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Palming the sockets of your eyes, you let out a deep sigh and look out towards the window, watching as the threat of flames moves closer towards the diner.
“It’s getting worse,” you say, eyes locked upon it, your gaze unable to move away from the pillowing smoke as it continues to grow thicker, it’s darkening blanket marking a path towards you.
From behind the counter, Loki distractedly hums in agreement as he wanders around the space, searching for what you can only assume to be tea and cookies —a staple in his everyday diet, therefore something he can hardly live without.
“Do you want help?” Forcing yourself to look away, you watch Loki’s body dip beneath the counter for a moment, prompting you to narrow your eyes and awkwardly stand, calling out his name until —almost comically— he shoots upwards a couple of seconds after, a huge grin plastered across his face as he holds up a box of digestives and a mug.
“Any luck on the tea?”
Placing his newly found treasures on the counter in front of him, Loki shakes his head before turning on his heel. “Not yet.”
“Maybe the back room has some,” you suggest, and without protest he wanders towards it, aggressively pushing open the swinging door that covers the entrance.
Somehow, despite the impending doom you feel rising throughout your chest, you manage to laugh at this; shaking your head as you sit down and cross your arms over your chest, listening to the way he loudly roots through the backroom.
Overall, he sounds like a crazed animal in search of his last meal —a comparison that really isn’t far off considering the state you’re in thanks to both the fire and the TVA quite literally hot on your trail.
“Apparently, it’s our lucky day.” Emerging through the doorway not long after, Loki shakes around a loose tea bag as he practically skips towards the sink, making sure to grab the mug and snacks on his way before filling up the vessel with water and bounding over to the booth.
Once there, he tosses the digestives your way, resting the lone mug between the two of you as he waves his hand over it, prompting his sedir to heat up the porcelain to the perfect temperature. “I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of that trick,” you say.
Loki snorts and reaches for the box of cookies, taking out two before leaning back in his seat. “Yes, well, enjoy it while it lasts. It’ll probably be the last time you get to.”
Yes, the last time, you tell yourself, trying not to frown as you take the mug in your hand. It’s warm against your skin, but not as comforting as it normally is whenever you find yourself in these kinds of moments —moments where the end is near and you’re backed against the wall.
Most of the time, you always have some sort of a plan at the back of your mind; a form of escape that tends to develop in these moments of solitude.
Usually there’s a calmness that washes over you, enveloping you in a peaceful mindset.
This time though, there’s none of that —no comfortable ease that settles between your thoughts and his.
No, instead there’s panic and regret and the constant question of what if that lingers as you shakily raise the mug to your lips, ignoring the way that Loki looks at you as if you’ve just broken into a million pieces right in front of him.
Because to him, you look like shattered glass; your usual hardened exterior blown out to reveal the softer parts of you he hardly ever sees. Inside, you’re all fragile flesh and raw blood —same as him, yet totally different; tender in a way that he isn’t. Somehow, you’re not as tainted by the world around you as he is. Not as careless and ignorant to the end of the line.
Like him, you’ve seen the end of your rope a thousand times —have clutched it tightly and pulled yourself up each chance you’ve been given, but you’ve never experienced letting go like he has. You’ve never died like him —never felt your soul rip itself from your body.
Like him you’ve experienced all the lead up, but never the actual end. A realization that hurts, because he knows now that he has to witness your first time.
“I could be polite and ask how you’re doing,” he sighs, filling the silence that steeps alongside the tea you swiftly offer him. “But I can already tell it’s not great.”
“No, it’s not.”
Lifting the mug to his lips, Loki inhales, feeling the earthy aromas of your shared drink hit the back of his throat, prompting him to nervously swallow.
At this point he isn’t really sure what to say, because out of everything all he really wants to do is help you —to caress your wounds in the form of lies; telling you that everything’s going to be okay, even though it certainly isn’t. In this moment, he wants to drape you in falsehood —to hide away the inevitable truth so that you can take these next few moments to just breathe instead of fear.
Because Loki knows what fear can do to a person, and how it can take even the bravest of creatures and turn them inside out to reveal their deepest insecurities. At this point, fear is all that he knows —how he experiences every day, constantly looking over his shoulder. It’s a feeling written boldly in his DNA; a constant reminder that safety is a concept he’ll never have the privilege of owning, and now neither will you.
You, the one person who trusted him in a time of need —his one true companion in the mess of all this.
Loki drops the mug on the table and abruptly stands, moving his gaze from your frame to the window to see the wavering flames, sucking in a breath once he sees a flash of red bounce from the treetops to a nearby house.
Already, it’s arriving, causing him to bite his lip, because naively he thought you had more time.
Usually, you have all the time in the world, you and him.
“I suppose this is the end then, huh, darling?”
Fighting back tears, you look up to see him smile, prompting you to press your lips together and force out a grin of your own, hoping that maybe faking it will make things better. “Yeah, I guess so.”
Loki chuckles then, a soft broken one that fills your ears like molten lava, burning them from the inside out.
It’s hurts to listen to, because as it happens all you can imagine is the kind of laugh you could’ve had if life had been kinder. For example, maybe perhaps, instead of this, you two could’ve been laughing on some beach somewhere, drinking liquor out of coconuts like disgustingly, obnoxious vacationers. Maybe, you could’ve been drunk and sun kissed; all of your cares in the world evaporating like the ocean water on your skin, leaving little room for thoughts of death and destruction.
Maybe there, in that timeline, you could’ve been happy.
“For what it’s worth, I had fun,” he says, causing you to swallow hard and nod; unable to form the right response, because there really isn’t one, is there?
At this point there’s no right answer for life’s greatest ending —no well developed tactic meant to submerge the emotions that bubble up inside your chest as you sit there, frozen in fear, staring at the one person you wish you could save.
Because all there is is a doorway —a one way exit that both of you have to take alone, and all it does is fucking hurt as you watch him silently slide in the booth next to you, pulling you against his chest.
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”
Around you, Loki releases a cry in the form of continuous apologies and chaste kisses that line your temple as he rocks you back and forth, desperate to shield you from the dread he feels forming amongst the two of you and your last cup of tea.
“I thought we’d find a way,” you say, feeling his lips make one final press against your skin before ultimately pulling away, leaving you wanting more.
“As did I.”
“I just —I don’t get it, Lokes, we always find a way, don’t we?”
Your words come out in a broken sob that rips through Loki like the very dagger inside his pocket, prompting him to blink and sniff and do whatever he can to avoid the threat of tears as he reaches for the mug in front of you and pushes it into your hand.
“Yes, darling, we do. We always do,” he says, watching the way you softly raise your head to look at him with tear stained eyes filled with worry.
“Not this time, I don’t think.”
For a moment he pauses to collect the weight of your words, knowing deep down that you’re undeniably right. The two of you have finished your journey; you’re on the last page of the novel now, and unfortunately for both of you, your narratives happen to match completely in the form of an end neither of you can control.
“I’ll find a way, I promise.”
It’s the first lie he’s told you in a long time, and the first one you believe as you flash him a final smile and reach to grab his face, trailing your fingers across the bones of his cheek.
“Of course you will. You always do, right?” you lie back, watching as his lips turn upwards.
It’s the first time his smile is genuine —loud and full of teeth and tongue, causing your heart to swell as big as the fire outside as you cuddle back into his chest and close your eyes, feeling his fingers run through your roots and his sedir begin to blanket your consciousness.