible force, and- and I tried to… to…" he held a hand out in front of him, palm facing up, fingers twitching once in a grasping motion. "When it didn't work, I got confused, so I kept running towards where it had vanished." He paused, drawing a stuttering breath. "Turns out it- it had collided with something — a branch… tree, whatever — and I found it like this, except still alive." There was a heavy silence, before he finished, "So I… I- I tried to heal it. Which was the moment that made me- made me finally remember…"
Fading to a whisper with those last few words, he sounded so lost and broken that Mobius' heart fractured into a thousand pieces.
"Gods, Loki, I'm so sorry," he muttered, not even sure whether Loki could hear him.
His knees were seizing up and his eyes were still watering, though of course by now that was likely not exclusively due to the gale. Yet Mobius continued to hold him, there in the whipping grasses beside the tragic form of the owl, and allowed Loki this little breakdown, as it was a vast improvement on the detached apathy that was more often than not his typical state.
But once it became impossible to tell whether Loki's convulsions were from wracking sobs or shivering, Mobius began making a move to rise, one arm around Loki's shoulders as the other tugged at his arm.
"C'mon, we gotta get back inside."
Loki's head raised a little, his eyes landing on the bird.
"But what about-"
"We can take care of it once we're not gonna get blown away," he insisted firmly, though not unkindly.
He left the 'if it's even still here' unspoken, hauling a reluctant Loki to his feet, and they began the arduous trek back to the cottage against the wind that fought them at every step.
* * *
After a brief but near-scalding shower to thaw himself out, Mobius came downstairs to fetch Loki, having run him a bath which he knew would be infinitely more soothing for him.
It was a surprise to find him rather adeptly lighting a fire, instead of where he'd left him, slumped on the couch dejectedly with a blanket draped over his shoulders.
"Hey. Bath's ready," Mobius announced quietly. "Thanks for…"
Gesturing at the fireplace, he flashed a smile at Loki as he turned to glance up at him, and even though he looked particularly wan, with eyes still red and teary, and a woebegone expression, he somehow seemed more alive than he ever had before, since being rescued from Doom's clutches many weeks prior.
"Thank you, " Loki replied, and there was a world of gratitude in the gentle emphasis, encompassing far more than the simple favour.
"Do you… do you need any help?" Mobius asked tentatively as Loki straightened to stand. "Do you want me to wash your hair, or anything?"
He felt himself flush as soon as the words came out, realising how it may be taken. After all, he'd never even been in the bathroom at the same time as Loki, not even when brushing their teeth. So to make such an offer crossed so many boundaries he couldn't even believe he'd said it.
Fortunately, however, Loki didn't seem to think anything of it, merely shaking his head as his eyes dropped to the floor.
"No. I, uh… I think I want to be alone," he replied.
Frowning, Mobius reached out to take his wrist, gaining his attention.
"You'll be alright?" he asked meaningfully, and Loki's immediate nod was earnest enough. "Okay, good. You call me if you need me though."
He squeezed gently before releasing him, and Loki gave him some approximation of a tiny smile, before brushing past him and trudging up the stairs.
Mobius busied himself in the kitchen, unpacking the bag of grocery items he'd abandoned in his earlier panic, then washing up a handful of dishes from lunchtime that he suspected Loki had been about to take care of, when he'd noticed the owl falling. Once that was done, he crept to the bottom of the stairs, listening out until he heard the faint slosh of moving water, then relaxed enough to go and prepare them something to eat.
It was in the middle of heating some canned soup on the stove, and cutting off some generous chunks of fresh bread from the baguette he'd bought earlier, that the power went out; the windstorm proving to be as destructive as it sounded. It was almost dark outside, and though Mobius couldn't see too well, there was enough light to locate their stash of candles in the bottom drawer, alongside a lighter.
Cutting the gas on the stove's burner, the soup now hot enough anyway, he could hear Loki calling out to him, a faint trace of fear discernible even at a distance.
Crap, he thought to himself, quickly shoving a couple of candles into holders, and lighting them to take upstairs.
"Loki?" he called as he stomped up the creaking wooden staircase, "S'okay, I'm bringing a candle."
There was no response, as he 'knocked' with the toe of his slipper, before pushing down the door handle with his elbow.
Still in the bath, Loki was barely visible in the gloom, though as Mobius drew a little nearer with the candles, placing one of them upon the vanity, his face glowed pale and his wide eyes shone in the flickering light.
"You okay?" Mobius asked gently.
"Yeah… I just- I think I dozed off, for a minute, so when I opened my eyes to blackness…"
"Oof, yeah. I can imagine," Mobius sympathised with a wince.
Loki had never coped well with the dark at the best of times, never mind after going through centuries of isolation, followed by the unthinkable trauma he’d more recently suffered.
"I've just heated up some soup, if you're hungry," he supplied, mostly to change the subject. "Take your time though, I can keep it warm however long you need."
"That… sounds really good, actually," Loki admitted almost shyly, and Mobius couldn't help but chuckle in relief.
"Well come on then," he instructed, backing towards the door. "Think we're due for a hot date with the couch tonight."
"How is that different from any other night?" Loki shot back with a rare hint of playfulness, chin resting upon his hand on the edge of the generous tub.
The smile he was blessed with this time was a little wider and more genuine than the scant effort downstairs, and with a thrill of delight, Mobius left the bathroom feeling far lighter than he had in… months? years? as he left Loki to go get everything ready.
* * *
"This different enough?" he questioned airily, as Loki gazed around their homey little living room with obvious appreciation, ambient candlelight from several sources that Mobius had carefully arranged again reflecting in his eyes, and the fire that he'd earlier lit now burning merrily in the hearth.
Dressed more warmly than usual, he'd wandered in only moments before Mobius had entered with a large tray bearing mugs of soup and a plate of bread, which he placed on the coffee table beside a bottle of merlot and two glasses. Then he approached Loki, softening his actions with a fond smile as he took him by the arms and steered him bodily over to the plush little two-seater where they tended to spend most of their evenings, guiding him to sit.
"Here," he said, tossing him a knitted blanket from a basket nearby, and grabbing one for himself. "I know it's not that cold in here, but the darkness and the godsdamned racket from the wind is making me feel it anyway."
"Likewise," Loki agreed, as Mobius came to sit beside him, the two of them settling in comfortably before starting on the soup.
As was often the case when they spent time together like this, they didn't speak much initially, Loki prone to being off in his own head much of the time — not quite dissociating, but perhaps heavily preoccupied a more appropriate descriptor.
And although he'd definitely improved in small and gradual increments as time passed, he'd been terribly withdrawn in general since the day of his rescue; an operation which had been conducted by a small team formed from what little remained of the TVA's personnel, with Mobius of course one of their number. Weak and helpless, Loki had been all but left for dead after his powers had been harnessed and drained by the malevolent Doctor Doom, immediately after he'd been usurped from the throne upon which he'd sat vigil at the End of Time for indeterminate years.
Seeing their beloved God of Time so diminished and feeble had been horrifying for all involved, and was only exacerbated when it was revealed that the one-time saviour of the multiverse was now unable to perform so much as the mystical equivalent of a parlour trick.
But of course, the whole affair had been infinitely worse for Mobius, who loved him and cared for him above all others, and was Loki’s only remaining close personal connection.
Particularly now that sacred-timeline Thor was gone.
The multiverse, too, was no more, having now collapsed back into a single timeline, and the TVA obliterated in devastating battle. A core group of council members, department managers, and a skeleton crew of hunters and other various underlings were currently in the process of banding together on the timeline to establish something from the ashes… whatever form that ended up taking. Mobius had wanted to be involved, and had been up to a point, but all of that changed once Loki was returned to them.
The moment they'd been reunited, he'd known implicitly and beyond all doubt that Loki was now his purpose, if perhaps not one that was particularly glorious. At least, not to an outsider, though it was certainly fulfilling as far as he was concerned, in spite of, or maybe even because of, the challenges the two of them faced daily. So for once in his life, Mobius had made a decision he privately thought of as 'admirably selfish', choosing to live by Loki's side for as long as he'd have him, assisting him in adapting to life without his powers… and coping with centuries of trauma that ran so deep it would likely be impossible to ever wholly excavate.
But though his self-imposed duty was gratifying, it was definitely hard work, straining Mobius' emotional capacity minute by minute on the worst of days. Which is why seeing Loki smile and allow his cheekiness to show for a fleeting moment earlier had been so worthy of private celebration.
Mobius was watching him again now, surreptitiously, as Loki stirred his soup before dipping some bread into it, but it wasn't until he paused to glance up at him with a frown that Mobius realised he'd been staring.
"What is it?" Loki inquired, before taking a bite of the bread.
"You seem different," Mobius replied unthinkingly, then clammed up for a moment, realising too late that he wasn't approaching this as tentatively as was by now second nature. "I mean, it's a good different," he added hastily, though it scarcely softened his impertinence.
Loki said nothing as he finished off his bread, then nursed his mug of soup in front of him, blowing on it carefully.
"In what way?" he finally asked before taking a sip, still not looking at him, and Mobius felt a little trepidatious, the flat quality of his tone not lost on him.
"Oh. Uh…" Put on the spot, he could only shrug at first, then dredged up the rather feeble, though not untrue, "Just- just a vibe, I guess."
"Since when?"
Since you let yourself cry, he answered silently. Since you let me comfort you.
"Since we came inside," he said benignly, dipping his own bread.
"Well, anyone would be grateful to come in from that," Loki grumbled.
"Then why'd you stay out there so long?"
Again the question slipped out before he could stop it, his inhibitions maddeningly lowered in the face of Loki's subtle shift this evening. And it was one step too far, as after a beat, Loki sat forward, putting his barely-touched soup back on the coffee table, and leaning elbows on knees as he stared down at his hands that hung loosely between.
"I'm sorry, Loki, I didn't mean to be insensitive," Mobius quietly amended, "I do understand, I just-"
"Do you?" Loki interrupted, cold as steel, and Mobius stopped, biting his lips together. "Do you understand, Mobius?" Turning away a little, one of his hands bunched into a fist, and after a long moment he thumped it hard into his own leg, with enough force that it had to have hurt.
Which was likely the goal, he supposed.
Desperately wanting to reach out to him, to ease his sorrow and alleviate the relentless pain, it was torture itself for Mobius to refrain. Unable to do nothing, however, he too leaned forwards under the pretence of placing his mug on the table beside Loki's, and remained there, mirroring his posture as he waited patiently to see how this would unravel.
"I don't suppose anyone ever could understand," Loki eventually muttered darkly. "To know what it's like, being honoured with the burden of saving everything that has, does, and ever will exist… only to have that one thing- the one thing you did right in your entire, horrid, miserable existence ripped away from you, and ending up a useless, dispensable derelict, unable to so much as tend an injured owl."
The words became more and more clipped until he was all but spitting them, and Mobius felt his throat tighten at the palpable anguish.
"So please, Mobius. I beg you not ever insult me with such disingenuous placation," he sniped, and he sounded legitimately hurt, as though Mobius had profoundly betrayed him.
He knew far better by now than to take it personally, but still couldn't help but be somewhat upset.
"Fuck. I really am sorry, Loki," he murmured morosely.
And yet, so encouraged was he that Loki was finally, finally cracking open, as delicate as a pistachio shell, Mobius hesitantly reached out a hand towards him, placing it lightly on his shoulder with all due wariness.
"Of course I have no idea what it's like," he continued. "It was nothing but clumsy phrasing on my part, not at all flippancy."
Unmoving for a time, Loki didn't utter a word… but he also didn't draw away, when Mobius began carefully rubbing his shoulder through the fleece hoodie he was wearing.
Taking that as yet another win, he continued to offer the meagre comfort, keeping both the motion and pressure subtle.
And remarkably, it soon became transparent that Loki was in tears for the second time that day.
Despite its welcome significance towards his ongoing progress, there was little that could have weakened Mobius more than seeing him in such distress. Thus, as he'd done outside, he wasted no time wrapping his arms around Loki's shoulders, gently tugging him towards himself, and was simultaneously elated and gutted when Loki immediately twisted around in the embrace, burying his face against his chest.
His overriding instinct was to cry himself, because this very moment was something he'd been holding out for ever since the rescue mission.
Loki was beginning to feel again, and it was as equally beautiful as it was harrowing.
Tucking his head under his chin, Mobius shushed him faintly, almost ashamed at the way he was savouring the feel of having him slumped against him, warm and heavy; tangling his fingers in damp, silky strands of raven hair.
Making very little sound as he wept, Loki grew increasingly weakened and droopy over the course of several minutes, and didn't appear to be in any hurry to speak again. So Mobius was surprised when he heard muffled words, accompanied by the heat of expelled breath through his sweater.
"What was that?" he prodded softly.
"'M pathetic," Loki repeated, only marginally more clearly.
Squeezing him tight for a moment, Mobius shook his head.
"Not to me."
There was another shorter silence as Loki regained composure, then he mumbled, "You're biased."
"I am, yeah," he readily admitted. "But disregarding that, there is no way that anyone of reasonable sanity could look at what you've done, and what you've suffered, and call you 'pathetic'." He ran a hand over Loki's back, lips twitching as the adorably childish sound of a wet sniffle emanated from somewhere around his sternum.
"I was rather referring to both the permanent absence of my power, and this dreadfully humiliating overreaction," Loki grumbled huskily.
Yet as he finished speaking, his arm settled around Mobius' waist with an affection that hadn't really been exhibited since the event of their initial reunion, and Mobius found he was temporarily unable to answer, so taken aback at this unprecedented development.
Seemingly unbothered by his silence, however, Loki nestled in snugly against him, as though only just now remembering that seeking comfort was in fact a feasible option.
The surge of raw feeling it evoked nearly took Mobius out, and before he knew it, he himself was blinking back tears, grateful that Loki couldn't see him.
"Sprout," he eventually began, stopping to clear his throat quickly against the roughness of his voice, whilst smoothing back Loki’s hair. "Everything that made you remarkable- makes you remarkable… none of it ever came from your magic." Loki tensed infinitesimally, and Mobius ran a pacifying hand down his back again. "No, listen. It's true," he pressed. "All of it, everything, still exists within you. Both in here…" a gentle tap to the side of his head, "And perhaps more significantly, here." The hand migrated to Loki's chest over his heart, squishing in between them. "All your amazing qualities, every last one. And there are many," Mobius added vehemently, as though anticipating an oncoming rebuttal. "That, Loki, is where your real power comes from."
He expected anything from a derisive snort to a scathing rebuke, but what he got was thoughtful silence; no sound but Loki's slightly snuffly breathing as he seemed to be genuinely moved by his words.
"And there's nothing wrong, or faulty, with the way you are now," he carried on, heartened. "You had something terrible done to you, and despite it all, you pulled through. If you ask me, that only makes you even more incredible."
Still no response was forthcoming, and Mobius might've started thinking he'd fallen asleep, were it not for a shuddering breath drawn at one stage, and audible swallowing once or twice. But -
"I miss it," Loki finally admitted after a while, his voice achingly small. "I miss my seiðr."
"Of course you do," Mobius nodded, holding him tightly. "It was a part of you. But… you're no lesser a being without it."
A pause, then, "I- I can't help but feel that I am."
The honesty was unexpected, and immensely appreciated.
"I know. It'll take time," he said softly, slowly stroking his back again. "And- and however long it takes you to feel whole again? I'll be right here, spouting all these cheesy affirmations… until you either believe it yourself, or tell me to shut the Hel up."
The shoulders under his hand shook again for a moment, though with a breath of laughter this time, and Mobius couldn't have suppressed his smile if he'd tried.
A hopefulness greater than any he’d yet felt that evening took hold deep within, and he planted an impulsive kiss on the top of Loki's head, somehow knowing that there would be no objection to the unprecedented affection. But then, unwilling to push his luck another millimetre, he slowly released him with a final stroke of his back, buoyantly coaxing, "Come on, soup's getting cold. I slaved over a hot stove for this, y'know."
"Mmh," Loki huffed, smirking a little as he rubbed his face roughly, "For all of three minutes?"
"Quiet, you, and eat up. Or else you don't get any dessert."
Said 'dessert' was in fact a packet of marshmallows Mobius had also picked up at the store on a whim, toasted over one of their many candles, on the ends of a couple of skewers he'd found in the kitchen drawer.
It was hardly a surprise that Loki made myriad snobby remarks about both the concept and process, but there was no concealing the life-affirming light in his eyes when he experienced the crusty outside and gooey centre upon taking the first tentative bite.
And it paired surprisingly well with the wine.
"Mobius, come look at this," Loki called to him from the garden.
Curiosity immediately piqued, particularly at his unreadable tone, Mobius marked the page of the book he was reading, tossing it onto the coffee table as he lurched to his feet.
When he stepped out onto the verandah, feeling the weak sunlight of early spring faintly warming the air, he found Loki waiting for him near the copse of trees at the far rear of the property.
And damn… even if he was no longer magical, he still managed to appear breathtakingly ethereal.
Dressed in a pale linen shirt and loose grey trousers, and barefoot despite the ground being damp and chill, his lengthening mane of hair had him looking like some sort of woodland elf who had stepped directly off the page of a Tolkien novel.
But a tiny smudge of dirt on his cheek grew visible as Mobius approached, all but shattering the illusion with its wholesome endearingness.
"What's up, Sprout?" he asked buoyantly, wandering closer and matching Loki's easy smile.
"Funny you should say that," Loki replied, with an enigmatic lift of his eyebrow, and he turned and ducked under a low branch, in moments disappearing from view beyond the treeline.
Following in his wake, Mobius couldn't help but reflect upon how far the two of them had come in the last three or so months, since the day he'd charged haphazardly through these very trees in a mad panic, fearing the very worst… but instead finding Loki sunk deep in despondence, hopelessly mourning a beautiful owl that stood as tragic representation of all that he'd lost.
Rather miraculously, it had still been there the following morning, once the winds had faded along with Loki's upheaval, and after they'd awoken on the couch in a tangle of limbs… wine-stained teeth and fingers sticky with sugary residue not at all dampening the fact they both felt more refreshed than they had in forever.
After the cold, dark winter that had followed, much of which was spent coaching a blessedly more receptive and responsive Loki through many long days of oscillating turmoil, Mobius couldn't help but acknowledge how the outset of spring had happily coincided with Loki's own idealised rebirth.
And nothing could symbolise this more exquisitely than what he now found Loki admiring in the far corner of the property.
A patch of daffodils, some of the shoots already flowering, in the precise spot where they had buried the unfortunate owl.
"Whoa," he enthused, staring in wonder. "I never even noticed any bulbs in the soil."
Coming up to Loki's side, he glanced around, finding no other similar blooms in their vicinity.
"I was going to ask, because I certainly wasn't levelheaded enough to notice at the time," Loki replied, with a degree of chagrin.
Mobius took his hand, giving his arm a little shake of affection, as they gazed at the cheery yellow flowers that bobbed ever so slightly in the gentle breeze.
"A little bit of magic, you might say," he suggested after a long moment, the corner of his mouth lifting as he felt Loki's glance. "And what else can you do, I wonder?"
The question was left hanging, ripe with possibility, as trace warmth from the sun caressed their faces.
Taking a long and restorative breath, Loki's eyes closed beatifically in a well-earned moment of peace.
"… What can we do?" he amended quietly, twining their fingers in bold resolution.