Chapter Text
Mobius walks the same route home every day.
Sometimes he regrets walking, on days like today, when the sky has decided to open up like a giant chasm and dump cold rain on him. He hurries along, tucked under a navy blue umbrella, keeping his bag close to his chest and trying to keep his jacket and tweed pants dry. His shoes are beyond help as the puddles soak through to his socks, but he doesn’t like feeling so heavily weighed down.
He passes the same row of evergreen shrubs along his right side, right before he turns onto his street, but today something is different. One of the bushes is rustling. That on its own isn’t too odd, sometimes squirrels or other rodents dig beneath them, but in addition to the rustling–
“Mmreoooww,” a tiny voice whines.
Mobius stops in his tracks, his eyes falling to the bushes, a frown on his face.
Even over the pounding of the rain and the low rumble of thunder, Mobius can hear the tiny, almost suppressed whimpers coming from within the bush.
He crouches down, peering inside the best he can in the dull, dark gray atmosphere, and catches sight of two bright eyes.
They’re almost the bright yellow shade he’d expect from a cat, but with a twinge of emerald green. What a unique little guy. The cat's fur is a sleek raven black, some of it wet and a bit matted or covered in bits of leaves.
Mobius gently holds out a hand, his goal of keeping himself dry abandoned. “Hey there,” he murmurs.
The cat’s ears twitch and fold back slightly, fully on guard. He lets out a tiny hiss, more like an uncertain warning than a threat.
“It’s okay. I know you’re probably scared and uncomfortable. I know you don’t know me, but I can help you,” Mobius says softly. He’s not sure why he’s talking so eloquently to a cat when it would be just as effective to make soothing noises, but he supposes he’s used to working with his kids at school. Who says a cat doesn’t need reassurance?
The cat steps forward slightly, pausing when his nose sticks out of the leaves, his face a few inches from Mobius’ outstretched fingers.
“That’s right. You can come out. If you don’t want to stay wet, I can take you to my house. We can find out if you have an owner once it’s dry outside, yeah?”
The cat hums out a tiny meow. He considers Mobius for another long moment, his eyes flickering up and down Mobius’ form, and then darts out from the bushes to find a spot under Mobius’ umbrella.
“Nice to see you fully, little guy,” Mobius croons. The cat is practically squished against his shoe, and he lets out another small meow.
“Now, if you let me hold you, I can get you home quicker. That okay?” Mobius asks, moving his arm as if he were going to scoop up the cat but without actually touching him. He looks at the cat and waits for a signal. The cat looks up at him, seeming a tad scrutinizing, but bumps his body against Mobius’ hand, which Mobius takes as a positive. He gathers him up in one arm and awkwardly moves to tuck him in his jacket a bit to keep him warm. The cat’s face peers up at him and he gives him a soft smile as he hurries around the corner towards his house.
He leaves his umbrella and wet jacket in his front entrance to be dealt with later, and he lets out a sigh when he is finally able to relax after speed walking down the road.
His house is a small two-bedroom bungalow with a bit of a cottage style, mostly due to it coming that way when he moved in. He doesn’t worry much about his décor, anything he does like watching TV or working in his office makes him feel in the zone, so he doesn’t care about his surroundings.
He sets the cat down on his entryway rug and starts to walk towards the closet with his washer and dryer. He is for once glad he didn’t put away his laundry the night before so he has a dryer full of unfolded towels to use. He pulls out the largest one, a sage green one he’s had for longer than he can remember, and returns to the cat in his doorway, who is shaking himself off and stretching across the plush rug.
“Hey, bud, c’mere,” Mobius says, approaching the cat with the open towel. He sees the cat eye him oddly again, but he’s sure the little dude is just overwhelmed and probably pretty chilly.
He rubs the towel along the cat’s soft fur, trying to dry him as quickly as possible. By the end, he looks a bit like a puffball, so Mobius strokes his hand across his fur to try smoothing it down, which is only minimally successful. The cat twitches slightly under his touch at first, but as Mobius settles into a seated position on the rug and continues his soft pets, he feels him relax and press further into his hand.
“Well, kitty, I don’t have a cat so I don’t have any cat food. I do have some shrimp, though, I can cook some of that up for you.”
The cat “mreows” happily at that, and trots softly into the open living room-kitchen combo. He leaps onto the counter before Mobius can dissuade him. Oh, well, this isn’t his cat, he can clean his counters later, might as well let this cat have his way for now.
The cat is practically glued to him while he’s cooking, and he chalks it up to wanting to eat as soon as physically possible. He thinks the cat would eat a shrimp right out of the pan if Mobius would let him. The cat keeps bumping his tiny head against Mobius’ arm, and whenever Mobius looks his way, the cat just nudges forward and presents its head to be pet.
Mobius has to admit this little guy is pretty charming. He’s never owned a cat before, he grew up around dogs and never thought to adopt a pet as an adult, though now he’s not sure why. The quiet emptiness of his house has already been mitigated by the soft meows and chirps of this cat, who’s relaxing more and more as he dries further and the house warms up to a comfortable temperature. He finds himself a bit envious of whoever’s cat this is.
He presents the shrimp to the cat in a shallow bowl, and he seems satisfied by that. Mobius cooks some pasta and throws in some white sauce and the other half of the shrimp that he cooked for his own dinner. He sits at the small table in his kitchen and starts eating, glancing up at one point to see if the cat has finished his dinner. He sees an empty plate, but no sign of the cat. He opens his mouth to call for him, but before he can, in a move that feels practiced, the cat springs onto the table, snatches a shrimp out of Mobius’ bowl, and stands back as he scarfs it down.
Mobius gasps in shock, but it’s undercut by his surprised laugh. “You mischievous scamp!”
The cat just sits back and licks his foot, and Mobius swears the look on his face looks like a smirk.
That night, Mobius gets ready for bed, changing into his usual frayed flannel bottoms and an old shirt from college. He makes a pile of soft blankets and a few fuzzy sweaters for the cat to use as a bed. The cat looks up at him from the pile as he kneads his paws into it.
“Night, kitty.”
Mobius flicks off the lights and crawls into bed, but after about five minutes of silence–
“Meeeeeooorrrww,”
The sound the cat makes is a mix of melancholy and pure sweetness. Mobius clicks on his bedside lamp to see the cat sitting on his makeshift bed, looking up at Mobius with a gaze that looks almost bashful.
“You wanna sleep on this bed, huh?” Mobius guesses.
The cat perks up immediately and takes a flying leap into the bed, curling into a ball almost right away. Mobius is aware that this cat may know just how to get his way, and he fell right into the trap, but he finds he doesn’t mind. He turns off the light and closes his eyes again, but lets his hand rest beside the cat's tiny pink nose, and he falls asleep feeling the cat’s face snuggling closer to his hand.
The next few weeks contain a steady bit of chaos, which is out of the ordinary for Mobius’ seemingly eternally consistent life, but he can’t say that he minds.
He brings the cat to the vet and they find no chip or any other way to link him to an owner. Mobius holds a photo shoot, trying to get the clearest angles of the cat, helped by the fact that he seems to love posing and looking regal, and prints out ‘found cat’ posters to stick around the neighborhood. So far, no takers.
He still goes to school Monday through Friday and learns on day two of having the cat that he needs to provide a lot of snacks and toys so he doesn’t get restless and knock things over or scratch up the house skittering about.
He returns home on a Thursday with a rainstorm much like the one he found the cat hiding from pounding outside.
“Yikes, it’s really coming down!” He says, shaking off and dumping his wet jacket.
He pauses, waiting for the cat to come running with a trilling meow as he usually does when Mobius comes home, but he only hears silence.
“Kitty?” Mobius calls out. “Where are you at, bud?”
He still hears nothing and a nervous pit forms in his stomach. He never considered himself so weak for animals, but he finds himself worrying about this cat like a long-time friend.
He checks his bathroom, the slightly open hall closet, and the laundry closet. All empty. He looks around the bedroom and doesn’t find anything at first, nothing in the closet or in his laundry basket, or behind the door. He begins to fear the worst. What if he got out somehow, and he’s in the storm again? Or worse, got hurt out there by a larger animal or a car? He doesn’t know how he’d get out with all the doors and windows closed, but even in just a few days, he’s learned the little guy can be tricky and quite slippery when he wants to be.
He’s about to run back out and throw his jacket on to go hunting for him outside when he hears a slight scuffing sound. He freezes and listens, and hears just a whisper of breath, coming from deep under his bed.
He crouches down and flips up the bed skirt. The cat is there, tucked up into a ball, trembling, looking more distraught and afraid than he did even when he was found outside.
“Hey, buddy, there you are. I was worried about you. What’s going on?”
The cat’s golden eyes shift slightly to look at him, but he quickly buries his face again as a loud crack of thunder explodes outside.
Ah, so that’s it. The storm where he’d been found had been full of furious wind and rain, but little to no thunder. L oud noises must be extra upsetting for him.
Mobius settles down and lays flat on his stomach, pulling himself forward slightly so his top half is under the bed. He regrets not vacuuming this area much as he feels his nose twitch with inhaled dust, but he tries to ignore it. He rests his chin on one folded arm and extends the other out to rest his hand palm up next to the cat’s face.
“Hey. I know you’re scared, but I’ll protect you. I won’t let the thunder in to hurt you.”
The cat lets out a huffed whimper that sounds almost doubtful.
“Pinky promise,” Mobius says, showing his pinky for a moment. “I know the loud noises aren’t ideal, but I can get you some comfy blankets and build you a cozy space up here that may help block it out.”
The cat tilts its head, still a bit unsure.
“I know you haven’t known me long, and I don’t know how your old owner would have handled this if you even had one, but I’ll do my best to keep you comfortable here. Okay?”
The cat just keeps staring for a long, impossibly drawn-out moment. Finally, he scoots his face so it bumps into Mobius’ hand, asking for pets.
“You got it. Pets and coziness. I can do that. You want to come out from here?” Mobius asks, rubbing the cat's head softly.
He lets out a small mewl and what looks like a nod and he follows Mobius out as he slowly extracts himself from under the bed, groaning and creaking and cursing his middle-aged bones.
Mobius grabs his two softest blankets and brings them onto the bed. He adjusts them into a shape resembling a nest, with walls as high as he can make them. The cat pounces and joins him on the bed, but ignores the nest completely, moving to Mobius’ lap right away. He curls up in a tight ball again on Mobius’ thighs, still trembling a bit, but more relaxed overall.
Mobius smiles softly. He grabs one blanket and tucks it around them, shielding the cat from behind with the mound of soft fleece as his hand falls to stroke the cat’s soft fur. He feels him slightly relaxing into his touch.
Eventually, after a while of those gentle pats and Mobius’ soft hums of some pop song he heard on his portable radio that morning, he feels the cat vibrating with soft, contented purrs.
Falling asleep to the sound of pattering rain, with a soft, comfortable cat on his lap that he’s grown fond of, it feels achingly cozy. For the first time in a long while, Mobius’ house feels like a home.
A few weeks later, he comes home much later than expected on a Friday night.
He’s practically dragging his feet as he walks through the door. He’s tired all the way down to his core, in every way possible.
Today was one of those days, and the whole week leading up had been one of those weeks, and tonight he’d gone to a restaurant with a few coworkers and their friends hoping it would relax him, but it only ended up driving a wedge of discontent and wrongness deeper into his brain.
As he is putting away his briefcase and his winter coat, the cat comes trotting into the front room with a cheerful meow and rubs against Mobius’ feet, bright eyes looking up at him as his sleek body weaves in and out of his legs, depositing black fur on his pants. Mobius must admit that just that small gesture makes him feel the slightest bit better. Just being acknowledged in a tiny way, even by an animal, is reassuring to his currently tender heart.
“Hey, Mischief,” Mobius murmurs, crouching down to pet his head. He went weeks without a name for the cat, assuming that maybe an owner would be found or perhaps he’d end up taking him to a shelter, but as no owner appeared and the idea of parting with him grew more disheartening, he decided he had to call him something other than ‘the cat’ or ‘kitty’ or ‘little guy’ (though he still does use the latter two on occasion.) After one too many times of his things ending up knocked over or moved from room to room, he decided that this cat was a proper prankster who deserved a fitting name.
“Mreow?” Mischief sits down in front of Mobius, his tail swishing slightly, his head seemingly tilted in confusion.
Mobius manages a smile, though he’s not sure how convincing it is. “Sorry, long day, bud.”
Mobius scrubs softly at his face with one hand, and he’s a bit surprised to find tears there. He blinks them away, shaking his head softly. Things are unraveling quicker than he’d like.
Mischief’s eyes narrow slightly, his head tilting further. Mobius isn’t sure if all cats are this perceptive but Mischief is scarily in touch, sometimes.
Mobius sits down on the entryway rug, his legs crossing, and he lets out a small sigh. Mischief nods once at him and then practically leaps up to headbutt his knee. He bumps it a few times and then sits back again, closer now, and looking into Mobius’ eyes once again.
Mobius isn’t sure how he understands, or if he’s even understanding right at all, but Mischief seems to be waiting for him to say something. He feels immensely silly talking to a cat, but sometimes venting out loud is helpful, so maybe it’s worth it no matter how silly he feels.
“I went to hang out with people thinking it’d make things feel better, but it sort of just reminded me how out of place I feel. I feel like I’m stuck in a rut, doing the same things with not much interesting happening. No partner, no close friends that I can really talk to, no social hobbies that have stuck… it’s sort of lonely, you know?” Mobius says, absentmindedly stroking Mischief’s fuzzy head. “Though, I will say having you around has been exciting, and has made things less lonely, so thank you for that. It’s been nice having you around,” Mobius smiles softly as he glances down at Mischief.
Mischief’s eyes widen ever so slightly. “Mreooww?” He looks surprised and almost… hopeful.
Mobius hadn’t really thought about it until he said it, but it’s true. It doesn’t erase every painful thought or lonely moment in his life, including the current swelling of discontent, but Mischief has been an unexpected source of joy for the last month or so.
“Yeah. I still get these aches and worries about my life, if this week is anything to go by… but truly, you’ve been a great friend, Mischief,” Mobius says, meeting his golden eyes and giving him an extra firm scratch behind the ears. “And such a good listener,” he adds, only a bit teasingly.
Mischief’s purring starts up again, as it has more and more recently, and he hops into Mobius’ lap, curling into a cozy ball in the center of his crossed legs. Mobius smiles and continues to pet him, feeling the rumbling of his purrs picking up.
He knows eventually he’ll have to get up and change and go to bed, but after a night of anxiety-ridden thoughts and feeling downtrodden, he’s more than content to lean up against his front door and take some deep breaths with Mischief.
A bit over two weeks go by after that night, and Mobius returns home feeling rather content one Wednesday afternoon. School was average today, the best he can often hope for with middle schoolers, and he was able to get his grocery shopping done after a few days of putting it off. He’s feeling pretty good.
He walks in the door and bumps it closed, moving to put his groceries on the counter.
He expects Mischief to greet him like he often does nowadays, but he doesn’t even hear him.
“Mischief? Hey, I got those yummy chicken tenders from the grocery store, I’ll put some in your dinner!”
No response. Weird, Mischief is often awake and alert this time of day. Even when he takes afternoon naps, he usually gets up to greet Mobius, even if it takes a moment and he comes in with bleary eyes.
Mobius frowns. The last time he couldn’t find him was during the thunderstorm, but the weather is as perfect as can be right now. He heads towards the bedroom, ready to hunt for him–
THUD.
Mobius’ heart beats faster. That didn’t sound like something small being knocked over, it sounded dangerous.
He races down the hall and throws open the bedroom door.
He freezes.
After having Mischief for almost two months, he’s walked in on some strange things. All of his clothes strung around the room in an insanely neat pattern, a single egg on his pillow, a bunch of construction paper ripped up into ‘confetti.’
A human man on his floor is… new.
“What the hell?” Mobius snaps, not entirely angry, but more overwhelmed. “Who are you–”
Mobius pauses and avoids shielding his eyes when a massive puff of green explodes from the man and dissipates with a sparkle.
Leaving Mischief in its wake.
Mobius just stares. He blinks rapidly for a moment, trying to decide if this is a weird dream, but everything feels aggressively grounded and real, even if he can’t quite believe it.
“Mischief? What’s…? How–”
The massive swath of green returns, and now the man sits on the ground again, the comforter still covering his lower half haphazardly. He’s sitting all askew, probably having been tossed from the bed, if the thud is anything to go by.
Mobius waits for a long second, waiting to see if he’ll swap again, but nothing happens.
The man is staring at him, wide-eyed, and the look is incredibly familiar, with his eyes simply more green than gold as a human. His hair is the same sleek style, tucked behind his ears, colored the same raven-black.
“What is going on?” Mobius asks, sounding a lot calmer than he feels.
He takes a step forward, and the man raises his arms in defense, almost shrinking away. Mobius freezes again, stepping back. Mischief was timid, but the idea that this man–Mischief–whoever he is, thinks that Mobius will hurt him, it worries him.
“Hey, woah, I’m not going to hit you. I’m just… I don’t…” Mobius stammers. He considers himself pretty well-spoken typically, but this has thrown even him for a loop.
The man lowers his hands, but he still stares at Mobius with a wide-eyed, intense look. He lets his expression soften slightly. “I think the transformation is done… It feels permanent again,” the man whispers. His voice is smooth and accented, different from the cheerful meows, but then again, he never exactly tried to imagine what Mischief’s human voice would be.
“Okay. Good, yeah. Ah, there are clothes in the dresser, some ought to fit you, though they may be a bit short, but, um, have at it,” Mobius says, gesturing halfheartedly across the room. He realizes that the man knows where the clothes are because Mischief has strewn them about and also watched him do laundry, but the connection hasn’t quite stuck despite him seeing the change before his very eyes. “I’m going to go sit down in the kitchen, you can join me when you’re ready.”
Mobius goes and sits at the kitchen table as promised, his hands folded and his head bowed, his brain running a hundred miles a minute.
He’d come to terms with having a cat, a cat who was occasionally suspiciously smart and aware, but still just… a cat. Now, this cat has poofed into a human. Who is the original? Is he a cat who became human just now, or a human who was just pretending to be a cat? Frankly, the word human seems wrong, considering the transformation. Magician, maybe? Mobius isn’t sure. About anything right now, really, but certainly not that.
After a few minutes alone with his racing thoughts, he hears gentle footsteps padding into the room. Decidedly human, though they do still feel rather familiar.
The man sits across the table from him, his expression still a bit guarded but mostly just nervous and sheepish. He’s wearing one of Mobius’ old shirts, which fits him fine because it’s rather large on Mobius, and a pair of his sweatpants that are a bit too short, hitting at his upper ankles.
“Okay, so… I’ve got so many questions, but I mostly just need an explanation. What’s going on?” Mobius asks. “Actually, before that, what is your name?”
The man’s lips part slightly. “Loki.”
Mobius raises his eyebrows. “Loki like… God of Mischief, Loki?”
“Yes, the very same,” Loki agrees, his eyes focused on Mobius, and Mobius can feel himself being searched for every clue and reaction. Loki manages a small smile that looks rather proud if a bit tense from nerves. “You were so spot on calling me Mischief that I wondered for a moment if you knew.”
“Well, with all the pranks you pulled, you did sort of lead me in that direction,” Mobius chuckles softly. “But no, I didn’t know. Just assumed you were a sneaky cat.”
Loki nods. “Fair. Also not wholly inaccurate.”
“Okay, sorry to keep harping on this, but I need some answers. What is going on?”
“I was sent away from my home by my father. It was a stupid disagreement, and he’ll probably get over it one day, but I was furious as I left and wasn’t at my best. During my journey here, my magic grew out of my reach, and I found myself shifting forms out of my control. My magic is tied to emotion, in many ways, so without control…” Loki shrugs softly, now avoiding eye contact. “I found myself in the shape of a cat, a form I’ve taken before when I’m stressed, and that form stuck. I tried to change back as I calmed down a bit, but it was useless. Once the storm hit, I was genuinely upset, and I was so frustrated and terrified that I hid in that bush. I hate such weather on a good day, I assumed my brother was behind it and would be angry with me.”
“Your brother… Thor?” Mobius asks. “Is that why you were so petrified during that big thunderstorm later?”
“Yes. He and I grew up close, but as we’ve gotten older… We don’t see eye to eye as much, anymore. Both of the storms brought frightening emotions and thoughts of what may happen.”
“I see…”
Loki pauses for a moment before he manages to meet Mobius’ eyes again.
“Mobius, I’m sorry for sticking around so long. It was selfish of me to make you assume you had just a standard cat, but I didn’t know how to tell you the truth, and leaving without a word felt cruel… Perhaps most selfishly, I didn’t want to go. I grew to like being here. You were so kind to me even when I was just a wet, annoyed animal, so gentle with me when I was scared and in need of care. You’re a good friend.”
Mobius’ face softens. “I won’t say that I’m not thrown off guard… But I’m not angry. I’m not sure I would have believed it if you managed to write a message or something. And you’re right that if you’d disappeared without me knowing where I’d be sick with worry. I've grown to see you as my friend just as quickly.”
Loki smiles, his lips seeming to quiver a bit. “Even so, I’m sorry for such a mess. I assumed my magic would be gone a lot longer, with how quickly it seemed to go in the first place. I didn’t expect to transform back this way, at least not now. I hadn’t thought of a plan for when I did.”
“Well, it may have removed a year or two of my life from the shock, but now knowing the truth, I’m not so worried about it.”
Loki stares for a moment, then laughs with a small shake of his head. “You’re a fascinating person, Mobius.”
“Mmm? How so?”
“Anyone else would have reacted so much worse, I think. You took a few minutes to think and worry, and now you shrug as if it’s normal and fine.”
As if to prove his point, Mobius shrugs. “Well, it’s a bit beyond my scope of understanding, all the magic, but in the end, you’re still the friend I made. You just look a bit different, now, and now you can talk back when I ramble.”
Loki smiles again, his eyes crinkling warmly, and Mobius is a bit taken by it. He never could smile that way as a cat, and though he showed his happiness in other ways, it’s reassuring to see him so content now with everything all changing so rapidly.
“So, what happens now?” Mobius asks, a bit quiet. “Are you safe to return home, or…?”
Loki looks at his lap briefly and shakes his head. “I don’t think so, no. Not yet. A few months is barely a blip of time for us, my father is still probably angry. Even if I am allowed back, it’ll be much too hostile,” he shrugs, feigning nonchalance even though Mobius can see a cloud of conflict in his eyes. “I’ll figure it out, I always do. I apologize for taking up so much of your time and energy, not to mention your money on the fancy food. Now you know why I was so picky.”
Mobius finds himself frowning. “Well, hey… You don’t have to go, if you don’t want to. I mean, you’re free to go anywhere, of course, but if you’d like to stay, I wouldn’t mind. I have a guest room that never gets used, it’s open to you.”
Loki smiles, but it looks a bit subdued. “You don’t have to pity me, Mobius, I’ll survive. I’ve imposed on you long enough.”
“It’s not pity, I promise, it’s just, well, like I said, you’re still the same friend I’ve grown to know. We may have to relearn each other person to person– or, god to person, rather than cat to person, but I do still care about you,” Mobius says, making sure to meet Loki’s nervous eyes. “I didn’t just keep you around because you were a cute cat, I think you’re smart, you’re funny, though certainly mischievous, and you’re comforting and kind yourself.”
Loki’s eyes are boring into his, his gaze as intense as when he first revealed himself, but now Mobius sees a sheen across them, a tiny smile twitching on his face but hesitating, like he’s too afraid to believe it.
“Are you certain, Mobius? I’m not exactly an easy roommate. I thought my frustrated and mischievous antics as a cat would have shown that.”
“I’m certain. I mean, I would prefer if perhaps you help me with the laundry now, rather than spreading it across the room or just sleeping on top of it, but beyond that, you’re a fine roommate,” Mobius smiles. He hesitates at first but reaches across the table to rest one of his hands on top of Loki’s. Loki’s gaze flickers between their hands and Mobius’ face. “It’d be an honor to continue getting to know you, really.”
Loki’s head dips down, his slightly wavy hair falling across his face. Mobius hears him sniffle slightly, but he doesn’t comment, he just rubs his thumb ever so slightly against the hand that he’s almost holding. As Mischief, when he was scared of storms or other external forces, Mobius would sometimes pat his head with one hand and hold one of his tiny paws in the other, gently massaging the pink paw pads. He seemed to like it then, he hopes he finds the action soothing now.
After a moment, Loki looks up again. There are faint tear tracks, but his eyes twinkle with a new warmth despite the lingering unshed tears.
“I’d be honored to be your official roommate, Mobius.”
Mobius just grins. He finds himself wanting to make Loki smile the same way he’d been so proud to make Mischief purr.
“I’m happy to have you,” Mobius says. “Now, I assume your taste is the same in this form, do you want some of the chicken tenders? I’ll even give you a plate at the table now,” Mobius teases.
Loki snorts softly. “Sure thing.”
Mobius nods and gets up to unpack the groceries and start reheating the chicken tenders, them having long cooled off by now. He hears the slight screech of the chair moving, but he is so engrossed in getting everything sorted that he doesn’t turn around.
He sucks in a breath when he feels arms wrap around his shoulders from the side.
He tilts his head and sees Loki awkwardly hugging him, seeming unsure of exactly how to act but committing to it anyway.
“Thank you, Mobius… Thank you for being so kind to me.”
Mobius hesitantly reaches up and rests his hand on the forearm that is wrapped around his chest, giving it a gentle squeeze. “You say that like you don’t deserve it,” Mobius whispers, his heart aching unexpectedly. He’d experienced Loki’s fear and pain in cat form, but to hear him speak so openly and with an underlying hurt in his voice despite his grateful words, almost imperceptible… It makes a knot in Mobius’ stomach that he’s never felt so strongly before.
Loki pulls back from the hug but keeps his hands clamped firmly on Mobius’ shoulders, meeting his gaze. “I may deserve it, I may not. All I know is that it’s… unfamiliar from most.”
Mobius’ mouth twitches with a small frown. “Well, we’ll have to change that. I suppose I can’t do anything about everyone else, but here, you deserve it, and you’ll receive it. Okay?”
Loki nods, seeming to swallow heavily. “Right. I’ll do my best to stay worthy of that.”
“Just be you, okay? That can be anything, anyone, as long as it feels true to you. You don’t have to earn my kindness,” Mobius says. He knows it might be overkill, he may be too preachy, but something about the uncertain look in Loki’s eyes makes Mobius think he needs those reminders.
Loki nods again, slowly, his eyes a bit shiny once more. Mobius steps forward and folds Loki into a hug, wrapping his arms around him, shielding him like a cocoon. He’s not usually so forward with being affectionate, but he supposes they already crossed a lot of those uncertainties while Loki was a cat, with how often Loki spent curled up in his lap or perched on the bed just inches away. Now it feels like second nature to keep Loki close and remind him he’s safe, just as he had during the storms.
When they step back, Mobius gives Loki a smile, and Loki moves to open his mouth but his stomach lets out a furious gurgle.
Mobius chuckles. “Hungry, Loki?”
Loki smiles sheepishly. “Suppose so.”
Mobius shakes his head fondly and continues prepping the chicken tenders and a few premade sides and portioning them out. It makes him oddly pleased to make a second plate rather than putting assorted bits into a bowl that he’d have to put on the floor. Loki would always eat at the same time as him, his presence known, but they were farther apart that way.
As they eat together properly for the first time, the same feeling of familiarity and domesticity washes over Mobius as it has been more and more recently. The feeling of his plain house feeling cozy and alive, the feeling of understanding and care present in the atmosphere.
Mostly, now, as he watches Loki recount some fancy story complete with broad gestures and the occasional flicker of magic,
This house, with Loki in it, fully feels like home.