Chapter Text
Loki refused to take a day off work, despite his internal protests. His breath reeked of alcohol, which he clearly had consumed too much of, and his crumpled, beaten sweater was now stained red with wine, or what he assumed was wine. Unless in his drunken rage he'd committed yet another murder, it was wine. Best not to check, just in case.
He ploughed a comb through his hair, pulling it up into a neat bun. He slid into more fitting clothes, washed his face, snapped his glasses on and walked outside. The pavement seemed a bit greyer than usual. It felt more and more colourless the longer he walked on it, as if his footsteps could push the life out of concrete that wasn't alive to begin with. The more his mind lingered on it, the colder he felt. His eyes shifted away.
He sat in the same place as he always did, ordering his latte and pulling a newspaper article out from underneath a fake succulent. Before he could begin to read, however, a painfully familiar face stumbled into the cafe. Could he not escape his embarrassment? Humiliated in the middle of a public place, in front of a teenager, from simply talking. What could Peter possibly want from him? To laugh? To gloat–
“Uh, hey. Just wanted to say sorry. For yesterday.”
Loki slowly lowered the newspaper, his eyes not leaving Peter’s. “Why are you here? Why do you insist on tormenting me? Why haven’t you called S.H.I.E.L.D, or your local authorities, or for Norns sake, tried to kill me yourself?” His fists tightened under the table, his eyes narrow. The intimidation clearly flew over Peter’s head, however.
“Ah, yeah,” Peter sat down nervously on the other side of him. He opened his mouth as if he was about to speak, then pursed his lips into a tight frown.
Loki peered up at him curiously.
“I dunno. I’m tired.” He mumbled, leafing through the menu.
“I fear that lack of sleep isn’t the only reason you appear so fatigued.”
That was the end of that conversation.
Peter ordered a hot chocolate. Loki could smell the sweet aroma of chocolate across from him. It was bitter and distinct, amiability shrouded over wisps of steam. Hot chocolate. Loki wasn’t a big fan of heat, but he’d make an exception for this. This, and lattes, of course.
“I wouldn’t have pinned you for a reader.” Loki broke the silence, studying Peter with a stoic expression.
“Oh, yeah. I’m not a huge fan of reading, more of a hobby. My uncle was big into it before he passed.”
“I’m…” Loki paused, his expression softening. “I’m sorry. For reminding you of that.”
“There’s no need to be sorry,” He smiled, bittersweet fondness melting into his voice. “There is power in loss. It’s a catalyst for change.”
“Wise words from a Midgardian bereft of motivation to read.”
“Want to know a secret?”
Loki, once again, made a non-committal hum in response.
“That one was my uncle speaking.”
“Your uncle was a smart man.”
“He was. I think you’d’ve liked him a lot.”
~
Loki and Peter had continually met up at the same spot, sharing anecdotes of their ordinary lives.
He’d never admit it, but Loki was rather fond of their chats.
Peter crumpled at the front of the bookshop, his eyes dazed and broken. He was shivering in the cold London air. It was so cold. He hated the cold.
Half-mindedly, Loki opened the door. “Sorry, we’re clos–”
For the first time, Loki was rendered speechless, standing at the edge of infinity, watching his only friend die.