Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The wind had changed.

It no longer carried the biting scent of burnt metal and torn magic, but only the cool, damp weight of the nearby sea, crashing somewhere far below against the rocks, as if trying to drag even the last breath of silence away with it.

Around her, the voices began to grow quieter. Not because there was nothing left to say, but because the world itself seemed to start breathing again, cautiously, tentatively, as if only now realizing that it was still here. That they all were still here, standing in the middle of what was left.

Some of the others had already started to move, farther back on the battlefield.
She saw people supporting each other, exhausted steps pressing into the damp ground as if none of them really knew where they were supposed to go next. A soft murmur hung in the air, fragments of life that carried on, simply because they had to.

But she…
she couldn’t move.
Not while he was still there.

She saw him standing at the edge, his shoulders hanging a little too heavy, as if carrying the weight of something no one but the two of them could ever fully understand.

It was strange, how naturally he stood there, and yet looked like he no longer belonged. Like he was already halfway gone, halfway vanished, even though his body hadn’t moved.

And even though every step toward him felt like pushing through something invisible trying to hold her back, she kept walking.
Every breath pressed heavy on her chest, but she walked. Quietly. Cautiously.

Until she stood behind him, close enough to feel that he already knew. Knew she was there without needing to turn around.

The wind brushed against her skin, tugged at her hair, as if unsure whether it wanted to pull her away or stay with her.

And again, it was that cursed silence, louder than anything else.

She drew a shaky breath, and the words came heavy, as if she had to force them through clenched teeth. "Is it… really over?"

And when he finally turned toward her, slowly, almost hesitantly, she felt the weight of his answer long before he spoke it.

"Yes." His voice was quiet, but it cut through the air between them like a blade. "It’s over."

But nothing in her felt like it was over.
It felt like it had never really begun.
Like something was still missing. Something she couldn’t reach, couldn’t name.

Loki lowered his head, his shoulders rising and falling in shallow breaths, as if forcing the air into his lungs took more effort than he wanted to show.

Then he turned away and started to walk, slowly, quietly, as if counting every step to keep himself from falling apart.

And again, there was that pull in her chest, that aching weight she didn’t understand, didn’t want to understand. But it was there, stronger than anything else she felt.

She didn’t know why she followed him.
But she did. Because she always had.

And the sky above them, heavy and gray, stretching endlessly to the edge of the world, seemed to leave no place for them to go - except forward. Always forward.

The path he chose took them away from the voices, away from the trampled ground that still echoed with the ghosts of their fight, as if the air itself hadn’t quite settled yet.

She felt her boots sinking into the soft, damp earth, heard the muted crunch of small stones shifting beneath her steps, as if every single one of them wanted to hold her back. But she kept moving, slow and steady, because there was nowhere else to go.

The wind grew stronger, carrying the heavy scent of salt and water up from the cliffs below, mixing with the chill that crept into her clothes, until the trembling in her bones felt no different from the cold outside.

Loki didn’t walk fast. He gave her space.
He gave her every chance to stop, to turn around, to let him go.

But she didn’t.

She followed him, step by careful step, not knowing if she wanted him to turn around or if she was terrified he actually might.

The hill ended suddenly, as if the world itself was holding its breath.

Below them stretched the sea, dark and endless, vast and terrifyingly close.
The waves crashed against the rocks like they were trying to tear away everything that had hesitated too long.

Loki stopped.

He slowly sank to the ground, as if the last bit of strength had left him. His gaze drifted out to the endless water, to where the sea broke and came back together over and over again, as if it was the only thing in this world that knew how to stay.

Sylvie stood frozen for a moment. Too long.
Far too long. But then she sank down too. Not too close, not too far, just close enough to feel him without having to touch.

The cold settled into her skin, into her thoughts, until she couldn’t tell which weighed heavier.

And as the wind kept tugging at her, the silence between them brought back a memory that burned deeper than anything else.

The Void.
The blanket.
His voice, soft and careful, as if he had already known back then that it was too much to believe.

“What if we figure it out together?”

And she had…gods, she had nodded.

Because she had believed it.
Because she had dared to think that maybe, just maybe, it could be possible.

And she had destroyed it.
With one strike.
With one moment that had shattered everything they had barely begun to build.
And now…
now he sat here again.
And waited.

He stayed quiet for a long time. So long that she almost believed he wasn’t going to say anything at all. That maybe he was just as empty as she was, just as lost in a moment that felt far too big to grasp.

But then, so quietly that it almost didn’t sound like he’d meant to speak aloud, the words finally came. “Thor asked me… if I wanted to stay,” he murmured. “In New Asgard.”

His voice was calm.
Not uncertain.
Not pushing.
Just there, like a breath in the dark.

And even though she should have seen it coming, the weight of it still struck her somewhere deep inside.

Of course Thor had asked him.
Of course Thor wanted him to stay.
He was the closest thing left to the Loki Thor had once lost.

And Sylvie… Sylvie was certain there was no way he’d say no.

A home.
A place to belong.
Something she had never had.
Something she had never been allowed to have.

She swallowed, feeling something curl tight and sharp inside her chest.

“I see,” she whispered, her voice sounding smaller, more brittle than she wanted it to.
She waited for what he would say next. For the yes, the no, the easy way out. But nothing came.

Instead, he slowly lifted his head, turning just slightly toward her, and in his eyes was something she couldn’t quite read.

Something steady.
Something terrifyingly real.

“I want you to stay,” he said softly.

The words hit her so suddenly, so plainly, that she wasn’t sure if they’d really been spoken at all or if her mind had just made them up.

But she saw it in his face.
No hesitation.
No shield.

Just that quiet, honest wanting that stole the breath right from her lungs.

And before she could find anything to hold onto, before she could push it away, he kept speaking - softer now, like he needed to say it aloud, just once, to make it real.

“Do you remember… in the Void?” His voice cracked a little at the edges. “Under the blanket… I asked you if we should figure it out together.” He paused, breathing shallowly, as if the memory itself hurt to hold. “And you… you said maybe.” The word hung between them again, heavy with everything they hadn’t dared to believe back then.

And even now… it felt like a door she had slammed shut long ago.

“Thor… he…” Loki broke off, clearing his throat quietly. “He offered me a house. In New Asgard. It’s empty…” His voice dropped lower, barely more than a breath. “He said we could have it… if we wanted.”

Sylvie’s eyes squeezed shut, her fingers curling hard into the cold, damp earth beneath her. “Stop,” she whispered, sharper than she meant to, raising a hand like she could somehow silence the weight of it all.
“Please… just stop.”

She could feel her heartbeat pounding in her throat, too fast, too loud, so fierce that she was sure it had to be visible somehow - had to give her away.

And for one sharp, desperate moment, she wanted to do it. She wanted to get up, turn around, run before he could say anything else that pulled at something in her she didn’t dare let herself feel. Not again.

But she stayed.
Gods, she stayed.

She pressed her lips together, searching for something to say. Anything that wasn’t too much, anything that wouldn’t break her apart. But the only thing that came out was a broken, raspy whisper.

“I don’t… I don’t know if I can.” Her voice cracked on the last word, quieter than she wanted it to be, but there it was, hanging between them like something raw and fragile.

She shook her head, dragging her hand across her face like she could wipe the weight of all of this off her skin.

“I don’t know how to stay, Loki.”

And still, he didn’t move.
He waited.
Again.
Always.

“You don’t understand,” she breathed, sharper now, pushing the words out faster like she could outrun them.

“This… this isn’t for me. I wasn’t made for… for any of this.” She let out a rough, shaky breath, eyes burning with something she didn’t want to name. “I don’t even know how to do it. I don’t know how to-” Her voice faltered, and she let out something like a bitter laugh.

“A house? In New Asgard? Do you really believe… we could have something like that?”

She looked at him then, fully, all the sharp edges she had left flaring up between them like armor. “A normal life? You and me?”
The words tasted like ash on her tongue.
“It’s a lie, Loki. A stupid, impossible lie.”

But his answer came quiet, steady, as if he had already known she would say it. “No.”
And there was no sarcasm in his voice, no stubbornness, no defense. Just that one word, solid and certain, like it had never been a question for him at all. “It’s what I want.”

She almost laughed again. Almost spat it back at him like it didn’t matter, like it wasn’t already pressing against something deep in her that trembled in ways she couldn’t control.

But nothing came out.
No anger.
No defense.
Only breath.
Shallow. Shaky. Real.

Her hand pressed against her forehead, fingers digging in as if she could stop herself from falling apart if she just held on tight enough.

She hated this.
Hated how easy he made it sound.
How dangerous it felt to even let the idea breathe between them.

And still… the words slipped out before she could stop them.

“I’m scared, Loki.” Barely more than a whisper. So small she almost didn’t hear it herself. She swallowed hard, the lump in her throat thick and sharp as glass.
“I’m scared I’ll ruin it again. That I’ll ruin you again.”

She bit down on her lip, hard enough to sting, anything to keep the burning in her chest from spilling out.

She dropped her gaze, curling her fingers into the damp ground as if it was the only thing still holding her here.

“I don’t know how to do this right,” she whispered, her voice breaking like the tide below them. “I don’t even know if I deserve to want it.”

And she knew, even without looking, that he hadn’t moved. He was still there, steady as ever, breathing through every word without flinching.

She forced herself to lift her head, meeting his eyes - not hiding, not running, not this time.

“I don’t… I don’t want to lose you again.”

And before she could stop herself, her hand, trembling, hesitant, edged a little closer to his.

Not touching.
Not quite.
But close enough to feel the air between them shift.

He didn’t move.
Not a breath, not a muscle.
He just… stayed.

And when she finally dared to look again, when her hand trembled ever so slightly toward his, she caught it - the way his breath hitched, soft and barely there, as if he’d been holding it all this time.

Not rushing to close the distance.
Not pulling her closer.
Just waiting.

His fingers twitched, the smallest of movements, like he wanted to reach for her - but still, he didn’t. He let her choose.

And when he spoke again, his voice was quieter than before, rough at the edges, but steady, like he meant every syllable with a weight she could almost feel settling into the space between them.

“You won’t lose me, Sylvie.” The way he said her name - like it wasn’t something fragile, but something real, something grounded - sent another sharp wave through her chest.
“Not unless you want to.”

And there it was again.
That unbearable patience.
That terrifying honesty.
His gaze didn’t flinch.
It didn’t waver.
It simply held her there, not demanding, not forcing, but waiting, like it always had.

“You don’t have to know how this works,” he whispered. “I don’t, either.”

He let out a breath, so quiet it almost disappeared in the wind.

“But I still want it. I want… us.”

And then, without moving closer, without pressing, he spoke the words that shattered what little ground she had left beneath her feet: “Because there’s nothing I want more.”

It hit her like a wave, stealing the air from her lungs, leaving her weightless and unsteady in the space between them.
There was no demand in his words, no promise wrapped in pretty lies. Only truth.
Bare and terrifying. And somehow… it felt heavier than any fight she had ever survived.

Because this...this was real.

And if she let it happen, it could destroy her in ways she couldn’t even begin to defend against.

But gods, she was tired.
Tired of running.
Tired of pushing him away just to keep herself from falling apart.

And still, she hesitated - her heart pounding so violently it hurt, her throat too tight, her breathing too shallow.

Her fingers inched closer, slow and uncertain, like every bit of her was fighting not to pull away again.

But this time… she didn’t stop.

The tips of her fingers barely brushed his - soft, unsure - but the contact was enough to make her chest ache so sharply she almost gasped.

It wasn’t a grip.
Not a promise.
Not yet.
But it was real.

She pressed her lips together, closed her eyes for the briefest of moments, and when she spoke again, it felt like she was holding every part of herself on the edge of a blade.

“Maybe…” Her voice cracked on the word, raw and shaking, but she forced it out.
“Maybe I can try.”

She opened her eyes, met his gaze - really met it this time.

No armor.
No walls.
Just her.

“With you.”

And as the wind pressed around them, as the endless sea roared below like it had been listening all along, she felt herself let go - just a little.

Her hand shifted, trembling but certain, curling the smallest bit more firmly around his fingers.

Not because it was safe.
Not because it was easy.
But because - for the first time - she wanted it.
Not just the idea of them.
Not just what could have been.

But this.

Right here.
Right now.

Messy.
Broken.
Unfinished.
But real.

And maybe…
for now…
that was enough.

Chapter Text

The portal closed behind them with a faint hum, barely audible.

Sylvie let out a breath, far too slow, as if only now realizing she'd been holding it. She looked around.

New Asgard lay before her - peaceful, unexpectedly unspectacular. And yet, there was this faint pull in her chest, as if she had forgotten what it felt like to actually arrive somewhere.

The wind smelled of the sea, of salt and damp grass.

She crossed her arms over her chest, more to shield herself from her own thoughts than from the cold.

Loki stepped up beside her, his gaze sweeping calmly across the village. He said nothing. Not yet. But Sylvie could feel his eyes flick to her briefly. As always, assessing. Not pushing. Simply present. But she knew he was waiting.

"Are you sure this is what you really want?" His voice was quiet, barely more than a breath carried by the wind.

Sylvie wanted to wave him off. Instead, she found herself letting her shoulders fall. The pressure on her chest eased a little as she, just slightly uncertain, glanced up at him. A faint smile tugged at her lips. "Honestly, I don't know. But I'm here, right?"

Loki returned her smile, one of those rare ones that spoke louder than any words. One that whispered silently: I'm here too.

But before either of them could say more, the booming voice reached them across the square.

"There you are at last!"

Thor approached like a force of nature, loud as always, but with a warmth that seemed to fill the entire space.

Loki took a step toward him - not exaggerated, not defensive, just with that quiet presence only Sylvie seemed to truly sense.

Thor grabbed him in one of those typical, far-too-tight embraces, as if it had been years since they'd last seen each other.

"Brother!" Thor laughed heartily, then held him at arm's length to look him over. "You look better than I expected. Honestly, a lot more alive."

Loki raised a brow, the hint of a crooked smile playing on his lips.

"You’ve learned to set your expectations deliberately low so you won’t be disappointed?" His voice was calm, dry, but Sylvie caught the spark of genuine affection hidden beneath.

Thor grinned broadly, patting his shoulder. "Experience makes you wise."

Then he turned to Sylvie, his expression softening, his voice warmer. "And you… you really came."

His whole stance shifted slightly. Still enthusiastic, but somehow more careful, as if he wanting to give her space.

"Sylvie." He spoke her name softly, almost reverently, without the usual thunder in his tone. He made no sudden move, simply stood there and opened his arms slightly - not for a hug, but as an open gesture.

"Welcome to New Asgard." It didn’t sound forced or rehearsed. It just sounded… real.

Sylvie felt her throat tighten for a moment, unexpectedly. Not because she hadn’t seen it coming, but because it felt warmer than she ever thought possible.

She tilted her head slightly, letting her gaze rest on him for a moment before replying, simply but sincerely, "Thank you." No more, but also no less.

And it was enough. Thor let out an audible breath, almost as if he'd been waiting for exactly that.

He turned, rolling up his sleeves like the real adventure was about to begin.

"Come on, then." His tone grew louder, lighter - like someone trying to dissolve tension with sheer energy. And without another word, he led the way, as if it were the most natural thing in the world that the two of them now belonged here. Somehow.

Thor guided them through the small village like a king showing off his castle. Even though it was barely more than a collection of weathered huts, crooked signs, and leaning fences. Everything felt thrown together, improvised, yet full of life. There was no golden shine here, no shimmering halls. Just real people, real weather, real life.

Eventually, Thor stopped in the middle of the small square, turning to face them with his hands on his hips, grinning as wide as ever.

"Here we are. Welcome to the heart of New Asgard." He gave them a conspiratorial wink.

A few villagers glanced their way, some looking friendly. Thor returned every greeting with such enthusiasm it bordered on ridiculous. Loki and Sylvie followed him through the narrow alleys. Thor stopped again and again to introduce them to people. He talked about the best baker - who, unfortunately, was closed today, as he pointed out - the only blacksmith, the last real cabbage farmer, and so many others that Sylvie slowly but surely lost track.

Loki let his brother do the talking, his hands calmly clasped behind his back. Yet his gaze kept flicking to Sylvie. Not intrusively, but attentively, as if he making sure she wasn’t getting lost in all the noise.

They continued up the hill. The houses became fewer, the wind stronger. Sylvie pulled her coat tighter around her. They followed the narrow path winding further up the slope, past the last fishing huts and small fences with a few grazing sheep. Sylvie couldn’t stop wondering if this was all real or if she was about to wake up any second.

The wind carried the salty scent from the sea, settling deep into her skin. It was quiet up here, away from the voices. Only the crashing waves far below and the distant cries of seagulls filled the air.

And then they stopped.

Thor turned to them with a flourish that felt far too grand for the quiet of this place. As if he had just unveiled the greatest secret of the Nine Realms. He spread his arms wide, as if this was his greatest pride.

"There it is."

Sylvie took a step forward but froze immediately, as if her body itself didn’t know whether to believe this was real.

The house stood not far from the cliffs. White walls, weathered by time and storms but not crumbling. A roof that looked like it had survived countless tempests. Large windows facing the sea. And a small porch with an old rocking chair creaking softly in the wind, as if it were greeting them.

It was larger than she had expected. Not grand, but… homely.

Sylvie swallowed. She couldn’t say a word.

Thor watched her standing there, awkwardly running a hand through his beard, as if suddenly afraid it wasn’t enough.

"It might not be much…" he began, but before he could continue, Loki placed a steady hand on his arm. He didn’t look at Thor, but at Sylvie, who still stood frozen. His voice was soft but certain. "It’s perfect."

Thor let out a relieved breath, grinning as he stomped up the few steps to the porch. "Come on, I’ll give you the grand tour!"

Sylvie stayed for a moment longer, breathing in the cold air slowly through her nose while Loki passed her without haste, briefly and discreetly resting his hand on her back, as if he silently inviting her to follow.

And she did.

The floorboards creaked softly under their steps as Thor dramatically pushed open the door.

"Welcome to New Asgard’s little coastal residence," he declared grandly, stepping aside as if he presenting a throne room.

Sylvie raised her eyebrows, unable to suppress a quiet shake of her head. But when she stepped into the living room, her breath caught for a moment.

It was… Beautiful.

The sunlight poured through the large windows, casting soft light onto a dark green sofa positioned in front of a solid, well-kept fireplace. A bookshelf lined the wall, filled with thick old tomes next to worn paperbacks, as if someone had deliberately filled every inch with life.

Loki entered slowly, his gaze taking in every detail, as if committing it all to memory. Sylvie could almost feel his chest rise slightly at the sight, as if he hadn’t expected it to feel this right.

Thor stood proudly, hands on his hips. "Didn’t I tell you? Cozy, isn’t it?"

Loki merely nodded, turning to Sylvie, who still hovered uncertainly in the doorway. Their eyes met for a moment, and Sylvie slowly stepped inside. Her fingers brushed the edge of the fireplace, as if she needed to convince herself this was real.

Thor stood by the bookshelf, running his fingers along the spines, as if this had all been prepared - probably because it had.

"Did you know…" Thor began, feigning casualness as he looked around, "…that Loki was Asgard’s biggest bookworm?"

He turned to Sylvie, who tilted her head, one brow raised - skeptical, but somehow intrigued.

Loki immediately rolled his eyes, sighing audibly and crossing his arms. But, of course, Thor was undeterred. If anything, he seemed like he had been waiting for this very moment.

"He spent nights in the library, you wouldn’t believe it." Thor leaned closer to Sylvie, as if he sharing an ancient secret. "And not studying great works of magic or heroic tales of old…"

He paused dramatically, pulling out a yellowed paperback from the shelf that he clearly had stashed there on purpose. With a mischievous sparkle in his eyes, he held it out toward Loki.

"No, he devoured… romance novels."

Sylvie blinked, the twitch at the corner of her mouth impossible to hide.

Thor turned the book toward her. The cover featured two ridiculously perfect figures locked in a dramatic embrace, framed by tacky roses and golden lettering.

"He tore through them. One after another. Entire series. He always claimed it was for character study." Thor lowered his voice meaningfully. "And heaven help anyone who interrupted him when it got intense."

Loki let out a long breath, as if barely restraining himself. He pushed off the wall with deliberate control, took the book from Thor’s hand, and slid it back onto the shelf with exaggerated care.

"Stories about interpersonal dynamics are the true art of storytelling," he said calmly, as if stating an academic fact.

Sylvie stifled a laugh, biting her lip.

Loki shot her an entirely too innocent look. "You can learn a lot about the depths of the soul… if you read between the lines."

"Of course," Sylvie muttered dryly, barely containing herself as Thor struggled to keep a straight face.

"You should’ve seen him after finishing the fifth volume of 'Lost in the Duke’s Embrace'. He didn’t show his face for half a day because he couldn’t handle the ending."

Loki closed his eyes for a brief moment, as if he cursing them both. Yet a faint, almost invisible smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

And Sylvie felt something warm stirring in her chest, because this little moment felt so… damn normal.

Thor rubbed his chin as if debating whether to press on, but then clapped his hands loudly.

"Alright, before I reveal more of my dear, sensitive brother’s secrets…" Loki growled softly, making Thor grin even wider. "…let’s move on. This isn’t all."

He turned and led them further through the house.

Loki subtly stepped a bit closer to Sylvie, as if he making sure she didn’t drift off again. She let him. More than that - she let herself lean just a fraction closer, their shoulders nearly brushing.

Thor bounded up the stairs two at a time, throwing them a sly look over his shoulder. "Upstairs holds more… surprises."

Loki shot him a skeptical glance but followed nonetheless, Sylvie right behind him.

Once upstairs, Thor flung open the first door. "And here we have the bathroom."

He leaned dramatically in the doorway, making space for them to enter.

Sylvie stepped in cautiously and froze, surprised. It was unexpectedly lovely. A simple but large bathtub stood beneath a window with a view of the sea. White tiles, light wood, neatly folded towels. Everything felt cared for, not staged. Like someone had truly put heart into this place.

Thor leaned back against the doorframe, arms crossed. "And yes, the bathtub works perfectly. I tested it myself." He glanced at Loki. "Alone. Don’t worry."

Loki arched a brow mockingly. "What a relief."

Sylvie barely managed to suppress a grin. There was something strangely pleasant about the way these two played off each other.

"Come on, you two, the best part’s yet to come!" Thor marched off with exaggerated enthusiasm, as if he’d rather move in himself. "I’ve prepared everything. And when I say everything, I mean everything." He threw a conspiratorial wink at Loki. "Wouldn’t want you improvising too much up here."

Loki paused for a heartbeat, closing his eyes as if fighting the urge to strangle his brother. Sylvie, on the other hand, let out a quiet snort, turning away quickly as her cheeks betrayed her. Of course, Thor noticed, watching her a bit too long and a bit too satisfied before striding ahead.

Finally, he stopped in front of the first bedroom, flinging the door open dramatically. "Bedroom number one, with plenty of space for… peaceful nights." He waggled his brows so shamelessly at Loki that the latter visibly inhaled, clearly restraining himself.

"I swear, Thor…" Loki muttered dangerously low. Thor raised his hands in mock surrender. "Alright, alright." He showed them the second room as well. Both were bright, cozy, with views so beautiful they felt almost unreal. Yet… Sylvie didn’t choose either. She remained standing in the hallway, running her fingers over the rough wooden beams, over the railing, as if testing if this was truly hers.

Thor noticed, his tone softening as he asked quietly, "Not what you expected?"

Sylvie blinked, taking a moment before shaking her head. "No… better."

Thor smiled, hiding how much that answer seemed to mean to him. Then he clapped his hands once more. "Alright. Now… the garden!" He turned and marched down the stairs with exaggerated flair, leaving them no choice but to follow.

But then Thor suddenly seemed to realize that he had completely forgotten to show them perhaps the most important room of all. With a sweeping gesture, he turned into the small open kitchen.

"Almost forgot… here we have the culinary heart of this palace," he declared grandly.

Sylvie stepped up beside Loki, crossing her arms over her chest, unable to stop herself from casting him a quiet, sarcastic glance. Palace… sure…

The kitchen was anything but impressive. And yet… somehow… charming.

An old but clean countertop, a small sink beneath the window, open shelves cluttered with all sorts of random things: a few jars of spices, dried herbs, a basket filled with onions and garlic. It smelled of wood, stone, and something between rosemary and thyme.

Thor patted the old stove twice, which had clearly seen better days.

"Runs like a clockwork. Well… most of the time. If you talk nicely to it," he added with a conspiratorial wink toward Loki, as if sharing some ancient brotherly secret. Loki didn’t comment, but the corner of his mouth twitched just slightly.

Sylvie stepped a little closer, letting her gaze wander. On the windowsill stood two small pots of fresh herbs - probably basil and something that had once been mint. In one corner of the counter lay a folded kitchen towel, as if someone had just cooked here the day before.

"I even stocked up for you," Thor continued, opening a small pantry. He turned back toward them as if he revealing a treasure. "Bread, cheese, a couple of bottles of apple juice, some mead… and - drumroll, please - pasta!" He grinned broadly, holding up the packet as if he had just uncovered Asgard’s greatest jewel.

Sylvie let out a soft snort, exchanging a glance with Loki, who was watching the scene with the expression of a man seriously wondering if they’d ever eat anything other than cheese sandwiches and dried noodles again.

Thor shut the pantry again, planting his hands on his hips. "Right. Now for real - the garden."

Sylvie lingered for one more heartbeat, letting her gaze wander once again through the small, cozy kitchen before following Loki, once again wondering how much of all this had truly been meant… for her.

Thor led them out through the back door, which creaked softly as if it hadn't been opened in ages. A narrow, paved path led to a small garden enclosed by a low stone wall. Beyond that, the tall grass stretched toward the cliffs.

"Ta-da!" Thor declared with a gesture far too grand for the small patch of land.

"This is your kingdom. Well… maybe not exactly Vanaheim, but I pulled the weeds and… well…" He shrugged as if that alone had been a heroic feat. "But the view’s pretty good, isn’t it?"

Sylvie slowly stepped onto the terrace, letting her gaze sweep over the slightly overgrown patch of land. A few stones marked what might have once been a seating area, in the corner stood an old, blackened firepit. Nearby, unmistakable, a small, crooked garden shed that had definitely seen better days. Its window curtains had long since faded from the weather.

And then there was the view.

Wide, open, almost too much all at once. The sea stretched endlessly toward the horizon, the wind carrying the scent of salt and foam. Somewhere below, waves crashed against the cliffs.

Sylvie stood still, breathing deeply. It wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t flawless. But it was real.

Thor scratched the back of his head, stepping up beside her.

"I know it’s not Asgard. But… maybe that’s a good thing." He glanced at Loki, and for a moment there was no jest, no bravado, just honest brotherhood. "It’s yours. No palace. No expectations. Just… this."

Loki looked at him, hands buried in his pockets. For a fleeting moment, something flickered across his face - barely visible, but Sylvie noticed it.

He turned to her, searching her gaze. "What do you think?" he asked softly.

Sylvie swallowed, letting her eyes wander once more over all of it. The house, the garden, the sea, Loki. She opened her mouth, closed it again. She felt her throat tighten. But then she nodded, so slightly it was barely more than a breath. "It’s more than I ever had," she whispered.

Thor let out a visible breath, placing his hands on his hips as he scanned the property once more, as if he needing to reassure himself that this was all truly real.

"Then I’ll leave you two to settle in," he finally said, and for the first time, he sounded almost a bit nervous. "If you need anything, I’m not far."

Loki nodded slowly, and Thor gave him a surprisingly gentle pat on the shoulder before turning and making his way back through the garden toward the house.

Sylvie and Loki remained alone.

Loki let his gaze drift over the property for another moment before turning to her. He seemed calm. Not pushing, not rushing.

"Do you want to go inside?" He tilted his head slightly, as if he offering her the choice once again.

Sylvie glanced over her shoulder toward the house. She hesitated, but this time not out of doubt. More as if she wanted to memorize the sight, to savor the feeling of not having to run.

"Yes," she finally whispered.

Loki held the door open for her, letting her step inside first, as if that small gesture alone could ease the storm within her. And maybe, somehow, it did.

Inside, it felt even quieter than before. Thor was gone. No more loud words. Just… the two of them.

Sylvie stood uncertainly in the hallway as Loki slowly closed the door. She turned to him, opening her mouth, closing it again.

A fleeting smile crossed his lips - not mocking, not smug, but warm and familiar.

"Sit down," he said softly, already moving into the living room where the fire still glowed faintly in the hearth. She followed without thinking. For the first time in days, her body moved without her mind resisting.

She sank onto the sofa, pulling off her shoes and tucking her feet beneath her.

"Do you want something to drink? Or… eat?"

Sylvie looked at him in silence for a moment. And then, the corner of her mouth twitched.

"You’re going to cook?"

His grin spread slowly, like a spark promising far too much. "Do you really want to take that risk?"

She snorted softly, shaking her head ever so slightly but not saying no. Instead, she sank deeper into the cushions. "Alright. Impress me."

Loki smiled as if it were an official challenge. He strode toward the kitchen with exaggerated confidence. His steps were so deliberately smooth it bordered on ridiculous, as if he’d done this a thousand times before.

Sylvie leaned back, crossing her arms as she watched him - curious, amused, and honestly wondering how long this performance would last.

He scanned the small shelf Thor had clearly stocked, muttering something incomprehensible under his breath before dramatically rolling up his sleeves to his elbows.

"I present to you…" He gestured extravagantly to a handful of herbs, a loaf of bread, and - to Sylvie’s dismay - a jar that appeared to contain pickled mushrooms. "…the feast of kings."

Sylvie snorted. "That’s a sandwich in poor disguise."

Loki shot her an exaggeratedly affronted look. "Nonsense. Tonight, you will witness the true art of cuisine."

She crossed her arms tighter, raising a brow.

"How hard can it be, huh?" she murmured skeptically.

Loki turned with a triumphant glint in his eyes. "Exactly!" He grabbed a pot, a knife, and a cutting board, diving into the task with what could only be described as overly serious enthusiasm.

Sylvie leaned forward on the sofa, resting her elbows on her knees, watching with growing amusement as he tried to make it look like he had any idea what he was doing.

He didn’t.

Barely two minutes later, herbs were scattered everywhere except in the pot, the bread had been torn into uneven chunks, and the mushrooms… well, they looked like they were laughing at him.

Sylvie bit the inside of her cheek to keep from bursting out laughing.

"Are you actually trying to kill me?"

Loki froze mid-motion, then slowly turned to her, holding the wooden spoon like a sword. "I accept this challenge."

"Oh, please…" Sylvie shook her head, stood up, and walked into the kitchen. "Before you burn the whole place down."

She stepped in close, casting a glance into the pot and sighing. "Give me that." She took the spoon from his hand.

Loki pulled a face, leaning back against the counter, folding his arms dramatically. "I was about to save you."

Sylvie smirked. "I think I’ll take over now."

Loki let her, though he furrowed his brows in feigned offense. "And here I thought you were my assistant."

"Keep dreaming." Sylvie stepped in front of him, inspecting the mushrooms with a skeptical eye, while Loki moved behind her - closer than strictly necessary. He reached over her shoulder for a handful of herbs, leaving just enough space between them for it to seem innocent. Almost. His arm brushed lightly against her back, just barely, but it was enough to make Sylvie’s shoulders stiffen for a heartbeat.

She blinked, biting the inside of her cheek again, focusing on the mushrooms like her life depended on it. No way was she letting him see that.

"Are you really going to hover over my shoulder?" she asked calmly, not turning around, though she could feel how close he still stood.

Loki leaned in a little further. His breath grazed her hair.

"Just observing… purely professionally."

Sylvie snorted softly, shaking her head. But her heart was pounding faster than she cared to admit. Her fingers clenched the mushrooms a little too tightly before setting them aside, grabbing the knife and pressing down on the cutting board a bit harder than necessary.

"Purely professional, huh." She raised a brow, tilting her head slightly toward him, shrinking the space between them to a dangerously thin line. "I doubt that."

He laughed quietly, almost inaudibly, like she had seen right through him. Which, she probably had. But instead of denying it, he leaned in just a fraction more, his chin nearly brushing her shoulder.

"Maybe I’m enjoying it a little," he whispered, his voice lower than needed, but not pushy. More like a confession he simply offered.

Sylvie felt a dangerously warm flutter in her stomach. She wanted to counter, to throw out some cool remark, but the knife in her hand kept her from simply turning around. So she did the only thing she could - endured the tension like it was nothing.

She took a slow breath, set the mushrooms aside, and wiped her hands on a kitchen towel. "Instead of just standing there, you could set the table," she muttered, eyes fixed on the stove.

Loki made a low, exaggerated hum but actually stepped back, giving her space without vanishing completely.

"Okay," he replied in mock resignation, turning to open the cupboards, not without throwing her a last glance over his shoulder.

She needed a moment to breathe again. She blinked at the steaming pots as if they might offer an answer to a question she hadn’t dared ask.

Her cheeks burned a little too much, and she hated how good that felt.

She pushed the pot a little further back, lowering the heat, pretending none of this rattled her in the slightest.

In the background, she heard Loki opening cupboards. "How many plates do we need?" he asked eventually, as if it were the most important question of the evening. "Ten? Fifteen?"

Sylvie rolled her eyes, reached for the wooden spoon, and slowly stirred the pasta she'd found in the pantry. "Two, obviously."

"Are you sure?" He leaned over the kitchen counter, his voice drifting casually through the room. "I thought you’d invite the whole village to celebrate your cooking skills."

"I might kick you out if you keep this up."

Loki chuckled softly, setting two plates on the table and reaching for cutlery, placing it with surprising neatness.

It was… quiet. Real. No fighting. No running.

And when Sylvie realized that, she exhaled a little easier.

She served two portions - not perfect, but much better than she had expected - and set the pots aside.

"Alright." She turned to him, hands on her hips, raising a brow. "Sit down. And don’t you dare complain."

Loki sat down without further comment, pulling the plate toward him and looking at her. And that damned smile on his lips nearly made her forget why she’d bothered trying at all.

He took the first bite, chewed slowly, making her wait just long enough to start doubting herself. Then he nodded approvingly. "Not bad."

Sylvie snorted softly, taking her own seat, but her heart beat just a little faster at the words. She tried not to grin too wide - shoveling a bite into her mouth instead.

A few minutes passed in almost pleasant silence, broken only by the occasional clink of cutlery against plates. It was… unusually normal. Almost too quiet to be real.

Loki eventually scooted his chair back slightly, folding his arms on the table and leaning toward her.

"You know…" His voice held that casual tone that was never really casual. "…you could’ve told me sooner that you could cook."

Sylvie slowly lifted her gaze, chewing the inside of her cheek for a moment. "And ruin your fun? No way."

Loki grinned crookedly. "You’re terrible."

"I know."

She leaned her elbows on the table, spinning her fork before looking back at him. "And you love it."

For a fraction of a second, something flickered in his eyes, deeper, more genuine than anything before. But it was gone before she could catch it.

Loki leaned back slowly, still watching her without saying a word. He didn’t need to.

Sylvie swallowed. Far too aware.

She set her fork down quietly, starting to push back her chair, but Loki mirrored her movement - just as quietly, without looking away. His chair scraped softly against the floor as he stood, not overly dramatic, just thoughtful.

He walked around the table, letting his hand trail along the back of her chair, as if searching for the right move, the right moment. Yet he still didn’t say a word.

Sylvie’s body tensed on its own, though nothing happened. Not really.

Until he stopped behind her. Not too close, not looming, just there.

She could feel him. The faint shift of air as he breathed in. The flutter in her stomach growing more reckless with every heartbeat.

"Thank you for cooking," he finally whispered so softly she wasn’t sure she hadn’t imagined it.

She slowly turned her head, just enough to see him out of the corner of her eye. Her lips formed a barely audible, "You’re welcome."

But Loki didn’t move. No step back. No pressure. Just that quiet waiting that sent her heart racing again.

Her throat felt too dry. She should say something - anything. A sarcastic remark. But nothing came. Not this time.

Instead, she stayed exactly where she was, head slightly turned, breath just a little too shallow, letting her eyes flick to him for a heartbeat.

He lowered his gaze, looking at her, and something in that look hit her like a silent, wordless confession.

No jest. No game.

Just quiet waiting that made her chest tighten in the best way.

She couldn’t fully explain it, but before she realized it, her hand braced on the table as she slowly turned to face him.

She stood. Slowly. No rush.

And suddenly, they stood face to face - like two people who already knew each other but had to meet again and again because everything inside them refused to make it too easy.

Sylvie let her gaze flick to his lips for a brief second, then back to his eyes, which hadn’t let go of hers for a moment.

"You’re in the way again…" she whispered, but this time her voice was softer, deeper.

Loki exhaled softly, a breath brushing past her cheek as he leaned in just a fraction closer.

"Should I leave?" he murmured, almost inaudibly.

Sylvie swallowed. Slowly.

And then she shook her head. Barely. But unmistakably.

His breath grazed her neck, warm and far too close. Yet he didn’t move any further.

Sylvie’s heart pounded louder in her chest. She should say something - break the moment. But she didn’t.

Instead, she slowly raised her hand, letting her fingertips brush lightly against his arm. Just a whisper of contact.

Loki exhaled sharply through his nose, his gaze dropping briefly to her hand, then back to her eyes. Oh, those beautiful blue eyes…

"Tell me, Sylvie…" His voice was barely a whisper, rough with the tension sparking between them. "…tell me if you want me to stay."

Sylvie knew this was the moment she could let him go. He would, without hesitation, if she wanted him to.

But her heart… her damn heart…

She shook her head again, just slightly. "I don’t want you to go."

Loki closed his eyes for a moment, as if fighting an impulse that surprised even him.

And then… he slowly raised his hand, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear so gently it felt like he feared she might shatter if he pushed too far.

"Then I’ll stay."

His forehead nearly touched hers. Still, he hadn’t truly touched her. The moment hung between them, fragile and floating.

"Tell me if I should stop," he whispered hoarsely.

But Sylvie… instead of pulling away, she moved the tiniest heartbeat closer, until their noses almost brushed.

"Just stop talking, Loki", she whispered.

A ghost of a smile flickered across Loki’s lips before he finally closed the last inch between them and pressed his lips softly to hers. It was barely more than a breath, a tentative touch, as if both were testing whether this was real or just another dream that had haunted them far too often.

Sylvie returned the kiss hesitantly, almost shyly - which surprised her most of all. But Loki didn’t push further, holding the moment in that quiet, delicate uncertainty that gave her the space not to run.

When they slowly parted for a brief second, Loki rested his forehead against hers, his breath brushing her cheek.

"Was that… alright?" His voice was soft, cautious, almost uncertain.

And Sylvie… barely managed to breathe out a whispered, "Yes," before kissing him again - this time a little braver, a little longer.

Loki let out a quiet, shaky breath against her lips as his hands found her back, touching her with a patience so tender it nearly broke her heart.

"Tell me if I go too far," he murmured again, as if determined to let her have every choice.

Sylvie let her fingers slide into his hair, burying them in the strands that had fallen across his forehead. She pulled him a little closer, resting her forehead against his again.

"Just stay right here…"

Loki closed his eyes and did exactly that.

He didn’t move. He just stood there, holding her quietly, their breaths mingling in the space between them.

After a while, he slowly loosened his arms, but instead of stepping back, he let his hand find hers, fingers curling gently around hers. With a soft, almost imperceptible motion, he guided her toward the sofa - not pulling, not rushing, just inviting.

Sylvie followed without hesitation, her heart pounding a little too fast despite the unhurried pace. She sank onto the sofa while Loki let go of her hand.

He knelt in front of the fireplace, carefully placing more logs on the dying embers, arranging them with almost unnecessary precision. As if he needed something to steady his own breathing while the fire came back to life.

The room filled with the soft crackle of burning wood, the flickering light casting long shadows on the walls. Sylvie watched him in silence, feeling her heartbeat slowly fall into a calmer rhythm.

Loki stayed crouched by the fire for a moment longer, one hand resting on his knee, his gaze lost in the flames as though he were searching for something he couldn’t quite name. The warm glow reflected in his eyes.

Then he turned back to her - not demanding, not pushing. Just there. Waiting, if she wanted him to be.

He pushed himself to his feet, moving slowly, and sank down onto the sofa beside her - leaving just enough space that she wouldn’t feel cornered, but not so much that she’d think he was retreating.

He didn’t speak. He didn’t reach for her. He simply sat there, steady and patient.

And somehow, that was the moment that changed everything for Sylvie.

Maybe because he wasn’t pushing. Maybe because he wasn’t making the decision for her.

Slowly, she inched closer, pulling her knees up and resting her head on his shoulder. It wasn’t a bold move. Not loud. Just a quiet, almost shy lean, as if she were testing for the first time what it felt like when closeness didn’t come with demands, but simply… existed.

Loki flinched ever so slightly, as if he hadn’t expected it for a heartbeat, but then he let out a long, quiet breath, leaning his head gently against hers. His hand, resting on the sofa beside her, shifted slightly, fingers opening just enough for her to take them - if she wanted to.

But he waited. Patiently. As if he had all the time in the world.

Sylvie stayed silent, just listening to his steady breathing, blending with the crackling of the fire, while her heart pounded far too loudly in her chest. It was ridiculous - truly ridiculous - that after everything they’d survived, this was the thing making her nervous. And yet… it was exactly what she felt. Nervous. Overwhelmed. And somehow incredibly calm at the same time.

She felt Loki’s steady breath, the warmth radiating from him, and when her gaze flicked down to his hand - still open, still waiting - time seemed to hold still for a moment.

Slowly - almost as if she testing whether she truly could - she slid her hand into his, curling her fingers around his.

Loki barely moved. He didn’t even look at her. But Sylvie felt his fingers curl softly around hers - warm, steady, like he’d never held anything else.

She stayed just like that, head resting on his shoulder, hand in his, and for the first time in a long while, it felt like this was enough.

He began to speak quietly about the villagers, about Thor’s over-the-top explanations, about how he never would have imagined the two of them ending up here. His voice was low, more of a soft hum than actual speech, more like a promise that there was no need to rush.

Sylvie listened, offering the occasional hum or quiet comment, though mostly she just listened to his voice, letting it fill the silence that otherwise might have become too loud in her head.

At some point, Loki felt her grip loosen. He looked down slowly - and there she was.

Her forehead resting on his shoulder, lips slightly parted, her breathing soft and even.

Asleep.

A quiet smile spread across his lips as he gazed down at her peaceful face. He didn’t move, afraid to break the fragile stillness.

Instead, he leaned his head against hers, closing his eyes and breathing deeply. With a soft flick of his free hand, he conjured a blanket - just like the one they’d shared in the Void. He draped it over her carefully, wrapping her in its warmth without disturbing her rest.

He stayed like that, arms still loosely around her, while the fire continued to crackle softly and the shadows on the walls slowly faded.

The wind outside had quieted, and for a moment, it felt like the entire world had come to rest with them.

He didn’t know how long they sat like that. Maybe minutes. Maybe hours. But it didn’t matter.

Because for the first time in forever, it didn’t feel like he was waiting for anything.

Not for answers. Not for a way out. Not for the next disaster.

Just for the next morning.

And finally, he let his eyes close, letting the world keep turning without them.

[tbc]

Chapter Text

The world was calm when Sylvie opened her eyes - not quite night, but not yet morning. A pale, grey-blue light lay over the room, muted, almost shy, as if it didn’t want to wake anything, but rather cautiously brush against the edges of things. Outside, the sky was overcast, bright enough to reveal outlines, but too sluggish to show any real color.

Sylvie lay motionless, her cheek against something warm, her body in an unfamiliar embrace that, strangely, didn’t feel foreign.

For a moment, she simply stayed like that, without moving, without questioning what was right - just breathing, listening, while the first waking thought slowly stirred.

Loki.

His breathing was deep and steady. Her head rested on his shoulder, an arm draped loosely over his chest. Their legs under the blanket were bent, nearly touching. His hand still lay on her back - warm and natural, as if it were the most normal thing in the world.

She hadn’t woken up that night. No panicked gasping, no sudden start, no inner fall from a bottomless dream. No shadows, no restless escape through burning memories. Just sleep. Deep, undisturbed, and strangely calm.

It was the first time, as far back as she could remember, that an entire night had passed without her having to fight anything. And the longer she let that thought settle, the stranger it became.

Not in a bad way.

But as if something inside her had shifted - quietly, without her noticing.

She carefully raised her gaze to look at him. Loki lay completely relaxed. A few strands of hair fell into his forehead. His face was soft, almost boyish in the morning stillness. The lines of his features seemed smoothed, as if he, too, had finally let go.

Sylvie couldn’t help but watch him for a while. How peaceful he lay there, how calm - as if he weren’t a god, but just a man who had finally found a place where he was allowed to breathe. And something inside her grew very quiet as she watched him.

Slowly, almost hesitantly, she raised her hand, let her fingertips glide through his hair, brushing a loose strand from his face. It was a small gesture, almost nothing, and yet her heart beat faster for a moment - as if she had crossed a threshold without planning to. The touch was soft, casual - but it felt like an unspoken admission.

Loki barely moved. Maybe he had felt the whisper of her touch, but then he continued to sleep.

Sylvie remained still. Her hand lay back at her side, but a faint echo of the movement seemed to linger between them, like a breath that hadn’t quite faded. She didn’t dare move, afraid of shattering the moment.

She didn’t know how much time had passed - maybe an hour or just a few minutes. But eventually, she quietly slipped out of the embrace. Her movements were careful, so as not to wake him. The sofa creaked softly, but Loki didn’t stir. His breath remained deep and steady.

She sat for a moment, watching him lying there, his hand half-open beside him, as if hers had just rested within it. And she smiled.

Then she leaned forward, grabbed her boots from beside the sofa and slipped them on. The leather was cool, the movement familiar, soothing in its simplicity. Her coat still hung over the armchair. She pulled it over herself and cast one last glance at him. He didn’t move.

And she?

She took a deep breath - inwardly, almost reverently - as she slowly walked toward the door that led to the garden. She opened it quietly, stepped out, and left Loki behind.

It wasn’t that she wanted to flee. But something in her wanted this quiet, unseen morning all to herself, before the light came. Before the world got loud again. Before she had to ask herself who she was.

The door clicked shut behind her.

The air was cool, but not unpleasant - fresh and salted. A wind brushed the land, not cutting, but alive, with that raw clarity that only came from the sea. It tugged at her hair, made it dance around her face, slipped beneath her coat as if testing whether she was awake. Whether she was ready for the day that hadn’t truly begun yet.

The garden lay still before her, gray and silver in the early light creeping hesitantly across the grass. She walked slowly, her steps sliding almost noiselessly over the uneven stone slabs. She felt the crunch of earth under her soles, the soft give of mossy grass. Her fingers brushed a small shrub, its leaves stirring lightly in the wind as if whispering something she couldn’t quite understand.

Everything felt unexpectedly real.

She breathed in deeper, almost greedily drawing the fresh air into her lungs.

The path led her through the garden, past scattered herb beds. Past the old firepit, where a faint trace of ash remained, pale and quiet like the ghost of a past evening. She didn’t consciously take it all in - and yet she did, entirely. The soft creak of wood, the wind in the grass, the scattered bird calls, and the ever-present sound of waves crashing against the cliffs below.

When she reached the small, crooked garden gate, she laid a hand on it briefly, letting her fingertips trail over the cold iron, roughened by salt. Then she opened it and stepped into the tall grass that stretched between the rocks, out to the edge of the world, or so it seemed.

The cliffs were only a few hundred steps away. And beyond them - the sea. Endless, in pale gray, so calm and mighty that it took her breath for a moment. The wind was stronger out here. It carried the salt of the ocean straight to her skin and blew her hair from her face. Slowly she walked to the edge of the cliff, not dangerously close, but not timid either. She closed her eyes for a moment, breathed in deeply, and felt the wind brush past her - as if it was taking something with it that she no longer needed.

She opened her eyes again, looked out at the water, and asked herself what this all really was.

This place. This house. This garden. The people. This peace.

Loki.

She couldn’t grasp it, couldn’t name it, couldn’t wrap it in words. It was simply there - and that made it all the more unsettling. Because she had never learned it. Because she didn’t know how to stand in moments like these, when no one was chasing her, when there was no battle to win, no escape route to find.

And yet she was still here.

Last night, she had sat beside him. Had eaten, laughed, talked, been silent. She had fallen asleep near him.

And that was new.

She didn’t know what made him feel that way about her. To stay. To wait. Not to push, not to demand. Just to be there, with a calmness she had never thought possible.

He had never said what exactly he wanted from her. And maybe that was why she had allowed it in the first place.

But the thought wouldn’t let her go: What did he see in her?

What was it that made him look at her like he sometimes did? In those quiet moments, when no words were needed?

She knew who she was. She wasn’t gentle. Not easy to love. Not even sure if she knew how to love at all.

And yet he was there. Not out of pity. Not out of calculation. But because he saw her. Not the version she pretended to be. But the one underneath. The one she herself couldn’t quite name.

But what about her? What did she feel for him? Was there really more? Or was it just the comfort of a fleeting moment, a warmth that felt good while it lasted but would soon vanish - like morning mist dissolving in the sunlight?

She didn’t know.

Not yet.

But she knew that she liked him when he slept. When he was quiet. When he didn’t hide behind his words, but simply breathed, lived, stayed. She liked how he looked at her. Sometimes. Cautiously. Curiously. But never pressingly. She liked how his voice grew soft when he sensed she was retreating. And how he never used that against her.

She stood there on the cliffs for a long time and wondered if it was enough to just be. Not to fight, not to flee.

Maybe that was the hardest part of all.

Not surviving. But staying.

She didn’t know how much time had passed. The sea was still there, calm and infinite, only the colors had changed. The horizon, which had earlier been blurred in pale gray, now began to open - slowly, almost solemnly. Delicate tones spread, at first barely visible - a touch of gold and pearly- then gradually more vibrant, warmer. As if someone was gently pouring light into the world.

And then he came.

Not with noise. Not with footsteps that startled her. It was just a feeling. Suddenly. A warm pressure in the air, a barely perceptible shift behind her, as if the wind had paused for a moment to make space - for something familiar.

She didn’t need to look.

She knew it was Loki.

And strangely, she smiled. Quietly, softly, without turning around. Just a twitch at the corners of her mouth that came without being called.

Her gaze remained on the horizon, on the unreal beauty of the light rising from the sea, with a force that wasn’t loud but unstoppable. It wasn’t spectacular, not overwhelming. It was simply…peaceful. And yet so beautiful it almost hurt.

Something inside her moved - slowly, gently. Something good. Not wild or insistent. Just a soft pull in her chest that said: You’re allowed to be here.

She heard him step beside her, not too close, but not distant either. He had his hands buried deep in his jacket pockets, like someone who wanted to defy the cold, but not the moment.

For a long, silent moment, they just stood there, side by side, both looking toward the sunrise, both wordlessly connected in something neither of them could fully grasp. And then, after a while, she heard his voice. Soft. Not questioning. Not careful. Just there, like the first sunbeam breaking through a cloud:

“You’re still here.”

She blinked. Not because the light was too bright. But because that sentence struck something in her that lay deep beneath everything she knew, beneath everything she understood. She exhaled, slowly, almost silently. And nodded. Still looking out at the sea. Still smiling.

Yes.

I’m still here.

And again, there was that silence between them. But it didn’t feel empty. More like something filled with things that didn’t yet have names.

The wind played endlessly with her hair, while the sun slowly rose over the edge of the sea - golden and gentle, as if it weren’t in a hurry to begin the day.

And then, without looking away, Sylvie said quietly - with that slightly dry, half-amused tone so typical of her when she didn’t quite trust herself:

“It’s strangely peaceful here…”

A short pause. Then a soft snort, barely more than a breath.

“And honestly, it’s kind of weird to just stand here and watch the sunrise…”

She pulled her shoulders up a bit, as if trying to distance herself from the irony of the scene, but her grin gave her away - that little mischievous twitch in the corners of her mouth that spoke before she could control it.

“Almost cliché, don’t you think?”

Loki didn’t respond right away. He took his time, as he always did when he knew that a reply only had weight if given space.

"Yes...maybe."

Then he turned his head slightly. His gaze moved over her profile, lingered briefly - and what showed on his face wasn’t a true smile. Not really. Just a hint of one - a barely visible twitch at the corners of his mouth - a quiet shadow of something that might one day become a smile, if one let it.

Sylvie still didn’t look at him as she finally murmured, “Somehow it’s too quiet here to be real.” Her gaze remained fixed on the golden line where the light touched the sea. The sun slowly rose over the horizon, as if it had no urgency.

“But it’s beautiful… somehow,” she added, a mischievous smile on her lips that was just a little too wide to seem completely indifferent. Her voice sounded casual, almost amused - as if she didn’t want to let the whole thing come too close.

Beside her, it stayed silent for a moment. Only the wind and the sound of the sea were present.

Then he said, quite calmly, “Yes. Truly beautiful.” And he looked at her in a way that made it clear the sunrise wasn’t what he truly meant.

His gaze rested on her, and Sylvie felt as if time had stretched for a heartbeat.

She felt warmth rising in her cheeks - slowly, but clearly. Not because of the sun. And definitely not because of the wind. Her smile, against her will, grew a little wider - lso warm and so revealing that she instinctively bit her lower lip, as if she could somehow stop it. As if she could tame that expression before it said too much.

But Loki had already seen it.

Of course he had.

He said nothing. No comment. No mocking smile. Just that quiet, knowing glint in his eyes that told her clearly he had noticed.

And that he liked it.

She silently let her gaze wander across the water. To the light now spreading across the waves like a quiet promise. The sun was fully risen now, warm on her skin, blinding in her eyes. But none of that was the reason her breath suddenly felt different.

It was in her stomach, as if something had awakened. No pain. No alarm. Just that strange stirring, as if someone had suddenly released a whole swarm of butterflies - light, unexpected, dancing wildly and without warning.

It wasn’t a threatening feeling. Not unpleasant.

But it was there.

So unmistakable she hardly knew what to do with herself, and yet so quiet that no one could have seen it.

Except him.

Maybe.

She chewed on her lower lip again, kept her eyes locked on the horizon and pretended nothing had happened.

But she already knew it was too late for that. Something had shifted. And it couldn’t be undone.

The moment lingered for a few more breaths. Then she heard his voice again. Calm and a little rough from the early morning, but soft.

“Are you hungry?”

Sylvie slowly turned her head toward him. The light reflected in her eyes, and the smirk that spread across her lips was impossible to miss. It was full of implication, a little mocking, but also warm.

“Are you planning on delivering another one of those culinary masterpieces like last night?”

She raised an eyebrow. The tone in her voice was half teasing, half mock-horrified, and yet that inevitable little spark shimmered through.

Loki blinked slowly, as if debating whether to accept the provocation or simply let it pass. Then he pushed his hands deeper into his pockets, tilted his head slightly, and replied dryly:

“I can certainly raise the standard. But only at your own risk.”

Sylvie snorted softly and shook her head.

“Then we’d better keep a fire extinguisher close by.”

But she smiled. And this time, it was a real one.

They walked side by side along the narrow path, back through the high grass wet with morning dew. The wind had calm down, the sky brighter, streaked with the first pale shades of blue and gold that cautiously spread between the clouds. Above them, seagulls circled in wide arcs over the land, and beneath their feet, the occasional stones crunched in the earth.

Neither of them spoke, and Sylvie felt the quiet start to settle inside her - not deep, not yet, but tentatively, like something that wanted to stay if allowed. She hadn’t planned it. Hadn’t sought it. But it was there. Between the steps. Between the glances. Between that golden light on his profile.

When they reached the small steps leading to the veranda, it was Loki who went first. Without grand gesture, without a word, he opened the door and held it open for her, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Sylvie gave him a sideways look. Not distrustful, but attentive. She stepped past him into the house and noticed how his hand lingered at the door for a moment before he followed.

Loki shrugged off his jacket and hung it on a hook next to the door, casually taking her coat and hanging it beside his. Then, almost absentmindedly, he snapped his fingers, igniting a new fire in the fireplace. No big flame, just a soft flicker that didn’t disturb the stillness. Then he turned, walked to the small kitchen and, without another word, began making coffee. No magic this time.

Sylvie stayed in the doorway. She watched him. How his movements flowed - controlled, smooth. And a moment later, he handed her the steaming cup. Their fingers brushed. Fleeting. Warm.

She accepted the cup and inhaled the scent. Then took a sip - strong, hot, a little bitter. Just right. She couldn’t help but look at him with a narrow smile she barely noticed herself.

“Tell me…” Her voice was half curious, half teasing. “…did your mother drum all these manners into you? Or are you just naturally this… charming? I mean, you’re constantly opening doors for me and-”

But before she could finish, there was a knock at the door.

Loud.

Firm.

Three sharp knocks that sliced through the room like a blade.

Sylvie froze for a moment. Her fingers clutched the cup instinctively, as if she needed something to hold on to. Her eyes went to the door. Then to Loki. He had turned slightly, his body calm, but his posture had changed. Not tense. Just instantly alert. His shoulders slightly raised, his head tilted, eyes narrow - watchful. Not threatening, but ready.

“Well,” Sylvie muttered, setting the cup quietly on the table, “that didn’t take long.”

A trace of something returned to her - not fear or suspicion, but that old, familiar readiness to leave again before anything had really begun. But she stayed where she was and watched Loki walk toward the door with measured steps. He opened it with the calm confidence he usually displayed when he wasn’t yet sure what awaited him.

What he definitely didn’t expect was what met him at the door:

A man who looked as if he’d stepped straight out of a Nordic storybook. Broad as a barn, wrapped in a knitted sweater a size too large, colored somewhere between seagrass and wet moss. His face weathered, his hair snow-white and slicked back, as if he’d just fought it into place with a fork. In his hand, he held a basket exuding the scent of fresh bread and something like cinnamon.

The man grinned so broadly it almost hurt.

“There you are!” he cried cheerfully, as if greeting an old friend. And then, without hesitation: “You haven’t changed a bit, my boy! Well, maybe the hair. But the posture, ha! Still the same!”

Loki blinked. Slowly.

“Excuse me - do we know each other?”

The man laughed heartily, took a step closer - definitely too close - and pushed past Loki with surprising determination, walking straight into the house. Loki stepped aside, letting him pass - not out of agreement, but curiosity - and closed the door behind him.

“Oh no, no, not directly! But of course I know you! Who doesn’t know Thor’s brother? My nephew once lived on the same floor as the cousin of Heimdall’s aunt’s husband - so you see!”

The man stopped in the middle of the room, looked around, and audibly inhaled the air.

“Ha! Proper cozy in here! Smells like firewood, coffee, and… new beginnings. I like that!” He laughed again, booming. “I'm Halvar,” he added with emphasis, as if that explained everything. “I live just down the slope, past the fence that looks like it’s about to fall over. Third hut with the crooked roof tiles.”

“Of course,” Loki said dryly. “How could I forget.”

But Halvar either didn’t hear the sarcasm or ignored it with grace and set the basket he carried down on the table with a dramatic thud.

“My wife Alva said you probably haven’t had a proper breakfast yet, so she sent me right over. Bread, cheese, apple compote, and honey from Jorun - the one with the beehive on the roof - you must know her!”

“Not yet,” Loki murmured, raising an eyebrow.

At that moment, Sylvie stepped in from the kitchen. Her walk was calm but firm, and in her posture was a quiet reserve that said more about her inner alertness than words ever could.

Halvar stopped dead in his tracks. His eyes widened.

“By all the old gods…”

He stepped forward, as if he’d just spotted a mythical figure. “And you…” he said with a nearly reverent tone, “must be Sylvie.” His eyes now sparkled suspiciously.

“By Odin’s beard - what a sight! That posture, that fire! Hair like gold in the morning sun and those eyes…” He took another step forward. Sylvie fought the urge to recoil. “Those eyes - clear as the waters of the fjords! A Valkyrie, without a doubt! A woman who doesn’t need saving, but rides through storm and shadow with a sword in her hand!”

"Please...what? I'm not...", Sylvie asks, completely astonished.

Even as his words still rang in the air, he stepped even closer, now standing directly in front of Sylvie. He bowed deeply in what he probably thought was a gallant gesture and before Sylvie could react, he grabbed her hand.

He held it firmly - more firmly than necessary - and then, with a grand, theatrical flourish, bent down to place a long, solemn kiss on the back of her hand. Not a polite touch - but a full-blown display, eyes closed and sighing dramatically, somewhere between admiration and self-performance.

“If I were twenty years younger,” he murmured conspiratorially, still gripping her hand, “I’d gladly get myself into trouble, just to be rescued by you.”

Sylvie’s face stayed expressionless. But something flickered in her eyes - not embarrassment, not amusement, but an inner stumbling, mixed with growing irritation.

She blinked. Once. Then again.

Then she looked at Loki - almost automatically. Almost as if her body instinctively sought an escape. Her eyes met his, and it was like a silent question: Is this normal? Is this… allowed?

Loki, still leaning casually against the doorframe, had watched the entire spectacle, and his lips were already dangerously close to betraying his amusement. It was clear how entertained he was by the performance. A grin threatened at every moment. His eyes sparkled with mischief, and for a second, it looked like he’d just let Sylvie handle the self-proclaimed suitor on her own - just to see how she’d deal with him.

But when she first tried to pull her hand back - lightly, hesitantly, more a suggestion than actual resistance - and Halvar simply kept holding on, seemingly unaware, Loki’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly.

When she tried a second time - with a more obvious tug and a strained smile barely masking her discomfort - and Halvar even seemed to grip her hand tighter, Loki froze for the briefest moment.

At the third attempt, when Sylvie clearly tried to free herself - her shoulders tense, her gaze almost pleading - it was enough.

Loki stepped away from the doorframe - slowly, without haste - but with a presence that immediately shifted the room.

The shadow of his grin was gone.

He stepped beside Sylvie, positioned himself so Halvar would have to let go of her hand or be openly rude. Casually, he lifted his arm and wrapped it around Sylvie’s waist as if it were the most natural thing in the world. A moment later, he lowered his head and kissed her on the vertex . Brief, simple, but unmistakable.

Sylvie held her breath. Then looked up at him. Said nothing. But in her chest, something fluttered again - wild, electric - a warm, familiar tingle that spread from within.

Halvar, who had watched the scene with gleaming delight, laughed heartily.

“Oh, wonderful! Young love! You don’t see that enough! Those looks, that bond! Makes one almost jealous. I tell you: that’s exactly what the world needs - a bit more feeling!”

Love…

Was this really… that? Was this feeling - this flutter, this barely tangible trust stretching like mist between them - already something like love? Or was it just closeness, safety, the memory of how it could be?

Was what they just performed - the touch, the kiss, the quiet understanding - nothing more than a silent play they both agreed to?

But if it was, why did it feel so… real?

Maybe love was exactly that. Not a loud declaration. Not a vow. But this very moment: an arm that held her without holding her down. A kiss that didn’t demand, but simply said: I’m here.

She swallowed. And allowed her body to lean into Loki’s, just a little. But enough for him to feel it.

Loki kept his hand at her waist. Then looked at Halvar. Calm, but with a precision that left no room for misunderstanding.

“Halvar,” he said in a voice that wouldn’t carry far on a stage, and yet somehow overrode all other sounds, “thank you for your enthusiasm and your openness. But I believe my wife has had enough admiration for one day.”

Sylvie turned her head slowly toward him, a slight furrow in her brow. Her gaze caught him from the side - sharp, not startled, not hurt, but cutting. As if he’d used a word they hadn’t agreed on. Taken a step she hadn’t authorized.

My wife…

“Let’s hope YOUR WIFE knows about that,” she said lightly, almost offhandedly - but her emphasis on 'your wife' sliced like a scalpel. Her eyes stayed forward, but her brow arched in a silent commentary that left no doubt she had clocked the move.

Loki, still close beside her, let the jab roll off him like rain on dark cloth. His mouth twitched ever so slightly - a motion caught between smirk and strategy.

“I’m sure she’ll do her own research,” he replied smoothly, almost thoughtfully. “She has a good instinct for… situations.”

“Oh. The kind of woman who prefers to judge for herself?”

“Exactly. Analytical. Alert. And particularly captivating when she thinks no one’s watching.”

Sylvie snorted softly. Bit her lip to suppress a smile - as she often did when he got too close for comfort.

But Loki saw it. Of course. And he didn’t back down.

His hand drifted gently along her waist. Not possessive - just a quiet reminder that he was there. That he knew exactly what he was doing.

“And?” she asked dryly, without looking at him. “How does she cope with all your theatrics?”

“She says it’s exhausting. But strangely, she still stays.”

“Maybe she’s just too polite to kick you out.”

“Or maybe she wants to know how deep the rabbit hole goes.”

“Hm. Or she just wants to know if you’ll ever stop speaking in riddles.”

He turned his head slightly, his profile now very near to hers. The words came barely above a whisper—more a breath than a sentence.

“She hasn’t asked yet whether they’re riddles. Or confessions.”

Now Sylvie looked at him - not surprised, not defenseless, but focused. Her eyes sparkled, as if she’d just uncovered something she didn’t want to touch too soon.

Then, calmly:

“Maybe she’s afraid of the answer.”

“Maybe she already knows what she’d hear.”

Again that flutter in her belly. That shameless, warm, fluttery thing she hated because she couldn’t control it - and liked, because it only came from him.

She exhaled, barely audible.

“I hope for her sake that she’s good at not falling in love.”

Loki smiled, not taking his eyes off her.

“I think she’s excellent at it. She only loves what she can’t quite understand.”

And Halvar? He was still standing there, mouth slightly open, unsure whether he was witnessing a scene or a very long, very private poem.

He finally grinned and muttered:

“I’m telling you - you two should put this on a stage. It’s better than any Midsummer festival.”

Sylvie shook her head, barely perceptibly. Then she whispered so softly only Loki could hear:

“If this is an acting, you’re far too convincing in your role.”

Loki replied with a sideways glance. And a whisper that sounded almost like a promise:

“I just forgot when I started meaning it.”

And again: that telltale smile that slipped onto her lips before she could stop it.

Halvar stood frozen for a moment, eyes flicking between the two of them - like he was listening to a song only they could hear. Then he blinked. Twice. Three times. And as if he suddenly remembered he was still a real person with a real life, he took a step back, rubbed his hands together, and sighed deeply and contentedly.

“Well, my dears… I can see I’m clearly the fifth wheel on a very elegant wagon.”

He grabbed the now-empty basket from the table, peered into it as if looking for a missing punchline, and nodded to himself.

“I’ll leave you to your morning glow and your… ahem… unspoken relationship drama. I’ve got goats to feed and a roof to fix - and no more illusions about my charm against actual magic.”

He grinned at Sylvie - wide, warm, almost reverent.

“You’re a rare woman, Sylvie. If I were younger, I’d still try my luck.”

Sylvie didn’t reply, but she inclined her head slightly - a tiny gesture that might have been a shrug on anyone else. From her, it was almost a bow.

Halvar turned to Loki, clapped him on the shoulder - harder than necessary - and said with a voice suddenly softer:

“And you, my boy - keep her. Women like her don’t come twice. Not even for gods.”

Loki said nothing. He just looked at Halvar with a gaze far less sarcastic than usual. Perhaps even slightly…grateful.

Then the door fell shut behind him - dull, almost offhandedly, like the final note of a play whose last chord still lingered as the room began to breathe again. Outside, Halvar’s cheerful whistling faded into the wind, carried off and scattered - leaving a quiet vacuum.

And there it was again, that silence. Not uncomfortable, not cold, but that dense, hazy silence that arises when something has just happened that goes deeper than either of them wants to admit.

Sylvie was still standing there, feeling the imprint of Loki’s arm around her waist like a shadow on her skin - warm and insistent, even though his touch had already lightened. Her eyes lingered on the door briefly, then wandered to Loki - cautious, almost tentative, as if she had to find out whether what had just happened between them was still there or had already evaporated.

Then she lifted her chin slightly - the way she always did when she had to stand up to a doubt too large to speak aloud.

"That was truly a great performance, Loki. I almost believed you..."

Her voice was calm. Too calm. The tone offhand, nearly sarcastic - the familiar act of ironic distance she had perfected so well she sometimes believed it herself.

But it wasn’t real.

Not anymore.

She felt it the moment the words left her mouth. And when she really looked at him - into that calm in his eyes, that quiet attentiveness that held no defenses - the smile slipped from her face. The one that had so often served as armor.

He said nothing. Did nothing. Just lifted his hands - slowly, deliberately - and placed them on her shoulders. And the warmth of his touch hit her with such naturalness that she stood rooted for a moment - right there, in front of him, on that old wooden floor, as if she had finally arrived.

He gently turned her toward him. Not demanding. But with enough certainty that she couldn’t avoid it. And didn’t want to.

Her eyes met his. And something inside her softened. Frighteningly so.

She blinked. Once. Then again. And felt something rising inside her - slowly, but irresistibly.

“I don’t know what this is,” she began at last, her voice no longer firm but fragile, as if each word had to feel its way out. “This… fluttering in my stomach. This pull, this tingling when you look at me or touch me. It just comes. Without warning. And I can’t stop it.”

She swallowed.

“It feels like something in me wants to leap up every time you… when you’re just there. When you say something and it suddenly sounds real. When you look at me like you really see who I am - not who I was, not what I’ve done…"

She lowered her gaze, bit her lip.

“And I don’t know if I can believe you. Not because you’ve done anything wrong. But because I don’t know what trust feels like...”

Her breath caught. She pressed her lips together, as if she had to force herself not to fall silent.

“I’ve had control for so long. Over my body, my thoughts, my next move. I always knew when to strike. When to run. But this… this is different. I can’t calculate it. Can’t grasp it. And that scares me more than anything I’ve ever fought.”

Her voice dropped. Almost just a breath.

“And I don’t know what to do with it.”

She lifted her hand, shakily, then let it sink again as if it were too heavy. “Maybe I’m imagining it all. Maybe you’re just being nice and I’m too alone to know the difference. Maybe it’s just my mind wanting this to mean something. Because I don’t know who I am anymore if I stop fighting.”

And then suddenly, it spilled out - fast, unfiltered, as if a dam had burst without her noticing:

“What if you don’t mean it? What if it’s just an act, like everything else? What if I rely on someone again and… and fall again? I can’t go through that again. I can’t fall apart just because I believed it might be different this time.”

“Sylvie.”

He said her name calmly, just once, but with a clarity that couldn’t be ignored. But she kept talking, as if she hadn’t even heard him - as if she had to let this wave of feeling crash through her, no matter how much she trembled.

“I have no idea what to do. I’m angry. At me. At you. At this feeling. And at the same time, I want it to stay. I want you to stay. But I don’t know how to let you close...without it… without me…”

“Sylvie.”

This time it was almost a whisper. A breath drawn through her name.

And then he pulled her into him.

Not fast. Not dramatic.

Just with that deep, warm calm that said more than any words.

She felt his body against hers. His warmth. His silence.

He didn’t force himself on her.

He just held her.

And for a fleeting moment, everything in her wanted to flee - one last reflex, a survival instinct born of a life that had taught her every closeness would one day become a weapon.

But he didn’t hold her tightly.

He was just there.

And then - slowly - she let go. Not completely. Not yet. But she lifted her arms, hesitantly, and finally wrapped them around him. Not because she was sure. But because something in her no longer had the strength to stand alone.

She stood in his arms.

And it was calm.

So calm that she could hear his heartbeat. Feel it.

And feel how hers slowly synced with it.

His hand moved through her hair, gently, rhythmically, almost like a cradle. Then he lowered his head, pressed his lips into her hair - and stayed like that.

He closed his eyes.

Breathed her in.

And just held her.

And Sylvie - she breathed against him. First trembling. Then steadier.

There it was again.

The fluttering.

Stronger now. Closer.

No longer just a reaction. But a feeling.

It spread inside her like something that had gone too long without space - and was finally allowed to breathe.

She lifted her head slightly, her cheek still against his chest, and whispered:

“It’s back.”

A confession. Not a cry for help. Not a doubt. Just truth.

“The fluttering.”

He said nothing.

But she felt him lean into her, his chin resting on her head.

And then - after a long, soft breath - he smiled.

She felt it.

And instead of answering, he simply pulled her tighter, as if to wordlessly wrap her up, protect her, lift her.

And she let him.

This holding. This staying. This not-being-alone-anymore.

Maybe it wasn’t an ending. Maybe not even a beginning.

Maybe it was just…a moment.

One where nothing had to be said because everything was already felt.

One where she could breathe without fleeing.

Where his arms weren’t a cage, but a space where she was allowed to exist without proving herself.

And the fluttering inside her - that unruly, foreign, stubborn thing - suddenly wasn’t frightening anymore.

But alive.

She still didn’t understand it. Still didn’t know where it would lead.

But she knew it was real.

And that she had told him.

That he had heard it.

And stayed.

So they stood there - silent, warm, wrapped around each other - while the light outside slowly rose, casting golden stripes through the window and enveloping the world in a quiet promise.

She closed her eyes.

And for that one quiet heartbeat -

everything was good.

 

[TBC]

Chapter Text

Sylvie held onto Loki as if that quiet embrace were the only thing keeping her grounded. For a long moment neither of them moved, hearts thudding in a slow, shared rhythm. She could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest against her, the warmth of his arms still wrapped securely around her back. Her cheek pressed to the soft fabric of his shirt, and she closed her eyes, letting herself sink just a little further into him.

It felt strange to allow this closeness – strange, but good. Safe, even. Sylvie’s thoughts swirled gently, a cautious hope budding in the aftermath of her unplanned confession. She wasn’t used to feeling unguarded, but here she was: held, heard, and still here. It was almost enough to make her believe that maybe, just maybe, she didn’t have to run this time.

Loki’s fingers glided slowly through her hair, a soothing, rhythmic motion. He hadn’t said a word since he pulled her into the hug. He didn’t need to. His touch and the calming hush of the room spoke loudly enough. Sylvie exhaled, tension melting from her shoulders. She allowed herself to imagine – only for a heartbeat – that this peace could last a little longer.

She nuzzled closer, face half-hidden against his chest. His scent – woodsmoke from the hearth, a hint of the sea breeze clinging to his jacket, and something inherently him – filled her lungs. It made her feel light-headed in a way that had nothing to do with fear. For once, the storm inside her was quiet.

And just when Sylvie thought she could stay like this indefinitely, a sudden, grumbling roar shattered the silence between them.

It took her a split second to register the sound – a low, ferocious rumble that echoed in the stillness of the morning – and realize with horror that it had come from her own stomach.

Sylvie went rigid. Of all times... Heat flooded her face. She prayed for an instant that maybe Loki hadn’t noticed, that the growl hadn’t been as thunderous as it felt. Maybe he didn’t hear it, she thought desperately, maybe he’ll just ignore-

A tremor ran through Loki’s chest. At first she thought – hoped – it was just a breath. But then she felt it again: a subtle quiver, unmistakably the suppressed chuckle of someone trying very hard not to laugh out loud.

Oh, he’d noticed.

Sylvie squeezed her eyes shut in mortification. She wished the ground would kindly split open and swallow her whole. Here she was, baring her soul in his arms, and her traitorous body decided to announce its hunger like an unruly beast. She could practically feel the smug amusement radiating off him now.

Loki leaned back just enough to catch her gaze. He wore that insufferably charming half-smile – the one that always danced on the line between genuine warmth and pure mischief. His eyes sparkled with barely contained laughter.

“Did you…” he began, voice light and teasing, “did you happen to hear that as well?”

Sylvie groaned inwardly. He was not going to let this slide. Of course he wouldn’t. She wished he would just be a gentleman and pretend nothing happened, but subtlety was never Loki’s style when there was an opportunity to tease.

She mustered the fiercest glare she could manage while still trapped in his embrace. “Don’t,” she warned, her tone equal parts threatening and pleading. Her cheeks felt impossibly hot. “Don’t you dare, Loki.”

His grin only inched wider. He cocked his head, feigning deep concern. “I mean, I thought I heard a low growling sound just now. Quite fearsome, actually.”

He paused, delighting in the way Sylvie’s eyes narrowed at him. Loki’s face was the very picture of serious inquiry, but the way his lips twitched betrayed him. “Tell me, Sylvie…you wouldn’t happen to have a dragon hiding somewhere in here, would you?”

Sylvie’s glare intensified. She silently cursed whatever fates allowed this ridiculous god into her life. “There is no dragon,” she muttered through clenched teeth, willing the flush in her face to recede.

Loki hummed thoughtfully, refusing to drop the act. “Mmm. I’m not so sure,” he mused, eyes dancing. “It sounded rather like a dragon’s roar. A small dragon, perhaps. Or… possibly an ogre? Do you happen to be possessed by some mythical beast I should know about?”

She jabbed an elbow into his side – not hard, just enough to make him quit it. He bit back a laugh and only tightened his arm around her shoulders in retaliation, clearly having too much fun.

“I swear,” Sylvie growled (her own deliberate growl far less mortifying than the one from her stomach), “if you say one more-”

Loki leaned closer, the tip of his nose nearly brushing hers, and lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “It’s alright, you know. I’ve heard the tales – fearsome creatures lurking in the bellies of beautiful women, demanding to be fed at dawn. Perfectly normal.” His breath tickled her cheek. “In fact, I believe we’ve just encountered the legendary Midgard Morning Dragon.”

Sylvie’s composure cracked. A strangled sound escaped her – half exasperated groan, half reluctant laugh. She finally gave in to a crooked smile, though she tried to hide it by pressing her lips into a stern line. It was useless; Loki saw it, of course. He always did.

“Stop it,” she muttered, summoning her remaining dignity. She pulled one arm free from his hold and gave his chest a light, reproachful slap. It was a quick thump against the front of his shirt – more a feigned rebuke than an actual attempt to cause pain. “You’re impossible.”

He was grinning outright now, looking far too pleased with himself. “Impossible? I thought I was being rather accommodating, warning you of nearby dragons and all.”

She tried – she really tried – to maintain a withering stare, but the corners of her mouth betrayed her, quirking upward in spite of her best efforts. Loki’s laughter finally broke free, warm and unapologetic, filling the once-silent room. After a beat, Sylvie couldn’t help but laugh, too – a quiet, breathy chuckle at first that grew louder when Loki feigned a wounded look, dramatically rubbing the spot on his chest where she’d swatted him.

“Ow,” he proclaimed, lower lip jutting in an exaggerated pout. “Such violence. I’ll be bruised for weeks, I’m sure.”

“Oh, you’ll live,” Sylvie shot back, rolling her eyes. But the effect was ruined by the smile she couldn’t quite wipe off her face.

The tension that had weighed so heavily on her minutes ago lifted, replaced by a buoyant lightness. She felt it in the ease of her own breathing and in the way Loki’s thumb casually stroked her arm, comforting even as he teased. Somehow, he’d taken her embarrassment and turned it into… this. Laughter. Warmth. Another little piece of evidence that maybe letting him in wasn’t so terrifying after all.

As their chuckles subsided, a comfortable silence settled. Loki still held her close, but now his chin rested atop her head in an almost affectionate gesture, and Sylvie’s forehead leaned against his collarbone. She realized she was still half-wrapped around him and reluctantly loosened her arms, stepping back a pace. The cool air rushed in between them where his body heat had been, and she fought the instinct to immediately step forward again.

Loki seemed to notice her hesitation, because the next thing she felt was the gentle pressure of his hand squeezing hers. She hadn’t even realized he’d taken her hand, but there it was: his fingers threading through hers in a casual, easy manner, as if it were the most natural thing to do.

For a second, Sylvie looked down at their intertwined hands. Her impulse was to pull away – habit, more than desire. But she resisted it. Instead, she gave his hand a small squeeze back before letting go. Her eyes flicked upward to meet his, a silent exchange passing between them: I’m okay. Thank you.

Loki’s gaze softened with an understanding she hadn’t expected to find there. He inclined his head in a barely perceptible nod, as if acknowledging everything that had just transpired – her outburst, her embarrassment, and this tentative truce with her own feelings.

Then, with a playful quirk of his brow, he broke the moment. “Well,” he said lightly, the corners of his mouth curving into a familiar smirk, “as charming as our resident dragon is, I think it would be wise to appease him before he decides to devour us both.”

Sylvie huffed a short laugh, folding her arms in a show of mild annoyance. “By all means, let’s appease him,” she replied dryly. “Wouldn’t want any casualties this early in the day.”

Loki flashed her an impish grin and gestured grandly toward the small kitchen area and the table where Halvar’s offerings still sat. “Then it’s settled. A heroic quest to tame the mighty beast of hunger.”

He strode toward the table with a newfound enthusiasm, his shirt slightly rumpled from their embrace and his hair still mussed in a way that made Sylvie’s chest give a tiny, unexpected flutter. She trailed behind, trying not to focus on that feeling, and instead fixed her eyes on the spread Halvar had delivered: a round loaf of crusty bread, a wedge of pale golden cheese, a jar of amber honey, and a smaller jar of what looked like spiced apple compote. The aromas were subtle but inviting – freshly baked bread and sweet fruit.

Only now did Sylvie realize how hungry she truly was. The last thing she’d eaten was the haphazard dinner with Loki the evening before, and that felt like ages ago. No wonder her stomach had rebelled.

Loki reached the table and surveyed the items with exaggerated solemnity, as if appraising the finest treasures of Asgard. He placed his hands on his hips and gave a thoughtful hum. “Let’s see what bounties our dear Halvar has bestowed upon us. Bread, cheese, apples, honey… Quite the feast. I’m almost disappointed – I was looking forward to cooking you something truly memorable,” he said, tossing a glance over his shoulder at Sylvie. His voice was light, but she didn’t miss the self-aware twinkle in his eye; they both remembered the dubious quality of his “culinary masterpiece” last night.

Sylvie arched an eyebrow, leaning against the back of a chair. “Memorable? You mean like nearly burning down the kitchen?”

He pressed a hand to his heart in a parody of offense. “You wound me. That smoke was intentional. A special effect to enhance the ambiance.”

She grinned. "Right. And the food should taste like charcoal in the end?"

Loki wagged a finger at her, the ghost of a laugh on his lips. “Ah, but it was exceptional charcoal. Very hard to come by.”

She snorted, shaking her head. “Maybe let’s skip the open flames for this morning, hmm?”

“As milady commands,” Loki conceded with a theatrical bow. And just like that, he slipped into one of his whimsically dramatic moods – the kind Sylvie was starting to recognize as both an indulgence of his flair for the dramatic and a deliberate attempt to draw her out.

With a casual flourish of his hand, Loki conjured – out of thin air, it seemed – a long, pristine dish towel and draped it over his forearm as though he were a royal butler. Sylvie’s eyes widened despite herself.

He caught her look and winked. “If we’re to have breakfast, we might as well do it properly.” Clearing his throat, Loki straightened his posture and adopted an exaggeratedly formal tone. “Today’s menu features a delightful selection of locally sourced ingredients, generously provided by our esteemed neighbor Halvar.”

Sylvie raised a hand to cover the smile threatening at the edges of her mouth. “Oh please, no–”

But Loki was already in full performance mode. He picked up the loaf of bread as if it were a precious artifact. “For starters,” he announced to an invisible audience, “we have a rustic bread, baked to perfection, with a crust as golden as the morning sun.” He shot Sylvie a look of proud significance, as if expecting applause.

She couldn’t help it – a tiny laugh escaped before she managed to compose her face into an unimpressed mask. “Sounds delightful,” she deadpanned, playing along. “Truly, a marvel. I’ve never seen bread before.”

He ignored her jibe and set the loaf down with gentle reverence. Next, he lifted the cheese. “Accompanying it, a wedge of the finest cheese from contented goats that graze upon the sea cliffs.” Loki sniffed the cheese and closed his eyes in mock ecstasy. “Aroma: hints of salt and wild herbs… possibly thyme. Texture: firm, yet yielding.” He sliced a thin piece with a conjured knife (Sylvie suspected the knife was real, borrowed from the kitchen block, but the flourish with which he wielded it felt like magic).

Sylvie bit the inside of her cheek to keep from grinning. “Is this where I’m supposed to swoon?” she asked lightly, tapping her fingers on the chair back.

Loki continued unabated, lifting the small jar of apple compote. “And here we have compôte de pomme,” he said, giving the words an exaggerated, mispronounced French lilt. “Handcrafted by villagers under the light of the full moon-”

She let out a short laugh. “Now you’re just making things up.”

He glanced at her, eyes gleaming. “Making things up? Me? I would never.” Loki held up his index finger as if delivering a crucial point. “I’m merely relaying the rich lore of this particular preserve. They say the apples were stirred by a witch who sang ancient tavern songs, to give it that extra kick.”

Sylvie rolled her eyes, though she was undeniably charmed by his nonsense. “Of course. That explains everything.”

“And finally.” Loki reached for the honey jar, which gleamed in the morning light like molten topaz. “Le pièce de résistance,” he announced with relish. “Honey, harvested from the mystical hives of Jorun – she who keeps bees on her rooftop.” He adopted a confidential tone, leaning slightly toward Sylvie. “Rumor has it each bee is personally trained in Asgardian apiary techniques, resulting in honey fit for the gods.”

Sylvie couldn’t hold back her laughter now. It started as a giggle and grew into a genuine laugh that she had to smother with her hand. She quickly composed herself, attempting a glare but failing utterly thanks to the mirth dancing in her eyes. “You are the most ridiculous man I’ve ever met,” she declared, but her voice was soft, and the words came out more fond than harsh.

Loki set the honey down and gave a modest bow. “I aim to please.”

Despite the playful absurdity, Sylvie felt a gentle warmth unfurling in her chest. She realized he’d done it on purpose – all this extravagant silliness. He’d noticed her lingering vulnerability and embarrassment, and in true Loki fashion, he’d decided to lighten the mood with humor. It was disarming, and she loved and hated that it worked so well. She watched him now as he busied himself slicing the bread, his long fingers deft and sure with the knife. The early sunlight caught in his dark hair, highlighting a few rogue strands of copper. How was it possible that he could be so infuriating and yet so… endearing, all at once?

“Alright, have a seat,” Loki said, breaking her thoughts. “Breakfast will be served shortly.”

Sylvie took a step toward the table, then hesitated. It was strange, the domesticity of this – sitting down to a peaceful breakfast as if they were just two ordinary people. It made her chest tighten with a mix of yearning and unfamiliar comfort.

She brushed her fingers over the back of one chair, feeling the smoothness of the wood. Behind her, Loki was humming to himself as he assembled their meal, utterly at ease. Finally, she pulled the chair out and lowered herself onto it, shrugging off the odd swell of emotion. It’s just breakfast, she told herself. Don’t overthink it.

From her seat, she watched Loki pour coffee from the stove-top pot into two mugs – the coffee he’d made earlier was still warm, it seemed. The rich, bitter scent wafted toward her. Loki then began arranging slices of bread on a little wooden board. He was whistling now, some jaunty tune she didn’t recognize (and suspected he might be making it up on the spot). The absurd dish towel was still draped over his arm, and every so often he would toss his head slightly to flick a stray lock of hair from his eyes.

“Should I be worried that you’re enjoying this so much?” Sylvie called, unable to resist a little jibe. “It’s just breakfast, Loki, not a royal banquet.”

He glanced up, arching one elegant eyebrow. “Just breakfast? My dear, after the night we’ve had, this is no mere meal. This is a celebration.”

“Of what?” she queried, folding her arms on the table.

He considered her, his expression softening. “Of dragons subdued and nightmares kept at bay,” he said quietly. Then, with a swift return of his playful smirk, he added, “And of my triumphant culinary redemption, of course.”

Sylvie found herself smiling down at the table, tracing a faint scratch in the wood grain with her fingertip. His first sentence had touched something inside her, and rather than let it show too plainly, she latched onto the second. “Culinary redemption? Bold of you to assume you won’t set something on fire before we’re done.”

Loki gasped in mock outrage. “Your faith in me is truly heartwarming.” He lifted the tray of neatly arranged bread, cheese, and two small bowls now filled with honey and compote. Balancing it in one hand with practiced grace, he grabbed the coffee mugs in the other and sauntered toward the table.

Sylvie straightened in her chair as he approached. “Careful,” she murmured, instinctively reaching out in case he needed help.

He made a tutting sound. “Trust me, Sylvie, I’ve juggled far more perilous things than breakfast.” And indeed, he managed to set the mugs down without spilling a drop, then placed the wooden tray in the center of the table with a flourish.

“Voilà!” Loki declared, whipping the towel off his arm and snapping it in the air like a showman concluding a performance. He pulled out his own chair and sat opposite her, eyes bright with expectation. “I present to you: a morning feast.”

The spread did look inviting, Sylvie had to admit. Rustic slices of bread, a pat of creamy butter (when had he fetched butter? Perhaps it had been in Halvar’s basket too, or Loki found some in the kitchen), thin slices of cheese, the gleaming honey, and a fragrant apple compote speckled with cinnamon. Steam curled gently from her coffee mug. Her stomach – the dragon, as it were – gave an approving twinge at the sight.

“This looks… good,” she conceded softly. Normal, a voice in her head added. Good and normal. She tried not to dwell on that thought.

Loki’s face lit up like she’d handed him a victory. “High praise, coming from you.” He picked up the pot of honey with one hand and a slice of bread with the other. “Now, since our earlier… interruption came from a certain empty stomach,” – he shot her a mischievous glance – “I think it’s only fitting we start with something sweet, right?”

Before Sylvie could answer, Loki began drizzling a generous ribbon of honey onto a slice of bread. The golden liquid caught the light as it pooled and seeped into the porous surface. Loki was annoyingly deft at it, too – the honey didn’t spill over the edges or drip onto the table; he controlled the flow with a slow tilt of his wrist, as if even the honey obeyed him.

Sylvie watched, entranced despite herself, as that honey glistened. She realized she was licking her lips only when Loki spoke up in a soft, teasing murmur, “Careful. If you stare any harder, the honey might feel shy.”

She snapped her gaze up to find him regarding her with that familiar tease in his expression – but there was warmth there, too, not just smug humor. He was enjoying this: making something for her, seeing her anticipation. It was oddly touching.

Sylvie sniffed, trying to play it cool. “I was just thinking you’re going a little heavy on it. That’s enough honey to drown a frost giant.”

Loki chuckled. “Nonsense. There’s no such thing as too much when it comes to honey.” Nonetheless, he relented and set the honey pot down. He capped it with care, then picked up the slice of honey-drenched bread. Instead of sliding the bread onto her plate, however, he held it aloft in his hand, turning toward her and offering it directly.

Sylvie blinked, her eyes shifting from the outstretched offering to Loki’s face. He was leaning forward slightly, one elbow braced on the table, the other hand holding the bread out just inches from her mouth. The look he gave her was equal parts challenge and charm – a dare wrapped in a smile.

He was going to feed her? Oh, so that’s how he wants to play it…

Her heart did a peculiar little flip. Part of her wanted to roll her eyes and snatch the bread from him, just to assert that she could feed herself perfectly well, thank you. But another part – a more reckless, impulsive part – decided that if Loki wanted to turn this into a game of provocations, she wasn’t about to lose.

Two can play at that, she thought, a sudden spark lighting inside her.

Keeping her gaze locked with his, Sylvie slowly leaned in. She parted her lips, accepting the offering – but instead of a timid nibble, she boldly wrapped her mouth around the end of the bread, right where Loki’s fingers held it.

Loki’s breath seemed to catch. His eyes widened a fraction, the confident smirk on his face faltering as surprise flickered across his features.

Sylvie bit down deliberately, taking a generous bite of the honeyed bread. A few drops of honey smeared onto the corner of her mouth and, she noted with secret delight, onto Loki’s fingertips as well. She heard him suck in a shallow breath.

But she wasn’t done. Moving slowly, Sylvie allowed her lips to just barely brush the tips of Loki’s fingers as she pulled back, chewing the bite of bread. The taste of sweet honey exploded on her tongue – but even sweeter was the look on Loki’s face.

He was utterly, momentarily speechless.

She savored that rare sight: Loki’s mouth slightly open as if words had failed him, a faint pink tint creeping up from his collar to his cheeks, and his brilliant green eyes fixed on her as though seeing her anew. His poise – that suave composure he always wrapped around himself like a cloak – had slipped. In its place was raw surprise, and something else behind it… something warm and wondering that made Sylvie’s stomach flutter.

She swallowed her bite and arched one eyebrow, as innocently as she could manage with her heart pounding at what she’d just dared to do. “Mmm.” She licked a stray bit of honey from her lip with the tip of her tongue, then finally broke eye contact to glance at the remaining piece of bread in his hand. Only half of it was left. She nodded toward it, feigning polite indifference. “That’s quite good, actually. You should try it.”

Loki still hadn’t moved. He seemed frozen in place, his mind visibly working to catch up. Sylvie had to bite back a triumphant smile. So, the great God of Mischief can be thrown off balance after all. A tiny, wicked thrill ran through her at the knowledge that she had caused that fluster.

Several heartbeats passed. Then, gradually, Loki’s expression evolved – the shock smoothing out, the corner of his mouth twitching upward as admiration and sly amusement took over. He tilted his head, eyes never leaving her, and finally let out a breath of a laugh.

“Well played,” he murmured, his voice a touch lower than before. The hint of a tremor in those words told Sylvie just how affected he truly was, even as he tried to regain his nonchalance. He cleared his throat softly and raised the half-slice of bread still in his hand. “Though I admit, I’m suddenly far more interested in your opinion of the taste, Sylvie.”

Sylvie leaned back in her chair, one corner of her mouth curving in a satisfied smirk. “Oh, it’s delicious,” she assured him lightly. “Positively… divine.”

Her eyes glinted with challenge, and Loki’s in turn sparkled with a newfound intensity as he regarded her, honey still glistening on his fingertips.

They stayed like that for a moment – the air between them charged with a different kind of tension now, warmer and tinged with playful heat. Sylvie felt an unfamiliar sense of victory blooming inside her. She had expected to feel shy or foolish after such a bold move, but instead she felt… powerful. In control, in a way that didn’t require putting up walls. Loki had given her the lead in their little dance, and she’d taken it. The way he was looking at her now made her pulse skip and her cheeks warm, but she refused to look away.

Loki finally found his tongue again, a slow grin spreading over his face, equal parts impressed and enchanted. “Divine, you say?” he echoed, setting the uneaten half of the bread down on his plate – seemingly forgotten for the moment. He casually wiped the honey from his fingers with the towel, though his eyes never strayed from her face. “High praise indeed. Perhaps I should indulge in a taste myself… later.”

The rich timbre of his voice wrapped around that last word in a way that sent a subtle shiver through Sylvie, and she wondered if he was still talking about the bread and honey at all.

Her smirk softened into something that felt dangerously close to a genuine smile. She fought it down to maintain her teasing façade. “Better hurry,” she quipped, nodding at the spread. “Our ‘morning dragon’ might want seconds.”

Loki laughed, the remaining tension melting into an easy warmth. “Then by all means,” he said, lifting his coffee mug in a sort of toast, “let’s continue before any more fearsome roars interrupt our feast.”

Sylvie reached for her own mug, clinking it gently against his in silent agreement. And as they resumed their breakfast – exchanging banter that felt lighter than air and glances that grew progressively bolder – Sylvie allowed herself to fully enjoy this moment.

No running, no fighting. Just being – in a quiet house by the sea, having coffee and honeyed bread with Loki, trading wit and secret smiles. The flutter in her stomach was still there, but it was no longer something to fear. It was something she could even welcome, knowing she wasn’t feeling it alone.

Outside, sunlight danced on the dewy grass and the sea sent soft, distant echoes of waves against the cliffs. Inside, their laughter mingled with the crackle of the hearth as two wayward souls found a small island of peace – and perhaps something even sweeter – in each other’s company.

Chapter Text

Later in the morning, Loki and Sylvie left their house together. A gentle breeze blew in from the sea, carrying the scent of salt to them. The sun was already high in the sky. In the distance, the water of the bay, on whose shore the village lay, glittered, and seagulls squawked overhead.

Loki had suggested taking a walk and getting to know the area better. Sylvie had been hesitant at first. Everything here - the village, the peaceful atmosphere, the fact that Loki was here with her - still felt unreal to her. Nevertheless, she had agreed to his idea. Somewhere inside her, she was also curious about how people lived here and what this place meant to Loki.“
.

They strolled side by side along a narrow path that led from their home towards the village center. Sylvie's boots kicked aside small stones as she gazed absently at the ground. Loki, on the other hand, seemed relaxed; his hands were loosely folded behind his back, and his gaze wandered over the green hills and the simple houses scattered along the way.

Although Sylvie thought the scene was peaceful, she felt an inner tension. It was as if she herself didn't fit into this picture. Not so long ago, she had tried to lead a simple life in Broxton. And yet, it felt completely different from here. Back then, she had been alone, a stranger among ordinary people. Here, however, she was among Asgardians, her own people, and yet she didn't really know anyone. On top of that, Loki was by her side, which made everything both simpler and more complicated at the same time. Her feelings for him were now undeniable, but that was precisely what unsettled her. Sylvie wasn't used to opening herself up to anyone or even belonging anywhere.

Loki, meanwhile, seemed to be in excellent spirits. She knew how much it meant to him that Thor was back in his life. For Loki, this place was more than just a refuge. New Asgard represented a piece of home, a piece of his past that he had reclaimed. Here were people who knew him -
- or at least the version of him that had once lived in Asgard - and, most importantly, there was Thor. Sylvie had seen Loki blossom since being reunited with his brother.

But for her, a strange feeling remained. She couldn't deny that it was wonderful to see Loki so happy. At the same time, she wondered where she fit in. She was an outsider who had spent years in the shadows. Could she truly become part of this community? Did she even want to?

As these thoughts swirled in her mind, Sylvie barely noticed Loki watching her out of the corner of his eyes. His pace had unconsciously matched hers. Finally, he stopped and placed a hand on her forearm, urging her to stop as well.

"Sylvie?" he asked softly. His voice sounded concerned. "Are you okay?"

She looked up. Loki was looking at her, his head slightly tilted, his green eyes searching her face for an answer. He had obviously noticed her tension. Sylvie opened her mouth to reply, but she hesitated. Should she really tell him what was going through her mind? She had never been good at sharing her insecurities.

Loki took a half step closer, carefully removed his hand from her forearm, and instead let it glide briefly over her hand, as if silently reassuring her that she could take her time. Here, away from the busy village street, they were alone; only a few meters away, grasses rustled in the wind. Sylvie felt her heart beat a little faster the longer he gazed at her so patiently.

Finally, she exhaled and broke eye contact, fixing her gaze on a spot on the ground beside Loki's boots. "I... I don't know how to deal with all of this," she confessed quietly. Her voice sounded more uncertain than she had intended. With a vague gesture, she indicated the village in front of them, as if the gesture encompassed everything: New Asgard, the people, the new reality they found themselves in.

Loki was silent for a moment. He didn't let go of her hand, which he had now gently taken in his. "What exactly feels wrong?" he asked carefully.

Sylvie struggled for words. “I feel out of place,” she finally said honestly, daring to look at him again. His face reflected only understanding, not a trace of impatience. Paradoxically, this didn't make it any easier for her, because she wasn't used to this kind of empathy.

She swallowed and continued, “This…” Her voice grew a little stronger as she spoke. “...life here. Together with you, with Thor… in a place like this.” She searched for the right words. “It feels so foreign. Almost too good to be true. I don't know where I fit in.”

No sooner had she said it than she felt a little exposed. It was an admission, vulnerable and honest, and Sylvie wasn't sure how Loki would react.

Loki breathed slowly in and out. He gently squeezed her hand, which he was still holding. When he began to speak, his voice was warm and calm: "Sylvie, listen to me." His green eyes met hers, and Sylvie felt her heart race with anticipation. "No one here expects anything from you," he said clearly. "Absolutely no one. You don't have to conform or prove anything to anyone." He paused briefly, as if to make sure she was absorbing every word. "And least of all to me."

Sylvie involuntarily pursed her lips, surprised by the intense gentleness in his words. Loki took another step closer, leaving only a whisper between them. "I know this is all new to you," he continued softly. "After everything we've been through..." His gaze flickered briefly, as if his own words reminded him of the dangerous adventures and losses they had both experienced. "...it's no wonder it feels strange to suddenly be in a safe place." Sylvie noticed a faint, crooked smile on his lips. "Believe me, I feel the same way. This is new for me too."

He raised his free hand and gently placed it on her cheek. Sylvie involuntarily held her breath as his cool fingers touched her skin. Loki tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear with his thumb. "You're wondering where your place is," he murmured. "But for me, the answer is quite clear: Your place is exactly where you want to be. And if you want, that can certainly be by my side."

Sylvie's eyes widened for a moment. A warm tingle spread from her cheek throughout her entire body. Loki had never spoken so openly before. She felt her tension slowly give way to another feeling - a mixture of tenderness and excitement.

Loki tilted his head slightly to the side. His face was now very close; she could see every shade of green in his eyes. "I'm just glad you're here, Sylvie," he whispered. "That's all that matters."

The world around her seemed to stand still in that moment. Sylvie noticed nothing of her surroundings - neither the distant shouts of some villagers nor the rustling of the wind. There was only Loki before her, his hand on her cheek, his words echoing deep within her. She didn't know who was bridging the last small distance between them - perhaps it was herself, perhaps Loki - but suddenly she felt his lips gently on hers.

For a heartbeat, Sylvie froze in surprise. A reflex within her wanted to withdraw - the tenderness was too unfamiliar, this kiss too unexpected in broad daylight, in public. But then she let the moment unfold. Everything inside her relaxed almost instantly, and she closed her eyes. Sylvie returned the kiss tentatively, then with increasing confidence, placing a hand on Loki's chest for support. His shirt felt warm beneath her fingers, and she could feel his heart beating just as excitedly as hers.

Loki deepened the kiss a little, gently and carefully, as if afraid of frightening her. But Sylvie didn't want to pull away. On the contrary - for this precious moment, she lost herself completely in how familiar yet exciting it was to be so close to Loki. All her doubts and questions faded into the background. Here and now, it felt exactly right, just the two of them, without past or future, just this kiss in the golden morning light.

A soft giggle abruptly broke the spell. Sylvie hastily pulled away from Loki, broke off the kiss, and whirled around in surprise. Her face burned, both from the tender gesture and now from the embarrassment of being caught. Loki had also recoiled and blinked in confusion, apparently just as taken aback as she was.

A few steps away, half-hidden behind a low stone wall at the bend in the path, two children peeked out – a girl with long, dark hair and another, slightly shorter, with curly, light brown hair. Both grinned mischievously. It was their suppressed laughter that Sylvie and Loki had heard.

Loki sighed theatrically, but a smile twitched around his lips. He obviously recognized them. "Love," he said with mock sternness, folding his arms across his chest. "How long have you been standing there watching?"

The dark-haired girl, skipped out from behind the wall without any hesitation. She was wearing simple leisure clothes - jeans and a faded T-shirt. Sylvie didn't know the girl yet. But Loki had called her Love. Could this be Thor's adopted daughter, whom he had once mentioned in passing?

“Long enough!” retorted the girl named Love cheekily. She put her hands on her hips and raised an eyebrow almost as convincingly as Loki always did. “You certainly took your time, Uncle Loki.”

Loki inhaled with exaggerated indignation. "What have I done?" he said, unable to conceal an amused twinkle in his eyes. "I don't know what Thor told you, but-"

“We had a bet going!” blurted out the second girl, who had now also stepped forward. The shorter one with the brown curls beamed from ear to ear. She looked a bit younger than Love. “I said you’d kiss her today, but Love said you’d have to wait until next week.”

Love crossed her arms and feigned indignation. "I never said he was too scared! Just that he's too shy, Lyna" she corrected, then giggled.

Loki ran a hand over his face. "A bet, then," he grumbled in mock reproach. Nevertheless, a grin flickered across his face as he glanced quickly at Sylvie. He seemed both embarrassed and amused. Sylvie felt her cheeks still warm, but she couldn't help but smile as well. The children's brazenness was somehow fascinating.

"So? Which one of you won?" Loki asked, looking back and forth between the two girls.

Love and her friend exchanged a glance and burst into laughter. Apparently, the matter wasn't so clear-cut. "Well," Love finally admitted, "she actually won." She pointed her thumb at her younger friend. "I really thought you'd take longer."

"Ha!" The little girl clenched her fist triumphantly, then looked up at Loki and Sylvie, who were now standing side by side. "So, I won. Do I get the five chocolate bars now, Love?"

Loki couldn't suppress a soft chuckle. Sylvie raised an eyebrow. "Five chocolate bars? You bet on candy?" she asked skeptically, but there was an amused note in her voice.

The girls nodded eagerly. Love shrugged. "Of course. Dad - I mean Thor - already gives us plenty of sweets, but betting is more fun when you can wager something," she explained, and her friend burst out laughing.

"Enough now, you spies," Loki added, gesturing down the road with mock sternness. "So and now, get out of here before I change my mind and tell Thor about your little gambling escapades."

Love's eyes widened in mock shock, then she swiftly grabbed her friend's hand. "Oh no, not that! Let's go, get out of here!" she cried dramatically, and both girls scattered laughing. As they ran down the path towards the village, their discussion could still be heard.

“I told you I’d win!” – “I already told you you won! But when will he do it again? Tomorrow? Or will it take forever?” – “I bet you-”

Their voices faded as they ran away.

Loki sighed and let his shoulders slump, but he smiled. “Those brats…” he muttered, shaking his head, then looked at Sylvie. “Are you okay?” he asked quietly, clearly concerned that she might have been uncomfortable.

Sylvie still stood there, a little bewildered. The spontaneous intimacy with Loki had both exhilarated and unsettled her - and then, just like that, two cheeky kids had witnessed it. But as she looked at Loki, who was waiting for her answer with a hint of worry in his eyes, she couldn't help but smile. What had just happened - the kiss, the girls' giggles, Loki's feigned indignation - was somehow... beautiful. Real life, with real, imperfect moments.

"Yes," Sylvie finally answered, taking a deep breath. She felt her heartbeat gradually return to normal. "Everything's fine." With a gentle tug on the lapel of his shirt, she got him moving again. "Come on, before any more curious onlookers show up."

Loki grinned and slowed down beside her to a walking pace. "Good idea." He leaned slightly closer to her as he said this. "Although I must say you looked quite cute when you were embarrassed."

Sylvie snorted indignantly and gave him a playful nudge in the ribs with her elbow as they headed back toward the village. "Say that again, and I bet you'll be the one standing awkwardly in the street."

Loki chuckled softly and raised his hands in an innocent gesture. "All right, all right." But the twinkle in his eyes remained.

Together, they set off again along the small path that now led gently downhill into the village.

New Asgard wasn't a large town - more of a village, but it was bustling with activity. Passing colorful houses, some newly built, others constructed from the remnants of materials forged in Asgard, they greeted several Asgardians and local Norwegians they encountered. Most nodded politely - out of respect for Loki as Thor's brother, or out of curiosity about the newcomers. Some eyed Sylvie with surprise, but no one spoke to her directly.

The marketplace of New Asgard was located near the harbor, where the fishermen's boats bobbed gently in the water. A fresh sea breeze wafted across the square. Several wooden tables and stalls offered wares - fresh fish, locally grown fruits and vegetables, and handcrafted clothing. A few modern elements caught the eye among the traditional stalls. The blend of Scandinavian coastal tradition and contemporary flair gave the place a unique charm - it felt like a vibrant 21st-century village, enriched by a touch of Asgard.“

Sylvie's gaze wandered. On one corner, she spotted a brightly painted sign that read "Infinity Conez" - an ice cream parlor whose name made her snort involuntarily when she noticed the stylized depiction of the Infinity Stones as scoops of ice cream. Loki followed her gaze and grinned. "Yes, the ice cream parlor is one of the most popular tourist attractions," he explained drily. "You might think that after all the chaos, people wouldn't have an appetite for Infinity-something, but well... humor helps with processing it, I guess."

Sylvie couldn't help but smile. It was bizarre, yet somehow comforting, how the inhabitants here had transformed the past into something commonplace and harmless - the relics of horror had become symbols for ice cream sundaes.

As they continued walking, Loki and Sylvie chatted about trivial things. Loki pointed to a newly constructed building of wood and stone. "That's the new meeting house," he explained. "Valkyrie holds council meetings there. And over there," he indicated the small harbor where a few fishing boats bobbed gently in the waves, "that's where the fishermen set sail. Just a normal village life, hard to believe, isn't it?"

Sylvie nodded slowly. It was indeed remarkably peaceful here, almost as if the drama they both knew were infinitely far away. For a moment, she felt strangely relieved - as if she could perhaps absorb some of this tranquility.

She was just about to ask Loki something - perhaps whether he had ever been to a place like this as a child - when she noticed a small group of people a few steps ahead, standing in front of a vegetable stall. Three elderly Asgardians, two men and a woman, were apparently deep in conversation. Normally, Sylvie would have paid them no attention, but then snatches of conversation drifted over to her, containing her companion's name.

"...Loki back...is that such a wise thing to do..." she heard one of the men murmur. "...has only ever brought misfortune..." the woman added, shaking her head.

Sylvie involuntarily pricked up her ears and slowed her pace. Loki noticed and followed her gaze to the group. It was clear that the three of them must have been adults even in Odin's time - faces etched with life's wear, their eyes framed by wrinkles. One of the men had a thick gray beard and wore an old cloak that had seen better days. The woman held a wicker basket filled with groceries in her arms and continued speaking softly: “I tell you, his presence here will not end well. Back in Asgard, he only caused trouble, over and over again.”

Sylvie felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end at those words. A hot wave of indignation surged through her. How dare they condemn Loki like that? They had no idea who he was now, what he had done - what he had sacrificed. Her hands clenched into fists.

Loki noticed her tense shoulders and quickly placed a hand on them. “Sylvie,” he whispered soothingly close to her ear, “let it go. It doesn’t matter what they say. Just keep coming.” His voice was calm, but she sensed that he had heard the words too. However, he was trying not to let it show.

But Sylvie couldn’t simply ignore it. Not this time. It wasn’t in her nature to let something like this go unchallenged - especially not when it involved Loki. Before Loki could stop her, she shook off his hand and turned to face the small group.

“You have no idea!” she exclaimed loudly. Her voice cut through the murmur of the market, and the bystanders looked up in surprise. Loki stopped immediately, every muscle tense, ready to intervene, but Sylvie had already approached the group.

The older woman blinked in confusion at the sudden, furious appearance of the young woman. "How dare you! What are you talking about? Who are you, anyway?" she asked, piqued. Clearly, she had never seen Sylvie before.

"That doesn't matter," Sylvie snapped back. "I heard exactly what you said about Loki." She felt anger heat up in her face. "You think he only brings trouble? That it was a mistake to leave him here?" Her voice trembled with indignation.

The bearded man grimaced disapprovingly. "Don't meddle in things you don't understand, girl," he grumbled. "You obviously don't know what that so-called prince has done."

Sylvie gave a cold laugh. "And you obviously don't know what he's done for you," she retorted fiercely. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Loki take a step closer behind her, as if to hold her back. But she wasn't finished. "Without Loki," she cried, so that the onlookers, who were slowly approaching out of curiosity, could hear, "none of you might even be alive!"

A murmur rippled through the small group of marketgoers that had gathered. The three old people looked stunned. "Nonsense..." the woman began, but a gray-haired fisherman cut her off. Distrust etched itself on his weather-beaten face. "Thor may trust him, but why should we? He once tried to conquer the earth. Because of people like him, we've had to endure wars and suffering." A murmur of agreement ran through some of the onlookers. Clearly, a few villagers shared his reservations.

Loki opened his mouth to reply, but Sylvie was quicker. Her eyes flashing, she stepped forward and stood protectively in front of Loki. Her voice echoed clearly across the square as she retorted with barely concealed anger, "You're talking about what he was? You don't know him." Her hands clenched into fists. “Yes, Loki made mistakes – big mistakes. But he paid for them and changed. Do you even know what he has done for all of you?”

The crowd fell silent, surprised by Sylvie's passionate words. Loki himself looked at her, almost astonished. Sylvie took a sharp breath and continued, her voice trembling slightly with emotion: "He sacrificed himself for each and every one of you. At the end of time, when the fate of the multiverse hung in the balance, he gave himself up to save us all. He held the fragile timelines together and became the God of Stories so that each of us could have a future!"

A new murmur rippled through the crowd, but no one interrupted. Some exchanged questioning glances - they might not have understood everything Sylvie was saying, but the meaning was clear: Loki had accomplished something incredible. Sylvie raised her chin, and her voice grew stronger: "Where were you when Doom tried to plunge everything into chaos? Did you fight him?" For a moment, there was silence, broken only by the faint rustling of the wind. The faces of the older ones twitched; the memory had clearly touched a nerve. Sylvie seized the opportunity and continued relentlessly: "You probably hid or tried to escape - whatever. Anyway, you're still alive, right? Loki helped end all this madness. He's not the same person he used to be, damn it!"

The bystanders whispered amongst themselves. Some nodded hesitantly; they clearly remembered that Loki had ultimately fought on his brother's side. Others seemed uncertain. The older woman raised her chin, but her posture revealed that Sylvie's words had affected her. "Maybe he helped in the end," she admitted glumly. "But before that? How often did he betray us? I still remember the incident with the frost giants..."

"Loki made mistakes," Sylvie interrupted sharply again. She knew that Loki was now standing directly behind her, sensing his presence even though she didn't turn around. She could imagine how difficult it must be for him to have all of this thrown back at him again and again. This only intensified her urge to defend him. "But who among us can honestly say they've never done anything wrong? He's changed! He's trying to build a new life here, just like all of you." Her voice had risen, a passionate undertone now evident.

The gray-haired man was about to reply when a deep voice suddenly pierced the air: "What's going on?" The words weren't shouted, but they carried effortlessly across the square. Conversations died down. Heads turned. The small group parted as if by themselves, and Thor and Valkyrie stood at the edge of the gap.

His gaze swept over those around him, lingering briefly on the three older people, then swept over Sylvie before finally settling on Loki.

No one answered immediately. The only sounds were the distant lapping of waves and the creaking of boats in the harbor.

"Well?" Thor asked again, more quietly this time. Sylvie felt all eyes briefly turn to her. "They were talking about Loki," she said finally, defiantly. "As if he were some walking disaster who had no business being here."

A barely audible murmur rippled through the rows of onlookers. Thor looked at them for a moment with an indecipherable expression, then turned to the three older Asgardians.

"Really?" he asked calmly.

The bearded man involuntarily stepped back. "We... we were just saying what everyone knows," he stammered. "Loki...in the past..."

“Enough,” Valkyrie interrupted dryly before he could finish his sentence. “We don’t need a history lesson here. Certainly not one that rehashes decades-old grudges.”

Thor stepped forward. He studied the man, then the woman, then the younger man. His gaze wasn’t angry, more disappointed.

“You are Asgardians,” Thor began calmly, almost solemnly. “You have experienced wars. Losses. You have seen our world fall and us build a new one. If anyone should understand that change is possible… it’s you.”

The woman avoided his gaze. Thor raised his chin slightly, his voice deepening. “Loki made mistakes.” He glanced briefly at his brother, a palpable warmth in his expression. “Major mistakes. But do you know who else has? Me. And yet I continued to be celebrated as a hero, while Loki…” He exhaled heavily. “While Loki has barely ever been given the chance to start over.”

“I remember battles I desperately wanted. Decisions that had more to do with my ego than anything else. I endangered worlds because I wanted to prove I was a hero.” He smiled briefly, bitterly at himself. “And yet, you were all there cheering when I came back,” he continued, not accusingly, just stating the facts. “You saw my mistakes and still trusted me afterward.”

The bearded man grimaced. “You’re Thor,” he murmured. “You saved us, too.”

“And what about Loki?” Sylvie snapped at him before she could stop herself.

Thor glanced at her briefly, with a touch of indulgence, then back at the others. His eyes softened, but also grew weary. "It's not that simple," he said quietly. "I know what Loki did." His posture remained steady, without any shifting. "I remember too. And believe me, I've wondered more than once if I could have reached him differently." A faint, resigned smile flickered across his face, barely more than a twitch. "I wasn't always the brother he needed."

Loki, standing behind Sylvie, barely moved. But Sylvie sensed the air between the two brothers shift - becoming thicker, heavier.

Thor continued, his voice now a little firmer: “But that doesn’t change the fact that he changed. That in the end, he did something I wouldn’t have been capable of.” He took a slow breath. “He gave himself up to let stories, people and worlds continue. So that you could stand here arguing about which potatoes are better.”

A few of those standing around involuntarily lowered their gaze at these words. Someone cleared their throat. The murmuring subsided.

Valkyrie seized the moment and took a step forward. “No one is asking you to love him,” she said matter-of-factly. “You don’t have to wave Loki flags or sing songs about him. But here in New Asgard, everything is governed by two simple rules.” She held up two fingers. “First: We look to the future. Second: We give those who deserve it a second chance. And before any of you say it: No, that’s not up for negotiation.”

The younger man opened his mouth. “But how can we simply forget-”

“It’s not about forgetting,” Thor interrupted calmly. “Forgetting is dangerous. Memories keep us from repeating the same mistakes.” His voice was still warm, but the weariness in it was unmistakable. “I don’t expect you to forget everything Loki did. I only expect you to acknowledge what he has done since this. Loki is my brother, and I’m glad he’s back by my side.”

He looked at the man for a long moment, then at the woman, then at the bearded man. None of them held his gaze for more than a few seconds.

Finally, the woman sighed. “Perhaps… we spoke too quickly,” she murmured reluctantly. “It’s… hard to let go of old images.”

“I understand,” Thor said quietly. “It’s hard for us, too, to let go of old roles.”

His gaze flickered briefly back to Loki. There was no accusation, only a quiet regret at how much could have been different back then.

Valkyrie turned her head, surveyed the onlookers, and then raised her eyebrows. "So. The show's over. You've had enough drama for today. Buy your things and then go home, okay?"

"All right..." the older man murmured meekly. "I'm sorry." A few others murmured in agreement. The tension gradually dissipated. Sylvie breathed a sigh of relief; her anger was slowly subsiding, though her heart was still pounding. Loki gently placed a hand on her arm, both as a sign of his gratitude and to comfort her. She relaxed a little at his touch. The villagers gradually returned to their business, though some still cast curious glances over their shoulders.

Valkyrie stepped directly over to Sylvie and Loki. A satisfied smile played on her lips. "That's what I call an entrance," she remarked dryly to Sylvie, with a wink. "You really lit a fire under them." Sylvie shrugged, trying to appear indifferent, but her voice still betrayed her agitated emotion: "Someone had to say it."

Thor approached Loki and studied his face. "Everything alright, brother?" he asked. Loki managed a brief smile and nodded. But Sylvie noticed his jaw was tense - the people's comments hadn't left him unaffected, no matter how much he tried to hide it.

"Come with me, Loki,” Thor said calmly, gesturing toward the harbor. “Help me get something from the warehouse, okay? We’ll leave the ladies alone for a moment.” Sylvie gratefully recognized that Thor was looking for an excuse to get Loki out of the situation and perhaps give him a chance to catch his breath. Or to exchange a few words with him privately. Loki hesitated for a moment, his gaze shifting to Sylvie. She gave him a faint smile to show that she was alright. If anyone could catch Loki now, it was his brother.

Finally, Loki nodded and patted Thor on the shoulder. “Of course,” he replied, his voice calm, if a little subdued. He turned briefly back to Sylvie. “I’ll be right back, okay?”

“Go,” she said, a little firmly, but still with the hint of a smile on her lips. “I’m fine.” Loki held her gaze for a moment, a grateful warmth in it, then he followed Thor, who had already set off.

No sooner had the two taken a few steps than Sylvie felt Valkyrie's arm gently draped around her shoulders. "And you're coming with me now," Valkyrie said firmly. Her eyes twinkled with amusement, but also with understanding. "A cold beer will do you good, believe me."

Sylvie wanted to protest and instinctively tensed at the sudden, unfamiliar proximity. Her excitement was still simmering, and she wasn't sure if alcohol was the right thing to do. "I don't need a beer," she muttered, but she let Valkyrie direct her away from the marketplace anyway.

"Oh, trust me - you do," Valkyrie replied dryly, leading Sylvie toward a cozy-looking tavern just a few doors down. Above the door hung a wooden sign with the image of a black raven - the "Black Raven Tavern," if Sylvie remembered correctly what Loki had told her about New Asgard. It was apparently a popular meeting place, and even in the morning muffled murmurs of voices could be heard outside.

“Believe me, after such drama, a beer is just what’s needed,” Valkyrie continued as she pushed open the door to the inn.

Sylvie sighed resignedly and entered. Inside, she was greeted by warm lamplight, creating a cozy atmosphere even at this time of day. Wooden tables and benches filled the room, and shields and weapons hung on the walls as decoration - relics from bygone eras. The air smelled of hops and spiced meat. Only a few tables were occupied. A couple of villagers were already enjoying their morning drinks but barely looked up when the two women entered.

Valkyrie headed straight for the bar. Behind it stood a bearded innkeeper who immediately raised an eyebrow upon recognizing the two women. He nodded respectfully at them. Apparently, Valkyrie was well known here.

"Two tankards of your best, Bjorn," Valkyrie said without hesitation.

Sylvie pressed her lips together but refrained from further protest. She let her gaze wander around the tavern. A ray of daylight streamed through a window onto a round table in the corner, to which Valkyrie now led her. With a clack, the innkeeper placed two beer mugs in front of them, brimming with frothy ale. Valkyrie thanked him with a nod and reached for her mug.

"Cheers!" she said, raising her drink. Sylvie hesitated for a moment, then sighed softly and took her mug as well. They clinked glasses, and Sylvie felt the vibration of the clash in her fingers before they both took a deep swig.

The beer was surprisingly good. Strong, malty, with a hint of sweetness and just enough bitterness in the finish to be refreshing. Sylvie had to admit that it actually did her good. The first sip practically washed away the dryness from her throat left by the outburst of anger.

They drank in silence for a moment. Sylvie felt the tension gradually drain from her shoulders. She set down her mug and took a deep breath. Valkyrie watched her with a small, knowing smile. "Better?" the Asgardian warrior asked.

Sylvie flicked a tiny frothy head from her upper lip and nodded reluctantly. "Better," she admitted. The beer had really helped, even if she was reluctant to admit it.

Valkyrie took another sip and placed her mug on the wooden table with a soft clatter. Then she leaned back, glanced sideways at Sylvie, and said almost casually, "You seem to care quite a bit about Loki, don't you?"

Sylvie, who had just reached for her own mug, paused. She felt herself wince inwardly at Valkyrie's comment. Slowly, she put her beer down and frowned. "What makes you say that?" she asked, trying to sound indifferent. But a certain sharpness was unmistakable.

Valkyrie snorted softly, as if she had been expecting precisely that question. "Oh, I don't know," she said dryly, fiddling with the handle of her mug. "Maybe because you just gave half of New Asgard a piece of your mind, all because a few stubborn old fogies were talking badly about him." She tilted her head. "Could be taken as a subtle clue."

Sylvie's mouth twitched. "Someone had to tell them..." she muttered, taking another sip of beer. "Besides, they don't have a clue what they're talking about."

"Mhm.” Valkyrie raised an eyebrow. “And you just happen to be the one defending him. With a fervor as if someone had personally kicked you in the heart.” She grinned crookedly. “You nearly swept them off the court.”

Sylvie felt her stomach clench briefly. “They were just…ignorant,” she growled. “I can’t stand people who cling to old stories and ignore everything that’s happened since.”

“Even so,” Valkyrie replied, her gaze never leaving her. “You don’t usually get that passionate about someone you don’t care about.” She leaned forward, resting her forearms on the table. “And you know him. Pretty well, I’d say.”

Sylvie grimaced as if she’d choked on her beer. “I know him because we…went through some things together,” she said evasively. “Not because…” She broke off, searching for the most neutral word possible, but her mind stalled. “…not because there was anything else going on.”

Valkyrie regarded her silently for a moment, then her mouth curled into a wide, incredulous grin. "Sure," she said, drawing out the words. "You jump in front of him, defend his name, stare at him like you're about to gasp for air if he's out of your sight for even a moment too long - but no, of course there's nothing." She raised the pitcher mockingly. "Completely convincing."

"That's not the case," Sylvie snapped, hearing herself how quickly it came out. She bit the inside of her cheek, annoyed with her reaction. "Loki is... complicated. I'm complicated. That doesn't add up to anything worth betting on." Involuntarily, she thought of Love and her friend, the giggling, the cheeky remark, "Uncle Loki, you certainly took your time." Her cheeks were already warming again.

Valkyrie was clearly following that line of reasoning. “Ah, that incident on the way earlier,” she murmured, amused. “Love was very proud of having been right.” She winked.

Sylvie moaned softly and let her forehead drop briefly against the cool wooden edge of the table. "Great."

"Hey." Valkyrie nudged Sylvie's mug with her index finger. "Don't worry about it. They find out everything anyway. And honestly?" She shrugged. "It was only a matter of time."

Sylvie lifted her head again. "What are you talking about all the time?" she asked thinly. "It was just a kiss. An... impulsive moment. It took me by surprise."

Valkyrie chuckled softly. "Sure. And you had absolutely nothing to do with it happening, huh?" Then she grinned crookedly. "You know, I've seen plenty of couples claim something was 'just a kiss.' Most of the time, it never was."

"I'm not..." Sylvie paused, searching for a word that wouldn't make her seem weak. "...the romantic type," she finally managed.
She crossed her arms defensively, as if she could thereby control her emotions. But as soon as the words left her lips, she knew how unconvincing it sounded - not to Valkyrie, and certainly not to herself. For as much as Sylvie denied it, something inside her rebelled against this assertion. Inevitably, images surfaced: Loki's gentle smile that morning when he had said that her place could be by his side if she wanted; the tender way he had touched her cheek; and, of course, the kiss they had shared in the blazing daylight. The memory stirred a warm feeling in her chest - a sensation that was both beautiful and frightening.

Valkyrie noticed Sylvie's inner turmoil. She raised an eyebrow, a crooked smile playing around her lips. "Not the romantic type, huh?" she remarked dryly, slowly turning her beer mug between her hands. "That kiss earlier was probably just a fluke."

Sylvie felt heat rush to her face. "That... was something else," she murmured defensively, unable to meet Valkyrie's gaze.

Valkyrie leaned back in her chair and studied Sylvie with a softer expression. "It's alright, it's your business," she said, raising a hand as if to appease. She had clearly seen how Sylvie's facade was crumbling and decided not to needle her any further. Instead, her gaze drifted absently to the wooden bar of the tavern. She was silent for a moment, then continued in an unexpectedly serious tone: "You know, I used to think I wasn't cut out for this sort of thing... for closeness, trust, love." She drew in a sharp breath, as if it took some effort to say those words. "But then one day I met someone who showed me otherwise."

Sylvie said nothing, but Valkyrie's change in tone made her listen. She looked at the Asgardian and noticed a soft, almost wistful quality in her expression.

"My beloved died fighting Hela," Valkyrie continued softly. She reached for her jug, as if needing something to hold onto. "We fought side by side when Hela attacked Asgard. She saved my life... and lost her own." A shadow crossed Valkyrie's face as the memories of that fateful battle flooded her mind. "I held her, Sylvie, in her final moments. And in that moment, I thought I would never want to feel anything again - because it hurt so much."

Valkyrie lowered her gaze to the table. “After that, I ran away,” she confessed bitterly. “I retreated into other worlds, drowned my pain in alcohol, and pretended I didn’t care about anything.” A humorless laugh escaped her lips. “That was easier than facing my grief.”

Sylvie swallowed, searching for words. “Valkyrie…” she began softly, but the other woman only raised a hand briefly to indicate she wasn’t finished.

“What I’m trying to say…” Valkyrie raised her head again and looked directly at Sylvie. Her eyes now glistened suspiciously moist, but her voice remained composed. “I know what it’s like to be afraid of letting someone get close. And I know what it’s like to lose someone again.” She smiled sadly. “But despite all that, I don’t regret a single second I spent with her. Do you understand? That time, that love – however short it was – made me who I am today. And at some point…” she took a deep breath, “…at some point I realized that it’s braver to risk your heart than to close it off forever.”

For a moment, there was silence between the women. Sylvie didn't know what to say. Valkyrie's openness surprised her, but even more so, her words touched her. A lump formed in her throat, and she blinked to get rid of the sudden moisture in her eyes. She barely knew Valkyrie, yet in that moment, she felt closer to her than she had expected.

"I'm sorry," Sylvie said finally, quietly. She meant both Valkyrie's loss and all the pain that had followed.

Valkyrie shrugged with a faint smile. "It's been a long time," she murmured before taking another sip of beer. A moment later, she set the mug down firmly. "And you know what? It's time to look ahead. For me and for you, too." The corners of her mouth lifted into an encouraging smile. "Loki seems to be doing you a lot of good, if you ask me."

Sylvie felt warmth rising in her cheeks again, but this time there was also a small, involuntary smile on her lips. She thought of Loki - his laughter, his caring nature, how he had held her hand and reassured her that she had nothing to prove. A gentle tingling spread through her chest at these thoughts, momentarily overriding her fear.

"Perhaps," she said softly, trying to sound calm. But her voice had lost its edge, and Valkyrie noticed.

Valkyrie grinned. "Well, whatever is or will be between you and Loki - you don't have to explain it to me. As long as you're happy." She tapped her mug lightly against Sylvie's. "We should drink to that, don't you think?"

Sylvie raised her own mug with a smile and tapped it against Valkyrie's. "To...happy moments?" she suggested uncertainly.

“To brave hearts,” Valkyrie corrected with a wink before they both took a deep swig.

The beer slid warmly down Sylvie’s throat, leaving a pleasant feeling in her stomach. She exhaled slowly and noticed that the tension in her body had noticeably eased.

Valkyrie set down her now almost empty mug and stood up, stretching. “Right, enough reminiscing,” she said, her voice composed again. “Duty calls.”

Sylvie nodded and stood up as well. She felt a little lighter than before.

“Don’t mention to Thor that I was feeling sentimental, okay?” She winked at Sylvie, who almost smiled.

“Don’t worry,” Sylvie replied dryly. “Your secret is safe with me.”

Outside, the fresh sea breeze greeted her once more. Valkyrie placed a friendly hand on Sylvie's shoulder again. "Go on ahead. I have something to do before I have to attend to my duties again."

Sylvie hesitated briefly. Somehow, the brief intimacy with Valkyrie had done her good, and now that she was alone, she felt a nervous flutter in her stomach. But she finally nodded.

 

Meanwhile.......

 

Loki and Thor were now on the pier. A fresh breeze rippled the surface of the bay as Thor lifted a heavy sack of grain from the storehouse and set it aside. Loki stood beside it, gazing absently at the waves glittering in the sunlight. He remained silent for a while as Thor worked beside him.

Finally, Thor broke the silence. He cleared his throat and avoided Loki's gaze at first. "Listen... that thing at the market, with those people..." He shook his head slightly, as if searching for words. "I'm sorry, brother. They shouldn't have spoken of you like that."

Loki leaned against the wooden wall of the storehouse and tucked a strand of hair behind his ear as he listened to Thor's awkward apology. "It's alright, Thor," he replied quietly. He tried to sound indifferent. "I can't blame them." He shrugged. "After everything I've done... well, their mistrust is deserved."

Thor frowned. He wanted to protest, but then he stopped. His gaze drifted to Loki, who was staring blankly into the water.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then a small smile flickered across Thor's face. "Someone in particular was clearly not unmoved by what they said."

Loki blinked, confused, until he realized what Thor was talking about. Involuntarily, the corners of his mouth lifted. He remembered how Sylvie had charged at the villagers earlier to defend him - fearless, furious, and passionate. A strange warmth filled his chest at the thought. "Sylvie was...impressive," he murmured finally, his smile deepening almost unconsciously.

Thor's grin widened when he saw Loki's reaction. A glimmer of knowledge flickered in his eyes. “Impressive, yes,” he agreed, feigning innocence. He put down the sack he had been holding and folded his arms across his chest. “Almost as if she cared about you a lot.”

Loki gave his brother a suspicious sidelong glance. He felt his heartbeat quicken slightly. "Just say it straight out, Thor," he muttered, knowing full well what he was getting at.

Thor chuckled softly. "All right." He looked directly at Loki, his voice softening and becoming completely serious. "I think she definitely has deeper feelings for you. What about you, brother? Do you love her? "

Loki held Thor's gaze for a moment. No evasions, no snide remarks escaped his lips. Instead, he nodded slowly. "More than my own life," he said quietly, but emphatically. It felt strangely liberating to speak this truth.

Thor studied his brother, and a genuine, warm smile crept onto his face. He placed a hand on Loki's shoulder. "She's changed you," he observed, without judgment, only gentle admiration in his voice. "You know, I can understand that very well...I had a similar experience once."

Loki raised an eyebrow questioningly. Thor lowered his hand and gazed out at the bay, where the waves glittered. For a moment, he seemed lost in thought. "Jane," Thor began finally, and the mere mention of her name carried so much emotion that Loki involuntarily perked up.

"You remember her - Jane Foster," Thor continued softly. Loki nodded almost imperceptibly; of course, he remembered the mortal who had captured Thor's heart.

„I was an arrogant, reckless fool before I met her," Thor said with a faint laugh. "And when we got together, I didn't realize how lucky I was. Then we...lost touch. I let her go, thinking it was better that way - for her, for me, who knows." He sighed deeply. “Years later, fate brought us together again, amidst the chaos of a new battle. She…” His voice broke briefly, but he quickly recovered.

Thor's voice grew hoarse. "Jane was ill, Loki. Mortally ill. Yet she chose to help me when I needed it most," he continued, his gaze vacant as if he were reliving the scene. "She wielded Mjölnir - imagine, she herself became the goddess of thunder." A hint of proud wonder lingered in his words, but grief overshadowed his features. "Jane fought alongside me. And she gave her last ounce of strength."

Thor swallowed hard and continued in a quieter voice, "In the end, she sacrificed her life to save those she loved. I lost her..." He paused, and Loki noticed the glistening of tears in Thor's eyes. "But she died as a true hero. She died giving hope to others."

Loki felt a lump in his throat. "I'm sorry, Thor," he said with genuine sympathy.

Thor nodded gratefully, quickly wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, and managed a thin smile. "You know, it took me a long time to make peace with her death," he confessed. "Sometimes I wish I'd had more time with her. Less time wasted running away or fighting, and more time just being with her." His voice was now rough with suppressed emotion.

He took a deep breath and then looked back at Loki. "That's why I'm so happy for you, brother." Thor's smile warmed, though it was still tinged with sadness. "Because you've found someone you care about, and because you have the courage to let it happen." He patted Loki lightly on the shoulder. "Mother would be proud of you."

At the mention of his mother, a burning sensation rose in Loki's chest. He lowered his head, but not before Thor saw the sting of pain in his eyes. “I hope so,” Loki whispered finally. The memory of Frigga - her kind smile, the way she had always believed in him, even when no one else did - pierced his heart. “I wish she could be here.”

“Me too,” Thor agreed quietly. For a moment, there was silence between the brothers, broken only by the cries of seagulls and the soft lapping of waves against the wooden pilings of the jetty.

“Am I disturbing you?” a dry voice suddenly called from behind them.

Thor and Loki whirled around at the same time. Sylvie stood a few steps away on the wooden jetty, her hands casually tucked into her coat pockets. Her lips were curved in a faint smile, and a cautious warmth shone in her eyes.

Thor cleared his throat and smiled, glad to have broken the somber mood. “Not at all,” he replied, straightening his shoulders. “We were just… talking.” He glanced at Loki, who had already visibly recovered.

Loki took a step toward Sylvie, his eyes resting warmly on her. "Are you okay?" he asked softly. It was more than a mere polite question. There was genuine concern for her in his gaze.

Sylvie nodded. "I'm fine," she replied. In fact, she felt calmer now, and part of that was because she was standing before Loki. Without thinking, she raised her hand and unconsciously smoothed a crease in his shirt, right where she had grasped his lapel earlier this morning. "What about you?"

Thor watched the small gesture with a broad grin but said nothing. Instead, he clapped his hands with mock busyness, as if Sylvie's question had reminded him of something. "Oh, right!" he exclaimed. "Sylvie, there's something I wanted to ask you both."

Sylvie turned her attention to him. "Yes?"

Thor put his hands on his hips and beamed at her. "There's a village festival here in New Asgard at the end of the week - with music, good mead, and plenty of food." He winked conspiratorially. "I'd be delighted if you both could come."

Loki raised his eyebrows in surprise and looked over at Sylvie. Her first impulse was to make an excuse - crowds and parties weren't exactly her forte. But Thor's good-natured invitation and Loki's hopeful look made her pause. Finally, she shrugged. "A festival, huh?" She tried to sound indifferent, but a hint of curiosity crept into her voice.

"That actually sounds quite fun," Loki interjected, and Sylvie knew him well enough to hear that he genuinely liked the idea.

Sylvie sighed dramatically. "Okay, fine. But if it gets to be too much for me, I'll disappear," she stated, her lips twitching betrayingly at the corners.

Thor laughed uproariously. "Alright! You can leave anytime you want. But I bet you'll like it." He seemed pleased. "Valkyrie and I will organize everything; it'll be great."

Sylvie snorted in amusement. "Well, if that's the case..." she replied drily.

"So, it's a deal," Loki concluded, giving Sylvie a genuine smile that she could hardly resist.

"Wonderful!" Thor exclaimed. He seemed genuinely pleased. Then he glanced at the sun, which was already high in the sky. "I still have a few preparations to make. And also keep an eye out for two little spies who hopefully won't cause any more trouble," he grumbled with mock sternness, apparently thinking of Love and her friend.

Loki chuckled softly, and Sylvie's lips curled into a smile. Thor turned to leave but paused once more in front of Loki. Without a word, he pulled his brother into a short, firm hug. Loki blinked in surprise, but then returned the hug just as tightly.

“See you later,” Thor said finally, after letting go of Loki. He nodded goodbye to Sylvie, a twinkle in his eyes she couldn’t quite decipher - it seemed almost like silent thanks.

Then Thor shouldered the sack of grain he had set down earlier and set off back toward the village, the wooden footbridge clattering beneath his boots.

Loki and Sylvie remained at the harbor. For a moment, they watched Thor as he strode up the path. Finally, Loki turned to Sylvie. "And what have you and Valkyrie been doing in the meantime?" he asked calmly.

Sylvie’s mouth twitched into a half-smile. “We had a beer and a nice chat,” she replied evasively.

Loki raised an eyebrow but didn’t press her.

"Shall we go?”

“Okay,” she said, nodding, and so they strolled away from the harbor, back toward the village. For a while, they didn't speak. But the silence between them didn't feel awkward - more like a quiet understanding, as they walked side by side along the narrow path.

The bustling atmosphere in the marketplace had subsided, and many people had returned to their work or disappeared into their homes. A few villagers they encountered greeted them politely or hurried back to their tasks - the earlier excitement had clearly dissipated.

Loki and Sylvie left the village behind and followed a path that ran along the coast for a while, past a grassy hill. A salty breeze blew in from the sea, playing with strands of Sylvie's blonde hair. For a while, they listened only to the sound of their footsteps and the distant cries of the seagulls.

Their hands swung close together as they walked. Sylvie's hand briefly brushed against Loki's knuckle. She felt a faint tingling sensation run across her skin and involuntarily flinched, but Loki either didn't seem to notice or at least pretended not to.

A few heartbeats later, it happened again - their hands touched as they walked. This time, Sylvie didn't pull her hand away. Her heart suddenly pounded faster, and she hardly dared to look over at Loki. He walked silently beside her, as if he noticed nothing out of the ordinary. But Sylvie could feel her own pulse pulsing in her fingers, all the way to the tips of her ears.

When their hands brushed together a third time, Sylvie held her breath. Before her courage could fail her, she turned her hand and hesitantly wrapped her fingers around Loki's. She knew she was acting almost impulsively but in that moment, she didn't want to think anymore.

Loki paused for a split second. Surprised, he looked down at their now intertwined fingers. Sylvie's gaze remained fixed straight ahead, her face striving for a neutral expression, even though her heart was pounding in her chest.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then Loki gently closed his hand around hers, returning the pressure of her fingers. When Sylvie glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, she saw the small, genuine smile on his lips, which made her feel warm.

She didn't return his smile directly - the embarrassment rising within her was too great - but inwardly she relaxed. Her hand was still in his, and with every step they took together, the gesture felt less awkward and more natural.

Sylvie felt her cheeks flush, but she didn't take her eyes off the path ahead. It was astonishing how something as simple as holding hands could make her so nervous and so happy at the same time. This simple touch meant more to her than words could express.

She thought of Loki's words from that morning: No one expects anything of you. And what he had told her - that her place could be wherever she wanted it to be. Without uttering a word, Sylvie had nevertheless given an answer in that moment: Her place - if she wanted it to be - was right here, by his side.

Hand in hand, they continued on their way. The sea murmured softly in the distance, and the sun shone brightly over New Asgard. In the gentle ordinariness of that moment, Sylvie found something she hadn't known for a long time: peace. And so they continued on their way, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, together towards the future – wherever it might lead them.

Chapter Text

Loki and Sylvie approached their house slowly in the twilight. The sun was low in the sky, bathing the gently rolling hills around New Asgard in a warm, golden light. The day was drawing to a close, and a delicate shimmer of pink and orange reflected on the calm surface of the nearby bay. Sylvie breathed in the cool evening air and felt the pleasant weariness in her legs. They had spent hours exploring the area, hiking across green meadows, and strolling through the narrow village lanes. A lone seagull circled overhead, squawking softly as if commenting on the peaceful moment.

Loki walked beside her, his fingers tightly intertwined with hers. From time to time, his gaze flickered over to Sylvie, and each time he smiled gently, as if he could hardly believe his happiness. Sylvie returned the smile hesitantly, but there was genuine contentment in her eyes. In fact, she was slowly beginning to feel more at ease here. A feeling that still surprised her. This place, these people…and Loki by her side. It was new for her to be happy in such an effortless way, but as they walked homeward hand in hand, she began to believe it might be possible.

"Tired?" Loki asked softly as they reached the small wooden gate in front of the house. Their home was on the edge of the village, a modest, cozy cottage with whitewashed walls and a grass roof, as was the tradition here. A light breeze rustled the bushes beside the front door.

Sylvie shook her head almost imperceptibly. "A little," she admitted, shrugging her shoulders. "But in a good way." She wasn't exhausted in a negative sense. Rather, she felt a pleasant calm spreading through her. Loki opened the wooden garden gate, let Sylvie go first, and then followed her along the small gravel path to the front door. The pebbles crunched softly under their boots.

"It was a good day," Loki said from behind her as he unlocked the door. Sylvie could hear a smile in his voice. "Thanks for coming with me."

“It wasn’t as if you gave me a choice,” Sylvie retorted with mock reproach, but a playful twinkle in her eyes belied her words. In fact, she was glad he had persuaded her to explore the village. The day, filled with little discoveries - from the market with its unique stalls to the boisterous laughter of the children they had met - had been more enjoyable than she cared to admit.

Loki grinned as he opened the front door. "I can be very persuasive when I really want something." He winked playfully at her, which made Sylvie snort.

"Oh really? I haven't noticed anything like that before," she replied dryly, unable to suppress a slight grin.

They entered the house, and Loki closed the door behind them. Inside, they were greeted by a pleasant warmth. With a soft sigh, Sylvie slipped off her boots and placed them beside the door. Loki did the same, hanging his jacket and then Sylvie's coat on the coat rack.

"Hmm, it's almost as cozy inside as it is outside," Sylvie murmured, rubbing her hand over her arm, where the cool evening air still clung. Her gaze drifted through the open door into the living room. The last rays of sunlight streamed through the windows, painting orange patterns on the wooden floor.

"Cozy enough for a tired warrior?" Loki teased softly, stepping closer to Sylvie. He stood beside her in the doorway to the living room and followed her gaze inside. "Or is something still missing?"

Sylvie snorted, amused. "Perhaps a hot tea." She knew he was teasing her—he'd been playing little jokes all day, probably because he sensed she was finally off her guard. And indeed, she'd enjoyed seeing him so relaxed. Free from all the worries.

Loki nodded with mock seriousness. "Tea then. I'll take care of it right away, my lady," he said with feigned formality, giving a slight bow which also brought him half a step closer to Sylvie.

She rolled her eyes, but couldn't hide her smile. "You weirdo," she murmured, but affectionately.

Loki straightened up and gazed at Sylvie for a moment as they stood together in the dim light of the hallway. His smile was gentler now, without teasing - simply warm. Sylvie felt his gaze on her and turned her head toward him. Their eyes met. For a heartbeat, they simply stood there, the outside world shutting out.

Something in Loki's gaze made Sylvie's heart race. It was that mixture of affection, gratitude, and something else, something deeper, that almost took her breath away. Despite the twilight, she could see the deep green of his eyes, now shimmering darkly. Involuntarily, she remembered the kiss they had shared that morning on the way to the village - so unexpected and beautiful. The memory sent a pleasant tingle through her stomach.

Apparently, Loki was thinking something similar, because he slowly raised his hand and gently tucked a loose strand of hair behind Sylvie's ear. His fingers lingered for a moment on her cheek, warm and tender. Sylvie felt her skin tingle where he touched her, and she involuntarily leaned slightly into his hand.

“Sylvie…” Loki began softly, but then he shook his head almost imperceptibly, as if he’d changed his mind about saying anything. Instead, he took another step closer until Sylvie could feel his body heat. Her heart skipped a beat. Without taking his eyes off her, Loki gently took her hands in his. His fingers intertwined with hers, and Sylvie noticed that he was trembling ever so slightly. Or was it herself who was trembling? She wasn’t quite sure, only that the air around them suddenly seemed more charged than it had been just moments before.

Slowly, Loki drew her closer, very gently, as if he wanted to give her every chance to pull away if she didn't want to. But Sylvie didn't want to pull away - quite the opposite. She let him lead her, taking a half step towards him so that the tips of their toes almost touched. Her heart was pounding in her chest, and at the same time, she felt a tingling anticipation rising within her.

Loki tilted his face closer to hers. Sylvie lifted her chin slightly, closed her eyes, and then felt his lips gently on hers.

The kiss began cautiously, almost tentatively. Loki's right hand moved slowly up her arm, until he gently cupped her cheek again. His thumb traced a soft line across her skin. Sylvie sighed softly against his lips and returned the kiss just as tenderly. She could feel Loki's heartbeat - either she actually felt it because she was standing so close to him, or it was the strong thumping of her own pulse in her ears. Perhaps both.

Any initial uncertainty vanished the moment Loki gently deepened the kiss. His lips moved softer and more demanding at the same time, and Sylvie instinctively responded with growing passion. Her hand, still in his, clenched involuntarily, as if to reassure herself that he was real, that this moment was truly happening. Loki responded by gently squeezing her hand once more before finally releasing them carefully - only to pull her into his arms the next instant.

A hot shiver ran through Sylvie as she felt Loki's hands on her waist. He pulled her closer until there was no space between their bodies. Sylvie raised her own hands and tentatively placed them on Loki's shoulders, feeling the soft fabric of his shirt. She felt the firm muscles beneath, the warmth of his body against hers. A longing sigh escaped her, stifled by the kiss, but she noticed Loki moan softly in response - a sound raw with desire that only made her blood race.

She didn't know how long they stood there like that, tightly entwined and lost in that kiss. Seconds? Minutes? Time lost its meaning. Sylvie felt only Loki: his familiar scent enveloping her (a mixture of something fresh, like after a rain shower, and a warm note that was quite unique), his fingers now gently stroking up and down her back, as if tracing the path of her spine.

Their lips parted for a moment, just long enough for both to catch their breath. Sylvie opened her eyes slightly and looked at Loki. His face was so close to hers, their noses almost touching. His gaze glowed with tenderness and with a fire that was unmistakably desire. That look in his eyes sent shivers down her spine: an intense, loving gaze unlike any she had ever seen before. And she realized that her eyes were probably sparkling just as brightly, for the same fire burned within her.

"Sylvie…" Loki whispered hoarsely. Her name sounded like a soft pleading on his lips, as if he could hardly believe that she was really here in his arms.

That soft word was enough to melt away Sylvie's remaining reserve completely. In a silent response, she wrapped her arms around his neck and drew him down to her again, kissing him once more. This time, she took the initiative, gently gliding her tongue over Loki's lower lip, whereupon he willingly parted his lips slightly. Their tongues met cautiously, dancing tentatively at first, then more intimately. A tingling rush filled Sylvie, triggered by this deep, intimate connection. It felt as if an invisible flame was being nurtured within her, simultaneously warming and consuming her.

Loki moaned softly into the kiss as Sylvie pressed her body closer to his. She could feel him struggling to contain himself as well. His hands, which had been caressing her back with tenderness, grew bolder. One slid up between her shoulder blades, applying gentle pressure as if Loki wanted to pull her even closer, despite the already limited space between them. His other hand moved lower, down to her lower back. Even through the fabric of her sweater, his touch burned against her skin, and Sylvie struggled to suppress a soft gasp.

Her stomach clenched with desire, and she felt a sweet heat rising within her. She was so overwhelmed by the feeling of being so close to Loki - closer even than during their kiss that morning - that it took her breath away. Every nerve in her seemed awakened, listening for the slightest touch. And Loki touched her everywhere: sometimes it was his mouth, leaving her lips and tracing a path along her jaw, breathing small kisses onto her skin; sometimes it was his hands, encircling her waist and gently sliding down to her hips, then back up to her ribs, as if Loki were cautiously testing the boundaries of how far he could go.

Sylvie was almost intoxicated with emotion. She let her head fall back slightly as Loki traced a path from her jawline down her neck with his lips. A barely audible, but pleasurable sigh escaped her as he reached a particularly sensitive spot just below her ear. Her fingers buried themselves in his black hair, losing themselves in the soft strands. For a shimmering moment, she thought of nothing but how good it felt to be so close to him - to taste him and experience his affection so directly.

Her footsteps had moved unnoticed from the front door toward the living room. Loki had gently but purposefully guided Sylvie backward to the sofa as they kissed. Loki pulled his mouth from her neck and looked at her as if to make sure everything was alright. His cheeks were slightly flushed, his lips a little swollen from their kisses. And Sylvie had to admit to herself that he looked outrageously good at that moment. Breathless, she nodded almost imperceptibly, wordlessly telling him that she was okay. More than that: her eyes must have shown that she wanted him too, because Loki didn't need to be asked again.

With a gentle smile that reflected both tenderness and desire, he leaned toward her again. This time, Sylvie caught his kiss half on her lips, half on a relieved laugh - her own laugh, sparked by the exuberant happiness that flickered within her. Loki's lips quickly found hers again, and now the kiss became more urgent. Sylvie felt her pulse quicken as Loki pulled her even closer. The next moment, she felt the soft cushions of the sofa against the back of her legs. With gentle persuasion, Loki guided her to sit down.

Sylvie slid backward onto the sofa, Loki's arms still wrapped around her. He immediately followed her, kneeling half on the sofa, half between her legs, never letting the contact between them break for a second. She felt dazed with desire and happiness - her hands wandered from his neck down over his chest, feeling his racing heartbeat beneath the thin fabric. She wanted him even closer, if that were even possible. Her body ached to bask in his warmth.

Loki slipped a hand under her sweater, very carefully, as if afraid of startling her. His fingers tentatively touched the bare skin at her waist. The cool evening air had chilled Sylvie's body slightly, so his hand felt hot to her. Sylvie inhaled sharply, but wasn't startled by him - on the contrary, she arched her back against the gentle pressure of his hand, involuntarily craving more of this touch. He understood her silent desire, for his hand continued to glide, slowly exploring the contours of her back. With his fingertips, he traced an old scar on her left side, almost reverently, which began to tingle under his delicate touch. Loki carefully ran his finger along the scar, as if tracing its outline. Perhaps thoughts raced through his mind at that moment, but he didn't speak them aloud. Instead, Sylvie only felt his breathing become as unsteady as her own.

Part of Sylvie was surprised at how readily she let him have his way - she, who otherwise never relinquished control. But with Loki, it felt right to simply let go. His touch was so full of devotion and respect, as if he were touching something precious, something valuable he would never want to harm. This knowledge stirred Sylvie deep inside. For a heartbeat, she paused and gazed at Loki: his face was close to hers, his gaze slid from the spot on her bare stomach where his hand rested, back up to her eyes. Therein lay a wordless question, a silent spark of uncertainty, perhaps the fear that he might have gone too far.

Sylvie responded by kissing him again - she poured all the tenderness she felt into it, to show him that everything was alright, that she wanted him and trusted him. Loki groaned against her lips, clearly relieved, and returned the kiss eagerly. His hand on her back pulled her closer, so that Sylvie was now half-lying on the sofa, with Loki half-leaning over her. It was just him and her.

Just as Loki's hand began to stroke her side and stomach more boldly, a strange feeling came over Sylvie. As beautiful as the moment was, something suddenly rose from within her: a quiet but persistent unease. Almost like a shadow, it settled over the burning passion she felt. At first, she tried to ignore it. Why hesitate now? She was here, in the arms of the man she loved - yes, she could no longer deny it, she truly loved him - and everything felt right. Didn't it?

Loki's hand wandered back up over her ribs at that very moment, narrowly brushing the top of her breast. It was a feather-light touch, more an accident in the heat of the moment than intentional, but it was enough to instantly crystal clear Sylvie's racing thoughts. This feeling… it was so intimate, so tender, so real.

Too real.

Suddenly, the restlessness became a stark warning signal. Sylvie froze under Loki's touch, as if a switch had been flipped. Her heart was still pounding, but now for a different reason: panic was rising within her. What was she doing here? She, who never allowed anyone to get dangerously close to her - neither physically nor emotionally - was in the process of letting Loki bring down all her walls. It felt good, far too good. And that's precisely what terrified her.

“Wait…” she managed in a choked voice, turning her head away from Loki’s demanding kiss. Immediately, she raised a hand and pressed it against his chest - not hard, but firmly enough that he understood it as a plea. “Loki, please…wait.”

In the blink of an eye, Loki recoiled as if he'd been burned. His eyes were wide, his lips slightly parted to gasp for air. The confusion in them was unmistakable, as was an immediate surge of concern.

"Sylvie?" he gasped. His voice was suddenly full of alarm. He hastily pulled his hands from under her sweater and raised them, as if to show her he'd stopped. "Is... is everything all right? Did I -?" He swallowed hard. He didn't get the actual question out, but Sylvie knew what he wanted to know: Did I do something wrong?

She felt a pang in her chest at his anxious, uncertain expression. Loki looked almost like a boy caught in the act, afraid he'd made a terrible mistake. And she was the reason for it. As much as she felt the urge to kiss him again right then and there, to wipe that worry from his eyes, she needed distance to collect her own feelings. Her heart was beating so fast it hurt, and she felt as if the room was spinning slightly - whether from the overwhelming emotions or because of her sudden stop, she didn't know.

"I..." Sylvie's voice faltered, her throat so dry. She gently pushed herself past Loki into a seated position, causing him to reflexively shift slightly to make room. She sat up fully, moved a little further away from him on the sofa, and nervously ran a hand through her hair. Loki was also half-upright; he was now kneeling on the sofa, looking at her with alarm. He didn't move, as if afraid that any movement might scare her away further.

"I'm sorry," Sylvie finally whispered hoarsely. She avoided his gaze, staring instead at her own hands, which were clutching the hem of her sweater tightly. Her skin still tingled wherever he had touched her, but the pleasant shiver was now overlaid with a cold nervousness. "I... I need a moment, okay? Just a moment." Her words stumbled over each other, sounding far less composed than she would have liked.

For a moment there was silence. Then Loki nodded immediately, almost eagerly, so that a few strands of his black hair fell across his forehead. "Of course," he said hastily. His voice almost cracked, so eager was he to show understanding. "Of course, Sylvie. It's all right." He raised his hands slightly, as if to demonstrate that he was giving her the space she needed. "I'm sorry... I didn't mean to-"

"It's okay," Sylvie interrupted quietly, her voice still shaky. She finally dared a quick glance at him. Loki kept a respectful distance, but his face reflected both guilt and concern. A pang of guilt gnawed at Sylvie's heart. She didn't want him to feel guilty. It wasn't his fault that she'd suddenly gotten cold feet - right in the middle of a moment she'd longed for more than anything else. The problem was with her, not him. But she couldn't explain it right now - not yet.

She stood up before Loki could reply. "I... just give me a moment..." she murmured, gesturing vaguely toward the stairs leading from the hallway to the bedrooms and bathroom upstairs. She didn't finish the sentence. She wasn't quite sure what she wanted to say. Instead, she turned toward the stairs.

Hastily she smoothed down her sweater, which had ridden up slightly from Loki's touch, and set off with quick steps. She felt Loki's gaze on her back, all the way to the first step. Every fiber of her being screamed at her to turn back - to go back and take away his fear. But she didn't. Coward, she scolded herself silently. You damned coward.

Without turning around, she hurried up the stairs. Her nimble footsteps echoed softly in the otherwise silent house. Reaching the top, she ran down the short hallway directly to the bathroom. With trembling hands, she opened the door, stepped inside, and closed it behind her - a little more forcefully than necessary, so that the click of the lock sounded like a cannon shot in the silence.

Sylvie leaned her back against the door, closed her eyes, and let out a deep breath that she had unconsciously held. Her heart was still pounding in a breathless staccato, while images of the last few minutes flashed before her mind's eye like lightning: Loki's familiar touch, his loving gaze, the heat of his body against hers… and then her panicked recoil. She ran her trembling fingers over her face.

"Shit," she whispered into the silence of the bathroom, opening her eyes again. In the dim light, she could see her own reflection opposite the door. The last light of day filtered in slivers through the small window, catching her shoulder and face; the rest of her body was in shadow. Hesitantly, she took a step toward the mirror. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed that her cheeks were flushed - partly from arousal, surely, but also from embarrassment. Loki's scent still lingered in her disheveled hair; she could smell it as she leaned forward, bracing her hands on the edge of the sink.

"Damn it," she muttered, glancing up at her reflection. In the dim light, her eyes were visible as two bright outlines, still holding a wild glint. Whether it was passion or fear, Sylvie couldn't say for sure - probably both.

"What are you even doing here?" she whispered to herself, as if she were talking to someone else. Once again, she had run away, instead of facing her feelings. And yet, the moment had been perfect. It had been so beautiful it almost hurt.

She straightened her shoulders and stood up fully. The dim reflection showed a woman who, at first glance, appeared brave and unyielding. But Sylvie knew the truth. Deep down, she was the complete opposite: insecure, confused, vulnerable. She had left Loki standing there without giving him a proper explanation. What must he think of her now?

Involuntarily, she bit her lower lip. Loki must think she was completely crazy. First, she had been the one who had given him that kiss this morning, the one who had spent the whole day by his side - hand in hand. Just a moment ago, she had even been the one who had confidently kissed him again and pulled him closer… and then this. She suddenly felt ashamed. Not of her desire – oh no, not that. But of the fact that she had pulled the emergency brake so abruptly and left him in the dark.

Sylvie lowered her gaze and looked at her hands, which were gripping the cold porcelain rim of the sink. Her knuckles stood out white. She forced herself to relax and took another deep breath.

It wasn't as if she'd never been with a man - on the contrary, in all those years of being alone, she'd stumbled into the occasional fleeting adventure. She'd battled her way through countless apocalypses, hopping from place to place, always on the run. And there were lonely nights when she'd sought solace, though never for long. A physical encounter here and there, without commitment, without real feelings. She'd never felt much beyond a brief distraction. Even through all of this, she'd remained cautious and never allowed more than she was willing to give. And above all, she'd never opened her heart to anyone.

But with Loki… heavens, with Loki everything was different. Deep feelings were involved - feelings she had never allowed herself to feel until now. And opening herself up in this way frightened her more than any battle.

Carefully, Sylvie pulled her sweater over her head, clutching the soft fabric for a moment before setting it aside. Underneath, she wore only a simple black bra; she removed that too, her hands trembling, until her skin could feel the cool air in the bathroom. She briefly wrapped her arms around herself, shivering, more out of reflex than because it was actually cold. Then she looked up again and forced herself to really see her reflection.

In the dim remaining light, she recognized the silhouette of her own body: slim, yes, and quite muscular from all the fighting and running – defined arms, firm shoulders. But also marked: here and there, pale lines stood out on her skin. A scar ran faintly across her right upper arm - an old blade wound. Another, smaller and rounder, was prominently displayed on her side, a relic of a gunshot wound she had sustained years ago in a skirmish with the TVA. There was also a fine scar on her left hip bone, barely longer than a finger – she vaguely remembered an explosion she had narrowly escaped back then.

Sylvie tentatively ran her fingers over one of the most visible scars, a diagonal line across her lower right rib. A furious blade, wielded by an even furier foe, had inflicted it. Healing magic hadn't worked perfectly in the harsh conditions of a dying world, leaving this memento. Loki's fingers had brushed against this very scar earlier, as he'd explored her skin beneath her sweater. Never before had she cared what these marks looked like. They were a part of her, testaments to what she'd survived. But now… now, for the very first time, she wondered how Loki saw it. Had he even noticed it? And if so, what had he thought?

Would he still look at her the same way - so damned in love, as he had in recent days - if he saw her as she stood before herself now: exposed and unvarnished? Or would he only see the flaws, the scars, the imperfections?

A bitter smile flickered across Sylvie's lips. What thoughts… Just recently, she would have laughed at herself for such insecurities - vanity was something she had never allowed herself. But it wasn't just about appearances, she knew. It was about the fear of revealing herself to him completely, without barriers. Physically and emotionally.

She covered her face with her hands and sighed deeply. Loki's scent still clung to her hands, to her lips… She simply couldn't shake it off – and didn't really want to.

Finally, she decided to take a hot shower. Perhaps that would untangle the knot in her head. She needed clarity - and the hope that Loki wouldn't hold her earlier confused retreat against her too much.

So she turned on the bathroom light, which bathed the room in a warm yellow glow and pushed all the shadows aside. She hastily removed the rest of her clothing. The shower water took a moment to warm up, then steam rose and quickly fogged the mirror that had just moments before reflected her doubts.

Sylvie stepped under the hot stream of water and closed her eyes as the warmth enveloped her body. A contented sigh escaped her throat as her tense muscles slowly began to relax. The cold shiver that had just run down her spine faded in the pleasant warmth.

But her thoughts wouldn't switch off so easily. Inevitably, they drifted back to Loki - to his hands, his lips, how they had felt on her skin. It was pointless to deny how much she longed for him. Her body had just made that abundantly clear. Now, alone in the shower, that longing rose within her once more, fueled by the muffled sound of the water, which sounded almost like the rush of blood to her ears when Loki had kissed her.

"Damn," she murmured softly, rubbing shampoo lather from her hair. Instead of clearing her mind, the hot water sent her reeling into fragmented memories and vague fantasies that were anything but innocent. She imagined she hadn't stopped Loki - how might things have gone from there? A telltale warmth flared within her as her mind's eye painted a picture: herself, lying beneath Loki on the sofa, his hand more boldly pressing against her breast, their soft gasps amidst that passionate kiss… And then? Perhaps he would have lifted her up, or undressed her further - removing the fabric between them piece by piece, until nothing separated them. The mere thought of it made Sylvie's cheeks burn. And not just her cheeks. Her breathing became heavier, and she braced one hand against the tiled shower wall as the water cascaded relentlessly over her. She noticed that her knees felt a little weak.

"Gods, pull yourself together, Sylvie!" she silently admonished herself. She noticed with some alarm that her eyes were moist. Whether it was from the water or if a few real tears had mixed in, she couldn't say - probably the latter. She was a complete emotional wreck.

With some willpower, Sylvie pushed the suggestive thoughts aside. No, she didn't regret stopping Loki. It would have been wrong to continue if she wasn't ready in that moment. Body and heart must be in harmony, the thought suddenly flashed through her mind, sounding almost like something her mother might have said - if she'd ever had one to guide her through life. A soft, almost hysterical laugh escaped her throat, but was lost in the sound of the water. She hadn't had a mother or the most time of her life, no one to teach her any of this. She'd had to figure everything out on her own. No wonder she was now utterly overwhelmed by a feeling that many others had probably learned much earlier in life: to love and be loved.

But one thing she knew: she loved Loki. There was no longer any doubt about it. And she wanted him - with every fiber of her being. But she wanted it the right way, at her own pace, without her own fear ruining everything.

Sylvie gradually calmed down. She resolved to explain herself to Loki - not necessarily in detail right away, but he deserved to know that it wasn't his fault. She would tell him that, sometime – perhaps not tonight, but soon.

After rinsing the shampoo and soap off her body, she turned off the water. The pipes creaked softly as she shut off the tap, and the stream of water stopped. With a quick grab for the fluffy towel hanging on a hook, she began to dry herself. The mirror was now completely fogged up; she wiped it with her hand, revealing her red face. She quickly looked away.

Instead, she focused on getting dressed again. She reached for comfortable clothes: black leggings and a loose, soft grey T-shirt that came almost to mid-thigh.

Sylvie quickly dried her hair with a towel as best she could, until it was damp but no longer dripping wet. Her blonde strands would dry in a tangled mess anyway, but she didn't care about that now. She ran her fingers through her hair, then glanced at her reflection one last time - this time just to make sure she looked at least somewhat composed. Her eyes were still a little red, but the panic of earlier moments had given way to firm resolve.

It was time to go back downstairs and not leave Loki in the dark. Maybe she wasn't ready for everything yet, but she wanted to be with him now. The mere thought of him sitting downstairs, worried sick, pained her. She would go downstairs, tell him everything was alright, that she had just needed some time to herself.

Sylvie took a deep breath, placed her hand on the doorknob, and pressed down. She quietly opened the bathroom door and stepped out into the upstairs hallway. The house was quiet. A lamp downstairs in the living room had been switched on – a warm glow spilled up the stairs. Loki must have turned it on as daylight faded. Outside, it was now pitch black; through the hallway window, Sylvie could see the deep blue night sky with a few emerging stars.

She took a few steps to the stairs and peered down. From her vantage point, she couldn't see Loki; he was probably sitting in the living room, perhaps on the sofa, or perhaps pacing restlessly - she wouldn't put it past him, knowing him as she did.

She ran her hand through her hair once more and straightened her shoulders. Then she slowly descended the stairs, step by step. Her bare feet made hardly a sound on the wooden landing.

"Loki?" she called softly towards the living room as she was almost downstairs. Her heart was pounding unexpectedly hard. Was she nervous? Was she afraid of facing him again? Probably. But there was no turning back now.

She stepped from the landing into the hallway. At that same moment, Loki sprang up in the living room as if he had been stabbed. He must have been sitting on the sofa, because Sylvie only saw him get up from the adjoining room and then appear in the doorway to the hallway.

Their eyes met. The warm light from the living room illuminated Loki's figure from the side, casting golden outlines around his shoulders and tousled hair. He looked as if he had tried to compose himself, but his eyes betrayed him: they blazed with concern, tinged with a touching caution.

"Sylvie..." he said softly. Just her name, but that one word held so much emotion that Sylvie's throat immediately tightened again. The apology he'd surely prepared was clearly on the tip of his tongue - she could see it in his face - but he didn't speak it. Instead, he looked at her questioningly, unsure of what would happen next.

For a moment, they stood facing each other in silence. Sylvie realized she was nervously twisting the hem of the oversized T-shirt between her fingers and immediately let go of the fabric. Her hands didn't quite know what to do. She desperately wanted to say, "Stop looking at me like that." But she couldn't utter a word. Loki's gaze quickly shifted from her face to her still-damp hair and her clothes, and then back to her eyes. She could practically see the wheels turning in his head, the way he was trying to figure out what he should do or say.

Finally, Sylvie mustered her courage. "I..." she began, clearing her throat; her voice still sounded a little husky. "I'm tired," she managed to say - it wasn't what she'd actually wanted to say, but she couldn't think of anything better. Suddenly, all the right words were gone, all the things she'd wanted to say upstairs in the bathroom to defuse the situation.

Loki blinked in surprise, but quickly recovered. A flicker of disappointment crossed his face - Sylvie saw it in the way the small crease between his brows deepened for a split second - then he smiled weakly and nodded. "Of course," he said calmly. Too calmly. "It's late...it's been a long day."

"Yes," Sylvie murmured, lowering her gaze. An awkward silence threatened to fall between them, so she quickly added, "I think I'll go to sleep." She made a vague gesture toward the stairs, even though she had just come down.

Loki opened his mouth, clearly wanting to say something - perhaps finally the apology he longed to offer - but Sylvie was quicker. She raised her hand defensively, not harshly, but firmly enough to make Loki stop. She simply couldn't talk about what had happened - not at this moment. All she wanted was some distance from the uncomfortable awkwardness simmering between them. At the same time, she also wanted to return to normalcy as quickly as possible. The paradox of this didn't escape her, and for a moment she wondered how Loki could even tolerate her, given her confusingly contradictory behavior.

"I'll take the front bedroom," Sylvie said hastily. After everything that had happened today, one might have expected that now they would begin sharing a bed. But that bridge seemed insurmountable for tonight.

Loki frowned for a split second, as if he hadn't expected this statement, but then he nodded. "As you wish," he said quietly. Was there a hint of sadness in his voice, or was Sylvie just imagining it?

Sylvie swallowed. She should have said something - something conciliatory, something explanatory. But before a coherent thought even occurred to her, her feet started moving again as if of their own accord. Retreat, a cynical voice whispered inside her. Retreat again.

"Good night, Loki," she said softly as she climbed the first few steps past him. Her eyes briefly met his. There was concern and affection, tempered by his caution not to overwhelm her. And definitely a touch of sorrow, too. It pained her to see it, but she stuck to her decision. Not now. Not talking about it again today.

Loki replied almost inaudibly: "Good night, Sylvie." His voice was warm, but there was something else in it that she didn't allow herself to analyze more closely, because otherwise it might have deterred her from her escape.

When she reached the top, she glanced back down. Loki was still standing in the hallway, his hands loose at his sides, watching her. In the yellowish lamplight, his silhouette looked strangely lost. Sylvie's chest tightened painfully at the sight. She longed to run back down those few steps, right into his arms, to dispel his doubts - and her own along with them. But she didn't. She couldn't. The events of the evening had shaken her, and she was afraid of saying or doing the wrong thing if she acted impulsively now.

So she quickly turned away and hurried down the upper hallway to the front bedroom. There she closed the door behind her, leaned against it for a moment, and closed her eyes wearily.

"Goddamn shit!" she cursed almost inaudibly.
What was she doing here? That was simply ridiculous.

The darkness in the room was almost complete; only a narrow band of silvery moonlight filtered through a crack in the curtains, casting a pattern on the wooden floor. Sylvie stood for another moment, listening to her surroundings. Downstairs she heard no footsteps, no sound. Loki had probably retreated to the living room. He would surely come upstairs eventually, into the next room. Alone.

Alone. The word echoed in her mind. How often had she used that word in reference to herself? She had always been alone, and she had preferred it to being hurt. But now, suddenly, being alone felt terrible. She had lived at a distance for so long that now, voluntarily keeping Loki at arm's length almost tore her apart.

After a while, during which nothing further happened, Sylvie wearily pushed herself away from the doorframe. She went to the bed and sat on the edge. The room was simply but comfortably furnished. A large wardrobe stood against one wall, a wooden chair next to it.

She sighed heavily and finally pulled her legs up onto the bed, then sank back onto the mattress.

Of course, she hadn't been tired at all, despite the long hike that day. Her mind was wide awake, racing. She stared at the dark ceiling, where the dim moonlight barely reached, casting ghostly shadows on the wall. From outside, she could faintly hear the wind lapping against the waves of the bay. It was a peaceful scene, really - but inside Sylvie, a storm was raging.

"Idiot," she whispered into the void. She gritted her teeth and fought back the burning in her eyes. She didn't want to cry; she barely knew that feeling and it was deeply unpleasant. But right now, she could feel the pent-up emotion seeking an outlet.

She had done it again - she had pushed Loki away, just as she had once pushed away everyone who had tried to get close to her. Yet this time she had wanted to do things differently. Loki was different. He was worth breaking down the walls for. She knew that, but the fear had still been overwhelming.

Sylvie turned onto her side and clenched her hands in the pillow. She felt terrible. Was Loki still sitting downstairs, his mind equally confused? Did he think she didn't want him? The mere thought made her groan softly. No, she didn't want him to think he'd done anything wrong. He hadn't. He'd been so considerate and loving. He wasn't the problem; she was.

"Damn it. I didn't mean to hurt you, Loki," she murmured almost inaudibly. "I really didn't." It was important to her to say it out loud, even though no one was there to hear.

A while later, she tossed and turned restlessly on the bed, unable to find a position that even remotely allowed her to think about sleep. Every fiber of her being longed to get up and go into the next room - to where Loki was presumably now. She imagined him lying in the dark, perhaps staring up at the ceiling, brooding, just as she was. Perhaps he was already asleep; who knew? But Sylvie doubted it. She knew him well enough by now to know that he would wallow in self-recrimination. He would take all the blame, even though it lay with her.

Finally, she couldn't stand it any longer. She had to be with him, had to make sure that nothing was broken between them. All her concerns that her presence might confuse him faded in comparison to the urgent need to simply be near him. She wanted to cuddle up to him, hear his heartbeat and have proof that they were both alive and together. Everything else could wait.

Sylvie quietly got out of bed. Her legs felt a little wobbly, but she ignored it. She crept to the door and carefully pressed down the handle, trying not to make a sound.

The door opened with a soft creak - Sylvie winced. It stood ajar, and Sylvie slipped through into the hallway. To her right, just a few steps away, was the door to the back bedroom, the one Loki usually used. A faint glimmer of light filtered through the crack, and Sylvie's heart leaped. Was he still awake? Had he left the bedside lamp on? Perhaps he was just as sleepless as she was. The thought that he was in the same boat offered her a strange kind of comfort - at least she wasn't alone in her unease.

She cautiously approached the slightly ajar door. Each step felt loud, even though she moved almost silently across the wooden floor. She raised her hand and tapped lightly with her knuckles, barely more than a tentative tick, while simultaneously poking her head through the crack.

"Loki?" she whispered into the room.

Not two seconds passed before she heard movement: the rustling of blankets, then a light thump, as if he had hastily put something aside - perhaps a book? The next moment, Loki sat up in bed and turned to face her. In the dim light, Sylvie could make out the outline of his torso, illuminated by a soft golden light ' he had indeed left a small bedside lamp on. His face was only a blur.

"Sylvie?" His voice was hushed with silence, but he sounded immediately alert. Awake. So he must not have been asleep yet. Worried, he swung his legs out of bed and leaned forward slightly. "Is everything alright? Are you feeling well?"

These simple, honest questions made Sylvie's throat tighten again briefly - with emotion that his first reaction was to make sure she was okay. She leaned against the doorframe, suddenly unsure of how to proceed. In her mind, she had planned what she would do, but now that Loki was sitting here before her, giving her his full attention and clearly willing to do anything to make her feel better, her resolve wavered slightly.

"Yes...no… well, it's all okay," she said quietly, cursing inwardly how unsure she sounded. She took a deep breath. "I just wanted to…" She chewed on her lower lip. Why was it so difficult to simply say what she felt? A life on the run and in battle had prepared her for many things but not for something as banal and yet complicated as relationship issues.

Loki seemed to sense her inner turmoil. He didn't get up, simply remaining seated on the edge of the bed so as not to intimidate her. In a gentle voice, he suggested, "Would you like to come in?"

Sylvie nodded gratefully. "Could I... maybe lie down next to you?" she asked cautiously, immediately wincing inwardly because it sounded so helpless to her ears. But that was exactly what she wanted - simply to be with him, without any pressure.

Loki's features softened noticeably. He seemed surprised for a moment, but then a relieved smile flickered across his lips. "Of course you can," he replied softly. Immediately, he lifted the blanket slightly on his free side and scooted over to make room for her. The gesture was inviting but not demanding - he was leaving the decision to take the final step up to her.

Sylvie hesitated for a split second on the threshold. In that moment, she realized that this might be a far more important step than anything physical before. She was coming to him willingly, seeking his closeness after initially rejecting him - it was an act of trust. A silent "I want to try, despite my fear." Her heart raced at the realization, but she quelled the pounding by approaching the bed barefoot and carefully sitting down.

The mattress gave slightly under her weight, and Sylvie threw back the covers to slip underneath. The bed was warm; Loki had apparently been lying in it for some time. She felt the warmth creep up her legs as she stretched and lay down beside him. For a moment she lay there stiff as a board, unsure how close to position herself. Finally, she settled in a semi-sideways position, where she could look at Loki but still leave a few inches of space between them.

Loki also turned onto his side, facing her. He held back at first, although Sylvie saw a twitch in his arms - as if he longed to embrace her. But he refrained and simply gazed at her. His face was now only an arm's length away, partially illuminated by the lamplight. The warm glow reflected in his green eyes, and his expression was soft, full of affection and also a touch of caution.

"Sylvie," he finally began very gently. "You don't have to explain if you don't want to." Sylvie blinked in surprise. Loki continued with a soft sigh. "Earlier... I'm sorry. I ambushed you, and that wasn't right." His brow furrowed, and he lowered his gaze briefly, as if ashamed of his loss of control. "I thought everything was fine, but I should have known better. Please forgive me."

His words rained down on Sylvie, but it took her a moment to truly grasp them. He apologized to her - even though she was the one who had rejected him. Despite his assurances that she didn't need to explain herself, she sensed he was placing all the blame on his own shoulders. She wouldn't allow that. He hadn't done anything wrong - at least nothing that deserved this kind of remorse.

“Stop,” Sylvie whispered, hastily raising a hand to place it on his arm. “Stop apologizing. You… you didn’t do anything wrong, Loki.” Her voice was husky with unspoken emotion. “You were…” She searched for the right words. “You were perfect. Tender and considerate and…” She swallowed hard, the memory of how loving he had been making her hot again. “It wasn’t you, okay? It was my own fear.” The last remark slipped out before she could process it.

Loki raised his head again and looked at her searchingly. There was pain in his gaze, as if he feared she was afraid of him. "I would never hurt you," he said seriously, emphatically. "You know that, don't you?"

"Yes!" Sylvie said immediately, almost a little too loudly, so that she stopped herself in shock. She continued more softly: "Yes, of course I know that" It felt important to say it out loud, especially since it was the absolute truth. "It's just... I'm sometimes a damn coward." A humorless smile crept onto her lips.

Loki shook his head gently. He then placed his hand on hers, which was still resting on his arm. He stroked the back of her hand with his thumb. "You're the bravest person I know," he countered softly. "Just because you're afraid... doesn't mean you're a coward. Quite the opposite."

His words pierced deep into Sylvie's heart, and for a moment she was speechless. She knew he meant it sincerely and that's precisely why it almost hurt to hear.

Finally, she laughed softly, and the laughter sounded a bit like a sob. "Since when are you so sentimental?" she teased half-heartedly, trying to mask her rising emotions. Her lips formed a small, mocking smile, but her eyes betrayed that she was touched.

Loki didn't miss it; he knew her well enough. He raised an eyebrow and replied dryly, "Probably since I've seen so many cheesy stories." A faint smile played at the corners of his mouth, and Sylvie recognized the allusion - Loki, in his time as the god of stories, had apparently picked up quite a bit of pathos. That was at least a plausible explanation, and it actually made her smile.

She snorted in amusement, and the tension between them eased slightly. "Then I guess I'll have to live with it," she murmured, unexpectedly feeling something warm spread in her chest, where just moments before a lump of guilt had resided.

For a few seconds, there was silence. Their hands were still clasped; their breathing was calm, if a little uneven. Sylvie searched for a way to make him understand what she had experienced in the bathroom without getting lost in lengthy explanations, but in truth, perhaps it wasn't necessary to unpack everything. All that mattered was that he knew she wanted him.

She moved a little closer to him, so that the gap between them narrowed - still slowly and cautiously, but noticeably. Loki watched her every move attentively, but he remained motionless, waiting.

“I… have been thinking a lot today,” Sylvie began hesitantly. “About myself. About us. And I feel incredibly stupid.” She broke off and chuckled softly at herself. “I’ve spent half my life running away from anything that might hurt me. You know what I mean?”

Loki looked at her gently and nodded almost imperceptibly. "Yes, I know that all too well," he said softly. And Sylvie remembered that he, too, had pushed everything away for a long time, for fear of getting hurt himself.

A sad, understanding smile flickered across Loki's face. "You don't have to force yourself to do anything, Sylvie. Not with me. We have all the time in the world."

All the time in the world. The words sounded almost too good to be true - after everything they had been through. But for the moment, Sylvie wanted to believe it. A quiet peace settled over her at the thought.

“Thank you,” she whispered, meaning everything: Thank you for being so patient. Thank you for understanding me. Thank you for being here.

Loki didn't answer, at least not with words. Instead, he gently raised his arm and placed it around Sylvie's shoulders. Very softly, he pulled her closer. "Come here," he murmured tenderly.

It wasn't an order, a demand, but an offer. And Sylvie accepted it. Gratefully, she snuggled against him, scooting closer until her head rested on his chest. Through the thin fabric of his shirt - he wore a simple gray one - she felt the comforting warmth of his skin. With a sigh of relief, she snuggled closer, gently placed an arm around his waist, and closed her eyes.

Loki exhaled audibly, as if he had held his breath. Then he gently pulled the blanket over them both, enveloping them in protective warmth. His arms wrapped tightly around her, one around her shoulders, the other lower around her waist. He held her close, but not constrictingly - just right. Sylvie felt safer in that embrace than she had ever felt before in her life.

For a while, neither of them spoke. They simply listened to each other's breathing and the soft beating of their hearts, which grew more even with each passing moment. The tension fell from Sylvie like a heavy coat she was finally able to shed. Instead, a pleasant weariness washed over her, accompanied by a feeling of deep security.

"Loki?" she whispered after a while. Her voice was now a thin whisper, half-asleep.

"Hm?" he grumbled, tilting his head slightly so that his cheek brushed against her forehead. The gentle touch brought a final, contented smile to Sylvie's face.

"Thank you," she murmured again, almost inaudibly, for she was already beginning to drift away into the darkness.

"What for?" she heard him reply, just as quietly. There was a hint of gentle surprise in his voice.

Sylvie considered this, but she couldn't find a clear answer. For everything, flashed through her mind, but she was too exhausted to say it. "Just... for being here," she whispered, her fingers gripping the inside of his shirt as if afraid he might disappear.

Loki then pulled her even closer. "I'm not going anywhere," he promised softly, and breathed a kiss onto her hair. His lips lingered for a moment at the crown of her head before he laid his own head on the pillow, close to hers.

"Sleep now," he added, barely more than a breath against her forehead. "I'll hold you tight, don't worry."

These words were the last thing Sylvie consciously registered before sleep completely overcame her. Enveloped in Loki's arms, she felt comfortingly safe, as if she had finally arrived after a long journey. That night there were no nightmares, no doubts, no cold loneliness - only the warmth of two hearts beating in unison, and the quiet certainty that, despite all their fears, they could love each other.

[...]

Chapter Text

Sylvie awoke slowly the next morning from a deep, dreamless sleep.

At first, she registered little more than the soft warmth of the blanket draped loosely over her shoulders and the gentle light filtering through the curtains. For a moment, she didn't know where she was. She blinked sleepily and noticed that the space beside her was empty. Where Loki had lain during the night, the mattress was still slightly indented and the blanket thrown aside. A faint pang of confusion rose within her, mingled with a lingering sense of security that had enveloped her all night.

Sylvie slowly sat up and ran a hand through her tousled hair. The soft rustling of the bedsheets sounded surprisingly loud in the morning stillness. She needed a moment to collect herself. Memories of the previous night returned in fragments: how she had gone to Loki in the darkness, how he had taken her in his arms, the soothing beat of his heart beneath her cheek, until they had finally fallen asleep together. An unfamiliar sense of peace had carried her to sleep, so deeply that she had apparently slept longer than usual.

Her gaze fell on the alarm clock on the nightstand. The hands were already well past the usual morning hours - it was almost ten a.m. Surprised, Sylvie opened her eyes wider. She couldn't remember the last time she had slept so long. Normally, she was a light sleeper, always alert, ready to wake at the slightest sound. But by Loki's side, she had apparently felt so safe that her body had finally allowed itself some real rest.

A touch of unease stirred within her as she realized Loki wasn't beside her. Had he left the bed early? Had something happened? She felt her heart beat a little faster as she listened intently. Muffled sounds drifted up from the floor below - a soft rattling.

Sylvie exhaled, only now realizing she'd been holding her breath. Of course, nothing had happened. Loki had simply gotten up early - earlier than her, which was remarkable in itself. A tiny smile crept onto her lips as she pulled the blanket tighter around her. The spot where Loki had lain was still lukewarm, as if he'd been there only a moment ago. His scent lingered in the pillows - that fresh, pleasant note that had so comforted her yesterday. Sylvie closed her eyes for a moment, inhaling the aroma. Her heart beat more calmly now, in harmony with the quiet joy she felt.

The familiar creak of a floorboard on the stairs made her open her eyes again. Someone was coming upstairs. Sylvie peered at the half-open bedroom door and instinctively pulled the blanket up a little higher, involuntarily embarrassed by the fact that she was still in bed while Loki was apparently already up.

The next moment the door slid open wider, and sure enough, Loki appeared in the frame. The sight that greeted her was so unexpected that Sylvie let out a surprised gasp. Loki was balancing a tray in both hands. On it were two steaming cups, a plate with something that smelled enticingly of fresh croissants, and small bowls and glasses in which she recognized butter, jam, bright red strawberries, and even orange juice. Loki was already wearing his everyday clothes - a simple dark green shirt, the top button of which was undone, and black trousers. His hair was still slightly damp and combed back; he had apparently already showered.

“Good morning,” he greeted her softly with a broad smile that seemed both proud and a little shy. He took a few cautious steps into the room, balancing the tray as if it were a treasure. “I hope you’re hungry.”

"What..." Sylvie began, but her voice was raspy from sleep. She cleared her throat hastily as Loki slowly approached. "What's that?" she finally asked, although the answer was obvious. She scooted up a little higher in bed and leaned against the headboard, pulling the blanket up over her chest since she was only wearing a thin shirt. A pang of embarrassment rose within her as she caught herself hastily pushing her disheveled hair back from her forehead. Loki, however, simply gazed at her with affection, as if she were the most beautiful thing this morning had to offer.

Loki carefully placed the tray on the free side of the bed - where he himself had slept - and then sat down on the edge. “Breakfast,” he announced almost solemnly, as if he had just served her a feast.

Sylvie raised a skeptical eyebrow and eyed the abundance of food in disbelief. "Breakfast... in bed?"

"Why not?" Loki winked at her mischievously. "You were sleeping so soundly, I thought I'd surprise you with something special."

Calling it "something special" was a massive understatement, Sylvie thought. In all these years, no one had ever done anything like this for her. Breakfast in bed - it sounded like one of those cheesy moments from stories she'd always thought were exaggerated. And yet, here sat Loki, with a whole culinary spread just for the two of them.

At first, she wasn't quite sure what to say, so she reached for the nearest cup, steaming with aromatic coffee. Gratefully, she warmed her fingers on the porcelain and inhaled the fragrance. "Did you... make all of this yourself?" she finally asked, half curious, half teasing. A croissant, perfectly browned and buttery-glossy, lay proudly on a plate. It looked suspiciously like it had come straight from a bakery.

Loki curled his lips in amusement. "Well," he began, drawing out the words, "let's just say I had a little help." His eyes flashed betrayingly.

Sylvie narrowed her eyes in mock suspicion. "Magical help?" she inquired.

He placed a hand on his chest as if she had accused him of a crime. "Would you really suggest that I used magic to obtain these delicacies?"

Sylvie merely raised both eyebrows meaningfully as she sipped from her cup. The hot coffee burned pleasantly in her throat, helping to dispel the last vestiges of sleep. "Let's just say it wouldn't surprise me," she replied drily. She knew him well enough by now to know that Loki never missed an opportunity to use magic to simplify small, everyday tasks.

Loki grinned openly. "Guilty as charged," he confessed theatrically, raising both hands in a gesture of mock surrender. "A few illusions here, a discreet portal there... and voilà." He made a sweeping gesture across the tray. "Fresh croissants straight from Paris, strawberries from the finest greenhouses in Norway, oranges that were still hanging on the trees in Valencia this morning..."

"Stop it!" Sylvie interrupted, half laughing, half genuinely astonished. She shook her head. "You seriously expect me to believe that you just conjured all of this up?"

"Not conjured up, my dear - organized." Loki radiated an innocent self-satisfaction that inevitably made Sylvie smile. "I wanted to spoil you. You deserve it."

His voice softened with the last words, and when their eyes met, Sylvie felt a warm tug in her chest. It was still a little surreal - this tenderness with which Loki treated her. Unusual, yes, but by no means unpleasant. On the contrary, it deeply moved her. Not wanting to get too lost in his gaze, she quickly turned to the food that had been laid out. Her stomach immediately protested at the enticing aroma of scrambled eggs and pastries.

"Well then," she murmured, trying to mask her sudden embarrassment, "let's see if what you've 'organized' tastes any good." With a look of skepticism, she broke off a piece of the croissant. It felt buttery and flaky-soft between her fingers. She dipped it in the strawberry jam and popped it into her mouth.

No sooner had she tasted it than she rolled her eyes in delight. "Mmm," she exclaimed involuntarily. Of course, it tasted fantastic delicate and sweet, with just the right mix of crispy pastry and fruity jam. Loki chuckled softly. He had been watching her reaction closely.

"And?" he inquired, although the smile on his lips had long since revealed that he already knew the answer.

Sylvie tried to maintain a stern expression as she chewed deliberately. "Just about acceptable, I'd say," she announced haughtily, jutting her chin at him mockingly. But then she couldn't suppress a smile and reached for another piece of croissant.

Loki placed a hand on his heart and bowed slightly while seated. "I'll try harder next time, my lady."

She burst out laughing. "Stop that nonsense right now," she demanded, trying to sound stern, but her laughter rendered her words ineffective. Loki beamed at her, clearly pleased to see her so carefree.

Together they tucked into breakfast. Sylvie tasted the scrambled eggs, garnished with chives and perfectly seasoned.

For a while, they ate in silence, in deep intimacy. Their eyes met occasionally, and each time Sylvie couldn't help but smile - a genuine, uncontrollable smile that came from within. It was almost frightening how happy she felt in that moment, simply because of such a simple gesture as breakfast in bed.

However, she did notice that Loki kept watching her. Especially when she reached for a strawberry and popped it into her mouth with relish, his dreamy gaze didn't escape her notice. "What is it?" she finally asked, her voice feigning annoyance, after she had swallowed the berry. "Do I have jam on my face, or why are you looking at me like that?"

Loki flinched slightly, caught off guard like a little boy. An amused gleam came into his eyes. "I'm looking at you because I'm happy," he replied softly. "It's a beautiful sight."

Sylvie felt her cheeks warm - not uncomfortably, but noticeably. She reacted as she always did when embarrassed: with a quip. "You're really cheesy this morning, aren't you?" Her lips curled into a teasing grin as she leaned forward to place her cup on the tray. She stole a quick kiss on Loki's cheek, faster than he could react. "But thank you. It's... really nice." The last words came out more quietly, almost tentatively, as if she didn't want them to carry too much weight.

Nevertheless, she saw Loki begin to smile gently. He tilted his head and studied her with that uniquely affectionate expression that made her both nervous and happy. "You should put up with cheesier versions of me more often," he teased, "if the result looks like this." He nodded at the tray, of which about half had already been eaten.

Sylvie raised her hands in submission. "I'm not complaining at all." Her eyes sparkled defiantly. "I'm just trying to figure out what your plan is. So much effort... You're up to something, admit it."

Loki put on a theatrical, innocent expression. "My only plan was to see you happy and smiling. And it seems I've succeeded." He winked.

She sighed dramatically, feigning a dramatic effect. "All right, you're officially cleared of the charge of excessive secrecy." Then she gave him a small, genuine smile. "Seriously, Loki... thank you. No one has ever..." She trailed off, searching for words. No one had ever done anything like this for her, she wanted to say, but she realized her throat was suddenly tightening at the admission.

Loki understood that too. He gently placed his hand on the back of hers and squeezed it softly. "You're welcome," he said simply. And in that simplicity lay more meaning than any grand words could have conveyed.

For a moment, they reveled in silent understanding. Sylvie allowed herself to hold Loki's hand and stroke it with her thumb, almost unconsciously. She thought back to the night - how confusingly it had all begun and how peacefully it had ended. The faint doubts that still lingered within her shrank in the face of his genuine smile, shrinking to something she could manage.

Finally, Loki glanced out the window, where bright daylight streamed in. The sun was already high in the sky. Sylvie followed his gaze and was inwardly startled to realize how late it apparently was. Normally, she would never have slept until the wee hours - for years, her survival instinct had made her jump up at the crack of dawn, always on alert. But today, it seemed to have sunk so low that half the city could have been burning without her noticing.

"Is it really already noon?" she asked incredulously, pushing the tray aside to get a better look out the window. Indeed, the shadows outside were short and the brightness suggested it was getting late.

"Almost,” Loki confirmed with a grin. “It’s been eleven.” Sylvie’s eyes widened. “Eleven? Damn…” She wanted to get out of bed, but the blanket and Loki’s gentle laughter held her back. “Why didn’t you wake me up?” she asked, half reproachful, half surprised at herself.

Loki lightly stroked her arm with his free hand. "You were snoring so sweetly, I just couldn't help myself," he joked with an innocent look.

"I don't snore!" Sylvie immediately protested, but at the same time nudged him in the ribs with her elbow. Loki just laughed louder.

"Maybe just a tiny bit," he added with feigned caution, holding his thumb and forefinger close together to indicate a minuscule amount.

Sylvie rolled her eyes, but couldn't help but grin. "Idiot." She patted his hand, which was still resting on her arm, as a gentle rebuke. "Seriously, you could have given me a good nudge. I'm not used to sleeping this late. Weren't you... bored while I slept in?"

He shook his head. "Not at all. You needed the sleep, I think." His tone softened. "After everything you've been through... maybe this was the first place where your body could truly relax."

The sincerity in his voice resonated with her. Sylvie swallowed. "Maybe," she murmured, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear self-consciously. It was strange to think about - that she had actually found a place where she felt safe enough to simply... sleep. Deeply and dreamlessly. And next to someone, without constantly having to be on guard. Yes, this was new.

Before she could get too lost in her feelings, however, Loki cleared his throat softly. "However..." he began hesitantly, as if he found it difficult to burst the peaceful bubble of their morning, "...I'm afraid I'll be away for a few hours."

Sylvie blinked and refocused on him. "Away?" she echoed, and immediately a small, silly feeling of disappointment rose within her, which she quickly fought off. Of course, he had things to do too. They couldn't sit here forever snacking on strawberries, however lovely the thought might be.

Loki nodded and continued, "Thor was here earlier while you were still asleep." He half-smiled. "He asked if I could help with the preparations for tomorrow's feast."

"Ah, the feast." Sylvie vaguely remembered. Some village celebration was already the talk of the town. She hadn't paid much attention to it until now, preoccupied with her own inner turmoil. Now it dawned on her that it was indeed supposed to take place tomorrow - a joyful gathering, organized by the people of New Asgard, with food, music, perhaps a bonfire. She wasn't entirely sure, as she had avoided such events until now. Too many people in one place weren't exactly her comfort zone.

“Thor sounded very convincing, as usual,” Loki continued with a smirk. “And since I was wide awake this morning anyway… well, I agreed.” He tilted his head slightly, as if gauging her reaction. “Is that…okay for you?”

Sylvie frowned in confusion. "Why shouldn't it be?" she replied promptly.

Loki shrugged. "After last night...I didn't want to leave you alone so suddenly. But I thought you might need some more sleep, and..." He trailed off, searching for words. "I didn't want to wake you up just to ask you."

His consideration was touching, but Sylvie shook her head firmly. "Loki, I'll be fine," she said with feigned nonchalance. "I think I can survive a few hours without you." The corners of her mouth lifted into a crooked grin, indicating that it was meant as a joke. Deep down, she did feel a slight pang - he'd barely left the house, and she already missed him? Ridiculous. She pushed the feeling aside.

Loki threw up her hands. "I certainly didn't mean to deny you that," he assured her hastily with mock seriousness. "I know you. You're completely self-sufficient. You could probably manage a week without me without even flinching."

“At least,” Sylvie agreed, crossing her arms defiantly - which, because of the blanket still enveloping her, must have looked rather comical. She tossed her chin. “So don’t worry about me. Go ahead, I still have… um…” She briefly considered what to do with her newfound free time. “I’m sure I have something to do too.” A white lie to completely reassure him, but who knew, maybe she would actually think of something.

Loki studied her for a moment, then a mischievous smile crept across his face. "If that's the case..." he began, leaning forward suddenly. Sylvie's breath caught in her throat as his face came very close to hers. For a moment, she thought he was going to kiss her. But instead, his hand shot out and, with surprising agility, snatched a strawberry from the tray. He stepped back, grinning, the deep red berry between his fingers. "...then I'll leave you now to your important business."

She snorted with amusement. "Just you wait..." she blurted out, playfully threatening. Without hesitation, she grabbed his shirt, which happened to be within reach, and held him by the fabric before he could get up. Loki paused, surprised by her sudden action. His gaze flickered to her hand, which was gripping his shirt collar, then back to her face.

"Sylvie?" he asked with an amused undertone, raising a dark eyebrow questioningly.

Instead of answering, Sylvie pulled him towards her with a sudden movement. Loki let it happen with a soft "Oho..." - any resistance was purely for show. In truth, he seemed rather pleased by her bold gesture.

The next second, Sylvie pressed her lips to his. She tasted the sweetness of the strawberry he had just pilfered, mixed with the bitter aftertaste of the coffee they had both drunk. Loki froze for a moment - probably simply taken aback, as Sylvie was rarely so direct in her approach. But then he relaxed and returned the kiss gently, yet passionately.

It was probably only meant to be a quick goodbye kiss, but when Sylvie felt Loki's warm lips so intimately against hers, she couldn't help but lift her chin and prolong the kiss for a few more heartbeats. Her hand freed the fabric of his shirt and moved up the back of his neck, holding him closer.

Loki sighed contentedly against her mouth and returned her gesture by placing a hand on her cheek. The tickle of his stubble against her chin made her smile. Finally, Sylvie pulled away with one last, tender kiss and opened her eyes.

Loki looked at her, and for a wonderful moment, pure happiness shone in his eyes. It was an open, unguarded radiance that Sylvie would have loved to hold onto forever. "That..." he began hoarsely, visibly clearing his throat, "...was a convincing argument for not showing my face at Thor's place today."

Sylvie felt a smug sense of satisfaction. She had clearly succeeded in turning Loki's head - his slightly dazed expression spoke volumes. She smiled and pretended to brush an imaginary crumb from his shirt, just to feel her fingers on his chest once more. "If I'd known that was all it would take..." She let the sentence hang in the air, teasingly.

Loki gave a soft laugh, a rough, promising sound. "Be careful, Sylvie. Otherwise, I really will stay here." He leaned forward as if to kiss her again, only to stop close to her face. She felt his breath on her lips, warm and enticing.

For a split second, Sylvie actually toyed with the idea of ​​simply not letting him leave. She could pull him back into bed right now, throw the blanket over them both again, and pick up where they'd left off yesterday... The temptation flashed hotly within her. But at the same time, she knew that Loki wouldn't break his promise to Thor lightly and she didn't want him to either. Besides, it was probably better that they both got some breathing room after the intense last few hours.

So she playfully placed a hand against his chest and gently pushed him away. "Go on," she murmured, her expression averting the exact opposite of what her words meant. She chuckled at her own irony and hoped he wasn't too aware of her inner turmoil. "Otherwise, Thor himself might show up to force his brother into service."

Loki grimaced dramatically. "A terrible thought." He sighed, then stole a quick, light, playful kiss from her lips. "All right, I'll go."

He stood up, picked up the tray from which they had almost finished eating, and placed it on the small table by the door. Then he turned back to her. Sylvie had also climbed out of bed by then.

Loki let his gaze wander lovingly over her, from her tousled blond hair to the bare toes. "I'll be back as soon as possible, I promise," he said softly.

Sylvie nodded and swallowed the strange feeling gnawing at her chest. She didn't want to sound like a clingy child, so she just casually raised her hand. "I'll survive," she repeated, this time with a genuine little smile- perhaps more to reassure herself than him.

Loki returned her smile before turning away. As he walked out the door, he turned around once more in the doorway. "So then... see you later."

"See you later," she confirmed.

With one last look - a look that spoke louder than a dozen words - Loki quietly disappeared down the stairs. Sylvie remained in the room, staring for a few seconds at the spot where he had just been standing. The room suddenly felt surprisingly empty without him.

Only now did she realize her heart was beating faster than usual. She took a deep breath to calm it, and a smile involuntarily crept onto her lips. That man..., she thought, shaking her head. How he always managed to completely unnerve her with simple gestures or just a few words.

She reached for a strawberry that had been left on the tray and took a mindless bite. Yes, she would survive a few hours alone - but she could hardly wait for him to come back.

Sylvie spent some time tidying the bedroom and carrying the tray with the leftover breakfast downstairs to the kitchen. There she finished off the last of the strawberries (it would have been a shame to waste them, she told herself, although every bite reminded her of Loki's smile). Then she treated herself to a quick, hot shower to wake up completely and changed into fresh clothes: her usual tight black trousers, sturdy boots, and a simple blue sweater. She combed her long blonde hair and tied it loosely into a braid. A quick glance in the mirror showed her a familiar image - the same Sylvie as always, only her expression was perhaps a little more relaxed than usual. Hard to say.

Since Loki hadn't returned yet and the sun was already high in the sky, Sylvie decided to go for a short walk. Perhaps she could run some errands she'd been meaning to do for a while - a welcome excuse to pass the time until Loki got back.

Outside, a fresh midday breeze greeted her. The air smelled of salt; in the distance, the bay of New Asgard glittered deep blue. The gentle hills all around glowed a lush green, and wildflowers bloomed along the roadside. Sylvie strolled along the path that led from the small house on the edge of the village toward the center. On the way, she encountered several residents, most of them busily preparing for the feast. Small signs of the celebration were everywhere: colorful fabric garlands hung between the houses, she noticed a makeshift stage in the village square, and benches and tables were being set up all around. There was an infectious sense of anticipation in the air, which even Sylvie couldn't entirely miss.

But there was no sign of Loki. As she walked, her thoughts inevitably drifted to him. She imagined him working with Thor and the others - probably charming everyone with his usual flair, or perhaps giving them a little nudge here and there. She smiled at the thought of him secretly stabilizing the stage with a spell while Thor boasted that he had everything under control. It was still a new experience for her to think of someone and feel such a warm feeling in her stomach.

"Pull yourself together," she murmured quietly to herself, realizing how sentimental her thoughts were becoming again. Good heavens, what was wrong with her? She used to spend her days making plans, plotting revenge, or simply surviving. And now she found herself constantly thinking about him, walking around with a dreamy smile. She shook her head almost imperceptibly at herself - but the smile remained.

As she passed the small bakery, from which the aroma of freshly baked bread wafted, she couldn't help thinking about breakfast from that morning. An involuntary chuckle escaped her lips. An older woman, walking towards her with a shopping basket, heard it and gave her a friendly nod. Sylvie recognized her slightly - it was Edda, her neighbor from two houses down. Edda seemed surprised to see Sylvie so relaxed. "Beautiful day, isn't it?" she called out to her as she passed.

"Yes, indeed," replied Sylvie, her voice still sounding unusually cheerful. Edda winked conspiratorially, as if she knew exactly what - or who - was the reason for Sylvie's good mood. Before Sylvie could react, the woman had already moved on, presumably also heading for the village square.

Sylvie sighed with a smile and headed towards the small shop, which sold all sorts of everyday necessities. She bought soap and a few other things that she had actually run out of. While she waited at the counter for the shopkeeper to give her change, her gaze drifted out onto the main street.

Diagonally opposite was the village's only clothing store. A few mannequins stood in its window. Normally, Sylvie would have paid them no attention at all - fashion didn't really interest her. But today, something made her hesitate. She took her change, thanked the cashier briefly, and stepped back onto the street, shopping bag in hand. Her feet didn't carry her onward immediately. Instead, she paused in front of the small shop's window.

Three mannequins displayed three dresses. One was pale yellow with a floral pattern, airy and summery - nothing Sylvie would ever wear. Next to it hung a dark red, high-necked dress with lace sleeves, which already had a hint of elegance. But it was the middle dress that captured her attention: a long gown in a soft, icy blue, with delicate silver embroidery along the neckline. It looked sophisticated without being overdone.

Sylvie couldn't say why this particular dress captivated her so completely. Perhaps it reminded her of something - soft moonlight on snow, or the cool shimmer of the bay's waves in the evening. Involuntarily, she imagined how this blue would harmonize with her own eyes. She had blue eyes herself, clear and bright, even though she'd never paid them much attention. Loki, on the other hand... Loki often got lost in her eyes, she'd noticed. What would he say if he saw her in such a dress? The thought came suddenly, crystal clear and unexpected: Would he gaze at her in admiration? Would it take his breath away, as the sight of him sometimes did for her?

Sylvie caught herself blushing slightly. Ridiculous. Her in a dress - and such an elegant one at that. It didn't suit her at all. And yet... the idea tickled a hidden part of her heart, one she had barely explored before.

She was so engrossed in her imagination that she completely blocked out her surroundings. Only when someone suddenly said close to her, "It certainly suits you, if you ask me," did Sylvie flinch in shock.

She turned around. Valkyrie stood there, casual as ever. Her dark hair danced lightly in the wind, and an amused grin played around her lips.

„What the-?“ Sylvie started, her heart pounding from the shock; she had been so absorbed. “Gods..., do you have to sneak up on me like that?”

"Sneaking up?" Valkyrie chuckled softly. "I called you from over there, but you were completely lost in thought." She nodded her chin toward the dress in the shop window. "Seems to be something very interesting, huh?"

Sylvie felt heat rising to her face again. She hastily crossed her arms over her chest. "I was just looking," she claimed, trying to sound as indifferent as possible.

"Of course, of course." Valkyrie raised her hands placatingly, but her grin widened. "So, did you like what you saw?"

"Hmph." Sylvie snorted, trying to buy time and hide her embarrassment. "That stuff isn't for me. Dresses..." She waved her hand vaguely toward the shop window and made a mocking face. "Not really my style, don't you think?"

Valkyrie stepped closer to the shop window and tilted her head slightly as she examined the blue dress. "Well," she began slowly, "you never know until you try it."

"Oh no, no, no." Sylvie immediately understood what Valkyrie was getting at and raised her hands defensively. "Don't even think about it."

Valkyrie feigned innocence. "What about? I haven't said anything yet."

"You have that look," Sylvie replied, narrowing her eyes suspiciously. "That 'let's-do-something' look. Just forget about it."

"Oh, come on." Valkyrie nudged her lightly with her elbow. "Do you have something better to do right now? Loki's busy, isn't he?"

Sylvie frowned. "How do you know-?" she began, but Valkyrie waved her hand dismissively.

"I saw Thor earlier. He mentioned that his little brother was helping out." She grinned mischievously again. "So I thought I'd see what you were up to. And lo and behold, I find you gazing dreamily into a shop window. It must be fate."

Sylvie rolled her eyes. "Oh please...fate," she scoffed. "More like chance and exhaustion."

“Exhausted?” Valkyrie raised an eyebrow meaningfully. “I’d say you look more like you’ve had a great rest today.”

Sylvie deliberately ignored the suggestive undertone in Valkyrie’s voice. She absolutely refused to talk about last night. Never. “Anyway, I’m going home now-”

"No way." Before Sylvie knew it, Valkyrie had already grabbed her wrist. Not tightly, but firmly enough to make Sylvie stop. "We're going in there now."

“What? No!” Sylvie could have easily broken free, but she resisted all the more. “Val, I’m serious, that’s nonsense. I don’t need a dress!”

“And why not?” Valkyrie looked at her challengingly. “Do you have something against pretty dresses?”

“No, but-”

“Don’t you think you look good in one?”

“I don’t even know,” Sylvie growled helplessly. “I never wear anything like that!”

“Exactly.” Valkyrie grinned and pulled Sylvie a step closer to the shop door. “Well, it’s about time to tried it on.”

Sylvie groaned. “I swear, if you make me put on something like that, I’ll-”

“You’ll what?” Valkyrie stood directly in front of her, hands on her hips, and looked at Sylvie with sparkling eyes.

Sylvie grimaced. "I'll think about it..."

Valkyrie laughed and swung the shop door open. A small bell jingled as it opened. "Come on now. A look won't hurt."

Before Sylvie could voice any further objections, Valkyrie had already entered and pulled her in - less through force than through sheer determination. Sylvie reluctantly followed her into the shop.

A warm, cozy semi-darkness greeted her. The room was small but lovingly furnished. Shelves full of bolts of fabric and wool lined the walls, and in the center stood dress forms with unfinished projects. It smelled of linen and a hint of lavender. An older woman appeared from behind an antique-looking counter, apparently coming from the back room. Her face lit up immediately at the sight of Valkyrie.

"Valkyrie, my dear!" she cried with delight, approaching with open arms. "What a rare visit. What brings you here?" She had shoulder-length white hair in thick curls and wore a tailored dress of burgundy fabric, which gave her an almost royal appearance.

Valkyrie approached her smiling and kissed the lady on the cheek in greeting. "Hello Hilda," she greeted warmly.

"I've brought someone with me who desperately needs your expert advice," Valkyrie continued, practically pulling Sylvie into the older lady's line of sight beside her.

Hilda eyed Sylvie with curiosity and a touch of emotion. She recognized Sylvie, but they had never actually been introduced. "Ah, Sylvie, isn't she?" she said kindly. "I've seen you here and there around town." She extended a hand. Sylvie, surprised by the warm greeting, took it after a brief hesitation. The old woman's handshake was surprisingly firm. "It's lovely to finally welcome you to my humble shop."

Sylvie managed a thin smile. "Hello," she said somewhat stiffly. She was never good at small talk with strangers, but Hilda's good-natured smile eased her tension a little.

"Sylvie needs a dress for tomorrow evening," Valkyrie announced without hesitation.

"What? I don't need-" Sylvie began reflexively, but Valkyrie gave her a light nudge in the side.

"Oh, be quiet," she whispered, feigning sternness. Then she continued loudly, "She was just admiring this beautiful blue dress in the shop window, and we thought we'd take a look and see what you had for her."

Hilda's eyes widened in delight. "Oh, the blue one?" She clapped her hands. "Yes, it's one of my latest creations! Ice-blue taffeta embroidered with delicate silver thread..." She had already rushed to the shop window and carefully took the dress off the mannequin. Gently, she carried it to them in both arms, as if she were holding something incredibly precious.

Sylvie swallowed. The fabric shimmered softly in the shop light and looked even more luxurious than it had behind the glass. Now, hanging directly in front of her, it seemed both alluring and intimidating.

Hilda pointed to a screen in the corner. "If you like, you can change there. I'll gladly help you if needed."

"Oh no, I can manage that," Sylvie objected hastily. The idea of ​​someone helping her change her clothes made her deeply uncomfortable.

Hilda, however, seemed unwilling to dampen her enthusiasm. "As you wish, dear. I'll simply hand you the dress, shall I?" She smiled mischievously.

Sylvie sighed resignedly. She was clearly no match for the euphoria of these two women. "This will have consequences..." she muttered to Valkyrie, who then chuckled softly.

As soon as she stood behind the privacy screen, Hilda handed her the ice-blue dress over the partition. Sylvie carefully took it. It was surprisingly heavy.

"There's a zipper in the back, I've already opened it," Hilda helpfully informed her.

"Thank you," Sylvie murmured. She took a deep breath and then resolutely pulled her sweater over her head. It was ridiculous that her heart was suddenly racing. Once she'd also slipped off her trousers, she stood there in just her underwear, shivering slightly in the cooler air of the shop. She glanced briefly at the dress hanging on a hook of the screen. "Well, here goes..." she whispered encouragingly to herself.

It was an unusual sensation to slip into the wide, flowing fabric. Carefully, Sylvie pulled the dress over her head and let it slide down her body. It felt cool against her skin and incredibly soft. She stretched her arms through the sleeve openings and fumbled for the zipper in the back. After some fiddling, she had it zipped up. The dress fit - of course it did, after all, Hilda had a good eye for measurements.

Sylvie smoothed the fabric at the front and looked down. She hardly recognized herself. Her bare feet peeped out from under the hem, but the rest of her... was enveloped in pure elegance. The dress clung to her waist without constricting, then fell in soft waves to the floor. The sweetheart neckline accentuated her collarbones and neck without revealing too much.

Unsure what to do next, Sylvie called out softly, "Uh, Val?"

"Yes?" came the prompt reply from the other side of the screen, clearly expectant.

"I'm coming out..." Sylvie announced. Her voice sounded strangely small to her ears.

"Come on!" Valkyrie replied, brimming with anticipation.

So Sylvie hesitantly pushed the screen aside a little and stepped out.

The moment she stepped from the shadows into the light, she felt somehow vulnerable. Her instinct was to wrap her arms around herself, but she forced herself not to. Instead, she tentatively raised her gaze.

Valkyrie and Hilda stared at her - one with her mouth open, the other with shining eyes. It was as if time had stood still for a heartbeat. Then Hilda breathed in rapturous delight. “Oh, my dear …”

“Damn it!” Valkyrie exclaimed, then burst out laughing. “Sylvie, you look…” She just shook her head in disbelief and grinned from ear to ear.

“Don’t look like me?” Sylvie murmured, trying to hide her nervousness behind sarcasm. But in reality, she was more than just surprised - she was overwhelmed.

In a large full-length mirror on the wall, she saw the whole picture for the first time. What she saw there truly made her stagger.

Was that really her? Sylvie blinked, startled. The woman in the mirror... was wearing a breathtaking dress, no doubt about it. The icy blue made her fair skin glow and her eyes sparkle like two sapphires. Her blonde hair, even though it was only tied back in a simple braid, stood out like a golden shimmer against the cool blue. And her figure... she stood upright, shoulders back, and the dress clung to her slender waist, then flowed gracefully over her hips. She suddenly looked so... feminine. A warrior in a ball gown, Sylvie thought, half amused, half incredulous.

"I had a feeling it would look good," she heard Valkyrie's voice as if from a great distance, "but that it would look this good... Holy Mother of Gods." Valkyrie laughed joyfully and placed both hands on Sylvie's shoulders, as if to congratulate her. "You are beautiful."

"She certainly is," Hilda agreed. The older woman stepped closer, her eyes moist with emotion. Gently, she tugged at a fold of the dress, smoothing the fabric. "It's as if it were made for you, dear."

Sylvie didn't know what to say. She felt heat rising in her face - she was unfamiliar with compliments like these, especially not about her appearance. Part of her wanted to flee the dress immediately, back into her comfortable trousers and sweater, and pretend it had never happened. But another part... this other part silently absorbed the admiration like dry earth absorbs rain. Only now did she realize how starved she had been for such validation - the validation that she was not only a battle-hardened fighter, but also a beautiful woman.

She shyly tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, a gesture that seemed almost out of place with the graceful dress. "It's...nice, yes," she finally admitted quietly. She couldn't manage more, but the smile that tentatively spread across her face spoke volumes.

Hilda clapped her hands with delight. "Then it's decided. The dress is yours, my dear." She made her way to the counter, presumably to prepare something, but Sylvie immediately raised her hands defensively.

"Wait, I never said I'd take it!" she protested hastily. Her gaze flickered guiltily to Valkyrie, who looked amused.

"Don't you like it?" Valkyrie asked, feigning innocence.

“Sure, but…” Sylvie bit her lower lip. “But it’s far too much for a village festival. I mean, look at me - I look like I’m going to a royal ball.”

Valkyrie nodded. “Well, you might be right. Something simpler would be more appropriate.” She turned to the seamstress. “Hilda, do you perhaps have something in your repertoire that isn’t quite so opulent?”

Hilda, who had only been smiling blissfully, immediately sprang back into action. "Of course! Just a moment, my dears." She hurried over to a clothes rack at the side. "I have a few more dresses here that were finished just in time for the feast..." The clinking of hangers could be heard as she searched. "Ah, what do you think of this one?"

She returned with a new dress on her arms. This one was a rich emerald green. It was slightly shorter - about calf-length - and the bodice was adorned with subtle gold embroidery depicting stylized Nordic knots and patterns. The fabric seemed heavier than that of the blue dress, more like fine linen or a linen-silk blend, and the cut appeared to be inspired by Asgardian fashion.

Sylvie regarded it with interest. It did indeed look more practical than the ice-blue dress - she could probably move around more easily in it without fear of tripping over it. And yet, it possessed something special, something of that ancient Asgardian elegance that simultaneously carried within it a proud warrior tradition.

"Try it!" Valkyrie encouraged her.

So, behind the screen, Sylvie swapped the heavenly blue for the rich green. This time, the seamstress helped her a little with lacing a narrow leather band that ran as decoration under the bust and was tied at the back – it gave the dress a touch of armor without looking crude.

A little later, Sylvie stood in front of the mirror again. The green dress fit perfectly. The color harmonized remarkably well with her complexion and made her blonde hair shine. The gold patterns across the bodice gave it a festive look, but not an overdone one.

Sylvie hesitantly turned once around her own axis. The dress swung softly around her legs, revealing the tips of her boots which she had just put back on. It felt... comfortable. And pretty at the same time, without being dressed up.

Valkyrie whistled in approval. "That," she announced, "is absolutely perfect." Hilda nodded eagerly. "Truly beautiful. And most importantly: you're glowing, my dear."

Sylvie only just noticed that a genuine smile had crept onto her face. She had looked at herself in the mirror and smiled involuntarily - a delicate, almost shy smile that vanished as soon as she became aware of it. She lowered her gaze and blushed slightly.

"It's... I really feel comfortable in it," she then admitted honestly. And in her vocabulary, that meant something like: I like it.

“I knew it,” Valkyrie said with satisfaction. She stepped up to Sylvie in front of the mirror and put her arm around her. “This look is perfect for you. Asgardian elegance meets country life. And - most importantly -” she grinned, “I bet Loki’s jaw will drop when he sees you in it.”

Sylvie snorted and nudged Valkyrie with her elbow, but an amused twinkle in her eyes betrayed that she didn’t dislike the idea. “Stop it.”

“Okay, okay” Valkyrie said, laughing.

Now it was time to sort out the remaining details.

“Good,” Valkyrie said, satisfied. “Then we just need shoes!”

“Oh no!” Sylvie groaned immediately, raising her hands defensively. “The dress is enough.”

“You can’t just wear your clunky boots with it,” Hilda protested.

Sylvie defiantly crossed her arms over her chest (brushing against the glittering embroidery at her neckline and noticing with surprise how unusual even this small movement felt in a dress). "Why not? You can hardly see them under the long skirt."

Hilda chuckled softly, as if Sylvie were telling a particularly good joke. "Oh my goodness, that's a good one."

Valkyrie had already hurried to a shelf at the side and pulled out a pair of light silver sandals with a small heel. "What do you think of these?"

Sylvie shook her head vigorously, as if she'd been offered a poisonous scorpion. "Not with heels. I'll break every bone in my body before I take three steps in them."

"You have an incredible sense of balance," Valkyrie interjected, but Sylvie wouldn't budge.

"I said no." Her tone brooked no argument. She lifted her skirt slightly and took a few demonstrative steps - as if to show that she could walk like that too.

"I also have pretty ballet flats or flat sandals, completely without a heel. Look." She produced a pair of dainty ballet flats made of black fabric with delicate embroidery. "These, perhaps?"

Sylvie examined the shoes skeptically. At least they were flat. She sighed resignedly. "Fine by me." Anything to avoid having to walk on those stilts.

A few minutes later, she had tried on the ballet flats. They fit well and were reasonably comfortable - as comfortable as shoes could be that weren't worn-out leather boots.

"Perfect," Valkyrie declared. "The overall look is right."

Sylvie stood in front of the mirror again, this time wearing the shoes. She did indeed look a touch more... well, more complete. She turned sideways and skeptically examined her silhouette. The part of her that had fought for years missed having a knife strapped to her thigh, or at least a boot in which to conceal a blade. But the part of her that was slowly learning to appreciate life beyond fighting and fleeing was immensely proud.

Suddenly, Loki's face flashed before her mind's eye. How would he react if he saw her like this? Would he be speechless? Would he tease her? Would he... look at her lustfully? A tingling sensation rose within her at the thought, and she had to fight back a smile.

Valkyrie noticed. "What are you thinking about?" she asked, feigning innocence.

"Nothing," Sylvie lied a little too quickly.

Valkyrie grinned, but let it go. Instead, she nodded toward the changing room. "Do you want to keep it on now, or...?"

"Keep it on?!" Sylvie flinched slightly. "No, no. I'll put my clothes back on." She absolutely refused to walk through the village in her full outfit, heavens no. She would have been mortified if she were seen on the street dressed up like a princess.

"Whatever you prefer." Valkyrie held up her hands.

"Mhm." Sylvie grimaced. Now that the initial magic was wearing off, a bit of her practical sense returned. The dress was truly a dream, but it certainly wasn't cheap. She disappeared behind the screen again and, with a soft sigh, shed the delicate garments. Back in her trousers and sweater, she immediately felt more like herself again - even if it took a moment to get used to the coarser fabrics against her skin after just being in silk and linen.

Hilda insisted on carefully wrapping the green dress in tissue paper and placing it in a box. Sylvie stood beside her, looking somewhat lost. "I'm not sure if I really should..." she began again, but Valkyrie put an arm around her shoulders.

"No arguing. This is a find! You don't just leave something like this lying around."

"She's right, dear," Hilda interjected, tying a ribbon around the box. "This dress has probably been waiting for you ever since it was made." She handed the package to Sylvie, who accepted it hesitantly.

Sylvie sighed resignedly. She couldn't believe she was actually about to buy a dress. But it also felt... not bad. Just new. Very new.

"So, and now for the icing on the cake," Valkyrie said suddenly, having just stopped in front of a small display of delicate lace lingerie.

Sylvie followed her gaze and almost gasped. Valkyrie was holding a black lace bra between her fingers, seductively semi-transparent. It came with matching panties, equally intricately crafted. The set looked sinfully expensive and incredibly alluring.

"That would go well with the dress, don't you think?" Valkyrie mused aloud, but Sylvie knew perfectly well she was just teasing her.

"Absolutely not," Sylvie blurted out immediately, much louder than she intended. She felt all the blush of the day rush to her face at once. "No. Definitely not."

Valkyrie raised her eyebrows innocently. "Why not? It's pretty."

"Val..." Sylvie hissed, grabbing Valkyrie's arm and pulling her away from the clothes rack. "Put that away."

"Oh, Sylvie." Valkyrie chuckled. "Don't worry, it was just a suggestion." But there was a twinkle of amusement in her eyes. "Loki would have been surely-"

"Not. One. More. Word," Sylvie cut her off immediately. She didn't even want to imagine what Valkyrie would say next. The mere thought of it made her heart skip a beat.

Hilda watched the scene with a gentle smile, but said nothing, instead typing the amount for the dress and shoes into her old-fashioned cash register. Sylvie hurriedly fumbled for her purse. Valkyrie protested, saying she would have gladly paid, but Sylvie remained firm: If she was going to take this risk, then it should be out of her own pocket.

Shortly after, Sylvie stepped back out onto the street with her newly acquired treasure. A small bell jingled above them as they left.

Outside, the sunlight dazzled her for a moment after her eyes had adjusted to the dim interior of the shop. Sylvie balanced the box containing the dress in her arms, feeling a bit like she was in a dream.

"Well, that was a success," Valkyrie remarked with satisfaction as they strolled leisurely down the alley beside Sylvie. The feast wouldn't officially start until tomorrow, but the excitement was already palpable everywhere and now Sylvie, whether she liked it or not, was part of it.

"If you say so," Sylvie said. Her tone was laconic, but a trace of fascination still lingered in her eyes.

Valkyrie nudged her in a friendly way. "Admit it: You're a little excited."

Sylvie hesitated. "I am curious, that's true."

"Curious? About what?"

Sylvie bit her lower lip, hesitating to say it aloud. But finally, she sighed and quietly admitted, "About what he says."

Valkyrie didn't need to ask who she meant by "he." She grinned broadly. "He won't be able to take his eyes off you for a second."

"Stop it," Sylvie muttered, but she couldn't suppress a smile of her own. She felt her heart flutter at the thought of surprising Loki.

Valkyrie stopped at the next corner. "This is where our paths diverge for now. I have some errands to run before the party starts."

Sylvie nodded. "Sure. And... uh, thanks." She lifted the box in her hands slightly. "For the moral support."

"Anytime." Valkyrie placed her hand on Sylvie's shoulder in farewell. Then she leaned closer and lowered her voice conspiratorially: "And as for that pretty black lace - maybe you should reconsider." Before Sylvie could protest, Valkyrie laughed, quickly stepped out of reach, and called out, "See you tomorrow!"

With that, Valkyrie marched off with energetic strides, one hand raised in greeting, without turning back. Sylvie was left shaking her head.

The alley was a little quieter now; most of the villagers were probably working at the feast grounds, giving Sylvie a few moments to catch her breath. She turned halfway around and glanced back at the shop window. The mannequin that had been wearing the blue dress had been changed - Hilda had quickly dressed it in a different one, a pale green, which wasn't nearly as eye-catching.

Sylvie lowered her gaze to the box in her arms. Her heart beat faster at the thought of what she had just bought. It felt like a treasure she carried with her - a piece of a new identity, an experiment with herself.

 

[TBC]

Chapter Text

The evening sun was sinking, bathing the sky in soft hues of pink and orange. A gentle breeze blew in from the coast, carrying the spicy scent of salt and heather into the house as Sylvie cracked open a living room window to air it out. Her heart was still beating a little faster than usual - probably from the exciting day she'd just had. Then she gathered her purchases

and went upstairs to the bedroom.

She carefully placed the large box containing the new dress on the bed. Next to it, she placed a much smaller package. She sighed softly and circled the two items uncertainly. The mere thought of their contents made her heart race.

As evening approached and the last light of day filtered through the curtains, Sylvie felt her nervousness rising. Loki would be back soon. The village festival wasn't until tomorrow - which was probably why he was still busy with final preparations - but he could walk through the door at any moment. Sylvie was actually glad to have a little time to herself; it would give her a chance to collect herself and think about what she wanted to do next. She took a deep breath. Pull yourself together, she told herself silently. Why was she making such a fuss? It was just a dress, after all… and...well... maybe some lacy lingerie. Loki probably wouldn't even notice, let alone care what she wore underneath. He loved her no matter what she wore, didn't he?

Her gaze drifted back to the small package on the bed, and involuntarily the memory of the scene that had unfolded in Hilda's shop a few hours earlier flooded back. A flush of heat rose to Sylvie's face as she thought of it. After she and Valkyrie had actually left the shop that morning, she had returned a short time later - all alone, her heart pounding.

In her mind's eye, she saw herself standing stiffly in the cozy shop again. Hilda had greeted her with a warm, understanding smile, as if it were the most natural thing in the world that Sylvie had reappeared so unexpectedly. "Do you need anything after all, my dear?" Hilda had asked calmly, without a trace of surprise in her voice. Sylvie would have loved to turn on her heel and run away, but she forced herself to stay. With burning cheeks, she had finally nodded and - probably much too quietly - asked for the set. That black lace ensemble that Valkyrie had briefly shown her that morning and that Sylvie had been brooding over incessantly ever since.

Hilda had simply nodded in agreement. Without any fuss, she pulled the desired lingerie set from a drawer, briefly showed it to Sylvie once more, and then, with practiced ease, began wrapping the exquisite pieces in fine tissue paper. Not a single ambiguous comment, not a single appraising glance - Hilda handled the purchase discreetly and professionally, as if it were the most natural thing in the world to her. Of course it was. Sylvie, on the other hand, felt utterly out of place. Her face felt as if it were burning as she wordlessly paid and then took the small package. Before she had even fully grasped what she was doing, she was already back outside on the street - the sinful lace lingerie neatly tucked away in a bag. 'Did I really just buy this lingerie?' she wondered, dazed. Even now, hours later, the memory made her involuntarily close her eyes. It had still been terribly embarrassing…and yet also a little exciting.

Sylvie opened her eyes and looked at the small package again. 'Gods, why am I making such a big deal out of this?' she scolded herself again. It's just underwear! She took a deep breath. Loki probably wouldn't even notice what she was wearing underneath. And even if he did - wouldn't he care at all? A small smile crept onto her lips as she thought of how Loki usually looked at her: with that warm gleam in his eyes, as if nothing else in the world existed. He loved her just as she was, completely independent of any clothes. "Get a grip," Sylvie murmured quietly to herself again, straightening her shoulders.

Nevertheless…Her gaze drifted back to the package of lace lingerie. Part of her was still unsure whether she should really take the risk of trying these things on. What did she actually hope to gain from it? That it would make her feel like a different person? That it would magically take away her fear of taking things a step further today? Sylvie nervously fidgeted with her fingers and felt that flutter in the pit of her stomach again. She knew exactly why she had let herself be carried away with this purchase in the first place: Last night, she had rejected Loki's advances out of fear. But today - today she wanted to overcome that fear. She wanted to show Loki that she could open up, that she was ready to finally let all her walls fall. Perhaps this small, seductive secret beneath her clothes would actually give her the courage to go through with it.

Sylvie straightened up resolutely. Enough brooding. She would take things one step at a time. And the first step… might be as simple as trying this on, to get used to the feeling. With a jerk, she grabbed the small package and went over to the bathroom. There, she turned the key in the lock - not wanting Loki to surprise her before she was finished. The mere thought of him coming into the bathroom right now and finding her in the middle of this attempt made her blush.

In the bathroom, she placed the package on the shelf and studied her reflection for a moment, scrutinizing it. Her face looked tense, a little pale with nervousness, and uncertainty flickered in her eyes. "Don't be such a baby," she murmured quietly to herself, and then carefully opened the package.

A hint of black lace peeped out from between the tissue paper. Slowly, she took out the delicate pieces of fabric. They felt cool and incredibly soft between her fingers. Carefully, Sylvie unfolded the panties first: tiny, she thought, almost provocatively skimpy. The lace was fine and openwork with a delicate pattern; a narrow satin ribbon ran along the edges. She swallowed and hung the panties over the towel rack so they wouldn't fall on the floor while she took out the second piece - the matching bra. Balconette cut, semi-transparent, elegant and sensual. Sylvie's heart pounded in her chest, but now curiosity was mixed in. How would it look on her?

She took another deep breath and then began to undress. She quickly peeled off her sweater and the bra she'd worn all day, and also slipped off her everyday trousers and panties. For a moment she hesitated, naked in the cool bathroom air, but then, with trembling fingers, she reached for the new panties. She carefully stepped into them, one leg at a time, and slowly pulled them up. The fabric clung to her like a second skin. Surprisingly comfortable, she realized - and at the same time, unusual, because there was so much less of it than usual. The delicate material barely covered her hips at the sides, but accentuated them beautifully. Sylvie looked at herself in the mirror from the side. The panties fit perfectly; the sight made her blush involuntarily, but also nod in satisfaction.

Now the bra. With a bit of finger acrobatics, Sylvie wrapped it around her torso and fastened the clasp at the back. She adjusted the straps and smoothed the fabric on the front. Her hands trembled slightly - was it nervousness or anticipation? She couldn't quite tell.

Finally, she looked up and examined herself fully in the mirror. For a moment, she hardly recognized herself. The woman standing there bore no resemblance whatsoever to the image Sylvie had held of herself all these years. Instead of her usual practical combat gear or comfortable everyday clothes, she was clad only in a tiny wisp of black lace. Her pale skin formed a stark contrast. She seemed… feminine. Seductive. Vulnerable and strong at the same time. Sylvie took a shallow breath as she absorbed the transformation.

For a fleeting, glowing moment, she let her imagination run wild, imagining how Loki would look at her if he saw her like this. In her mind's eye, she could almost see it: his typical, astonished expression when she surprised him - eyes wide, mouth slightly open. Perhaps he would smile incredulously, hardly able to believe it. And then, perhaps, that gleam would flicker in his green eyes, that dark, deep sparkle that always appeared when desire stirred within him. The mere thought of it made Sylvie feel hot and cold at the same time. Something warm clenched inside her, a small, telltale fluttering stirred in her stomach and spread lower. She felt her legs suddenly weaken.

Sylvie took a shaky breath and firmly snapped herself out of her daydream. Enough already. She couldn't let her fantasies lull her completely—who knew how much longer she could stand up here undisturbed? It would be truly ironic if she, of all people—battle-tested, brave, always determined—were left paralyzed in the end, simply because she'd thrown herself into a frenzy with a bit of lace. She snorted softly at herself and shook her head. This was all exciting, yes, but she wouldn't let it render her powerless. Not again.

She had just bent down to pick up her discarded sweater from the floor when she suddenly heard the sound of the front door opening downstairs. A moment later, footsteps echoed across the hallway floorboards. "Sylvie?" Loki's voice called from downstairs, searching for her.

Sylvie jumped in shock. Damn! Loki was already back. For a heartbeat, she stood frozen, but then her reflex took over. "I'm upstairs!" she called back hastily, hoping her voice sounded halfway normal. "I... I'll be right down!"

She whirled around frantically, grabbing her clothes, which were scattered on the floor. He absolutely couldn't see her like this - not yet! With flying fingers, she gathered up her black trousers and slipped them on. The waistband slid over her lace panties, hiding them from prying eyes. Then she grabbed her sweater from the floor. Quickly, she pulled it on, hastily pulling her loose hair out from under the collar. The mirror reflected a face with bright red cheeks and wide, excited eyes. She pressed her lips together for a moment, then gave herself a barely perceptible nod. Stay calm. You can do this.

"Sylvie?” she heard Loki call again, now a little more uncertainly.

"Yes! I'll be right there!" she replied as calmly as possible. She ran her hands through her tousled blonde hair, then turned the key in the bathroom and hurried out to the stairs.

Loki was already standing at the bottom of the stairs, looking up, obviously searching for her. When Sylvie appeared, he raised his head. When he saw her, a radiant smile spread across his face. "There you are," he said softly. His green eyes shone with the joy of reunion, as if he had been gone for a week, not just a few hours.

Sylvie couldn't help but smile. She leaned casually against the banister to hide her nervousness. "Here I am," she replied in a low voice.

Loki had apparently freshened up as well. He was wearing dark jeans and a white shirt, the sleeves of which he had rolled up to his elbows. His black hair was neatly combed back.

For a moment they simply stood there, gazing at each other. Loki was positively beaming with joy at seeing her again, and Sylvie felt her heart flutter. Not wanting to seem too lost in his eyes, she gave him a slight smile. "You're looking at me like you haven't seen me in days," she remarked, trying to hide her nervousness behind a teasing smile.

Loki chuckled softly and reached out a hand to her. "It feels that way too," he said gently. "Come to me."

Without thinking, Sylvie placed her fingers in his palm. He pulled her down the last few steps toward him until they were level. For a heartbeat, they gazed at each other - Sylvie was sure she still looked a little embarrassed, because she could feel the heat rising from earlier when she thought about what she was wearing under her sweater. But Loki didn't seem to notice at all. He tilted his head slightly. "Hi," he said softly, and there was so much tenderness in that simple greeting that Sylvie almost lost her composure again. "Hi," she replied just as softly.

Loki gently tugged on her hand, drawing her closer. Then he leaned forward and greeted her with a kiss. It was a tender, fleeting kiss - little more than a loving touch of his lips to hers. But Sylvie felt his free hand slide softly to her hip, as if checking to see if she was truly there with him. She closed her eyes in pleasure and gently returned the kiss.

She closed her eyes and let her head fall against his chest. It was beautiful. That moment. Beautiful and infinitely tender. She breathed deeply, filling her senses with his scent.

For a moment, Sylvie could have simply lost herself in this peaceful feeling. It was so easy to forget everything around her. In fact, her plan - all the courage she had painstakingly gathered - threatened to fade into the background. But then she remembered: No, she admonished herself, don't let yourself be distracted. She had more planned for today than just sitting comfortably on the sofa. So she pulled herself together, even though she would have preferred to stay standing there forever.

"How was your day?" she heard him whisper softly into her hair.

"Val said you were busy shopping this morning," he noted with an amused tone. Apparently, he'd run into her on the street, and she just couldn't keep her mouth shut. Wonderful. Truly wonderful.

Sylvie gave a small, casual shrug. "Valkyrie spontaneously dragged me along," she said truthfully, but refrained from going into the juicy details. "She said I needed something appropriate for the feast."

Loki raised one of his dark eyebrows, a broad grin on his lips. "Ah. So you've found the perfect one?" His interest was clearly audible.

"Mhm." Sylvie crossed her arms in front of her chest with feigned secrecy and replied with a slight smile: "Let yourself be surprised."

"Oh, I'm really excited," Loki said softly, with that typical mischievous grin. He seemed genuinely amused by her sudden secrecy.

As he walked over to the kitchen, he gave her a loving sidelong glance. "Although, no matter what you wear, you'll look absolutely stunning, I'm sure of it."

"You're such a charmer" Sylvie murmured, but she couldn't suppress a small laugh. Secretly, his compliment did make her very happy - if only because it came from him so naturally.

Loki merely winked and then turned towards the kitchen cupboards. Sylvie followed him, still with that fluttering feeling in her stomach, but also with a warm tingling in her chest. It was crazy how his mere presence could simultaneously calm and excite her.

"How was your day otherwise?" Loki asked over his shoulder as he opened a cupboard. She saw him take out a dark green wine bottle.

Sylvie leaned against the countertop on the other side of the kitchen island and crossed her legs loosely in front of her. She hoped to appear as relaxed as possible. "Pretty calm," she replied, lifting her chin slightly. "I was just walking around a bit, running some errands." She deliberately kept her answer vague. After all, the most exciting news of her day was right there on her body in the form of the finest lace - but she certainly wasn't going to blurt that out to him now.

Loki glanced briefly over his shoulder and smiled contentedly, as if pleased that her day had been so uneventful. "Good," he said gently. He clearly appreciated the peace and quiet – there had been times when peace and normalcy were a rare luxury for both of them.

Sylvie watched as Loki took two wine glasses from the cupboard and uncorked the bottle. He turned to her with the bottle raised, looking questioning, without saying anything.

Sylvie raised her eyebrows in surprise. Why not, indeed? Today the suggestion came at a very opportune time. Perhaps a few sips of wine would help ease the tension inside her. "Gladly," she said, nodding.

Loki poured them both a drink. He handed Sylvie one of the glasses and raised his own slightly, a broad smile on his lips. "To a successful day," he joked and took a first sip of wine.

Sylvie also took a sip. The semi-dry red wine tasted fruity and left a pleasant warmth in her throat. She looked curiously at Loki. "And how was your day?" she asked him with a smile. She could see that he was itching to share his little adventures – he seemed positively excited.

"Where do I begin..." Loki leaned against the countertop and pretended to be thoughtful for a moment. Then he raised his index finger with a mischievous grin.

"So, we actually managed to set up the big stage in the village square. Although Thor almost ruined everything in the middle of it when he thought he had to do it all by himself." Loki laughed and shook his head. "You should have seen his face when half the scaffolding nearly collapsed." He seemed completely absorbed in his report.

Sylvie curled her lips in amusement, but in truth Loki's words only reached her in a muffled way. Normally, she would have absorbed every word, asking probing questions about where Thor had been overconfident and where Loki had likely intervened with a roll of his eyes. But today, her thoughts inevitably revolved around something else.

Sylvie felt a warm pull inside as she realized how much she liked the sight: Loki, relaxed and in their shared home, chatting about everyday things as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Something neither of them would have ever dreamed of not so long ago.

He was telling a story about one of the village children who had apparently tried to use Stormbreaker as a climbing frame, which had given Thor a near heart attack. Loki chuckled softly at the memory, and that deep, gentle sound vibrated right in Sylvie's chest.

He took another sip and then ran his free hand through his neatly combed-back hair.

She bit her lower lip. How could he be so attractive, even when he was just standing there chattering? Perhaps precisely because of that - because this normalcy with him was so precious to her. And she knew that beneath the surface of this normalcy lurked something even deeper: the passion, the love, that they had only tentatively touched upon so far.

Sylvie realized she was barely registering Loki's monologue anymore. Instead, she felt the blood rushing in her ears and the weight of the moment hanging in the air. She just had to grasp it.

"...and then Thor screamed bloody murder, it was truly delicious. I think half the bay heard it," Loki was just finishing his anecdote.

Sylvie smiled and took another sip of wine. The pleasant warmth of the alcohol slowly spread through her body, calming her down. Her previous anxieties receded, at least for the moment. She noticed herself relaxing more and more, enveloped in Loki's presence and the soft hum of the almost everyday kitchen sounds.

Meanwhile, Loki continued to recount the day's events with gusto - apparently, a cheeky billy goat from the neighboring farm had also frolicked across the market square and nearly knocked over a vegetable stall.

Sylvie listened to him, but she found herself increasingly focused more on the movement of his lips than on the content of his words. Her gaze slid over his face, his lively eyes sparkling with passion as he recounted the funny anecdotes. The way his lips formed with each word captivated her - soft, supple lips that had just kissed hers…

Her thoughts drifted, back to her own little secret beneath her sweater. Involuntarily, her heart began to beat faster again. Sylvie had vowed it would happen today, she would take that decisive step with him. And now, with Loki here - so close, so familiar, so loved - she felt the butterflies inside her more intensely than ever before. Now or never, she thought, and took another sip of wine to bolster her courage. She wanted him, wanted him so badly it almost hurt.

“…and the goat actually nibbled on Thor’s jacket, can you imagine?”, Loki concluded another anecdote and laughed heartily.

Sylvie blinked and pulled herself together. She had to admit that she hadn't really caught the end of his story. "That goat? Uh, yeah - unbelievable," she said somewhat flusteredly, and forced a smile so he wouldn't notice how distracted she'd been.

But Loki had long since seen through her. He slowly placed his wine glass on the counter and took a half-step closer to her. "Are you alright?" he asked softly, with gentle concern. "You seem so... distracted today."

Sylvie felt heat rush to her cheeks. Damn, of course he missed nothing. She swallowed, frantically trying to think of a reply. The truth? 'I'm planning to devour you right here on the sofa, and it's driving me half crazy with excitement' - no, definitely too direct. Some excuse… 'I…' Sylvie cleared her throat. 'It's nothing, really.'

Loki frowned. He knew her too well to simply believe it. His his eyes searching for her gaze. "Sylvie," he said gently, "something must be bothering you."

She avoided his piercing eyes and turned halfway away. What should she say? Unhappily, she bit her lower lip. Finally, she sighed and gave in: "I'm just... a little nervous about tomorrow, I think. About the feast."

Loki tilted his head. A hint of amusement flickered in his eyes. "Nervous? You?" He smiled and gently tried to get to the bottom of her thoughts. "What exactly is making you nervous? It'll be fun, surely - good food, drinks, a few dances..."

The moment he mentioned the word "dancing," Sylvie noticeably stiffened. Her reaction was unmistakable: she straightened abruptly, and her eyes widened as if she had been caught. "I certainly won't be dancing," she said quickly, and perhaps a little too sharply.

Loki raised both hands in a reassuring gesture, but he continued to grin amusedly. "So, you won't? Why not?" he pressed.

Sylvie felt a hot pang of embarrassment rising in her neck. She really wasn't a good liar when it came to harmless things. "Because... because I can't," she finally confessed meekly, lowering her gaze to her feet. It was uncomfortable for her to admit this. Not being able to do things wasn't in her nature.

"Is that so?" Loki sounded unsurprised. He leaned forward slightly to meet her gaze again. "You know, you can learn that."

“But I don’t have to,” Sylvie quickly muttered back. She crossed her arms defiantly.

Loki chuckled softly. Her defiant expression was simply too cute. “Sylvie, it’s not rocket science,” he said gently. “And I bet you’d even enjoy it.”

"Keep dreaming." Sylvie pulled a face. Fun? Her? Dancing? She couldn't imagine it for the life of her. She'd never danced. It had always seemed pointless to her to jump around to any kind of music.

Loki studied her silently for a moment, then she saw a familiar, slightly mischievous look spread across his face. "You bet," he murmured softly.

Before Sylvie could figure out what he was up to with that conspiratorial tone, Loki gently took the wine glass from her hand and placed it next to his on the counter. She looked at him questioningly. "Loki?" she began, but he only put his index finger to his lips and winked.

She raised an eyebrow skeptically, already suspecting what was about to happen...

With a soft snap of his fingers, something magical happened: out of nowhere, gentle music filled the air. A slow melody. Sylvie's eyes widened in astonishment. Loki and his magic tricks! Before she knew it, he was standing before her again, giving her a deep, gallant bow.

Oh...shit.

“May I have this dance?” he asked with a smug smile, while extending his palm upwards towards her.

Ohh...shit!

Sylvie stared at him for a moment, as if he'd gone completely mad. "Loki, I told you I can't..." she began, but he didn't even let her finish the sentence.

"Shh." Loki moved closer and took hold of her hesitant fingers. "Everything will be alright," he murmured lovingly. "Just trust me."

Before she could protest, he gently pulled her away from the kitchen island and onto the open space of the hallway between the kitchen and living room. Sylvie almost tripped over her own feet, she was so taken aback. Loki immediately placed one hand on her waist, the other still firmly grasping hers. Sylvie's own pulse began to race. "Loki..." she tried weakly to object, but he only shook his head gently.

“Stay calm,” he whispered with an encouraging smile. “I’ll guide you.”

With that, he began to move. He pulled her closer, so close that there was barely enough room between them, and started to sway to the soft music. Sylvie stood as stiff as a board, her whole posture screaming insecurity. Her free hand unconsciously clenched into the fabric of Loki’s shirt against his chest as she tried to command her feet to do something right.

"Relax," Loki whispered in her ear, his voice sending a pleasant tingle down her neck. Easier said than done! Sylvie stumbled to the right as he tried to go left, and promptly stepped on Loki's foot.

Ah-!" He paused and then chuckled softly. Sylvie froze in shock. "Sorry!" she blurted out. "See, I told you-"

"Shhh." Loki shook his head with a smile. "It's okay, no need to panic." He started moving again as if nothing had happened.

Sylvie bit her lip self-consciously. "I'm sorry," she murmured again, her eyes down at her feet.

“Hey.” Loki briefly released her hand and placed a finger under her chin to gently lift her head. He looked at her with shimmering eyes. “Don’t look at your feet. Look at me.”

Hesitantly, Sylvie raised her gaze and met his encouraging smile. “That’s better,” Loki praised. He took her right hand in his left again and gently led her along, step by step.

Sylvie tried to concentrate. She felt Loki's hand firm and secure at her waist, felt his guidance leading her. Gradually, she managed to surrender to it. Her feet tentatively found their way: one step to the left, one to the right… it was more of a leisurely sway than a formal dance, but at least she wasn't stepping on his toes again.

"You see," whispered Loki, smiling, "I told you you can do it."

Sylvie made a skeptical noise, but actually it worked somehow. They moved slowly in a circle through the dimly lit living room, past the flickering glow of the lamp on the shelf. The music hummed softly around them, and the longer they danced, the less tense Sylvie became. Loki led her confidently, skillfully catching every little stumble, so that in the end it almost looked like a real dance.

Finally, she even allowed herself to let her head fall onto his shoulder. She breathed in his familiar scent. Her tension gradually melted away, replaced by a gentle feeling of happiness.

Loki seemed to enjoy it too. He held her close, his chin resting lightly on her hair, as they rocked together. After a while, he whispered softly, "I really missed you today."

Sylvie leaned back slightly to look at him. His face had a soft expression that almost embarrassed her. Instead of giving a cheeky, typical reply, she raised her hand and placed it on his cheek. Her eyes met his. "I..." she began softly, but then stopped. Instead, she rose on her tiptoes and kissed him.

It was a gentle kiss, full of gratitude and affection. Loki's arms tightened around her, and he returned it with equal tenderness. In that moment, everything was perfect. Sylvie heard the song fading away somewhere in the background, but she paid it no further attention. Nothing else mattered anymore except Loki and her.

The kiss deepened on its own. What had begun as a tentative meeting of their lips grew more intense with each passing second. Sylvie felt the fire within her rekindle - but this time she didn't hold it back. All the excitement, all the desire that had simmered inside her all day, suddenly erupted. She parted her lips slightly and gently traced the tip of her tongue against Loki's lower lip, a silent plea for entry. Loki didn't hesitate; with a soft, throaty sound, he responded, his tongue finding hers, and they lost themselves in a passionate, yearning kiss.

A tingling sensation ran across Sylvie's skin. She released her hand from Loki's and wrapped both arms around his neck, pulling him even closer. Loki responded by letting his hands wander from her waist down, hesitantly moving them along her back to the hem of her sweater. His fingers gripped the soft fabric almost imperceptibly, as if he were trying to restrain himself.

But Sylvie wouldn't let him hold back. A hungry sigh escaped her throat as she pressed herself even closer to him. Loki seemed to hesitate for a heartbeat - perhaps remembering the night before when she had rejected him. But Sylvie had no intention of pulling away now. Quite the opposite. To show him that, she poured all her passion into the kiss, letting her tongue begin a demanding dance with his, revealing just how much she wanted him.

The effect on Loki was palpable. For a split second, he was surprised by its intensity; his muscles twitched beneath her hands. But then he returned her fierce advance with equal fervor. A low, raspy sound escaped his chest - half a groan, half a rising growl - and Sylvie felt him pull her closer. Their bodies seemed to merge, and Sylvie lost all sense of space and time.

Eventually, they took a few awkward steps without breaking the kiss. Sylvie barely noticed where Loki was guiding her until she suddenly hit the couch with her knees. She lost her balance and landed on the soft cushions, Loki directly on top of her. He immediately braced himself with one arm beside her head to avoid crushing her with his weight. His face hovered just centimeters above hers, both of them breathing heavily.

Sylvie blinked, dazed - the fall onto the sofa had taken her by surprise for a moment - but then she grabbed Loki by the open lapel of his shirt. With a mischievous twinkle in her eyes, she seized the opportunity and turned with him until he was suddenly beneath her. A surprised sound escaped him, half laughter, half gasp. Sylvie straddled his hips, her thighs on either side of his waist. As if of their own accord, her legs wrapped tighter around him, and she now felt very clearly the warmth and firmness of his body between hers.

Loki looked almost speechless for a moment, then he let out a hoarse laugh. "You're really going for it," he murmured admiringly. His hands landed on her thighs, which now encircled his hips, as if to make sure she was real.

Sylvie grinned breathlessly. "Are you complaining?" she teased him challengingly.

“For heaven’s sake, no,” Loki exclaimed, and his rough laugh quickly turned into a enjoyable moan as Sylvie bent down and, without warning, covered his neck with small kisses.

Loki lowered his head to give her better access as his fingers gently stroked her thighs. Each small kiss from her elicited another soft sound of pleasure from him, and it drove Sylvie almost mad to feel the effect she had on him.

After a short time, Loki couldn't stand it any longer. With a sudden movement, he sat up, wrapped his arms around her waist, and captured her lips in another passionate kiss. They both gasped with desire. In this wild whirlwind, they barely noticed how quickly all inhibitions fell away. Sylvie knew only that she wanted to feel him closer - much closer, skin to skin, without any barriers.

She straightened up slightly and hurriedly grabbed for the buttons of his shirt. Her fingers trembled so much with eagerness that she promptly missed one. Loki chuckled softly against her lips, removed his hands from her waist, and patiently helped her undo the remaining buttons. Button by button, he revealed his chest until the shirt finally fell apart.

Sylvie pulled away from his mouth and looked down. Her eyes widened. His pale skin shimmered in the dim light, revealing the distinct contours of lean, supple muscles. Loki wasn't a brutish warrior, yet strength and elegance radiated from every inch of his body. Here and there, she spotted small, pale scars, faint reminders of past battles and adventures. Instinctively, Sylvie's hand slid across his chest, tracing one of these lines as if trying to sense the stories they held.

Loki watched her with a dark, smoldering gaze. "What's going on in your pretty head?" he asked with a crooked, seductive smile.

Sylvie caught herself staring at him unabashedly and felt a flush of heat rising in her cheeks again. She quickly regained her composure and returned his smile with mock superiority. Her fingertips traced a teasing path down his chest. "I think..." she began, her voice drawing out, "that I can probably work with this."

Loki raised an eyebrow, amused. "Only probably?" he repeated challengingly.

Sylvie shrugged hypocritically. "Well..."

She didn't get any further, because Loki gave her no time for more teasing. With a throaty growl, he silenced Sylvie with another, demanding kiss. He deftly rolled her back beneath him until she sank back into the couch cushions. Sylvie laughed softly in surprise against his lips, but her laughter quickly turned into a contented sigh as Loki once again let his tongue dance with hers.

As they kissed, Loki's hand slipped under the hem of her loose sweater. His fingers tentatively caressed the bare skin at her waist - a place where there was nothing but warmth and softness. Sylvie shuddered with pleasure.

Their bodies pressed closer together. Sylvie wrapped her arms around his now bare torso, loving the feel of his skin against hers, even though she herself was still wearing far too much clothing. The heat from the fireplace mingled with the heat between them as Loki began to push the hem of her sweater further up. Sylvie willingly raised her arms to help him rid himself of the cumbersome garment. With a single, smooth tug, Loki pulled the sweater over her head, and it too landed carelessly on the floor, next to his shirt.

Loki audibly inhaled. He stared at Sylvie, his gaze reflecting the golden flames of the fireplace. His eyes traveled from her face lower, over the black lace bra that encircled her breasts, down to her waist, where her pale skin was visible all the way to the waistband of her trousers.

Sylvie watched as Loki literally caught his breath. His hands, just moments before bravely at her sides, now rested motionless, as if he hardly dared to touch her again, for fear that this sight might be an illusion he could shatter.

Heat rose within Sylvie, but this time it wasn't an unpleasant blush, but a pleasurable tingling. She felt desirable - a completely new, intoxicating sensation. At the same time, she was almost a little embarrassed; she had rarely seen Loki so fixed and speechless. She raised a hand and gently placed two fingers under his chin, so that his gaze rose to hers again. His Adam's apple bounced as he swallowed hard.

"Not what you expected, huh?" Sylvie teased him softly, her voice trembling slightly with excitement. A shy smile played on her lips. "Do you think you can work with this?"

Loki snorted breathlessly, a disbelieving smile on his face, as if he could hardly believe she was joking at such a moment. But then something suddenly blazed in his eyes. His smile vanished, replaced by unashamed, raw desire. His green eyes darkened with lust. Sylvie felt her heart stop for a moment as he murmured in a hoarse voice, "I think I should show you how well I can work with this..."

With trembling fingers, he stroked the delicate lace clasp on her back. Sylvie involuntarily held her breath, but she wanted it - she wanted it so badly it almost hurt. She nodded almost imperceptibly and lifted her back slightly so he could reach the clasp of her bra more easily. Loki carefully unhooked the hook; a soft click and the fabric gave way. Then he slid the straps over Sylvie's shoulders, and the bra fell to the side with a soft rustle.

For a moment, Loki gazed at her, mesmerized. Sylvie now lay beneath him, her upper body bare, the cool air making her skin tingle – or was it the tension of the situation? He swallowed and looked into her eyes, a reverent smile illuminating his features. "You are so beautiful," he said raspily, with an honesty and admiration that pierced Sylvie to her core.

He raised a hand, hesitantly, almost reverently, and then gently placed it on her breast. His palm felt warm against her sensitive skin. As his thumb softly brushed over the firm nipple, Sylvie couldn't suppress a soft gasp.

Loki leaned forward, his hair briefly tickling her shoulder, and then Sylvie felt his lips on her collarbone. Tender kisses, one after another, moved lower from there. He approached her breast with agonizing slowness until he finally gently placed a soft kiss on the curve of her breast. Sylvie dug her fingers into Loki's hair and involuntarily arched her back towards him as his tongue carefully circled the tip of her nipple. A hot shiver ran through her, and she heard herself let out a soft, pleasurable moan.

“Loki…” she breathed, not even sure what exactly she wanted from him - more, less, faster, anything.

He seemed to understand her perfectly, though. After one last loving taste, Loki pulled his lips from her breast and continued his kisses downwards. He traced a fine line down her stomach with his tongue until he finally reached the waistband of her trousers. There he paused and looked up at her, his eyes silently asking for permission.

Sylvie lay beneath him, breathless and burning with anticipation. Her cheeks burned, her hair spread like a golden fan across the sofa cushions. She met his gaze and nodded gently. Her hands trembled as she helped unbutton her trousers. Loki understood. Carefully, he pulled the fabric down, Sylvie lifting her hips to make it easier for him. With the necessary speed-but without haste - he slipped the trousers over her legs and feet and let them fall to the floor.

Sylvie lay almost completely naked before him, only her narrow black panties concealing the last vestige of intimacy between them. Loki paused to take in the sight. His Sylvie, his beloved, wild, courageous Sylvie – so beautiful, so vulnerable in this moment, with red lips and a longing flicker in her beautiful blue eyes.

“You’re incredible,” he whispered hoarsely.

Sylvie felt her heart leap at his words. She raised a hand and placed two fingers against his lips. “Then there are two of us,” she replied almost inaudibly.

Loki closed his eyes for a moment and kissed her fingertips before returning to her last remaining piece of clothing. He leaned forward and placed a soft kiss right on her hipbone, where the lace of her panties began. Sylvie gasped. His fingers hooked under the lace trim at her hips.

Slowly, infinitely slowly, Loki pulled the panties down. The delicate fabric slipped away from her skin, completely exposing her to his view. Instinctively, Sylvie lifted her legs so he could remove the garment entirely. Finally, it was done - the last bit of lace flew aside - and she lay completely naked beneath him.

Sylvie's heart pounded wildly. She felt hot and cold at the same time, a little dizzy with excitement. She felt her whole body yearn for him, open and ready. Automatically, she let her thighs slide apart again to make room for Loki on top of her.

Loki stood up for a moment, only to remove the rest of his clothing. With hurried hands, he undid his leather belt and the button of his trousers. Sylvie half-sat up to help him. Together, they pulled his trousers and underwear down over his hips. With a decisive jerk, Loki flung the bundle of clothes off his body and let it fall carelessly to the floor. Now he, too, knelt naked before her on the couch.

For a moment, they gazed at each other in their raw honesty. Sylvie's eyes slid over Loki's slender but strong body, traveled lower, and saw him fully aroused - a sight that set her blood racing. At the same time, however, she also felt a deep tenderness, almost reverence, for the fact that they were revealing themselves to each other like this. No more secrets, no more inhibitions, just the two of them, as they were.

Loki slowly lowered himself back towards her. His hands glided gently over her sides, her waist, down to her hips. He touched her everywhere now, without shyness, but still with that incredible tenderness that almost brought tears to Sylvie's eyes. As his fingers traced the inside of her thighs, she opened herself to him even more willingly.

“Loki… please…” she whispered, almost startled by the urgency in her own voice.

A slight tremor ran through Loki’s body at her words. He lowered himself until his hips rested between her thighs. Gently, he stroked Sylvie’s sensitive center. She gasped as he softly caressed her tender warmth. Her hips involuntarily rose toward him, a silent plea for more.

And Loki gave her more. His fingers glided tenderly along her most sensitive spot. He explored her, finding with apparent ease exactly the touches that made Sylvie moan. She clung to his shoulders as waves of pleasure washed over her.

Sylvie was no innocent girl. She'd certainly had experiences with men before - fleeting romances in her restless life, mostly nothing more than physical distractions. But never, never had intimacy felt like this. It was as if Loki could read her body like an open book. Every movement of his fingers seemed to find exactly the right spot, as if he intuitively knew what she needed. His lips kept finding their way to her neck, her collarbone, her breasts - as if he didn't want to leave a single inch of her skin untouched.

An overwhelming feeling of euphoria built up inside Sylvie. She trembled under his touch, a thin film of sweat already glistening on her skin. "Oh gods..." she breathed once, tossing her head restlessly back and forth on the pillows. An almost uncontrollable fire burned within her, seeming to want to consume her from the inside out.

Loki felt her muscles begin to tremble under his caress, and she grew increasingly restless. Her gasping breaths and soft, lustful sounds filled him with as much pleasure as desire. His own heart pounded hard against his ribs, and he had to restrain himself to keep from losing control.

He gently withdrew his hand, sliding his body back up until he was at eye level with hers. Sylvie moaned in protest as he interrupted the sweet torture. Her pupils were dilated and her cheeks flushed with arousal. "Loki... please don't stop..." she whispered breathlessly.

Loki paused, his face close to hers. His own features were etched with passion, yet behind the dark desire in his eyes, a final shimmer of caution still flickered. "Are you absolutely sure?" he asked hoarsely. His voice trembled, revealing how much it cost him to restrain himself at all.

Sylvie could hardly believe it. That he'd ask now of all times! She was hot, she was trembling, her whole body screaming to finally feel him completely and he was still hesitating out of consideration. Part of her loved him even more for that very reason, but another part was simply at the end of her rope. She took a trembling breath.

"Loki," she began, and that one word dripped with fervor. She placed both hands on his face, holding him firmly so he looked directly into her eyes. "I've never been as certain about anything as I am now." Her voice was soft, but full of conviction. Passion and absolute determination shone in her blue eyes. "And if you ask again now…" she added in her typically sassy way, "...I'll scream."

For a fleeting moment, there was silence - then a throaty laugh escaped Loki's lips. It was a short, warm laugh, laced with pure relief and burning love. "As you wish," he murmured with a faint grin. The last syllables trembled with suppressed excitement. He kissed her again, long and deeply - a wordless reassurance that he had heard her and that there was no turning back now.

Then Loki finally let go of his inhibitions. His hands slid under her thighs, lifting her hips slightly to find the right angle. Sylvie felt the hot, hard pressure of his arousal and held her breath. Her fingernails dug lightly into his shoulders, but she smiled at him shakily to show him it was an expectant tingle, not hesitation.

Loki gently entered her. Inch by inch, he pushed forward, and Sylvie could feel her body adjusting to him, receiving him. A shared, uncontrolled moan escaped them both as he slid deeper and deeper. Sylvie felt filled from within, in the most beautiful way imaginable. When Loki was finally fully inside her, a soft, overwhelmed "Fuck..." escaped Sylvie. She barely heard the word - it was more of a whispered acknowledgment of what she felt: an indescribable mix of relief, pleasure, and profound connection.

Loki remained motionless for a moment, just to give her a chance to adjust to the new sensation. He trembled with the effort of not moving immediately. "Are you okay?" he whispered gruffly, his forehead against hers.

Sylvie responded by wrapping her legs tightly around his hips again, pulling him even deeper inside her. She inhaled sharply - it was almost too much, yet just right. "Stop asking," she managed with a breathless laugh that immediately turned into a lustful gasp. Her body language said it all: she wanted him, completely, right then and there.

That was enough of an answer for Loki. With a soft groan, he began to move inside her. Slowly and cautiously at first, but soon they both found a shared rhythm. Their bodies merged in a way that transcended the purely physical. Only one word came to Sylvie's mind: coming home. That's what it felt like - as if she were finally coming home.

Loki initially thrust into her gently, almost softly, but the more aroused they both became, the less restrained his movements became. The fire he had suppressed for so long now erupted. His thrusts grew deeper, more powerful, and he couldn't suppress a harsh groan as passion completely gripped him.

Sylvie was overwhelmed by the intensity with which he made love to her. She had never imagined that Loki - who always appeared so composed and controlled - could display such unbridled passion. But here it was: unleashed and yet guided by profound affection. Every movement of his elicited a soft whimper or a lustful gasp from her. She dug her fingers into his back, felt the muscles working beneath her skin, felt his warmth and his strength. And despite the mounting intensity, there was still that tenderness between them, that silent understanding that they were one and nothing in the world could separate them in that moment.

The room filled with the soft creaking of the couch beneath their lovemaking, mingled with their ragged breaths and lustful sounds. Sylvie occasionally heard Loki hoarsely moan her name, as if he himself could hardly believe it was real. Each time, a pleasant shiver ran down her spine, and she returned his call with soft caresses, whispered in his ear but barely able to articulate them in the heat of the moment.

With each thrust, he drove her closer to a blazing precipice. Sylvie felt something tighten inside her, a tense crackling that grew ever stronger. Her breath came in gasps, and she noticed how her senses narrowed to focus on him - his body, which fit so perfectly against hers; his scent, which enveloped her; his voice, which reached her ear in rough whispers.

“Loki… oh Loki…” she gasped finally, unable to think clearly. Her gaze was clouded with desire, and she knew it wouldn’t be long now.

“Sylvie,” Loki whispered hoarsely. The very sound of his voice sent shivers down her spine. At that moment, he thrust himself even deeper inside her, a powerful stroke that brought them both to the brink of the unbearable.

Sylvie felt the world around her begin to shimmer. She clung to Loki as if her life depended on it. And then a storm broke within her: with a loud cry - half his name, half an inarticulate moan - she came, her eyes closed, stars behind her lids. A wave of intense ecstasy engulfed her, making her tremble and shake beneath him. It felt as if she were shattering into a thousand sparks.

Loki felt Sylvie's body clench around him, her warm pulses enveloping him. The expression on her face, utterly surrendered and overwhelmed with pleasure, shattered even his last vestiges of self-control. With a deep, raw groan, he followed her into the abyss. He buried his face in her neck, his hands gripping her hips as he thrust himself as deep inside her as possible, surrendering completely. A hot shudder ran through him as he came inside her.

For a moment, everything was quiet. Only her panting breaths echoed in the dim living room. Loki remained breathing heavily over Sylvie, but still supported himself on his forearms so as not to crush her. Sylvie lay beneath him with her eyes closed, her chest rising and falling rapidly. Her head was spinning, and yet she was filled with a profound contentment, the likes of which she had never felt before.

Loki slowly caught his breath and lifted his head to look at Sylvie. Her eyes were open again. In the dim light, he saw that her eyelashes were damp. Only then did he notice the tear running down her temple and onto the pillow. He gasped.

"Sylvie...?" His voice was rough and exhausted, but full of concern. He leaned closer, searching for her gaze in the gloom. Had he gone too far? Had it been too much?

Sylvie didn't realize she was crying at first. She only felt incredibly happy. When she heard Loki's worried whisper, she opened her eyes wide and raised her hand to her cheek. Sure enough her fingers were brushing against something wet. Half laughter, half sob, escaped her throat. Tears, she realized with astonishment. Tears of joy.

“No, no…” Sylvie quickly shook her head when she saw Loki looking up at her, alarmed. She managed a radiant smile, even though another tear was about to roll down her cheek. “You idiot,” she whispered tenderly, brushing a sweaty strand of hair from his forehead. Her voice trembled slightly, but she chuckled softly with happiness. “Of course everything’s fine."

Loki let out a relieved breath that sounded almost like a smirk. A broad smile spread across his face. "You scare me," he murmured playfully, and bent down to gently kiss the wet marks on her cheeks. He tasted the saltiness of her tears. "I thought..." He broke off and shook his head. "Never mind. I'm glad that you are okay."

He rolled onto his side next to her so he could hold her more comfortably. Sylvie turned with him, so they were both now lying half on their sides, their faces turned towards each other. Loki raised a hand and gently stroked her damp cheek with his thumb, wiping away the last tear. Then he smiled that outrageously charming smile again. "That was..." he began softly.

"Not bad at all," Sylvie teased, grinning at him.

Loki raised his eyebrows in mock indignation. "Not bad at all?" he repeated with feigned outrage.

Sylvie giggled at his horrified face, which of course showed no real anger. She raised a hand and lovingly brushed his disheveled black hair from his forehead. His hair was damp with sweat, just like her own, and in a few strands, the usually neat curls were coming loose. "I'm just kidding," she assured him breathlessly.

Loki sighed theatrically and placed a hand on his chest as if he'd been badly hurt. "A decidedly inopportune moment for jokes," he remarked, forcing a pout onto his face. "After an experience like that, I always feel particularly vulnerable."

Sylvie burst out laughing. She knew he was exaggerating, but she played along. "Of course," she agreed, sounding overly sympathetic.

Loki suddenly sat up slightly, wrapped an arm around her waist, and pulled her along until she was half-lying on his chest. He looked into her eyes with a mock seriousness. "I think you underestimate my sensitivity, Sylvie."

"What sensitivity?" she retorted dryly, raising an eyebrow.

Loki scowled in outrage, but his eyes were laughing. "You really are merciless." He cupped her face in his hands and pretended to be inconsolable.

A mischievous glint appeared in Sylvie's eyes. "You were just now," she whispered, lowering her lips to his to steal a soft kiss.

Loki hummed contentedly and closed his eyes for a moment as he returned the kiss. "Hmm." A low, satisfied hum escaped his throat as they parted slightly.

Loki tightened his arm around her and turned until he was on his back with Sylvie resting comfortably on his chest. He pulled the sofa blanket, which was hanging over the back of the chair, out with his feet and, in one deft movement, tossed it over their sweaty bodies. Sylvie giggled and snuggled close to him. She felt wonderfully safe and secure under the warm blanket, with Loki's heartbeat in her ear.

For a while, they simply lay there in silence. Only their breathing, gradually becoming calmer, could be heard, and outside, a branch softly scraped against the window in the wind. Sylvie listened to the strong heartbeat beneath her ear, felt the hand that Loki had placed on her back, stroking it in a gentle rhythm. Her eyes half-closed; the exhaustion from the intoxication slowly overwhelmed her.

A languid, happy smile crept onto Sylvie's lips. She felt fulfilled, at peace, completely content. All the fear, all the hesitation - it was gone. In its place, something new had taken its place: calm, warmth, love. She lifted her head slightly until she could look into Loki's eyes. He looked more relaxed and happy than he had in a long time. When he noticed her gaze, he smiled sleepily.

"Are you okay?" he whispered, stroking her shoulder with his thumb.

Sylvie nodded. "More than okay," she replied just as quietly.

Loki seemed to feel the same way. He leaned forward and gave her a gentle kiss on the forehead. "Sleep well, my love," he whispered.

Sylvie felt a warm tug in her chest at his tender words. "You too," she murmured, placing her hand flat on his chest, right where his heart beat.

That night, Sylvie and Loki fell asleep entwined on the sofa, covered by the old throw and the soft glimmer of moonlight filtering through the window. Just before she drifted off to sleep, Sylvie felt Loki, still half asleep, pull his arms tightly around her one last time. She smiled with her eyes closed. It truly felt as if she had finally arrived - arrived with the person who meant everything to her. With this profound sense of security, they both sank into a peaceful, restful sleep, while outside the last warmth of the day gave way to the cool night, and the sea in the distance gently broke against the shore.

Chapter Text

Sylvie jolted awake in the middle of the night. For a disorienting moment, she didn't know where she was. Her heart raced as she looked around in the darkness. Then she felt a soft, steady throb beneath her cheek, and suddenly it all came flooding back: Loki. She was lying stretched out on top of Loki on the sofa in their shared living room, and everything that had happened that evening rushed back into her memory.

A soft gasp escaped her as she realized why she was there - and why she was naked. Her first time with Loki…it had been overwhelming, intense, tender, and wild all at once - so completely different from anything she had ever experienced before. A tingling sensation spread through her stomach as the memories flooded back: his hands on her skin, his lips all over her, her body seemingly dissolving into his. She couldn't help but smile.

Sylvie slowly raised her head. Her blond hair fell in a disheveled way across her face as she looked down. Even in the darkness, she recognized Loki's striking features. His eyes were open and sparkled in the pale moonlight that filtered through a crack in the curtains. He was watching her intently. Had he even been asleep? He lay still beneath her, but his gaze betrayed that he was wide awake. And apparently, a very specific other part of him was already more than awake as well.

Sylvie didn’t need to look down to know exactly what she felt against her lower body. Loki’s body was reacting unmistakably to her mere presence - hard and insistent at her hip. A hot shiver ran through her at the realization that he was already aroused again. In that quiet, dark hour, no words were needed between them. Sylvie merely lifted a brow slightly, a sly, sleepy smile ghosting over her lips, which Loki immediately returned.

Very slowly, Sylvie let her fingertips drift feather-light across Loki’s chest. She felt his breathing quicken as she traced the soft line of his chest muscles. Loki placed his hands on her bare thighs wrapped around him, his grip tightening almost imperceptibly, as if he needed to reassure himself that she was really here.

“This has to be a dream,” Loki whispered, unable to tear his gaze away from her.

“Maybe we’re both dreaming,” she murmured against his lips.

That heated passion flared up inside her again, sudden and fierce. They had made love for the first time only hours ago - deeply, devotedly - yet every part of her already yearned for him again. She barely realized that she had begun to move her hips gently against him, purely instinctive, following the desire reigniting between them. Without further hesitation, she let her hand wander lower and stroked over his erection without shyness. Up, down - slowly, softly. Then faster. Firmer.

Overwhelmed, Loki closed his eyes. “Gods… Sylvie,” he groaned, and the sound was the most beautiful melody Sylvie had ever heard. Their faces were only inches apart. She felt his warm breath brush unevenly against her lips and bit down on her lower lip.

“Sylvie, please…” he panted as she traced delicate circles around his damp tip with her fingers.

“Shhh,” she whispered against his trembling lips. Oh, how she loved this utterly unmoored state he was in. She brushed a feather-light kiss against the corner of his mouth - an innocent kiss that nevertheless ignited new fire between them instantly.

Loki reacted at once. One of his hands slid from her thigh up to her waist and over her bare back until it rested between her shoulder blades. With a smooth motion, he pulled her closer, until there was not a breath of space left between them. His kiss was no longer hesitant. He tilted his head slightly, found her lips unerringly, and captured them in a deep, yearning kiss.

Breathless, Sylvie opened to him, feeling the gentle sweep of his tongue against her lower lip before she kissed him back just as hungrily. It was a kiss without haste, yet full of passion, as though they had all the time in the world.

Their kiss grew more intense, more hungry. Sylvie couldn’t help herself - she nipped lightly at Loki’s lower lip before pulling him into another deep kiss. Loki answered her desire with a low growl deep in his throat, his fingers digging into her hips.

With her eyes closed, Sylvie savored the moment, her hand moving tirelessly, driving him nearly out of his mind. His desire for her stripped away every last trace of uncertainty. Loki would cherish and savor everything she was willing to give him - of that she was completely sure. Her own body responded with a tingling arousal. The heat inside her grew as Loki’s kisses left her mouth and wandered over her cheek. He placed soft yet demanding kisses along her jawline, down to her neck. There he lingered for a heartbeat, before pressing a series of wet kisses to the sensitive skin beneath her ear. Sylvie gasped softly as a pleasurable shiver raced through her body. She tilted her head back slightly, offering him her neck, which Loki acknowledged with a deep, satisfied hum.

His lips and teeth left a burning trail across her skin as Sylvie lost herself in the wave of sensations. She felt his heart pounding against her chest and let out a quiet gasp when he moved instinctively against her, his hardness rubbing directly against her sensitive center. Her fingernails dug lightly into his shoulder. Instinctively, she pushed her hips forward, positioning herself.

In the darkness, Loki searched her face - a silent question asking for her consent. Sylvie answered with an equally silent nod and a meaningful smile that caught the moonlight, before she leaned down again and kissed him - deep and demanding.

And Loki?

He surrendered willingly to her kiss as Sylvie slowly - agonizingly slowly - lowered her hips. She began to tremble and bit down on her lip, overwhelmed, as she carefully started to take him inside her.

Loki squeezed his eyes shut, murmuring unintelligible words that sounded like both a curse and a plea. A feeling of intense fulfillment and deep connection washed over Sylvie. In that moment, she understood that this was far more than mere physical pleasure. What she was sharing with him was closeness and trust on a level she had never thought possible. All the walls she had built around her heart over so many years seemed to crumble effortlessly in his arms. She felt safe and sheltered like never before in her life.

She cupped his cheeks and stroked them gently with her thumbs until he finally looked at her again and what she saw in his eyes was nothing but pure love.

“Loki, I…” she whispered, her voice trembling. She wanted to tell him what she felt, but the words wouldn’t come. Yet Loki seemed to know what she meant to say, because her eyes had already spoken what her lips could not.

The thought that what lay between them was truly love was breathtaking and terrifying at the same time. It meant she actually had something to lose. But before that quiet fear could take root, she felt Loki’s warm breath again, his hands holding her firmly. So she let herself sink into the feeling and gave herself over to the moment completely, determined to drink in this new happiness and make it her own.

Then Sylvie began to move. She straightened a little, braced her hands on Loki’s chest, and found a rhythm that instantly drew them both in. There was no hesitant exploration anymore like the first time. This was more urgent, more confident. Sylvie felt no uncertainty at all - only pure pleasure and the certainty that Loki shared her desire. With every roll of her hips, the tension inside her continued to build.

Loki let his hands glide over her hips and waist, up to her breasts. When his fingers brushed gently over her sensitive peaks, Sylvie gasped and let her head fall back. She could sense his satisfied, warm smile in the half-light - he was clearly enjoying seeing her so breathless. But Sylvie had no intention of letting him outdo her. She leaned down toward him again, subtly changing the angle of her hips. It drew a deep moan from both of them. Her lips found his neck, and now it was her turn to cover him with kisses.

Loki’s fingers dug into her skin. “Sylvie…” he panted softly, almost pleading, and the demanding tone only spurred her on. The way he spoke her name - as if it were a prayer and a curse at once - sent a wild, tingling thrill through her. She picked up the pace of her movements slightly, testing what it did to him. He rewarded her with a hoarse groan and instinctively lifted his hips, pushing even deeper into her.

Sylvie felt a sweet pull deep inside her that intensified with every thrust. She lifted her head and met his gaze. In the depths of his emerald-green eyes flickered something untamed, but also so much tenderness that Sylvie’s chest tightened with emotion. How had she ever lived without this? Without him? The thought struck her suddenly. All the lonely years, all the pain, the battles, the running - none of it had prepared her for these moments with him, in which she finally felt whole and truly home.

Her movements grew more urgent, more uncontrolled, as if the passion between them had finally taken over completely. Loki now gripped her waist with both hands and lifted his upper body slightly to press his mouth to hers again. The kiss was wild, almost desperate in its intensity. Sylvie couldn’t suppress a soft whimper as Loki’s tongue played with hers while he thrust into her in a deep, steady rhythm that drove her nearly mad.

The world around them blurred. There was only Loki’s body and her own, fused into a single, heated pulse. Sylvie felt something inside her steadily building - a tightly stretched band on the verge of snapping. Her fingernails left half-moons in Loki’s shoulders as she clung to him. Her breath came in sharp gasps, and small, uncontrollable sounds of pleasure spilled from her throat with every movement.

“Loki… I… ahh-” Her attempt to speak dissolved into a breathless moan as Loki slid especially deep into her with deliberate slowness. He knew exactly what he was doing - pushing her to the edge, only to make her squirm just a little longer. Sylvie arched toward him, wanting more, wanting everything he had to give. Loki groaned hoarsely again, as though he too could no longer hold back.

“Sylvie,” he rasped, his gaze flickering with rapture. His hands slid upward again, pressing her even closer to him. She felt his entire body trembling beneath her with tightly coiled desire. “You feel so good…” His words were barely more than a rough whisper against her ear, but they struck Sylvie to the core. A firework of sensation exploded inside her at the confession, and she finally lost all control.

At last, when neither Sylvie nor Loki could hold back any longer, the wave crashed over them. Sylvie felt the tension release all at once. She went rigid for a heartbeat, clinging to Loki as a powerful shudder tore through her. A breathless sound escaped her lips - perhaps she cried his name, she didn’t know, because her ears roared like crashing surf. At the same time, she felt Loki lose control as well. He held her tightly with a hoarse gasp, his face buried in her neck as he spilled himself inside her. Deep within, she felt every pulsing movement of his climax, sending another aftershock of pleasure through her body.

Seconds, minutes - Sylvie didn’t know how long that divine moment lasted before they finally came to rest, both trembling and breathless. Exhausted, she collapsed against Loki, who sank back into the cushions of the sofa just as heavily, still breathing hard. For a moment, the only sound in the room was their mingled breaths as they slowly calmed. Sylvie’s forehead rested against Loki’s neck; she felt the rapid pulse beneath his warm skin and smiled, worn out but deeply, profoundly happy, against the hollow of his throat.

Loki gently stroked Sylvie’s sweat-dampened back with one hand. Neither of them said a word - words felt unnecessary in this moment. Everything had already been said through touches, glances, kisses.

Sylvie closed her eyes and listened to the rhythm of Loki’s heartbeat as it slowly returned to normal. His arms were wrapped protectively around her, as if he feared she might disappear the moment he let go. The thought made her smile.

In the peaceful darkness, still resting on Loki’s body, Sylvie felt a deep contentment rise within her - unlike anything she had ever known. Her body felt pleasantly heavy and tired, while her mind was wide awake and yet strangely calm. In this moment, everything seemed perfect.

She lifted her head slightly so she could see Loki’s face. His eyes were closed, his features soft with an expression of quiet joy and serenity.

Carefully, Sylvie raised a hand and brushed a dark strand of hair from his forehead. Loki opened his eyes at her touch, and a lazy, blissful smile spread across his face.

For a moment, they simply looked at each other. Sylvie’s chest tightened with affection as she felt Loki’s gentle gaze resting on her. He looked almost vulnerable like this - with sleep-heavy eyes and that soft smile that belonged only to her.

Then he pulled her into another gentle kiss. This kiss was different from the ones before - slow, tender, filled with gratitude and affection. Sylvie practically melted into the softness of it.

When they finally parted again, Sylvie let her head sink down onto Loki’s chest and snuggled into the warmth of his body. In the meantime, the blanket had slipped to the floor. With a tiny pulse of magic, Loki drew it back up and spread it over Sylvie’s back. She laughed softly against his skin - because even now, he used his magic to fetch a blanket instead of moving himself.

“Sluggard,” she murmured playfully, not lifting her head. She felt Loki’s quiet laughter more than she heard it.

“I’m just enjoying the moment,” he replied with a grin, his fingers continuing to trace idle patterns across her back. “If I move, this wonderful dream might disappear.”

Sylvie took a deep breath. A dream… yes, it almost felt unreal. She didn’t know what she had done to deserve this happiness. But as she lay there - on Loki’s chest, wrapped in his careful embrace - she decided not to think about it any further. Instead, she simply let herself sink into this feeling of safety and passion he gave her.

Slowly, her eyes grew heavy again. The exhaustion of the long night and the passion they had shared inevitably caught up with her. Loki gently stroked her hair and hummed a soft melody that sounded like an ancient lullaby. A happy smile played on Sylvie’s lips as she let the darkness pull her back into sleep - her last thought being that she never wanted to be without this warmth and this sense of rightness that Loki gave her ever again…

 

When Sylvie opened her eyes again, it was already light outside. For a moment she lay still, letting her gaze drift over the familiar face beside her. At some point during the night, she must have slipped down off Loki; now her head was resting at his side. Loki was truly asleep - his eyes closed, his breathing calm and even. An unexpected surge of tenderness washed over Sylvie as she studied his relaxed features. In sleep, he looked so peaceful and almost boyish; nothing about him hinted at the mocking, self-assured god he so often pretended to be.

Careful not to wake him, Sylvie gently freed herself from his arms. Loki murmured something unintelligible in his sleep and turned his head slightly, but otherwise let her go. Sylvie shrugged off the sofa blanket and immediately felt the cool morning air against her heated skin. A pleasant shiver ran over her bare body as she rose carefully to her feet.

Her clothes from the night before were scattered across the floor. She spotted her trousers and the sweater she had worn, along with her underwear. An amused glint flickered in her eyes as she remembered Loki’s overwhelmed expression - he had reacted exactly the way she’d imagined he would.

She stretched languidly, working the stiffness from her limbs. A faint pull lingered in her muscles - a sweet reminder of the night before. She couldn’t suppress a satisfied smile.

Her own clothes seemed decidedly unappealing just then; instead, her gaze fell on Loki’s white shirt, carelessly draped over the back of the sofa - exactly where he had pulled it off and tossed it the night before. Without thinking twice, Sylvie reached for it. The soft fabric smelled like him - of the spicy scent of his soap, mingled with a hint of smoke and something unmistakable that was simply Loki.

Sylvie slipped it on. The shirt was far too big for her, but she didn’t care. She rolled up the sleeves so her hands peeked out and smiled to herself. She had no idea why she was doing this, but it felt good. She quickly pulled her delicate lace panties back up over her hips as well. Satisfied to be at least somewhat dressed, Sylvie padded barefoot toward the small kitchen. She moved on tiptoe, careful not to make a sound. She liked the idea of waking Loki with a cup of coffee - and she herself could use something strong, too.

She filled the kettle with water and set it on the stove. As she waited, her thoughts drifted back to Loki without fail.

It still felt unreal to be here with him. She had never thought she might one day find something like peace - or even closeness - and certainly not in Loki’s arms, she thought with a faint smile. The multiverse really did have a strange sense of humor. And yet, her chest warmed at the thought that maybe it had been fate that brought them together. Loki understood her in a way no one else ever had.

And what they had shared the night before… it went far beyond mere physical pleasure, intense as that had been. It was as if their souls had touched, as if she had finally found someone she could truly let go with.

Sylvie felt a quiet tug in her chest - almost like fear. Fear that this happiness might be fragile. That it could all be nothing more than a beautiful dream she might wake from at any moment. Too often in her life, things had been taken from her far too quickly. But when she glanced into the living room and saw Loki still sleeping peacefully on the sofa, something inside her eased. He was really there. This was real.

Just then, the water in the kettle began to boil, whistling softly. Sylvie startled slightly and quickly removed it from the stove before the sound could wake Loki. She carefully poured the boiling water over the coarsely ground coffee she had divided between two mugs. A strong, bitter aroma rose to her nose. She breathed it in deeply and sighed in contentment. Coffee - a human habit she had grown quite fond of.

Just as Sylvie was about to pick up the mugs and head back into the living room, she heard a soft rustling behind her and then Loki’s sleepy voice: “Sylvie?”

There was a note of alarm in his tone, as if he feared she might have disappeared. Sylvie couldn’t suppress an amused smile. She walked to the living room doorway, leaned her head casually against the doorframe, and looked at Loki, who had just pushed himself upright on the sofa. His tousled black hair fell wildly over his forehead, his eyes blinking sleepily in her direction. For a heartbeat, he truly looked panicked - until he spotted her, and she heard him exhale audibly in relief.

“I’m here,” Sylvie said softly, a teasing lilt in her voice. “No need to panic.”

She picked up one of the steaming mugs and slowly stepped back into the living room. Loki rubbed a hand over his face as if trying to chase away the last remnants of sleep, his gaze fixed on Sylvie in disbelief. Now that morning light was filling the room, she could see his face more clearly. And yes - he was staring at her as if she were an apparition. Sylvie suddenly became aware of her own appearance: barefoot, wearing nothing but her tiny lace panties and his far-too-large white shirt, which revealed far more than it concealed.

Loki didn’t say a word. His gaze traveled slowly from her bare legs upward, lingering briefly, then sliding over the low neckline of the shirt where her skin flashed into view, until it finally reached her face. Sylvie felt a tingling sensation everywhere his eyes touched her.

“Would you like some coffee?” she asked innocently, as if everything were perfectly normal. Her voice sounded calm, but inwardly she felt a small surge of triumph at the effect she was having on him. She walked toward him slowly. He was still sitting there stiff and silent, as if spellbound. Only when she stopped directly in front of him did he seem to snap out of it. He looked up at her - and actually had to tilt his head back slightly to meet her eyes, she was standing that close.

“Uh…” he managed softly. Apparently, his words still hadn’t fully returned. Sylvie couldn’t help a mischievous grin. She tucked a rebellious strand of hair behind her ear and then held the coffee mug out to him expectantly. “Coffee?” she repeated, mockingly.

Loki blinked, as though only now realizing she was offering him something. “What? Oh… sure,” he finally said, taking the mug from her hand mechanically. Instead of lifting it to his mouth, however, he simply set it down on the small side table next to the sofa - his eyes never leaving Sylvie, not even glancing at where he placed it.

“Be careful...it’s hot,” Sylvie warned with an amused sparkle in her eyes as Loki set the mug down a little too carelessly. Part of her was thoroughly enjoying how flustered she had made him. The god’s usually quick tongue seemed completely tied up because of her.

Loki ignored her warning and reacted in a very different way instead. With a sudden, fluid motion, he slipped an arm around Sylvie’s waist. Before she knew it, she landed with a small yelp on his lap. Her hands instinctively wrapped around his shoulders to keep her balance, but Loki already had her firmly held. The flicker of surprise inside her instantly turned into a delicious thrill when he looked at her with a broad grin. He had clearly regained his composure.

“So,” Loki murmured at her ear, “you’ve decided to steal my clothes?” One hand playfully tugged at the hem of the shirt she was wearing. His voice carried that familiar, dangerously velvety undertone that sent goosebumps racing down Sylvie’s spine. “I can’t just let that slide, you know.” He tried - and failed - to suppress a grin, completely undermining his feigned seriousness.

Sylvie laughed softly, a deep, amused note in the sound. “Oh no?”

“Although it does look exceptionally good on you,” Loki continued teasingly, letting his gaze roam over her appreciatively. His hand had already slipped beneath the fabric at her waist, stroking her bare skin. Sylvie felt her breath hitch as his fingers left a burning trail along her side.

“But still,” he whispered, leaning closer until his lips nearly brushed hers, “it belongs to me.”

His green eyes sparkled with both mischief and desire, and Sylvie was once again keenly aware of just how much she wanted this man. Her lips curved into a defiant smile. “Then come and get it,” she whispered provocatively.

No sooner had the words left her mouth than Loki acted. With a swift movement, he had Sylvie beneath him on the sofa, her back pressed into the cushions. He leaned over her, planting one knee beside her hip, his hands closing around her wrists. In her moment of surprise, he pinned her arms above her head against the pillow. His grip was firm but not painful - more a demonstration that he held her, yet would let go at any moment if she wished.

Sylvie gasped in surprise, then laughed softly with excitement. It had all happened so quickly that her heart skipped a beat. But she loved this game - the thrill of not knowing what he would do next. She playfully tested his grip on her wrists, but of course Loki held her securely. He watched her through narrowed eyes now, the grin on his lips unmistakable.

“You won’t get away from me that easily,” he murmured, leaning even closer. Sylvie felt his hot breath against her cheek.

“Maybe you should just talk less,” she teased breathlessly. “Or is that all you can do?” Her voice trembled slightly with suppressed laughter and with arousal.

Loki pretended to look shocked. “Well… I think I should prove to you that it’s not,” he replied. He cast a fleeting glance at the white fabric stretched over Sylvie’s slender body. His movement had pushed the hem of the shirt even higher, revealing a dangerously large expanse of skin. Sylvie’s cheeks flushed, but she returned his cheeky grin with a challenge of her own.

“I think I’ll start by reclaiming my property,” Loki growled softly. His voice had dropped, rougher now. Slowly, he released one of her wrists and let his fingertips trail down her arm until they reached the first open button of the shirt. His eyes followed the motion. Sylvie’s breath caught as Loki toyed with the button and the fabric, as though considering simply tearing the shirt off her.

At that exact moment, a loud knock shattered the morning quiet. Someone was pounding heavily on the door.

Loki froze above Sylvie, and for a moment the only sound in the room was their shared, heavy breathing. Sylvie needed a second to process what was happening - who on earth would be knocking on the door this early in the morning? Again… apparently it was some kind of old New Asgardian tradition or something.

Loki slowly lifted his head and shot an angry glare toward the door, as if he might scare the intruder away by sheer force of will.

“This cannot be happening,” he hissed, reluctantly pulling away from Sylvie. Still clearly irritated, he swung his legs off the sofa. Sylvie, blinking in lingering haze and disappointment, pushed herself upright and quickly adjusted the displaced shirt to cover herself. Amused, she watched Loki curse under his breath while searching for his black boxer briefs, which had ended up somewhere on the floor.

“Bloody nuisance…” he growled as he pulled them on. He was clearly convinced that his brother Thor - the undisputed master of ill-timed interruptions - was responsible.

Barely decent, Loki stomped toward the door. He ran his fingers through his hair in a futile attempt to tame it, though it did little to improve his disheveled appearance.

Sylvie had to bite her lower lip to keep from laughing out loud. He looked simultaneously rakish and offended as he marched to the door wearing nothing but the thin underwear, fully prepared to lecture Thor.

Loki yanked the door open. “Thor, I swear by all Nine-” he snapped, only to fall abruptly silent when he saw who was actually standing there. Sylvie leaned forward slightly, curious, and the next moment caught sight of Valkyrie, who stood on the threshold with an amused expression.
For a split second, Loki stared at her in surprise - clearly not prepared for this particular visitor.

Valkyrie leaned casually against the doorframe with her arms crossed, letting her gaze roam unabashedly over Loki from head to toe. From her spot, Sylvie could see the corners of Valkyrie’s mouth curl into a broad grin.

“Well,” Valkyrie remarked dryly, “now that’s what I call a hot welcome early in the morning.” Her voice carried its usual teasing edge. Loki took just a fraction of a second too long to react. He noticed her openly appraising look and then apparently remembered that he was standing there practically naked. He hastily crossed his arms over his chest.

“Good morning to you too,” he muttered at last, plastering on an exaggerated, forced smile. Sylvie had to restrain herself from bursting into laughter.

“Definitely a good morning,” Valkyrie shot back immediately, winking shamelessly. “For some more than others, it seems.” She craned her neck slightly to peer past Loki into the room. Her eyes landed on Sylvie, who was sitting on the sofa, clutching Loki’s oversized shirt around herself and now, caught red-handed, felt her cheeks warm. Valkyrie’s grin widened even further, if that was even possible.

“Oh, I’m sorry - am I interrupting something?” she asked, her voice dripping with feigned innocence that no one would buy. Sylvie snorted in amusement and stood up as well, tugging the shirt down as best she could while heading toward the door. Loki instinctively took half a step, as if to shield her - an effort that looked rather comical given his lack of clothing. Sylvie placed a calming hand on his arm and slipped beside him into the doorway, where Valkyrie greeted her with sparkling eyes.

“No worries,” Sylvie said with a deliberately calm smile, even though her cheeks were still slightly warm. “What’s up so early?”

Valkyrie raised an amused eyebrow but mercifully refrained from commenting further on Sylvie’s attire - or the very obvious circumstances. Instead, she crossed her legs demonstratively, leaning even more comfortably against the doorframe.

“I just wanted to ask if you want to meet later this afternoon, before the feast. Just to... sort out a few things.” Her tone was carefully casual, but Sylvie didn’t miss the conspiratorial glint in Valkyrie’s eyes or the wink that accompanied her words.

Sylvie nodded lightly, schooling her face into neutrality. “Sure, sounds good. I’ll come by once I’m…” She hesitated, then cleared her throat. “…uh, finished here.” Loki shot her a quick, questioning sideways glance, which she resolutely ignored.

Valkyrie seemed satisfied. She pushed herself off the doorframe and straightened to her full height, her gaze flicking once more unabashedly between Sylvie and Loki.

“Great. See you later. Enjoy your morning, you two.” She grinned broadly. Seeing Loki still looking a little flustered, she apparently couldn’t resist one final cheeky remark. “And Loki - nice outfit. It suits you.” She gestured with a wink toward his hastily donned underwear. Before Loki or Sylvie could respond, Valkyrie turned on her heel, laughing loudly as she walked away.

Loki closed the door with a deep sigh and let his forehead rest against the wood for a moment. “By Odin…” he muttered in frustration.

Sylvie couldn’t hold it in any longer and burst into ringing laughter. The entire situation - Loki half-naked, caught by Valkyrie, his usually proud ego clearly bruised - was simply too good.

When Loki turned around and saw her laughing, he raised an eyebrow in mock offense. “Do you think this is amusing?” he asked, though the corners of his mouth were already twitching. Sylvie tried to calm herself, but a giggle still escaped her. She stepped closer, placed a cheeky hand on his chest, and looked at him with exaggerated seriousness.

“No, not at all,” she lied blatantly, her eyes sparkling with mirth. “But...I like your outfit too,” she added in a whisper, giving him a flirtatious wink.

Loki snorted and didn’t even try to hide his grin. “Very funny.”

For a moment, they simply stood there in the quiet house, looking at each other. Then Loki took a deep breath.

“So - before anyone else drops by unannounced… may I finally have my coffee now?” he asked with mock desperation. “A damn strong one, please.”

Sylvie laughed softly and shook her head. “Of course.” She turned to retrieve the mug still standing on the small table and handed it to him.

Loki sighed again, rubbed his face once more, then finally took the mug and swallowed a generous sip. “Ahh,” he murmured, closing his eyes for a moment in bliss. “That’s exactly what I needed.”

Sylvie watched him with a smile. He still looked a little disheveled and rumpled, but at the same time he radiated a sense of ease and contentment that made her happy. She had the feeling that, in this moment, they were simply… normal. Like an ordinary couple waking up together and getting ready for the day - aside from a somewhat unconventional doorstep greeting.

The thought made her smile inwardly. For someone who had spent so much of her life alone, this kind of normalcy bordered on a miracle. Sylvie pushed aside the quiet doubt trying to rise within her - the fear that all of this might be too good to last. Instead, she chose to enjoy the moment.

Loki opened his eyes again, his gaze seeking hers. They looked at each other in silence for a moment, and there was a softness in his features that still surprised her. He set the cup aside, took a step toward her, and gently pulled her into his arms. Sylvie leaned into him willingly, wrapping her arms around his warm middle. She felt his heartbeat beneath her cheek, steady and strong. No… she wasn’t going to give this up so easily anymore.

 

...some hours later...

 

Sylvie studied her reflection critically in the mirror, smoothing her hands over the soft fabric at her hips. The dress still felt unfamiliar against her skin. She simply wasn’t used to wearing anything so femininely soft. Normally, she preferred practical clothes - things she could fight in if she had to. But this dress… when she had put it on, she couldn’t deny that she liked it. The fabric shimmered in a rich green that highlighted her light eyes, and the cut flattered her figure surprisingly well. It was simple yet elegant, falling just above her knees, with a light, swaying skirt that moved with every step.

At first, Sylvie had felt almost like she was wearing a costume, but Valkyrie’s enthusiastic reaction had at least reassured her that it was the right choice.

“You look beautiful,” Valkyrie declared immediately, flashing a broad smile. “Green really suits you.”

Sylvie raised her hands defensively. “Okay, okay - we picked the dress together, you don’t need to sell it to me again,” she said, trying to hide her embarrassment behind an eye roll. Compliments were still something she wasn’t used to.

Valkyrie laughed and nudged Sylvie playfully in the side. “I’m not selling anything. I’m just stating facts." She winked, and Sylvie felt her heart skip a beat out of sheer nerves.

“All right,” Valkyrie said, clapping her hands.

“Dress - check. Now for the rest.” She studied Sylvie’s bare face and her blonde hair falling in soft waves over her shoulders. “Maybe a little makeup…” she mused.

Sylvie immediately shook her head emphatically. “No. Absolutely not.” She crossed her arms over her chest as if bracing herself against an impending procedure. She couldn’t remember ever wearing makeup. Why would she? As a hunted variant on the run, makeup had been the last thing on her mind. And even now, it just didn’t feel like her.

Valkyrie pouted. “Oh, come on - just a little,” she tried again, already picking up a kohl pencil from the table. “You have such striking blue eyes, Sylvie. If we emphasize them just a bit, men will be dropping like flies - including a certain dark-haired god.” She grinned conspiratorially.

Sylvie rolled her eyes but couldn’t stop the warm flush creeping into her cheeks at the mention of Loki. “That’s not the point…” she muttered, trying to shut the topic down. But Valkyrie showed no mercy. Before Sylvie knew it, Val had guided her to a chair.

“Sit down and trust me, yeah?” Valkyrie said in a tone that brooked no argument, though it was still kind. “I won’t do anything crazy, I promise. Just a hint - enough to highlight what’s already there.”

Sylvie sighed in surrender. “Fine. But really - just minimal.” She shot Valkyrie a warning look, which Val met with an exaggeratedly innocent expression.

“Promise,” Valkyrie laughed, getting straight to work. She took a soft kohl pencil and carefully began lining Sylvie’s eyes. Sylvie sat stiffly, trying not to blink. It felt strange to let someone work so close to her eyes, but Valkyrie’s hand was surprisingly steady and skilled.

“I didn’t know you were good at this,” Sylvie murmured as Valkyrie drew a subtle line along her left eye.

“Oh, I have many hidden talents,” Valkyrie replied with amusement, never wavering.

“Fine…” She tilted her head, examined her work, and nodded with satisfaction. “Take a look.” She gestured toward the mirror on the wall.

Sylvie blinked cautiously. Sure enough - the soft, dark line made her blue eyes stand out more clearly, giving them an added intensity.

“Not bad, right?” Valkyrie said proudly.

Sylvie had to admit it wasn’t bad at all.

“Yeah… thanks,” she said quietly. It still felt unfamiliar, but not unpleasant.

“We could add a little lipstick-” Valkyrie began, but Sylvie immediately shook her head firmly. “The deal was the eyes,” she reminded her sternly.

Valkyrie laughed. “All right, all right. No lipstick.” She raised her hands theatrically in surrender. “But one more thing.”

Sylvie frowned as Valkyrie stepped around her, thoughtfully lifting a strand of hair between her fingers.

“What?” she asked skeptically.

“Your hair,” Valkyrie replied, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “A nice dress, a pretty face… the hair should be styled to match. Maybe pinned up? It would show off your neck so beautifully and-”

“No!” Sylvie reacted faster and more forcefully than she intended. She shifted in the chair and looked at Valkyrie almost in panic. “I mean… leaving it down is perfectly fine.”

Valkyrie’s eyes narrowed in confusion for a moment - and then realization dawned. Just below Sylvie’s left ear, a small dark pink mark peeked out from beneath her hair: a telltale souvenir of Loki’s passionate kisses the night before, right where he had lavished particular attention on her neck.

A knowing grin crept across Valkyrie’s lips. She cleared her throat and stepped back in front of Sylvie, choosing not to address it directly. “Wearing it down is beautiful too,” she said lightly, giving Sylvie a quick wink. “Really suits you. Leave it just like that.”

Sylvie’s cheeks now burned a vivid red as she tried - and failed - to look unaffected, silently cursing the betraying blush on her face.

Valkyrie, however, said nothing more about it. Instead, she smiled warmly and sincerely. “You know what, sweetheart? You look absolutely stunning.” And before Sylvie could protest or dodge away, Valkyrie pulled her into a spontaneous hug.

Sylvie froze for a split second. She wasn’t used to being hugged. But then she relaxed and hesitantly returned the embrace. Valkyrie held her firmly yet gently, and Sylvie felt genuine warmth and affection in it - the comforting, supportive feeling of a friendship she had never dared to hope for.

“Trust me. No one will be able to take their eyes off you - especially Loki,” Valkyrie whispered confidently, pressing a quick kiss to Sylvie’s cheek before stepping back.

Sylvie didn’t know what to say to that. Instead, she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear shyly and lowered her gaze.

“So,” Valkyrie said brightly, “are you ready? Let’s go shake things up at this feast!”
Sylvie took one last deep breath and nodded with determination. Ready or not - the feast was waiting.

 

As the sun dipped low on the horizon, bathing the sky over New Asgard in the last golden light, Sylvie arrived at the festival grounds together with Valkyrie. The celebration was already in full swing: colorful pennants stretched between lanterns, torches, and paper lamps that cast a warm glow over the square. The air was rich with the tempting scents of roasted meat, sweet pastries, and mead.

From several corners came cheerful music - musicians played lively tunes on traditional Asgardian instruments, accompanied by the rhythmic clapping of onlookers. People were everywhere - Asgardians who had found a new home here on Earth - dressed in festive clothes. Children ran around laughing, chasing one another between the wooden benches where the adults sat, drinking and talking. The atmosphere was exuberant and warm; people greeted each other with hugs, laughter, and easy banter.

Sylvie stopped instinctively at the edge of the square, trying to take in the colorful bustle before her. Her heart began to race. So many people… so much noise. A part of her wanted to turn around and leave immediately. She tugged nervously at the hem of her green dress. Beside her, Valkyrie was bubbling with enthusiasm.

“Isn’t this great? A proper festival at last! We’ve earned this.”

Sylvie returned a thin smile but felt completely out of place. She had never really learned how to be part of a joyful community. For so long, her world had consisted of loneliness and survival that moments like this - carefree and bright - felt almost alien to her.

As Valkyrie tugged her a little farther onto the square, Sylvie frantically searched for a way to slip away unnoticed. Maybe she could pretend she suddenly felt sick? Her thoughts raced, but she couldn’t come up with a convincing excuse Valkyrie wouldn’t see straight through. And besides - her gaze flicked to Valkyrie, who was happily pulling her along - she didn’t want to disappoint her… or Loki.

Suddenly, Sylvie felt Valkyrie’s hand tighten around her arm. “Look over there!” Valkyrie exclaimed excitedly, pointing energetically in one direction, drawing curious glances from nearby people. Sylvie flinched. She would have liked to pull Valkyrie’s hand down, but before she could, she had already seen who Val was pointing at.

Not far away, at the edge of a group of cheerful revelers, stood Loki. Thor was beside him - tall and unmistakable, towering above the crowd. Sylvie’s heart skipped a beat at the sight of Loki. He was wearing - of course - an elegant black jacket with golden embellishments along the collar, and even from a distance she could tell how well it suited him. His black hair was loosely slicked back, though a few rebellious strands had fallen free at his temples as usual. He was laughing at something Thor had said, and the sight of his unguarded smile alone stirred something warm inside her.

But no sooner had she really taken him in than Loki turned toward Valkyrie’s loud call. His gaze swept over the crowd - and then found Sylvie.

In that instant, time seemed to stop for both of them. Loki froze as if struck by lightning. His smile faltered, his eyes widened and Sylvie felt her surroundings blur. Everything else fell away: the music, the laughter, even Valkyrie at her side. There was only Loki, looking at her as though she were a miracle.

A light nudge from Valkyrie at her ribs pulled Sylvie back to reality. “Go on,” Val whispered with a satisfied grin. “Go get your prince.” With a gentle but determined push, Valkyrie nudged Sylvie a few steps forward in Loki’s direction, then discreetly stepped back, clearly knowing she no longer needed to intervene.

Sylvie swallowed, suddenly aware that her hands had gone icy despite the mild evening air. She wiped her damp palms discreetly against her dress and forced herself to take a few steps. Loki, too, seemed to have shaken himself out of his daze; he had broken away from Thor and the group beside him and was now walking toward her. It felt as though they were being drawn together, step by step, never breaking eye contact.

They met near the center of the square, just a few steps away from the dancing couples. Up close, Loki’s expression was even more breathtaking: his eyes nearly shone, his lips parted slightly as if words had failed him. Sylvie stopped in front of him, less than half a meter away. Her heart hammered so loudly she felt sure everyone around them must hear it.

“Hi,” she finally said, because nothing better came to mind and she needed to break the silence before she lost her nerve. It was a small word, but it seemed to bring Loki back to himself.

A slow, disbelieving smile spread across his face. He shook his head slightly, as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing.

“Hello,” he replied softly, his voice unusually gentle. His gaze still roamed over her, from head to toe, and Sylvie felt as though his eyes were caressing her. She wanted to say something - maybe make a joking remark to ease the tension - but nothing came. Instead, she simply stood there, lost in his green eyes.

At last, Loki collected himself. Very slowly, he lifted his hand and carefully took Sylvie’s in his. His fingers were warm, slightly rough at the tips as they closed around hers. He raised her hand to his lips and pressed a gentle kiss to it, never taking his eyes off her face. The gesture was old-fashioned, yet so tender that Sylvie’s knees nearly gave way.

“You look incredible,” Loki said quietly, almost reverently. His eyes searched hers, as if to reassure himself that it truly was Sylvie standing before him.

Sylvie snorted softly and drew her hand back a fraction too late, as though only now realizing how close he was.

“Incredible, huh?” She lifted an eyebrow, the beginnings of a smirk appearing automatically - a familiar reflex. “You know you sound like I just stepped out of a fairy tale.”

Normally, the bite would have followed. The sharp edge. The precise little blade hidden in her words. But it didn’t come. Her voice sounded softer than she intended. Almost shy. And she hated how quickly Loki noticed.

She looked away briefly, over his shoulder, toward the dancing crowd and the flickering torchlight. Her mouth twisted into a crooked smile. “It’s just a dress,” she muttered, shrugging as if she needed to remind herself. “Val picked it out. I would’ve… well. Probably gone with something less noticeable.”

She dared to glance back at him and immediately regretted it, because he was still looking at her as though she were the only thing in the square that existed.

“Stop looking at me like that,” she said quickly, tapping a finger lightly against his chest - not hard enough to actually push him away. “It’s… embarrassing.”

The word felt strange on her tongue. Embarrassing. Her who had survived alone for years, who had never cared about being seen. She crossed her arms over her chest, more out of habit than defense, and lifted her chin in challenge. Yet even she could feel it: the posture didn’t quite hold. The sarcasm was there but dulled, worn smooth by something warm she didn’t want to acknowledge.

Loki’s mouth twitched slightly, as though he genuinely didn’t understand what she meant. His gaze drifted briefly across the square, lingering on a group of dancers, on Thor laughing loudly as he embraced someone - then he looked back at her, completely calm.

“What?” he asked quietly, almost innocently. “I don’t see anything unusual.”

Sylvie’s eyes narrowed. She leaned a little closer, lowering her voice to a sharp hiss. “Loki. Everyone can see us.”

For a moment, he studied her, then slowly raised an eyebrow. There was a hint of amusement in his gaze, but no mockery.

“Yes,” he said gently. “I’m well aware of that. And that’s exactly the point.” His tone was calm, unforced. No performance. No game.
“I know people can see us.” The faintest twitch of his mouth. “And there are very few things I’ve cared less about.”

Sylvie bit her lower lip at his words.

“People have opinions,” he went on, almost casually. “They always have. Today, tomorrow, a hundred years from now.” His gaze softened. “But what truly matters to me is you, Sylvie.”

A tiny moment of silence.

Then she gave a quiet snort and shook her head, as if she’d only just found solid ground beneath her feet again. A crooked smile tugged at her lips - fond, but edged with that familiar trace of mockery that helped her steady herself.

“Do you realize,” she said softly, “that you sound pretty dramatic right now?”

Loki let out a barely audible huff, clearly amused. His gaze softened, and he let the comment stand without countering it. Instead, he rested a relaxed hand at her back - familiar, effortless. Then he tilted his head slightly, studying her with that calm, open look.

“So,” he asked lightly, “are you ready to dive into the festivities?”

Sylvie exhaled, letting some of the tension slip away. “Ready might be a bit of a strong word,” she muttered, “but… yeah.”

The corner of Loki’s mouth lifted. “That’s good enough for me.”

The atmosphere was full of warmth and exuberance and yet it felt foreign and overwhelming to Sylvie. Loki’s hand rested gently at her back, guiding her softly through the crowd, and every light press of his fingers through the thin fabric sent a warm shiver across her skin. Grateful for the wordless support, Sylvie cast him a brief sideways glance. There was a reassuring smile on his face, his eyes glowing softly in the lantern light. He seemed to be enjoying the celebration while still keeping careful watch over her.

Even so, Sylvie couldn’t stop her heart from racing. She wasn’t used to being part of a crowd like this. The cheerful hum of voices and the clinking of glasses echoed too loudly in her ears. Instinctively, her gaze searched for escape routes - for a quiet corner she could retreat to if it all became too much. She felt overheated despite the cool evening breeze drifting in from the sea. The urge to hide warred inside her with the desire to stay - for Loki’s sake - and give this new experience a chance.

“Are you okay?” Loki’s gentle voice reached her ear. He must have felt her tense. Sylvie swallowed and nodded hesitantly. Her fingers clenched around the hem of her dress as she tried to breathe evenly.

“I’m fine,” she replied softly, though her words were swallowed by a nearby cheer as a group of villagers raised a toast. No one but Loki paid her any attention, yet the feeling of being watched refused to leave her. She almost felt as though her unease and tension were written plainly across her face for everyone to see.

Loki leaned closer, a strand of his dark, glossy hair brushing her cheek. “We don’t have to stay if you’re uncomfortable,” he murmured so quietly only she could hear. His voice was warm and understanding, carrying no reproach - just an offer meant to ease her.

But Sylvie shook her head at once. “No… it’s okay,” she said quickly, then drew in a deep breath to steady herself. She didn’t want to be the one to ruin his evening. The others - Valkyrie, Thor, and everyone else - had made such an effort to welcome her. And Loki himself… he had been looking forward to showing her a part of his world. A celebration. An evening without fear or fighting. She wanted to try - for him.

Her eyes wandered over the square. She spotted Thor, laughing boisterously as he cheered on two men in a drinking contest. Not far from there stood Valkyrie, relaxed, a tankard of mead in hand, chatting with a group of villagers - yet her gaze kept drifting back to Sylvie and Loki. When their eyes met briefly, Valkyrie gave Sylvie an encouraging wink. She had clearly noticed how tense Sylvie was and wanted to buoy her spirits. Sylvie tried to smile back, even if it came a little hesitantly.

She forced herself to slow her breathing and squared her shoulders a little. The embroidered green fabric hugged her waist, and she felt the gentle sway of the skirt around her legs as she took an uncertain step forward.

Loki offered her a warm smile and held out his arm. Sylvie hesitated for a heartbeat before accepting, resting her hand on his forearm. Beneath the thin fabric of his shirt, she felt the solid muscle there, and the gesture - so polite yet so familiar - sent an unexpected warmth blooming inside her.
And so they continued on, step by step, into the colorful bustle of the festival. Sylvie felt the gazes of some of the people around them - curious, but kind.

She was just beginning to let herself sink into this unfamiliar feeling when something suddenly tugged at her dress. Sylvie flinched slightly and looked down. Standing beside her was a little girl, perhaps four years old, with strawberry-blond braids and a freckled face. The child wore a simple white dress and a crown of flowers in her hair - clearly adorned with wildflowers from the surrounding fields. In her small hands she held a single white blossom, which she now shyly offered to Sylvie.

“For you,” the girl piped up, her eyes shining. Apparently, Sylvie’s green dress and its golden embroidery had caught her attention. For a moment, Sylvie didn’t know how to react. She stared at the flower as though it were something foreign, almost dangerous. Her throat felt tight.

Loki crouched down so he was at eye level with the child and smiled gently. “That’s a very pretty flower,” he said kindly. “What’s your name, little lady?”

“Liv,” the girl replied proudly, then glanced up at Sylvie as if expecting a response.
Sylvie blinked, confused. Hesitantly, she reached out and took the delicate blossom.

"Um… thank you,” she managed softly. The simplicity of the gesture touched her more deeply than she wanted to admit. “It… it’s beautiful.”

Liv beamed, delighted that her gift had been accepted. “You look like a princess,” she said with a giggle, then hid slightly behind Loki’s shoulder, as if suddenly aware of her own boldness.

Sylvie felt heat rush to her face. Embarrassed, she shook her head. “Oh, no, I’m not a princess.” A shadow crossed her features as she said the words - because in another world, in another life, she might very well have been.

“Well, you certainly look like one,” Loki said with a wink as he straightened and gently ruffled the girl’s hair. Then, conspiratorially, he added to Liv, “Don’t you think so?”

The child nodded vigorously, just as she suddenly heard her mother calling from a short distance away.

“I have to go! Bye!” Liv called quickly before skipping off, back into her mother’s arms. The woman smiled and waved at Sylvie and Loki from afar.

Sylvie was left standing there with the white flower in her hand and a feeling in her chest she couldn’t quite name. The child’s honesty and innocence had caught her completely off guard. She held the blossom carefully, as if it might break. A small drop of white amid all the impressions of the night - so innocent, so peaceful.

And suddenly, a thought struck her with full force: Children.

Loki studied her with a gentle expression. “Are you all right?” he asked softly. Sylvie nodded mutely, more out of reflex than conviction. Her fingers tightened around the stem of the flower, then loosened again, as though only now realizing how tightly she’d been gripping it.

“Yes,” she said quietly. “I… think so.”
It didn’t sound convincing. Not even to herself.

Loki didn’t let the nod pass unquestioned. He knew that tone by now. He didn’t speak or press her, but his gaze remained attentive, calm, resting on her. He waited.

Sylvie looked again toward the spot where Liv had disappeared. The mother had lifted the child up by now, whispered something into her ear, and the girl laughed. A perfectly ordinary image. Harmless. And yet it felt as though someone had carelessly opened a door inside Sylvie - one she hadn’t even known existed.

Children.

The thought was no longer abstract. No distant concept, no weightless word. It had taken on a face. Small hands. A voice that said “for you,” without expectation, without ulterior motive.

Sylvie’s chest tightened. She had never asked herself whether she wanted children - not out of rejection, but because the thought had simply never had a place in her life. You didn’t plan a future when you were constantly on the run. You didn’t think about something so fragile when all you had ever done was survive.

And yet this moment had stirred something in her. Something uncomfortable. Something honest.

She felt Loki’s familiar presence beside her, his hand still resting loosely at her back - warm and real. Her gaze drifted to him without conscious intent, and the thought hit her unfiltered, without warning:

Would he want that?

Not now. Not today. But someday.

Children...A home. Something that lasted.

With… her?

Her stomach clenched painfully. The very idea frightened her. She didn’t know if she was capable of something like that. If she would ever be ready for a life that wasn’t built around flight and fear. And whether she wouldn’t one day fail right there, at that very point…

“Hey,” Loki said softly when he noticed her drifting inward. “You’re very far away right now.”

She drew in a deep breath, then let it out slowly. “I’m okay,” she said at last, noticing how strangely thick her voice sounded. “Let’s keep moving.”

Loki gave a small nod, but she knew exactly that he was watching her closely. She bit her lower lip and walked on with determination, trying to push the frightening thoughts aside. Maybe she really could find a place here, a quiet voice whispered deep inside her - a place where she was allowed to belong without constantly having to fight. But immediately the countervoice rose up as well - the voice of caution, of experience. Nothing lasted forever, least of all for her. Happiness was an illusion that had once been ripped from her hands without mercy. How easily everything she had begun to build here could collapse again…

Sylvie didn’t even realize she had lowered her head and clenched the fingers of her left hand into a fist until Loki stopped and bent slightly toward her.

“Would you like something to drink?” he asked gently.

It took her a moment to process the words. A drink… Her mouth was dry, she suddenly noticed. In her tension, she had forgotten even that.

“Yes, please,” she said quietly at last. Her voice was still taut, but she forced a faint smile in Loki’s direction. His suggestion was a welcome reprieve - a few moments of calm at the edge of the crowd to collect herself.

Together they headed toward the drinks stand, where an Asgardian with rolled-up sleeves was filling cups. He cast Loki a brief glance, frowned slightly as if recognizing him, then apparently decided against saying anything.

“Mead? Or something lighter?” he asked simply.

“Mead is fine,” Loki replied just as casually.
The man nodded, set two cups of mead on the counter, and slid them toward them.

Sylvie took one of the cups. The scent of the mead was sweet and spiced. She lifted it to her lips and took a cautious sip. The taste of honey and spices spread across her tongue - warm and soothing. It felt as though the drink washed away a small part of her tension.

“Better?” Loki asked softly as he took a sip himself. He studied her with that gentle, searching look that seemed to hide nothing and yet radiated so much affection that Sylvie almost felt embarrassed and had to look away.

“A little,” she admitted honestly. The mead warmed her from the inside, and with Loki here, at the edge of the crowd, she could almost pretend they were alone - as if this were just a normal evening, meant only for the two of them. The thought unsettled her and calmed her at the same time.

But the quiet didn’t last long. A new melody began to rise - slower now, melodic and measured. The lively fiddles and flutes from before gave way to a song that carried a hint of melancholy, a trace of longing in its notes. At once, several couples drifted onto the open space at the center of the square to dance to the gentler music. The laughter and conversations around them softened slightly, as if the crowd, too, were listening to the shift in mood.

Sylvie noticed Loki lifting his head beside her. A light entered his eyes as he recognized the melody. Without a word, he set his cup aside and turned fully toward her. Then he bowed slightly, in an old-fashioned, courtly way that caught Sylvie off guard for a moment. He extended his hand to her, holding himself like a charming prince from long-forgotten times.

“May I have this dance?” he asked with a smile. His voice sounded hopeful and gentle at once, as though he feared she might say no.

Sylvie’s heart leapt. A dance… here, in front of all these people? Instinctively, she wanted to step back, to search for excuses. She had never really learned how to dance- at least not like this, and certainly not in the middle of a crowd. The thought of moving awkwardly, of stepping on Loki’s foot again while others might be watching, sent heat rushing through her.

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea…” she murmured evasively, but Loki didn’t let her hesitation stop him. He took a half step closer so she could feel the warmth of his body and left his outstretched hand hovering between them - a patient invitation.

“Trust me,” he said softly. His green eyes rested on her, gentle and full of affection. “I’ll lead you. And if you want, I’ll make sure no one pays us any attention.”

His offer - his quiet plea - felt as though he weren’t just offering her his hand for a dance, but another step toward trust. Sylvie felt two forces collide inside her: the fear of letting herself go and possibly becoming an object of ridicule, and the deep desire to give Loki this simple joy - and perhaps even experience it herself, if only for a moment.

Slowly, she lifted her trembling hand and placed it in his. “All right,” she murmured, barely audible. A grateful smile flickered across Loki’s lips, and he gently closed his fingers around hers.

With careful movements, he guided her to the dance floor, where they paused at the edge. Sylvie’s heart pounded as she noticed that a few glances drifted their way - curious but friendly, as if people were amused to see the infamous Prince Loki finally take to the dance. She thought she caught one or two whispered comments behind cupped hands, and embarrassment immediately flared again.

But Loki gave her hardly any time to spiral into that insecurity. He turned fully toward her, rested a hand at her waist with natural ease, and drew her closer. His other hand still held hers firmly. Sylvie hesitantly placed her free hand on his shoulder, feeling his warmth through the fabric. She lifted her gaze to him. Though the lanterns cast only muted light, she could make out the faint smile on Loki’s lips and the gentle sparkle in his eyes.

“Relax,” he breathed softly, meant for her alone. “Look at me. It’s just you and me.”

You and me...

Sylvie drew in a deep breath and tried to shut everything else out - the crowd, the music, the world around them. She focused on Loki: the steady support of his hand at her back, the calm rhythm of his breathing, his familiar scent. Very slowly, he began to sway with her in time to the music.

At first, she was stiff and uncertain. But Loki led her patiently. When she missed a beat or hinted at a wrong step, he guided her back into the flow with gentle, almost imperceptible adjustments. Gradually, Sylvie found a natural rhythm. Her tension eased, her movements became smoother. The skirt of her dress swayed softly around her legs, and for the first time that evening she didn’t feel like an intruder, but like part of the scene.

The world around them seemed to blur. Sylvie barely noticed what was happening beyond Loki. The music wrapped around them like a soft breeze, but most of all she heard the beating of her own heart and felt it slowly syncing with the steady pulse of his steps. Loki kept his promise: for this moment, it felt as though only the two of them existed.

“See?” Loki murmured in a gentle voice as he guided her through a slow turn. “You’re doing just fine.”

Sylvie realized a smile had crept onto her lips - real and unguarded. It felt almost unfamiliar on her face, but it was there, and it came straight from her heart. “Yes,” she whispered back, a small, almost surprised laugh slipping from her throat.

A glow spread across Loki’s features at the sound of her laughter. For a moment, he seemed to hold his breath, as though that sound were more precious to him than anything else. Then he chuckled softly with her, and Sylvie felt his hand at her waist draw her a little closer. She could clearly feel the warmth of his body against hers now; every movement brought them nearer. Her heartbeat quickened again, but this time it wasn’t just fear - it was tinged with excitement and a gentle flare of joy.

They were close enough now that Sylvie could see every subtle change in Loki’s face - the relaxed line of his mouth, the soft rise and fall of his dark lashes when his gaze briefly dropped to her feet to make sure she wouldn’t stumble, only to return immediately to her eyes. That look… full of tenderness and wonder, as though he himself could hardly believe he was holding her in his arms.

Sylvie’s breath caught. How could anyone look at her like that? She knew looks of hostility, of caution, of indifference - but this? It was as if his eyes carried an unspoken promise: that she was valuable, that she was beautiful, that she deserved to be protected and cherished.

Something inside her began to melt under that gaze, like ice in the spring sun. She felt a slight tremor in her chest - a blend of happiness and fear so tightly intertwined she could barely tell them apart.

Loki seemed to notice the tears that had crept unbidden into her eyes. “Hey…” he whispered gently, tilting his head so his forehead almost brushed hers. “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” Sylvie said quickly, giving a barely perceptible nod. “More than okay, I think.” Her voice sounded fragile, so she cleared her throat softly. She felt overwhelmed by her own emotions - the sudden intensity of joy and tenderness she hadn’t expected.

“It’s just…” She searched for words as they kept dancing, slower now, almost a gentle rocking in place. The music surrounded them, but Sylvie heard only the rush of blood in her ears. She hardly dared to say what was stirring inside her. Loki waited patiently, his gaze never leaving her as he continued to hold her securely.

“I’m just not… used to being this happy,” she finally whispered, little more than a breath. It was the most honest answer she could give. The truth that struck her so sharply in that moment: that this simple happiness - dancing, laughing, being held - was something so rare and unfamiliar to her that it almost frightened her.

Loki looked at her with a mix of tenderness and sadness, as though his own experiences allowed him to understand exactly what she meant. Perhaps he did. It occurred to Sylvie that he, too, probably hadn’t had many moments like this in his long life.

“Then we should make sure you get used to it,” Loki murmured at last, attempting a small smile that trembled slightly with emotion. His thumb brushed soothingly over the fabric at her waist. “Step by step.”

Sylvie opened her mouth to reply - perhaps to thank him, or simply to tell him how much he meant to her - but the words were swallowed by the music. In that very moment, the final notes of the song faded away. The melody died down softly, and for a heartbeat Sylvie and Loki stood still, holding one another as applause broke out around them for the musicians.

The world rushed back in at full volume. Sylvie almost startled when she registered the clapping and cheering around her - she had been so lost in Loki’s presence that she had forgotten everything else. They had stopped moving, and Loki released his hand from her waist only reluctantly. Sylvie lowered her hand from his shoulder as well, yet they still held on to each other’s free hand, as if neither quite wanted to break the connection.

Sylvie noticed that a tear had actually slipped down her cheek. She hastily wiped it away with the back of her hand, hoping Loki hadn’t seen it in the dim light. Her heart was pounding wildly, and she felt both shaken and strangely elated - as though the dance had carried her into another world and now dropped her unceremoniously back into reality.

“Sylvie…” Loki began softly, but before he could continue, a loud clang rang out: Valkyrie had struck a metal cup against a shield to draw everyone’s attention. Conversations and laughter immediately ebbed, and the crowd turned toward Valkyrie, who stood elevated on a table. She held her tankard in one hand, the other resting casually on her hip.

“People!” she called out in a strong voice across the square. “Just a few words before we carry on!”

An expectant hush settled over the gathering. In the torchlight, Valkyrie’s expression looked both ceremonial and relaxed. “Tonight, we’re not just celebrating another year of peace here in New Asgard,” she began, “but also our community - old and new.” She nodded in Thor’s direction, where he stood with a broad grin and a raised mug among a group of men, then toward Loki - and with him, Sylvie.

“We’ve come together - Asgardians and humans - to celebrate the life we still have, and the future that lies ahead of us.”

A murmur of agreement rippled through the crowd. Valkyrie lifted her tankard a little higher. “We also remember those who can no longer celebrate with us.” Her voice softened for a moment, taking on a reverent tone. Many people lowered their heads; the names of lost friends and family seemed to echo silently in their hearts.

Sylvie felt a lump form in her throat. Unbidden, her thoughts went to all the people she had lost - to a mother she remembered only in fragments; to countless lives across the multiverse who might never have had the chance to attend a celebration like this.

Loki noticed the shadow crossing her face and gently laid a hand over hers. Valkyrie’s voice continued to carry across the square: “But we honor their memory by continuing to live - free and together. For Asgard, and for all the worlds we are lucky enough to call home.”

With that, she raised her tankard high above her head. “To the future! May we never forget where we come from - and may we discover together where we’re going!”

“For Asgard and the future!” Thor bellowed, and a jubilant echo answered him from the crowd. Everyone clinked their mugs together; mead sloshed over the rims, and a many-voiced cheer filled the night air.

Valkyrie grinned in satisfaction and hopped gracefully down from her perch. The solemn mood immediately shifted back into lively celebration: the musicians struck up the next, faster tune, and the cheerful buzz of conversation swelled once more as people resumed their festivities.

Sylvie stood there for a moment, feeling lost, as the colorful bustle sprang back to life around her. The voices that had just been raised in solemn unity turned back into laughter and chatter; torches flickered in time with the newly rising music. But something had changed for Sylvie. Her heart hammered in her chest, and a sharp ache of melancholy and unease spread through her. Valkyrie’s words echoed in her mind - especially the remembrance of those who had been lost, and the call to go on living.

She felt a tight knot in her throat as she tried to blink away the film of tears in her eyes. The impressions of the evening spun together chaotically: the laughter of the people, the feel of Loki’s hand at her back, the scent of smoke and sea salt, the shining eyes of the little girl with the flower… and hovering over it all, the memory of loss and fear that Valkyrie’s speech had stirred within her.

Her breathing grew shallow. The hum of voices and music suddenly seemed deafening again. People crowded around her, happy, carefree - at least that’s how it looked to her. Sylvie felt hemmed in, as though the square were shrinking around her. Once more, her gaze darted nervously through the crowd, searching for an exit, a place away from the many eyes and unspoken expectations.

Just as her eyes swept across the gathering, they caught on a small group of young women standing not far from the drinks stand. They were laughing together at something one of them had said. What truly drew Sylvie’s attention, however, was the woman in their midst - her clearly visible baby bump. The expectant mother was glowing, her hands resting lovingly on her rounded belly. Her friends laughed, and one of them leaned forward, apparently saying something to the unborn baby. The scene was warm, full of anticipation and life.

Inside Sylvie, everything froze. The sounds around her faded abruptly, as if someone had stuffed cotton into her ears. Her gaze locked onto the woman’s belly, and she felt the blood in her veins turn to ice.

Pregnant.

That woman was pregnant.

Unbidden, memories of the night before flashed through Sylvie’s mind - of herself and Loki, tangled together in utter abandon, again and again, without a single clear thought spared for consequences. A wave of nausea hit her. Her stomach cramped painfully.

What if…?

The question formed first vaguely, then with terrifying clarity: what if she herself was pregnant? Sylvie had no idea how likely or unlikely that was - but the mere possibility made her nearly lose her balance. She had been so foolish. So careless. So overwhelmed by her feelings. She - who had always thought ahead, always been cautious and prepared - had let all her vigilance slip in Loki’s arms.

Her breathing quickened uncontrollably. The edges of her vision blurred. A shrill ringing filled her ears, probably existing only in her own head. She was still staring at the pregnant woman, who now laughed brightly as one of her friends cracked a joke.

A surge of panic washed over Sylvie - so strong that her entire body began to tremble.

A child… a child with Loki.

Her mind spun images at a dizzying pace, impossible to stop. She saw herself with a rounded belly, vulnerable, no longer able to fight. Carrying a child would mean the end of her independence - she would be more exposed than ever before. None of her skills, none of her caution, would protect her then from being defenseless, from needing help.

The thought tightened painfully around her throat. Sylvie had spent her entire life making sure she would never end up in such a position - and now exactly that seemed to be looming, through her own mistake.

She saw Loki beside her, but she couldn’t imagine what his face would look like - would he be happy? Horrified? Would he feel responsible, stay by her side out of nothing but duty? The very thought made her shudder. She didn’t want to burden Loki with something like that, didn’t want to bind him to her out of obligation. If he stayed only because he felt responsible, it would destroy everything that made their fragile connection what it was. Or worse - would he… No. She couldn’t finish that thought.

Her heart stumbled painfully. She wasn’t made to be a mother - at least, that’s what she had always believed. How was she supposed to raise a child - she, who had never known the safety of a whole family? Her own childhood had been cut short the moment she was torn from her family; since then, all she had known was flight and fighting. What did she know about giving a child security and love? The thought of failing at that almost broke her heart.

How could she even consider bringing an innocent little life into this chaos she called existence? Even if everything somehow worked out - she felt completely unprepared. She had never had anyone to show her how care and love functioned within a family. The few memories she had of her parents were distant and painful, and since her childhood she had done nothing but survive. How was she, of all people, supposed to give a child a home?

She was afraid - truly, paralyzingly afraid. Afraid that she might already be carrying new life inside her. Afraid she wouldn’t be able to protect it. Afraid of destroying everything she had found with Loki. And afraid of a future she had never planned.

Sylvie felt her fingers curl into fists. Nausea churned in her stomach. She didn’t dare look at Loki - she had no idea what expression was on her face right now, but if he saw her like this, he would immediately know something was wrong.

“-vie? Sylvie?” Loki’s voice reached her as if through thick glass. Suddenly she felt his hands gently touching her forearms. She flinched violently, as if burned.

“Sylvie, what’s wrong?” Loki’s voice was alarmed, his face appearing in her field of vision, full of concern. He must have noticed how abruptly she’d frozen. Of course he had. He knew her well enough to sense the change in her posture immediately.

“I…” Sylvie’s throat felt tight. She could barely swallow, let alone speak. Her eyes searched his in panic. He looked so worried, so loving and afraid - it nearly broke her heart. She knew she should say something. Anything. Explain what was happening inside her. But how could she say it here, in the middle of the festival, surrounded by happy people? How could she find the words: Loki, I’m afraid I might be pregnant. Just thinking of saying it out loud made her reel.

“Loki… I…” she managed, but nothing more came. Her voice trembled. It felt as though everything around her was closing in - the music suddenly unbearably loud, the voices of the revelers like a roaring storm in her head. She needed air. She had to get away.

With a gasping breath, Sylvie stepped back abruptly. Her chest rose and fell wildly, as if she were fighting for oxygen. Loki stood there, startled, his eyes widening in confusion. “Sylvie…?”

But she couldn’t bear it - neither his closeness nor the expression on his face, that mix of worry and pain. Seeing him like that hurt her. Inside her own chest, a storm was raging. She felt as though the ground beneath her feet were giving way.

“Loki… I can’t do this,” she blurted out, her own voice sounding strange to her, shrill with fear and pain. She shook her head, a desperate rejection of everything - of the happiness she had just tasted, of the promise he had given her, of the trust she simply couldn’t bring herself to give.

“I’m sorry…” she finally whispered and took a step backward. Her gaze flickered desperately as she tried not to meet his eyes.

Loki frowned, clearly about to reach for her, but Sylvie retreated and lifted a hand almost defensively.
“Please,” she said - she wasn’t even sure what exactly she was asking for. Space? Understanding? That he let her go without asking questions? Her heart was racing so fast she felt dizzy.

Before Loki - or anyone else - could react, Sylvie turned abruptly and ran. She ran as fast as her legs would carry her - away from the festival, away from Loki, away from the overwhelming fear surging inside her. Tears pressed into her eyes, but she blinked them back angrily as she forced her way through the crowd. People stared after her in surprise, jumping aside as she rushed past.

She heard hurried footsteps behind her, heard Loki calling her name - first loudly, then hoarsely, almost desperately. But she couldn’t stop. Every breath burned in her chest, her lungs felt like they were about to tear apart. Tears blurred her vision as she raced through the darker streets of New Asgard, away from the lights, away from the music, away from everything that threatened to crush her.

“Sylvie!” Loki shouted again. This time he was closer. Much closer. And that only made it worse.

She didn’t want him to see her like this - not now, not in this state. Not with this fear robbing her of control. Not with all these thoughts she herself could barely endure. Her feet nearly stumbled on the uneven ground, but she caught herself just in time. Her heart thundered so loudly she thought the whole world must hear it.

“Please, stop!” Loki called after her in panic. His voice was filled with genuine concern, stripped of all irony and mockery. He sounded… hurt.

Sylvie pressed her lips together. Don’t turn around, she told herself. If you turn around now, you won’t make it.

Her hand slid almost of its own accord to the familiar weight at her wrist. The TemPad. It was still there. Always. Her anchor. Her escape. Her last resort when everything became too much.

She stopped abruptly.

Loki came to a halt just a few steps behind her as well, panting, visibly out of breath. Horror filled his gaze when he saw her trembling - standing there collapsed inward, shoulders tight, as if she were about to shatter.

“Sylvie…” he began softly and took a cautious step toward her. “What’s wrong? Please. Tell me what I did wrong. Or… what I’m supposed to do.”

His words struck her straight in the heart.
Slowly, Sylvie turned around.
Her eyes were red from tears, her gaze glassy, overwhelmed. For a brief moment, they simply looked at each other - so close, and yet infinitely far apart.

Loki immediately understood that this wasn’t a mood. This was panic. Raw and uncontrollable.

“I can’t do this,” Sylvie whispered, barely audible. Her voice broke. A tear slipped free and ran down her cheek. “It’s… too much. All of it.”

Loki shook his head slowly, as if trying to push her words away. “You don’t have to be alone with this,” he said urgently. “Whatever it is, we-”

But Sylvie lifted her hand. A small, trembling gesture, but unmistakable. “No,” she whispered. “Please…stop.”

Her fingers closed around the TemPad. The familiar hum of charging energy vibrated through her arm. A portal began to form behind her - a flickering, golden gateway crackling softly, lighting the ground beneath her feet.

Loki froze.

“Sylvie,” he said hoarsely now. Fear flashed in his eyes. “Don’t do this. Don’t run away again.”

Her lips trembled. She wanted to say so much - to explain why this fear was tearing her apart, why the thought of consequences was dragging her toward the abyss, why she no longer trusted herself. But it was all too big for words.

Instead, she looked at him one last time.
Just as he stood there - worried, open, vulnerable. The man she loved. And precisely because of that… the man she had to run from right now.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered in a broken voice. “Truly.”

Loki took one last step toward her. “Sylvie, please-”

The portal flared brighter.

With tears in her eyes, her gaze still locked on his, Sylvie stepped backward into the flickering light. For one tiny, unbearably precious moment, they held each other’s gaze - then the portal swallowed her.

With a soft, final hiss, it closed.

Loki was left alone, staring at the empty space where she had been standing just moments before. His breath came in ragged bursts, his heart pounding against his ribs. Slowly, his hands curled into fists as silence settled around him like a weight.

“Damn it,” he whispered hoarsely.

The image of Sylvie stepping backward into the light burned itself into his mind. Her eyes. The tears. That fear that had come so suddenly. He had seen it. But he hadn’t understood it. His breathing grew shallow. Uneven.

What have I done wrong?

The question was no longer a thought, but a pounding in his skull. He replayed the moment again and again, searching for a mistake - a wrong tone, a look held too long, a touch he shouldn’t have dared.
Nothing made sense. And that was what made it unbearable.

His hands began to tremble. Anger. Fear. Guilt - all tangled together until he no longer knew which one to grasp first. For the first time in a long while, he had no answer. No explanation. No way out.

He took a step, then another - then stopped again.

“Please,” he muttered, rough, almost angry.

“Just tell me what it was.”

But the space offered no reply.

Neither did time.

[tbc]

Chapter Text

Loki still stood frozen in place. The colorful lights and the music seemed far away, even though they continued to shimmer all around him. His gaze was fixed on the spot where Sylvie had vanished only moments ago in the golden glow of her TemPad portal. His heart was pounding so violently it felt as though it might leap up into his throat. Cool night air brushed against his overheated skin, yet he felt nothing but the icy numbness slowly spreading through his chest.

What had just happened?

Only minutes ago, he had held Sylvie in his arms. They had danced, smiled - he had believed her to be happy. He could still hear her laughter echoing in his ears. And then… Loki blinked, stunned. Just moments earlier, she had been looking at him, open and vulnerable like never before, tears glistening in her eyes - had they been tears of joy? Of being moved? He had believed, in that moment, that he could feel something truly real between them, a deep and genuine happiness. But suddenly that expression had shifted into sheer panic.

He saw it again as if in slow motion: Sylvie’s face, glowing one second, had gone completely pale the next. The hand that had been resting in his slipped from his grasp.

“I can’t do this,” she had said abruptly, her voice broken and barely audible beneath the noise of the festival. And before he could even begin to understand what she meant, she had torn herself free and fled.

Loki felt helplessness and despair rise within him. He clenched his hands into fists, his fingernails digging painfully into his palms.

What did I do wrong?

The thought shot through his mind in desperation. All the gnawing doubts he had believed long buried now returned with brutal force. Had he said or done something that frightened her? Had it been a mistake to ask her to dance, to take her into his arms in front of everyone? Had it been a mistake to bring her to this festival at all? Had he wanted too much, too quickly - the dancing, being together so openly? Had it all become too much for Sylvie?

He dragged a hand through his hair, breathing in sharp, uneven bursts. No - she had smiled. She had leaned into him; she had enjoyed it, hadn’t she? A brief, painful stab of doubt pierced his heart. Did he perhaps not know her as well as he had believed? The past few days - especially the night before - had made him certain that there was something strong and real between them. Something that had made them both brave. They had opened themselves to each other more than ever before. Only that morning, Sylvie had been with him, warm and familiar in his arms, without a trace of regret or uncertainty.

How could it all have turned into its complete opposite so suddenly?

Loki clenched his teeth so hard that his jaw began to ache. He kept staring at the spot where nothing remained but cold air and a few dust motes dancing in the wind. Nothing suggested that Sylvie had ever been there at all - let alone that she had fled in such a rush. It almost felt like some bizarre dream.

Blood roared in his ears, so loudly that he only noticed with a delay that someone was calling out behind him, “Loki!” He turned slowly, though it took great effort to tear his gaze away from the empty space.

Thor and Valkyrie were hurrying toward him. Apparently they, too, had seen Sylvie run off and had noticed Loki standing there, frozen in place. Thor cast a quick glance around, as if to discourage any curious onlookers. Most of the festivalgoers, however, were far too occupied with the music starting up again and the cheerful bustle to pay much attention to the drama at the edge of the festivities. A few stood off to the side, whispering - it was hard to miss that Sylvie had fled headlong - but no one dared to approach Loki directly.

“Brother, what happened?” Thor asked quietly as he stopped in front of Loki. There was genuine concern in his voice, his brow creased with worry. “Are you all right?”

For a moment, Loki couldn’t bring himself to speak. His throat felt tight, constricted. All right? How could he be all right? Everything in him screamed to run after Sylvie, to find her, to ask what in all the realms had happened - but she was gone. And he was standing here, completely undone, his mind burning with unanswered questions.

Before he could collect himself, Valkyrie stepped up beside Thor and planted one hand on her hip. Her dark eyes flashed - a mix of surprise and sharp disapproval.

“Well, that escalated quickly,” she remarked dryly, a thin smile devoid of any real amusement tugging at her lips. “Barely a few hours at a festival, and she bolts. By Odin, what did you do, Loki?”

There was cynicism in her tone, but also something like disappointment. Loki felt anger flare inside him - an all too welcome substitute for the helplessness gnawing at him from within. He finally tore his gaze away from the empty spot and looked Valkyrie straight in the eye.

“I didn’t do anything,” he snapped, more sharply than he had intended. His voice trembled with suppressed emotion. “Do you think I deliberately did something to drive her away? Do you honestly believe that’s what I wanted?”

Valkyrie crossed her arms over her chest and raised a skeptical eyebrow. “It certainly doesn’t look like ‘nothing,’" she shot back just as sharply. “Sylvie ran off as if Fenris himself were after her. She doesn’t do that for no reason.”

Loki glared at her. He knew she probably didn’t mean it cruelly - she had grown fond of Sylvie herself over the past weeks, no matter how much she hid it behind bold remarks. But the implication that he must have messed something up cut deep into his already bruised heart.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” he scoffed sarcastically. His voice sounded more brittle than he’d meant it to. “Of course it has to be my fault.”

Thor raised his hands in a calming gesture and stepped half a pace between his companion and his brother. “Please, both of you,” he said gently, his steady, conciliatory voice standing in stark contrast to the tension in the air. He rested a hand on Valkyrie’s shoulder, as if to hold her back, then looked at Loki intently.

“Arguing won’t help us now. Loki, what do you think happened? Tell us - perhaps together we can make sense of this.”

Loki exhaled shallowly and only then realized how tensely he had been holding his shoulders. He forced himself to relax them and dragged a restless hand over his face, trying to gather his thoughts. Thor was right - fighting wouldn’t help. And Loki himself needed answers.

He shook his head slowly as he began to speak, struggling to put his thoughts into words. “I… I don’t really know,” he admitted, sounding desperate and frustrated. “Everything was fine. We were dancing…” His voice broke briefly as the memory of Sylvie in his arms drove like a glowing thorn into his chest. “She was a little unsure at first, yes, but then… then she seemed to relax. She even smiled...laughed.” A faint, pained smile flickered across Loki’s face as he recalled Sylvie’s radiant eyes during the dance - an image that now felt as though it belonged to another world entirely.

Thor nodded slowly, listening intently. Valkyrie’s posture softened a little as well; she frowned, clearly puzzled by the mystery.
“And then?” she asked, this time without sharpness, instead with genuine concern. “Was there anything? Did someone say or do something?”

Loki ran the tip of his tongue over his dry lips. “No… at least no one interfered from the outside.” He searched his memory feverishly for a sign, a trigger. “We were right in the middle of the dance floor. Everyone around us was dancing or watching. Nothing out of the ordinary…”

Valkyrie and Thor exchanged a quick glance, as if they were sharing the same thought. But Thor gave a barely perceptible shake of his head, as though to say: Don’t speculate. Not yet.

“So nothing obvious,” Valkyrie murmured, running a thoughtful hand through her dark hair. “That doesn’t add up…” She sounded frustrated - though it hardly compared to Loki’s despair.

Loki felt that dreadful helplessness surge up inside him again. “I don’t understand it myself!” he rasped. “One moment everything was fine - we were so… so close, closer than ever before.” His voice dropped, as if he were speaking more to himself than to them. In his mind’s eye, all the intimate, tender moments of the night before flashed by: Sylvie’s hands tangled in his hair; her face, relaxed in sleep against his chest that morning; her sly smile when she’d brought him coffee at dawn - wearing his shirt, barefoot, beautiful. Loki swallowed hard.

How could all of that suddenly mean nothing?

“And then the next moment,” he went on tightly, “she looks at me as if… as if she’s terrified. Of me, of us - I don’t know. She said she couldn’t do this.” His voice finally broke, and he clenched his fists tighter, trembling with suppressed emotion. “Then she was gone, before I could do anything at all.”

Thor placed a heavy, compassionate hand on his shoulder. Loki felt the firm, brotherly pressure meant to say: I’m here.

“Loki…” Thor began quietly, searching for the right words. “Sylvie has been through a great deal in her life. We all know that. Perhaps…” He hesitated, careful with his phrasing, “…perhaps she truly became afraid. Not because of you but because of the happiness she felt.”

Loki blinked in confusion and looked at him. “Afraid of happiness?” he repeated, incredulous. What kind of twisted thought was that?

But before he could add anything, Valkyrie nodded slowly. Her arms were now loosely crossed, her expression showing far more understanding than before.

“It sounds strange, but I think Thor might be right,” she said thoughtfully. “Sylvie isn’t exactly known for being used to a normal, joyful life. Maybe it all became too much for her - the people, the festival, that… closeness.” She sighed and gave a slight shrug. “Some people pull away when they feel something gets too close. Because they’re afraid of getting hurt.”

Loki looked away. Valkyrie’s words burned in his chest, because in a way they mirrored his own experiences - only this time, it was Sylvie who had run. For years, he had done the same thing: flee or strike before he could be hurt. Had Sylvie now done the same to him? Had he been too fast, too careless with her heart? A sharp pain pierced him at the thought that he himself might be the reason for her retreat - because he had asked something of her that she wasn’t yet ready to give.

“If that’s the case…” he murmured brokenly, “what am I supposed to do? I don’t want to lose her.” His confession hung bare and vulnerable in the cool night air. It wasn’t easy for him to speak so openly, but his worry for Sylvie outweighed any pride. “I love her,” he added hoarsely, more to himself than to the others. “Damn it, I would do anything just to make sure she’s all right. But apparently that alone isn’t enough to make her stay…”

Thor raised his eyebrows, surprised by his brother’s uncharacteristic openness. A gentle, compassionate smile softened his face. “Loki, I know,” he said quietly. “And I’m certain Sylvie knows it too. Perhaps… she simply needs time.”

Valkyrie nodded hesitantly. “Time and the certainty that she can find her own footing again,” she added. “Sometimes you have to figure out what’s going on inside you on your own. The two of you have a… complicated history. Don’t expect something like that to turn into pure harmony overnight.” Her voice now held no trace of mockery, only sincere understanding.

Loki let Thor’s hand slip from his shoulder and drew a deep breath, even though his lungs felt tight and heavy. He felt as though he were standing in the middle of a storm, unsure which direction led to safe harbor. Was running away really all that lay behind Sylvie’s flight? Fear of her own courage? It sounded plausible but something about her expression, about that raw panic, made him doubt that it was only that. There had been more. Something dark in her eyes, a look of sheer horror as if she had seen a ghost…

“Perhaps you’re right,” he said at last, his voice low and weary. The events of the evening were already draining him. “I want to hope so.” He lifted his gaze to the sky, where the stars glittered cold and distant above the sea. Sylvie was out there somewhere - perhaps in another world, perhaps only a few timelines or galaxies away. The distance between them felt infinite.

Valkyrie stepped closer and, for once, set her cynicism aside. She placed a hand on Loki’s forearm, an unusually gentle, comforting gesture. “We’ll find her,” she said softly but firmly. “Whatever it was, we’ll figure it out. And I’m sure she didn’t mean to hurt you. Not truly.”

Loki nodded in gratitude, though he couldn’t bring himself to smile. “Thank you,” he murmured, barely audible.

Thor let out an audible breath, as if he’d been holding it in. “We should search tomorrow,” he suggested, though it remained unclear where they could even begin. Loki knew his brother had no more idea than he did but the gesture mattered. Thor wanted to help.

“For now, you should try to rest, Loki. It’s been a long day.”

“Rest,” Loki echoed bitterly. “As if I could close my eyes.” Still, he didn’t argue. Exhaustion was beginning to seep into his bones, layered beneath the sharp ache of grief.

Thor hesitated for a moment, unsure whether to leave Loki alone. At last, he nodded slowly. “We’ll be right nearby, all right? If you need anything, let us know.”
His voice was gentle, brotherly.

“Sure,” Loki murmured. Only now did he notice how loudly the festival still rang in his ears and how desperately he wanted to escape it. Without another word, he turned away and began to walk, moving mechanically away from the lights and the people, into the darkness lurking beyond the last tents.

Valkyrie cast Thor a meaningful look before watching Loki go. “Well, this is just great,” she muttered quietly, for Thor alone to hear. “We really handled that well.”

“Let it be,” Thor replied just as softly. “He doesn’t need reproaches right now - he needs friends. Give him some time.”

Their voices faded behind Loki as he left the festival grounds. The celebration continued as if nothing had happened, but for Loki every melody, every burst of laughter carried a hollow aftertaste. Without Sylvie, everything felt dull and meaningless.

At last, the cool night swallowed the noise of the festivities, and Loki found himself alone on the quiet path leading back to the small cottage he shared with Sylvie. Each step ached, as though the road were stretching beneath his feet. Inside him, a single question flared again and again:

Why?
Why was she gone?
Why had there been such terror in her eyes?

Loki lifted his gaze to the stars, but they offered no answer.

How could they?
Only Sylvie knew the truth.
And she was gone.

 

While Loki remained behind on the festival grounds, lost and at a loss, Sylvie sought refuge elsewhere - somewhere she hoped to find answers.

At the distant TVA headquarters, relative calm reigned at this hour. In one of the offices, Mobius and Hunter B-15 - who now preferred to be called by her real name, Verity - were sitting together, engaged in an animated conversation. Mobius wore his usual brown jacket and held a mug of steaming hot cocoa, while Verity leaned casually against her desk, watching him with an amused smile.

“I’m telling you, Verity,” Mobius was enthusing, his eyes lighting up with excitement, “nothing would make me happier than finally tearing across the waves on a jet ski myself.”

Verity laughed softly and shook her head. “I think this jet ski obsession is something you’ll still be serving up a hundred years from now, Mobius.”

He shrugged with a grin. “Just you wait - one day I’ll surprise you all,” he replied, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

At that moment, their chatter was abruptly interrupted. With a sharp hiss and a flash of golden light, a TemPad portal suddenly opened in the office wall. Both of them spun around in surprise. Before they could properly react, Sylvie all but stumbled through it and landed in the middle of the room.

The sterile, muted lighting of the office stood in stark contrast to the colorful festival glow that had surrounded Sylvie only moments before. She came to a halt, gasping for breath, the floor beneath her feet seeming to sway slightly - whether from the hurried jump or the turmoil inside her, she couldn’t say. Behind her, the portal snapped shut with a soft crack, as if it had never existed.

For a heartbeat, Mobius and Verity froze. Startled, Mobius jerked his hand, and a splash of hot chocolate sloshed over his stacks of files and desk blotter. “Damn-!” he blurted out, panicking as he tried to save the hard-earned treat, but it was too late - brown liquid was already seeping through the paperwork. “Damn it…” he muttered, yanking a handful of paper towels from a drawer.

Verity, on the other hand, recovered more quickly from the shock. She recognized Sylvie at once - and saw immediately that something was very wrong. Sylvie stood frozen in the center of the room, her shoulders trembling slightly as if she were struggling to hold herself together. She was wearing an elegant green dress that now looked wrinkled and out of place, and her hair fell in disheveled strands around her pale face. Even from a distance, Verity could see the dark smudges of smeared eyeliner around Sylvie’s reddened eyes. She had been crying.

“Sylvie?” Verity asked cautiously, while Mobius was still busy trying to contain the cocoa spill. “What happened? Is… everything all right?”

That simple question nearly made Sylvie laugh - bitterly. Almost. Nothing was all right. Nothing at all. But she wasn’t here to talk about the storm raging in her heart. She was here for a specific reason, and that was what she needed to focus on.

So she brushed the question aside and got straight to the point - abrupt, almost harsh. “Verity, you used to be a doctor, right?”

Verity blinked in surprise. She clearly hadn’t expected such a direct question. Still, she nodded slowly. “Yes,” she confirmed carefully. “Before my time at the TVA… I was a pediatrician.”

Sylvie pressed her lips together, desperately trying to keep herself composed. She nodded faintly, more to herself than to the others.

A pediatrician.
A doctor for children - the irony didn’t escape her, but she shoved the thought away immediately. She realized her breathing was still far too fast and forced herself to take a deep breath.

By now, Mobius had cleaned up the worst of the cocoa spill and was staring back and forth between Verity and Sylvie. Only now did he really take in Sylvie’s appearance. It looked as though she had been crying—or was she still crying? Mobius knew Sylvie fairly well by now, but he had never seen her like this: shaken, vulnerable, almost a little lost.

He set the soggy paper towels aside. “Sylvie, what’s going on?” he asked gently. “You look…” He searched for the right word and finally settled on a careful one. “…pretty worn out.”

Sylvie heard the pity in his tone and wanted nothing more than to shake it off. She didn’t want questions about how she was doing. Ideally, she would have shut down all inquiries at the source. But Mobius and Verity meant well - she knew that. In a way, they had become friends, hesitant as Sylvie was to use that word. And in this moment, she couldn’t avoid turning to them - for once.

“I’m fine,” she lied, obviously and clumsily. Her voice sounded brittle, and she knew how unconvincing it was. So she pulled herself together and tried again. “I need… help.” The three short words tasted bitter on her tongue. Needing help felt foreign. She who had always managed on her own was now asking for it? But she had seen no other way. And Verity was the only person she trusted even remotely with something like this.

Mobius and Verity immediately exchanged an alarmed glance. They both knew how rarely Sylvie ever asked for help - essentially never. If she was doing so now, something was seriously wrong.

Verity slowly stepped out from behind the desk and approached Sylvie, while Mobius respectfully took a step back, unsure of what exactly was unfolding. “What happened?” Verity asked quietly. “Are you hurt? Or Loki?”

At the mention of Loki’s name, Sylvie visibly flinched, as if she’d been struck. She shook her head quickly. “No. No one’s hurt,” she blurted out. At least not physically, she added bitterly in her mind, because her heart felt as though someone had grabbed it with bare hands and squeezed. She swallowed hard, then finally lifted her gaze to meet Verity’s. “But I need to know something. I need advice… medical advice.”

Verity studied her intently. In an instant, she was fully back in her old role; professionalism overrode her initial surprise. “Medical advice…” she repeated thoughtfully. Her eyes roamed Sylvie’s figure, searching for visible injuries or clues. She noticed the traces of tears, as well as Sylvie’s trembling hands clenched into fists to hide her nerves.

Mobius shifted uncertainly from one foot to the other. He instinctively sensed that something deeply private was happening here. Clearing his throat politely, he ventured, “Maybe… I should leave you two alone?” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder, offering to wait outside.

“No!” Sylvie’s response came faster and more forcefully than she’d intended. Mobius’s eyes widened in surprise, and Verity looked at her in confusion as well. Sylvie felt heat rush to her cheeks and lowered her gaze. More quietly, she added, “Stay… please.” The please barely made a sound. She wasn’t entirely sure why she didn’t want Mobius to leave. Maybe because, despite his unobtrusive manner, he radiated a sense of safety - like a steady anchor in a raging sea. And part of her feared she might completely lose her nerve if Verity voiced what Sylvie was so desperately afraid of.

Mobius looked momentarily taken aback by the urgency of her request. Then he nodded slowly and stepped closer again, deliberately staying a pace behind Verity, as if to signal that he was present but wouldn’t interfere unless needed.

Verity tilted her head slightly. “All right,” she said gently. “What is it, Sylvie? What exactly do you need from me?”

Sylvie took another deep breath. She could feel her heartbeat pounding in her temples. Then she forced herself to ask the question that had driven her here. “Has there ever been…,” she began haltingly, her voice barely more than a rasp. She cleared her throat and tried again. “Has there ever been a case where two variants - two versions of the same person from different timelines - had a child together?”

The sentence hung in the air for a moment, as if time itself had paused. Mobius blinked in confusion, as though checking whether he’d heard her correctly. Verity frowned sharply, her eyes widening slightly. Clearly, neither of them had seen that question coming.

For what felt like an eternity, no one spoke. Sylvie suddenly felt horribly exposed; she wanted to take it all back. The silence left room for all her own tormenting thoughts, and panic began to rise inside her - what if she had just stirred up a hornet’s nest? What if this question alone ruined everything?

Verity recovered first. “A case where two variants…” she repeated quietly, likely to make sure she’d understood Sylvie correctly. Her eyes narrowed as she thought rapidly. “To my knowledge, no,” she said slowly at last. “I’ve never heard of anything like that happening here. But…” She raised a hand before Sylvie could sink into hopeless despair. “…that doesn’t mean it’s impossible.”

Beside her, Mobius let out an audible breath- apparently he, too, had been holding it in while thinking. He ran a hand through his hair. “I mean, biologically speaking…” He shrugged. “If two variants are genetically compatible, why shouldn’t it be possible? But if it’s ever happened, it wasn’t officially documented, as far as I know.” He cast Verity a questioning look, but she only nodded in agreement.

Sylvie closed her eyes briefly. No official cases… but possible. Her hands tightened involuntarily in the thin fabric of her dress. Her heart lurched painfully in her chest. She didn’t know what she’d hoped for - perhaps confirmation that it wasn’t possible, so all her fears would dissolve into nothing. But deep down, she had already known there would be no such certainty.

Verity stepped closer. Her voice was gentle but probing. “Sylvie… are you… pregnant?” She chose each word carefully, as if not to frighten a skittish animal.

At the directness of the question, Sylvie gasped audibly. “I…” She wanted to answer, but her throat suddenly felt constricted. Pregnant. The word echoed in her mind like a thunderclap. Her stomach clenched painfully, and instinctively she wrapped an arm around her waist, as if she could shield herself from the weight of what that possibility meant.

“I don’t know,” she finally said, her voice barely above a whisper. It was the first time she’d spoken it aloud - that gnawing uncertainty inside her. She didn’t know. And that not-knowing was eating her alive.

Mobius, who had been silent until now, sucked in a sharp breath and looked as though he’d been punched in the gut. He and Verity exchanged a meaningful glance. They were likely thinking the same thing: Sylvie and Loki… Everyone here knew how inseparable the two had been in recent months, and that their bond went far beyond simple camaraderie.

Mobius cleared his throat at last, visibly trying to fall back into his usual lightly laconic tone - perhaps to ease the tension. “Uh, you do know there’s such a thing as… contraception, right?” he said cautiously, a faint grin tugging at the corners of his mouth, though it never reached his worried eyes. “I mean, normally you kind of plan ahead if you’re not exactly… you know…”

Verity shot him an almost horrified sideways look. “Mobius!” she hissed in warning. Clearly, she found his remark completely inappropriate.

Sylvie’s cheeks flared, partly with shame, partly with anger. “Do you think I’m stupid?” she snapped, unable to hide the hurt in her voice. “Of course I know that! It’s just… it was…” She broke off and clenched her teeth. How was she supposed to explain what had happened the night before? That every precaution, every rational thought, had been swept away by the force of her desire and her feelings? That she had trusted Loki completely and, in the rush of that trust, pushed the obvious aside? It wasn’t as though she hadn’t thought about it - but in the decisive moment, it simply hadn’t mattered. And now she was paying for that surrender with gnawing fear.

Mobius raised his hands placatingly. “I never said you are stupid,” he said quickly. “I’m sorry—that was… inappropriate.” He shook his head at himself, clearly regretting having made an ill-judged joke in his discomfort.

Verity sighed softly. “Please, calm down,” she said, looking from Sylvie to Mobius. “Arguing won’t help anyone right now.” Then she turned her full attention back to Sylvie. “You say you don’t know,” she began gently. “When… I mean, how long ago was it?”

“A...few hours ago...,” Sylvie replied flatly, lowering her gaze. The memory surged up unbidden: Loki’s touch, his kisses, their shared night on the sofa… overwhelmingly beautiful and, at the same time, unforgivably careless. It felt as though she were talking about someone else - so unreal it seemed now.

Mobius’s eyes widened in disbelief. “A few hours ago?!” he repeated, unable to keep the surprise from creeping into his voice. “And you’re already worrying this much?” He sounded as though he wanted to dismiss it as an overreaction, but Verity shot him another warning look.

“Mobius, please,” she said firmly. “That’s not helping.”

Sylvie swallowed, tasting bitter bile at the back of her throat. Of course she knew how rushed her panic might seem. Others would probably have waited, endured weeks of uncertainty, taken a test. But Sylvie wasn’t like others. She needed certainty - or at least a plan. She couldn’t bear the unknown, not after everything she’d been through.

“There are medications, Sylvie,” Verity continued calmly - professional and compassionate at once. “If you’re afraid you might be pregnant, it’s still possible to… prevent it.” She paused briefly, searching for the right wording. “To end a potential pregnancy before it really begins.”

Sylvie snapped her head up and looked at Verity. The last thing she wanted to hear was clinical terminology. But Verity spoke as gently as possible, almost regretfully. “The so-called morning-after pill - or something similar - exists here at the TVA as well. It could prevent implantation, if…” She left the rest unsaid, but Sylvie understood all the same: if something really did happen.

For a moment, silence fell. Sylvie suddenly felt as though she were standing beside herself, watching the scene from the outside: herself - always a fighter, fiercely independent - standing under the pale neon light of an office, discussing with two friends whether she might be carrying a child… and whether she should undo that possibility while there was still time.

Her stomach churned. This was so far removed from anything she had ever planned or wanted in her life. It didn’t fit her, her self-image as a self-sufficient warrior, as a woman who allowed no burdens. And yet… it had happened. She had to face it.

Verity watched her closely, noting the turmoil reflected in Sylvie’s eyes - fear, resolve, despair. “Sylvie,” she said softly. “I can get the medication right away if you want. It’s a simple procedure. After that… you won’t have to worry anymore.”

No more worries. Sylvie let out a quiet laugh, hollow and bitter. She had had more than enough worries in her life and now this. Was the solution really that simple? A few pills, and the problem would be gone before it had even truly begun?

Her hand drifted unconsciously to her lower abdomen. Of course she felt nothing - it was far too early. But the thought alone - the thought that there might be something there, perhaps no bigger than a tiny seed, a new life she and Loki had created together… The idea of erasing such a life with cold efficiency made her heart stumble.

She had never been sentimental about questions like this. Back when she was still on the run, she’d sometimes heard, in remote little towns, about women who found themselves pregnant when they didn’t want to be and who ended it before it truly began. She had never questioned it. It was pragmatic, clear, sometimes a matter of survival. And she had always believed that if she ever ended up in that situation, she would act with the same hard pragmatism.
But now that she herself was standing at the edge of that choice, it felt as if an unbridgeable chasm had opened in front of her.

“I… don’t know,” Sylvie finally said, hoarse. It took almost infinite strength to admit that uncertainty. Her gaze flicked to Mobius, who was watching her with a furrowed brow - worried, but somehow also curious. He didn’t say anything, but Sylvie could feel what was going through his mind: he was thinking of Loki. He was thinking of his friend, the god of mischief who had grown dear to him. He was wondering why Loki wasn’t here, why Sylvie had come alone. She could read it in his face, but he swallowed the question.

Instead, Verity spoke again. “Sylvie,” she asked gently, resting a hand softly on Sylvie’s arm. “Does Loki… does he know?”
Sylvie shook her head at once. “No,” she said flatly. “He doesn’t know anything.” Her voice trembled just slightly.

Mobius raised an eyebrow. “He doesn’t know you’re here?” he concluded sharply. “So… he also doesn’t know there’s even this… uh… possibility?”

A hard line set in Sylvie’s face. “Why would I tell him?” she shot back, feeling defensiveness rise in her. “I don’t even know if there’s anything to tell!” Her words came out harsher than she meant them to - because desperation was hiding behind the defiance.

But Mobius didn’t let it go. He knew Loki well, and it clearly bothered him that Loki had no idea. “Well,” he said carefully, with the faintest edge of instruction, “he might be the first person you should-”

“Mobius,” Verity cut in, her tone firm. But Sylvie had already stepped forward, her hands clenched into fists. “I knew it was a mistake coming here!” Sylvie burst out. Suddenly hot anger surged up in her - at Mobius for daring to judge her, but even more at herself for having gotten into this situation at all. “I don’t need a lecture on what I should do, okay?” Her eyes flashed, and tears burned again at the corners, brought on by the sheer force of what she was feeling.

Mobius lifted his hands defensively, opening his mouth to apologize, but Verity got there first. “Sylvie, calm down,” she said quickly, positioning herself between Mobius and Sylvie, giving Mobius a look that clearly said, Not a word right now. “Mobius doesn’t mean it like that. He’s just worried - about Loki, and about you.”

Sylvie breathed hard, then forced herself to at least look calmer. She turned away, dragged a restless hand over her eyes, wiping away the tears that kept rising. She didn’t want to cry. She didn’t want to be weak.

Without saying a word, Verity placed a hand on Mobius’s forearm and nodded toward the door. The message was clear: Let us have a moment alone.

Mobius hesitated, but when he looked at Sylvie - shaking with held-back tears and anger - he decided Verity was probably right. He ran a hand through his gray-streaked hair, then reached for his empty cocoa mug and the damp paperwork he was still holding. “I… I’ll just get rid of this,” he muttered awkwardly. “I’ll be back in a few minutes, okay?”

Sylvie didn’t react, but Verity offered him a grateful little smile. Mobius gave the two women one last worried glance, then withdrew with quiet steps. The office door clicked shut behind him, and the distant hum of TVA corridors filtered in only faintly now.

For a moment, silence. Sylvie stared at a spot on the floor and tried to control her breathing. Verity waited patiently, giving her space.

Finally, Verity spoke softly. “Why don’t you sit down, okay?” She gestured to the chair in front of her desk - the one Mobius had just been sitting in.

Sylvie hesitated. She felt restless, as if she couldn’t sit still for even a second. Her instincts still told her to run. But run where? There was no running from this decision - no matter what corner of the multiverse she fled to, she would carry the uncertainty with her. Reluctantly, she lowered herself into the chair. Her hands lay motionless in her lap, but Verity didn’t miss how much they were trembling.

Verity didn’t return behind the desk. Instead, she pulled up a second chair and sat across from Sylvie so they were at eye level. It was a small, considerate gesture, and Sylvie registered it with reluctant gratitude.

“Listen,” Verity began gently. “I understand that you’re completely overwhelmed right now. News like this - or even just the possibility - would throw anyone off balance. And you’ve never really had the time to deal with something like this, have you?”

Sylvie shook her head silently. She truly didn’t know what to say. The anger had burned off; what remained was a dull exhaustion and a dark knot of fear inside her.

Verity continued carefully. “The chance that this happened from one single… encounter isn’t very high.” She chose her words with care. "It can sometimes take…” She stopped, unsure if she was being too direct, but Sylvie lifted a hand.

“I know how it works,” Sylvie said quietly. A hint of dry humor slipped into her voice, even though her eyes stayed sad.

Verity nodded in understanding. “Of course. I’m only saying: it could very well be that your fear is unfounded. But I understand that you can’t tolerate this kind of uncertainty.” She sought Sylvie’s gaze. “You’re someone who always had to keep control, aren’t you?”

A fleeting, melancholic smile touched Sylvie’s mouth. “Control…” she whispered. “Yeah. That was probably my mantra.” All those years on the run, she’d held herself together with iron discipline, never allowing weakness. And now her own body - her own happiness - was supposed to become the biggest unknown?

Verity laid a gentle hand over Sylvie’s trembling fingers. “You said earlier you don’t know what you should do. But what do you actually want? Independent of everything - your fear, Loki, anyone else’s expectations. What do you want?”

Sylvie opened her mouth to give a quick answer - but nothing came. What did she want? She had never had the luxury of asking herself that. Her life had been made of reactions, not visions. And now she was trapped in a situation that demanded absolute honesty from her - honesty with herself.

“I don’t know,” she admitted at last, quietly, hating herself for not having a clear line to cling to. She lifted a hand and pushed a strand of hair behind her ear. “I… I can’t imagine it. Me as a… mother.” The word felt foreign and heavy on her tongue. “That’s not me, Verity. I’m not…” Her voice cracked, and she let out a small, desperate laugh. “...a mother. Not the kind of woman who has a house and a… a baby.”

Verity’s brows drew together and then, unexpectedly, she smiled. “You already have a house, don’t you?” she teased gently, trying to lighten the air, even though Sylvie’s pain was still palpable. “New Asgard, a home, you and Loki…”

Sylvie sniffed, and for the first time it almost sounded like amusement - though bitter.

“Yeah, a house we could burn to the ground if we fight,” she said roughly. Then she whispered, almost to herself, “I never should’ve let it get this far…”

“What?” Verity asked softly.

“Letting myself… fall into it,” Sylvie confessed, and felt a tear finally slip down her cheek. She wiped it away quickly. “Being happy. Getting careless.” Her throat tightened painfully. “I was always on guard. And the second I let go once… everything catches up with me.”

She felt like the greatest fool - she, who had never forgiven herself for mistakes, had put herself in a position to make the worst one of all.

After a moment, Verity continued, carefully sounding her out: “Would you consider… having the baby? Assuming you’re even pregnant,” she added quickly.

Sylvie opened her mouth, but no definite answer came. Not long ago, she would have said no without hesitation. But now something held her back. The image of a small being - half her, half Loki - flashed uninvited through her mind. It frightened her and moved her at the same time. She shook her head - but not decisively, more helplessly. “I don’t know,” she said again.

Verity looked at her warmly, with understanding. “The fact you don’t immediately rule it out means something,” she said softly. “If you were absolutely sure you never wanted a child - now or ever - you probably would’ve asked me for that pill right away, without hesitation.”

Sylvie fell silent. Verity’s words echoed inside her. Yes - why hadn’t she agreed immediately? Why not just end the problem right away? It would be so easy - Verity would give her the pill, she would swallow it, and everything would be over before it began. It would be pragmatic. Reasonable… Wasn’t that what she had always been?
And yet she had hesitated. She still was.

Why?

Her thoughts drifted inevitably back to Loki. To his face when he had looked at her while they danced that evening - so full of love and joy. To the feeling of being in his arms, being one with him, that night that had changed everything. And also to his expression when she left him standing there - how he had looked at her, with pain and confusion. She had done that to him without a single word of explanation.

Verity watched the emotions move across Sylvie’s face and exhaled softly. “Maybe you should talk to him,” she suggested gently.

“No.” The word came instantly and fierce. Sylvie shook her head hard. “No. I can’t. Not now.” She closed her eyes for a moment. “I’m scared.”

Verity nodded, empathetic. “Of what exactly? That he wouldn’t want it?”

Sylvie gave a quiet, hopeless laugh. “Oh, I know he wouldn’t leave me alone with it.” She knew Loki well enough to be certain. He would never run if she truly was carrying his child. “But that’s exactly what scares me. He would stay - maybe only because of that.”

Her gaze went glassy. She spoke faster now, as if she’d played it out a hundred times in her head. “I don’t want him to bind himself to me just because there’s a child. Do you understand?”

Verity smiled faintly. “Sylvie… Loki has been bound to you for a long time already. Heart and soul, from what I can tell.” She winked, as if to soften the weight of her words. “I truly don’t think he would stay with you out of duty. That’s not how I’ve experienced him.”

Sylvie bit hard on her lower lip. Deep down, she knew that too - and yet fear wasn’t something you could simply talk away.
Verity hesitated for a moment, then asked quietly, “Do you love him?”

Sylvie’s first instinct was the same as always: to shut that kind of intimate question down. Saying the word love out loud was unbearably difficult for her. It was something you showed - maybe - but you didn’t say it. Not when you’d spent so long believing it was impossible. But here, in front of Verity, in this honest, raw atmosphere, she could hardly keep lying to herself.

She struggled for words - but at that moment the door opened and Mobius stepped back in, carrying three steaming cups and a small silver blister pack, which he held carefully between thumb and forefinger.

“I figured we could all use something warm,” he said softly by way of explanation, setting the cups - hot chocolate, by the smell of it - down on the desk. His usually cheerful eyes were serious now, almost shy as he looked at Sylvie again. Then he raised the hand holding the packet, its foil printed with a string of chemical numbers and a company logo.

“And this… well. I got it.” His voice was unusually gentle, cautious. Verity took the packet from him with a grateful nod, sparing Mobius the awkwardness of having to hand it to Sylvie directly. Instead, she passed it to Sylvie. “This is it,” she said quietly. “If you decide to take it… do it soon. Within the next two days would be ideal. The sooner, the better.”

Sylvie stared at the unremarkable packet in her hand. It felt cold and far heavier than it should have. Inside were one or two pills. Nothing more. Tiny tablets capable of deciding between life and non-life.
Her throat tightened. She couldn’t manage a single word.

Mobius carefully nudged one of the steaming cups closer to her. “Take a sip before it gets cold,” he suggested gently.

The sweet scent of chocolate rose into Sylvie’s nose, but she couldn’t move. Her thoughts tumbled over each other. In her right hand she held those foil-wrapped pills. In her left she felt the warmth of the mug as she reached for it mechanically. Two possibilities, her mind flashed - one bitter but simple, the other unimaginably vast and terrifying.

“You don’t have to decide right now,” Verity said carefully, as if she’d read Sylvie’s thoughts. “Like I said - you have a few days. And no one is pressuring you. It’s your decision alone, Sylvie.”

Her decision alone. That didn’t make it easier. She was used to making decisions alone. But never one like this.

Sylvie finally gave the faintest nod, still not taking her eyes off the small packet trembling in her hand. Two days. Two days to a choice she’d never wanted to make. It felt as though she suddenly carried responsibility for two lives.

Sylvie stayed at the TVA. Mobius and Verity didn’t push her to go back immediately or to do anything she wasn’t ready for. They offered her a guest bed in a quiet set of quarters. Sylvie had tried to refuse at first - restlessness drove her; she would have preferred to spend the next hours drifting aimlessly through the timestream - but in the end, exhaustion won.

So now she lay in the darkness of an unfamiliar room on a narrow cot. Her fist was still clenched around the silver blister pack as if her life depended on it. Perhaps, in a way, it did.

Two days, she thought, staring at the ceiling with wide-open eyes. An eternity and yet no time at all. Two days to find out whether she could ever have the strength to be a mother. Two days to imagine telling Loki and seeing either joy or horror in his eyes. Two days to weigh the arguments a thousand times over and, in the end… make a decision she could live with.

A faint shiver ran through her. Would she truly be any wiser in two days than she was now? Or would she only be more desperate?

Sylvie closed her eyes, pressed the small packet of pills to her chest, and couldn’t keep a hoarse sob from breaking free. There was no one there to hear it and she was grateful for that.

Alone with the darkness and her tangled thoughts, she understood one thing above all in that moment: she was afraid. Truly afraid - raw, naked fear - for the first time since she had been a child and her world had collapsed.

She rolled onto her side, drew her knees up to her body, and held herself as if she could keep the fear away that way. In her mind, Loki’s face surfaced unbidden. Her throat tightened as she thought of how she’d left him standing there - without explanation, without goodbye.

“I’m sorry, Loki,” she whispered into the silence, filled only by the distant hum of TVA machinery. Tears ran soundlessly down her face as she felt his absence inside her like a deep ache. “I’m so sorry…”

But he wasn’t there to hear it. And Sylvie knew that, no matter how much it hurt, she had to make this decision alone.

The next hours passed without sleep for Sylvie. And the time dragged on endlessly, thick as syrup - time in which she swung between despair, fear, and a strange, tentative spark of hope she barely dared to allow. Mobius and Verity did their best to distract her: they cracked jokes, brought her food, and pretended they had an endless amount of paperwork that absolutely had to be spread out in the common room where Sylvie was sitting - simply so she wouldn’t be alone.

During those hours, Sylvie played through countless scenarios in her mind. She imagined what it would be like to take the pill. Quick, uncomplicated - the problem solved before it had even begun. Then she could go back to Loki, apologize… and everything would be as it was before. Right...? Or would the knowledge of what she had done ever stand between them? Could she forget it - as if nothing had happened?

And then she imagined the opposite: what it would be like not to take it. Uncertainty. Waiting. Hoping, fearing - and perhaps truly feeling a small life begin to grow. The thought made her shiver and smile at the same time. A child. Her child. Loki’s child.

What an absurd idea… and yet - was it really so absurd? Two lost souls building a family, in all the chaos of the multiverse.

In daydreams, she pictured how Loki might react if one day - in a few weeks, perhaps - she stood in front of him and told him he was going to be a father. Sometimes she imagined it as a nightmare: Loki, pale, shocked, maybe angry because it was their shared recklessness. But sometimes, in quieter moments, another possibility flashed through her: Loki looking at her as if he couldn’t believe it, then smiling slowly - that soft, warm smile he had only ever had for her. Taking her hands and, maybe - just maybe - feeling joy.

It was that second vision that carried her through the darkest hours. The small possibility that something good could come from this chaos. Something that was neither running nor fighting, but life.

When Sylvie woke the next time, she sat up slowly and suddenly felt a strange calm settle inside her. The blister pack lay untouched on the small nightstand beside her. A glass of water stood next to it.

Her hand trembled slightly as she picked up the foil. She swallowed as her gaze lingered on it for a beat too long - and suddenly she knew what she had to do.

Yes.

She had made a decision…

 

Meanwhile in New Asgard…

It was a clear, cool evening in New Asgard. The wind off the sea carried a salty breeze through the small coastal town, where the last lights in the fishermen’s huts and wooden houses flickered. Over the dark-blue waves, moonlight shimmered like silver, and countless stars sparkled in the sky. Loki stood on the shore atop a low rock near the boat piers, his arms folded across his chest, staring out into the distance, lost in thought. The soft hush of the waves and the creak of a moored fishing boat were the only sounds - New Asgard slept, but Loki’s mind was anything but quiet.

Two days had passed without Sylvie returning, without a sign of life. To Loki, those days stretched into an eternity. Every hour without a message from her gnawed at his already battered heart. He swung constantly between hope and despair: hope, whenever he imagined he’d heard a familiar sound out in the yard - the faint hum of a TemPad, perhaps, or her steps on the gravel path; despair, when the silence afterward felt heavier than before.

He had refrained from searching for her. Where would he even begin? Sylvie could be anywhere in the multiverse. And part of him feared that any attempt to track her down would only drive her farther away.

Loki drew a deep breath of cool night air. The cold didn’t bother him - as a frost giant in hiding, even the Nordic climate felt pleasant - but inside him he felt a different kind of cold: loneliness and doubt, biting at him.

Absentmindedly, he let a little magic dance through his fingers. Greenish sparks flared briefly in his palm and shaped themselves into a tiny, fleeting mirage: an illusion of Sylvie’s face - blond hair, alert, serious eyes, that determined line around her mouth. The moment the image sharpened, Loki let it fall apart again, and the magical embers died. A sharp pain filled his chest - longing tangled with remorse.

“I miss you…” he whispered into the dark, barely audible.

A faint sound behind him pulled Loki out of his bleak thoughts. Someone was approaching along the gravel path by the beach. Even before he heard the voice, he recognized the familiar, heavy tread. Only one person in New Asgard walked with that solid, unhurried certainty, as if the world belonged to him: Thor.

“Somehow I had a feeling I’d find you here.”

Loki turned his gaze back to the water. “Of course you did,” he murmured, a hint of irony in his voice but no real bite. “After all, I always find some gloomy corner to drown in self-pity, don’t I?”

Thor stepped up beside him at the quay wall and rested his forearms on the weathered wooden railing. “I didn’t say that.” He looked out over the sea as well. For a moment they didn’t speak - brother beside brother, both lost in their own thoughts.

It was Thor who finally said the obvious. “You’re very worried.”

Loki gave a dry little laugh, harsh and humorless. “Astute observation,” he shot back. Then he shook his head, drained. “I just don’t know what to think anymore. Or what to feel.” His voice sounded rough, brittle. He felt Thor’s assessing side glance, but he went on anyway - it felt good to say it out loud, here under the cover of darkness.

“It’s been two days. Not a word from her. Not a sign."

Thor nodded slowly. “I wish I could give you answers.” After a beat he added carefully, “I don’t know Sylvie as well as you do… but I don’t believe she would leave you without reason."

Loki stared darkly at a point in the black water. “Maybe she realized it was a mistake - us. Maybe it hit her all at once and she didn’t know how to tell me.” That fear had spread through his thoughts like poison. It didn’t quite match what he had seen in Sylvie’s eyes - that had been panic, not a cool realization. But fear was irrational, and his had latched onto this scenario all the same.

“I don’t believe that,” Thor replied firmly. “I’ve seen the way she looks at you, Loki. There’s so much… affection in her gaze.” He searched for the right word. “Love.” He placed a hand on Loki’s shoulder, steady and warm. “Sometimes panic takes you when you suddenly have in your hands something you thought you’d almost lost. Perhaps that’s what happened to her.”

Loki fell silent. The gentle strength in Thor’s grip was comforting, but it didn’t loosen the knot of fear and uncertainty in his chest.

“She has a big heart,” Loki said quietly at last, “but it’s wounded - from all the loss and betrayal she’s endured.”

Thor stayed beside him, saying nothing, letting him speak. Loki noticed his hands were trembling, so he clenched them into fists. “I… I should have stopped her. I should have gone with her and not left her alone in her pain. But I failed.” His voice nearly broke, and he pressed his lips together to regain control.

But Thor shook his head. “Brother, you didn’t fail. You did what you could.”

“It doesn’t feel like it,” Loki whispered. The dark waves in front of him blurred slightly, and he had to blink so he wouldn’t truly cry.

“I should’ve done it differently. Maybe…” He stopped, not even sure himself what he could have done differently.

Thor rested a hand against Loki’s back now, giving it an encouraging pat. “I don’t know everything that happened between you,” Thor said softly, “but I’ve seen you together, Loki. And I’m sure she’ll come back.”

Loki turned his head toward Thor, startled by the certainty. “I hope you’re right,” he said, unsure.

A broad, confident grin spread across Thor’s face. “Of course I am! Just look at you. You’re my brother - charming, clever, witty when you feel like it. I’d wager you’ve shown her sides of yourself no one else ever gets to see.”

Loki actually huffed at Thor’s praise. He felt a little caught out - because yes, around Sylvie he had shown vulnerable parts of himself he rarely revealed even to Thor.

“Maybe,” he admitted quietly.

Thor nodded emphatically. “And I’ve noticed how you come alive when you talk about her. I think it’s a good thing you’ve finally found a woman you truly love.”

Loki flinched as if lightning had grazed him.
The woman you truly love…

Thor’s expression softened. “Mother would have said it’s about time.”

The unexpected mention of their mother made Loki inhale sharply. He turned fully toward Thor now, his eyes wide.

“Mother…?” he managed.

Thor smiled, wistful. “Yes. Our mother always wished you’d find someone who could touch your heart. Someone who accepts you just as you are. I remember it well…” He hesitated, as if he were wrestling with the memory himself. “Once - when we were younger - you claimed you would never marry or love anyone, because love was only for the weak.”

Loki raised his brows, surprised. A vague memory of his youthful arrogance surfaced. Back then he had begun to delve into magic, he had been ambitious, and he’d refused at any cost to appear soft. He could absolutely imagine himself saying something like that. “I said that, yes… How did Mother react?” he asked quietly. It was so far back he had almost forgotten it, but Thor’s words tugged something awake in his mind.

Thor’s smile deepened. “Mother laughed - warmly, too. She stroked your hair - you hated that, of course, because you thought you were already grown - and she said: ‘My dear Loki, one day you will meet someone who conquers your heart. Someone who loves you exactly as you are, and who makes you the best version of yourself.’”

Loki held his breath. Suddenly the image was there again: him, a lanky young prince, sulking in an arbor walkway of the palace garden in Asgard - and Frigga, his mother, beautiful and wise, speaking to him with that special smile as if she were prophesying something. He even remembered the sound of her voice, soft and melodic:
“The best version of yourself.”

Back then he had dismissed it as the typical romantic nonsense of a mother. He’d rolled his eyes and claimed there was no better version - he was already magnificent. He had been young and foolish. Now, many years - an entire life - later, her words struck him like a warm beam of light straight through the heart.

Thor tilted his head slightly as he studied Loki’s reaction. "Brother… I think Mother was right. Maybe Sylvie is that someone.”

Loki felt his throat tighten. He clenched his teeth and lowered his head, almost ashamed of the tears burning in his eyes. For a few seconds he fought for control - then he could barely whisper, “I wish Mother were here.” It was the most honest confession he could have given: how much he missed Frigga now - her guidance, her love, the gentle touch of her hands when he was desperate.

Thor stepped forward and pulled Loki into a tight embrace. This time Loki didn’t resist in the slightest. He closed his eyes and let Thor wrap an arm firmly around him, as if he meant to hold all his brother’s broken pieces together. “I wish that too, Loki,” Thor murmured, his voice heavy with emotion now. “But I know she sees us somehow. She’s with us - especially in moments like these.”

Loki remembered Frigga’s gentle smile and the way she had comforted him as a child when he felt sad or alone. The thought that she might be watching from Valhalla gave him, strangely, strength. He took a deep breath and stepped out of Thor’s embrace - slowly, but with intent. He wiped his eyes unobtrusively with the back of his hand. Only one tear had slipped free, and the night wind dried it quickly.

“She’d be proud of you,” Thor said quietly then.

Loki snorted and scrubbed at his eyes again to chase away the dampness. “Proud of what? Of me standing here not knowing what to do? Of me apparently managing to scare off the woman I love without even understanding why?”

“No,” Thor replied, serious. “Proud that you’ve finally opened your heart. That you can love, Loki. That you’ve found someone who truly matters to you - and that you’re letting it happen.” He smiled gently. “That’s what she always wanted for you.”

Loki was silent for a long moment. Thor’s words echoed inside him. Had he really come this far? Far enough to love without constantly tripping over himself - at least until that collapse two days ago. That would be Frigga’s doing; she had been the only one who always believed in the good in him, even when he couldn’t see it himself.

Above them, the deep-blue sky was filled with countless stars that seemed to spill down toward the sea. Loki drew a steadying breath and felt a small portion of the crushing tension in his chest ease. He wasn’t alone - Thor was here. And Sylvie… Sylvie was gone, but perhaps not forever.

“I just don’t know what to do,” Loki said finally, softly, more to himself. The resignation in his voice was unmistakable.
Thor kept his hand on Loki’s shoulder. “Sometimes there’s nothing to do but wait and have faith,” he said gently. “Faith in her. And in you. As hard as that is.”

Loki pressed his lips together. Patience had never been his strength. Neither had trust. But maybe that was exactly the test now.

“And if she doesn’t come back?” he asked, barely audible. It was the first time he spoke the feared possibility aloud, and the words hung cold in the salty sea air.

Thor exhaled slowly. “If she truly feels the way you do… she will come back.” He sounded convinced. “Give her a little time, brother. She’ll have her reasons. And when you see her again… talk to each other. No tricks, no masks - just as Mother would have wanted.”

Loki nodded faintly. “No masks,” he repeated in a whisper. Yes. In the end it came down to that. Honesty. Openness. They had managed once to show each other their innermost selves. He hoped desperately Sylvie wouldn’t shut him out completely.

Thor gave him another moment, then squeezed his shoulder briefly and let go.

“Come on,” he said softly. “It’s cold out here. Let’s go back.”

Loki nodded. Together they started back from the harbor into the village, slow and silent. Thor didn’t leave his side.

When they reached the small house Loki shared with Sylvie, Thor paused at the door.

“Will you be all right?” he asked quietly.

Loki turned to his brother. The worry in Thor’s eyes moved him. Despite everything that had once stood between them, Thor was still here, still caring. Loki attempted a brave smile. It only half worked, but it carried gratitude. “I’ll survive,” he answered, with a hint of dry humor.

Thor looked relieved at that small spark of familiar sarcasm. “You’d better,” he said with mock sternness, then unexpectedly pulled Loki into a quick, brotherly hug. Loki stiffened for a heartbeat, then returned it hesitantly and patted Thor lightly on the back.

“Thank you, Thor,” he murmured. He didn’t need to say more; Thor understood.

“Try to sleep a little,” Thor advised as he stepped back. “Tomorrow the world might already look different.”

Loki doubted it, but he nodded for Thor’s sake. With one last encouraging nod, Thor set off toward his own lodging down the street.

Loki watched him for a moment, then opened the door and stepped into the quiet house.

The moment the door clicked shut behind him, the silence wrapped around him like something physical. In the half-dark, the familiar furnishings took shape: the small sofa where they had sat together, laughed, and… loved; the coffee table with the worn book Sylvie had left there. Everything was unchanged - and yet nothing was the same.
Loki rubbed a tired hand over his face. Thor was right: he should try to sleep. But he already knew he wouldn’t close his eyes again tonight.

With an exhausted sigh, he sank down onto the sofa - right where Sylvie so often sat. He leaned his head back against the cushion and closed his eyes, just for a moment. In the darkness behind his lids, her image formed at once.

Sylvie…

Quietly he spoke her name, as if he could summon her with it. Nothing answered but silence.

Thor’s words echoed in him, especially the memory of Frigga. Someone who loves you as you are and makes you the best version of yourself. Was Sylvie truly that person? Deep in his heart, a clear yes rose as an answer. Sylvie saw him - really him, not the façade, not the “Great Trickster” or the “eternal loser” others had stamped him as. She had known his darkest sides, and yet she had shared moments with him where they both wanted to be better than fate had ever planned for them.

Almost without noticing, Loki let the pull of memory take him…

Many years earlier, in Asgard:

The sun shone golden over the slopes of Asgard as the late-afternoon shadows stretched long across the palace gardens. Loki - barely older than twelve by human standards - sat sullenly on a marble wall near the garden’s rose trellis. His green eyes glittered with stubborn defiance, and with narrow fingers he plucked absently at a leaf on the climbing rose beside him. He still wore the simpler clothing of a prince in training - no helm, no armor, only a light dark-green garment. Even so, he tried to look dignified and unaffected as he let his legs dangle.

On the gravel path in front of him stood his mother Frigga and his brother. Thor was at the same stage of youth as Loki, but already a bit taller - broad-shouldered, with bright, laughing eyes. He held a wooden practice sword in his hand; apparently he had just challenged Loki to spar, but Loki had refused. Instead, he now sulked on the wall because Thor had irritated him with a few taunts.

Frigga watched her sons with a gentle smile. The Queen of Asgard wore flowing, pearl-colored silk that shimmered in the light, and her light-brown hair was arranged in an intricate updo. In her hands she held an open old book - she had been in the middle of reading Loki a story when Thor had barged in, restless and hungry for action.

“Thor,” Frigga chided softly, “your brother doesn’t wish to train with you right now. Perhaps we should finish the story instead, yes?”

Thor snorted good-naturedly. “Stories! Fighting is much more exciting, Mother. I have to practice if I’m going to become the greatest warrior of the Nine Realms!” He swung the wooden sword boastfully through the air, which Loki answered with an irritated roll of his eyes.

“Oh, you want to be the greatest?” Loki couldn’t resist a sardonic remark. “Then perhaps start by not stepping on your own cape every time you strike.”

Indeed, during their last practice Thor had nearly stumbled - something Loki had watched with smug satisfaction.

Thor pulled a face. “You’re just jealous because I’m stronger than you,” he shot back.

“Boys…” Frigga’s tone was warning, but affectionate. She stepped closer to Loki, who still crouched on the wall.

“Loki, my dear - what are you jealous of? That your brother has brute strength? A warrior’s strength is not everything.”

Loki lifted his chin stubbornly. “I’m jealous of nothing,” he insisted proudly. “I don’t need his clumsy strength. I have my magic and my mind. That will take me much farther.”

Thor laughed loudly. “Oh yes, your mind will help you when a giant is standing in front of you, I’m sure!” He mimed striking someone down with his sword. At Thor’s age it wasn’t cruelty so much as playful rivalry, but Loki felt himself bristle all the same.

“That’s enough,” Frigga said firmly, snapping the book closed. “Thor, my son - why don’t you go on ahead to supper? Your father is surely waiting to hear news of your training.” She looked Thor directly in the eyes, and after a brief moment he understood: his mother likely wanted to speak with Loki alone.

“As you wish, Mother,” Thor said. He was sturdy, but not foolish; and he could tell Loki was in a strange mood today.

“See you later, little brother,” Thor called. He saluted jokingly with the sword; Loki answered only by folding his arms tighter and rolling his eyes.

Once Thor was out of sight, Frigga turned her full attention to Loki. She set her skirts straight and approached the wall where he sat. Loki deliberately looked the other way, out over the garden - the fountain, the flower beds glowing in the sun. He didn’t want Frigga to read in his eyes what truly gnawed at him.

But Frigga knew Loki far too well. She set the book aside and lifted her arms to mimic his posture - crossing her arms too and putting on an exaggerated pout to mirror his mood. “So this is what you look like when you’re jealous of nothing?” she asked, teasing.

Loki flinched, then glared at her. “I’m not pouting,” he protested automatically.

Frigga raised her brows, amused. “Oh, of course not.” She tilted her head slightly and smiled, knowing.

For a moment, silence. The queen stood there - calm and radiant - while Loki wrestled with himself. At last he slid down from the wall and landed softly in the grass, facing Frigga. He crossed his arms again - as if he still hadn’t decided whether to give up his sulk.

“It’s just that…” he began unexpectedly, “Thor and everyone else only ever talk about fighting and being heroic. Father praises him constantly. And me…” He stopped, surprised by his own openness. He hadn’t meant to say it.

Frigga’s gentle smile gained a trace of sadness. “And you feel overlooked,” she supplied quietly.

Loki bit his lip and shrugged. He didn’t want to admit it outright, but it was true. Thor always received the most recognition - whether it was for combat skill, feats of courage, or the favor of the court. Loki often felt like he lived in his brother’s shadow, and the feeling only fed his resentment.

Frigga stepped closer and lifted a hand - hesitated - then stroked Loki’s cheek softly. He allowed it, even as he lowered his eyes.

“My clever boy,” Frigga said with love. “You have gifts that are unique. Don’t let anyone - not even your father - make you believe they are worth less than Thor’s strength.”

Loki felt a lump rise in his throat. He wanted to be strong, but Frigga’s warmth always slipped through his armor. “I know, Mother,” he murmured. “But sometimes I think…”

“What do you think?” Frigga prompted gently when he faltered.

Loki raised his head and looked at Frigga directly, green eyes full of untempered youth. “Sometimes I think it’s better to let no one get close. To show no weakness. Mind and magic, you said - yes, I have those. And I can manage perfectly well alone.” He lifted his chin. “I don’t need anyone. Certainly not sentimental ties that only make me vulnerable.”

Frigga’s eyes narrowed slightly - but not in anger, more in focused attention. “No sentimental ties? You mean friendship? Family? Love?”

Loki flicked his hand in a dismissive gesture. “Love is for fools,” he said, trying to sound like the cool, distant adult he wanted to be. “Love makes you weak - pah!” He crossed his arms again. “I’ll never be like that. I don’t need anyone to complete me or any such nonsense. I’m whole as I am.” The words came out in a stubborn rush. Back then Loki truly believed them - out of self-protection and youthful arrogance in equal measure.

But Frigga only laughed softly - warmly, without mockery. Her laughter rang like tiny bells. Loki was confused. He might have expected her to scold him or argue. Instead, she responded with genuine amusement.

“Oh, Loki,” she said at last, smiling. “You sound as if you’ve eaten the wisdom of all worlds with a spoon and know exactly what life will bring you.” She laid a hand on his shoulder. “That is how a young prince speaks - one who has not yet been tested by heartbreak in love.”

Loki pulled an offended face. “I don’t need to suffer some twist of fate if I simply stay out of fate’s way,” he insisted.

Frigga shook her head, gently amused. “Believe me, it isn’t that simple. Love - and I don’t mean only romantic love, but also friendship and family bonds - finds everyone. Even you, my heart, won’t be able to escape it one day.”

Loki wanted to protest, but Frigga drew him a little closer and fixed him with her wise gaze. “And you know what? I even hope for it. Because love is not a weakness, Loki. It is a strength.”

“Pff.” Loki made an impolite sound - though he regretted it at once, because he didn’t want to hurt his mother. But he couldn’t believe what she was saying.

“Strength? It only makes you vulnerable. You can see how much it weakened Father when you were in danger, Mother. Or how Thor reacts blindly whenever someone insults us. Love puts chains on you.”

Frigga tilted her head and slid her hand from Loki’s shoulder up to the back of his neck - almost the way Thor would do many years later. It was a comforting, intimate gesture. “You can call it chains,” she said softly, “or a bond that holds you when you are about to fall.” She smiled, deep affection shining in her eyes. “One day, Loki, you will find someone - or that someone will find you. Someone who wins your heart without you planning it. Someone who loves you exactly as you are. With all your intelligence, your humor, your weaknesses. And that someone will inspire you to be better than you ever thought possible. The best version of yourself.”

Loki’s expression froze. He didn’t know what to say to that. It sounded like a spell his mother was weaving - beautiful, and somehow frightening. He swallowed. “And what if not?” he asked quietly, his defensiveness slipping as he felt the warmth in her words. “What if no one ever… what if no one can see me like that?” He didn’t say it outright, but Frigga understood.

She brushed a strand of hair behind his ear, a motherly gesture that had often embarrassed Loki in the past - yet in that moment he held still. “Then I am still here, Loki. I see you that way.” Her voice softened. “But I trust that fate will bring you into the path of someone you will want to open your heart to.”

Loki lowered his gaze, flustered, and muttered, “Maybe I don’t want that at all.”

Frigga laughed again, quietly. “As you wish. We shall see.” Then she leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to Loki’s forehead. “You don’t have to decide anything yet, my child. Live your life - and when the time is ripe, remember my words.”
…

The memory faded softly, and Loki found himself back in the here and now.

He drew a deep breath. His mother had been right. Years later it had happened - he had met someone who had conquered his heart without him ever planning it. Someone who reached him despite all the walls he had built around himself.

Sylvie.

“Mother, you knew,” Loki whispered, feeling a bittersweet comfort. “I wish you could meet her.”

He felt hollowed out. A heavy exhaustion had spread through him, and yet he couldn’t find rest. Again and again he saw Sylvie’s face - the fear in her eyes when she had left him behind at the festival.

Have I lost her forever?

That tormenting thought had become a constant companion over the last days. Whenever he tried to shove it away, it returned - sharper than before.

What would Frigga advise him now, if she were here?

He almost knew. She would have taken him into her arms, maybe stroked his hair softly - like she had when he was a child, when he was hurt or angry. My brave little prince, she would have said, with that loving smile that could smooth any storm inside him.
The heart is sometimes the bravest of all - it dares to feel, even when it is afraid. It was one of her sayings, one he remembered only vaguely. Back then he hadn’t understood what she meant. Now it dawned on him that perhaps he had needed to learn it.

In the next instant, Loki jolted violently as a familiar, buzzing sound cut through the silence. A shimmer of golden light flickered suddenly against the opposite wall of the living room. Loki shot up, alarmed. His eyes widened in disbelief as he realized what it was: a TemPad portal, flaring to life in the middle of the room.

He barely dared to breathe.

Was that… could it…?

Before his mind could finish the thought, a slender figure stepped out of the golden light. The portal closed behind her with a soft hiss, as if it had never been there.

And there she was.

Sylvie.

For a heartbeat, Loki thought he was looking at a trick - an illusion born of desperate wishful thinking. But no: it was her, truly her, in the flesh, only a few steps away. Heat rushed to his head, and his heart seemed to stop for a beat - only to slam back into motion twice as fast.

“Sylvie…”

Her name came from his lips barely audible and brittle, as if he feared a louder sound might drive her away again.

She didn’t move toward him right away. In the faint light spilling through the window, he couldn’t make out her expression clearly - only that her face looked paler than usual, with deep shadows beneath her eyes. She was no longer wearing the green dress from the festival. Instead, she had on dark trousers and a loose, light-colored top that hung off her shoulders as if she’d thrown it on in haste. Her hair was tied back loosely, though a few strands had fallen free around her face. She looked tired. Tired - and determined at the same time.

For a moment they simply stood there, two meters apart, staring at each other as if neither of them could believe they were truly in the same room.

Loki’s chest tightened with relief - and with newly flaring fear. She was back. That was the only thing echoing loudly and triumphantly in his mind.

She was really back.

He took an uncertain step forward, his hand half raised, as if to reassure himself she was real.

“Sylvie,” he said again - steadier now - and all the emotions raging inside him - relief, worry, love, fear - shimmered in that single word.

Sylvie lowered her gaze briefly, as if gathering herself, then lifted a hand - an unmistakable gesture that made him stop. Her eyes sought his, and in the moonlight Loki saw that uncertainty still lived in the blue of her irises. But behind it burned a new spark of resolve.

“We need to talk,” Sylvie said quietly, but firmly. It wasn’t a request - more like an unchangeable fact. Her voice sounded surprisingly calm, though Loki could hear the fine current of tension beneath it.

Loki nodded at once, almost too quickly. “Yes,” he managed, his throat tight. A thousand questions crowded inside him, but he asked none of them. He barely dared to breathe, afraid of breaking this fragile moment.

Sylvie took a deep breath, as though it cost her effort too. She stepped closer - until they were only an arm’s length apart.

Loki felt an almost overwhelming urge to pull her into his arms, but he forced himself to stay still. No masks, he remembered Thor’s words. No rushed gestures.

Sylvie’s hands were clenched into fists, as if she had to give herself courage. She lifted her chin slightly, her eyes shining with gathered bravery - and with something else Loki couldn’t quite read.

“Loki…” she began, and his name from her mouth sounded soft and brittle at once. His fingers twitched; he wanted to reach for her so badly, but he held back.

“I-” Sylvie faltered, closed her eyes briefly, then opened them again. Her voice was barely more than a breath when she said, “I’ve made a decision.”

[...]

Chapter Text

“A decision…?” he repeated softly, uncertain, and unconsciously took a step toward her. His gaze searched her face in the dim light of the room, but Sylvie avoided his eyes. Her arms hung stiffly at her sides, her hands clenched into fists, as if she had to force courage out of herself.

They stood facing each other - only a few steps apart, and yet it felt as though an invisible abyss lay between them. Loki felt his heart pounding in his throat. For two days he had imagined what he would say if Sylvie came back; now that she was actually standing in front of him, his mind felt completely blank.

“Sylvie, what do you mean?” Loki asked cautiously. His voice was gentle, but the tension beneath it was unmistakable. For two days he had brooded, tortured himself, dissected every possible explanation - and now she was here at last, speaking in riddles about a decision while barely able to look at him.

Sylvie parted her lips as if to answer, but no sound came out. She closed her mouth again and swallowed. Her heart was pounding up to her throat, so loud she thought Loki might hear it. How was she supposed to explain this? The words chased each other through her mind - none of them felt right or sufficient. She could feel Loki’s searching gaze on her, his worry almost tangible in the air between them.

“I…” she finally began, desperately trying to keep her composure. But even that single word made her voice tremble. Heat rushed to her face; she felt alternately hot and cold with nerves. She ran her tongue over her dry lips and tried again, her eyes fixed on an indistinct spot on the floor. “I have to explain something to you.”

Loki gave a barely perceptible nod, his entire body taut like a bowstring pulled to its limit. “All right… explain it to me, please.” His words were quiet and careful, but carried the pressure of fear over what she was about to say. Inside him, chaos raged - joy and relief that she had returned, and at the same time dread over what her decision might mean. Was she going to leave? Had she decided to walk away from him? The thought made his stomach clench.

Sylvie struggled for breath. At last she lifted her head and, for a fleeting moment, met Loki’s eyes. There was so much reflected in them - worry, uncertainty, love - that it nearly stole her courage. She knew she had to speak now, no matter how hard it was. The shock of the past few days still sat deep in her bones, but Loki deserved the truth. He has a right to know what’s going on, she told herself. Still, saying it out loud felt like stripping herself completely bare.

“It’s…” she began again, running a trembling hand through her tousled hair. “I’m sorry that I just… disappeared.” It wasn’t the core of the problem, but it was at least a start. Her voice was barely more than a whisper. Gods, pull yourself together, she scolded herself silently.

Loki watched every shift in Sylvie’s expression closely. The thin moonlight streaming through the window cast pale shadows across her face. He could see how hard she was fighting with herself, and he forced himself to remain patient, even though his heart was already racing with nerves. “I understand… it was a lot for you, that evening…” He tried to guess where she was headed and chose his words carefully. “I’ve been so worried about you, Sylvie. Please - just tell me what happened. What… what have you decided?”

Sylvie’s lips twisted almost imperceptibly into a pained expression. Her eyes burned; sleeplessness and days of crying had taken their toll. “I’m trying…” she murmured, and the tremor in her voice betrayed her inner turmoil. She brushed her hand over her forearm in a self-soothing gesture as she forced out the next words. “The reason I… left…”

Loki leaned closer without meaning to. His hands tingled with the urge to touch her, to chase away her cold with his warmth - but he didn’t dare. This moment felt too fragile, as though even the smallest movement might send Sylvie fleeing again. “Yes?” he prompted gently when she faltered.

Sylvie drew a sharp breath. Her heart was pounding so fast now that she felt dizzy. The memories crashed over her - the night of dancing, her panicked flight, the hours at the TVA, the tiny foil packet in her pocket that could still decide her fate. Just say it, a voice urged inside her. Tell him. But as she looked at him now, her mouth was dry with fear.

Loki recognized the raw fear in her eyes. His own heart tightened painfully in response. It was obvious that this conversation was unimaginably difficult for Sylvie - but the longer the silence stretched on, the more powerful Loki’s own fears became. He tilted his head slightly, his gaze searching her face with open concern.

“Sylvie… you know you can tell me anything. Whatever it is… we’ll find a way, do you hear me? The two of us.” His deep voice was barely more than a whisper, so gentle it nearly broke Sylvie’s heart. Because within that kindness lay vulnerability - and she had already hurt him so deeply.

Sylvie blinked hard, fighting back the tears threatening to spill over. “I… I don’t know where to start,” she admitted tightly. Her fingernails dug into her palms, her fists clenched so hard it hurt. “It’s just… it’s all too much at once.” She felt her heart grow heavier with every word. That overwhelming fear was back - the sense of standing at the edge of an abyss, unable to jump, unable to step back.

Loki swallowed. He tried to piece things together: Sylvie’s panic at the festival, her abrupt disappearance, her obvious overwhelm now. What in all the realms could have frightened her this badly? He remembered Valkyrie’s and Thor’s words - that perhaps happiness itself had scared her. But deep down, he knew there was more. Something unexpected. Unthinkable. Something that had knocked Sylvie completely off balance.

His nerves were stretched raw. “Please, Sylvie,” he said quietly, a fragile urgency in his voice. “I can’t bear this uncertainty. Two days…” He broke off, leaving the rest unsaid. Two days without her. Two sleepless nights, tortured by visions of her leaving him forever. “Just tell me what scared you so much. What happened? Please - tell me…”

She lowered her head, guilt weighing her down. Of course she had hurt him. That had never been her intention. And now here he stood - left in the dark, humiliated in front of the others at the festival, then abandoned for days.

“I didn’t want to torment you,” she whispered hoarsely. “You have to believe that. I… it wasn’t because of you.” Her voice nearly broke as she added, “It was because of me.”

“Because of you?” Loki frowned, confused. What did she mean? That she had left to spare him? Or that she was fighting something on her own? Anxiety flared sharply inside him. Carefully, he reached out and gently took hold of her arm. “Sylvie - please. Whatever it is, we’ll deal with it together. But I can’t help you if you don’t let me in.”

His fingers closed softly around her wrist. It was cool - whether from the night air or from some deeper, inner cold, he couldn’t tell. He brushed his thumb over her pulse, a wordless I’m here.

But his last words - that she wasn’t letting him in - echoed painfully inside Sylvie. An old reflex flared instantly: defensiveness, bristling before the ache could overwhelm her. Not letting him in… Did he really think she didn’t trust him enough? A quiet voice inside her whispered yes, guilt igniting - but the louder voice was self-protection.

Gently, she pulled her wrist from his grasp.

“I’m… not letting you in?” she repeated. Though she spoke softly, something sharp had crept into her tone. Her eyes flashed - still wet, but now edged with rising indignation. “Do you think I’m doing that on purpose?”

Loki flinched inwardly. “No - that’s not what I meant,” he said quickly, trying to placate her, though even he could hear how uncertain it sounded. Thin ice stretched beneath them. He raised his hands in a calming gesture. “I know it’s not intentional. I just… I’m trying to understand.”

“To understand…” Sylvie let out a short, rough laugh, devoid of humor. “Do you think I understand it?” She shook her head, desperation and defiance warring across her face. Her emotions swung wildly - part of her wanted to collapse into his arms and cry everything out; another felt cornered and misunderstood.

Loki felt the situation slipping through his fingers. The last thing he wanted was for this to turn into an argument - and yet that was exactly where they were headed. Still, he couldn’t stop it. Two days of fear and helplessness spilled out in a quiet, frustrated sigh.

“Sylvie… I honestly don’t know what to do anymore.” His voice trembled despite his effort to remain calm. “Since you left, I’ve been asking myself over and over what I did wrong. Whether I said or did something that frightened you this badly…” He rubbed his eyes wearily; the last few days had taken their toll on him as well. “I feel like I keep overwhelming you without even realizing it. And I don’t know how to change that if you won’t talk to me.”

There was genuine confusion in his tone - but Sylvie heard only one thing: I overwhelm you. I’m doing everything wrong again. It felt like an accusation, even if he hadn’t meant it that way. And it hurt. Her anger at herself twisted in the next breath into anger at him - a far easier way to escape the burning pain in her chest.

“Oh, you feel overwhelmed?” Her voice cut sharply with sarcasm now, even as it still trembled. She took a step back, seeking distance, folding her arms tightly across her chest like a shield. “You don’t know what to do? You feel helpless?” She scoffed quietly, her gaze challenging him to hide the tears glimmering there. “Welcome to the club, Loki.”

He recoiled at her sudden sharpness, as though she had struck him. The anger blazing in her eyes alarmed him - and hurt him in equal measure. “Sylvie-” he began, but she didn’t let him finish.

“Do you know what being overwhelmed actually means?” she pressed on, her voice growing louder with every word, though it remained hoarse. “It means everything becomes too much. It means being confronted with things you weren’t prepared for. It means having no damn idea how you’re supposed to deal with it!” Her breathing quickened as a red haze of wounded pride slid over her fear. “And that’s exactly how I felt!”

Loki was momentarily speechless. He had seen her angry before - yes. But this was different. This was desperation masquerading as rage. Carefully, he lifted his hands again in a gesture of peace. “I do understand that you were overwhelmed-” he began gently.

“No, you don’t,” Sylvie snapped back. Her eyes glinted dangerously, and a tear finally broke free, rolling unnoticed down her cheek. “Otherwise you wouldn’t be accusing me of not letting you in!” She emphasized the word accusing, bitterness coating it. “As if I’m the problem…”

Loki shook his head hastily, desperation clawing at him. “I didn’t say that, Sylvie. That’s not what I meant-” He took a hesitant step toward her, but she retreated further, her legs bumping into the edge of the table. She barely registered the sting of pain.

“But that’s exactly what I’m hearing!” she shot back fiercely. “When you say you can’t understand me because I’m not talking - how is that anything but my fault?” Her voice nearly broke. “Maybe I’m just broken - have you ever thought about that? Maybe you simply can’t have this nice, tidy little life with me that you imagine!”

Her words cut into Loki like knives. “What… how can you say something like that…?” he stammered in disbelief. He felt something inside him begin to boil as well now - a mixture of sorrow and wounded pride.

“Sylvie, I have never thought there was anything wrong with you. I’m just trying to-” He broke off when Sylvie’s eyes flashed dangerously again.

“That there is something wrong with me?” she repeated, her voice trembling. “No, of course not. Apparently you don’t have a problem with anything at all - except that I don’t function the way you’d like me to!”

Loki’s eyes widened in shock. “That’s nonsense - I never said that!” His voice rose despite himself. He felt misunderstood, treated unfairly. Is this really Sylvie speaking to me? he wondered in disbelief. Where was the woman who knew him, who should have known that he would never think something like that about her?

“No?” Sylvie continued heatedly before he could gather his thoughts. “Then explain to me what you mean when you say you don’t know how to deal with me, hmm? That you can’t predict my reactions? That I confuse you? That I’m not as predictable as you’d need me to be in order to feel safe?” She glared at him, her anger feeding on the deep vulnerability she felt.

Loki felt his patience snap. Two days full of fear - and now this. She was putting words in his mouth that he had never said, never wanted to say. He loved her, damn it - he only wanted to understand her! Why was she making this so hard?

“Stop accusing me of things that aren’t true,” he said sharply, every syllable vibrating with agitation. “I never demanded that you be predictable. I know that what we’re trying here is new - for you, for both of us! But I can’t read minds, Sylvie. I’m just asking you to talk to me. Because I’m afraid of losing you, damn it!”

The last words echoed through the room. Loki was breathing hard; it had burst out of him like an explosion - a confession of fear. His eyes glittered dangerously now.

“Do you have any idea what these two days have been like for me?” he went on more quietly, his voice trembling with emotion. “Watching you disappear like that - without an explanation, without knowing whether you’d ever come back…” He faltered, fighting to keep himself together. “I thought I’d ruined everything.”

Sylvie stared at him, struck by the raw pain in his words. Her chest rose and fell rapidly; the anger inside her was swept away by a powerful wave of guilt and regret. He thinks it was his fault… And wasn’t that easier to believe? Her mind wanted to cling to that idea - that Loki had done something wrong, something that had triggered her panic. But the truth was: he hadn’t done anything wrong. He had made her happy- so happy that she hadn’t been able to bear it when the fear came.

The silence that fell between them was thick and heavy. Loki clenched his fists to keep his hands from shaking. He took a deep breath, forcing himself to sound calmer.

“Sylvie…” he began, tightly controlled. “I’m not blaming you for anything. I’m just trying to understand why you were so afraid. You have to trust me…”

“Trust!” Sylvie gasped at the word as though he had struck her. Her eyes widened. “So you think I don’t trust you?” Her voice was dangerously quiet now, a whisper bristling with self-defense.

Loki shook his head immediately. “No - I- please don’t twist my words-”

But Sylvie’s gaze darkened further, and he knew he had already set something in motion that he could barely control.

“I trusted you more than I’ve ever trusted anyone!” she burst out, tears finally spilling, hot with churning emotion. “I trusted you when I let you become part of my life, even though it went against every instinct I have! I trusted you so much that I-” She broke off, drawing a shaking breath. “That I let you into my heart, Loki. I can hardly give more trust than that.” Her voice dropped at the end to a rough whisper, wounded and accusing all at once.

Loki’s eyes burned now as well. Her confession - for that was how he felt it - went straight through him. He opened his mouth to respond, but no words came. She had let him into her heart… that was exactly what he had felt, what had made the last days so blissfully unreal. But then - what had happened?

Sylvie took his silence as doubt, as hesitation. A bitter laugh escaped her as tears continued to stream down her cheeks. “And yet here I am, having to justify myself because I don’t immediately talk to you about everything!” Her voice tipped toward hysteria. “You know what? Maybe you’re right. Maybe I am broken. Apparently I don’t know how to have a… relationship.” She practically spat the word relationship, as if it were something impure - though it was precisely that which hurt her most. “This- this normal life, this being together - it wasn’t my idea, Loki. Coming to New Asgard, being here together…” She swallowed hard and tore her gaze away from him, staring at a spot beside him. “That was what you wanted. Not me.”

For a moment, it was as if all the air had been sucked out of the room. Loki’s face went utterly still. It might have seemed as though even his heart had stopped beating.

“Not… your idea?” he repeated tonelessly. His hands sank slowly, falling limp at his sides.

He had expected many things - that she might reproach him, that she might not understand his fears, that she might need time. But these words struck him completely unprepared, like a blade driven straight into his chest.

Not her idea.

A whirlpool of emotions overwhelmed him: shock, pain - and then burning humiliation. All the tender moments of the past days flickered through his mind: the way she had smiled while they danced; the way she had made coffee in his shirt in the mornings; the way she had fallen asleep in his arms at night, seemingly content and safe. Had all of that… been just for his sake? Had she secretly felt out of place the entire time?

“I… understand,” Loki said slowly, his voice suddenly hollow and unfamiliar. He took a step back, as though he needed distance. An icy cold crept into his limbs. “Then… it was a mistake. Bringing you here.”

Sylvie flinched as if struck. She had said those words in anger, without thinking, out of pure self-defense - and instantly regretted them. “Loki...” she began hastily, reaching out for him. But Loki stepped away from her touch, as though her hand might burn him.

He lifted his chin, his eyes shining wetly, bitterly. “It’s fine,” he said tightly. “I wanted you to be happy. I thought that was what you wanted too.” A sad, fleeting, cynical smile crossed his face. “But clearly… that was my mistake.”

His words fell slowly, like poison he was forced to speak, even though it hurt him just as much. Sylvie felt panic rise inside her.

She shook her head slowly and stepped toward him now. “Loki. I only meant-” Her voice trembled uncontrollably; she couldn’t find her way out of this mire of misunderstood words.

Loki didn’t let her finish. Something inside him had broken loose now - something he usually kept tightly restrained: deep hurt wrapped in sharp words.

“Only what?” he demanded, his voice shaking with fury. “Only that it was a sacrifice for you? A favor you did for me?” His eyes were hard, but the tears shimmering in them betrayed that hardness. “Did I force you, Sylvie? Did I force you to build a life with me?”

“No...” she cried immediately. “Of course not, Loki! I wanted to be with you-” She gasped for air. “I just… I don’t know if I’m made for this kind of life.” The confession slipped out of her, quiet and fragile, no longer angry at all - only afraid. “I don’t know if I can do this - be normal, be happy without fear…”

Loki stared at her, his anger freezing in the air. Fear. There it was again. It always came back to that one point: she was afraid of happiness. He felt his heart soften - and at the same time, exhaustion washed over him. The way she had spoken her last words, so desperate, had cracked his anger. But before he could respond, Sylvie abruptly turned her gaze away.

She couldn’t bear the hurt on his face any longer. Everything was going wrong. Sylvie swallowed hard against the lump in her throat. She had never meant to say it like that. That cursed fear inside her - and her stubbornness - had made her choose the wrong words. Why can’t I just say what’s really going on? she scolded herself. Instead, she was hurting him more and more. By now, she felt as though she were standing in a field of broken glass made of mutual misunderstandings.

Loki ran a hand roughly through his black hair and exhaled sharply. His chest rose and fell with deep breaths as he struggled to regain control. “Sylvie…” he began again, clearly forcing himself to rein it in. “We’re going in circles.” His tone was quieter now, but rough. “Maybe… maybe you should just go, if you truly think this was a mistake to begin with.” He regretted the words the moment he said them, but they were already out - hardened by pride and the pain of her rejection. If she believes she doesn’t belong here… then I can’t stop her. It felt as though his heart were being torn from his chest, yet he no longer knew what to do to reach her.

Sylvie stared at him in horror. “What…?” A sharp, sudden pain shot through her. Did he mean that? Was Loki sending her away? No - his face said something else entirely: his eyes shimmered with unshed tears, desperation tugging at the corners of his mouth. He thinks I want to leave, she realized. He’s pushing me away before I can abandon him…

Cold fear washed over her. “Loki, no, please…” she whispered, anguished. “I don’t want to go… I never wanted that!”

He only looked at her in silence, his gaze weary and full of sorrow. A strange calm settled over him - the calm of utter exhaustion. “Then what, Sylvie?” he asked quietly. “What do you want?”

The question hung in the room like a verdict. Sylvie felt her throat constrict. What do I want? I want you, she thought desperately. I want you - but I’m so afraid… Yet not a sound left her lips.

Instead, she felt panic rising again. All the emotions she had suppressed for too long threatened to overwhelm her. Here they were, hurting each other with words, even though neither of them wanted to lose the other. It was unbearable.

Sylvie took a step backward. She had to think, get out of here, just for a moment-

“No.” Loki’s voice was firm and cutting as he stepped forward at the exact moment she turned away. “Don’t do that.”

She lifted her head and looked at him, eyes wide with inner turmoil. “What…?”

“Don’t run,” Loki said flatly. His hands clenched into fists, as though he were restraining himself from grabbing her, and his gaze locked onto hers. “You’re doing it again.”

Sylvie blinked, understanding dawning. He had seen her retreat for what it was: the instinct to flee. The realization hurt - and at the same time, anger flared again, this time less at Loki than at herself. Damn it. He knows me too well.

“Again,” she echoed bitterly. “Oh, so I am predictable in my cowardice, then?”

“I never said that,” Loki growled back. He took another step toward her; now only inches separated them. His entire posture radiated tension - fear and determination intertwined. “But it’s true, isn’t it? As soon as things get difficult, you run.”

“Of course I do!” Sylvie shot back in barely restrained fury, even as his words hit their mark yet again. “Because that’s the only thing I’ve ever known how to do - survive by fleeing!” Her voice fractured as the emotions broke through. “That’s what I’ve done my entire life, Loki. What do you expect?”

“I expect you to at least try not to run when it’s about us!” Loki fired back. His voice rose now, vibrating with all the grief he had been holding in. “I expect you to understand that you’re not alone anymore! That you don’t have to face whatever is tormenting you by yourself!”

“I am alone with it!” Sylvie suddenly screamed, her control finally shattering. Tears filled her eyes and spilled freely now. “You can’t help me with this one thing, Loki. You can’t - because it concerns me, my body, my-” She broke off, gasping for air, still unable to summon the courage for the final words.

Loki’s heart stumbled at her statement. My body. He stared at her, confused, trying to make sense of it. What was she talking about? What concerned only her body? His thoughts raced, but he couldn’t grasp it - too caught in the sight before him: Sylvie trembling, tears on her cheeks, furious and desperate all at once. His urge to pull her into his arms was almost overwhelming, but he held himself back while she was still so upset.

Sylvie saw the way he looked at her - still not truly understanding, that much was clear. He didn’t get it. Despite all his care and intelligence, he had no idea what battle she had been fighting since the festival. And why? Because she hadn’t told him. Because she had been too afraid to burden him with the truth.

Now, with him standing so close, every fine muscle in his face drawn tight with worry, it hit her with full force: What am I even doing? She loved this man. Yes - she loved him, even if she had only recently been able to admit it to herself. And now she was on the verge of destroying everything out of fear and misplaced pride.

She saw the anguish in his eyes and knew she had caused it. Because she hadn’t spoken to him. Because she had hurt him with sharp words to distract from her own terror. And him? He was still here. Not backing away. Essentially begging her to finally let him in.

Sylvie closed her eyes for a moment. A shudder ran through her body. You have to tell him. There was no other way anymore. And maybe… maybe she didn’t even deserve him if she couldn’t bring herself to be honest. The thought was bitter - but it gave her one last, desperate spark of courage.

Still burning with anger and pain, she wiped at her wet eyes with an unsteady hand. Then she hissed out a breath and reached into the pocket of her coat. For a split second, she clutched the cool, smooth foil packet inside with trembling fingers.

Loki frowned in confusion as Sylvie suddenly reached into her coat. “What-” he began, but the words died when he saw what she pulled out. Her hand emerged holding something small and reflective - a tiny package, which she flung at his feet with a sharp motion.

Loki reflexively looked down. “What… is that?” he asked, bewildered. The anger had vanished from his voice, replaced by surprise and uncertainty. He bent down and slowly picked up the inconspicuous packet.

Sylvie watched him, her arms hanging limply at her sides now, her chest aching from ragged breathing. “That’s the reason I left,” she said in a broken voice that held all her anger and fear. She put sharp emphasis on that, a mix of bitterness and desperation.

Loki straightened, the small foil packet between his fingers. He turned it toward the light, blinking. He recognized numbers and letters printed on it, a multilingual label - most of it meant nothing to him. It was clearly a medication. He frowned, his mind racing for a connection.

The reason she left… a medication? His brows drew together. Was Sylvie ill? Had she been afraid of some condition? That didn’t make sense - at least not enough to explain her panic. And yet - what else could it be?

He looked up at Sylvie again. She stood like a battered animal now: shoulders slightly hunched, eyes shining with tears, uncertain yet oddly defiant. Her chest rose and fell rapidly. She watched him with painful tension as he examined the item.

Second by second passed. A dark sense of dread crept up inside Loki as his thumb traced the writing on the packet. In small black letters, something was printed - but it took a moment for him to decipher it in the dim light.

“…morning-after pill…” he finally read aloud, haltingly.

At first, he didn’t understand. The pill… after? His thoughts stumbled. The pill- Then his eyes widened abruptly as the meaning slammed into him. The morning-after pill. Emergency contraception.

Loki felt his mouth go dry. “Oh…” escaped him, tonelessly. His fingers tightened around the small packet as he stared at it in disbelief. Suddenly, the fragments formed a picture: Sylvie’s pointed words - my body - her panic, her disappearance - and now this medication.

He lifted his head and looked at Sylvie with wide eyes. “You…” he began, but his voice failed. He cleared his throat and tried again. “How-” That was all he managed. How could this happen? he wanted to ask. When-

But he didn’t say it. Whatever the question, it seemed unspeakably stupid in that moment. How could it happen? He knew the answer just as well as she did.

Sylvie watched the confusion and dawning realization on his face. When he only managed that single How…?, her mouth tightened into a thin line. A humorless snort escaped her. “How it could have happened?” she asked with a trace of bitter irony, her voice dull at the same time. “I think you should know that, Loki.”

Loki felt blood rush to his cheeks - not from embarrassment, but from a flood of emotions: stunned disbelief that this was real, and a growing sense of dread. Of course he knew how such a thing happened. He wasn’t naïve. But… Sylvie and him? A child?

He swallowed hard. His head suddenly felt light, as though he were dizzy. He lowered his gaze back to the packet in his hand, as if it might offer further answers.

Inside him, his thoughts worked feverishly. Sylvie had run away on the night of the festival - after dancing in his arms, after they had been so close, so happy. The night after the night they had spent together - the first time… unprotected, the realization burned through him.

The truth hit him with full force: Sylvie had suddenly realized she could get pregnant. And the fear of it had driven her to flee.

Loki slowly raised his head again, searching for her gaze. He felt as though the ground beneath his feet were swaying. “So you were…” he began quietly. His voice was hollow; he barely dared to breathe. “You left to… to prevent it.” At the last words, he didn’t look at her - he felt his heart constrict at saying it aloud.

Sylvie noticed the barely perceptible tremor in his voice. She also saw that he didn’t dare look at her. So much was reflected in his face: shock, confusion - and, to her astonishment, deep pain. Sylvie froze. She had seen many kinds of hurt in Loki’s eyes before, but this… it was as if he were struggling to hold himself together as he broke.

She opened her mouth to speak, but before she could say anything, she noticed a slight trembling in the hand holding the packet. She watched as his fingers slowly closed around it, as if to keep it from falling. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard.

It was too much.

Sylvie immediately regretted everything she had said in the past minutes. Her anger fell away like a shattered shell, leaving only that deep, gnawing fear beneath - and the certainty that she had wronged Loki.

“I…” she began in a strangled voice. She loosened her crossed arms and let them fall helplessly to her sides. “I didn’t take it.” The words barely made it past her lips, but in the silent room they were perfectly clear.

Loki jerked his head up. “What?” Had he heard her right? He stared at her, searching her face for confirmation.

Sylvie avoided his gaze, but she gave the smallest nod. “I didn’t take the pill,” she repeated in a whisper. “I couldn’t.”

Loki stood rigid. It took a moment for her words to settle into his understanding. She hadn’t taken it. So she hadn’t - at least not yet - acted against that possible fate. An incomprehensible pressure in his chest loosened slightly. At the same time his heart hammered, as though it understood faster than his mind what that meant.

His lips formed silent words before he managed to speak at all. “You… couldn’t?” His voice was hoarse. He wanted to be careful, gentle, but hope and fear tangled into a sound that was almost desperately curious.

Sylvie’s eyes filled with fresh tears at his question. She lifted her hands uncertainly, then let them drop again, not knowing what to do with them. “I tried…” she confessed, broken, and had to swallow. “I held it in my hand over and over and thought: Do it, and the fear will be gone. Then everything will be under control again…”

Loki barely dared to breathe. He listened to every word.

“But I couldn’t.” Her voice finally fractured as the first tears ran down her face. “The thought of taking a possible little being’s life - before it ever even had a chance to exist…” She shook her head hard; loose waves of blond hair slipped free of her messy braid and fell across her face. “That thought wouldn’t leave me alone. And… I just couldn’t.” A sob tore out of her, and she pressed a hand over her mouth as if she could smother the sound of her own heartbreak.

Loki felt a thick lump rise in his throat. He stared at Sylvie - this proud, strong being - now standing in tears in front of him, so fragile he wanted to gather up every shard and put her back together. Without thinking, he let the blister packet slip from his fingers; it fell quietly back to the floor, suddenly utterly irrelevant beside Sylvie’s tears.

“I… I couldn’t talk to you about it.” Sylvie’s voice was barely understandable now. “I didn’t even know what I was supposed to do. Whether I could even do it - have a child…” She nearly folded under the weight of the words. Her arms wrapped around her own body as if she had to physically hold herself together. She still avoided Loki’s eyes, staring instead at some point on the floor in agony.

Loki couldn’t watch her break apart in front of him. A soft “Oh, Sylvie…” slipped from him, full of compassion and pain. Slowly he stepped toward her - careful, as though approaching a skittish animal. Her defenses had collapsed; she looked only lost now.

When Loki finally stood directly in front of her, he saw tears dripping from her chin. Sylvie kept her head lowered, but when she noticed his boots in her line of sight, she shook her head weakly. “Don't do this…” she tried to say, but it didn’t even sound convincing. It was more a whimpering whisper: “Please… I…”

She didn’t get any further, because Loki hesitantly lifted his arms - then wrapped them gently but decisively around her trembling figure. He pulled her against him, holding her in an embrace that said everything words could no longer carry. For the smallest moment, Sylvie was stiff in his arms, as if she didn’t know how to respond. And then something inside her broke open: a rough, muffled sob tore out of her, and she suddenly clutched at Loki with desperate strength, gripping him as though he were the only thing keeping her upright.

“It’s all right… shh, it’s all right…” Loki whispered soothingly, even as his own voice trembled. He held her tightly, one hand supporting the back of her head, the other looped around her waist. She buried her face against his chest, and he felt his shirt grow damp there with her tears. A sharp pain - and at the same time a strange warmth - flooded through him: pain at seeing her suffer like this, warmth because she was finally letting her walls fall and leaning on him, even if it was in despair.

Sylvie’s shoulders shook as she sobbed. Every strangled sound cut Loki straight to the heart.

“Why…” he finally managed, stroking her back in a slow, steady rhythm - up and down, calm, grounding. His voice held no accusation, only bare sadness. “Why didn’t you tell me…? I would have- you didn’t have to go through this alone.”

Sylvie didn’t answer at first, fighting for composure. When she finally could speak, her voice sounded hoarse and broken, pressed against his chest. “I didn’t know how.” Her fingers dug into the fabric of his clothes as if she feared he might let go. “It was all… too much.” Another silent sob trembled through her.

Loki closed his eyes, forcing back his own tears. He pressed a gentle, almost imperceptible kiss into her hair, right into the pale crown of it. “You never should have felt alone,” he whispered heavily. His chin rested on the top of her head as he continued to hold her, rocking them both in that quiet, soothing motion.

For a while they simply stood like that - clinging to each other in the half-dark of the small living room, as if the world around them had stopped. Sylvie’s crying slowly ebbed; her harsh, shallow breaths eased into something steadier, though she still trembled in Loki’s arms.

Eventually she lifted her head from his chest - only a little - and stammered, “I… I didn’t want you to feel like you had to stay with me… because of all of this.” Her voice was hardly more than a raw rasp after all those tears, but Loki understood every word.

He opened his eyes and gently moved his hand from the back of her head to cradle her wet cheeks instead. He tipped her face up so she could look at him, even if she didn’t dare at first. With thumbs that wiped away her tears, he whispered, shaken, “Why would you even think that?” His own vision blurred as he spoke. “Sylvie, I would never just stay out of obligation-”

He fell silent, swallowing hard against the knot in his throat. His hands rested on her shoulders as he gathered all his courage to finally say the truth. His voice trembled with intensity when he said, “I… love you.”

The moment the three quiet words fell, Sylvie’s breath caught. Her tear-soaked eyes widened, locking onto him as if spellbound. For a second she seemed to forget how to breathe, the confession came so unexpectedly.

Loki himself seemed almost startled by his own honesty for a heartbeat. The words that had hovered unspoken between them for so long were out now - just like that - and they echoed in the room’s silence. The tension in his body made him feel almost dizzy, but he didn’t step back. He meant it exactly as he’d said it - with every part of himself.

Sylvie’s lips trembled. “What…?” she whispered, almost without sound. Disbelief flickered in her eyes, as if she wasn’t sure she’d heard him correctly.

Panic rose in Loki - had he made everything worse? But then he saw that Sylvie’s expression wasn’t rejection. It was something softer: stunned, tender wonder. She breathed shallowly, fighting a fresh wave of tears - but these weren’t tears of fear.

He was about to try to explain, but Sylvie spoke first.

“Say it again,” she breathed. Her hands were still clenched in his shirt as if her life depended on it. Her gaze searched his desperately - pleading and confused all at once. “Please… Loki.”

Hearing his name from her lips sounded as fragile as glass. Loki felt his throat tighten. Carefully, he rested his forehead against hers so that the tips of their noses almost touched. In a voice barely audible but perfectly clear, he repeated softly, “I love you, Sylvie.”

A shaky breath slipped from her lips. Then, without warning, Sylvie grabbed Loki by the collar, pulled him down to her, and kissed him. It was a stormy, desperate kiss that nearly stole Loki’s breath in the first instant. But he closed his eyes at once and returned it with the same fierce passion.

Everything poured out of them - every bit of tension, every longing, every fear - condensed into that single kiss. Sylvie’s fingers buried themselves in the fabric at his chest as if she needed to make sure he wouldn’t disappear. Loki tasted the salt of her tears on her lips, and it only drove him further, needing to show her that he was here - that he was holding her and would never let her go again.

A soft gasp escaped Sylvie when Loki pulled her closer. His hands slid impatiently over her back, higher, up to her shoulder blades. He wanted to feel her - every inch - wanted to pull her into himself, to kiss every doubt away.

In her emotional whirlwind, Sylvie looped her arms around his neck as if she had to hold on to keep from sinking into the feeling. Loki felt her fingernails press through the fabric into his skin - a pleasantly sharp proof that this was real.

They only broke apart when their lungs burned for air. Breathing hard, Sylvie pulled back, though she stayed close to him. Her forehead came to rest against his shoulder as she gulped for breath, clearly trying to regain control. Loki, just as breathless, leaned his cheek briefly against her temple. His heart was pounding wildly - but in a completely new, intoxicating way. It felt as though they had just sealed a pact - unspoken, yet stronger than any TVA rule, stronger than space and time.

Then Loki gently lifted a hand and slipped two fingers beneath Sylvie’s chin, raising her face. He wanted to see her - her reaction, every flicker in her beautiful eyes. Her warm breath brushed his skin as she looked up. Tears still glistened on her lashes, but now other emotions mingled with the sorrow: relief. Hope. And a deep, deep affection.

“Sylvie…” Loki spoke her name like a caress. He lifted both hands again and cupped her cheeks, his thumbs gently brushing away the damp tracks there. What he saw in her face stole his breath for a moment - she was so vulnerable, so real, and utterly perfect to him.

“You are… everything to me,” he whispered with a fervor that surprised even himself. “Absolutely everything. And nothing will ever change that, do you hear me?” His voice broke at the end, overwhelmed by the emotion. A single tear he hadn’t managed to hold back finally slipped from the corner of his eye and traced a slow path down his cheek.

For a moment, Sylvie simply stood there, as if his declaration had frozen her in silence. Trembling, she lifted a hand and gently caught the tear with her thumb as it ran down his face.

“Loki…” she murmured, completely overwhelmed by his sincerity.

She lowered her gaze briefly and drew a deep breath, as if gathering all her courage. “I…” Her voice was soft, unsteady. “Maybe… maybe I overreacted.” A faint, uncertain smile flickered across her lips - barely more than a twitch. “It’s very possible that nothing happened at all. I probably worked myself up over nothing…” She let out a quiet, breathless laugh, tinged with self-consciousness and exhaustion. Relief and shame mingled in her eyes.

Loki looked at her for a long moment, letting her words sink in. He could feel that she still blamed herself for her panic, as if being afraid had been wrong. Very gently, he drew her back into his arms again - this time in a calm, comforting embrace. He rested his chin on the crown of her head and swayed her faintly. “Whether something happened or not,” he murmured lovingly, “it doesn’t matter.”

He felt Sylvie hesitate before slowly wrapping her arms around him again, as if she feared she might not deserve it. Loki closed his eyes and ran his fingers soothingly through her hair. “I’ll stay with you,” he continued quietly. “As long as you want me.” He smiled, and there was a gentle seriousness in his voice that left no room for doubt.

Sylvie inhaled sharply at his words and buried her face against his chest. Then she let out a barely audible, hoarse laugh that was half a sob. “That probably won’t be very long,” she whispered with feigned lightness - clearly an attempt to ease the moment. Loki felt her lips curve into a faint smile against his shirt.

He noticed her effort to lighten the weight and carefully played along. “Oh, really?” he asked with a hint of teasing. “Planning to throw me out soon?”

“Maybe,” Sylvie mumbled against him, and Loki could hear that she was actually half-joking now. “If you don’t do it first…” The humor faded at the end of her sentence, and Loki knew not all her fears had vanished yet.

He kissed her forehead softly. “That will never happen,” he said, serious and tender at once. Then he closed his eyes briefly, collecting himself. He still held her close, felt the warmth of her body - no longer trembling with panic, but slowly relaxing.

“And you…” Loki lowered his head slightly, close to her ear. “You’re never allowed to run away from me again, do you hear?” His words were a whisper, but their meaning was unmistakable. He held her a little tighter, as if to keep her from ever fleeing from him again.

Sylvie stiffened in his arms, and Loki immediately realized his request might have sounded like too much - as though he were pressing her again. He was just about to speak, to explain or take it back, but Sylvie didn’t answer. She swallowed hard, a subtle tremor running through her body, but no words came. Loki exhaled softly, as if he’d been holding his breath. He chose to accept her silence for now, trusting that she had understood him.

For a while, they simply remained there, wrapped around each other, the silence far gentler than before. The turmoil of the last minutes settled like dust slowly falling after a storm. Only their breathing - now calmer, more even - filled the room.

Eventually, Sylvie eased out of the embrace just enough to look at Loki again. Her hands stayed at his sides. He noticed how exhausted she looked. And yet, in that moment, she had never been more beautiful to him.

But there was something else in her gaze - a trace of new uncertainty. Sylvie let her eyes roam over his face, searching. Loki lifted an eyebrow gently. “What is it?” he asked softly, encouraging.

She opened her mouth, hesitated, closed it again. Clearly she was wrestling with another thought. Loki waited patiently, his hands stroking slowly up and down her arms to show her he was there - steady, calm, ready to listen.

“I…” Sylvie cleared her throat. She glanced down at his chest before looking back up. “I’m still scared.” Her voice was barely audible. “Maybe… maybe it was a mistake not to take the pill.” As soon as she said it, she shot him an uncertain, almost guilty look, as if expecting reproach.

Loki felt a small sting at her words - but he understood. Fear doesn’t simply vanish just because the truth is finally spoken. Gently, he placed a hand beneath her chin and lifted it slightly so she had to meet his eyes. “Listen to me,” he said softly but firmly. “I’m glad you didn’t take it.”

Sylvie looked startled. “You are?” she whispered, as though she could hardly believe it. “But…” She worried her lower lip, searching for words. “What if this… turns our entire lives upside down, Loki? I mean, I don’t even know how any of this works.” She made a helpless gesture, her cheeks tinting faintly pink, embarrassed to admit it. “I’ve never thought about children. Not even remotely.”

Loki nodded in understanding. “Neither have I,” he admitted honestly. “It was never part of my plans.” A gentle smile touched his lips. “I never even thought I’d be part of… a family at all.” His green eyes searched hers. They both knew their lives had never been ordinary.

“Exactly.” Sylvie sighed and briefly rested her forehead against his chest, as if the thought weighed her down. “And now… I’m suddenly talking about whether I could be a mother.” She said the word mother almost without sound, as though it were foreign on her tongue.

Loki gave her a moment, his fingers brushing gently over her arm. Then he applied light pressure to draw her back to face him. “I don’t know how it works either,” he said quietly. “But if it’s like that - if a small life really has come from this - then we’ll figure it out.” He searched for the right words. “Together.”

Sylvie’s eyes reflected the chaos inside her, but Loki could see his steadiness slowly reaching her. He lifted a hand and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “And if not…” He shrugged lightly. “Then later. Someday. When you’re ready - or when fate decides.” A shy smile crossed his face.

She seemed surprised by how calmly he said it. “I… don’t know,” Sylvie admitted again. But this time, she sounded less certain than before. A quiet realization crept into her thoughts - that her decision not to take the pill might already say more about her true desires than she had been willing to admit.

Loki watched the emotions play across her face, then gave her a tender smile. “I think deep down, you already know,” he whispered. “Sometimes our heart is ahead of us, and the mind just has to catch up.” Very gently, he placed his hand on her stomach - a questioning gesture, almost reverent.

Sylvie instinctively held her breath as she felt the warmth of his hand against her lower abdomen. Her wide eyes locked onto his, overwhelmed by the tenderness of the motion. Loki let his hand rest there without pressure, simply a quiet greeting to the possibility of new life. His gaze met hers again - full of love, readiness, and awe all at once.

Sylvie felt her heart somersault in her chest. Was this really her - standing here, allowing someone, Loki, to turn her greatest fear into a gesture filled with hope? She could hardly grasp how quickly the mood between them had shifted: from furious despair to this… almost sacred moment.

She didn’t know what to say. Tears welled in her eyes again, but this time from being deeply moved. It was as if only now she truly understood what she had done by choosing not to take the pill: she hadn’t acted solely out of fear, but also out of love - love for something that could be half Loki, half her. And out of love for Loki himself, because somewhere deep inside she had known she couldn’t simply tear that possible part of them away from him.

Loki smiled softly when he saw her overwhelmed expression. Gently, he leaned in and kissed her with affection. Sylvie returned it hesitantly at first, then with growing devotion. She felt Loki draw her closer, carefully. He kissed her slowly, so gently, as if they had all the time in the world. And yet there was a deep longing in it too - a release after so much fear.

She placed her hands on his chest, feeling the strong beat of his heart beneath them, its rhythm soothing her own. Loki deepened the kiss, brushing the tip of his tongue lightly over her lips as if asking for entry. Sylvie opened to him willingly, and a sweet shiver ran down her spine as their tongues met - familiar, and yet new every time.

A soft sigh escaped Sylvie; she suddenly felt light, as if she’d shed the weight of the last few days. Loki felt every movement she made, every small sound from her was like music to him. His free hand slid gently down her back, over the curve of her waist, while the other - still resting at her stomach - slowly moved to her hip.

When their lips parted for a breath, they looked at each other. Both were breathing a little faster now, and in their eyes, alongside love, that old desire sparkled again - the desire that had been buried beneath fear for so long.

Loki grinned faintly, his gaze flicking briefly down over Sylvie’s body. “Do you even realize,” he murmured in a flattering tone, “how brave you are?”

Sylvie raised an eyebrow, surprised by the sudden compliment. “Brave…?” she repeated doubtfully, though a small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. It felt good to hear him like this - playful and gentle. “I feel more like a coward, considering what I did.”

“No.” Loki shook his head emphatically. A few strands of his black hair fell mischievously into his eyes, making him look almost boyish. “Brave. You came back and you’re facing all of this now - despite your fear. That is courage, Sylvie.”

She lowered her gaze, embarrassed, though inwardly his words warmed her more than she wanted to admit. “Maybe,” she conceded softly.

Loki slipped two fingers beneath her chin and lifted it again so she had to meet his eyes. “Definitely,” he insisted gently. “And do you know what else I think?”

“What?” Sylvie asked quietly, getting lost in the soft green of his eyes.

“That the two of us together can handle anything. After everything we’ve been through…” A soft laugh vibrated in his chest at the memory of all the absurd things they had survived together. “…we’ll manage something as down-to-earth as a baby too, won’t we?”

Sylvie actually laughed - quietly, but genuinely - for the first time in days. “Down-to-earth?” she repeated, amused. “I’ve never heard that word from you before.”

Loki pulled a sheepish face. “Well, they do say you grow with your challenges.” He winked. “Who would’ve thought I’d ever be contemplating something like this?”

Sylvie tilted her head, studying him with mock seriousness. “Oh, I don’t know…” She traced a finger lightly over his chest. “Loki, former prince of Asgard, God of Mischief, and perhaps… future world champion of diaper changes?”

Loki looked scandalized. “I will ignore that,” he said, though he couldn’t quite suppress a grin. “Although-” He let the thought trail off, tipping his head as if pondering deeply. “Perhaps I could use a few spells to ensure the mischief gene manifests… moderately.”

Sylvie laughed and gave him a light pinch in the side. He flinched playfully. The teasing dissolved the last traces of tension between them, leaving behind a gentle, crackling warmth that sparked again between their bodies.

Loki let his hands rest openly on her hips and looked at her with deep affection.

“Seriously,” he said more quietly. “I love you- with or without a child, here or anywhere else in the multiverse, in every imaginable scenario.” He lifted a hand and traced her jawline with his index finger. “I just want you. Everything else… we’ll figure out.”

Sylvie felt her heart lurch at his words. The way he looked at her - so open, so devoted - made her smile shyly. She placed her hand over his and pressed it to her cheek, savoring the warmth and safety of the gesture. “You ridiculous god,” she murmured fondly. “Why do you have to be so damn convincing?”

Loki raised an eyebrow. “Convincing?” He stepped closer, his body brushing hers. “What exactly have I convinced you of?” His breath grazed her face.

Sylvie felt a familiar flutter in her stomach - this time born not of fear, but anticipation. She laid her hands flat against his chest and slowly slid them up to his shoulders. “That we can make this work,” she murmured, her voice now little more than a sensual whisper. “That it’s worth trying - at least.” Her fingers slipped into the hair at the nape of his neck, playing gently with the ends.

Loki swallowed, his gaze dropping briefly to her lips and back again. “It’s worth it,” he confirmed softly. “Every second with you is worth it.”

This time, Sylvie was the one who closed the distance. Rising onto her toes, she caught his mouth with hers. Loki groaned softly into the kiss as her supple body pressed against his. Her touch was different now - still saturated with emotion, but threaded with a growing passion that finally had room to breathe after all that fear.

Loki wrapped his arms firmly around her as their tongues met again in a tender, hungry dance. He tasted her need, her pent-up longing, and it ignited something fierce inside him. Sylvie pulled him closer, clinging to him as if she wanted to draw him into herself. Loki reacted instinctively - his hands slid down to her thighs. Without breaking the kiss, he bent slightly and lifted her smoothly into the air.

A surprised sound escaped Sylvie against his lips - half laugh, half gasp - as she realized he had picked her up. Reflexively, she wrapped her legs around his hips for balance. “Loki!” she breathed, but the way she said his name was no real protest - more a startled giggle cut short as he kissed her again.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured against her mouth as he held her securely. She felt almost weightless in his arms. His supernatural strength made it effortless, and Sylvie couldn’t deny how pleasantly it reminded her of the night on the sofa, when he had drawn her to him with the same decisive ease.

Their noses brushed as Loki broke the kiss briefly to look at her. “I’m carrying you upstairs to the bedroom,” he whispered, his voice dark with desire. “If you don’t mind.”

Sylvie’s cheeks glowed, but she managed a cheeky smile. “Would you stop if I did mind?” she teased softly.

Loki lifted an eyebrow as he started toward the stairs, Sylvie held firmly against him. “Probably not,” he admitted, placing his foot on the first step. “But I thought I’d ask out of politeness.”

Sylvie laughed quietly and buried her face against his neck as he carried her up the stairs. She could feel his pulse there - fast and strong - perfectly matching her own. Being this close to him, without the shadows that had loomed between them moments before, was intoxicating.

With just a few steps, Loki reached the upper floor and their bedroom - a cozy space with a large bed and windows overlooking the dark sea. Moonlight spilled softly through the glass, bathing everything in silver.

Carefully, Loki lowered Sylvie to the floor, just a step from the bed. Their bodies separated for only a heartbeat before she immediately reached for his hand, as if afraid he might disappear. But Loki was right there. He placed both hands on her hips and studied her closely.

In the dim light, he saw her pale hair falling in soft waves over her shoulders, her loose top slipping to reveal a strip of skin at her collarbone. Her lips were flushed from their kisses, her eyes glowing - uncertain, but full of love.

“Are you sure?” Loki asked quietly. He lifted a hand and brushed a finger gently over her lower lip, emphasizing what he meant. “That you want this now… me… us… this moment?” There was infinite care in his tone. Despite his own desire, he would do nothing she didn’t truly want - especially after everything she’d been through.

Sylvie’s answer was a slow, tender smile. She took his hand from her lip and guided it to her cheek, leaning into his palm. “I’m sure,” she whispered. Her eyes were still moist, but her voice was steady and clear. “I want this… you… us.” She stepped a tiny bit closer until their bodies touched again. “I want this moment.”

Loki exhaled deeply, as though he’d been holding his breath for exactly that reassurance. He bent his head and kissed her softly - so gentle it was almost chaste, yet full of reverence. Sylvie returned the kiss, her heart threatening to overflow with love. In it lay a promise: fear turning into hope.

Carefully, Loki began to slip her top from her shoulder. He paused, looking at her for confirmation. Sylvie nodded slightly and helped him draw the loose fabric over her head. It rustled to the floor. Beneath it, she wore only a simple cream-colored bra, and Loki couldn’t help but simply stare at her for a moment. She was breathtaking in the moonlight - the soft curves of her body, the faint scars and marks of a hard-lived life on her skin, every part of her telling a story. And yet she was wholly his Sylvie now - soft, open, real.

A flicker of shyness rose in Sylvie at his gaze, but she pushed it aside by reaching for him instead, beginning to undo his clothes. She deftly opened the buttons of his shirt and slid the dark fabric from his shoulders.

Loki shivered under her touch - not from cold, but from longing. When his shirt fell away, Sylvie slowly traced her fingers over his chest. Loki drew in a sharp breath at her gentle exploration; her fingertips burned paths of light across his skin.

He could no longer restrain himself. He wrapped an arm tenderly around her waist, lifting her chin with the other hand to bare her throat. Lowering his head, he pressed a soft kiss to the side of her neck. Sylvie let her eyelids fall and exhaled with yearning. Loki felt her hands dig into his bare back, sliding lower, urging him closer.

“Sylvie…” he murmured against her skin, his breath hot at the hollow of her neck. He kissed downward - small, careful kisses along her collarbones to the center of her chest. There he paused, looking up at her, his lips still against her skin. Sylvie opened her eyes and looked down at him, stroking gently through his dark hair.

Her outline blurred slightly before his eyes - was it lingering tears, or just moonlight? Loki didn’t know. He only knew he wanted to love her as gently as she deserved.

Slowly, his hands moved to her back. With deft fingers, he unclasped her bra. Sylvie inhaled deeply but stayed still, letting him. The bra loosened, and Loki slid the straps down her arms until the fabric fell away and she stood bare before him.

For a moment, he simply looked at her in awe. Her breasts rose and fell with her breathing, the tips already firm in the cool air. Silver moonlight caressed her silhouette. Sylvie felt his gaze and, instead of hiding, lifted her chin slightly. A trace of shyness mingled with her usual pride, but the love in Loki’s eyes steadied her.

Loki placed his hands gently on her waist and drew her against him. Their bare torsos touched - skin to skin - sending a shiver of pleasure through them both. Sylvie wrapped her arms around his shoulders, savoring the warmth of him for a moment.

Desire soon urged them onward. Loki lowered his head again, covering one of her breasts with soft kisses. A quiet sound of surprise and pleasure escaped Sylvie as she felt his lips on sensitive skin. When Loki teased one of her hardened nipples with his tongue, she gasped, her fingers digging deeper into his shoulders as a warm wave rushed through her body.

“Loki…” she breathed, unable to say more. His name held everything - plea, encouragement, love.

He understood. His hand moved lower, brushing over the waistband of her trousers. Without lifting his mouth from her, he began to unfasten them. Sylvie’s breathing quickened; she freed one hand from his hair to help him impatiently. Together they slid the trousers down her hips, letting them fall to the floor. She stepped out of them, left wearing only a tiny slip.

Loki straightened and immediately wrapped both arms around her, warming her newfound bareness with his body. He kissed her more hungrily now, passion flaring higher. Sylvie met him just as fiercely, her tongue seeking his, her teeth grazing his lower lip.

Meanwhile, her hands explored blindly at his waistband. Loki understood the unspoken request and helped her with unsteady fingers, loosening buckles and buttons. It didn’t take long before his trousers lay on the floor as well, leaving him clad only in black boxer briefs that barely concealed his arousal.

Sylvie felt the hard, warm pulse against her lower abdomen as he pressed into her again, sparking wild heat deep inside her. Still, she hesitated for a heartbeat when her fingers reached the waistband of his briefs - a last trace of caution, or perhaps shyness.

Loki noticed immediately. He broke the kiss and looked at her with quiet concern.

“Are you all right?” he whispered, lifting a hand to brush a loose strand of hair from her face. Tear-streaked, flushed, her lips swollen from kissing - Loki found her utterly irresistible.

Sylvie nodded, her pupils dark and wide with desire. “Yes,” she breathed. “I… want you.” With those words, she hooked her fingers into the waistband of his briefs and tugged gently.

Loki closed his eyes and sighed softly as she undressed him further. He helped her, until the last barrier fell away and nothing stood between them but a breath of air.

For a heartbeat, they stood naked before each other - close, and yet shy again, like the first time. Loki felt overwhelmed by the intimacy and trust it represented. He remembered clearly how they had first seen each other like this -only days ago, two lost souls seeking solace in each other’s bodies. But tonight was different. Tonight carried a promise.

Loki bent and lifted Sylvie carefully beneath her thighs, laying her back onto the bed. Soft blankets and pillows caught her, framing her like a picture. Sylvie let herself be guided, weightless beneath his hands. Loki climbed onto the mattress immediately after, moving toward her without ever breaking contact.

Sylvie lay on her back now, Loki half-supported above her. His knee slid gently between her legs, parting them slightly. Her breath quickened at the intimacy, but there was no resistance in her - only pure, trusting desire.

Loki propped himself on one elbow beside her shoulder. With his free hand, he traced a slow path down her side - from her arm, over the curve of her breast, across her flat stomach to the edge of the tiny slip that remained. He toyed lightly with the elastic, looking to her for permission, his breath heavy.

She lifted her hips a little - a silent yes - and Loki carefully drew the last piece of fabric down her thighs and knees until it was gone. Sylvie shuddered as cool air touched her most sensitive skin, but the chill was instantly chased away by the heat of Loki’s gaze as he took in her fully bared body.

A deep flush spread across Sylvie’s cheeks, but she held his gaze. “Don’t say anything stupid now,” she murmured with faint, teasing severity when she noticed his captivated expression.

Loki chuckled softly. “How could I, when I seem to be entirely out of words?” he replied gently. He wanted to tell her how beautiful she was, but sensed she could handle humor better than grand declarations. Still, his eyes spoke for him - warm and filled with quiet admiration.

To show it, he leaned down and continued where he’d left off. His hand slid lower, caressing the soft skin of her inner thighs with cautious fingers. Sylvie inhaled shakily, her fingers clutching the sheets as if she needed grounding to keep from floating away.

Loki paused and lifted his head. “Tell me if I should… stop, or slow down,” he whispered, his voice full of tenderness and care.

Sylvie shook her head at once. “Please don’t stop…” she asked almost shyly, and her honesty only stoked the fire in Loki’s chest.

So he gave her what she asked for. With slow, circular motions, he explored her, letting his fingers glide carefully deeper. Sylvie gasped softly when he felt her warmth - she was ready for him, but he refused to rush. Instead, he traced gentle paths over the sensitive bundle at her center, watching every reaction on her face. Sylvie moaned softly and arched slightly from the bed; the sound was music to him.

He continued to caress her with skilled yet loving movements, feeling her thighs tense now and then, her toes curling in the sheets as wave after wave of pleasure rolled through her. Her head tipped back into the pillow, and she breathed his name into the darkness as if it were a prayer. “Loki… please…”

Her plea nearly undid him. His own body burned with need - hard as stone, aching to be part of her. Still, he held himself back; right now, all that mattered was preparing her for the moment, savoring her.

He slowly withdrew his hand and leaned down to kiss her again - hot, demanding. Sylvie tasted her own salt on his lips, but nothing else mattered. She was sensation now, nothing but sensation. Her hands roamed restlessly over his body, exploring the strong muscles of his back, the elegant curve of his waist, then lower still.

Finally, she wrapped a trembling hand around him, touching his hardness where it pulsed against her lower belly. Loki growled roughly into her mouth at the contact, drawing a triumphant smile from Sylvie. She loved the way he reacted to her - how vulnerable he was even in his desire.

“Sylvie…” Loki tore himself from the kiss and rested his forehead against hers, forcing himself to breathe for a moment. “If you keep doing that…” He left the sentence unfinished, but Sylvie understood. Her soft laugh was like sweet nectar.

She released him and wrapped her arms around him again, pulling him closer. “I want you inside me,” she whispered breathlessly into his ear, all hesitation gone. “Please, Loki…”

Loki positioned himself at her entrance. Despite the fierce desire coursing through him, he paused and looked Sylvie seriously in the eyes, trembling as he held himself back. “We… don’t have any protection,” he managed breathlessly. “If you want to-” He didn’t need to finish the thought; Sylvie understood him immediately.

For a moment, something flickered in her eyes - a final chance to choose caution. Then she slowly shook her head. Her fingers stroked soothingly over the nape of his neck. “It’s okay, Loki,” she whispered firmly, her voice both gentle and full of trust. “I want you - completely. With everything that comes with it.”

Loki’s heart leapt. He searched her gaze one last time for doubt but found none. Only love and surrender. He nodded carefully and kissed her deeply as he finally crossed her last boundary.

Then, slowly and tenderly, Loki entered her. They both moaned softly into the kiss as they became one. Sylvie tipped her head back and swallowed, her body adjusting to him. There was a slight pull - time had passed, but the sensitivity of the moment made her more receptive. Loki stilled, only halfway inside her.

“Are you okay?” he breathed, every muscle taut as he fought the urge to thrust. The heat and tightness surrounding him were overwhelming, but her comfort mattered more than anything.

Sylvie bit her lip and nodded. “Yes…” She wrapped her legs more tightly around his hips, inviting him deeper. Loki obeyed, pushing further until he was fully inside her. They both breathed heavily at the intimacy of their connection, staying still for a moment just to savor it - the pulsing of their joined bodies, the sensation of being completely one.

Tears shimmered once more at the corners of Sylvie’s eyes, but this time they came from raw sensation, not pain. Loki kissed her softly, catching one of those tears with his lips. Then he began to move - slowly at first, almost hesitant, careful not to overwhelm her.

Sylvie placed her hands on his back, feeling the smooth motion of his muscles beneath her fingers. A hoarse gasp escaped her as he drew back and slid gently into her again. It felt as though they were learning each other all over again - this time without barriers.

Gradually, Loki found a rhythm, and Sylvie began to meet him with her hips. It was like a dance only the two of them knew - sometimes tender and quiet, sometimes more urgent and intense as desire carried them away. Every thrust was a wordless declaration of love, every whispered name and moaned breath a promise.

“Sylvie… my Sylvie…” Loki murmured her name again and again, into her neck, against her ear, as if he could never say it enough.

Sylvie could barely respond; she was overwhelmed by everything he stirred in her. Instead, she showed him - offering herself fully, her nails gliding over his back in gentle, desperate holds, not scratching in aggression but clinging softly, afraid to let go. Her legs locked more tightly around him, wanting to feel him even deeper.

The room filled with the quiet, wet sounds of their lovemaking, mingled with occasional moans and the rustle of sheets. Outside, the waves broke softly against the cliffs, but neither of them noticed. They were trapped in their own universe of passion.

Loki felt something tightening inside him, a charged energy building low in his body. He didn’t want to yet - tried to hold back - but when he looked down at Sylvie beneath him, eyes closed, meeting every thrust with flushed eagerness, color spreading down her chest, his restraint nearly shattered.

He lifted one hand from her shoulder and guided it gently between their bodies, finding her sensitive point where they were joined. With his thumb, he began to stroke her in time. Sylvie’s eyes flew open, and a startled, pleasure-filled cry broke from her lips. Her entire body reacted, arching up toward him.

“Oh gods… Loki…!” she sounded almost desperately breathless. He could feel her beginning to tremble inside, her muscles tightening and releasing around him - the onset of her climax.

“Come for me,” he whispered hoarsely, his own voice barely recognizable with arousal. “I’ve got you… just let go, my love…”

Those words - his deep, rough voice in her ear - undid her. Sylvie felt a wave of ecstasy rise from deep within her, growing and growing until it finally crashed over her. She clung to him, to his shoulders, her nails digging into his skin as though she’d be swept away if she let go.

As her orgasm hit her full force, a sob tore from her as well, mingled with the most beautiful words Loki had ever heard from her lips: “I love you…” It came as a breathless whisper, almost inaudible, but Loki heard it - clear and thunderous in his heart.

It was too much - those words, her body pulsing around him in sensual ecstasy, her face glowing in the moonlight. Loki gave in. With a final deep groan that shook his entire body, he followed her over the edge into bliss. His grip tightened around her as though he might shatter and be reborn with her. Wave after wave of intense pleasure carried him away as he spilled himself deep inside her, filling her with everything he could give.

They remained trembling together until the last aftershocks faded. Loki felt his heart racing as though after a freefall, sweat beading on his forehead. Carefully, he rolled to the side, drawing Sylvie with him so they didn’t separate, staying tightly entwined.

Sylvie breathed in short bursts, her face buried against his neck. She felt exhausted and more alive than ever. Her body still vibrated with the echo of her climax, but stronger still was the echo of her own words: I love you. She had said it - truly said it.

Slowly, she lifted her head and searched Loki’s face. He looked at her, his eyes soft with happiness and a trace of disbelief. “Did you… just…?” He was still out of breath, unable to finish the sentence.

But Sylvie knew what he meant. And she regretted nothing. A gentle, exhausted smile curved her lips. “Yes,” she whispered, her fingers caressing his cheek where faint tear tracks still glimmered. “I love you, Loki.”

He closed his eyes, as if absorbing the moment, storing it forever inside himself. A soft laugh - full of joy and emotion - vibrated in his chest. “Say it again,” he murmured, echoing the words she had once asked of him.

Sylvie leaned in and kissed him tenderly. Then, close to his lips, she repeated softly and clearly, “I love you, you idiot.”

Loki didn’t answer - instead, he kissed her, a deep, lingering kiss full of tenderness that expressed everything words could not.

Carefully, Loki eventually withdrew from her. They both moaned softly at the loss of closeness, but it was necessary so they could settle more comfortably. Loki pulled the blanket up over them both so the night air wouldn’t chill them. He lay on his back, and Sylvie nestled against his side, her head resting on his shoulder. One of his arms wrapped firmly around her, his fingers gently playing with strands of her hair.

A pleasant weariness settled over them - not unpleasant, but the exhaustion that followed deep emotion and physical closeness, like a warm trance.

Minutes passed in peaceful silence. Sylvie peeked at Loki through half-closed lids. His eyes were shut, his breathing calm, as though he might already be drifting toward sleep. A faint smile played on his lips - a sight that made her heart swell.

She wanted to freeze this moment and keep it forever. Yet one thought still nagged at her, refusing to let go. Loki noticed, of course, and slowly opened his eyes to look at her.

“Do you want to talk?” he asked softly, almost whispering.

Sylvie took a deep breath, her shoulders trembling slightly beneath his hand. “I don’t know,” she murmured, unsure where to begin. Shame tried to creep in - shame over the thoughts tormenting her - but Loki stayed patient, rubbing gentle circles on her back, waiting for her to find her words.

“I don’t know if I can do this… if I’m even meant to be a mother. My whole life I’ve been on the run, hiding in apocalypses… I never had a real home, never anyone to show me what family even looks like.”

Loki was silent for a moment. He knew Sylvie had never had a normal life - taken by the TVA as a child, hunted through time. Family, safety - those were foreign concepts to her. Slowly, his hand slid from her back down her arm and gently enclosed her trembling hand. “I understand you, Sylvie,” he said quietly. “I feel the same way. I never imagined myself…” He paused, a faint smile touching his lips. “…possibly becoming a father someday.” The word father felt new on his tongue, as though he’d never truly allowed himself to consider it.

Sylvie looked at him intently now. There was no mockery or rejection in his face - only thoughtful softness. “So it scared you too?” she asked hesitantly.

“Surprised me, definitely,” Loki replied, his lips twitching as if he might smile, though he kept his expression serious. “Fear… maybe a little. But not the way you think.”

Sylvie frowned. “Not the way I think?”

Loki lifted his free hand and brushed a stubborn strand of hair behind her ear, holding her gaze. “I’m less afraid of a child,” he explained gently, “than of how you might feel about it… that you might end up hating me for it.”

Sylvie’s eyes widened. “Hate you? Why would I ever hate you?”

A quiet, uncertain laugh slipped from Loki. “Well, I wouldn’t exactly be innocent in the matter, would I?” He winked, clearly trying to lighten the weight of the topic. “I am known as the God of Mischief. Causing unintended chaos is practically my trademark.”

Sylvie snorted despite herself. The unexpected humor pulled a small smile onto her face, and Loki felt relief as her tension eased a little. She nudged him playfully with her elbow. “You idiot,” she murmured warmly, “you always have to make everything ridiculous.”

“Not everything,” Loki replied with mock offense, then placed a hand over his heart. “Only the truly terrifying things. Humor is my armor - you know that.” His expression softened again. “But seriously, Sylvie… the idea that there might be a little Loki or a little Sylvie growing inside you - at first, it overwhelmed me. But then I thought about what it would really mean.” He paused, searching for the right words. “A part of me - of both of us - living on. Someone who might not have to repeat all the mistakes we made. Someone we could guide together…”

Sylvie listened, barely breathing. Her heart skipped when he said a part of us. She felt her eyes begin to burn.

Loki swallowed, hiding his own nervousness. “What I’m trying to say is… the idea frightens me less than it probably should.”

“But…” Sylvie began after a moment, hesitantly, “what about the consequences?”

He looked at her, puzzled. “Consequences?”

She shifted slightly so she could face him directly. “What if…” She broke off, searching for words. “What if a child like ours triggers something? Something bad? Or what if…” - she lowered her gaze, embarrassed - “what if the child itself isn’t… normal?”

The moment she said it, shame washed over her. What did normal even mean? Were either of them normal? Certainly not. And who could know what a child of two Loki variants might inherit - magic, Frost Giant traits, chaos… or something entirely unpredictable? Would their child be healthy, happy, with parents like them?

Loki slipped two fingers beneath her chin and gently lifted her face until she looked at him again. His expression was firm and tender all at once. “Sylvie, listen to me,” he said earnestly. “Normal is wildly overrated for people like us, don’t you think?” One corner of his mouth curved into a small smile, his green eyes glinting. “Neither of us is normal. Why should our child have to be?”

Sylvie felt another layer of tension fall away. “I…” she started, but Loki wasn’t finished.

“And as for consequences,” he continued calmly, “who exactly would impose them? The TVA? They don’t exist the way they used to. The timelines are branching in every possible direction anyway. We live our lives - not some schedule forced on us.” His voice grew unusually soft, almost fragile, with the next words. “Maybe… all that chaos was necessary so we could even find each other. So something like this” - he placed his hand gently over Sylvie’s flat belly - “could even be possible.”

Sylvie instinctively placed her own hand over his. She felt the warmth of his palm and a small, hot flutter stirred inside her - fear and hope intertwined. “Do you really think so?” she whispered.

Loki nodded without hesitation. “I do.” He met her gaze, and Sylvie saw a level of openness and honesty she rarely had.

“Sylvie, if there’s one thing I’ve learned through all this madness, it’s that we have to make our own choices. And that I…” He paused, as if only now fully realizing what he meant to say. “That I love you. More than anything. And if a child were to come from that love, it wouldn’t be a curse - it would be a miracle. Something I would welcome with my whole heart.”

Silence settled between them, filled only by the soft sound of their breathing. Sylvie searched his face for doubt, for hesitation - but found none. Loki had truly said it: he loved her, and he would see a child with her as a miracle.

Her throat tightened, and for a moment she couldn’t speak. Finally, she whispered almost soundlessly, “I love you too.” It felt like a key turning in a lock - something she had long known, but barely dared to say.

Loki broke into a broad smile, glowing with unrestrained joy. Then he tilted his head and looked at her with playful severity. “So, just so I’m clear… you don’t hate me?”

Sylvie laughed softly, a bright, almost disbelieving sound at his teasing. “No, you fool,” she said, shaking her head with a smile. “How could I?”

“Good.” Loki sighed dramatically. “That would’ve been terribly inconvenient, now that I’ve finally confessed my feelings.”

Sylvie laughed again and kissed him softly, then rested her forehead against his. “I want you,” she whispered. “Again.”

Loki closed his eyes for a moment, overwhelmed by the closeness and meaning of her words. Carefully, he placed his hands on her waist and drew her gently closer. A mischievous smile touched his lips as he murmured teasingly, “You know, I’ve heard that most parents at least pretend to have a plan before conceiving their first child.”

Sylvie giggled quietly, fingers sliding through his black hair. “Oh really? And do we have a plan?”

Loki pretended to consider, then kissed the tip of her nose. “My plan right now is improvisation,” he murmured with a grin. “That’s our specialty, isn’t it?”

“Improvisation and chaos - sounds fitting for us,” Sylvie agreed with a smile. The last of her tension finally ebbed away, soothed by the tender familiarity between them.

And so they made love once more that night - slowly, deeply, with open eyes and open hearts. Every kiss, every touch was conscious now, shaped by the knowledge that they had chosen this together, despite all fear. Sylvie felt in every moment that Loki was truly with her - mind and body - and that they now shared this risk. Her fear didn’t vanish completely, but it faded into the background, eclipsed by warmth, desire, and profound love.

Afterward, Sylvie lay curled against Loki, her breathing gradually calming. Loki drew the blanket over them both and pressed a kiss to her temple. A gentle silence settled over the room, broken only by their breathing and the soft sounds of the world outside.

Sylvie’s thoughts drifted lazily - tired, content, still marveling at what she had allowed herself. She had chosen consciously, despite fear, and now she felt… right. Still uncertain, yes - but also safe.

Loki seemed to sense her thoughts and held her a little tighter, whispering, “Everything okay?”

Sylvie nodded, rubbing her head lightly against his chest. “Yes,” she answered softly. “More than that.” She lifted her gaze to find his eyes in the darkness. “Thank you for… well, for being so patient with me.”

Loki met her look with affection. “Thank you for trusting me,” he replied gently. Then a mischievous glint appeared in his eyes. “Although… my patience wasn’t entirely selfless. I did benefit quite a bit from it.”

Sylvie laughed and bumped her shoulder against his. “You’re such an idiot.”

“Me?” Loki put on an innocent expression.

She snuggled closer, and for several minutes they simply lay there, enjoying each other’s presence. Sylvie felt pleasantly drowsy, her eyelids growing heavy. Perhaps she would finally sleep well tonight, without restless thoughts tormenting her.

Just as she began to drift, she felt Loki move softly. He tugged the blanket down slightly, exposing her lower belly, and she felt cool air brush her skin. Startled, she cracked her eyes open. “What are you-?” she meant to ask, but the words caught in her throat as she felt Loki bend down.

Carefully, he rested his head on her belly, his black hair tickling her bare skin. Sylvie held her breath instinctively. Loki lay there, his face nestled against her still slightly damp skin, one arm wrapped around her hips as though guarding her - and something within her.

A sudden lump formed in Sylvie’s throat. “Loki…?” she whispered uncertainly. This was a gesture she hadn’t expected - intimate in an entirely different way.

Loki lifted one hand and placed a finger to his lips, asking for silence. Then he spoke - not to her, but to her belly. “Hello there,” he said softly, in a loving, almost playful voice Sylvie had never heard from him before. “If you’re there - which we don’t know yet - but if you are…” He paused as if listening for an answer, and Sylvie’s heart pounded in her chest. “…then I want you to know that your mommy is the most incredible woman in all timelines.”

Heat rushed to Sylvie’s face. “Loki…!” she blurted out, embarrassed and stunned, but Loki only lifted his hand soothingly without moving from his place. His head remained nestled against her belly, and she could feel his words vibrate gently against her skin as he continued.

“She is strong,” Loki whispered tenderly, his hand stroking her belly with affection, “and brave. She fought for herself when the whole world was against her. And yet she kept a heart - softer and bigger than she’ll ever admit.”

Sylvie couldn’t speak. Part of her wanted to protest, to tell him to stop because it embarrassed her so deeply - but a much larger part of her was utterly overwhelmed and moved. So she stayed silent, biting her lip lightly to contain the emotional tremor inside her. Her hand had slid almost unconsciously into Loki’s hair, her fingers now curling gently into one of his dark strands as if she needed something to hold on to.

Loki smiled against her skin and went on quietly. “You know, little possible something, your mother saved my life - more times than I can count. She showed me who I truly could be, beyond all expectations and rules. She…” His voice broke for a moment, and Sylvie felt something warm on her stomach - a tear slipping from Loki’s cheek. “She is the love of my life,” he whispered at last, the faint tremor in his voice unmistakable. “You need to know that from the very beginning.”

Sylvie could no longer hold back her own tears. They rose hot in her eyes, and one slipped free, rolling from her temple into the pillow. It was almost too much - too much happiness, too much tenderness, too much everything. And yet she didn’t want to miss a single second of it. She slipped her hand under Loki’s chin and gently drew his face upward so he had to look at her. His eyes gleamed just as suspiciously in the darkness.

“You’re incredible,” Sylvie managed hoarsely, brushing a tear from his cheek with her thumb.

Loki pressed a kiss into her palm. “Coming from the right person,” he teased softly, then crawled back up until they lay face to face again.

Sylvie turned onto her side so they faced each other, only inches apart. Both had damp eyes, both wore uncertain but happy smiles. Sylvie felt weightless and grounded at once. “So… you’d really be happy?” she asked quietly, needing that last reassurance. “If I… if we…” She couldn’t help the shy smile that crept in at the thought - but now there was warmth there, too.

Loki lifted his hand, ran his fingers along her forearm, then placed it over her belly again and left it there. “I really would,” he confirmed just as softly. “Now, later, or someday - if a little being with your nose and my fondness for mischief ever shows up, I’d be the happiest god in all the realms.” A roguish glint sparkled in his eyes. “Especially since I’d finally have someone to tell all my embarrassing Thor stories to.”

Sylvie laughed quietly and shook her head. “You’re going to be unbearable as a daddy - you know that, right?”

“Oh please.” Loki grinned. “I’ll be fantastic. Unbearably fantastic.”

A warm smile settled on Sylvie’s lips as she closed her eyes and pressed herself against him, listening to the steady beat of his heart. “We’ll see… maybe… one day,” she murmured sleepily.

“One day,” Loki echoed softly. He wrapped both arms around her and pulled her close until no space remained between them - as if he could shield her from all the uncertainties of the future with that embrace alone.

Sylvie finally felt calm. She still wasn’t entirely sure what the coming days might bring, or whether she was truly ready for what might lie ahead. But she knew now that she wasn’t alone with this fear or this possibility. Loki was at her side, no matter what happened. And together, they could face any consequence.

With that certainty, Sylvie drifted off to sleep at last, safe in the arms of the god who had stolen her heart.

Loki stayed awake a little longer, watching her relaxed face in the dim light. Tenderly, he pressed one last kiss to her forehead.

“Good night, my love,” he whispered, though she no longer heard him.

His gaze drifted once more to Sylvie’s belly, where new life might someday grow - or perhaps not, which in that moment mattered little. What mattered was their shared choice and the love between them. And with that knowledge, Loki finally closed his eyes too, a soft smile on his lips, ready to face the morning - together with her.

[TBC]