~12:29am, January 1, 2020~

Present day.

“I’ll rephrase,” Loki said, coming to the edge of the bed and leaning down to Sigyn’s eye level, “I do not want to keep living if I have to do so without you.”

Her watery eyes, only visible from the fireworks flashing, blew wide open, and her hold on the underside of her shaking legs that she’d pulled to her chest a few moments earlier loosened.  She placed her hands flat on the bed behind her instead, her painted dark red nails digging into the blanket.  The movement pulled his attention away from her eyes and mouth down to her inner thighs.  Jaw clenching, he breathed harder.  If only she would turn directly toward the window, then that short skirt wouldn’t be casting a shadow over the place he ached to be.  His eyes traveled up and down her legs again.

            Wait…Sig hadn’t removed those Louis V’s?  Oh, he could see it perfectly.  Getting on his knees, yanking her backside to the edge of the bed, pushing her thighs apart, those fucking gorgeous stilettos digging into the mattress as he leaned forward and slowly slid his tongue up and down…

           God almighty—truly, there was no blood left in his head.  

            She said something impossibly quiet then. He thought he heard “oh fuck me, Loki.”

            Think you imagined that, LO.

            No, I was watching her lips.  She definitely said that.

            How very convenient for you, eh?

            He set his hands on her knees, and she looked down at them momentarily, watching his thumbs make circles on her skin.  Stars above, she needed to feel those hands slide down between her legs.  Lifting her eyes to his again, she let him push her knees further apart, and he did exactly what she wanted, smoothing his hands up her inner thighs.  He stopped about an inch short of the place that should have been his final destination, and she bit her lip, fighting the urge to scream “oh my god, Loki, KEEP GOING” right in his perfect face.  

            He leaned in to kiss her, sparing her from having to fight any longer, and she sat up a bit to get closer to him as he pressed his lips too lightly against hers.  She angled her head to the right, opening her mouth, hoping he would do the same and add some damn heat to this kiss, but he only barely parted his lips, and his tongue was completely MIA.  This was…this was not enough.  For the love, she wanted him to kiss her harder than he had in front of her door.  He was being far too careful with her, which to be fair, made perfect sense considering her hesitant behavior five minutes ago.  Still—could he not see that she was absolute putty in his hands now?  Not literal putty, but close enough.  Come now, she took gymnastics for a decade, and muscle memory was no joke. Her flexibility was a point of pride, and she was more than a little desperate for him to twist her like a damn pretzel.  Maybe he just needed to hear her say it.

            “Loki, I’m okay,” she whispered against his (unfortunately) closed mouth, running her thumbs along his cheekbones.

            Bend me however you want.

           His lips stayed so…static…when she moved to kiss him again, and if she didn’t know better, she might think his entire purpose in showing up here tonight was to dangle himself in front of her like a goddamn carrot.

            “I swear I won’t break,” she whined softly, grasping at his shoulders, then his neck, his arms, his belt…all of which felt more like grasping at straws.

            Please, please, please, please, please…

           She wasn’t above saying it—above begging him to drive his hips into hers like a fucking god (pun intended!) just like he used to.  Arching up into him, she whined his name, and as though this “god” was answering her silent prayer, he groaned and finally kissed her back properly.  There was nothing static about him now.  Potential energy turned kinetic.

            Way to remember SOMETHING from science class, girlie.

            Twenty blissful seconds later, he downright stole his mouth away from her and gave her a dark look that could be considered somewhat…scary…in another context.  

            “I’m not afraid of breaking you, sweetheart,” Loki said, his fingers digging into her hip and curling into her hair.

            God, if the thrilled knots in her stomach tightened any further, she might throw up, which would make her vastly more appealing to him.  His hands felt like heaven, and he was hardly doing anything.  The simple fact that these were his hands, and they were on her was all the effort required to make her thighs shake.  The heat in his eyes probably had something to do with that.  That, and his voice was filled with more smoke than the ongoing fireworks show in midtown.

            A firework show that will be over any moment now…right, hon?

            Everything other than her heart froze in time as the thought flitted across her mind.  Suddenly she was spinning, and it wasn’t a giddy, fun, excited spin.  It was like being stuck in a giant tornado with the words from Loki’s soon to be published third book, which she’d read at her office the day his editor handed the manuscript off to Val to return to him last September.

            Rather than give it to him in person, Val had given it to Carol so that she could just drop it off with Sigyn at work.  That would save Val a trip to Loki’s place or some other meeting point during already overpacked schedules.  He hadn’t explicitly said “do not read this yet” to her, so she’d delved right into the pages during lunch that day.

            She hadn’t known what to expect, other than knowing it would be a hard-hitting bestseller no matter what.  After all, his editor had already given it a five star review in an email the day before, and she’d caught snippets of it on his laptop screen over his shoulder periodically throughout the year, which though out of context, were pretty as hell from the looks of it.

            Thinking back on it now, something in her gut had already been gnawing at her when she turned that first page, telling her to pull her hopes for some swoon worthy Sunlight repeat back down to the ground.  He’d been so secretive about his third novel, and that should have been an indicator.  2019 hadn’t exactly been kind to them.  Stress levels had been climbing consistently from the start of it.  Nonstop work, endless grind, Tony dying, sleepless nights, depressed moods, car crashes, fighting and fucking and fighting again, excessive alcohol, Atlantic-sized barriers between them, sexual harassment and assault…

            For BOTH of us.

            From the first paragraph, even if the author’s name had been removed from the title page, she would have known it was his writing.  Just like his first two books, the third had that same moody stream of consciousness, overly-self-aware-and-knows-it energy about it.  It was Loki-typical dreamy, and the lit crits would eat it up…again.  One of them once called him a “raw, unaffected writer” in a review, and they wouldn’t take it back after reading his new work.  If only he’d been a little less raw, maybe she would have read it through to the end.  She’d shut it down at page 27 because…

            That’s when the firework show ended.

            Oh god, she didn’t want to think about it—the words on that page or the day itself.  She wanted to snap her fingers and watch September 30th, 2019 disappear in a puff of smoke from her memories.  She slammed her eyes shut, wishing that day into oblivion.  If only the back of her eyelids weren’t absolutely covered with Loki’s page 27-word graffiti:

One pill, two weeks.  That’s all it takes to save her life, not that she knows this consciously.  The lack of deadened circles under her eyes are proof enough as they lift to look at mine, staring at me over the lucky paper coffee cup kissing her mouth.

“You’re staring,” she says, hiding a smile behind that cup.  Happiness radiates from her sun kissed cheeks.

“And YOU’RE assuming,” I counter, pointing to the aviators hiding my eyes.

My mouth is a thin line, an unwavering mask of stoicism, unaffected by the fireworks in my chest.  The glass windows reflect the sun onto the concrete beneath us, heating the city air around us.  I squint behind those obscenely expensive plastic mirrors.

She leans over the cafe table, pulling my glasses down. “I’m right.”

I feel the skin around my eyes crinkle, the mask fading. “I said you were assuming.  I didn’t say the assumption was wrong.”

Her face splits, white teeth baring themselves easily, bold and unafraid.  I wish the skin hiding behind her shirt and beneath her skirt would be so daring.  My face falls, the crinkles disappearing, my chest deflating as she sets her cup down and rises from her chair.  She walks away, and I am lost in that short green skirt.  Daylight drowns under the shadows between the pleats as she moves.  I hear her speaking over the clinking of sidewalk silverware and broken English and footsteps and car horns and squealing brakes.  Her rasping voice is louder than the lower west side during lunch hour.

“You coming with me?”

The inside of my skull screams “oh don’t I wish” as I approach her and take her hand.  We live in the dog days of summer, yet her fingers are ice as she drags me down the pavement, suggesting we change our clothes and go for a run.  She’s out of her goddamn mind, and she knows it.  Running at high noon?  In 90-degree heat?  I agree to it anyway because the suffering will be over as soon as it starts.  She’s not a runner.  Not by a long shot.  She won’t last more than five minutes.

Five minutes turns into a week’s worth of completely unintentional sweat-soaked 5Ks.  I fear this will become routine.  I prefer running alone.  I am in love, but the firework show ended two days ago, leaving nothing but smoke and ringing ears in its wake.  Without the space between us, she becomes me, and I become her.  I’ve never been particularly fond of the person in this body, but I think I’m the best man for the job.  I am behind bones, not bars.  Millions at my disposal, yet I’ll never make bail.  She has no place here with me.  Angels don’t belong in hell.

            Still underneath him, tears burned Sigyn’s eyes.  Of all the complicated insane metaphors spinning around in his head, why had he chosen fireworks?  In doing so, he’d put into words for the entire bloody world to read, something personal—something private and deeply significant to her.  Fireworks were supposed to belong to them.  To Loki Odinson and Sigyn Frey…to Starboy and Sunlight.  No one knew that January 1st was their day.  Not Darcy, not her mum, not his mum, or Hela, or Val, or Bucky, or Thor or anyone else.  To everyone else, “early 2017” was close enough.  The idea of him obsessing over the perfect, most poetic (and tragic!) imagery to describe the loss of “that loving feeling” and deciding to go with “firework show’s over kids- go home” had left her feeling gutted.

            “Sig?”

           Even though he was right there, inches from her face, Loki’s voice was a distant echo.

            “Sweetheart?”

           The affectionate, loving pet name pulled her out of September 2019 (technically the earliest hours of October) and brought her back to the earliest hours of January 2020.  She met his eyes, blinking away tears.

            He sighed, dropping his forehead to hers. “Should I be scared of breaking you?”

            You swore you wouldn’t break, sweetheart…tell me that wasn’t a lie.

           God damn, he was hard as hell and between her perfect legs on New Year’s Day, and he needed her to be okay.  No, being “okay” wasn’t good enough.  He needed her to shamelessly beg him for it, because she hesitated after he took that chair into her living room as well as just now, both of which were setting off warning sirens in his head.

           Eyebrows pulling together, he inhaled and exhaled slowly as though taking a relaxing drag of the air itself.  Three months alone, doing stupid shit to numb the pain of having to do life without her, wishing he could take back whatever the hell he did wrong, or whatever he didn’t do that he should have done, then finally losing what was left of his bruised ego and coming to her (with hopes of coming in her), and now he was actually considering keeping it in his trousers for her sake.

            My god, I love this girl to the stars and back.

            Sigyn looked all over his face. “Loki, I—” her mouth snapped shut abruptly as the anxiety turned her stomach almost violently.  Along with the aftereffects of maybe too much alcohol, it was enough to send the few contents of her stomach up into her throat.

            Loki frowned. “Sig, what—”

Slapping a hand to her mouth, Sigyn shoved his shoulders, and he sat up and back instantly.  She scrambled off her bed and dashed for her bathroom, slamming the door behind her to spare him from the sight, though she wouldn’t be able to do anything about the wretched sound.

            Happy Fucking New Year.

---

~9:30pm, June 7, 2019~

Seven months prior

(Two hours after the car crash before leaving for Montauk)

            Elbow on the driver’s side window, Loki leaned his head into his palm, stopping to give plenty of room to the car pulling out of a street parking spot a few blocks from JB’s building on 150 Joralemon Street in Brooklyn.   Flipping on his right turn signal, he tapped the steering wheel repeatedly, his patience wearing thin as he waited for this wannabe-DMV-sloth driver to hurry along.  He would just drive on if this hadn’t been the first damn parking space that he’d seen within a five-block radius.  This was always a busy area, what with being only one block from five trains, most of which were a one stop shop straight to Manhattan, but the traffic tonight was absurd.  

            Sigyn groaned in the passenger seat, banging her head softly on the dash above the glove box.  “This is madness.  It’s supposed to be Brooklyn Heights, not bloody Times Square!”

            “There’s a reason we avoid that place like the plague,” he muttered, checking his mirrors.  No one was immediately behind him, gratefully.

            “Why won’t Darce bloody respond to me?” she growled, gritting her teeth so hard it hurt. “She has left me on read all damn day!”

            Truly, it hurt so much that her forever best friend (the person she would need most to get through the next two months!) hadn’t called her back after she left that panicky voicemail while Loki was helping Ana next to her crashed car earlier—“Hey Darce, I really need to talk to you. Just, you know, I need to hear your voice. You’re my best friend on the planet. Please call me. I’m in a bad place right now. Okay, love you. Bye.” Thoroughly lost in the image of crunched cars and broken bleeding people, she jumped at the sound of Loki’s voice.

            “Sweetheart, my ears need you to take it down a notch.” Yes, he was pissed off too, but his girl was yelling right next to him, and in a small, enclosed car, no less.

            “Sorry,” she lowered her voice, and leaned her head on his shoulder. “Does Bucky leave you hanging like this?  Of course, he doesn’t.  He loves you.  Everyone loves you.”

            Everyone wants you to STAY.

            “That is a patently false statement,” he objected, kissing the top of her head as he opened his last texts with JB. “You know Lewis loves you to death, but she’s as flaky as clinical strength dandruff.  You’re just too used to my rapid response time.”

            Curling her hand around his elbow, she swallowed the lump in her throat.  He was right.  He’d raised the bar, made everyone else look sloppy and inconsiderate, and now she had to adjust back to normal humdrum life without him.  Now was probably a good time to practice counting calming breaths just like he’d taught her to (and taught again and again) every time work stress started getting out of hand.  She would need it at the airport on Tuesday.  Otherwise she would hyperventilate in the checked baggage line while giving him that one final hug before two months of nothing.

            That, or I’ll get arrested for breaking through the JFK security lines to chase down my boyfriend in the Virgin Atlantic international terminal.

            She sniffled a bit and reached up to rub her suddenly wet eyes, forcing a these-aren’t-tears-they’re-just-dry-tired-eyes yawn, then sat upright to get away from the unpleasant twitchy sensation of his right forearm as he texted back and forth.  Clearly, his friend loved him, and why wouldn’t he?  Loki was so…he was…so…oh…what was the best adjective?  Chewing her bottom lip, she frowned, trying to pull some fancy, fifty-cent word out of her brain.  Okay, writing was clearly not her strong suit, nor was she a walking thesaurus.

            Simply (and accurately) put, Loki is the most amazing man in the universe.

            Correction: most amazing human being.

            Goodness knew she was mad for him.  Though in her current heartbreaking situation, she wished she’d never fallen for him.  Tuesday would be a nightmare.  She wouldn’t be able to let go of him.  Maybe she should quit her job.  He’d told her that he could cover the costs of her bills and rent for however long she needed him to.  All she needed was an internet connection to search for a new job, which meant that she could do it from anywhere.  Namely, every city on Loki’s book tour.  His sudden voice made her jump a little in her seat.

            “Oh, what marvelous timing,” he said, rolling his eyes. “JB said that the prep school across from his building had a graduation event tonight, and oh apparently the entire tri-state area attended it.”

            Releasing a heavy breath, he leaned his head back so he wouldn’t bang it against the steering wheel.  Normally the extra traffic wouldn’t bother him to this extent, but that crash earlier had shaken his nerves, and he felt like a sitting duck on this street.  He pinched the bridge of his nose, then turned up the music to drown out the rumbling engines of car after car driving by right next to him.  A century later, he was still waiting for this goddamn parking spot, and he finally broke his calm exterior.

            Hitting the steering wheel with his palm- whack! -he shouted at the unmoving car, each word punctuated with another hit.

            “OH—” whack “—MY—” whack “—GOD!!”

            WHACK.

            He dragged his hand down his face. “What did I ever do to this person??”

            His mini outburst probably should have unnerved Sigyn.  However, the deep, gritty tone of his voice was making her shaky for an entirely different reason.  If she had it her way, she would climb over the middle console and straddle him right now.  Rolling her head to the side to look at him, her eyebrows pulled together as she bit her lip.

            Good god, his profile…that tight, angry jaw… why do I like his nose THIS much…I have problems.

            CLEARLY.

            “Seriously, come on,” he growled, white knuckling the wheel with his left hand while moving the gear shift side to side with his right hand as was his habit any time the car was in neutral.  He was on the verge of giving up on this spot, but then JB texted him, and he looked down at the final text on the screen—

            Eyes blowing wide, his head snapped up to see the driver pulling away.

            “FINALLY,” Loki growled, jamming the clutch to the floor with his left foot while yanking the gearshift hard left and straight back into first.  He released the clutch while giving it some gas, and so the tricky dance of rapid gear switching began.

            Eyes dancing fluidly between mirrors, parked cars, moving ones, pedestrians, and the car’s parking cam dash display, he sped forward one car’s length beyond the space, then braked hard and fast.  Clutch to the floor again, he shoved the stick all the way forward, shifting into reverse.

            “Head down, sweetheart,” Loki said, setting his right hand on the back of the passenger side headrest and twisting his entire torso to watch behind him.

            “Oh right, sorry!”

            Sigyn ducked forward but kept her eyes on Loki because—oh hell—seeing him dominate…or ehm…drive stick shifts like a damn pro turned her body to jelly every time.  It was second only to her hair kink. 

           Heart kicking into high gear (oh the unintentional puns), she watched Loki’s tongue poke out to wet his lips as he turned the wheel with his left hand.  Right hand still on the headrest, he stepped on the gas and whipped the car back into the parking space with perfect aim.  Lord, the man made it look effortless.  Sigyn sighed, sitting upright again as Loki shifted back into neutral and yanked up the parking brake.

            “Loki Odinson, you sold your soul to be able to drive like that,” she said, shaking her head. “It is the only explanation.”

            Killing the engine, he grinned crookedly as he unbuckled his seat belt. “Yet another reason to think I’m the villain in this story.”

            He then carefully leaned over the parking brake, slid one hand up her inner thigh and the other behind her neck.  Just as his lips touched hers, the cars that had been stuck behind the red light a block behind them drove by, several of which honked, then they heard several shouts and whistles.

            “Look at this slick motherf—” 

            He then carefully leaned over the parking brake, slid one hand up her inner thigh and the other behind her neck.  Just as his lips touched hers, the cars that had been stuck behind the red light a block behind them drove by, several of which honked, then they heard several shouts and whistles.

            “Boy. What. Even.”

            “He said SWERVE.”

            “God. DAMN. That job was clean as HELL.”

            “Boy told Vin Diesel HOLD MY BEER.”

            “YOU HAVE LEVELED UP, SON.”

            Other words and phrases were spoken, but he had no clue how the hell to translate what he assumed was Gen Z slang.  Her shoulders started shaking, and he laughed out loud when she snorted against his mouth.  The rapid fire back and forth conversation on the sidewalk outside was absolutely bonkers.

            She eyed the group from behind the safety of tinted windows. “Please explain what ‘swerve’ means in this context,” she asked, trying to gain control of her snickering.

            “Sure, I can answer that, no problem,” he replied, grabbing his phone to text JB that he was right across the street from his building. “I just need to search through the ‘shit kids will say in 2019’ section of Encarta first.”

            She opened her door at the same time he did, and as he walked around to her side, she arched one eyebrow at him.

            “What’s Encarta?” she asked, head tilted in confusion.

            Just before he reached her, he halted mid-step, eyeing her from under his brow. “Oh my god, please be joking.”

            Eyes rolling hard enough to get stuck behind their sockets, she reached forward, curled her fingers into the fabric of his perfectly fitted, plain black V-neck tee and dragged him to her.

            “Um…of course I’m joking,” she said, wrapping one arm around his neck and pulling him with her as she leaned back against the car window.  For pity’s sake, she was born in ‘88, not ‘98.

            Going up onto her toes to reach his ear, she whispered, “I even used card catalogues back in the day.”

            “I love it when you talk dirty to me,” he deadpanned, looking at the text that just popped up on his phone as she laughed against the hollow of his throat.

            JB: be out in 5 or so. Darce is still packing 

            Jaw clenching, Loki tapped the convenient “thumbs down” icon over the text.  It occurred to him then, as he slid his phone into his back pocket, that Sig was no longer laughing into his neck, but gliding her lips and tongue over it.  His eyes rolled back, and he suppressed a loud groan.

            “Easy, woman,” he hissed, pressing the heel of his hand against the top edge of the door frame, his short-trimmed nails digging into his palm as she closed her mouth over the skin below the hinge of his jaw.  Sure, since it was dark out here, their excessively close contact wasn’t entirely visible, but still. “There are children present.”

            “Then we should get back in the car,” she suggested quietly.

            Stars above, she wanted him to control her just like he’d controlled this mint condition, freshly waxed, gunmetal grey 6-speed.  She wanted to hear him say “head down, sweetheart” for reasons other than being able to see out the window.  She was also breaking apart inside over what would happen on Tuesday, and the combined emotions made it damn near impossible for her to keep her hands off him.  All signs pointed toward getting back in the car and driving somewhere without prying eyes.

            Since he was approximately three seconds from saying “screw it” and grinding against her in a decidedly not family friendly fashion on a crowded street, he gritted his teeth and forced a few inches between their hips.  As she blinked wide-eyed up at him, tugging on his neck a little, he watched her perfect teeth scrape over her bottom lip, and for just a moment, he forgot they were surrounded by people.  During those seven seconds of heat-induced blind delirium, he shoved his knee between her thighs to push them apart, but he snapped out of it quickly and stepped back, his eyes blowing when he heard his name spoken by several unfamiliar voices over the sound of the loud traffic.

            “Is that Loki Odinson?”

            “Oh my god, it is him.”

            As though it might offer him some reprieve from the gravity holding him down on this street where he was too goddamn visible to the world around him, he looked up at the night sky with pleading eyes.  He might just push Sig back into this car and take off toward his place.  He could text JB to take the R train to Canal once Lewis finished packing up her entire house for a two-day trip. 

            A different voice asked, “Who’s L—…uh…what was the name?”

            “How do you NOT know who Loki Odinson is?”

            He exhaled slowly, resisting the temptation to pull a dick move and walk right up to them and say “he doesn’t know who I am the same way that YOU don’t know that I’m not a fucking A-list, household name” to that person’s face.  To be fair though, he was about to jet-set around Europe for eight weeks as though he was an A-lister.  How had he allowed HC to sucker him into this nightmare?  Was the tour sold out?  Yes.  Would he meet thousands of people who adored him?  Yes.  Would all those happy, excited faces and possible squealing and heart-warming personal stories of how his books helped them get through something in their own lives make up for a forced existence outside of New York and everything he loved for two months straight?

            I’m not counting on it.

              “Why would he know who Lo is?  You know Jayden can’t read.”

            I don’t know these people, but I’m inclined to be offended on “Jayden’s” behalf.

            “Can’t read? Woman, did I ask you to spell something?”

            “Books!  Books!  Books!”

            Eyebrows pulling together, Loki pursed his lips.  Uh…what was that person even saying?  Well, he wasn’t exactly surprised by that impossible to follow response, because given the decibel of their slightly slurred voices, unsteady steps, raucous laughing and wildly flinging gestures, he was 99.9% certain that this group was utterly wasted.  He didn’t judge people for such things, of course, but the extra alcohol had taken what would otherwise be “talking” and turned it into accidental shouting.

            If only they weren’t shouting about ME, it would be like watching decent stand-up.

            The one who had asked the question- poor “illiterate” Jayden -looked rightly confused.

           “Now you’re just yellin’ random shit like you got Tourette’s.  Or a toddler who learned a new word.  Or had one too many edibles.”

            Okay, I like this Jayden kid.

            “No, you gotta actually read books to know who Lo is ‘cause he’s an author.”

            Actually, darling, I’ve no doubt that most people who read books have no idea who I am.

            “Did you say ‘Hulu is’ or ‘who Lo is’?  Nah, you know what?  I don’t care.”

            Neither should I, yet here I am questioning my writing capabilities simply because not everyone “cares” to open my books.

            “She’s talkin’ about the guy who wrote Starboy and Sunlight.  He’s standing right over there.”

           Oh for—why does everyone drop “Looking for” from the title? Is it some catchy “S” theme to them?

            The title of his third novel, which he was planning to announce in September, was Satellite Tides, and he should probably prepare for that to turn into just Satellite instead.  He rolled his eyes, annoyed that he was speculating over inconsequential nonsense.  Scratching the back of his neck, he scowled at the ground, still listening to their conversation.

            Someone else said, “Starboy was hot as hell, but ugh… Sunlight?  Um, MARRY ME.”

            Pressing his lips together, his chest deflated.  They’d likely beg him for a divorce after the new one.  He glanced at Sig in his periphery then, his mouth falling open a bit as his heart rate started to climb a little too quickly.  This was the first time he’d realized that his new novel would feel like a breakup, like a relationship falling apart…until the last two chapters.  What a horribly timed revelation, here on a packed street in Brooklyn.  Maybe he should put a disclaimer on the first page.

TO AVOID BURNING EVERYTHING TO THE GROUND, READ ALL 311 PAGES OF THIS BOOK!

            No, that would violate his “no spoilers” policy.  The only thing he could say was “finish the book, and then we’ll talk about it” and hope that no one served him papers for breaking their hearts in the first bloody chapter.  Swallowing nervously, he dropped his forehead to his girl’s shoulder.

            Sliding one hand up to the back of his head, she leaned her cheek against his temple, unsure what was making him this upset.  No doubt he was aware of the conversation between those most likely university-aged students, and overhearing people discuss him often made him a little uncomfortable, which might be a contributing factor.  However, his current demeanor seemed legitimately pained.  They were still talking about him, and it was probably best to get the hell away from them before something uncouth was said.

            “Want to go to the other sidewalk?” she asked, lacing her fingers with his.  

            Without hesitation, he said, “Yes please.”

           Once the traffic cleared, he hurried across the street, dragging her with him.  Maybe it was the car crash or the inevitable book tour or the fear of taking a nose dive off of that pedestal the critics had put him on after the last one, but he did not want to hear people talk about his books.  Unhealthy as it was, he needed to prove that everything he created was worthy, and compared to the others, his new novel would probably be a letdown.  Fantastic- now he was so keyed up about it that, for the first time, he would prefer to hear vapid, overly sexual commentary about his body right now.  Trying to shake off the negativity in his head, he blew out a breath and tightened his grip on her hand as they stepped up onto the curb.  Whatever- looks or books -at least they hadn’t said a word about Sig.

           Hearing people talk about his girl tended to send him flying over the edge with more gravitas than Thelma and Louise.  Most people were nice and respectful, but even so, a small population of obsessive, predacious “fans” just would not stop fixating on her.  They came up with the most lunatic reasons to justify hating her, and they weren’t afraid to voice it through their goddamn internet megaphones.  The most recent instance had happened during Sig’s unintentional weight loss while grieving for her dead friend.  Those absolute monsters came after her for perpetuating “ultra-thin beauty standards” and thereby promoting eating disorders.  Talk about making one’s blood boil-he’d punched an actual hole in his drywall.  That was the first time he’d responded with an overtly candid (and long) Instagram post about the hate directed at her—

***To my KIND fans:  THANK YOU for always being lovely, supportive, and respectful, especially during this emotionally trying month. I hope to be able to thank you in person one day, and if that happens, I’ll dole out massive hugs for it.  Now please feel free to ignore the rest of this post, because my next words are exceedingly harsh, and spattered with explicit angry language, and I assure you that they are not meant for you darlings. -LO x 

(Also, won’t it be hilarious if one of the people from the group below actually flags this post as “abusive”?—Oh my god, the IRONY)

To the self-entitled brats claiming to “care” for me while simultaneously harassing my girlfriend:

I wish I could brush this off as gag-inducing drama driven by fickle “fans” who will likely move on to obsessing over the private life of some other unfortunate “celebrity” (I don’t believe I fit into that category but whatever) in a month or two.  However, you twats have been tagging my girl in hateful posts and/or leaving abusive comments, be it on her page or mine, for two and a half goddamn years, and the frequency with which you do so has not declined but rather INCREASED, therefore, I have (unsurprisingly) reached my breaking point.  The gloves are off.

According to my social media team’s estimates, out of my nearly 300K followers, you lot make up less than 1%.  That sounds like nothing, but it isn’t nothing if one accounts for how fucking LOUD you are.  This is the first and last time I’ll address your absurd, grossly inappropriate, openly obsessive behavior in one of my posts.  I get it.  Your hormones have run amuck.  You have NEEDS.  I’m not stopping you from being as loud as you want amongst yourselves, but for the love of god, you continually tag me (and my girlfriend!) in your beyond vulgar posts and in MY comments on MY posts.  What the hell is WRONG with you?

Until now, I’ve been “gracious” with you wretched creatures, because apparently, most of you are at least fifteen years my junior, and I’d rather not waste my time arguing with people who can’t even rent a fucking car.  HOWEVER, we are nearly halfway through 2019, and I have now been tagged in 3,521 rude, harassing, or downright abusive posts and/or comments.  I’ve seen “EDUCATE URSELF LO” (or some equally insipid version thereof) in response to bullshit articles, disgusting rumors, and deliberate misinterpretations of goings on in my personal life, which supposedly “prove” that the person I love is “problematic.”  If you all genuinely thought you could continue to “OMG DRAG HER!” without losing “access” to ME, you should consider having your heads checked. (For obvious reasons, I know several psychiatrists who might be able to help you all combat your seemingly insurmountable Misery-esque neurosis.  Oh dear, did I just say ANOTHER problematic thing?  THE HORROR.)

Barely legal “adults” telling a 36-year old ACTUAL adult to “educate” himself is not only peak Karen, but peak c**t.  If you had even a shred of class, you wouldn’t throw mind-numbingly pathetic toddler-style tantrums on public social media platforms due to, for instance, some random picture of me kissing my girlfriend.  Newsflash: I’m in love with her, and I don’t want anyone BUT her, so…tough shit.  I swear to everything, you are not only an embarrassment to me, but to my respectful, caring, intelligent, thoughtful, big-hearted, NOT creepy readers/fans for whom I have great affection.  They deserve the world, and it is only for their sakes that I remain active at ALL on this account.

I’ve instructed my social media team to “take out the trash” starting tomorrow, but before they drop Les Enfant Terribles into internet nothingness on my behalf, since I think #Starboy said it best, I’ll give him the last words: “[...] here you are, hell-bent on tying me down, both figuratively and literally.  I know these velvet ropes really do it for you, but I’m not your fucking submissive.  I’m not your mountain to climb.  I’m not your challenge.  I’ll never be your greatest conquest. [...] you’ll never actually drive this car.  You don’t know how to drive a stick anyway, and I sure as hell won’t be your training vehicle.  Go practice stalling out on some old cash-for-clunkers reject.” ***

            His team still sifted through his mentions once a week to get rid of the haters, but even so, some of the nastiness still made its way to him, and ever since the first bitchy comment showed up in his notifications two years ago, he’d been extremely wary any time people said a word about her.  So… again…even though he was currently amid a mini freak out about Satellite Tides and didn’t want to hear his books discussed, at least this group on JB’s street wasn’t going on about Sig.

            Of course, just as that tiny silver lining crossed his mind, one of them ruined it by mentioning her.  

            “Who’s that girl with him?”

            Loki turned his head sharply in their direction, staring daggers even though there was no way that they could possibly see it.  Dammit—he’d crossed the street so he wouldn’t have to hear them anymore!  So much for that.

           One of the others replied, “That is definitely his girlfriend. I follow her on Insta.”

            You mean you STALK my girlfriend on Insta.

            Calm. Down.

            “The one from Sunlight, right?”

            “She’s not in it. He just dedicated it to her.”

            “How dare she steal my husband from me.”

            No one STOLE me.  I chased Sigyn Frey like a madman from day ONE.

            “Zane, he’s like twenty years older than you!”

            Oh no no no.  I’m going to be sick. That kid is only 16.

            “Uh no. He’s 36, not 46.”

            Oh, thank god—26 is an ACCEPTABLE age.

            Wait…did that mean these people thought he looked 46?  As though he wasn’t already paranoid about his slowly (sadly) receding hairline…

            “Sig…N… Frey… weird name.”

            Weird? Alright, BECKY. 

            “Don’t leave comments like that.  Sometimes Lo goes OFF on people for talkin’ about her.  And sometimes even for benign shit.”

            “Like…he’ll reply directly to them?”

            Absolutely I will, and my publicist despises me for it.

            “Yup.  He even wrote a whole post warning people to leave her alone back in May.  Granted, his reason for that post was legit.  But still.  He’s kinda volatile.”

            I prefer the term “certifiably moody” but whatever.

            “I want him to be volatile on top of me. HAHAHAHAHAHA.”

            Jesus. Christ.

            “How old is this Sigyn girl?”

            Old enough to remember card catalogues at least.

            “Probably like 22 cuz Lo can literally get it.”

            Raising an eyebrow, he pursed his lips.  22?  Uh…no thank you.  No hate, but that age couldn’t remember a time before the internet, which would make him feel positively geriatric. It would be just sex, and that no longer interested him, though he doubted anyone would believe him if he said as much.  He’d had his fill of purely physical encounters.  The only thing that interested him—would ever interest him—was currently holding his hand, which come to think of it, wasn’t close enough for his liking.  Running his free hand through his hair, he let go of Sigyn’s hand and wrapped his arm around her waist, tucking her into his side.  Those people weren’t saying anything cruel or rude, but—shit—he really was too protective for his own good.

            Too “volatile” for my own good… and that’s WITH treatment.

            Gratefully, JB and Lewis rounded the corner then, sparing him from giving further attention to a group of strangers who weren’t saying anything harmful but had nonetheless set him on an excessively self-conscious mental path.  Right now, he ought to simply be with his friends, since it would be his last chance to do so for a while.

            Arms wide open, Darcy hurried to Sigyn. “Dude-” she glared at Loki’s arm around Sigyn’s waist “-I want to hug my bestie, so move your clingy ass over.  I’m so sorry for not getting back to you, Siggy.  Shitty insane day at work, and all that…”

            Sigyn hugged her like her life depended on it. “It’s fine.”

            It’s NOT AT ALL fine, Darce, but whatever. I LOVE YOU.

            Darcy kissed her cheek and threw her arms around her neck. “Seriously, Loki.  Come on, useless boy.  Help Bucky with my bags,” she said, hugging her friend even closer.

            She pointed to the bag she’d dropped on the ground when she’d first come waltzing out of the building, and Loki blinked mutely at her for a moment before eyeing the yellow polka dot bag next to him on the ground.  He made a face. Dear god—were his eyes bleeding?  The thing was hideous.  No no no no no, surely even weak-armed Lewis could handle that measly little bag.  It couldn’t be more than half full.  Admittedly, the woman already had one bag slung over her shoulder, and it looked like it was the heavier of the two, but that was on her for packing a thousand bags.  He was feeling less than generous in a myriad of ways, and that was before anyone ordered him to go anywhere near that yellow atrocity.

            He touched it with the toe of his sneaker. “Tell me you don’t mean this one.”

            “Uh, yeah, genius,” she called out to him over her shoulder as she dragged his girl away from him toward the car, “Do you see any others?”

            Did Lewis just, at an offensive decibel, sarcastically call him a genius right here on a packed street in Brooklyn?  

            Cool it, LO.

           I don’t have to COOL a goddamn thing!

            Sig’s friend let go of her just as they reached the edge of the pavement and turned around to face him, looking back and forth from him to the thing on the ground.  Why couldn’t he think of any clever retort?  His quick wit was bailing on him, and oh it was pissing him off.  Dammit—his suddenly useless brain was giving him a highly annoying eye twitch.

            Bucky walked up behind him then. “Doll, it’s not even heavy,” he said loud enough for her to hear him from twenty feet away on a crowded sidewalk.

            Darcy smiled brightly at him. “Therefore, Starboy over there has no reason to not grab it so we can get on the road.”

            “Oh, I have my reasons,” Loki said, giving her a pointed look, which was apparently hilarious because she snorted loudly and slapped a hand over her mouth.

            Eyes rolling, he glanced sideways at his friend who was adjusting his grip on one of the two bags he’d slung over one shoulder.  Looking in all directions, Bucky exhaled heavily through his mouth.

            “Dammit,” he mumbled through his teeth, “this crowd is turning me ten espresso shots level jittery.”

            “I’ll get the damn bag,” Loki said, noting the man’s twitching fingers and clenched jaw.

            As much as he felt like being a dick to Lewis for putting him in a situation where people would see him with that should-be-burned rockabilly Betsy Johnson throwaway on his shoulder, clearly his friend was in no shape to deal with the back and forth arguing in the middle of this street.  God, he hated it for JB.  The aftereffects of Iraq would haunt the man for life.

            Mmhm, and if your friend can go overseas and fight in an ACTUAL WARZONE, you can pick up that crime against GOOD fashion.

            Pressing his lips together, he bent down into a low squat to grab the yellow polka dot (ugh) shoulder strap, which was inconveniently stuck underneath the bag.  He cringed when his hand grazed it.

            Oh my god, I am two seconds from blessing this Brooklyn pavement with my vomit.

            “Thanks.” Bucky ran a hand through his hair as Loki blew out a breath, still trying to work up the courage to pick the stupid thing up. “I feel like a pack mule.  I told her, word for word, ‘if you’re lookin’ for chivalry, doll, this ain’t it’  That would be me choosin’ to do this shit, not bein’ ordered to’ and all she did make a sad face and walk away.” He frowned down at Loki. “You okay, man?”

            “I think I’m allergic to this fabric pattern,” Loki made a gagging sound, and Bucky doubled over, grabbing his stomach while trying not to laugh too loudly.

            “Oh my god, Lo…man…I shoulda known that would kill you,” he croaked, rubbing tears from his eyes. “It’s not as bad as having to go on an emergency tampon run for her.”

            “Nope, this is far worse,” Loki grumbled, dragging a hand down his face, still unable to bring himself to sling it over his shoulder. “One can easily conceal those in a shopping basket.  Plus, that particular errand pleasantly reminds me that I successfully avoided knocking up my girl that month.”

            “Way to look at the bright side, my man.”

            Both men turned at the sound of Darcy’s too cheery voice, which was much closer now since she had apparently walked back to them during their short conversation.

            “We’d already be in the car if His Royal Highness ‘do they make this in black’ Prince Lo here would get over his aversion to fun vintage style,” she said, then started laughing as Sigyn hurried up behind her and slapped her shoulder, mouthing “STOP” to her.

            Loki knew he was high-key overreacting to a NON-thing.  He knew it was more important to get his friend out from the middle of all these people.  He knew that helping a woman with her bags was the mature thing to do.  He knew those things, but when combined with everything else- the crash and the book and the tour and leaving his girl and haters and stupid bags in stupid Brooklyn—hearing Lewis call him “Prince Lo” was the last straw.  Glaring up at her from under his brow, he set his forearm on his knee, his hand dangling in front of his chest.

            “I’m not your goddamn bellboy, Lewis.”

            Eyes blowing wide, Sigyn looked between her boyfriend and her best friend, then she stepped around Darcy to grab the yellow source of this completely unnecessary argument. “Here, I’ll get it.  I don’t mi—”

            “NOPE,” Darcy grabbed her hand and pulled her back. “Don’t you dare give in.  I know he’s your dream boy and all that, but he’s being an asshole.  We need to stick together.  Chicks before dicks.”

            Bucky rolled his eyes as she dragged Sigyn back toward the curb twenty or so feet away, then he sighed heavily.

            “Here, you take my nice plain black bag,” he said, then imitated Darcy’s voice inflection, “and I’ll get the fun vintage one.”

            As they switched bags, Loki rolled his eyes. “She’s baiting me, and I’m taking that bait like an angry simpleton.”

            Even though they were weighed down by unnecessary luggage, Bucky shrugged his shoulders. “I suppose we could flip it and bait her instead.  I mean, she did just call us dicks, so maybe we should live up to the name and retaliate in a highly classy ‘bros before hoes’ manner.”

            Just as Loki opened his mouth to ask what exactly that would entail, the niche audiophile vinyl store next door cranked the volume of their absolutely phenomenal sound system through the wide open doors and windows, and he heard JB laugh awkwardly.  He looked at his friend, one eyebrow to his hairline.

            “Oh my god, Lo—” he gestured vaguely all around them “—tell me you’re seein’ all these people dancin’, otherwise I’m hallucinatin’ and-”

            “You’re not hallucinating, JB,” Loki spoke over him as he looked up and down the pavement and across the street.

            His mouth formed an ‘o’ when he noticed several large ‘CONGRATULATIONS CLASS OF 2019!’ banners and tables with cakes and plates and what not.  Had those been here the entire time, or did people only just set them up?  Come to think of it, he’d heard the record store playing music all along, but he’d paid no attention because…well…most retail shops play music in the background, but this one had been providing music for a graduation party.  It was a legitimate street party, with a few hundred (at least) attendees. 

            “Oh, you know what—” Bucky pursed his lips, squinting as he turned in a circle “—this is actually a school-sanctioned graduation reception.  They do this every year.  Completely forgot.”

            Eyes moving from stranger to stranger, a crooked grin spread slowly across Loki’s face. “Looks fun actually.”

            His friend responded with a noncommittal hum. “Maybe…possibly, but I still gotta get off this damn street, man.”

            Loki was only half aware that his friend was still speaking.  He was frozen to this spot on the pavement while staring at Sig far away at the other end by the crosswalk, and he wanted nothing more than to dance with her just like all these other perfectly carefree people.

            “What’re you doin’ just standin’ there, man?” Bucky asked tightly, his fingers twitching. “Montauk is callin’ our names, and you’re stallin’ on me.”

            Finally tearing his eyes away from his girl, Loki let his head loll to the side and looked at his friend instead. “I’m tense as hell, and clearly you are too.” He gestured to the crowd. “I feel like dancing with them.”

            Blinking several times, Bucky pushed a hand through his hair and shook his head. “Love ya, man, but you are on your own there.  I don’t dance.”

            Still separated by the crowd, Darcy frowned and leaned toward Sigyn. “Admittedly, this is totally petty, but this has turned into an official game of chicken, and I refuse to be the one to swerve out of the way.”

            “Oh please, you know you’re just offended that he thinks you have terrible fashion sense.”

            “Damn right I’m offended,” Darcy snapped, giving her best friend a look. “I’m offended by that tone you’re taking with me.”

            “Well excuse me for getting a bit defensive of him when you didn’t say ‘hi’ or anything!  You just told him—”

            “Woah woah woah,” Darcy spoke over her, giving her a look, “you have to be on my side here, sister.  I know Loki hung the moon and all—” she waved a flippant hand “—but this is what feminism is all about, my friend.  The patriarchy is right over there, using their really great hair and lean athletic bodies and sharp jawlines and blah blah, to distract us from the fact that they are trying to make me carry my own bag, and I’m sorry, but that is not what our suffragette foremothers fought for.  We’re already stuck carrying the babies, so the least these pretty boys can do is carry the goddamn bags.”

            “Yes, we are truly showing the sexy patriarchy who’s the boss right n—” Sigyn’s eyes blew wide then, and she turned to face her friend directly, gesturing to the guys with her chin. “The damn bag is on your boyfriend’s shoulder!  You don’t have to carry it- problem solved!  Now let’s just-”

            “Which means my man caved to your boy, and that is total bullshit.  Bucky has to carry three just so Loki doesn’t have to put his perfectly manicured hands on some peasant’s belongings?”

            Sigyn squinted, trying to see the guys better in the dark, then groaned and rubbed her temples.  Good lord, she hadn’t had a conversation this level of petty since her first year at NYU when some wasted girl yanked her by her hair and dragged her off a couch in the freshmen dorm because she’d supposedly snogged her boyfriend.  To be fair, that was more of a fight than an argument, complete with scratching and slapping and hair pulling.  It remained one of the most embarrassing moments of her life.  Squinting further, she set her jaw, then put a hand on her hip.

            “Oh my god, Darce, use your eyeballs,” she groaned, pointing at them. “Your boy is only carrying TWO, not three.  They just switched duffels is all.  You’re the one who started this juvenile madness by calling Loki names such as, and I quote—” she counted off on her fingers “—useless boy, and genius, and Starboy, and his royal highness, and prince Lo.  And you know he despises that last one.  That was so un—”

            “Um, Siggy…” Darcy spoke over her friend, swallowing audibly and leaning toward her.  Speaking out of the side of her mouth, she said, “They are dancing.  Those boys dropped the bags altogether and are now dancing in the middle of the sidewalk.” 

            Sigyn stopped picking at the black nail polish on her thumb to look up at the guys just as Darcy threw her hands up and rolled her eyes.

            “I don’t get why they’re doing this,” Darcy groaned. “My flyboy was all LETS GOOOOO, and your Starboy was all FUUUUUCK YOU, and now they’re gonna flip a switch and start dancing at some rando’s high school graduation party?” Her eyes nearly popped out of her head then. “Wow those ladies are getting close to my man.  Oh no no no no.  You are on your own, Siggy.  I have some territory-marking to do.”

            Surrounded by dancing bodies (singing too), Loki focused intently on his girl as she jumped awkwardly out of her friend’s way.  Lewis was coming straight toward JB, and he assumed it had something to do with these newly legal girls moving a bit too close to her boyfriend.  He was surprisingly jealous of his friend when Lewis openly grabbed him by his belt (Jesus- not what he wanted to see) and started inappropriately grinding against him as though this was some sort of trap house beat when in reality it was the classic old school favorite Suspicious Minds by the infamous king of rock and roll himself.  Frowning deeply, he returned his gaze to his girl, who was still standing a thousand years away in front of that crosswalk.  

           Why won’t she come to me like Lewis went up to JB?  Does she not give a damn that I’m LEAVING on Tuesday?

            Mentally brushing that gut-wrenching thought aside, he refocused on the singing and dancing going on all around him—on the fun things going on all around him.

            Frozen to the pavement next to a street sign, Sigyn kept her eyes on Loki as she exhaled through her mouth.  She wasn’t particularly good at the “anxiety-breathing” technique (who knew it was a “skill”?) but she could at least try.  He looked so happy, so carefree, so…A-ok, and maybe it was because he liked the distance between them right now.  Maybe he would like an ocean between them.  At some point he’d put his sunglasses on, probably because people were taking pictures of (and with) certified blue check @lokiswriting.  He was so “on brand” right now, smiling for them and putting his arms around them and ducking into selfies with them, and she’d never felt so insignificant in her life.

            Wearing those cool as hell shades with his hair up and messed up while singing and dancing like he didn’t care who saw him, he was the incarnation of a hot summer night.  She vaguely heard Darcy, who was still a good twenty feet away, shouting at JB—“How is Loki able to hit the high notes? Baritones should not be able to switch into tenors at will like that!” —over the music.  As though her best friend had posed the question to her, Sigyn shrugged one shoulder in response.

            “He can do everything,” she said under her breath, staring at her too-perfect boyfriend.

            Except turn back time and UNSIGN his tour contract.

            Great.  Now she was falling down that miserable rabbit hole too.  She’d already been upset that he was surrounded by strangers, most of whom were really pretty and probably ten years younger than her, therefore more exciting and sprier.  Some were dancing so close to him, and he looked as though he was actually enjoying this situation, when instead he ought to be getting the hell out of there before someone legitimately groped him.  He carried a knife on him for that exact reason, for god’s sake!  Oh well, maybe it was all fine and dandy so long as it was some hot 22-year-old rubbing her ass against the front of his trousers.

            Swallowing nervously, she chewed her lower lip.  Was this how it would be when he was overseas?  Would she see pictures and videos of him loving that classic Starboy “live fast, die right” life without her?  Ugh, she could actually feel the jealousy rising in her chest like excessive cheap liquor at a bad idea party slowly making its way back up into her throat.

            Okay…I need to get the hell away from all these shiny happy people RIGHT NOW.

            Spinning on her heel, she started toward the car, but she only made it halfway across the street before a familiar hand grabbed hers.  When she turned around, Loki was pushing his sunglasses up onto the top of his head and blinking silently at her.  His eyes twinkled like the streetlamps, like brightly lit city windows.

            She caught herself before she scoffed “how DARE you have the gall to look so HAPPY.  How DARE your eyes be brighter than I’ve seen them since JANUARY while I’m over here breaking into pieces?  How DARE you let your stunning irises turn twenty shades of gorgeous green and blue under these streetlights!” right into his face.  The words he wrote on the spot at her doctor’s office and posted on his Insta came screaming back to her, though her mind automatically switched them to fit her point of view instead of his: “He blinks at me with iridescent eyes.  Are they silver?  I think they are stars.  I think infinite light years will soon permanently fill the space between Loki and me.  I think I’ll die before I get the chance to be anywhere near him again.”

            “Where do you think you’re going, gorgeous girl,” he asked, lacing his fingers with hers as he tugged her toward him and pulled her back to the sidewalk.  He let go of her hand to wrap his arms around her waist instead.

            “I was just going to grab my water from the car,” she said without missing a beat, faking a smile.  

            No way in hell would she let him see how damn miserable she was right here in this moment.  If he looked happy, then she could too.  Even if it was the lie of the century.  She waved a hand, attempting to look breezy and carefree about it.

            “It’s so hot out here, and with all the dancing and… you know…”

            He couldn’t look less convinced, and it irked her to no end that she couldn’t fool him at all.  She stopped the instinctive roll of her eyes, trying to keep eye contact with him, though her excessive blinking was ruining her “just fine, thanks” mask.  Alright, lying might not be her strongest suit.

            Looking all over her face, Loki shook his head. “This is the second time today that you have tried to run away from me.”

            Her mouth fell open. “No, that’s not what I’m—”

            “Do you have any idea how painful it is to watch you, literally and figuratively, turn your back on me, Sig?  Especially now, of all times?”

            Feeling like a piece of absolute human garbage, she lowered her eyes.  She shouldn’t be surprised that he would process her actions much like a reader recognizes an overt abandonment metaphor.  And why wouldn’t he?  She’d be lying to herselfif she said that she wasn’tchecking out of this relationship.  If she said that she wasn’t too scared to roll up her sleeves and put in the hard work after the fireworks show of the first two years was over because it might just fall apart anyway, that would be a lie too.

            What a wretched little coward- if you love this man as much as you claim to, Sigyn, then fucking PROVE IT.

            “I need you more than ever,” he said, reaching up to push her hair behind her ears. “Please just be here with me.  Don’t let the past drag you under the surface, and don’t focus on a future that neither of us is guaranteed.  The former is depressing, and the latter produces overwhelming anxiety.  Trust me on that, sweetheart.”

            Knowing he was one thousand percent correct, and wishing to the stars and back that she could follow those easier-said-than-done directions (for both their sakes), she wound her arms around his waist and buried her face into his chest.  However, just as soon as she did that, she felt his fingertip on the underside of her chin, slowly lifting her head to look up at him.

            “Focus right here—” he pointed at his eyes “—nowhere else.”

            She swallowed, wondering how upset he might be if she told him that she didn’t want to look at his eyes unless they were wetter than Niagara Falls.  Unless they were sad.  Unless they screamed “I AM FALLING APART TOO, I SWEAR” at her.

            “It’s called being present,” he said, his fingertips slipping just under the back of her shorts as he started rocking her back and forth, “and presently, I want to dance with the love of my life.”

            Blinking away the instant rush of tears, she slid her arms around his neck as he bent lower and danced like the present was the only thing they had.

            Maybe it is the only thing we have.  Maybe his next New Year won’t be mine after all.