romance – Jen Eowynir Fiction.

NEON CH 2

frigidadmin — Sat, 26 Jun 2021 06:01:55 +0000

SILVER HEART EYES
NEON DAYDREAMS CHAPTER TWO

~Monday, January 2, 2017, 2:12PM, Fanelli Café, NYC~

Putting her fork down, Sigyn pushed her plate aside, set her elbows on the table, and leaned forward onto them, staring at Loki sitting across from her as he recounted a story from his Harvard undergrad days. She chewed on her lip, trying to focus on the story itself, which would be a genuinely interesting one if her mind would quit checking out of the conversation every three seconds to just gaze stupidly at the mouth telling the story.

But honestly, how the hell could she process verbal communication when he insisted on describing this story with his hands? Loki could probably sell his left wrist to Rolex for millions. Who knew tendons and knuckles could be so appealing? In her mind, his fingers were the star of the show. They were longer than most guys (in her experience) and better groomed, for sure, with perfectly rounded ends and smooth surface curvature, giving the tips a natural-looking sheen. Finally— a man who knew how to buff his tips properly. Heat flooded her cheeks when the wording of her thoughts hit her.

He knows how to buff his NAILS, not TIPS, for god’s sake, her mind clarified itself.

MOVING ON.

Reaching for her glass, Sigyn took several gulps, which she nearly choked on thanks to her hilarious head spouting off a string of sexual jokes— “yeah, I bet you’re thirsty” “don’t spit it out” “you should offer to get on your knees and give him a MAN-icure HAHAHA.”

For the love, her one brain cell was actively working against its own best interests. If she wanted to turn her totally respectful Loki-centric thoughts into reality, then perhaps she shouldn’t allow her mind to wander away from the real guy right here in front of her. Setting her glass down, she shifted in her seat, unable to stop crossing and uncrossing her legs. She took several deep breaths, forcing her consciousness to turn Loki’s volume dial all the way up once more, to let only the sound of his voice permeate the space between her ears.

“…thought my father had the corner on the condescension market, but this calculus tutor made that merciless man who sired me look more charitable than Jesus Christ…” Loki paused, watching Sigyn move restlessly in her chair. Trying to ignore the rising insecurity in his chest, he cleared his throat.

“So…um,” he sighed, scratching the back of his neck,” my father was…he was…not nice…but that’s beside the point. This other guy was a prick-and-a-half, and…” he stopped again because, fuck, he couldn’t think straight with her moving like that.

Leaning forward, he looked her straight in the eyes. “Are you alright?”

Sigyn tilted her head, blinking several times. Was he upset with her? The tone of his voice suggested that was a possibility.

Oh, please no no no no, Loki, I am SO INTO YOU.

“I’m great,” she replied, putting on a smile that hopefully reached her eyes. When he didn’t respond immediately, only squinting at her quietly as though trying to read her mind, she swallowed nervously. “Why?”

He looked over her face, searching for the truth that she was most assuredly not sharing with him. She was great? Ha, okay. Consider him not convinced. That was, unless her “I’m great” response was supposed to conjure up an image of him taking the first sip from his to-go coffee while walking out of Ground Support with her this morning— that moment when he’d cringed at the unexpected soymilk flavor in his supposed almond latte, while muttering “fucking GREAT.”

He leaned forward onto his elbows. “You know that feeling during those last few minutes of class when your ears turn the professor’s words into a dull hum? As though your body senses the need to switch from the vulnerable, present-focused ‘learning’ mode that was required throughout the lecture to instead prep itself with a future-focused ‘green light GO!’ mix of adrenaline and cortisol or whatever, enabling you to bolt up out of your chair the exact moment that second hand touches the 12 on the clock over the front board?”

Sigyn smiled faintly. “Yes?” Where was he going with this?

“Yes?” He repeated her answer, to which she nodded. “Is that how you feel right now?”

She frowned, momentarily confused. “Wait…what-” she stopped when his question clicked properly. “Do you think that I think you sound like a droning professor??”

“Well, I mean,” he chuckled, somewhat amused by the offended expression on her face, “you seem antsy. Listen, I’m not saying that you’re bored per se, but maybe that you’re interpreting this conversation as annoyingly one-sided, you know?” He put a hand on his chest. “I don’t want you to think that I just like the sound of my own damn voice.”

Her eyes didn’t quite pop out of her head, but it was a close call. “You can’t be serious. No way in hell could you interpret anything I’m doing right now as me being annoyed with you. No no no,” she said, shaking her head, “you are wrong. Wrong. On all accounts. Wrong.”

Loki opened and closed his mouth a few times, genuinely concerned that she was in any way upset with him now. “Sigyn, I didn’t mean to-”

“Good god, no,” she spoke over him, laughing nervously. “I would gladly listen to your voice all day, alright? I’m grateful for the opportunity.”

If luxurious, melt-in-your-mouth, world-class cacao had a voice, it would sound exactly like Loki. Oh, that deep baritone timbre was phenomenal. Her eyes glazed over (probably into hearts). This was the first man she’d met who wouldn’t have to beg her to say his name during sex because, god almighty, she would already have moaned it, unprompted, about a hundred times in a mere five minutes with him. Blinking several times, she pressed her lips together. Well, at least she had the self-awareness to catch herself each time her brain short circuited into NSFW Land.

Her mouth fell open into an ‘o’ then—OH—as her exceptionally slow head finally flipped the empathy switch on. Shit, she would feel so dejected if she were in Loki’s position. If she’d noticed him fading in and out while she’d been talking, if she’d seen the dazed look in his eyes, or his incessantly bouncing knee, she would have excused herself to run to the restroom and cry into a wad of paper towels. She would have apologized for her sudden, adult-onset attention deficit disorder, but his deep, rasping laugh cut through the silence instead.

“Shall I continue blessing you with my mouth then?” he asked, giving her a look that had no business showing up in any situation that didn’t allow her to immediately rip his clothes off.

Oh god, she couldn’t breathe.

RIP Sigyn Elena Frey.

“Blessing you with the sounds coming out of my mouth, that is,” he clarified, barely managing to keep a steady voice. In the span of two seconds, his flirtatious “ha ha” innuendo had morphed into something far more intense, and now, here he was, needing to practice goddamn yoga breathing to get his heartrate down. (And some blood back up into his head—Jesus Christ.)

Sigyn forced a laugh, as though his “joke” had done anything other than turn her on to the point of pain. Other than the obvious things she would consider as “blessings” from his mouth, she could also envision what that mouth would look like while saying goodnight to her just inside her building doors. There would be a slightly crooked little grin on his face, then the upturned corner of his mouth would fall. Suddenly, his jaw would tighten, then he would make this sort of growl-like sound, reach down to grab her backside, hoist her up into his arms, and kiss her like a king while she wrapped her legs around his waist. Oh, she was rolling with this fantasy now, and she needed to stop. Eyebrows knitting together, she recentered herself in the here and now.

“By all means,” she said, smiling brightly, “please continue the story. I promise to sit still.”

Still counting his breaths, Loki exhaled through his mouth. Shit, he couldn’t even recall what he’d been talking about. He pressed his lips together, frowning up at the ceiling. Something about university, maybe?

OH! —the tutor from hell, that’s right.

“Okay, let’s see,” he said, tapping his finger to his chin, “right…so, listen, I didn’t complain about that guy to my parents, but it came up in a conversation with my mother, and—I’m dead serious here by the way—she dared to suggest…”

Sigyn stared at the moving shadows in his face, his words fading to white noise yet again. Those cheekbones were sharp enough to cut her hand on. Dammit! —how had she already zoned out again? What had he said? Something about his mum? He’d been getting to the climax of this story, and now she’d have to ask him to repeat it. She chewed her lip, trying not to think about “getting to the climax” in another scenario. She squinted at him, catching the tail end of the last sentence. Or was that a new sentence?

“…better than that, my mother assured me that this grad student only treated me like shit because he had a crush…”

She didn’t hear the next part. Her mind had replaced his voice with different sounds—imaginary heavy breathing, the loud echo of thick boots and skinny high heels climbing three flights of stairs, the creaking of her front door swinging open on its old hinges before slamming shut, the lock clicking, the thud of a purse landing on the wood floor, the “clink” of a belt unbuckling, a zipper pulling down…

“Bloody hell, shut up,” she groaned under her breath, putting her face in her hands, completely unaware that she’d said it loud enough for Loki to hear her.

“…a crush…on…me…” he slowed his speech to a halt, opening and closing his mouth a few times, unsure how to respond, before finally asking, “Did you just tell me to shut up?”

Hearing the raised inflection in his voice, she looked up from her hands.

“Oh. Uh…no,” she replied, gazing longingly at her ice water, wishing it were socially acceptable to dump it over her head. Her face was about to melt right off. She waved a hand. “That was aimed at me, actually.”

Head tilting, Loki looked sideways. What in all the universe was going on with her? It took him a second, but the answer did finally come to him. He pushed a hand through his hair.

“Can’t believe it took me so long,” he muttered, rolling his eyes at his complete lack of awareness. “I’m not boring you, no no no. You’re just caught up in some inner dialogue, and it centers around me in an inappropriate context.” He grinned at the sexy-as-hell blush on her cheeks. “Do tell.”

Shaking her head, Sigyn pressed her lips together to suppress an embarrassing nervous giggle. She would not legit giggle (EVER!) in front of this man.

“You don’t want to know,” she said, pushing a shaky hand through her hair.

“I00 dollars says I most certainly do want to know,” he countered, sucking in his cheeks. He pointed to her face. “You were picturing me naked.”

Her eyes blew wide open, though gratefully, the deer-in-headlights moment didn’t last long—two seconds, at most. Obviously, he’d spoken in jest, but it was still blatantly sexual. A bit bold for a first date, no? Glancing sideways out the window, she pondered the question for literally one second before concluding the obvious answer— he wasn’t “bold” so much as just “reading the room” accurately. She hadn’t exactly hidden her extreme interest in him. She should be relieved to finally be on a date with someone who wasn’t afraid to lay his “I really like you too” cards on the table.

Unless…he could just be an incredibly convincing liar. Maybe he only wants sex, and knows that shit wouldn’t fly with me, so he’s putting on the DREAMIEST SHOW EVER. He’s baiting, and I’m suicidal enough to take it…

She looked back at him, her eyes flicking between his mouth and eyes. Bloody hell, she would kill to kiss that smirk spreading across his face, partly because it would give her an excuse to examine his eyes up close. It would be akin to gazing at rare, gorgeous gemstones backlit by a winter sunset breaking through the clouds after a snowstorm—translucent jade threads bursting from the glittering onyx cores of glowing emeralds.

His crooked grin morphed into a toothy smile, and he laughed quietly. “Are you looking for the answer to my question on my face?”

“No,” she said on an exhale, the clusterfuck of butterflies in her stomach migrating southin a collective, flittering rush of blood at the sound of his throaty laugh, “I’m…admiring your face.”

And your voice. And your hair. And your words. And the way you look at me.

The word “magnetic” didn’t begin to cover it. God, he was so dangerous. Did he have enough self-awareness to recognize that?

“No, you’re stalling. That’s what you’re doing, darling. I see those clever gears grinding up there,” he said, pointing to her head, “cursing at each other for failing on the job.”

“My god, you’re so mean,” she snickered, though it was more from exasperation than amusement. “It’s an incredibly awkward question, you know? You’ve put me in a weird position, Loki.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Have I? Then by all means, Sigyn, feel free to take the lead. I’m amenable to any position.” The crooked grin appeared again. “I’m flexible like that.”

She couldn’t help but grin back at him. No way in hell was he faking this. Even the most experienced and talented charmer couldn’t pull this off. Even Oscar-winning performances required scripts, and both parties had to memorize their lines, or it wouldn’t work. Sure, many great movie moments had been improvised, but they still had to fit within the greater agreed upon context of the script or the scene prompt, right? This scene, however— the “first date” scene playing out right here at Fanelli, only a few blocks from her building— was the real deal.

Loki wasn’t baiting her. He wasn’t a pick-up artist. He wasn’t a charismatic “yes man” telling her everything she wanted to hear just to get her in bed. Quite the opposite, he was the most genuine man she’d ever met. Guarded, but genuine, nonetheless. Her gut instinct told her that his “guarded” quality was related to past trauma. Probably more than one instance of it.

Taking careful steps around his own personal broken glass (a justified decision, in her opinion), he’d still laid his cards out on the table in front of her. He was all in with no chips left to flex, and that made him vulnerable to a huge loss—her, in this case. In other words, he was confident that he could be vulnerable with her.

He’s confident that I’m into HIM, not the idealized Loki “Starboy” Odinson.

That meant he must be legit into her, right? Was this just her being too hopeful? —Had his dazzling, pearly white smile blinded the rational part of her brain? She suppressed a dreamy-eyed moan, her chest constricting and aching and melting and bleeding for this guy.

“Cat got your tongue, Ms. Frey?”

“This is so embarrassing,” she answered immediately, knowing that another slow response would just make her look like a silly, blushing schoolgirl or something, “but I can’t remember the question.” She forced a weak laugh and lowered her eyes to her glass, stirring the tepid water with her straw.

Pursing his lips, Loki reached across the table, and her heart skipped a beat as he gingerly pinched her fingers to stop the stirring. Her stomach flipped excitedly, absolutely thrilled with even that tiniest physical contact. It was a barely-there sensation, but apparently, he could make her crazy with just his thumb and forefinger. Her eyes nearly popped out of her head as the phrasing of that thought smacked her right in the face.

“Oh god, I wish,” she said without realizing it.

“You wish what?” He asked, removing her fingers from the straw, setting them on the table, then (unfortunately) letting go, and picking her glass up instead. He lifted it to his nose, sniffing the contents.

Eyebrows knitting, she watched him curiously. “Wish?” She’d said that out loud? Yikes. “Why are you smelling my drink?” she asked, dodging the question.

“Checking to see if it was spiked with vodka or something,” he said, biting into a smile.

She laughed. “What? Why would you think that?”

“Because you’re suffering from short-term memory loss, apparently, and I’m terribly concerned,” he joked, setting the glass down in front of her once more as she laughed harder. “I asked…” he paused, relaxing into the chair back, “Well, I suppose I didn’t phrase it as a question originally, but rather suggested that you’d stopped listening to me because you were too busy imagining the perfection beneath this-” he tugged the lapels of his black leather jacket “-marvelously stylish getup.”

“The confidence with which you speak astounds me,” she said, trying to contain the dreadful giggling sound coming out of her mouth. “Not that you shouldn’t be confident in that marvelously stylish getup.”

“She evades the question, yet again,” he sighed, extending his legs, and crossing his ankles under the table.

He’d assumed she would scoot a few inches left to make room for him, but she didn’t. Quite the opposite, she moved toward him, closing the slight space between his outer right thigh and hers. Heart pounding, he produced a small grin, thrilled to feel the heat of her bare leg against his jeans. Would he get slapped if he thanked her for choosing to wear a miniskirt sans tights in January? He watched her carefully, hoping he wasn’t misreading the situation. He doubted it, though, since her chest had begun rising and falling more quickly in the last three seconds. Still grinning, he took several deep breaths, reeling in the extreme desire to push his other knee between her legs.

BIG NOPE. I am not a goddamn caveman.

His grin faltered then, considering the possibility that this was just his imagination showing him what he wanted to see. Maybe the exposed skin above her shirt’s blessedly low neckline hadn’t turned a slightly darker shade of pink; maybe his mind had simply concocted a sexy hallucination starring this Sigyn Frey person who he’d only met yesterday. Oh god, if such things were true, he might need to excuse himself to go into the men’s room, and…kick a trash bin or something. Obviously, he’d fantasized about her while showering after that run yesterday, but this moment with her had better not also be an elaborate fantasy.

Please tell me my hyper excited chemicals aren’t LYING to me.

Lifting one eyebrow, Sigyn cleared her throat. “I was not picturing you naked.”

“You’re a terrible liar,” he sighed, smirking at the blush on her cheeks.

True story—She put a hand over her mouth to cover a laugh as she sank lower down her chair. “I was not technically lying.”

“You’re going with the technicalities defense?” He asked, his shoulders shaking with silent laughter.

“Well, I mean…” she sighed, forcing herself to sit up straight even though she would’ve preferred to fall through the floor, “you accused me of picturing you naked, and I was not picturing you naked.”

Eyes narrowing, he hummed. “Hmm. Question…”

She groaned—No further questions PLEASE, Loki!

Fuck, she was going to say something stupid. Something honest. Same difference.

“Why did you say you weren’t technically lying?”

She opened her mouth to respond, but he cut her off to elaborate. “Technically lying is not the same thing as being honest, is it?”

Again, she started to answer, and again, he spoke over her. “The subtext is entirely different, you know.”

Glaring at him, though not maliciously, she threw up her hands and answered honestly. “The insinuation within your accusation was that I was picturing you in a sexual situation, which would be correct, but you weren’t naked. There’s your technicality, Loki.” Her mouth snapped shut, and she winced. Oh, the regret. The shame.

Hello, Sigyn’s Losing Hand, allow me to introduce you to the Table of Oversharing!

Loki’s eyebrows shot straight to his hairline, and he bit into a smile. “My god, woman.”

Honestly, if she’d literally shot herself in the foot, it would’ve been less painful than this “dying inside” embarrassment.

She rolled her eyes and mumbled, “I hate everything.”

He gave her a pointed look. “You don’t hate me.”

Shrugging her shoulders, she nodded once. “Well, one need not be an Einstein to figure that out.”

“The feeling’s mutual, I assure you,” he said, chuckling quietly when she bit her lip and pretended to fan herself in response. “So…” he continued, propping his elbows on the table and setting his chin on his hands, “would you be willing to share further details about the situation you were think-” he stopped abruptly, pressing his lips together when their server appeared next to them with a water pitcher. He handed his glass to him, nodding his thanks while smiling at Sigyn, who was blinking lazily at him again.

The server looked at her. “You too, ma’am?” When she didn’t respond, but only continued staring at the man across the table, the server shook his head at Loki, then he snorted. “Jesus, it’s like you don’t even have to try, m’dude. What’s your secret, you goddamn sexual Tyrannosaurus?”

“If you think I don’t try, it then follows that you think I woke up like this,” Loki said, grabbing Sigyn’s glass to hand to the young man to save him the trouble of awkwardly reaching over their plates, “which couldn’t be further from the truth. One could argue that I try too hard.”

The server set her glass down, and the movement pulled her out of her starry-eyed daze, her eyes snapping up to him.

“Oh god, I’m so sorry,” she said, offering an apologetic smile. “I swear I’m not always such a space cadet.”

“Seems to be a regular problem with the girls who hang out with this guy,” he said, gesturing to Loki, and setting their separate restaurant checks on the table. “No rush,” he added, then turned away to help another table.

Eyebrows pulling together, Sigyn watched the man’s back for a moment. His words hadn’t been objectively offensive, not even close, but they’d triggered a highly juvenile internal response. Namely, jealousy. She heard Loki clear his throat, and she returned her eyes to him.

“I take issue with that lad’s opinion,” he sighed, stabbing at the chicken from Sigyn’s half-eaten entree. “As though only girls space out around me. Come on, mate. My appeal transcends gender.” He’d felt the shift in the air the moment that waiter mentioned other women. Hopefully, that off-the-cuff gender quip had softened the blow. See? —Trying.

“Mm,” Sigyn hummed, unsure what to make of the sudden tension in his jaw, the downcast eyes, the deepening crease between his eyebrows, and the slow, excessively methodical chewing of one small bite.

She tilted her head, silently counting 28 seconds until he finally swallowed. Interesting—a mouthful of food was a convenient excuse for what would otherwise be interpreted as nervous silence. She chewed her lip, watching him use the napkin in his lap to wipe his already clean mouth. Was he upset with her? With the waiter? Had he seen someone whip out a phone to take a picture of him or something? She looked over her shoulder, unsure what she was even searching for. If she had to guess, and she absolutely was guessing, she would say that Loki was panicking at the thought of her possibly feeling like she was just another notch on his bedpost after that comment.

Just keep the conversation going. You like this guy…a LOT. Don’t scare him off with your own bullshit insecurities getting the better of you.

Turning back to him, she smirked. “Your appeal transcends gender, eh? Agreed, and what a perfect segue back to the male Harvard grad student who was crushing on you.”

He raised an eyebrow, relieved to know that she was still willing to talk to him at least. “So, you were listening to the story.”

“I caught snippets,” she laughed.

“I’ll start where I left off…where was I?”

“You were telling me that your mum said that guy was into you. I can hear the ‘well actually’ right now.”

“Impressive recall for a space cadet,” he quipped, shooting her a smile. “You must be a phenomenal multitasker.”

“I am,” she agreed, then held up a finger. “Except for 69. It is impossible to do both of those things at once. How am I supposed to focus on the hand and mouth work while a man has his head between my legs?”

His eyes blew wide open. “Jesus. Christ. Don’t talk about that to me in public.” He hoped his inseam could handle the onslaught of gloriously graphic images flooding his brain.

“Oh please,” she laughed, adoring the desperate, longing look on his face, “you were about to ask the specifics of my little daydream.”

He licked his teeth (behind closed lips, of course—he wasn’t a creep) and held up his hands. “Guilty as charged.”

Despite being nervous as hell to be this open with him, her stomach twisted excitedly. If she didn’t get to roll around with him on her couch at the end of this date, she would be a sobbing mess of a woman tonight. No no no, she should absolutely not do that tonight. That would make her even more of a sobbing mess. Right? Taking a deep breath, she chewed her lip.

Ugh, just SAY it.

“I was picturing us in my building lobby, and…um…trying to determine if you were strong enough to climb the three flights of stairs up to my third-floor apartment-” oh god, just breathe “-if you had to carry me up there.” He was an avid runner, right? It only followed that he had strong legs. Or did it hinge more on the upper body strength?

Raising a dark eyebrow, Loki bit into a crooked grin. She wanted him to literally sweep her off her feet? Alright, that was it—he needed to make Sigyn Frey his girl. No question.

Giving her several once-overs (would one call that a four-over?), he smirked. “Uh…easily, darling.”

“I suppose there’s no way in hell you would’ve said anything else, unless you wanted to get smacked for judging my figure,” she laughed, genuinely amused by the smug yet offended expression on his face.

He gave her a withering look. “You can’t possibly think that your figure is anything short of absolutely stunning, right? Also, if we’re judging figures, here are a few: I deadlift 350, hit the gym 6 days a week, 52 weeks a year, and give precisely zero fucks about whatever number you see on your scale. Trust me, when I say that I can easily carry you up three flights of stairs, I’m not lying.”

She stopped laughing immediately. Goddamn, no wonder his jeans fit him like a dream. Her heart was about to burst through her ribcage.

He held up a hand before she could respond. “Okay, admittedly, that sounded arrogant as hell, and I should probably be ashamed for what could very much sound like a god-complex, however, in my defense, overextended gym-use and subsequent gloating about it are just part and parcel for people with VASFPD.”

Lifting her drink to her mouth, she stared blankly at him. “I have no idea what any of that means.”

Straight-faced, he answered without hesitation, in the flattest voice ever. “Vain as fuck personality disorder.”

Aaaand…she literally spit out her drink. “Loki Odinson,” she croaked, laughing between coughs as she wiped tears from her eyes. “I swear to god, you are ridiculous,” she managed while wiping tears from her eyes.

He laughed in response, quickly jumping up and coming around the table to pat her back (as though that would help at all).

“You think I’m ridiculous? Check out that inflatable dinosaur zipping by on a skateboard,” he said, pointing out the window and smiling when she started laughing all over again. “Bloody hell, I love New York.” He offered his hand to her then.

“Ready to go?” he asked, grinning crookedly when she took his hand, allowing him to help her to her feet. He gestured to her bag, slung across the chairback. “Better not forget that.”

“Oh right,” she mumbled, rolling her eyes at herself as she let go of him to reach down and unhook the awkwardly placed strap.

For pity’s sake, she was coming across as a silly, helpless girl who couldn’t even remember her damn bag! Wrenching the thing free, she unzipped it as she stood upright. Before she could slide her credit card out, Loki placed his hand over hers, and she looked up to see him pulling a few clean, new twenties from a silver money clip.

“Oh my god, no,” she said, shaking her head resolutely, “that is generous, but you do not need to pay for-”

“I asked you out, Sigyn,” Loki cut her off, leaning over the table to stack their separate restaurant bills into a neat pile. He then dropped the cash on top of them and picked up the pen that the server had slipped inside the receipt holder. Clicking the pen, he quickly wrote “keep the change, Jesse. Take care- LO x.” and popped one of the free peppermints into his mouth. Grabbing the other one, he handed it to Sigyn.

“Did you think I’d let you pay for your own lunch? How else am I supposed to impress you?” He winked, snickering quietly at her dramatic eye roll as she unwrapped her mint.

“Mmmhmm,” she hummed, lips pursing as she quietly chewed and swallowed it. “Indeed, after seeing you wield cash like a hero, I am now able to detect a hint of attraction toward you. I mean, prior to this moment, you had nothing else going for you.”

“A hero, I am not,” he lowered his voice, leaning toward her, and gingerly slipping his hand into hers again, “but a villain who has successfully lured you into an attraction trap.”

She chewed her lip, forcing a “confident” smile even though he made her feel weak as hell. Son of a—as though he hadn’t already melted her insides with each word, each smile, each pass of his hand through his hair, each bite of his dinner that showed off his jaw, or swallow of his water that made her want to put her mouth all over his neck; now his face was mere inches from hers. She needed to say something, or else she might lean forward and kiss his mouth right here in the middle of a crowded café.

“The utter betrayal,” she managed, her voice shaking a bit as he wiggled his eyebrows in response. Dammit—so much for dry wit—she was unable to stop a smile from spreading across her cheeks as he turned on his heel, pulling her with him toward the old glass-windowed door under the exit sign.

Dragging her behind him, Loki pushed through the door, squinting from the sudden burst of late afternoon daylight blasting into his retinas. He tightened his grip on her hand, smoothly descending the two steps down to the sidewalk, then began walking up Mercer Street without asking where Sigyn wanted to go. He didn’t have a destination in mind, and he didn’t care. He just wanted to take her everywhere with him, and if he asked her what to do next or where to go next, then he would be forced to admit he didn’t have a plan. And that could easily turn into a “well, that was fun, see you some other time” situation, which was not okay because he wasn’t ready to end this date.

Even though he’d been with her all morning, starting with coffee at Ground Support on West Broadway, then walking nearly every block of Soho twice, and spent three hours making possibly too-intense eye contact and talking her ears off just now at Fanelli, he couldn’t stand the thought of saying goodbye yet. He felt her thumb rubbing circles on his hand, much like she’d done to his arm yesterday when he’d caught her, but the sensation of it was far more deadly today.

Don’t be a coward, LO.

Blowing out a breath, he started to ask when he could please see her again, but she spoke first.

“Ugh, I hate this,” she sighed, her words sending Loki’s stomach plummeting to the ground.

Eyes popping, he stopped abruptly, accidentally yanking her with him.

WAIT…WHAT?

“Sorry,” he apologized, instinctively grabbing her shoulder with his free hand to steady her. He released her hand and cleared his throat, trying to stop his face from falling to the concrete and landing with a dreadful SPLAT.

Head tilting, he pressed his lips together. “You hate this?” he asked, anxiety clawing at his chest.

Please say that you just meant you hate the cold, gorgeous girl. You hate January. You hate winter. You hate Mondays. You hate post-lunch drowsiness. You hate SAYING GOODBYE.

“I hate that I have a huge meeting first thing tomorrow,” she grumbled, her shoulders slumping forward, “and I still need a solid six hours to prepare for it because I’m a fool who put it off until the last minute. Which means that-”

“That you have to get home,” Loki finished for her, smiling weakly as she nodded. He was tempted to ask if that was just an excuse to get away from him, but paranoia wasn’t a good look on anyone. Instead, he faked a chuckle and shrugged. “Sometimes I forget that people have normal 9 to 5 jobs.”

Despite wanting to throw a tantrum like some silly little princess who couldn’t get the thing she wanted right now, Sigyn smiled up at him. “Well, mine is an 8 to 5, so…” she trailed off, her eyes rolling, “even better.”

“Right,” he said, scrunching up his nose.

Taking a deep breath, he exhaled slowly, annoyed that he was so damn nervous to ask for her number. He hadn’t asked yesterday for obvious reasons. No one with half a brain cell would share information that might turn into a slew of unsolicited dick pics from classy strangers showing up in their texts. But after an actual date? More specifically, a good date wherein he had hopefully destroyed any “is this a stalker-type guy” concerns in her head…?

“It’s what I get for being a pathological procrastinator,” Sigyn groaned, pushing her hair behind her ears one at a time with her left hand.

The movement reminded Loki that she hadn’t yet released his right hand. Eyes flicking down to look at it, he pulled his bottom lip through his teeth, his heart skipping several beats at the sight of her fingers lacing with his. He looked up, meeting her unreal silver eyes once again. It was on the tip of his tongue—the offer to walk her back to her building. If she said yes, that would be a solid indicator that she wanted to give him her number. He eyed the sky, scowling a bit. It was bright enough out here for her to safely go anywhere alone, removing any archaic chivalrous excuse to stick by her side. Absent that, she probably wouldn’t be comfortable leading a man directly to her apartment after just one date, and he could hardly fault her for that.

Not that I’m the kind of man that she needs to fear…

“I want to see you again, Sigyn,” he finally admitted, relieved that he’d managed to keep his voice steady, then held up a hand, “only if the feeling is mutual, of course.”

The brightest smile in the history of everything split her face wide open, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “Um…” she paused, pressing her lips together, still grinning, “yeah, the feeling’s definitely mutual, Loki.” To say the least—good god, if this man knew how much she wanted to see him again, he might walk back his offer out of concern for his safety.

Lowering his eyes for a split second, Loki bit into a smile.

THANK GOD.

“Good,” he said, the somersaults in his stomach making his head spin. “I need to have a look at my calendar before I set a specific date and time,” he added, letting go of her hand to reach into his pocket and pull out his phone.

However, he stopped when she abruptly pushed up onto her toes and pulled him into a full-body hug, her arms winding around his shoulders. Mouth falling open, somewhat shocked, but mostly thrilled with the sudden gloriously close contact, he returned the hug in full. He wrapped his arms tightly around her ribs, careful to keep his hands in PG-rated areas only. Oh god, but her hips were pressing directly into his…

Absolutely not, LO! Initiating anything further on your part would be positively MORONIC.

I KNOW.

Without considering the possibly…awkward…position it would put him in, Sigyn turned her head, burying her nose into his neck, just below his ear. Good lord, he smelled amazing. Was that cologne? Shampoo? Shaving cream? She was two seconds from legitimately putting her mouth on this man’s throat, when she heard him inhale sharply. Blinking rapidly, she immediately pulled away, scolding herself for being a thirsty, self-absorbed, inconsiderate woman.

“Sorry,” she muttered, her face burning, “it was just…you know-” she waved a hand “-a really good hug. Got carried away.”

Scratching the back of his neck, he raised an eyebrow, then dropped his hand. “I’m not complaining.”

Feeling like she was on the verge of a heart attack, she lowered her eyes, grinning stupidly at the pavement. She couldn’t believe she’d met this guy. He was basically her dream boy…or…man…whatever.

“Don’t suppose you’d be willing to give your number to me?” he asked, 1000% confident that Sigyn would happily give it to him now.

HA! You WISH she would “give it to you” now, LO.

Well, maybe not right here on the street.

“Absolutely,” she said, smiling wide as he unlocked his phone and pulled up his contacts. He held his phone out for her, and she eyed the “new contact” screen. Rather than take it from his hand and enter her information, she blindly unzipped her bag, keeping her eyes on his as she fished around for a pen.

He tilted his head, confused. When she produced a pen and stepped closer to him again, nearly closing the distance completely, his brain finally put two and two together.

Oh my god, she is NOT going to write her number on my hand.

Sigyn took his phone, slid it back into his jacket pocket, grabbed his hand, and flipped it over. Clicking her pen, she wrote a series of numbers on his palm. It was a good thing that she was too focused on her task to notice his eyes glazing over like a simpleton. Or to see the hearts swirling around his head. This girl would be the death of him.

You are 33, LO. Act like it.

I’ll do whatever I want!

He eyed his palm as she signed her name beneath the numbers. She’d written “Sig” (oh, he liked that), adding an extra flourish to the loop of the ‘g’ and underlining it. His fingers felt like they were on fire as she blew on the ink. He couldn’t help but stare at her lips as she used her magical mouth powers against his last few braincells. Rolling his eyes at the phrasing of that thought, he pushed his free hand through his hair. Magical mouth powers…heaven help him.

She finally released his hand and smiled up at him. “There you go.”

“How very old school of you,” Loki said, looking at her handwriting one last time before carefully pocketing his hand. “I’ll text you my number, then call you after I’ve had a better look at my schedule.”

“I shall wait with bated breath,” she replied theatrically, immediately cringing at the sound (ugh, DORK) then started to hug him again, but stopped herself and stepped back instead.

He’d already basically admitted that he really enjoyed that hug, and that was not good. Well, no, it was extremely good, just for the wrong reasons. If she tried that shit again, she’d end up dragging him back to her place to live out her “carry me up the stairs” fantasy, which as much as she wanted to, she should not do on a first date with someone that she was already feeling this emotionally connected to. As much as she would kill to hit the gas with Loki Odinson, it was in her best interest to not push it with him.

Before she could change her mind, she turned on her heel, and rounded the corner back onto Prince Street. She would walk straight home and bury herself in her little architect world—in technical drawings and 3D models and what not. Well, first she needed a cold shower because she was dying. But after that…work!

THE NEW YEAR FEVER DREAMS SAGA
A LOKI+SIGYN MODERN AU SERIES

NEON DAYDREAMS CONTINUES IN CHAPTER THREE: MOONROOF SEROTONIN.
Visit the Neon main page HERE.

Neon Daydreams Chapter Links: ¹Caffeine Fireworks ²Silver Heart Eyes ³Moonroof Serotonin ⁴Wayfarer Winter ⁵(December 2021) ⁶(January 2022) ⁷TBD ⁸TBD ⁹TBD ¹⁰TBD ¹¹TBD ¹²TBD

CHAPTER TWO THEME SONGS:
“I Like Me Better (Ryan Riback Remix)” by Lauve (for Loki)
“Plot Twist” by NIKI (For Sig)

What Readers Have Said
About CH 2 “Silver Heart Eyes”

“VdshhgdfhytjtegfebfdbDGgfmhthfdfdsfJyukgheithfdfwefrfwHhgnvdvdsfrytrhffdfgAgjytdhrgrsfgJudSeryJuyureffmuykGGgtm”
-Burningarbitterheart, on CH 2 “Silver Heart Eyes” (AO3)

“The chapter in which Sig is all of us. Seriously that man’s voice and hands should be illegal. And his eyes, and mouth, and…. Ok EVERYTHING, everything about him is too much for we mere mortals.”
-Ferbette, on CH 2 “Silver Heart Eyes” (AO3)

“I quite like the ‘happy’ vibe in the story, NYSH was a masterpiece but I love my fluff ”
-Bullla, on CH 2 “Silver Heart Eyes” (AO3)

Receive instant notifications directly to your inbox when Jen updates her in-progress works, such as the next chapters of Neon Daydreams and Fearless Immortals in December 2021 and January 2022; we’ll let you know when new short stories and multi-chapter works have been posted as well.* To keep up with our latest news (and to just joke around with us), follow the Jen Eowynir Fiction Admin Team’s Twitter account @LokisWriting (previously Jen’s old personal account). As of June 2021, Jen has a new personal-use Twitter. Both are linked in the icons below, along with her other socials.

DEAD ALREADY CH 2

frigidadmin — Thu, 04 Mar 2021 07:32:02 +0000

MMM…CORN SYRUP (BUCKY)
DEAD ALREADY CHAPTER TWO

He cocked his head a little. “How many times do I gotta tell ya my name is Bucky, Liv? Even my ma doesn’t call me James, so it doesn’t feel like it fits.”

“Okay, first off,” she held up a finger, “That’s what she said.”

His responding laugh, one that wrinkled his nose and caused his eyes to crinkle at the corners, made her insides giddy. Few things could make her as happy as knowing that the guy she was into thought she was funny.

“And second of all,” she added, giving him a once over from head to waist, frowning a little because the damn bar obstructed the view below, “you do not look like a Bucky.”

He gave her a somewhat amused but mostly questioning look, clearly waiting for further explanation from her, but she merely shrugged. No way in hell was she going to tell him that he was way too hot for a name that belonged in June Cleaver’s house, right next to Beaver and Wally. With his eyes steadily boring into hers while she sat there, completely wordless, the sound of drunk patrons having a fantastic time in a (relatively) small space faded until the only thing she could hear was the haunting music muffled by the blood rushing through her ears. Maybe it was only five seconds of silent eye contact, but it was more than enough to make her face and chest flush, so she looked down, pretending to find something in her bag. Sitting back up once her cheeks were no longer burning, she met his eyes again and let out a dramatic sigh.

“But since you’ve brought the name thing up every time I see you, I give in. You win,” she paused, talking a deep breath before relenting “… Bucky.”

She looked sideways, mentally repeating the name several times. After a few seconds of letting it sit on the tip of her tongue, she decided that it actually did fit, and she liked it…a lot- oh woah, what she said! When she finally looked at him, he flashed her a smile bright enough to need solar eclipse glasses to look directly at it.

“Happy now?” She blinked, wondering how the hell even his teeth were pretty.

An impish, closed-mouth smirk replaced his blinding smile. “Depends how often I get to hear ya say it while beggin’ me for somethin’.”

Liv bit the insides of her cheeks so her jaw wouldn’t drop at the…uh…implications…of his words. Alright, she needed a drink- STAT.

But there was no way she could say “Bucky, please give me a glass of whatever has the highest alcohol content by volume” without her brain giving up after “Bucky, PLEASE” which would be the very definition of begging him for something. Nope. Nope. Nope. No begging for anything.

Smirk still in place, he tilted his head. “Cat got your tongue, Liv?”

She forced a laugh, trying not to focus on him mentioning her tongue because it sounded way too good coming from him. Sure, it was just as a highly common figure of speech, but still. Leaning into the back of her chair, she crossed her legs, attempting to look relaxed.

“Just parched, is all,” she cleared her throat, “so how about you get me a house brew, please.” She stopped short of saying his name after please. It was for the best.

Bucky squinted at her, his lips pursing. “Haven’t I made about twenty vodka tonics for you? Figured you’d want that.”

She pressed her lips together so she wouldn’t snort like an actual farm animal at his expression. It was no doubt unintentional, but he was doing an uncanny imitation of Derek Zoolander, and holding back a cackle was making her sides hurt. Despite the pain, she was thankful for the comedic relief. She needed a break from a month of building sexual tension that was apparently reaching fever pitch tonight, or she was going to spontaneously combust right here. But since he’d killed her a dozen times already, it was just par for the course.

“Yes, vodka tonic is my go-to,” she conceded with a smile, “but since it’s Halloween, I shall face my fear -” she wiggled her eyebrows “-of beer.”

It was perhaps the worst pun she’d ever made, and that was saying something, but she nearly fell off her stool from laughing, nonetheless. Hearing a sigh then a groan next to her, she looked left to see Steve hanging his head and pinching his eyebrows between his thumb and forefinger. Holding her stomach, she nudged him with her shoulder, and he lifted his head to eye her.

“That was bad, Livvy. That was really bad. That was really really bad.”

“Nah,” Bucky countered, and Liv turned back to see him leaning onto his forearms and grinning at her through eyelashes that belonged in a goddamn Maybelline ad. “I thought it was cute.”

Bouncing the ball of her foot rapidly on the spindle of her barstool like she’d had about five espresso shots, she smiled back. God help her. He was being such a flirt tonight, and it was sending her pulse through the roof. If she died from a heart attack tonight, her parents could have him charged with involuntary manslaughter. For the love, her brain needed to go easy on the death metaphors, lest it decide to literally play along and kick the proverbial bucket before she had a chance to get her mouth on his.

Speaking of his mouth…it was moving, but she couldn’t hear him over everyone dancing and screaming the lyrics to some edm trap crowd-pleaser that was now blasting through the house. He may as well have been speaking Russian for all her ability to interpret what he was saying when all these people were freaking out over beat drops that were, to be fair, pretty damn orgasmic. Bucky’s eyes were raised in question, and she shook her head, pointing to her ear.

Leaning further toward her, now halfway across the counter, he raised his voice. “Porter, Amber, Blond, or Oktoberfest?”

She sucked in her cheeks, at a complete loss. Her experience with beer was, no joke, limited to a few red cups of piss Bud Lite back in college at that one frat party she went to before swearing them off for life. Talk about vomit-inducing regret. Both the beer, and the boys. But, come on, Odin’s Ravens in house options had to be superior (both the beer, and the boy—ha! —or uh…man, obviously) and she felt daring tonight.

Sitting forward, she spoke loudly. “What do you suggest?”

Bucky chewed his lip, squinting at her as though trying to read her mind. “You one of those girls who’s into that pumpkin shit from Starbucks?”

She made a face, shaking her head. “Hell no. I know I fit the young… ish- ” she added when Steve smirked at her like a total ass “-middle class female demographic, but I do not want my coffee to taste like a bad imitation of Thanksgiving dessert in a paper cup.

“My kinda girl,” Bucky said, giving her another knee-weakening crooked grin.

“Shocking,” Steve droned, “since you called it pumpkin shit-” he made air quotes “-kinda gave yourself away there, bud.” He snickered when Liv shot him a look.

“I’m not faking an answer just to agree with him,” she snapped. “You of all people know I despise pumpkin spice.”

He held up his hands. “I didn’t say you were faking it.”

“I don’t fake anything,” she said, lifting her chin as she glared at her friend. She peeked sideways when she felt Bucky staring at her.

His eyes roved over her face. “Are you still talking about coffee? Or…somethin’ else?”

She gulped, thankfully not audibly, blinking as she tried to think of a witty response. Why was her brain shorting out on her?! That damned little smirk appeared on his face again, and he scraped his teeth over his bottom lip.

“Don’t answer that. You’ll like the blond,” he said, standing upright and grabbing a pint glass. “Blond beer, that is. Not guys. No blond guys.” He set it under the tap. “Kinda smoky. Hint of citrus. No pumpkin. Smooth as hell.”

Blowing out a shaky breath, she clasped her hands on the counter. Could he just take a break from being, in his own words, smooth as hell for two seconds? Telling herself to get her shit together, she watched him drop an orange slice into the full glass and set it onto a cocktail napkin in front of her. Steve gave her a knowing grin and she almost stuck her tongue out at him. Controlling that urge, she took a sip instead, then moaned very quietly at the shockingly satisfying flavor. She downed the whole thing in ten seconds. Yeah, it was that good.

Steve gaped at her empty glass. “Seriously, Livvy? I really didn’t wanna have to babysit you tonight.”

Swiveling in her seat to glare at him, she set her jaw. “It’s one beer, dad, and by the way, nine times out of ten I’m the one doing the babysitting.” He started to respond but let out a defeated sigh instead when she looked away.

“So, Bucky…” she began, but trailed off when she saw that he had disappeared to take a drink order on the other end of the bar.

He turned at the sound of her voice and held up a finger, mouthing “just a sec” to her, then resumed talking to the other clientele. Puffing out her cheeks, she exhaled loudly and draped her arm over Steve’s shoulders.

“I’m sorry for being so snappy,” she frowned, leaning her forehead against his temple, “it’s just…ugh…he makes me nervous as hell, you know?”

Raising his eyebrows, he laughed quietly. “I’d call it something other than nervous, but you do you.”

He reached around her, giving her waist a good squeeze, and she patted him on the head sweetly. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Bucky coming toward them, grabbing a cheap house red from the wine shelf behind him along the way.

“You wanted me?” he asked, eyes on hers as he blindly twisted a bottle opener into the cork.

He pulled the cork out with a pop, and she suppressed the instinct to blurt out, in very explicit language, exactly how much she did indeed want him. Instead she nodded slowly, giving him a somewhat lop-sided grin, and he grinned back. Admiring his hands as he filled a wine stem half full, she scooted forward.

“So, Bucky,” she repeated herself, “what brilliant advice beyond beer flavors can you give me? What color shirt should I wear on my next dinner date? Glasses or contacts? Can I pull off skinny jeans?”

Quirking an eyebrow, he set the glass in front of a woman whose breasts were on the verge of popping out of her skintight catsuit, then walked back to Liv. She heard the woman holler “DTF, Buck-eeee!” at his back about ten times, and it took everything in her to not throw her glass at the woman’s head. Seriously? What was wrong with people? Nothing wrong with wanting to do all the things with him, but good god, save the shameless verbal thirst for twitter or something, not real life.

“I so love a high-class lady,” Steve deadpanned, eyes rolling.

“Tell me you don’t hear shit like that on a daily basis, Bucky,” Liv said tightly, staring daggers at catgirl or whatever costume that was as she cackled with her (presumably) friends.

Would going over there and ripping out a chunk of that trash bleach job on top of her head legally count as assault? Her narrowed gaze slid back to him when she heard him laugh quietly. She really hoped he wasn’t about to say he considered that kind of blatant objectification to be a compliment. Sure, he was a guy, and no doubt that woman would definitely be an easy lay, which was usually what straight guys seemed to live for but come on. If it were the other way around, most people would call it harassment.

“Not on a daily basis, no, but when it happens, usually people are a little more discreet about it,” Bucky sighed, running a hand through his hair to push the longer strands off his face. “Long as no one grabs my ass or crotch, I don’t really give a damn. Types like that do tend to tip extremely well if I just smile at them once, so…whatever. Pretty easy extra hundred bucks.”

Unsure what to make of that response, she squinted at him. Well, at least he hadn’t said he liked it. She gave him a little smile as he bent down onto his elbows again.

“Anyway, forget them. You asked me a lotta questions about some hypothetical date. Lemme see here…” his gravelly voice faded to a low hum, and he chewed his lip, looking her up and down. “Go with a loose, but not baggy, dark-ish shirt. Your eyes are this sorta gorgeous ambiguous grey-ish blue green color, so stick with the contacts. And if you can’t pull off your skinny jeans,” his gaze dropped to her mouth for a second, “I can help with that.”

Before her jaw could unhinge from her skull, someone else called him by name, and he left her to take their order. While he was occupied with the impressively convincing Edward Scissorhands (how was that guy going to HOLD a drink?) on the other side of the bar, Liv blinked, completely at a loss for words. Was she having a psychotic break, or had he actually said that?

If you can’t pull off your jeans, I can help you with that??

She was so dumbstruck by his words that she didn’t see him come back to her, only realizing he was there when she heard him sigh loudly.

“Sorry,” he said, counting out a cash tip in his hands, “that was beyond inappropriate.”

Steve snorted then, nudging her with his shoulder. “She didn’t mind, trust me.”

She didn’t notice the nudge or hear Steve’s voice at all really. Setting her chin on her palm, she stared all dreamy-eyed at the guy who had just insinuated that he wanted to take her pants off. Uh…Bucky Barnes could get it. And he was gonna. Tonight.

She was so done with the this-is-going-nowhere innocent flirting thing they’d been playing at for a month. Lowering her eyes to look at her hands in her lap, she smiled so wide it made her cheeks hurt. This was like unwrapping presents on Christmas and getting everything on her Amazon wish list, even that ridiculous three-thousand-dollar emerald ring.

No, it was better than that. It was Halloween, and she had just unwrapped a goddamn dark-haired Adonis who apparently wanted to unwrap her too. She raised her head again, shooting him a smile. This was happening. Good thing she had shaved her legs.

“Want another one?” Bucky asked, pointing to her glass, and she nodded, unconsciously biting her lip at him while he refilled it.

Setting her second drink down in front of her, he sighed again. “So, boss man made a royal decree at the staff meeting this morning. Said we’re closing at ten instead of two.”

Steve frowned. “What? Why so early? Of all nights, seems like this is a great one for business,” he said, gesturing to the packed house, “they’re all dressed up and everything.”

“Maybe Odin just really wants to go trick or treating,” Liv shrugged, then picked up her glass and drank half of it. “He basically owns this city, so it’s not like he’s desperate for the extra cash ya’ll would make tonight. Oh, and since you mention dressing up,” she hissed, earning her confused looks from both men as she set her glass on the counter forcefully, “why have neither of you complimented, or at the very least, acknowledged my costume?”

She waved vaguely at her clothes: Lavender scoop neck tank, unbuttoned blue denim jacket with rolled up sleeves, both splattered with fake blood. Usually she just let her natural waves air dry because fixing them into an actual style took an hour, and she did not like staring at herself for that long. But tonight, she’d smoothed it into a straight fringe with the hair dryer, setting the bad idea bangs she’d been growing out for months with a light coat of hair spray. Splotches of temporary deep crimson hair color completed the look, and she was damn proud of it.

Brow creasing, Steve looked her up and down. “That’s a costume?”

Her jaw dropped, and she scoffed. “What? Of course, this is a costume! There’s blood all over me! What, did you think I was attacked by a rabid dog on the way here?”

Steve leaned back to avoid a likely smack to his shoulder. “My god calm down. I thought that red mess all over your jacket was some weird fashion trend that old men in their ancient thirties, like me, don’t know about. I never pay much attention to what you wear.”

Rolling her eyes, she pointed to her head. “That red mess is in my hair, too, and only a dumbass wouldn’t notice that.”

“In his defense,” Bucky piped up, and she turned to glare at him, “it doesn’t look like blood in your hair. Looks like those random streaks of color some girls add to their hair when they get bored with it. Or just…y’know…really drunk.”

Growling quietly under her breath, Liv gulped down the rest of her drink. Yes, she was drinking too fast. And yes, it was already making her tipsy, but she didn’t care. As though she wasn’t already worked up enough from the unbearable overactive sex hormones driving her insane, and now this.

“I put a lot of time and effort into this costume. Original and not total crap like those off the rack one size fits all things that smell like plastic and rubber.”

She knew she sounded like such a bitchy Halloween elitist, but still. She could forgive Bucky for not recognizing her costume because maybe he wasn’t a horror fan (that and wanting to rip his clothes off dulled her annoyance), but Steve had no excuse. He’d known her for five years, and in that time, he’d probably seen this exact outfit on that sixty inch in her living room twenty times. He was officially on her list. She was on the verge of snarling at her friend for the unacceptable slight, but then Bucky cleared his throat, and she realized he was looking her up and down. She forgot her best pal existed at all.

Um…Steve who?

Squinting at her, Bucky pursed his lips, then snapped his fingers once. “You’re the virgin heroine from a slasher movie.”

Equal parts surprised and thrilled, she smiled wide, her tongue poking through her teeth. So, he was a horror fan. Talk about marriage material. Inching forward to the edge of the barstool, she bit her lip.

“Be. More. Specific,” she enunciated each word.

Bucky set his chin between his thumb and forefinger and tilted his head. “Uhhhh…90s hair, snug yet demure tee under a denim jacket covered in blood.” He paused, narrowing his gaze further. “Do you have a white cordless phone with you by any chance?” He smiled triumphantly when she produced a phone out of her bag exactly like the one he’d pictured, her eyebrows wiggling.

“Sidney Prescott,” he grinned, shaking his head. “Now that I see it, I can’t believe that I didn’t get it right away.”

Nodding her head, she flicked her hair over her shoulder and poked Steve’s shoulder. “See? You should be ashamed for not know-“

“Well, as her secret killer boyfriend, I oughta know more than him,” Bucky spoke over her, dragging his teeth over his bottom lip when she twisted to face him.

First off, that lip-biting thing he kept doing had to be illegal, and secondly, she had to be seeing things. The music seemed to pound louder when he stood upright, pulling one flap of his plaid shirt aside, revealing “blood” on the white shirt underneath. Eyes blowing wide, she watched him swipe his finger across the red stains, then put it to his lips, all while staring at her like he was villain dessert. Christ…speaking of thirst. Her stomach did an excited flip as he closed his mouth over his finger and licked it clean.

“Corn syrup,” he purred- yes, purred – keeping his eyes on hers. “Same stuff they used for pig’s blood in Carrie.” Pulling a ghostface mask from his back pocket, which must have been hidden under his baggy flannel the whole time, he set it on the counter right in front of her.

“Shut the front door,” she breathed, her face lighting up brighter than Kim K’s overused highlighter.

Shooting her a quick wink, he spun on his heel, going to the sink to wash off his hand. With his back to her, Liv blinked lazily at him. Holy shit, someone give this man an Oscar because he hadn’t just dressed up as Billy Loomis, he’d nailed that iconic ahh! -plot-twist! quote. She had never had a thing for the evil antagonist from Scream, but she did (apparently) have a thing for Bucky playing said evil antagonist.

Congratulations, sir- You’ve just leveled up from main crush to must-have obsession.

Did he still want to help her pull off her jeans? Because she needed help with that. Lots of very Bucky-specific help.

“Wow,” Steve said, finishing his drink and smacking his lips. “Inadvertently wearing costumes for couples, guys? It’s fate.”

Tossing the now wet hand towel into the designated dirty towel bin, Bucky shot the smallest of smiles at Steve, then slid his eyes to Liv. They were caught up in a staring contest with each other when Steve spoke again.

“You got a bloody knife in your back pocket to go with the creepy mask?”

To her extreme disappointment, Bucky broke their heated eye contact instantly at that, and her shoulders drooped. Dammit, Steve. Way to ruin the moment.

“I wish,” Bucky sighed heavily, “I love knives. Not in a weird way,” he added when they looked at him funny. “Remember I do Krav Maga with Sam? ‘Course you do, since he won’t shut up about getting his black belt,” he groaned deep in his chest, eyes rolling, “which by the way, I earned mine first, just sayin. We fight with knives almost every time.”

“Ohhhhhhh,” Steve and Liv said at the same time, almost comically.

Ignoring a guy in a giant banana costume shouting a drink order at him, Bucky stayed put and pushed some loose strands of hair behind his ears, a deep scowl creasing his forehead.

“Like I said, I love knives, and I’m really good with them, but I lost the right to carry one as part of my costume in a stupid ass bet with Loki.”

Liv opened and closed her mouth. Hold the phone…had she heard him right?

“Wait…Loki?” she asked, eyebrows shooting to her hairline as she leaned forward in her seat, interest piqued even further.

Closing his eyes, Bucky hung his head, laughing quietly- darkly.

“Yeah,” he nodded, looking up at her from under his brow, “Loki.”

Exchanging concerned glances with Steve, Liv tapped her foot nervously. Well, this should be good.

Or bad, more like.

DEAD ALREADY
A HALLOWEEN NOVELLA

DEAD ALREADY CONTINUES IN CHAPTER 3: HIS HAUNTED HIGHNESS (LOKI). COMING NOVEMBER 2021.
Visit the main Dead Already page HERE.

Dead Already Chapter links: ¹SWEET AS CANDY (LIV) ²MMM…CORN SYRUP (BUCKY) ³(November 2021) ⁴(November 2021)

CHAPTER TWO FEATURED MUSIC:
“BONE” BY SO BELOW
“BLOOD DIAMOND” BY YELLOW CLAW FEAT. SEREBRO
THEME SONG:
“SOMETHING TO DIE FOR” BY THE SOUNDS

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New Year Ch 12

frigidadmin — Thu, 07 Jan 2021 06:44:04 +0000

Is it January? The parking garage shouldn’t be this hot. I turn down the A/C, unable to look at anything other than her. I didn’t know she would look this good in my passenger seat.
-“Satellite Tides” (2020) by Loki Odinson

HAPPY NEW YEAR, LOVE.
NEW YEAR SAME HABIT CHAPTER TWELVE

“It’s gonna be alright. No plan to vice can divide you and I. New coupe—it fits two inside. Let’s go, we can drive down to the water—you can lure me in like riptide.“
-from LOVESICK by Trevor Daniel

~12:42 am, January 1, 2020 ~

Present Day

Sitting on the edge of Sigyn’s bed, Loki stared at her closed bathroom door on the opposite side of her small living room. Only minutes ago, she’d been moaning underneath him. The button-fly of his jeans had been too tight back then , but now?

Now I’m not even HALF-hard while waiting for her to finish retching on the other side of that stupid door.

The sound was muffled, so it could be worse, but that sliver of a silver lining couldn’t stop his mind from running wild with the questions of why her stomach had turned over within the blink of an eye. She wasn’t acting remotely drunk, but maybe during the last three months, she’d become more adept at speaking clearly (with actual words) while under the influence. Maybe she’d coped with alcohol as much as he had since October, and was becoming a touch too skilled at handling her liquor.

So… just how many drinks did she have at Strange?

Or was it a sudden surge of anxiety-induced nausea? Anxiety that stemmed from a misplaced belief that he was trying to stake his claim on her with his mouth? Perhaps it wasn’t his lips so much as it was his hips that had been the problem. Admittedly, he had ground them rather aggressively between her legs, but surely he’d earned a bit of credit for having enough self-control to keep his trousers on, right? He hadn’t even touched his belt, much less unbuckled it.

“Excuses excuses,” he sighed, pushing loose strands of annoying-as-fuck hair behind his ear.

Merriam Webster should add “male privilege” to their website and put his picture next to it. Yes, he’d really earned high praise for keeping her safe from his dick with a layer of denim while putting his hands down her dress. No harm, no foul.

Tapping his heels nervously on her bedroom rug, he chewed his lip. Thing was, she’d pulled him on top of her after he’d told her that he wouldn’t be angry with her if she’d changed her mind. She’d sworn that she was okay; that she wouldn’t break . And she’d been more than a little aggressive with her hands too. Clearly, her second thoughts from when he’d paused to take that chair into her living room had turned into third thoughts. Perhaps hugging the commode would inspire fourth thoughts- something like “let me ride you like it’s the end of the world, Loki.”

Don’t count on it, LO.

“Bloody hell,” he mumbled, setting his elbows on his knees and bowing his back as he bent forward and put his head in his hands. Talk about taking a turn for the worse. Honestly, with all this back and forth, he felt like he might be sick too.

He heard the squeak of her bathroom faucet then, followed by running water and her electric toothbrush. Blowing out a heavy breath through his mouth, he lifted his head again when the toothbrush stopped. She would open that door any second now, and he had no clue what he should say to her.

Feel better?

Thanks for brushing your teeth?

Why did you throw up at all?

Are you drunk?

Are you real or did I just hallucinate this entire experience?

May I put my face between your thighs?

Do you think I only came here to get my helluva-drug-forever-dream-girl-fuck-fix?

Do you know how WRONG you are for thinking that?

Do you realize what you did to me in September?

And October? And November? And DECEMBER?

Did you EVER love me?

WHY DIDN’T YOU SAY I WAS WORTH DROWNING FOR??

“I think she only missed the idea of me, not the real me, so…” he went quiet, trying to gain control of his shaky voice. “I should leave, shouldn’t I,” he whispered to the empty room, waiting for the walls to answer him, to tell him what to do.

TELL ME!

Naturally, the walls remained silent, though he would have sworn he saw writing appear on them. Brow creasing, he frowned, feeling as though gravity had singled out the corners of his mouth to pull them to the ground faster than the rest of his face. No, the “writing” was just shadows created by fireworks. He shook his head, his eyes slamming shut to stop his brain from seeing things that weren’t there.

A minute or so later, when she still hadn’t come out of the bathroom, he opened his eyes and squinted at the door. Okay, what, was she bloody hiding from him? Pushing off the bed, feeling like someone had set a two-hundred pound bar across his shoulders, he walked across the living room toward her bathroom. He reached up to knock on the door, but he hesitated, his hand hovering mid-air an inch from the hard surface. Nostrils flaring, he sucked in a breath as a shiver shot down his spine. Jesus- the hairs on the back of his neck (the ones that were too fine and short to stay in his hair tie) were legitimately standing up.

For god’s sake, LO. What, are you scared the damn door will burn you?

He looked sideways, thinking how utterly perfect that word choice was. Would it burn him? Well, sunlight did have a tendency to turn his nose and cheeks pink if he forgot to put sunscreen on during summer, and if one considered what (or who) was on the other side of this door, then, in a metaphorical sense, it was possible that he would get burned. However, since it was now December… wait… no… January… maybe that winter sun wouldn’t do the same damage.

Oh, but… are STAR boys subject to the seasonal shifts of life on Earth? Your head is in outer space, is it not?

“Oh my god, I hate you,” he hissed through his teeth at that too-poignant voice in his head. Taking a deep breath, he set the knuckle of his first finger on the door and knocked gently. “Sig?”

Please answer me, sweetheart. I don’t care if you burn me.

His heart shot straight up through the roof when she responded.

“Yeah, sorry, just… I’ll be out in a second. I’m so SO sorry, Loki.”

His lungs released the breath they’d been holding to the point of nearly passing out like a goddamn corset-wearing princess. She’d said his name with such contrition, her tone suggesting that he hadn’t done anything wrong, and he was grateful for it.

“Just cleaning myself up a bit,” she continued, forcing a firm tone as she washed her hands. It was a confident tone, a “totally fine in here” tone to hide how scared and shaken up and broken apart she felt.

Oh hell, if only he knew how in love she was with him, how much she needed him, not only in this crushing-yet-beloved city, but needed him everywhere . Her universe was crumbling further, bit by bit, square inch by square inch, every second that he wasn’t with her. Not “with her” as in physically in her presence, but “with her” as her boyfriend.

As in, “he is in my life and loves me as much as I love him.”

In these last three months, she’d been forced to take a good hard look in the mirror, and her reflection had not been forgiving. Her behavior in the month before she’d literally slammed her door in his face had been inexcusable. Oh but she’d made plenty of excuses for herself, hadn’t she? And this went further back than just September.

It wasn’t her fault that Tony had died, right? It wasn’t her fault that Loki had been “too possessive” of her time, right? She’d had no control over her work schedule, right? She couldn’t be expected to examine her priorities… you know… like HE HAD… right? And and and-

“Spare me the monthly reports, please,” she murmured under her breath as she washed her hands.

She’d ruminated on the painful, shameful details of this entire year to no end. Enough was enough. She was burying herself under that shame, which was probably what she deserved. For a time. This was penance… or something. God, she needed professional help, otherwise she would never move forward. Not that she particularly wanted to move forward. Not without Loki. She didn’t want to go anywhere unless it was with him. The chances of that, however, weren’t great. How could he believe her now if she told him that she would give him anything that he asked of her? She’d already quit her old job and found a new one, so at least he didn’t have to go through that mess again. She only had herself to blame for this shitshow. No way in hell did he want to get back together- he was just here because New Years had made him extra sad.

You don’t know that, hon.

Okay, well, considering what she’d done to him, it seemed the most likely reason for his presence. How in all the world could she at least get him to consider… friendship? It wasn’t the whole package, but beggars can’t be choosers.

Show him the letter, hon.

Oh god… but… what if he hates it?

We’ve been over this, Sigyn. He wrote a NOVEL for you. He showed it to the entire PLANET. So, buck up, and show him that letter that you should have sent to him when you wrote it THREE WEEKS AGO.

Licking her lips, she swallowed. A heartbroken “please come back to me” scream was trying to burst through her not-so-tough shell, and maybe she should just let it happen. Maybe she should open this door, get on her knees, and beg him to forgive her for being so heartless. For playing unfair games with him. For being so ungrateful for the sacrifices he’d made for her after Tony died. For letting him shell out his love so generously and giving him nothing but crumbs in return.

Dammit. She was going to self-talk herself straight into that toilet bowl all over again if she didn’t just grow up, and tell him all of those words that may or may not convince him to love her like he used to. Before she could talk herself out of it, she opened the door and gasped quietly when her face collided with Loki’s chest. She lifted her eyes to his face, setting every detail of this second to memory.

“God, you are so gorgeous,” she said, voice shaking.

Heart pounding at her words, which he had not expected at all, he bent down to her eye level, unable to suppress a slight smirk. Despite the aching desire to lean in and kiss her just for calling him “gorgeous” to his face, he held himself back. After all, he couldn’t be sure if she was on the verge of getting rid of more of her dinner.

“And you are…” he trailed off, his eyes zeroing in on her bottom lip, which she was now biting.

Mouthwatering…

Don’t say that.

Tilting his head, still focused on those lips, he asked, “How’s your gag reflex right now?”

She raised an eyebrow at him. “That was… direct.”

It took him a second to put two and two together, then he quite literally facepalmed. “Jesus. I meant how is your stomach . As in, you aren’t about to get sick again, are you?”

She flashed a toothy smile at him, then put her hand over her mouth . “I didn’t actually get sick. More of a-” she made a face “-dry heaving situation.”

He squinted at her. “Lovely. What happened? Too much to drink?”

Please say no. My conscience would eat me alive if I tried anything when you’re drunk, gorgeous girl…

“I had all of two drinks, Loki,” she sighed, stepping around him and walking toward her bedroom, her stilettos clicking loudly on the hardwood. “Though I would have had far more if they hadn’t charged forty damn dollars per glass. Highway robbery.”

Loki followed her, staring at her legs as they criss-crossed slightly in front of her with each step. God, the way she walked accented her hips perfectly. He was becoming more stupid by the second. He had thousands of questions about September (and the first hours of his October hell), but he doubted his tongue would be able to form the necessary words. No, the only thing his tongue could do right now was just loll out of his mouth because… legs . She stopped in front of her bed and picked up her copy of Looking for Sunlight from her pillow. Fingers running over the cover lovingly, she turned around to face him.

“I’ve read this book a hundred times,” she said wistfully, flipping through the pages to find the envelope that she’d addressed to him weeks ago. She’d even put a stamp on it, but rather than dropping it in the mailbox, she’d been using it as a bookmark.

You are SUCH a coward, Sigyn.

He raised his dazed eyes from her thighs to the book in her hand, which she was now clutching to her chest as though it was the most precious thing in the world. His chest tightened at the sight.

She might not love me anymore, but at least she still loves my book.

“I meant every word,” he said, struggling to keep his voice from breaking.

Lips pressing together, she gave him a sad little grin, then produced a plain white envelope- one with his name, address, and postage on it -from the space between the book cover and her chest. He blinked silently at the thing, unsure what to make of it. She held it out to him.

“I meant every word too,” she whispered, her lip trembling as he slowly reached forward and took it from her hand. “I can’t force you to read it… a-a-and,” she stumbled over the word a bit and pinched the bridge of her nose, “I under-” deep breaths “-stand if you d-d-don’t want to-” oh please don’t cry again “-but I-”

“Of course I’ll read it,” he spoke over her, sliding his thumb under the seal to break it open. God, she’d used actual sealing wax and everything. He lifted his eyes to her face again and raised an eyebrow. “May I?”

Blinking several times, she waved a hand and nodded quickly. “Sorry, yes, of course. Um… I’ll give you some privacy,” she said, setting the book on her nightstand and hurrying toward her bedroom doors.

He grabbed her hand as she slid by him, and she turned slightly to look up at him. Perhaps it was juvenile, but he feared that if she left his sight, she would disappear completely. For good. That was… that was not an option anymore. He needed this girl.

MY girl.

“Stay,” he whispered, running his thumb over her knuckles.

She shook her head. “I don’t want to watch you read it.” Good god, his hand fit around hers perfectly, as though it was supposed to be there.

His eyes flicked down to the letter, the crease between his eyebrows deepening tenfold. “That bad? How much will this hurt me?”

Her eyes went wide, and she turned toward him completely. “No no no no, it’s nothing like that. It’s not some sort of list of supposed transgressions that you committed against me or anything. No, definitely not. It’s more of a… um…” she swallowed, “a confession.”

His jaw didn’t exactly drop to the floor, but it was damn near close. “Did you cheat on me?”

“Oh my god, NO,” she practically shrieked . “Never ever ever EVER. I can’t even…” her voice failed her, and she dropped her forehead to his chest. “Absolutely not. No other man could come close to…” again her voice gave up on her.

His shirt smelled so good, and it was so soft against her cheek. To think, this soft fabric was concealing such a firm chest. And shoulders. And arms. Not to mention those stomach muscles. Suddenly, she seriously regretted asking him to read a 10-page (front and back) letter just now. She should have waited until the post-game. She should be feeling every inch of his skin right now instead.

“Thank god,” he breathed, wrapping one arm around her waist, the other around her shoulders, and leaned down to kiss her hair. He squeezed the envelope in his hand. “I would have burned this thing if that’s what you meant.” The soft crunching sound of the paper crinkling in his grip bounced off the exposed brick walls and wood floor as though their little New Years scene were playing out inside of a cathedral rather than a pre-war one-bedroom in Manhattan.

“I’ll just be in the other room,” she said, struggling to keep her hands away from him lest they slip under his shirt and ruin her resolve to be fair to him . He needed to know. He needed to see her handwritten words with his own eyes, just as she’d seen his words on the first page of her book. He deserved at least that much before making a massive decision about his future with her.

What if reading it makes him decide to walk out the door, hon? Are you willing to accept that?

Clearing her throat, she exaggerated a sniffle. “Need to grab a tissue,” she said, using the excuse to step away. “Don’t want to ruin your pullover with my runny nose. I know how much that thing cost.”

Could she accept it if he left? Well, so long as he had the full story, so long as she knew that this was his choice without her manipulating him with puppy-dog eyes and trembling lips (and a leggy dress with plunging neckline and high heels) then, yes, she could learn to accept it if he decided to leave her tonight. Here’s what she couldn’t accept: letting him think that HE needed to “crawl back” to her, to her apartment- the place where his heart took hit after hit, and his back took stab after stab. Sure, he bore some responsibility regarding their combined spiral in September; he was by no means an angel. But she couldn’t stand the undoubted fact that he believed that she thought herself the innocent victim here. And in believing that lie, he had probably convinced himself that he was the villain here.

Not even CLOSE, Starboy.

“ That’s what laundry soap is for,” he muttered uselessly as she left the bedroom. He didn’t care about his stupid pullover, but fine… whatever.

Sinking down to the edge of her bed once more, he gingerly pulled the letter out of the envelope. He stared wide-eyed, his lips parting as he thumbed through multiple full-sized pages of paper. Some of the inside perforated edges looked as though she’d ripped them a bit too aggressively from a spiral-bound notebook. Chewing his lip unconsciously, he examined each page, flipping from front to back, then turning them over again. The tri-fold horizontal creases were perfectly straight and split evenly. If one hadn’t known she was an architect, they would after one look at her penmanship. Clean edges, distinct lines, neutral pen pressure, barely slanted, all uppercase, each letter matched the height of the one next to it.

“How many…” he whispered, barely audible as he counted the pages. In three and a half decades, no one had ever given him more than a few lines of niceties on the inside of a birthday or Christmas card.

Ten pages. Front and back. So… twenty. Sig had put a literal pen to twenty full pages of paper for him.

“My god,” he breathed, lifting his eyes from the short story in his hand to look at the open doors instead.

What kind of confession was this? A part of him was scared to read it. Couldn’t he just tell her that it meant the world to him that she’d cared enough to write something for him- something this substantial -without having to read the potentially painful details? Shit- he couldn’t do this. Setting the pages down on her nightstand right beside him, he leaned over and put his head in his hands again. After a few silent moments of shaky breathing, which he hoped wasn’t loud enough for Sig to hear from the other side of the wall, Loki swiveled his head to eye the intimidating papers.

“Don’t be a coward,” he said tightly under his breath, and with his cheek still resting in his palm, he reached over to grab them.

However, when his fingers grazed the papers, he retracted his hand an inch, and then reached underneath them to pick up her Looking for Sunlight hardback instead. Maybe seeing his own handwriting- his January 2019 “confession” to her -would give him the courage he lacked to read her words to him. Opening the book carefully for fear of disturbing the words resting inside, he turned to the dedication page. Eyes boring a hole into the ink, he mouthed his own words.

“On January 1, 2017, I was a 32-year old loaded gun, a bottle of oxy…hungover…freezing…dead Christmas trees who had more life left in them than I did…new Nikes from my father in lieu of any affection…rounded the corner…skidded to a stop…you grabbed my arms to keep from falling…where’s the fire, darling…you pulled a pen out of your bag…grabbed my hand…wrote your number on my palm and signed your name…”

Swallowing thickly, he reached up to rub his eyes. He could barely see the words.

“Another dollar,” he muttered, turning to the next page- the first actual page of the book. They weren’t handwritten words, but he’d written them for Sig nonetheless. Another page. And another. Again. Again. He paused on the first page of the third chapter, not just skimming, but reading each word, giving his full attention to the lines of serif-font print:

“Dreamy as fuck- that’s what she called me… No, not to my face. I overheard her say it to her friend at the other end of the bar… Yes, I KNOW it’s a compliment. It’s also a death sentence… Because I’m a guaranteed DISAPPOINTMENT, that’s why. She already put me on this goddamn pedestal, and I have nowhere to go but down… What do you think I mean?… I mean that she should WAIT a bit before deciding to look at me like I hung the moon… No no no no, you aren’t listening… You know what? Nevermind. I’m hanging up now.”
I don’t actually have anyone to hang up on. I’m not on the phone. It’s just another silent conversation with myself. I would do well to have a conversation with Suna, considering she’s standing right here. Probably not wise to let her think I don’t want to be ALL OVER her right now.
She looks up at me, twirling the small black cocktail straw in her drink. “Don’t you just DESPISE all these Wall Street frat boys congratulating themselves for being gods among men?”
Her question is cold water on a hot day. Refreshing and rare.
“Spoiled pricks,” she continues, “they don’t deserve a dime to their names.”
I don’t filter my response. I think Suna would prefer to know just how moronic this “dreamy-as-fuck” man gets when he’s three sheets to the wind.
“Seems to go with the territory,” I say, eyeing the crowded room narrowly. “Ridiculous establishment. You know who’s worse than those spoiled pricks?”
I return my eyes to her when she says “oh do tell” or something like that. I gesture flippantly to a group of princesses who I doubt are legally allowed to be in this place. The group next to them are a bit older, thank god, but age is undoubtedly the only distinction between them.
“The overly made up girls trying to get a hold of all those spoiled pricks’ unearned dimes by flashing fake smiles and fake tits and flipping their fake hair and batting their fake eyelashes. Conniving thieves. They look like plastic dolls, and those idiots fall for it. Whatever. They can have them. I have no interest in playing with a fucking doll. That sounds like a term for sex doll, which isn’t what I meant. But if the shoe fits… or in this case, if the dick fits.” I feel my lips pursing with more gravitas than Derek Zoolander as I look sideways. “That joke came out of nowhere.”
It wasn’t even a GOOD joke. I’ve had too much alcohol. It’s making me loose-lipped and simple. Speaking of lips- I’m so in love with Suna’s mouth right now. So pretty… so REAL. No fillers. Not fake. Those lips are just like her words actually. If anyone here is dreamy, it’s HER, not me. I better not open my mouth and say this shit to her after I’ve had this much liquor.
“I swear I meant plastic dolls,” I add, attempting to clarify. “You know… as in toys… I don’t mean sex toys… I mean…” My voice fades, which is probably for the best, but unfortunately, I don’t close my mouth. It hangs open stupidly like it did every second of every maths class I suffered through as a boy. I roll my eyes. I have no idea what the hell I am saying. “I’ll try this again. I associate fake plastic types with unthinking, lifeless, perfect looking dolls, and I despise both.”
I assume she will glare at me and walk away, but she surprises me by saying, “I agree. Playing with dolls as a little girl is exactly why I’m so goddamn unsatisfied with my own reflection. Here’s Barbie’s next slogan-” she clears her throat and makes air quotes with her fingers “-’Warping every mirror all kinds of wrong since 1989’. I came up with that on my own while you were rambling about sex toys.”
My god, I want to kiss this woman. Her mouth isn’t just pretty- it’s clever. Maybe if my lips touched hers, she could transfer some of that quick wit to me. I’m usually so much better at this.
“I like the way you talk,” I manage, unable to pull my eyes away from her lips.
“And I think YOU talk like an Ivy League, Gen Xer elitist who just listened to ‘Fake Plastic Trees’ in your fancy car before you walked in here, then you got a bit too tipsy, and you really regret it because you can’t come up with anything more clever than ‘I like the way you talk’, and now you want to bolt.”
She knows 90s Radiohead references, and she was barely five years old at that time, and that makes HER an elitist too. But I think I’ll save that zinger for another time.
“I’m a Xennial, not an Xer,” I correct her, clucking my tongue while shaking my head, “but you are disturbingly spot on otherwise.”
Suna leans closer. MUCH closer. The tip of her nose is touching mine now, and if she angles her head to touch her lips to mine, I’ll be done for. She doesn’t, and I am both incredibly relieved and beyond disappointed.
“If you’re leaving,” she whispers, looking up at me through eyelashes that must weigh more than she does, “let me come with you.”
Oh what I wouldn’t give to make her come with me… in every sense of the word.
“I am moved that you want to come with me,” I answer, forcing a thick layer of snark into my tone while putting a few inches of distance between our mouths so I don’t use my tongue for something other than talking, “though I’m 99% sure it’s only because you want to ride in my car.”
I try to step back, but she follows me, setting her hand on my chest. Her thumb runs along the silver zipper of my open black jacket, and it is far more erotic than it should be. I hope that her hand sliding underneath the leather is meant to be an invitation for my hands to touch her too because I have never wanted a woman this much.
She arches one dark eyebrow and pulls on my collar, forcing me to bend toward her. “Not ONLY your car,” she says, biting into a smile, “but I do want you to hit the gas.”
I can’t help but scrape my teeth over my lip. “I bet you do.”
Her head tilts toward her shoulder, exposing more of her neck to me, while gazing at me through narrow eyes. “I’m not talking about fucking.”
I give her a look, one that any sane person would give her in response to her OBVIOUSLY untrue words. The sound that escapes my mouth could only be described as an ‘extremely offended’ scoff.
“Yes, you are,” I retort, lifting my thumb to run across her bottom lip just to watch her cheeks and neck flush, thereby PROVING my next words. “You would give anything to fuck me to the stars and back, you pretty little liar.”
Her jaw drops, much like her skirt will later tonight in my apartment. “Oh my god!”
Yes, I am very loose-lipped. But what I said wasn’t stupid or simple. Saying that gives her a better idea of who I am. If she’s going to come to this absurd conclusion that I’m anything special, it won’t only be because she’s convinced I look amazing without my clothes on.
Much like the thing in my trousers, the corner of my mouth twitches. “Am I wrong?”
Suna grips my shirt more tightly under my jacket, her eyes lowering to stare at my mouth. “What I want is to watch you bite your lip and laugh with the moonroof open,” she says, smiling and closing her eyes and letting her head fall back as though her fantasy is playing out in real time, “and the wind whipping your hair around your face. I want you to put your hand in my hair-” she lifts her head to lock eyes with me again “-while you PUT YOUR FOOT ON THE GAS.”
“I can do that,” I say without hesitation, grabbing her hand and dragging her toward the door.
And I’ll also do FAR more than that. My car is not going to be enough. It’s classy and sexy and fast and…drumroll please…dreamy. Perfect fit for her perfect, pretend dream boy. When I open the door for her and offer my hand to help her into the passenger seat, she smirks and calls me a ‘charmer’.
“That’s code for ‘liar’, and I am NOT a liar,” I say through my teeth before closing the door.
She bites her goddamn lip again as I round the front of the car, and I don’t understand how I can possibly see that with these headlights blinding me. Suna’s teeth must be brighter than the sun itself. I settle into the driver’s seat, my jaw aching from my attempts to control the natural inclination to clench it every other second for the better part of four hours now.
Her voice pierces an excessively tense silence after a minute or so. “That silver tongue suggests otherwise.”
Now I’m pissed. I’ve had it with everyone saying ‘silver tongue’ like it’s the worst thing ever.
“Here’s an idea,” I say, my eyes narrowing at the red taillights just beyond the windshield. “How about we use our tongues for something other than talking so I don’t say something to piss you off, and YOU don’t say anything ELSE to piss ME off, otherwise I’ll pull this car over, and you’ll WALK home.”
“Wow, that’s the sexiest thing anyone has ever said to me.”
“Just you wait til I’m sober.”
“You might feel loose in the shoulders, dream boy, but you are nowhere near drunk. However, I will HAPPILY drive, if you feel compromised by two measly ounces of whiskey over the course of four hours.”
My god, I might just white-knuckle this steering wheel to death. She’s right. I’m not drunk. I’m just an idiot who wishes that he had an easy excuse for his idiocy.
Still staring ahead, I ask, “Didn’t we agree to stop talking?”
Her face falls. “Oh no, but…” she starts, her lips trembling. If she cries, I WILL pull this car over. “But… but…” she continues, “but I thought you LIKED the way I talk?”
Suppressing an eyeroll, I side-eye her. She’s grinning, and I have HAD it with that mouth of hers. Voice, words, tongue, lips- ALL of it is rerouting the blood from my head into my trousers instead, and now I am at the mercy of my own dick. Which also means I can’t be the smartest in the room for reasons other than trying to cope with beverages that didn’t even taste good!
Good thing we’re now out of my car, and I’m dragging her into the elevator in my building. I really didn’t want to steam up the windows in the middle of the street like a pair of love drunk idiots. Did I say LOVE drunk? Yes, and that’s fair. I want her to fall in love with me, not just into BED with me, and I need to reach more than her goddamn g-spot to convince her…

Loki closed the book and returned it to Sigyn’s nightstand. “I meant every word,” he whispered, repeating his words (and her words) from earlier as he carefully pinched her letter between his thumb and forefinger and picked it up.

I want her to fall in love with me, not just into BED with me…

Blowing out a breath, he dared to look at the first few lines:

Dear Loki,
Today is December 7, 2019, and I don’t know if I’ll work up the courage to send this letter to you, but I’m trying this new thing called “being honest with myself” and if you don’t mind, I’m going to pour my heart out to your ghost right now…

He swallowed anxiously. Oh god, one sentence in, and his chest was already tight. He wanted to run out her door as sure as his alter ego wanted to ‘bolt’ from Suna. But only because everything about her made him want to drown for her, and the words on these pages might tell him that he shouldn’t. He just wanted to love her. He didn’t need to know what she’d written to his ghost . He didn’t need to know if she would drown for him too.

Yes, you do, LO.

“Goddammit,” he growled under his breath, then returned his eyes to the page:

“I was at the wedding tonight.  I got there really REALLY early (the ushers looked at me like I had two heads) because I was irrationally scared of being late, of disappointing yet another friend, and that earned me a seat right behind the pews reserved for family at the front.  It was the third row on Carol’s side of the aisle, and I don’t think I looked at anything other than the church doors for thirty minutes straight.  I knew you would come through those doors at some point, and I didn’t want to miss seeing you.  Even though I knew you wouldn’t come anywhere near me, I could at least see your face again.

Darce and Bucky came up to sit with me, thank heaven.  I think I would have bolted if they hadn’t.  He was so nice.  I could tell he felt kind of like a traitor to you though.  He was clearly doing it for Darce’s sake.  She was talking to me about this or that, and I just nodded along, trying to look like I was paying attention to her.  I was twisted toward the aisle (on purpose), anxious to see you in my periphery.  It felt like an hour at least went by, and you STILL weren’t there.  The anxiety was unbearable.  I wish I had swiped one of those Xanax from your laptop bag before you left.  It would have been a life-saver.

That Genghis Khan song started playing then(by the way, Carol and Val picked killer songs for the pre-ceremony)... you know the one I mean, right?  God, we danced like a couple of fools to it in your living room last St. Patrick’s Day.  There was no rhyme or reason to it.  You just turned up the speakers and used the remote like a microphone, and dear god, you sang it with a fake Irish accent, and it was HILARIOUS.  Anyway, I’m sitting there in the church, totally spacing on Darce because I’m still looking at those doors, and singing along silently in my head: 

“I don’t have the right 
To ask where you go at night 
But the waves hit my head 
To think someone’s in your bed… 
I get a little bit Genghis Khan 
I don’t want you to get it on 
With nobody else but me 
With nobody else but me…” 

Oh, isn’t the piano FANTASTIC in that one?  It sounds like New York to me.  Does that make sense?  It has so much SOUL.  It’s not vapid or plastic like LA.  (Probably because we’re all too busy crying over our rent checks to even THINK about cosmetic surgery)  That was a joke, and it FAILED.  As though California is any more “affordable”...HA.

Sorry.  I’m going off on tangents.  Tangents is a funny word.  Do you picture gents laying by the pool?  Tan...gents?  Get it?  Oh my god, I should write that down.  Wait… look-y there!  Already did!...

Pressing his lips together, Loki pinched the bridge of his nose, trying not to split his sides. Sig was just on the other side of that wall, and he didn’t want her to hear him laugh out loud. She would completely misinterpret it as cruel and insensitive, which was completely off base. Honestly, so far, her story-telling was adorable and funny as hell. As was he, apparently, last March while drunkenly attempting an Irish accent during an impromptu living room concert about “getting a little bit Genghis Khan” over his girl’s whereabouts at night. He remembered that night, and he hadn’t exactly been faking the conviction in the words. “Possessive” might as well be his middle name. Blinking several times, he pushed away thousands of images in his head of the times he had put his arm around her when they were out with friends or at bars or wherever, just so every other man in the room would know this girl was his . He sighed heavily and continued reading her words:

Anyway… I was sitting in one of those first rows, then Thor walked in with Jane hanging on his arm, and I knew you couldn’t be far behind them. Another ten nauseating, nerve wracking seconds went by, and FINALLY you walked in. It was such a movie moment with this perfect soundtrack, perfect soft lighting, and you in that perfect dark grey suit that cost like a BILLION dollars and ought to be illegal because...oh my god- just kill me now.

My eyelids felt far too heavy to open them all the way- like how you wrote that Suna’s eyelashes had to weigh more than she did. Yep. Exactly. Darce asked if I was okay. She said I looked “dazed and confused.” Yeah, you think? I was more than a little lost in that barely there upward curve of your mouth when your brother leaned over to you and said something...funny...I guess. You didn’t look my way, which was probably for the best, because I might have passed out. I hadn’t seen you in two godawful months, and even though that’s hardly enough time to forget how fucking gorgeous you are, it was like seeing you for the first time.

I wasn’t, but I WAS getting the first glimpse of those shadows under your cheekbones, and those envy-inducing long, dark eyelashes, and those UNREAL jade green eyes, and don’t get me started on your hair. In other words, everything about you was giving me one of those “someone fetch me my smelling salts!” moments that feels really stupid but really good. We’ll set aside the fact that the moment was tinged with an unbearable ache in my chest because I’m not ready to go there yet.

My mum calls these moments “reminder butterflies.” She says she still gets them with Dad. I don’t remember exactly how she described them, so I’ll just say how they feel to ME. They remind me of that dreamy floaty feeling that happened NON-STOP when we started dating nearly three years ago now. It’s that drug-like euphoric “oh my god, Mum, I’m falling so HARD for him” feeling.

They’re AMAZING moments, but they’re fleeting. I know this love drunk feeling right now won’t intoxicate me for the next six months like the first time. You can’t possibly give me that CONSTANT high anymore. I can only fall for you once, and I already did that in 2017. I can’t actively fall in love with you again. It’s done…

He squinted at the page, his mouth twisting into a scowl. Had she written that he couldn’t give her a constant high anymore?

Yeah, no shit, sweetheart. Forgive me for being a measly Earthling.

Dear god, so much for laughing. He might need a drink to get through the rest of this letter. Rolling his eyes, he re-read the previous sentence before continuing down the page:

I’ll never again be overwhelmed with 24/7 star eyes just because you EXIST. I’ll never again lose my goddamn mind, thinking about you EVERY SECOND like I did after you smiled at me on New Years Day 2017. I kid you not, Loki- after you said “I’ll see you tomorrow, Sigyn Frey” and turned around to resume your morning run, I remember feeling that if I went blind then, that would be okay because I had the chance to see you that ONE time. I felt like that for months.

Reminder butterflies feel like that, but they only last a few days at most.

I. Will. Take. It.

If they’re from YOU, I want them. I don’t need to feel a rush from you for months. I don’t need it for weeks. I don’t need it for days. I WANT it, sure. It feels like heaven. But you are SO MUCH MORE than a cloud nine rush.

I am such a shit writer, but I’ll try to explain what I mean…

Gripping the pages more tightly, Loki chewed his lip, feeling as though his heart was growing three times in size. Please let there be a part in here that said he was worth drowning for. It seemed like she might be getting there, but he needed her to get there faster. He rubbed his eyes- a preemptive strike against the jar-boy enemy. Her words were all over the place, and his emotional response was trying to keep up:

In my 20s I thought that if that rush started to fade into the background, I must have picked the wrong guy. The second I realized the rush from some guy was disappearing, it would ruin everything. I would suddenly be a girl who had lost interest in what used to be the most EXCITING shiny new toy, but now was desperate for December to come around again, so I could unwrap a newer, BETTER present. The next one would be the RIGHT present, and the right one would never grow old- both figuratively and literally.

At the time, I wouldn’t have admitted that I was thinking of boyfriends the way I thought of Christmas toys. I just knew I didn’t want THEM to think of ME that way. Well, I’m not in my 20s anymore. It’s 2019, and I am a 31 year old woman, and this year I realized that I am an utter fucking hypocrite. That realization broke my heart more thoroughly than any man ever did.

The realization that I’M the villain in my story- in the story I dragged you into -is STILL breaking me. Learning that I have been the bad guy all along is...well...it’s a process, and it is not a fun one. I wish it had been a rapid onset epiphany. I wish I could have just ripped the Band-Aid off. But it didn’t work that way for me. It is a slow, painful, peeling away of my skin.

It started after Tony died in April this year. Bit by bit, I started to understand what that nightmare where I’m trying to run away from the monster but can’t run fast enough REALLY means. You know the one I’m talking about. It’s the one where you’d swear your legs are stuck in slow motion because the scenery isn’t changing- because when you look behind your shoulder, the monster is still there.

In that nightmare, I’m exhausted and crying and terrified, and I know one of these seconds is going to be the one when it catches me and rips my heart out. Why doesn’t this scenery EVER change? Why does the monster always stay about ten steps behind me, but never actually catches me? Why won’t it just get it over with? I genuinely believe that death would be preferable to this never-ending terror. Coward that I am, I keep running nevertheless.

Thousands of these syndicated rerun dreams later, it has FINALLY hit me that I was on a treadmill, and that goddamn hypocritical, prideful, selfish monster was ME all along. All I had to do was stop running, let it do its worst, and the nonstop fear of being eaten alive would be over. But I was not ready to let it rip my heart out yet. I was not ready to let it kill my ego. So I kept running, and the monstrous version of me kept chasing down the better parts of me. Kept those better parts from taking the starring role in my story. In OUR story.

I already said I broke my own heart when I realized I was a hypocrite- a monster. That happened right before you left for Europe in June. I swore to myself that I would be the BEST, most loving, most giving girlfriend when you got home. I think I was fairly good at keeping that promise during August. Wasn’t that an AMAZING month?

So what the hell happened in September? How did my promise derail so monumentally after only ONE month? I’ll tell you why. It’s because I never actually stopped running on that treadmill. thought it was good enough to simply know WHO was chasing me. I didn’t want to let it make a martyr out of me. What if the worthiest version of me didn’t arise out of the ashes, so to speak?

You walked out of my door on October 1st, and that is when I decided to stop running. I’m telling you- it was so much more painful than the “oh shit, I’m the bad guy” realization. I hate that I waited so long to give up. Maybe you would still love me if I’d done it sooner.

Piece of advice to my future self: IT’S OKAY TO BE A QUITTER.

It’s okay to say I’M DONE. TIME TO TURN IN THAT RESIGNATION LETTER.

I mean- yeah I feel like a failure, but is it that bad if the thing I lost was the all-consuming ego race? No, it wouldn’t be bad if that was ALL I lost. But I lost EVERYTHING.

I waited too long to lose the worst parts of me, and in the process I lost the most perfectly imperfect love of my life. I thought YOU broke MY heart. Oh my GOD- I thought SO wrong. It was me all along. I did the breaking. I broke your heart, and I broke mine.

We went through some shit. We had dream lover highs and pissed off lows, and I was okay with both. That sounds idiotic, but here’s why I liked the “lows” too: if we were fighting, that meant our INTENSE passion was still there. If we were fighting, it was because WE were worth fighting for! It was just the flip side of calling in “sick” to work because I NEEDED to spend all day tangled in bedsheets with you. Fighting usually turned into fucking anyway, so all good...right? Jesus. Now I’m picturing you naked, and I’m kind of falling apart. You felt like heaven. I wish I could write better. I don’t have good enough adjectives. I don’t have your beautiful mind. I know you DESPISE your mind, but...it is so perfect, Loki. I can’t even-

FOREVER DREAM BOY.

You know I don’t believe in god. But I’m positive if that entity existed, it would look and feel like you when you’re inside me. When you’re all around me. This hurts. This hurts so much. Writing this letter hurts so much.

And I am out of tissues. Dammit.

I’m so goddamn in love with you. I can’t believe I did this. I can’t believe I lost you. You were mine, and I was yours, and it was what everyone on this planet wishes they had, and it’s all my fault that it’s over. I can’t believe I fucked this up so royally.

We didn’t just have highs and lows, did we. We had in-betweens, and those were the parts that brought out the worst in me. My perfect Christmas toy love didn’t thrill me LIKE HE OUGHT TO during the in-betweens. Nevermind the fact that YOU weren’t thrilled either yet hadn’t disappeared on me like every other guy had before you. Oh no, that wasn’t good enough for a self-entitled brat like me. I had the gall to believe you didn’t love me during the in-betweens. I accused you of it every time those in-betweens rolled back around. And every time the hurt was written all over your face. I think I was trying to force a fight. To force the passion to start revving back up. You know what that is? That is emotional abuse, and I had no idea I was capable of being an abuser. I thought I was only a survivor. I learned too late that I can be both.

I did that. I really did that. I am WRECKED with shame for doing that to you. I have never felt guilt like this. It’s burning a hole in my core, and I deserve it.

You know what I don’t deserve?

You.

I don’t deserve you. I should not be allowed to feel reminder butterflies. They feel too good, and I don’t deserve to feel good. But oh god I want to feel them over and over again. And I only want to feel them from you.

You have no idea what you did to me when I saw you tonight, Starboy. You really nailed it with that book title. I know it’s a “dying star” theme, but I’ve never seen anyone live so genuinely as you. LOVE so genuinely as you. And allow me to add to the metaphor-

I love you to the fucking stars and back. A thousand times. A million times. INFINITY times.

I saw you walk through those doors at the back of the church, and you sent me floating right back up to that high again. I flashed back to the beginning- back to when I just KNEW you would change my life. But tonight was different because you- amazing, beautiful, wonderful you -you already changed my life. I wasn’t waiting and hoping and praying you would say “I swear I’m not like the others, Sig. I’m not going anywhere unless it’s with you.” Because you already did that. You already did SO MUCH MORE than that.

You already wrote an entire damn BOOK for me.

Please listen to me, dreamy ghost of Loki. No matter the fact that I crashed from our high, no matter the fact that I let the in-betweens get to me and destroyed the most beautiful thing that WILL EVER HAPPEN TO ME, no matter the fact that you aren’t going to crawl into bed with me tonight and make love to me the way you used to-

I will never ever forget that the most precious, priceless, perfectly imperfect person ever- Loki Love of My Life Odinson -wrote an absolutely gut-wrenching, life-changing, mind-bending, heart-breaking book called Looking for Sunlight, and he wrote it FOR ME. You ARE worth drowning for, Loki…

Giving up the fight against the water in his eyes, he put a hand over his mouth as it fell open. There it was. She’d said it. She’d written it. She’d really done that. Jaw clenched, he pushed to his feet and started toward her living room as he finished the last few lines:

...I would have done it a thousand times over when you were mine, and I still would even now.  I’ll do it forever.  I’ll drown for you.  It doesn’t sound fun, but Jesus… I’ll do it for YOU because I will never stop loving you, Starboy, and I miss you beyond words.  I’ve put thousands of dollars in thousands of jars for you, and I’m not done yet.  I’ll keep breathing, but I’ll never be alive like I was when you were mine.  And even if it’s not with me, I hope with all my shattered heart that you will be happy.

Love forever,

Sigyn 

P.S.- It’s a little too early to say this, and honestly I don’t want to say it at all, but...
Happy 2020.  Even if yours aren’t mine anymore, all my new years are yours.

“Loki?”

He looked up at the sound of her voice, only then realizing that he had left her bedroom. Seated on her couch with her knees pulled to her chest, she was visibly shaking.

“My god, Sig,” he muttered, letting the pages fall to the floor as he made a beeline for her.

Her eyes blew wide, her heart sobbing at the sight of him haphazardly tossing away all those paper words that she’d fought to pull out of her own goddamn word tornadoes.

Not exactly confetti, is it.

Releasing her tight hold on her legs, she started to scramble off the couch to catch all those little pieces of her before they landed on the unworthy, not-perfectly-clean floor, but he caught her first. She shrieked, clutching at his shoulders, clumsily trying to regain her balance while falling backward onto what she hoped was a soft couch cushion.

“Loki, what-”

He closed his mouth over hers before she could finish whatever the hell that question would have been as they landed on the too-small couch. Oh fucking hell, she could not have responded better to it, moaning into the kiss and grabbing him anywhere…no… everywhere she could reach. His hands were just as scatterbrained as hers, unable to stay in one spot because every part of her felt too good to his palms- how could he possibly choose? He angled his head to deepen an already deep kiss, then grabbed the back of her knee, his head spinning from the mere sound of her gasping underneath him. His shirt bunched up as she dragged it up his side, and he groaned, rolling his hips with more vigor. He’d been waiting a thousand bloody years for this moment with her.

Oh god, get me out of these fucking clothes NOW.

He was only half-aware of her voice saying “I’m so in love with y-…” as he stood up, yanking her with him (apparently he’d wound his arms tightly around her waist at some point), and walked backwards to her bedroom once more. God, he was absolutely out of his mind for this woman.

Hello, my name is Loki Odinson, and I’ll die if Sigyn Frey doesn’t say yes when I ask her to be my wife.

“Me too,” he barely managed in response to her admission of love. The back of his knees hit the edge of her bed, and he fell back with her on top of him.

Oh my god, I AM SO HAPPY.

He was floating… flying… soaring… living forever… immortal and in love, and the girl he loved was just as in love with him. She broke their kiss long enough to smile against his mouth.

Shaking her head while holding his face, she muttered, “Can’t believe you want me still.”

“Never stopped wanting you, sweeth-…” his mouth snapped shut as she scooted over his belt buckle. Chest rising and falling a bit faster, he chewed his lip, loving the feel of his stomach twisting in excited knots.

“I swear I’ll never pull that September shit again,” she said, watching him carefully for any sign of discomfort or hesitance, “and I swear I’ll always be honest and won’t hide from you because obviously that was a disaster, and I am so so so so sorry.”

She paused, her heart picking up speed as he lifted his gorgeous green eyes to hers again. After taking a deep breath, she added, “Can we…?”

He watched her blink slowly, her long dark eyelashes casting shadows over her now flushed cheeks, and he slowly lowered his gaze to her neck and chest.

Oh fuck- we’re doing this…this is actually going to happen…less than an hour ago, I was a dead man walking…

He should make sure he understood her correctly. He doubted he was reading this situation incorrectly, but still. He took a deep breath.

“Are you asking me if I’ll-” His words failed him, as though his mouth literally lost function, because, god almighty, she was now full on pressing into his crotch. Well hell. Anything left to say had flown to the back of his mind. A gorgeous gift- the only one he’d ever wanted -had written a 20-page love letter to him, then fallen into his lap, and was now rolling her hips over his jeans. Brow furrowing, he groaned, sliding his hands down her sides.

She curled her fingers around the back of his neck and pulled his open mouth to hers, internally screaming “OH GOD YES” as he reached up to tangle his fingers in her hair. She leaned away for a moment, eyeing him carefully because she needed to know that he would…

“Stay,” she whispered.

Leaning with her, trying to follow her mouth, he shook his head rapidly. “I’m not going anywhere, I swear.”

His lips barely grazed hers when she pulled further away, and he growled at the loss, once again following her.

Come. Back. Here.

“All night?” she asked, letting him kiss her for a few seconds.

He nodded, running his hand up her spine and into her hair as his mouth moved in tandem with hers. The incessant undulating slide of her hips back and forth pulled a deep groan from his chest, and he couldn’t help but let his head fall back.

She bit her lip, staring at his pale throat. She’d never been able to resist his neck, not that she wanted to, since he had the most irresistible neck in the universe. Tilting her head, she leaned forward to place a slow, open-mouthed kiss just below his adam’s apple.

“You’re not going anywhere?” she whispered as she worked her way up to the hinge of his jaw, feeling light-headed from the heat and smell of his skin.

He smelled like heaven- like a leather jacket had soaked up the smoky scent of bergamot tea leaves tossed into a bonfire, and someone had collected the smell, bottled it up, and started selling it as “LO’s Throat” next to Armani Code and D&G Pour Homme at Bergdorff’s or something.

Loki would have nodded in response to her question- no, he was absolutely not going anywhere -but his neck felt like it had turned to jelly thanks to her lips and tongue sliding all over it. He managed to form some semblance of English-sounding words.

“Not…go-…any…I…” The oddly strung together train of not-words derailed entirely when he felt her hand slide all the way down his pullover, below his belt buckle, then wrap her fingers around him through his jeans.

Tightening her grip, she began to slowly run her hand up and down. She bit her lip, rolling her hips more, well, greedily when his jaw dropped. She loved watching his chest rise and fall faster and that strained sound (was it a growl or a moan?) in the back of his throat was so so so so SO sexy.

“Swear it,” she said, using her other hand to lift his head for him, and looked into his dazed eyes.

Breathing hard through his mouth, he gave her an exasperated look. “I already did swear it!” For hell’s sake, why was she making him talk right now?!

“Don’t yell at me,” she frowned, leaning further into him, sliding her lips over his for just a second.

“Can’t you tell the difference between yelling and sobbing?”

Dear god, he was whining. As in, “didn’t get my way” toddler whining . But he couldn’t help himself- she really was trying to kill him. For how long had he been hard now? Thirty minutes? Surely not. It had to have been hours . When she spoke again, her voice was so soft, so shaky, so…in love. It squeezed his heart so tight, it was enough to distract him from the hand squeezing him through his trousers.

“I’m just making sure,” she let go of the back of his neck to point back and forth between the few inches separating their chests, “because right now, what I need most is to feel you inside me again, but I also need you to be here when I wake up.”

Eyes wide, he blinked at her, his mouth falling open a little. How could she not know this? Of course , he didn’t only want a physical reconnection. It was so much more profound than that. Yes, he would be here when she woke up. He would bring her coffee and breakfast if she wanted, or better yet, walk through the deserted New Years Day streets, stop at Ground Support, and then he would take her home with him.

Breathing deeply through his nose, he then exhaled through his mouth. “I told you I am not going anywh-”

His words were cut off by her tongue darting into his open mouth, and before he realized what was happening, his back was on the mattress. Sigyn leaned over him, cradling the back of his head in her hands and kissing him like his mouth tasted better than those gin and tonics she loved so much, like she was getting just as drunk off of him.

Jesus, sweetheart. Go right ahead. Drink up.

When she sat up and slipped her hands underneath his pullover, his stomach clenched at the sensation of her hands smoothing over his bare skin, her thumbs dipping inside the waistband of his boxer briefs. He would have said “I never stopped loving you” right then, but the sentence got lost in the back of his throat because gravity, or maybe it was her incessant rolling hips, was pulling her unzipped dress down over her shoulders at the slowest pace ever. The tease was maddening.

“Bloody hell,” he murmured, his eyes widening when she tilted her head back, her face toward the ceiling, and that goddamn gorgeous dress fell down completely, pooling around her waist and exposing everything to him.

She brought her head back up and leaned down over him again, her hands sliding up his stomach, forcing his pullover up to his neck. He raised his arms over his head on instinct, and she dragged the shirt off. Brow furrowing, she bit her lip, and made a pained sound as her eyes roved over his bare chest and stomach.

“So fucking gorgeous,” she said under her breath, pressing her body down against his, the skin to skin contact with him (finally!) making her head spin like she’d finished off a bottle of wine all by herself.

Once again, he couldn’t make words. At all. Just… sounds. Groans. Soft gasps. Croaks. The sensation of her breasts flush against him was, no joke (and no hyperbole), intoxicating . Eyes sliding closed, he flattened his hand against the small of her back and cupped her face with his other hand, pulling her open mouth to his.

BOOM.

Fireworks- how ridiculously poetic.

Crying softly against his lips, Sigyn reached down between them, nimbly unbuckling his belt with one hand and tugging his button fly open. He responded with a sharp hiss, and rocked his hips up into her with more force, sliding both hands down to her ass. Oh god, she loved his hands on her. She wanted to spend the rest of her life right here.

Hello, my name is Sigyn, and I think I’ll die if Loki Odinson never asks me to be his wife.

She helped him push the waistband of his jeans and boxer briefs over hips, biting her lip at the sight of what she hadn’t seen in so goddamn long.

Oh fuck me…

Literally.

PLEASE.

Wrapping her hand around him, she leaned over and slowly kissed the hollow of his throat, and once more, he rocked up into her, his grip on her hips tightening tenfold.

“Sig, oh my god,” he breathed, lifting his head again and catching her lips with his. Opening his mouth wider, he rolled his tongue over hers, and slid one hand up her spine and into her hair.

Fucking hell, you gorgeous girl…

He’d never been this high in his life. And that was saying something. Her lips might as well have been candy- sweet as hell and worth indulging to the point of a stomach ache. He wasn’t diabetic, but this girl could probably put him in a coma. He was two seconds from begging her to ride him, but he should have known he didn’t need to ask. Hovering over him and biting her lip, she slid down onto him as though it was the most natural thing in the universe. Eyes rolling back into his head, he groaned as she dropped her mouth to his again.

Grinding her hips over his, Sigyn cupped his face with both hands. This was heaven. This was Valhalla. This was LIFE. Dear god, she’d never been so confident that THIS was the man she wanted to make a baby with. Honestly. Seriously. Desperately. Stupidly. Her IUD would make sure that didn’t happen (THANK YOU) but a huge part of her just knew that it would happen… at some point. Loki would be the father of her children. Whenever the universe said “ NOW we’re ready” , it would happen. She wasn’t complete without him, and she didn’t care if that sounded archaic or antiquated or whatever. Yes, he was a man , and yes, she was desperate to be anything he wanted, anything he needed. But that was FINE because this was her choice . This was okay. It was better than okay. It was WONDERFUL. He would give her anything, and she would give him anything.

I WOULD DROWN FOR HIM.

Oh, that she had said that to him in October. She gave an internal eye roll as soon as she thought it. Never mind. That didn’t matter now. It was January . The start of a new year. It was 2020. Who knew what was in store for them? Maybe it would be a NIGHTMARE , but at least they would be traversing it together. She adored New York, but honestly, it had a tendency to highlight the worst of people, and she knew that she was no exception.

“Oh god,” she groaned, her thighs aching from supporting her weight as she straddled him.

Up…

Down…

Up…

Down…

Up…

Down…

He felt AMAZING. Her body was drowning in Loki, dreaming of him, chasing him through Wonderland…

She heard him say “ Let me help, sweetheart” and suddenly, she was on her back, and he was sliding in and out of her like a… god… for lack of a better word.

With one hand in her hair, he reached down to gently grab the hem of that gorgeous dress- bless Saint Laurent for such a work of art -and pulled it up over her hips.

“Careful, love,” he hissed, slipping it over her head. “So beautiful.” That was one expensive dress.

And the girl in it is PRICELESS.

He rolled his hips forward and back, over and over…

Again…

And again…

“Oh fuck,” she panted against his mouth, crossing her ankles behind his back. “Oh my god… oh my god… oh my god…Loki…”

Behind a closed-lip smile, he grit his teeth. “ Oh god” was right. He felt like a god. A god who could make her come. A god who could give her an F-type for Christmas. A god who could buy her this dress that she’d probably gone into debt just to “wow” him tonight. A god who could pay for their grandchildren’s college tuition.

Push… pull… push… pull… push… pull…

She was close- he could feel it. Heaven help him, this was not easy. He was three months sex-sober, and impressive or not, his dick had its limits.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he said through his teeth, moving his mouth to the pulsepoint in her neck. Tongue on her skin, he ground his hips into her with more force. “Sig…” oh shit, he was done for… “please, please, I can’t…”

He heard her say “ it’s FINE” with all the conviction in the world, her fingers curling into his hair, and his mouth fell open, his mind and body sky-rocketing up to cloud nine to live amongst the stars for a beautiful ten seconds of his lifeline. Ten seconds of beauty and perfection that the stars themselves, in all their stunning magnitude, couldn’t replicate.

If I die right now, I’ll be okay. It won’t be death. It will only be moving through space and time to another dimension where Sigyn Frey smiles at me and welcomes me home.

He blew out a heavy breath through his mouth. Shit… she hadn’t finished.

“It’s not the end of the world, Loki,” she said, kissing underneath his ear. “I’m in heaven because you’re here.”

He gave her a withering look.

Talk about a low bar…

Eyes roving over her face, he allowed more of his weight (within reason) to settle onto her.

“And you deserve better than that,” he said, pushing her hair behind her ears. Bloody hell- he felt like a king and a peasant at once. It was disconcerting.

“Oh my god,” she groaned, rolling her eyes, then rubbing his nose with hers, “stop feeling guilty over nothing . This-” she ran her hands from his ribs down to his hips and back up to wrap her arms around his waist “-was phenomenal, and I mean otherworldly phenomenal.”

He grinned crookedly. “Otherworldly? If that’s how you feel just because I’m here-”

“Here inside me,” she spoke over him, clarifying her earlier point.

“If that’s how you feel,” he repeated himself, his smirk growing into a full-blown smile, “then I truly did level up to a god.”

“Niiiiice,” she laughed out loud, her head falling back.

“It wasn’t that funny,” he chuckled for a moment, but the humor ended quickly because every muscle in her body had tightened from her excessive laughing- EVERY muscle -one of which was particularly…

Gripping.

Didn’t you say you “can’t level up to ‘god’ until book 3” to one of those nurses at Sig’s doctor’s appointment in May?

Did I?

Think so.

Well then… mission accomplished.

Sliding his hand under her neck and into her hair, he lowered his mouth to the dip between her collarbone, which she’d so generously exposed to him by throwing her head back like that.

The tip of his tongue barely touched her skin before he closed his lips over it, and her laugh turned into a strained, quiet whine. She arched her neck further, her toes already curling as his mouth moved closer to her jaw, teasing her with a bit more of his tongue in each kiss. Oh hell, she could feel him hardening again.

And you thought he was “done” with you…

“Oh fuck…” she whispered through her teeth, then he pulled away from her throat and lowered his face to hers.

Eyes closing as their parted lips met, he gripped her hair more tightly, determined to avoid an anticlimactic night for her. Sure, she’d said that she was thrilled or he was otherworldly or what not, and he knew she wasn’t pretending, but… no. Just… no. His girl was going to get off, and he could make that happen in thirty more seconds. Guaranteed. Keeping his hand in her hair and his mouth on hers, he stretched his arm down to hook his elbow under her thigh, then leaned forward again, lifting her higher and draping her knee over his shoulder as more and more blasts of fireworks lit up the room faster and faster. Oh the timing . The finale was coming shortly.

NICE .

Sigyn would have cried out, but his mouth was stifling her. His entire body was stifling her, and it was hot as hell. Literally. She was breaking into a sweat around her temples and neck and chest. Clinging to his shoulder with one hand, she grabbed his face with the other, her thumb running along his jaw as he moved over her. The higher angle didn’t only let him push deeper. It let him slide his lower stomach perfectly over the oh-so-good ache between her thighs.

God. Almighty.

Her leg over his shoulder started shaking, and she stopped kissing him, no doubt looking slack-jawed and drugged. More blasts… again… again. Good lord, her room looked like someone had set up a goddamn strobe light across the street. The coil inside her was so tight, and it was getting tighter by the millisecond.

“Oh god… oh god…” she bit into her lip, letting go of him to stretch her arms back behind her head and slam her palms against the wall, forcing him as far into her as possible as the first little random electric spasms hit her.

Feeling her start to twitch around him, Loki slipped his elbow out from under her leg, and reached over her to curl his fingers around hers. Gasping and pushing with everything he had, he watched her, ecstatic and overly proud of his accomplishment , as her mouth fell open, her head fell back, and those random spasms turned into impossibly tight, evenly-spaced pulses that he hoped felt more explosive to her than that last round of absurdly loud blasts and pops and crackles and booms and flashes of light in every shade of the rainbow happening outside.

He bit into a smile, slowing his pace to a standstill as his girl floated back to the ground- or bed, in this case -from her own cloud nine Wonderland. A good -trip Wonderland. A trip that did not include the red queen ordering her deck of guards to decapitate you. Her arms went completely limp and would have fallen- possibly directly onto her face -if not for his hands holding hers against the wall still. Relaxing his grip, he gingerly brought her dead weight arms back down and set them around his neck. However, they slid right off, landing on the bedcover with a thud, and without opening her eyes, she sighed heavily, a grin spreading across her face.

Raising an eyebrow, he smirked. “That good, hm?”

Still smiling, her tongue poked through her teeth, responding with something between a giggle and a drawn-out whistle. “Apparently.”

~ Several hours later, 8:52 am, January 1, 2020 ~

Eyes fluttering open slowly, Sigyn squinted and put a hand over her eyes. She turned over, scowling a bit at the clock on her wall. She would have slept longer if not for the sunlight streaming through her window.

DIRECTLY ON MY FACE.

She wasn’t really upset, though. No, she was so goddamn happy. If anyone had asked her yesterday if she would wake up next to Starboy this morning, she would’ve called them crazy. Her hips and thighs were unbelievably sore, and god, she loved it. Was he this sore, too? Doubtful. He was in too good of shape to be sore after a couple rounds of sex. Really good sex. Otherworldly sex. She bit her lip at the thought and turned over again, smiling wide, to get a look at the guy who’d taken her to the stars and back last night. Her smile fell immediately.

His spot was empty. He wasn’t there. Eyebrows pulling together, she sat upright and rubbed her eyes. Damn blurry morning vision. Surely, she was imagining that empty space next to her. When she pulled her hands away from her eyes, he still wasn’t there. The sheets were wrinkled, and if she squinted, she could make out the shape of his body. Eyes blowing wide and lip trembling, she pushed up off the bed.

The rug felt abnormally cold under her bare feet as she tip-toed around the bed, anxiously playing with the hem of her long, oversized, off-the-shoulder, grey sweatshirt that proudly proclaimed in pink block letters that she was “born in the 80s”. She chewed her lip, turning in a slow circle, eyeing every square inch of her room looking for any evidence of his presence. Up, down, left, right, shadows, highlights, dim corners, under, above. Keys? No. Phone? No. Wallet? No. Shirt? No. Boots? Socks? Pullover? Trousers? Definitely not.

Nothing.

“Oh my god,” she whispered, switching from chewing her lip to chewing her thumbnail as she went into her living room, stepping around the space with less confidence than a kid playing “the floor is lava!”

Blinking at the burning in her eyes, she put both hands over her mouth. “No no no no no no no no no no no…”

He left. He left me again.

“This isn’t happening,” she whispered behind her palms as several tears in quick succession tumbled down her cheeks.

She moved quickly then, scouring the place for a note or something. Where the bloody hell was it? Goddammit- there had to be one! Coffee table? Key table? Kitchen counter? On the fridge door? Couch? Under the cushion? Behind the wall painting over her TV?! No no no no no!!

“How can he do this to me?” she croaked, sinking down into her kitchen table chair. Oh god, she was just getting what she deserved, wasn’t she?

Call him. Text him. Run to his building. DO SOMETHING.

Sniffling loudly, she pushed to her feet and walked back into her bedroom. She’d dropped her phone on her bed last night when Loki had picked her up and carried her to it.

Then he fucked me twice.

Then left me before the sun came up.

Or after I fell asleep.

Whenever that was.

Either way, dear god, I would rather be dead right now.

Heartbreak was a terrible thing, wasn’t it- something that could make an otherwise healthy person think that no longer existing on this planet, but perhaps just… darkness… and the beauty of no longer thinking or feeling… was preferable to breathing. Oh god, maybe she was overreacting. Maybe she’d misinterpreted this, and was now seeing everything through the lens of a girl who had been-

Her phone chirped at her then, cutting off her despondent thoughts. Furrowing her brow, she scrambled to yank the sheets back. Where was it?

Under your pillow, hon.

Oh right.

Eyes rolling, she shook her head and grabbed her pillow, then tossed it behind her shoulder. Her little rectangular digital savior laid there, waiting for her to accept the hand that it had reached toward her after falling overboard for the thousandth time. Swiping it up from the mattress, she opened her texts, and let out a massive breath. A breath that left her light-headed and dopey because the “contact” who had texted her was “Loki Forever Dream Starboy Odinson”, and his picture had her reliving last night and aching to get lost with him all over again in those sheets that she’d just all but destroyed to find her phone.

As though you didn’t already want that…

“Fuck, he’s perfect,” she breathed, swiping right to see his words.

Loki: Hey sweetheart.  Did you get my note?  I left it on my pillow.  Well, technically it is YOUR pillow, but that’s neither here nor there.  Maybe it fell off the bed or something.  I won’t lie- I was trying to be romantic.  Trying TOO HARD.  Forgive this lovesick fool of a man, please.  It said “meet me at Ground Support”.  Will you please text me to let me know if/when you are headed this way?

Feeling as though a thousand pounds had been lifted from her shoulders, she blew out a breath and responded instantly.

Sigyn: Just woke up.  I did not see your note, and… I’ll be honest… I have been freaking out ON A LEVEL.  I am on my way right now.  Love you to the stars and back.

Turning in a dizzying circle, her eyes roved over the floor of her bedroom, searching for a pair of trousers. She growled and hurried to her chest of drawers, yanking the second drawer from the top open and yanking it open to grab the first pair she saw. They happened to be black yoga pants with a rainbow stripe up the sides, and they were a little too tight, but at least the ankles fit easily into her boots. She dashed to her door, grabbing her crossbody purse from her key table as she ran out. Clumsily, she struggled to lock it, then ran down the stairs two at a time, which was surprisingly difficult. She nearly fell four times.

Out the building door, turn left, run to the first intersection, turn right on to West Broadway, hurry hurry hurry… dear god, run FASTER.

Breathing hard, her eyes widened a bit, and she slowed her steps as she crossed Spring Street and approached the best coffee shop on planet Earth. A sleek, glacier white F-type (eeeee-lectric white, as she called it) was parked on the street right next to Ground Support, and a stunner of a man was leaning against the hood, his hands in his pockets and his ankles crossed. His black hair was pulled into a small bun at the base of his neck, and a pair of classic black Ray Ban Wayfarers sat on his nose. He flashed her a perfect smile as she approached him.

“Foot on the gas, sixth gear, 0 to 60, heart rate through that moonroof, I don’t know where the hell we’re going, but…” he pulled his sunglasses down and raised an eyebrow, “Feel like burning rubber with me, gorgeous girl?”

She pressed her lips together, heart rate shooting straight up through the invisible moonroof over her head.

Loki quoting his own goddamn words to me shouldn’t be THIS hot.

He pushed off the hood of the car and took a step toward her. “I caught you biting your lip when I pulled up to your building in these blacked out, ultra expensive, custom-made wheels. I’m a mess, but I swear you’ll love me. I’ll take you on the ride of your life. You’re too smart and far too well-read for me to teach you much of anything, but if you will just get in this goddamn car, I’ll show you how to live fast and die right.”

Dear god, she actually burst into tears.

“Hell yes, Starboy,” she said, biting into a smile as she ran to him and threw her arms around his neck. “Where are we going?”

He lowered his face to hers and kissed her, then pulled away and opened the door. “Get in.”

Clicking her seatbelt into place, she looked at him sideways as he pulled away from the curb and sped off down the deserted New Years Day 2020 street in New York City.

“Seriously, Loki,” she said, grinning ear to ear, “where are we going?”

He turned to look at her and shifted into fourth gear, anxious to get to sixth in the Lincoln Tunnel. “Does the destination really matter? Or is the ride itself what makes us who we are? That tells who we wish to spend the rest of our lives with? The rest of this ride with?”

Reaching up to open the moonroof, even though it was absolutely freezing, he flashed her his iconic smile, and she smiled back.

You’re brighter than the sun, sweetheart.

“I don’t care where we go,” she replied, reaching over to take his hand. “As long as it’s with you, I’m good.”

Still smiling, he returned his eyes to the road. “To the stars, it is.”

Sigyn leaned her head back, shivering from the New Years Day cold coming through the moonroof, and smiled, even happier than she’d been on January 1st three years ago when she first fell into Loki Odinson’s arms.

GOODBYE STARBOY AND SUNLIGHT GIRL. ALL MY NEW YEARS ARE YOURS.
-Jen Eowynir

From the bottom of our hearts here at FrigidImmortals.com, thank you for reading New Year. We ask that you would please do us a favor by leaving comments/reviews because those truly are the greatest sources of help and humble joy for Jen and the Eowynir Admin Team.

The New Year Fever Dreams Sage continues in Part Two:
NEON DAYDREAMS

“SAFE WITH YOU” BY DELANEY JANE, THE LAST SONG FOR SIGYN ELENA FREY

“BABY, I’LL BE RIGHT THERE BY YOUR SIDE. I’LL LOVE YOU THROUGH THE HIGHS AND THROUGH THE LOWS. SO YOU CAN CALL ME WHENEVER, ABOUT WHATEVER. I’M HERE FOR YOU FOR THE REST OF FOREVER.”
– “LOVESICK” BY TREVOR DANIEL, THE FINAL THEME SONG FOR LOKI STARBOY ODINSON

What Readers Have Said
About CH 12 “Happy New Year, Love”

“I love it. It was beautiful and heartbreaking and beautiful all over again. 2020 may be an absolute nightmare but Loki and Sig will get through it alright as long as they have each other. Thank you for writing this wonderful story. (Btw, I am crazy about Fearless Immortals and I’m super excited to find out what happens next)”
-Ferbette, on CH 12 “Happy New Year, Love” (AO3)

“Your writing is absolutely beautiful and you are damn right this story helped me through the year! I stretched this last chapter out over a couple of days just to make it last longer. I like to think that their adventure through their 2020 would inspire Loki to write another book about the next stage in their lives.”
-Mischief76, on CH 12 “Happy New Year, Love” (AO3)

“This story was beautiful, captivating, magical, sad, lovely, nerve-wrecking, enchanting and overall amazing. It’s sad to see this end. Lovely story, lovely chapters, lovely characters and wonderful author. Enough said.”
-Maïté, on CH 12 “Happy New Year, Love” (AO3)

“AAAAH I absolutely loved this story ”
-PennySparker, on CH 12 “Happy New Year, Love” (AO3)

“So I reread this because of Neon and ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh”
-Burningarbitterheart (commenting on New Year Same Habit while waiting for the next Neon Daydreams update)

New Year Chapter links: ¹ We’re Just Strangers ² Hello, My Name is Loki ³ A Helluva Drug ⁴ Written in the Dying Stars ⁵ This Helen of Troy (Worth Drowning For) ⁶ STARBOY INTERLUDE ⁷ Live Fast, Die Right (Crashing Hard) ⁸ It’s Called “Being Present” (Hit the Gas) ⁹ Burn it to the Ground, Sig. (Just Don’t Burn Me) ¹⁰ Hotel Hell, Closing Bell ¹¹ Do Not Go Gently (Run West, Boy) ¹² Happy New Year, Love. **Visit the Saga main page here.

**Saga extra features: NYC The New Year Dreamscape Digital Daydreams A Thousand Words

*CHAPTER TWELVE FEATURED MUSIC: “Genghis Khan“ by Miike Snow

THE NEW YEAR FEVER DREAMS SAGA
A LOKI+SIGYN MODERN AU SERIES

*Notes from the author, upon original posting in January 2020:
I have a few last thoughts. "Is it January?"—Apparently it IS January, and I was terribly naughty and did not publish this on time. *bangs head on desk*  Apologies for the delay. I did publish this final chapter on AO3 by my New Year's Eve/Day deadline, thank god, but a terribly-timed kitchen emergency (strictly "need to know") came up that night, and it screwed up my not-exactly-well-laid plans for THIS site. Listen, procrastination has been the name of my game for three decades. I damn well better improve that habit in 2021. (New year, same habit...what do ya know?!) Now, even though this update is a week late, I'll share my thoughts as they were on December 31, 2020, when I first shared Loki and Sig's ending with the AO3 readers.

Saying goodbye to New Year, Same Habit ON our real-world New Year’s Eve at MIDNIGHT (New York City standard Eastern time) is one of the most bittersweet moments of my adult life.  Perhaps that sounds dramatic (it is, I know), but this story has been my lifeline in 2020.  I think most of us would agree that this year has been an absolute DISASTER of a year, and amidst all the pain and suffering, amidst lockdowns and the loss of physical touch, the loss of loved ones, the layoffs… oh my god, sometimes the only relief (psychologically) I found was in the favorite songs, films, and most of all, BOOKS.  My god, the STORIES.  I often wonder if I am the only one who felt this way.

This year shed a new light on all art forms for me.  Oh, how poetic, in a painful yet cathartic manner, that in a year where the entire planet ground to a standstill, in a year where my mid-town streets in my 6-million-strong city felt and looked empty and DEAD, it was the stories, the previously made films, the local art gallery next door that I can only observe from behind their windows since it had to shut its doors, and hundreds of songs that were more ALIVE than ever for me.  I’ve seen them, listened to them, or read them a hundred times, so, one would assume that they would affect me no differently than the previous hundred times.  Not so.  Somehow, those works of art MOVED and CHANGED and, oddly, BREATHED, as though they’d taken the place of the hundreds of people stuck indoors who I used to pass on the sidewalk while walking or biking to work, to lunch, to grab a coffee, to the park, or dinner dates.  Much like that art, writing THIS story inspired me in NEW ways, shined a light on NEW ideas, and gave me NEW insights, as though this imaginary world was the only sunlight in the dark reality of this 2020 orbit around our sun.  It helped me (and maybe you, dear reader- most likely from multiple stories from multiple authors) KEEP GOING when just getting out of bed was a monumental task.

As I write this final note for you all (and myself), I’ve already written the end of this story; for Loki and Sig, 2020 has only just begun.  I won’t write their 2020 for them, but I envision them in real world New York, pushing through this past year, trying to support each other and be lights for each other when their "city that never sleeps" feels dark and empty.  Loki said "don't let me down, 2020" and even though I WANT to continue his story, to show exactly how this past year would have treated him, I also don't want to force his future to go one way or another.  I'll leave it in my head, and I'll let everyone who read New Year, Same Habit envision the rest of Loki and Sig’s lives however they want to.  I do not want to say goodbye to Starboy or his Sunlight Girl, but I take solace in knowing that this story will live in someone else's mind as well as mine, affecting them in different ways than it has affected me, at different TIMES than it has affected me; that makes it NEW every day. 

Farewell, 2020.  You've been goddamn awful to a tragic amount of the world, but I'll give you credit for this- the pain reminded me not to take the people I love for granted.  I think Loki and Sig would say the same.  They would also say this: Here's to 2021 and the yet-to-be-written stories that it will bring us.  Happy New Year, everyone.

Take care, stay safe, stay alive, and stay wonderful,

Jen

New Year CH 10

frigidadmin — Sun, 06 Dec 2020 07:39:21 +0000

HOTEL HELL, CLOSING BELL
NEW YEAR SAME HABIT CHAPTER TEN

HOTEL HELL
PART ONE: LOKI

~Six Weeks Later, 11:17am, July 21, 2019~

Lying face down on his hotel bed in Paris, not even half-awake yet since he’d been out til 3 last night (this morning, technically), Loki heard his ringtone screaming at him from the bedside table like a shrill schoolmarm for the fifth god forsaken time. Text alerts and notifications wouldn’t bloody shut up either. Apparently, he’d been too drunk to put it on silent before he passed out. Lovely. Groaning as he stretched across the pillow, he blindly reached for the damn thing and looked at the screen.

5 missed calls and voicemails from his publicist- oh what NOW? -plus 7 texts from Val, 10 from Hela (what?!), 3 from Thor, 1 from his mum. Considering his highly restricted settings for all social media platforms since their validation screwed with his already jacked up head just a wee bit too much, seeing 20 or so alerts from his accounts was disconcerting, to say the least.

Huh- none from Sig? Strange.

He frowned, putting a hand over his eyes because his head was killing him, then started the tiring process of looking through the digital barrage that apparently required his urgent attention. The first text was from his publicist, linking to a TMZ (seriously? -a LINK?) post of some random woman with him at a bar last night. Well, not with him. He’d gone out alone. And he came back to the hotel alone…somehow. How he got back here was a bit foggy. He sat up, squinting at the screen.

“What the hell?”

The caption read “Critically-acclaimed author spotted in Paris getting VERY close to an unknown woman.”

His jaw dropped. “Oh shit.”

He was facing the camera, a tumbler in his right hand- no doubt one of many glasses since he couldn’t remember a damn thing past 11-ish. Unfortunately, the woman was not facing the camera, but was turned completely toward him instead, which would not be an issue if she weren’t actually wrapping her body around him like a koala.

Son of a-

Her left hand was gripping his waist…um…was that…under the hem of his shirt? Yes- why else would the Calvin Klein logo just above his belt be visible? Her right arm was slung over his shoulders, which again, wouldn’t be problematic if her bare leg wasn’t hooked around him so high on his hip that her inner thigh was flush with the button fly of his trousers. Was this a joke? Was it photoshop? He squinted further, zooming in with his thumb and forefinger.

What even- her OPEN mouth is on my NECK?!

And it’s not photoshop, LO. This actually happened.

God, I can’t remember any-

His eyes popped wide open then as the whole thing came screaming back to him. The specifics were lost on him, but his gut response to the gratefully brief interaction with that person was as clear as day- as though his brain had downloaded the situation and saved it in the “don’t touch me don’t touch me take your hands OFF me” file in his memory that was reserved for the WORST moments of his life. Likely no one who had seen (or was now seeing) the image would register the look on his face as fear or extreme discomfort. No, he looked…bored. Straight face. Glazed eyes. Clearly tired. His left hand was hanging awkwardly behind his back, and maybe that was the most obvious reminder of the general claustrophobic feeling in that moment when that girl appeared out of nowhere. It registered as “I need space please dear god I just need space. MY space. My apartment. My city. This isn’t the right place. I’m in the WRONG PLACE!” and that’s what was hiding in his bored expression.

People who really knew him would see it in his eyes. Sig most of all. She might even know verbatim the words in playing in his head in this picture: “my knife is in my room, it isn’t on me, oh my god I forgot my knife this girl isn’t an actual threat so I wouldn’t actually use it on her but oh shit I do not have the ONE thing I HAVE TO HAVE”

He couldn’t remember specifically, but 100% that was the moment that he had called it a night. A sudden realization of being caught out in the open without the only thing that kept him from being completely vulnerable absolutely would cause him to hightail it out of anywhere. He reached down, feeling blindly around his belt, and sure enough, the blade was secure on it. Dead on. He left that bar and came straight back here just to put his knife where it belonged. And then he passed out. Oh, if only he’d thought to chug 2 litres of water first.

He groaned, wishing the pounding in his head would give it a rest as he scowled at the picture. He scrolled to the next link, which was a different account’s post of a picture that was taken by a pap last May. He remembered this one well since it was actually a good one, and he and Sig were happy as hell that day. He’d been out shopping with Sig for the first time in… ever. So… maybe this post wouldn’t be upsetting? Doubtful. Optimism had never done him any favors.

Yea I’m jealous of @SIGNFREY88 (talk about GOALS) but I am not bitter towards her bc obviously she makes LO happy and he DESERVES TO BE HAPPY.  But now one of their friends is saying they broke up in June before the tour?!! They were spotted in SoHo just THIS May, and they looked IN LOVE AF?! WTH HAPPENED I AM SO WORRIED ABOUT HIM  tell me you’re okay @LOKISWRITING (don’t tag them in the comments pls!) 

jfc don’t add to this drama   

Ffs YOU ALREADY TAGGED them 

Yikes your funeral. LO fans know not to talk about LFDG

Tf is LFDG? 

LFDG = LO’s Forever Dream Girl HOW DO YOU NOT KNOW THIS 

WHY ARE YOU YELLIN 

So he wrote sunlight for her and then she breaks up with him? That is fucked up  

How do you know HE didn’t dump HER?  

Because LO an  

Angel??? Nah sis. We all read Starboy.   

I’m a mess for him but like let’s not pretend he doesn’t play when the cat’s away.  

Noooooo I love them!  #logynforever 

Next book: “Nevermind. My Bad.”  

LO’s next book: Love is Dead   

LO’s next book: I Regret Everything  

LO’s next book: Think I’ll Try Dick Now Thanks

Wheezing at these book titles 

ILL TRY DICK NOW THANKS WTF 

Y’all evil 

What are you all, 12?  You shouldn’t even be ALLOWED to read his books at your age. If he and Sig legit called it quits, it’s no laughing matter. 

Ok Karen  

I’m 23 but nice try 

31 over here! Grown ups make jokes sometimes too  

28 and feelin great

81 older than LO and he likes it 

 YOU’RE 81?! I-

Omg I meant I was BORN IN 81 

WAS ABOUT TO SAY WE GOT A GRANNY STAN 

Sometimes feels that way 

Well if they DIDN’T break up, that means he just cheated on her in Paris  yikes

Cheated?? Bull.Shit. LO looks uncomfortable af in that pic. 

I’d go further than “uncomfortable”. That girl was literally GROPING him. Call it what it is: sexual assault. 

 I hope he presses charges

But the French police aren’t doing anything???

No one gives af when a woman does that to a man 

Ya’ll need to chill about that Paris pic. Man is fine. 

Stop obsessing over who he’s dating. Just enjoy his books and the view.

His eyes blew wide at the screenshot of top comments that his publicist (who he was absolutely going to FIRE) had also sent that he unfortunately couldn’t unsee. And how the hell did this person go off and tag his girl while telling everyone else not to like a goddamn digital schoolmarm?

God the lack of brainpower in this world is demoralizing.

He grabbed the hotel phone from the nightstand and threw it across the room, the cord ripping out of the wall with such force it yanked out a chunk of drywall. The lamp came next as he growled at the empty room.

“You’re worried about me? Then maybe don’t post this rubbish at ALL!”

Eyes slamming shut, he sank back down onto the bed and rubbed his temples.

Oh, that was a mistake.

Son of a bitch– the wretched sledgehammer behind his eyes truly was going to obliterate his skull.

No more screaming or throwing things.

Pushing a shaking hand through his hair, he opened his recent calls, scrolling through until he got to Sigyn. He tapped her name with his thumb and put his phone to his ear.

“Come on, pick up pick up pick up pick up,” he said through his teeth, pacing across the room.

It went to her voicemail: “Hey, it’s Sigyn. I’m DEFINITELY not gonna return your call, but I’ll consider texting you. Cheers!”

“Goddammit,” he said under his breath. When he heard the tone on the other end, he pulled a hand down his face.

“Hi love, it’s um…” he squinted at his watch, his hungover brain struggling to convert the time difference, “…wow…is it really only 5:30 there? God, I’m sorry for calling so early.”

No, I’m not. I want you to call me back right this second.

“Just…” he sighed heavily, putting his hand over his eyes again, “please call me when you get this.”

He ended the call and stared miserably down at his phone. His publicist would hate him for it, but he typed up a quick, entirely reactionary, unprofessional, unprepared, zero-fucks-given, LO-is-kinda-volatile tweet.

You talking money, need a hearing aid. You talking bout me, I don't see the shade. Switch up my style, I take any lane. I switch up my cup, I kill any pain. Look what you've done. I’m a motherfuckin' starboy.

Then, he sent it out into the seventh circle of hell known as “the internet”, entirely unconcerned for any of the goddamned consequences.

No apologies. No regrets. Now make the incessant DINGING stop.

Opening his settings, he checked his notification filters. They were already restricted to alerts from Sig, Val, his mum, Hela (that jaw-breaking nutcracker was worth it), and a few others. God, to think if he allowed push alerts from every fan, every journalist, every critic- both professional and bored trolls -his phone would probably explode. So… wow…apparently his few favorite people were sending his phone into a dinging frenzy on their own, and the one person he wanted to talk to hadn’t texted him. Okay then. Nothing to do but silence the damn thing for now. An overload of saliva flooded his mouth then, and his stomach turned over violently.

Oh…oh no…

Hand over his mouth, he dropped his phone on the bed and ran to the bathroom, making it just in time to avoid vomiting on the pristine floor tiles. The alcohol from last night was certainly not helping the horrendous TMZ-induced nausea. Or the headache. He pushed to his feet on shaking legs and turned on the shower. Waiting for it to heat up, he popped two aspirin and chased them with a bottle of water from the minibar. Twenty minutes later, after scrubbing himself raw to wash off the residue from that woman’s hands and everything he had not done wrong last night down the drain, he checked his phone.

11:52 AM Missed Call from Forever Dream Girl

She’d called him back. It wasn’t even 6 in the morning in Manhattan, and it was a Sunday. This fucking perfect girl. Sig had to be losing her mind over that photo. Her protective instinct was off the charts, and it wouldn’t surprise him in the slightest if she was looking at flights to Paris right now.

Thumb hovering over the “return call” icon, he swallowed the lump in his throat, then nearly dropped his phone when a text from her popped up on the screen:

Sigyn:  I saw the picture, and heard your vm, AND TRIED TO CALL. PLEASE CALL ME.  I’M OBVIOUSLY AWAKE!

He sank to the bed and put his head in his hands. Before he hit the call button, another rapid text popped up on the screen.

Sigyn:  k fine if you can't call for some reason THEN AT LEAST TEXT ME! TELL ME YOU ARE OKAY. PLS TELL ME YOU ARE OKAY

Oddly enough the exclamation point made his headache worse- as though he could hear her too loud voice right next to him. Blowing out a slow breath through his mouth, he gingerly laid back on the bed. He needed to close his eyes for a second because the screen was too bright.

Sigyn:  omg Loki, love, please please please CALL ME

Sigyn: looking at flights right now swear to god

Sigyn: need you to pay for my ticket tho bc I DID NOT BUDGET FOR THIS

Sigyn: I’m at buckets place with farce and she’s DOING INSTA DETECTIVE WORK TO FIGURE OUT WHO TF THAT GIRL IS AND WHEN I GET THERE I WILL FIND HER AND THROW A LARGE HOT COFFEE IN HER FACE AND THEN I’M BRINGING YOU HOME

Sigyn: god damn autocorrect *BUCKY’S place *DARCE

Sigyn: LOKI

Sigyn:

Sigyn: im about to call hotel security to check on you

The pounding in his head finally eased up, and he opened his eyes, frowning at the screen which he had not clicked off and therefore appeared to be reading but ignoring her string of texts. Great. He tapped on her contact avatar to call her.

~Same time, Bucky’s apartment, Brooklyn, NY~

Sigyn breathed “oh thank god” when Loki’s picture and name lit up her screen. She tapped to answer his call instantly while pacing anxiously around Bucky’s living room. He spoke before she had a chance to get out the “ey” part of “hey”.

“I’m okay, sweetheart,” his gravelly voice came through her earbuds like the prettiest music EVER.

She dropped to her knees, no doubt bruising them on the hardwood, and cried into her palm.

“Are…are you…” she tried, her voice breaking between sniffles, “are you sure?”

No way in hell could he imagine how god damn relieved she was to hear him. She would give anything to have him physically with her, but at least the satellites were on her side, connecting Loki to her over a seemingly endless ocean. Not that she should feel disconnected to someone who held her heart in his hands. She heard him sigh heavily on his end. He sounded exhausted. Shocking.

“Other than vomiting about twenty minutes ago? Yes, I’m sure.” Another sigh. “Drank far too much last night. I now relate to that ‘gettin too old for this shit’ line on a level I previously thought inconceivable.”

She smiled despite herself. “Even hungover your vocabulary exceeds what I previously thought inconceivable.”

“Mm,” he hummed, making a sound somewhere between a deep laugh and a groan, “stop stroking my ego, woman.”

Oh, what she wouldn’t give to stroke something. Namely that incredible thing between his thighs. God, why oh WHY wasn’t there an app for jumping into the phone screen and arriving in her boyfriend’s hotel room on the other side of the ATLANTIC? Ugh his voice sounded so good. Hearing his voice was like listening to the taste of gourmet chocolate melting in your mouth.

Closing her eyes, she licked her lips, picturing his-

NOT HELPING.

She rolled her eyes. For pity’s sake, she hadn’t been able to get through five straight minutes without thinking of him in six weeks. As though she needed help remembering that she hadn’t had the immense pleasure of sleeping with him since June 10th– a thousand bloody years ago! Oh, it made her see red every time. When he got home, she was going to make up for all this absurd time lost by attaching herself to him in every way possible for a solid month. Seriously, she might just quit her job, toss her overly demanding to-do list, and make a new one.

To-do list:
Loki
LOKI
LOKI
LOKI!!!!!!

“I feel a bit better since I had a shower.”

She bit her lip, trying to suppress a moan as the glorious image of her ridiculous specimen boyfriend naked and dripping wet shot into her brain like ‘spray and pray’ fully automatic rapid-fire rounds.

Go ahead, shoot me, Loki. I’ll even THANK you for it.

She was the worst girlfriend. He was dealing with the aftermath of excessive alcohol, creepy people groping him, and fucking TMZ blasting it all over the planet, but she wasn’t consoling him with heartfelt concerned and caring words. No, here she was daydreaming about him stepping out of a shower, dropping his towel, and fucking her on his bathroom counter.

“Sig?”

One of his hands would hold her hip, the other stretching up, splaying flat against the mirror behind her back.

“Sig, sweetheart? You there?”

With her legs shaking uncontrollably, she would attach her open mouth to the hinge of his jaw as she clung to his back and shoulder. God, her toes would curl so hard.

“Um…I can hear you breathing hard, gorgeous girl. What in god’s name is happening right now?”

She snapped out of her fantasy at the sound of creaking floorboards. Darcy had walked into the room, saying something about Bucky making pancakes.

“Do what?” Sigyn asked, shaking her head. She saw her best friend’s lips moving but only heard Loki’s voice.

“Since I hear Lewis in the background being loud as ever, I assume you are unfortunately not in a bedroom with the door shut, and therefore do not have your hand inside your little purple sleep shorts, which is what I was envisioning. Wow, I think the cure to this hangover is a hard-on because my headache and nausea have left the building.”

Oh god, her insides were melting. She felt completely flushed, and from the knowing expression on Darcy’s face, she looked it too.

“Jesus, get a room, Siggy,” she smirked, grabbing a coffee mug.

“I heard that,” Loki’s deep baritone rumbled in her ear as she pushed to her feet.

Eyes rolling, Sigyn flipped her best friend off as she brushed passed Bucky in the hall. He gave her a gruff morning greeting, which she returned with a flippant wave while closing the second bedroom door behind her. Ignoring Darcy laughing in the other room, she flopped onto the bed face first and groaned.

“I miss youuuuuuu,” she whined, hitting the mattress repeatedly with her fist.

“Me too, sweetheart,” he sighed after a beat, “even more so after last night.”

The disappointment in his voice brought her back from her sex-starved haze.

“Did anything happen after…” she started, gesturing to the empty room even though he couldn’t see her, “after whatever was going on in that photo.”

“No,” he responded quickly and firmly, “I was just having a drink- or eight drinks -and she appeared next to me, asked for a hug, and didn’t wait for me to respond. She grabbed me, and her friend took a picture. That was the extent of it.”

Sigyn grit her teeth, pushing up to her knees, twisting the bedspread angrily. Honestly, she wanted to cut that person. Her friend too.

“She’s lucky I wasn’t there to kick her in the vagina.”

“Oh, if ONLY,” he laughed hard enough to make himself go into a coughing fit. “I’m more exhausted than anything. I had more energy the first few weeks. I could sign books and listen to their stories, and make jokes and take selfies, but it’s been six weeks. I’m supposed to smile at these things, but I’m fairly certain I just look pissed off all the time now.”

“Anyone with half a brain won’t fault you for that.”

“Can you believe my publicist sent me a post captioned ‘LO looking mean af is my sexuality’? He said I need to get back on-brand, and stop being MOODY.”

“Quill sent me that same post in my DMs, and I won’t lie,” she scratched the back of her neck, “you do make ‘mean’ look hot as hell.”

“Well alright then,” he said, sounding like he was smiling, “I’ll make sure to scowl more for your sake.”

Blowing out a breath, she ran her hand through her hair. Uh…yes please. Some of his angry looks (not aimed at her) made her want to get on her knees and call him ‘sir’ until her voice gave out on her.

Good lord, I am ACHING.

Yeahhhh, pull it together, hon.

She was on the verge of sobbing. He wouldn’t be home for another two weeks, and that was so far away. Was it too much to ask the universe for magical teleportation powers? She hadn’t been this desperate to get her hands on him since…ever. Even when they started dating and were in that thrilling build up to the main act stage, when just talking to him was enough to get her high, she hadn’t been this worked up over him. Talk about a helluva drug.

“I don’t know how the hell to make it through two more weeks, Sig,” he said, sounding so SAD suddenly.

Looking sideways out the window, she swallowed, the hairs on the back of her neck standing up. She could feel a thick layer of darkness in his tone, the same tone of Starboy’s unnamed narrator. She had always imagined his voice while reading it, but she’d never actually heard Loki speak like this. It wasn’t just dark. It was…what was the right word for it?

Dangerous.

Downward-spiral dangerous.

Bottle of oxy dangerous.

Tears prickled her eyes as she continued staring out the window. She wasn’t ready for it. Not yet. Not that she could ever be ready for hell, but she needed more time to heal from this awful year before she had enough strength to wrap her arms around him and kick and kick and kick to keep his unbearably heavy head above the water.

She’d known theoretically that it was a possibility- that eventually she would see this part of him. He’d mentioned on and off how this worked, and she had done her own research because he was too important for her to not have a clue what to do for him. The dark was always there, lurking, waiting in the shadows in the corner. He sighed then, bringing her out of the “theoretical” darkness to come and instead back to the here and now.

“I know what you’re thinking, sweetheart,” he said, his voice straining a bit, as though he were stretching out after waking up. “And you don’t have to worry about it. I’m fine. I swear. Just tired and ready to come home.”

Eyebrows pulling together, she chewed her lip. “It’s okay if you aren’t fine, love.”

“Sig.”

“Loki.” God, she loved the sound of his name.

“I’m FINE.”

She stared blankly at the window, wanting to question him further but knowing better than to prod him.

“Oh, you’re fine alright, forever dream boy,” she said, smiling when he chuckled. Can’t go wrong with a joke. “I can’t wait to see you. I’m losing my mind over here.”

~Back in Paris, Same call~

Loki hummed. “Thirty-six years ahead of you on that front.”

“How did I know you would say that?”

“Not exactly a hard one to predict,” he said with a shrug.

“Don’t talk about HARD things.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, pressing his lips together to keep from laughing.

“Don’t say that either.”

Smiling wide, he threw his free hand up. “Alright, what am I allowed to say, picky girl?”

“Ummm… you may talk about the weather.”

“Ah,” he said, eyeing the window when the faint rumble of distant thunder echoed in his hotel room. “Well, it is going to be a wet one today.”

“Oh Loki, come ON.”

Shoulders shaking, he rolled onto his stomach and laughed into the pillow. “I can do that, but first I need you to tell me what you want me to come on.” He couldn’t help it. She’d said “oh Loki” loud enough to require pulling his phone away from his ear.

“Insufferable jerk.”

“You love me.”

“Oh hardcore. Question- would you mind if I answer ‘did LO break up with his girlfriend’ on my Insta? Or is that too-”

“I don’t mind at all,” he said, pushing off the bed and going to his bag to dig out a fresh pair of jeans and a t-shirt, “I suggest you turn off comments though.”

“I was already going to turn off comments.”

He grinned just a touch. “Smart girl.”

She didn’t respond, and the silence persisted so long that he thought the call had dropped.

“You there?” he asked, one eyebrow raising.

“Yes,” she answered after another beat, then sniffled- a sure sign to him that she was trying to not cry, “I’ve got to go get dressed for a depressingly early yoga class with Darce.”

Putting a hand over his eyes, he nodded. “Okay.”

He didn’t want to hang up. Ever. This was the most he’d missed her, and that was saying something.

“I love-”

“-love you.”

They’d said it at the same time, and he ended the call immediately. He was on the verge of absolutely sobbing, and he didn’t particularly want her to hear it. He stared at the wall, wondering how much it would cost to repair it if he put his fist through it. Ten seconds later, he received a notification (the only one he hadn’t turned off) that she’d tagged him in a new post and captioned it “cannot wait to dance on a rooftop in NYC with him again #foreverdreamboy” along with a row of black and red hearts. It was a throwback, one that he hadn’t seen before, but he recognized the date and location as being from Lewis’s 4th of July party last summer.

Lewis had put her phone in his face and said something about “Lo-Lo’s pretty pretty hair.” Sig had laughed, and he had refused to smile. Oh god, it was such a good picture- why hadn’t Sig ever sent it to him? Hitting the reply icon, Loki typed out “2 weeks, 2 weeks, 2 weeks, 2 weeks” (multiple fire emojis included for emphasis) and hit the heart icon.

2 weeks indeed. Hopefully, “dancing on a rooftop in NYC” was code for destroying his bed in his apartment.

Hopefully, she’ll let ME lead this time.

~2 weeks later, 6:50pm, August 3, 2019~

Loki:  Guess who just landed at JFK.

Sigyn:  !!!!!!

Sigyn: When will you get home?

Loki: Probably about 9:00. I have to go through immigration and get an UberBLACK and all that. I will obviously let you know if that changes.

Sigyn: 2 more hours booooo.  I’ll be at your place. Unless you need some space to decompress?

Loki: Oh my god, no no NO.  PLEASE be there.

Sigyn: Down, boy.  See you soon.

Loki: Cannot wait.

At 9:20, with his carry-on backpack slung across one shoulder, he breezed into his building- oh thank god, FINALLY -and shook hands with his doorman as the driver removed his two checked suitcases from the trunk of the car and rolled them inside. Giving a quick “thank you” wave, he grabbed the handles of his suitcases and rolled them to his elevator. He took off his backpack to dig out his keys, his heart rate climbing faster than the lift taking him up to the top floor. Keys between his teeth, the doors slid open, and his pounding heart stopped altogether.

Sigyn stood in the hall, bouncing on her feet and smiling brighter than the sun itself- a smile that he returned in full, his keys still hanging from his mouth. He moved without realizing it. One second he was in the elevator, and the next he collided with her in the hall, wrapping her in a rib-breaking hug. They might have stood like that for a minute or an hour. He didn’t know. He didn’t care.

Pulling back just enough to slide her arms out from under his, she smoothed her hands up his chest and over his shoulders. He bent down to her face, and suddenly it was New Years. There wasn’t music or dancing or confetti or clinking glasses or deafening fireworks, yet somehow, he heard all of it. Behind closed lids, his eyes rolled back, the blood rush and the chemical rush sending him sky high.

Hello, my name is Loki…

And I am a lovesick fool of a man.

Hands in her hair, unable to pull his mouth away from hers, he dragged her blindly down the hall, his back hitting his half open door with a solid thud that knocked the wind out of him. Gasping like he’d been kicked, he blinked rapidly, and she abruptly turned and ran back down the hall, pushing the elevator button repeatedly before disappearing behind the doors.

Eyes blowing wide, he had a completely unfounded moment of panic. Where was she going? What was this? How had he already screwed this up? He eyed his surroundings, breathing hard. Had he just hallucinated that reunion? Was he still on the plane, dreaming inside a benzo-induced nap? Out from behind the lift doors, he saw his suitcases speed across the floor and slam into the wall on the other side of the hall as though they had minds of their own.

Suitcase robots?

This must be the Xanax.

But then Sigyn came running out after the R2-D2 rejects, shouting something about him forgetting his “stupid heavy!” bags. Ah, that’s what happened- she’d shoved them out. That made far more sense than robots.

Hello, my name is Loki, and I am clinically insane.

She left them in the hall and ran back toward him, saying he could get them after.

“After?” he repeated, his lower stomach clenching as she neared him.

After? After what?

DETAILS, PLEASE. AND BE SPECIFIC.

“After we fuck about thirty times,” she said, as though it was obvious, then quite literally crashed into his body, grabbed the back of his head, and yanked his gaping mouth down to hers.

Jesus. Christ.

She walked him backward into his apartment so quickly- so violently -that his backside hit the key table and knocked everything off, including her laptop bag, which they both tripped over then crumbled to the floor in a pile of limbs. It could have been hilarious, but the last thing on his mind was comedy while his girl was tearing his clothes off. Right there on the floor in front of his door, since apparently, they couldn’t handle waiting the ten seconds it would take to get to his bed, she begged him to lead. She begged him to pull her hair harder, to kiss her harder, to fuck her harder.

When he woke up the next morning his back was covered in faint scratches. This was the wake up after a bad dream. He was back in NYC, in his bed, and Sig was lying next to him, grinning in her sleep.

August 2019 was beautiful. He felt like he was falling in love all over again with her every day. The falling continued into September…

Falling from cloud nine.

Falling from a cliff.

Falling from every pedestal she’d ever put him on.

He was one of those muted grey, dried up, dead leaves that had fallen onto the pavement outside his building. And he dreaded the moment when she would replace him with something new and colorful in the spring, when the warmth of her sunlight brought someone else out of their endless winter grey. She would give her new year to another man, and he would be grateful that he was dead already so he wouldn’t have to watch.

CLOSING BELL
PART TWO: SIGYN

~6 weeks later, 12:17am, September 12, 2019~

Sigyn hated August. It was too hot and too long, with too many tourists trying to catch that last bit of summer vacation before school started. August made her wish the sun would just go take a walk and cool off. In her opinion- the RIGHT opinion! -August sun needed to enroll in an anger management program. It acted like it was pissed off at everyone, so it punished them with constant nagging and never-ending sick burns. August sun just loved roasting Manhattan, turning it into a giant oven that wasn’t hot enough to kill you, but it did make you want to die. It was atrocious.

Ugh, the concrete just baked all day, and the glass windows reflected that heat in all directions, and everyone was a sweaty mess by the time they got to work each morning. See, this is why she kept baby wipes, deodorant, dry shampoo, and a hair dryer in her office. Admittedly it was extremely odd, perhaps disturbing, but she even brought an extra pair of underwear in her bag every day because yes, it was that hot, and sweating in certain places was just- ugh. Also, she was a bit paranoid about UTIs. So, thank god, it was now September, right? Nope. Still hot as fuck. God, it was pushing 90 today. Not cool.

“NOT COOL?…hahahahaha…no ‘pologies for th’ puns!” she laughed, trying not to let the five-ish drinks of the night make her slur her words too much as she stepped out of an Uber outside of her building.

The driver gave her an utterly confused look. “What’s that, ma’am?”

“The puns, boy!” she answered, halting halfway through closing the back-right door and bending down to see him better.

“You’re face… sooooo funny,” she snorted. Then she looked sideways, her lips pursing. “Oh, did I think or say that?”

“That my face is funny-looking?” His face did not look pleased.

Noooooooo, he’ll give me a shitty customer rating!!

“NO,” she waved a hand and pointed to his face, “nah nah nah you’ve a handsome face no worries. You made a funny ex-press-ion,” she enunciated the word slowly, forcing the correct pronunciation, which was decidedly not easy.

Fuck- I am so drunk.

She bit her lip and winked, which was probably overkill, but he smiled wide, and she could see his face flush even at this late hour with no sun left to shine a light on his pink cheeks. Good. Mission accomplished. That should earn her an extra star, hopefully. Honestly, was there anything that flashing a sexy smile wouldn’t get her?

Hm… feminist credibility.

She shook her head a bit, annoyed with her head for providing that extremely on the nose finger-wagging answer, then she put her hand on her hip and smiled again.

“Must’ve made th’ joke in m’ head,” she said, gripping the door harder because the space around her felt like it was wobbling, and these heels were not helping.

He checked all around him, presumably making sure he wasn’t blocking traffic, then returned his eyes to her. She noticed him looking her up and down, mostly focusing on her chest. She looked down at herself, and rolled her eyes, adjusting her stance and her top. Okay, maybe she shouldn’t bend over like this in public.

Oof, sooooo awkward.

“K, bye!” she smiled again and waved, slamming the door and hurrying to her building on somewhat shaky legs.

She climbed the stairs to the third floor, clinging to the railing because seeing straight was a task right now. Was it midnight? Maybe? She didn’t care. All that liquor would make tomorrow morning a bitch, but how else was she supposed to get through all that “functional fitness” blathering between Thor and Sam at the bar tonight? Thank heaven Darcy was there to provide more interesting conversation. Namely, graphic sex talk that had Hela cackling to the point of falling off a barstool. Witnessing that was a riot (Loki would have died if he’d seen it) but that stupid barstool ended up sliding across the floor right smack into Sigyn which made her spill a full drink that she paid for with hard earned money!

Spilled drink aside, what a FUN night. Only one thing would have made it better: Loki. She’d wanted him to come along, but he’d said he needed to write, so…yeah okay. Write write write. Again. Over and over. So far, September was just ships passing in the night. After spending all of August going at it like rabbits, this was killing her. It felt like a legit crash from a high. Maybe he hadn’t felt it, but for her, August felt like falling in love with him every day. If it weren’t for the stifling summer heat, she would decree that August was her new favorite month from now on because, yes, her boyfriend’s hips were that convincing.

Fuck- she missed him so much now. She didn’t have a good enough word to describe how much. She needed to pick Loki’s “tricky” brain for a decent adverb. For hell’s sake, he may as well be back in Europe for all the lack of time they spent together, and that is a thought that she should have kept to herself. But no, she just had to say it out loud to his face before she left to go out tonight. Then she’d gone full passive aggressive- “okay well if you can’t take a break from the NON-STOP writing as of late and spend a few measly hours with your supposed forever dream girl, that’s fine.” He had given her the dirtiest look of the century- and not good dirty.

She’d played it off as an attempt at humor when he reminded her (through his teeth) that his first draft was due at the end of the month, and that he had not been able to write “one decent goddamn word!” during the tour and that if it hadn’t been for her “occupying every single thought and breath” in August, maybe he would be able to take a break and spend a “few measly hours with his forever dream girl!” She probably should have interpreted that as him saying “I can’t get enough of you, and in August, I SHOWED that, but even though I still FEEL it, I HAVE to get this shit done, or HC will send a hitman after me, so please stop accusing me of ignoring you because that IS NOT WHAT I AM DOING.”

But she didn’t interpret it that way. His actual words didn’t even register. They were too loud and too angry, and she just didn’t have the energy to translate or rationalize the increasingly frequent yelling. However, he did apologize for yelling at her, and it was without her prompting him to do so. Said he was overwhelmed, that the anxiety was getting to him. It never ceased to amaze her that he could just openly admit how stressed he was, and how it was affecting his emotions. Loki had to be the most painfully self-aware man on the planet to be able to stop himself mid-rant and say he “felt like a piece of shit for taking that tone” with her.

Stars above, he had the most effective puppy dog eyes ever, and that was 100% because she knew they were real. He wasn’t faking what was happening behind those eyes. His beautiful mind was full to the brim with endless words and stories and a million ways of putting them together, all of which he made look fucking effortless, but he didn’t need to use any of it if he just looked at her.

God help me- I am forever WRAPPED.

Still climbing the stairs, she blew out a breath, hiccupping so loud it actually echoed in the stairwell. She giggled a little at the sound. Loki would have laughed if he heard it too. Come to think of it, he probably had heard it. He was at her apartment earlier, so…maybe he was still here? Hopefully. No amount of being jealous of his time or being hurt by hearing him yell at her stood a chance at deterring her from wanting to shove her tongue into his mouth right now. She bit her lip at the thought. If she wasn’t already sweating, she would be now.

Lord, the THIRST. Hm…must be mid-cycle.

“Man better be on m’couch where I left ‘m,” she mumbled, reaching up to wipe her fingers under her eyes. No doubt her eyeliner was running most beautifully right now. Nothing said “totally sober and classy” quite like dark mascara circles and red glassy eyes. Swiping the back of her hand across her forehead, she groaned, yanking her keys out of her clutch as she walked to her door.

“Make it STAHP!” she yelled, stumbling inside and fumbling to get the key out the lock. Once she was successful, she looked up and saw Loki on her couch, peering up at her from over his laptop.

“Yay! He’s still here!” she squealed, and he visibly winced at her words.

“Make what stop? Or in your version- STAHP? If you’re referring to that shrill sound coming out of your mouth, I agree. Please don’t do that again,” he deadpanned, smiling when she stuck her tongue out at him.

She let out a relieved breath. He’d actually smiled at her- at the girl who was the source of his earlier annoyance. His mood must have improved over the last few hours. Thank heaven. She walked toward him, careful not to trip in her strappy heels.

“Nooooo, my voice’s decibel jus’ righttt,” she hissed, putting extra emphasis on the ‘t’ as she tossed her keys and clutch on her coffee table and dropped heavily onto the couch next to him.

“So eloquent,” he returned his eyes to his screen, “does ‘my voice’s decibel jus right’ translate to ‘I’m not being loud’ or…”

“Pfft,” she blew her hair out of her face.

“Alright then,” he snorted, his fingers clacking away over the keys. After a moment of silence, she piped up abruptly at a ‘NOT decibel jus right’ level that made him nearly jump out of his skin.

“I meant I want the hot to go away!” she flung her arms up.

“Bloody hell, woman,” he groaned, curling his arm around the back of her neck, and clamping his palm over her mouth while continuing to type with one hand. “Of course it’s hot. It is still summer. Now shush. I’m working.”

She rolled her eyes. Yes, obviously he was working. She was drunk, not clueless.

She reached up to pull his hand away. “Diff’renz between Augus ‘n Septemmerrrr. Pluz,” she raised her pitch, “all work ‘n nooooo playyyyy la la la la la.”

Well, you certainly SOUND clueless, girlie.

It’s SepTemBer, moron.

“From the sound of it, I think you played enough for the both of us at that bar tonight,” he said, fingers still clacking away.

“You should’ve cooooooome,” she whined, leaning her head on his shoulder.

Eyes still on his screen, he smirked. “Oh, I love coming.”

“Ummmm…me too, so lez do sex thingz,” she said, shrugging her shoulders.

He stopped typing and looked at her sideways. “Your intelligence astounds me tonight.”

“I know, riiiiight?!” she laughed out loud, and he shook his head.

“Ridiculous girl,” he sighed, chuckling low as he started tapping the keys again. “I just have one paragraph left, and then we can do sex things.”

“Sounz fun,” she grinned, walking her fingers up his stomach. “Want know who appeared tonight?”

“If you want me to finish this paragraph, stop talking.”

“The beeeea-uuuuutiful, superrr scarrrrry, an’ shoxingly hilari-uz Doc-torrrrr Hela Odinnnnn-zun, PhD.”

He tore his eyes away from the screen immediately. “WHAT? And I missed it?! My big sis who lives forever away in Boston and acts like I hung the moon randomly pops up, and I wasn’t even there!”

“Shhhhh!” she put her fingers over his mouth. “Now your decibel‘s not-” hiccup “-right.”

“Christ, Sig,” he said, squinting at her, “seriously…how much did you drink?”

“Nuff for th’ both of us ‘pparently,” she snorted, snatching his laptop away. “This’s too hot. Killing sperm y’know.”

Now that got him to laugh out loud. He threw his head back, turning red as he rubbed his eyes, which were now watering. For a second, she was just so pleased to have made him cackle hard enough to make him cry. She loved that he genuinely thought she was funny. Making him laugh was one of her favorite pastimes. But the longer she stared at his Adam’s apple as it bobbed up and down with the vibrations from his laughter, her eyes glazed over.

Best. Neck. Ever.

“Is poss’ble t’ be ‘tracted to necks more than th’ owners ‘f said necks?” she slurred, leaning over to set his MacBook on her coffee table.

“I feel like I am trying to interpret what my 3-year-old nephew is saying. No actually,” he held up a finger as she slung her thigh over his legs and moved up to straddle him, “you are even less comprehensible. This reminds me of when he was two. It sounded like ‘ung-le Lo-gi max zor-eez’ which according to Hela meant ‘Uncle Loki makes stories’ and I think that is a display of intelligence beyond yours at the moment.”

“Oh, shut up,” she laughed, draping her arms around his neck and kissing him.

“You taste like vodka,” he said, licking his lips before leaning back in to catch her lips between his. Running his hands from her bare knees up her smooth thighs, he groaned and stood up with her still wrapped around him.

“Couch’s too small,” he explained, even though she hadn’t asked, when he turned to sit on the bed, keeping her on top of him. He leaned in to kiss her neck under her ear, and her head fell back.

Sliding her hand up his spine, she wrapped her fingers around the back-underside curve of his head. She leaned forward again, breathing hard against his mouth.

“I miss this. I miss you,” she whispered, biting her lip and moaning as he rocked up into her and slipped his thumbs underneath the hemline of the black and white striped suit-shorts she’d worn to work. God, she needed to get his joggers off now.

“We do this almost every day, Sig,” he hissed, eyes closed tightly as her fingers tangled in his hair. He released the tension in his neck, letting his head fall back into her hands.

“Thaz true,” she said, trailing her mouth up the tendons in his neck, stopping once she reached the hinge of the sharpest, sexiest jaw ever. “Still not good ’nuff.”

“Don’t start this again,” he groaned, his teeth scraping over his bottom lip, letting her drag his black t-shirt over his head and kiss down his chest. She slid back a little, dropping to her knees on the ground at the edge of her bed.

“I can feel it right now- you’re stug ‘n your ‘head, Starboy,” she mumbled, her face just below his navel. Stars above, his skin tasted so good.

“So fucking stressed about book three, Sig,” he said, breathing hard as her mouth reached the top of his joggers.

“You must stop pressuring me like this…oh fuck-” he swallowed, watching her dark eyes look up at him from under her brow as she hooked her fingers into the sides of the waistband.

He lifted his hips, and as she slid them down, he put his hand on the back of her head. She smirked up at him, batting her long lashes, the heavy black mascara thick enough to barely obstruct her view of his open mouth and slight jutting out of his chin. He was looking at her, but he wasn’t.

“Still far up in the clou-” she stopped, eyes rolling at the slurred mess of non-words, then licked her teeth and tried again, carefully enunciating “-in… the… clouDS.”

Saying nothing, he blinked at her. It was such a blank, dead-eyed, unfeeling stare- a visual manifestation of the phrase ‘silent as the grave’. And speaking of graves, she had just dug her own. Releasing his hold on her neck, he bent down and grabbed his joggers, yanking them up his legs as he stood back up.

Heart sinking, stomach twisting, hands shaking, she watched him look around for his shirt.

“Loki, I didn’t…I’m s-”

“I’m going to sleep at my place tonight,” he spoke flatly, cutting her off as he grabbed his shirt once he spotted it.

Her eyes blew wide, and not only her hands, but her entire body started shaking. Maybe her blood sugar was crashing from the alcohol. Maybe she was dehydrated. Or maybe she was just terrified of him walking out her door and not coming back.

“Clearly my actual bodily presence here with you will not suffice,” he said, lacing up his gleaming white, un-scuffed, Adidas court sneakers, “and since that is all I am able to give to you for perfectly acceptable reasons that I have already explained several times, I am going home so as to spare you from feeling like I am half-assing sex things with you. You’re piss drunk anyway, and I don’t want to fuck if you aren’t all there-” he tapped his temple “-either.”

Glaring at her, he stood up, grabbed his MacBook, shoved it in his bag, and slung the thing over his shoulder. Eyes on the floor, she reached up to wipe away the teardrops clinging to her lashes as her door swung open and slammed again, his footsteps on the other side of the wall disappearing down the stairs. Her stomach turned over, the wretched sensation washing over her so abruptly that she barely had time to get to her commode.

She flushed away the remnants and yanked a good bit of toilet paper off the roll to clean herself up. She flushed those too and closed the lid. Heaving sobs shook her body, and she laid her head on her arms. Loki hadn’t even given her a courteous ‘I’ll text you when I get there’ or ‘I’ll call you tomorrow’ or anything comforting at all.

This was…this was not good. Things were falling apart. The center was not holding. Their perfect August binary star orbit was losing balance, spinning out of control and too close into a September death spiral. She should have known. She should have fucking known Loki would break her heart eventually. She never should have let her guard down. God, no one should allow themselves to fall in this deep with another person. Ever.

Nothing lasts forever. She was not his forever dream girl. She was just a dopamine-kick with a two year expiration date used to write a bestselling book, wasn’t she. That’s why he was so goddamn frustrated lately. His muse wasn’t giving him the rush anymore. His tolerance was too high now. That’s all she’d been- a helluva drug. For a time. Now she wasn’t even that. She was cut with 90% flour- subpar shit that wouldn’t even give a first-time user a buzz. Sinking to the cold floor tiles, she curled in on herself and cried until she fell asleep.

THE NEW YEAR FEVER DREAMS SERIES
A LOKI+SIGYN MODERN AU SERIES

NEW YEAR SAME HABIT CONTINUES IN CHAPTER ELEVEN: DO NOT GO GENTLY (RUN WEST, BOY)
Visit the New Year Same Habit main page HERE.
Chapter links: ¹ We’re Just Strangers ² Hello, My Name is Loki ³ A Helluva Drug ⁴ Written in the Dying Stars ⁵ This Helen of Troy (Worth Drowning For) ⁶ STARBOY INTERLUDE ⁷ Live Fast, Die Right (Crashing Hard) ⁸ It’s Called “Being Present” (Hit the Gas) ⁹ Burn it to the Ground, Sig. (Just Don’t Burn Me) ¹⁰ Hotel Hell, Closing Bell ¹¹ Do Not Go Gently (Run West, Boy) ¹² Happy New Year, Love.

CHAPTER TEN THEME SONGS:
“Never Let You“ by Kiiara (for Loki)
“Lie“ by Sasha Sloan (for Sig)

What Readers Have Said
About CH 10 “Hotel Hell, Closing Bell”

“Oh Jen, This is such a great chapter, but such a bad ending!! I hate it when they fight, but Sigyn shouldn’t have to be drunk, Loki obvious hates that, with good reason may I add. Also, the photos of Tom Hiddleston as Loki on his Instagram are beautiful, such a handsome man!!! I love this story so much. I’ll be so sad when it’s over.”
-Maïté, on CH 10 “Hotel Hell, Closing Bell” (AO3)

“Their pain is truly heart wrenching.”
-Ferbette, on CH 10 “Hotel Hell, Closing Bell” (AO3)

New Year CH 9

frigidadmin — Sun, 22 Nov 2020 05:55:25 +0000

BURN IT TO THE GROUND, SIG (JUST DON’T BURN ME)
NEW YEAR SAME HABIT CHAPTER NINE

~On the road to Montauk, 11:33 pm, June 7, 2019~

Clenching his jaw, Loki glared at the line of traffic up ahead. They’d managed to avoid the worst of the typical Friday night highway rubbernecking on 40 miles of I-495, and here they were, nearly to their exit, and suddenly it was bumper to bumper.

“Brilliant,” he sighed, rapidly downshifting as he checked his mirrors and zoomed across multiple lanes of cars to take whatever this closest random exit was.

In the passenger seat next to him, Bucky snorted. “The irony of your impatience to get there faster is that you just put us on a road that will take 20 minutes longer.”

Reaching up to open the moonroof, Loki shrugged. “Time is relative. 20 minutes of wasting gas on not moving will feel like an hour.”

“Hey, Lo man, I get it. I hate driving sticks in stop and go,” Bucky said, gesturing to the shifter under Loki’s hand, “but we just missed a golden opportunity back there to have a real heart to heart about our mutual hatred of every other driver on the road.”

“We can still do that without subjecting ourselves to their idiocy,” Loki pointed out, grabbing his water bottle from the cup holder, and twisting off the lid.

Bucky set his arm on the open window, letting his hand dangle off the side. “Yeah but see now I’m not able to think of all the things I hate because I’m too busy enjoying the wind in my hair.”

“Does that summer breeze make you feel fine, JB?”

Putting his face in his hands, Bucky bent forward and laughed into his palms. “So…fine,” he managed between heaving laughs. After a moment, he gathered himself and sat up straight again. “You should pull over. I wanna drive.”

“Okay, but just so you know, if you’re looking for a conversation, that won’t happen. I will pass out in thirty seconds after you take over.”

“Nah, you’ll pass out as soon as your ass hits the seat. And fine by me. I only care about gettin’ the chance to take this fuckin’ gorgeous M4 on the ride of its life.”

“It’s been on the ride of its life every second that my hand has been on the stick,” Loki said coolly as he pulled up the parking brake and opened the door. When he passed Bucky on his way to the other side of the car, he lightly hit the back of his shoulder, then settled into the passenger seat.

Bucky clicked the seat belt into place and released the brake. There was a fairly lengthy moment of silence before he responded. “I’m havin’ a seriously homophobic mental response to that phrasin’, Lo.”

“How very progressive of you to check yourself before you wreck yourself,” Loki replied, forcing a glib tone despite wanting to laugh as his friend revved the engine and pulled back onto the road. He reached up to rub his suddenly very tired eyes.

“I’ve known you for two years, and I still can’t tell if you’re bein’ serious or not half the time. Is it the accent? The ‘I slept through every lecture at Oxford but still graduated first in my class’ attitude is off-putting as hell, you snot-nosed Brit.”

Loki didn’t miss a beat. “I went to Harvard, you dull as fuck Yank.”

“Harvard, Oxford, tuh-may-tuh, tuh-mAH-tuh.” Bucky waved a hand. “I think they rank first and second on the ‘top schools for arrogant dicks’ list.”

For the love, if Loki weren’t rubbing his eyes, he would roll them hard enough to make his eye sockets hurt. When it came to highly demanding and extremely exclusive academia, JB was one to talk.

“Says the 2006 First Captain of the corps of cadets from the United States Military Academy at West Point while knocking his shiny gold class ring and clinking glasses with five-star generals.”

Cue over dramatic eye roll in 3…2…1…

“I’ll give you the five-star general thing, but I don’t knock my goddamn ring. Don’t remember the last time I even wore it.”

Yep. His eyes were probably stuck up there now. Tremendous.

“It must be wonderful to lack that much self-awareness,” Loki droned, idly dragging his nails back and forth over his denim-clad knees several times, buffing the already smooth edges.

“My GOD, you need to rein in those smug mic drops before your high horse bucks you out of that saddle.”

“Alright, we’re done—” he pinched the bridge of his nose “—you clearly prepared these clapbacks prior to this conversation and are reading them from an invisible three-KNOCKING-ring-binder, and I refuse to banter with cheaters.” He couldn’t help the smile spreading across his face as his friend burst out laughing, which shocked Sigyn and Darcy awake in the backseat.

Darcy shrieked as Sigyn’s flailing arm whacked her face. “Son of a bitch, Siggy, OUCH.”

“Blame Chuckles McGee up there, not me!” Sigyn shot back, then groaned as Bucky spoke over them.

“Fuckin’ hell, Lo man,” he laughed, pulling the shifter into sixth gear and zipping down the entrance ramp back onto the highway, “I feel like I’m tryin’ to outtalk a master in word wizardry or some shit.”

Loki shrugged. “Well that’s on you, peasant, for not knowing that the president and fellows of Harvard College, with the consent of the honorable and reverend board of overseers and acting on the recommendation of the faculty of arts and sciences, conferred on Loki Odinson the degree of Master of Arts summa cum laude in word wizardry or some shit on the fifth day of June in the year of our lord two thousand and seven.” His friend was legitimately wheezing now. Good god, the man sounded like he was on the verge of passing out.

“Breathe, JB,” he said, laughing quietly as the wheezing continued.

“Jesus, Bucky—” Darcy grabbed onto Loki’s headrest “—slow down!”

“Shut up, Darce—” Sigyn leaned forward and squeezed Bucky’s right shoulder “—don’t listen to her. Fast is fun.” She winked at Loki when he rolled his head sideways to look back at her.

“Feel like I gotta devil on one shoulder and an angel on the other,” he said, merging into the light traffic, “but I don’t know which is which.”

Darcy rolled her eyes. “They don’t call it ‘speed demon’ for nothing.”

Loki turned completely around in his seat to eye her. “Surely, you are not suggesting that you are an angel.”

“Hell yes, I am an angel,” she said, drawing an invisible halo over her head. Biting into a smile, she inched toward him, and he instinctively inched backward. “Everywhere but the bedroom.”

Narrowing his eyes, he pursed his lips. “Oh, that’s right. JB mentioned that you kept your devil horns on last Halloween when you two fucked on my bathroom counter at the party I mistakenly invited you to.”

Her eyes blew wide, and she smacked Bucky’s arm. “What the hell? Why would you tell him that?!”

“Street cred, doll.” He flashed a toothy smile. “Street cred.”

“Ha. Ha.” She flopped back into her seat. “You can forget getting any street cred tonight.”

“Hey, ease up on me, woman,” he said, eyeing her in the rearview mirror. “Coping with jokes is all I have.”

“I imagine that vape pen helps too,” Loki pointed out.

“Course it does. I could use some MDMA therapy on the side, but nope…can’t legalize somethin’ that might cut into all those pill-pushin’ profits. Jesus Christ, I took four bullets in one arm for those corrupt, lyin’ shits in Washington goin’ on and on about weapons of mass destruc—”

Loki was listening to him, but he also wasn’t. He’d heard this before. His friend was desperately in need of a vent session. He ought to refer JB to his doctor because whoever was in charge of this man’s treatment was doing a piss poor job.

Focus on your pal’s words, LO.

Loki blinked several times to clear his head, centering his attention on his friend.

“—sick and tired of all these jokers actin’ like Bush and Cheney were better than these clowns we got now. I mean come ON; can’t we all be equal opportunity haters of these power-hungry monsters? Shit, Lo man. I was a high school senior watchin’ from Prospect Park when those damn planes hit, ya know? I couldn’t getta hold of my Ma ‘cause the cell networks were flooded. Least you were actually with your mom, not that bein’ at her place like FIVE blocks from it was a good—”

Loki cleared his throat.

I should have stayed in La-La Land.

He was most certainly not anxious to relive that horrendous September day.

I fucking DESPISE September.

His mum had been helping him load up his car with his belongings to take to Harvard with him that day. Nearly eighteen years later, and he could still smell the smoke if he didn’t shut the memory down immediately.

“—then I risk everything and nearly lose a goddamn arm, but they can’t risk losin’ a donor. Fuckin’ cowards. Swear to god, I still feel the lead in my left arm whenever I—”

“I thought the first rule of Delta Force was ‘you do not talk about Delta Force’,” Loki spoke over him, hoping to pull his friend back from the edge with some degree of humor.

…and to pull MYSELF away from the edge.

Bucky smirked, looking sideways at him. “Delta Force sounds like a buncha highly trained flight attendants.”

“Must be why they retired their infamous team name,” Loki laughed.

Coping with jokes, indeed.

“Hard core special forces men couldn’t possibly be associated with such a feminine occupation,” he added, further goading his former special ops friend. “What do they call those Delta boys now anyway?”

Bucky clucked his tongue. “If I tell ya, I have to kill ya. So… your call. Also, don’t go insultin’ two professions that require putting their lives on the line every day for you. What those folks do up in the air all day, surrounded by bitchy passengers complainin’ about that cryin’ baby three rows back sounds like a worse hell than anything I ever did- gettin’ shot four goddamn times included.”

Loki pressed his lips together, watching his friend’s jaw clench angrily while shaking his head. He opened his mouth to make another joke, but Bucky beat him to it.

“Sartre’s No Exit hell coulda been set on an airplane. L’enfer c’est les autres.”

“Oh fuck,” Darcy piped up from the backseat. She leaned toward Sigyn, speaking out of the corner of her mouth. “I get so hot when he speaks in French. And I’m not just referring to full tongue kissing.”

Sigyn snorted, keeping her eyes on Loki’s face since he was turned toward Bucky. God, if there was an almighty creator, that creator was the most talented artist of…ever. Her boyfriend’s side profile was absolutely perfect.

Loki raised an eyebrow. He didn’t need to be fluent in French to recognize those words that his friend had just quoted. Hell is other people—the famous line from a play that he could barely get through because it was the ultimate claustrophobic nightmare.

“Hey JB—”

“—problem is,” Bucky continued his thought, speaking over Loki as though lost in a Memory Lane trance, “I’m your perfect disillusioned, shell shocked, postmodern candidate, but all that nihilistic shit gets under my skin. If you’re gonna burn it to the ground because you see it for the smoke and mirrors bullshit that it was, then at least TRY to create something better from the ashes you leave behind you.”

Okay, now it’s getting too real. Far too real.

Elbow on his knee, Loki set his forehead in his palm.

I need to end this conversation NOW.

Ever think he might have some goddamn perspective that you would benefit from hearing even if it hurts, LO?

“—flyin’ back from Kuwait, and I’m lookin’ out the window at this HUGE dust storm. Sorta just hit me that this thing looks absurd and chaotic on the surface, but if you twist it just right, if you really LOOK at it, you start to see that all those muted, dull brown clouds that look like they’re just bleedin’ all over each other are really a full-spectrum, technicolor, kaleidoscope instead.”

Loki lifted his head, and for a few seconds he just stared, wide-eyed and silent as the grave, out the windshield. James Buchanan Barnes, former US Army Ranger, Aviator, Special Forces Operator, Purple Heart and Medal of Honor Recipient, and…Neo-Romantic Philosopher?

What. Even.

See? PERSPECTIVE.

JB had a better grasp of mid-century existentialist dread than his own goddamn editor at a literary publishing house, for fuck’s sake. Blinking away the shock, Loki ran a hand through his hair. That last sentence—something about bleeding colors and kaleidoscopes—was more beautiful than anything his brain had concocted in a month at least. Maybe he should just have JB write the rest of book three in his stead. He let out a sad little laugh.

“I’m guessin’ you’re so quiet ‘cause it seems weird to ponder shit like this when you’re in a warzone,” Bucky said, grinning slightly. “But there’s alotta time for thinkin’ over there. So I got two sheaths on my belt. One for a knife. One for angsty, migraine-inducing books.”

Brow furrowing, Loki blew out a breath. “That’s wise. One can use both knives and words to cut their enemies.”

“Only thing I know about knives is to stick ‘em with the pointy end,” Bucky said with a shrug.

Alright, Arya Stark.

“Um…” Loki raised an eyebrow, “speaking as one of your level 4 classmates who has been in an actual knife fight with you, you might be underestimating your skills. I think traces of my blood are still on the mats.” He shook his head as his friend (of course) laughed.

“I watched you bust twenty guys’ nuts in that session before you and I went one on one with each other. If you thought I was gonna play nice, you’re outta your goddamn mind.”

Eyes rolling up to the ceiling, Loki clenched his jaw. Stars above, JB had no idea.

“Consider yourself lucky that you haven’t seen me out of my mind,” he said flatly, suddenly aware that Sig’s eyes were boring into the back of his skull.

He looked at her over his shoulder. Her iridescent silver star eyes didn’t waiver from his, and oh, what he wouldn’t give to be alone with her in this car—wishing he was driving and could pull this M4 off the main road and take her to cloud nine in the backseat and forget the dull, muted brown clouds hovering over them and turn it into a full-spectrum kaleidoscope of color.

~Next day, 3:04pm, Saturday, June 8, 2019~

“It’s you and me against the girls, right?” Bucky held the volleyball net pole steady, squinting at Loki as he bent down to anchor the last rope into the sand.

Tying off the final knot, Loki swiped his hands across his swim trunks to get the excess sand off. He heard his knees say “THANK YOU”—not literally of course—as he rose from that deep squat. Grabbing his water from the cooler, he popped the lid off. He downed nearly half of it while pulling another bottle out of the ice, then shouted “think fast!” at JB and tossed it to him.

Bucky barely caught it in his left hand just in time before it whacked him in the face. “God damn, that woulda hurt. We teammates or what?”

Loki shrugged, still drinking, and set his other hand on his hip. “Yes, we are. Unless you’re tired of winning.”

“Oh I would still beat your ass,” Bucky said, waving a flippant hand. “Just thought we’d try somethin’ different for a change.”

“I don’t enjoy hurting your feelings, JB, but…” Loki sighed, returning his water to the cooler, “if we switch partners, you’ll eat sand throughout the game. Sig and I would crush you and Lewis.”

“Oh so you’re just assumin’ Sigyn wants to be on your side of the net?”

“Of course I am.”

“Why?” Bucky adjusted his sunglasses. “Just ‘cause she’s your girlfriend?”

Loki shrugged one shoulder. “More so that she wants to win, and I am clearly superior to you.”

“Huh. Alright. We’ll see. How about we ask her? Hey Sigyn!” Bucky shouted through his hands at the two women throwing a frisbee back and forth down the shore.

“Hey Bucky!” Sigyn shouted back at him. “Tell your woman she has to actually run to catch the frisbee!”

“I’m not a goddamn retriever!” Darcy yelled, grabbing the neon orange frisbee out of the water.

Sigyn threw up her hands. “Neither am I, but it doesn’t stop me from actually moving my legs to chase it down!”

“Stupid fucking game of fetch!” Darcy tossed the disk at her angrily.

“That’s it!” Sigyn jumped and caught the damn thing…barely…before it shot into the sea. “I’m aiming it at your head from now on!”

“You know what,” Darcy growled, stomping across the sand, “I think I might actually prefer playing volleyball with these asshats who always win just by taking turns spiking the ball on us!”

“WRONG,” Sigyn yelled, pointing a finger at her best friend, “they spike it on YOUR side. You just fucking stand there while I dive for it and eat sand every time!”

“Oh booooooo.” Darcy tapped her finger to her chin. “Here’s an idea. Stop diving for it!”

Sigyn rolled her eyes, trailing slowly behind Darcy as they walked toward the net. She glared at her so-called best friend reaching into the cooler to grab a Mike’s Hard Lemonade. This wasn’t fun. She wasn’t enjoying this trip. The four of them had come to Montauk a good five times last year, and it was always a blast, but this time? Well, this time she only wanted alcohol. That was the only fun part- the wasted “I don’t care what’s about to happen on Tuesday” part.

When she got to the net, she growled quietly, pushing her sunglasses higher up her nose. The sunscreen and sweat were making them slide down over and over.

“Sorry, got distracted,” she said, forcing a smile as she looked up at Bucky who was looking back at her like he could read her thoughts.

Such an empathetic guy—he probably IS reading them.

She wouldn’t say no if he offered her some of that good stuff ‘for PTSD’ in his vape pen. “What did you need me for?”

Twirling the ball on the tip of his forefinger, he approached her. “Wanna be on my team this time?”

Eyes popping, Darcy spewed the drink she’d been guzzling. “Excuse you WHAT? Now I’m playing against three people? Nope. I’m done.”

Loki rolled his eyes. “One would think it was obvious that JB is asking to switch partners, but once again you defy expectations, Lewis,” he droned, gathering his hair at the nape of his neck and winding an elastic around it.

“Ugh, the man bun is so god damn distracting,” she said, plopping down onto her beach chair and waving a flippant hand. “I can’t think of snarky comebacks. You do this shit on purpose, Starboy.”

“He does what shit on purpose?” Sigyn raised an eyebrow behind her sunglasses, fighting the juvenile urge to go over there and yank Darcy’s girl bun hard enough to pull her to the ground and shove her face into the sand.

Cool it, hon. This is your best friend, and you love her, and she loves you, and she is JOKING.

Yeah well…I’m not okay with her calling him STARBOY. She never does that outside of the “damn he really is hot” context.

You BOTH joke about each other’s men like that—it’s non-threatening, non-competitive goofing around.

Today is different. Today it feels like she’s trying to take him away from me.

You could not be more wrong about that, and you know it.

Trapped in her hypersensitive, overprotective, insecure, completely irrational head, she heard an echo of her name.

“Siggy?”

And again.

“Sigyn?”

Once more, and this time, she knew the voice. She really loved that voice.

“Sig?” Loki pulled his Ray Bans down his nose just enough to look at his girl over them. The look on her face was concerning, like she might get sick or pass out.

No no no, not again, sweetheart.

Ducking under the net, he took two exceptionally long strides to close the space between them—about ten feet—but she got to him first. She threw her arms around his neck so hard, he nearly fell backwards. He hugged her back, shooting an apologetic look at JB. His friend nodded, clearly understanding, and pointed to the house, mouthing “go ahead, we’re fine.”

Loki kept one arm around her as he waved weakly at his friend, then walked back to the house with her still clinging to him.

~Dinner that night~

“Okay but seriously, I make the best chicken parm,” Darcy sighed, tossing her napkin on the dining room table, and stretching her arms over her head.

Bucky nodded, humming in agreement, his cheeks full of the entree she had prepared for them.

“I gotta admit it’s even better than my ma’s,” he said, his eyes popping and face reddening when he swallowed the too big bite. “Jesus. Almost choked on that.”

“That’s what she said!” Darcy and Sigyn shouted in unison, both nearly falling out of their chairs from laughing so hard.

“Yeah slap those knees harder, girls,” he managed to say while coughing into his elbow. “It’s adorable. Love how you guys are snorting like pigs at my expense.”

Sigyn spit her wine back into her glass to keep from spewing it across the table as Darcy continued giggling uncontrollably. Not that it wouldn’t have been hilarious to see red wine splattered on her best friend’s face, but everything in this entire beach house was white. She had no idea why Mrs. Frigga Odinson had chosen to go with the one color that showed every piece of dirt and the slightest spills.

Hello?-SAND GALORE.

Loki’s fingers brushed her left cheek then, pushing a few strands of her hair that were basically drowning in her drink—ew—behind her ear. She turned toward him, her chest tightening when that broad, knee-weakening smile spread across his face. If she wasn’t sitting down already, she’d crumple to the floor and cry an ocean’s worth of tears.

An Atlantic-sized ocean of Sigyn Frey’s making…

FUCK, I miss him so goddamn much already…I can’t BREATHE.

“Oh noooooo,” Darcy made a face at them, pointing to Loki’s hand in her hair, “please don’t start this love me tender show again. Like…I get it. I’d be mooning over this one—” she thrust her thumb toward Bucky “—if he was leaving in a few days, and I wouldn’t be able to touch him at all for two months or whatever, but…”

Jaw clenching, Loki looked at her sharply, and she put a hand over her mouth. Good. He hardly needed to be reminded about the inevitable. Maybe it was the anger in his eyes that shut Lewis up. Or maybe she saw Sig’s bottom lip trembling. Whatever it was, he would take it.

Bucky pushed his seat back and stood up, taking Darcy’s hand and his plate. “Come on, doll. Help me with the dishes and leftovers.” She nodded, wiping her thumbs under her eyes and went with him to the kitchen.

Clearing her throat, Sigyn grabbed the wine bottle and lifted it to her mouth—who needs a stupid crystal stem anyway?—and gulped every bit of it in one go.

Face screwing up at the overly sweet taste, she twisted her entire body toward Loki as he took the empty bottle away and set it on the table again. She slumped forward to lean her forehead on his shoulder, and his arms came around her.

Her eyebrows pulled together when the next song on her best friend’s aptly named “Ear Candy” playlist streamed through the built-in sound system. Darce must have turned up the volume since leaving the table with that huge smile on her face. Sigyn sighed, not thrilled with the lyrics. Come ON, hearing some girl singing “I got champagne for the pain, black out all the memories, running through my veins, I don’t really wanna feel anything, I’m my only enemy” was a bit too on the nose right now. Her best friend was probably dancing in the kitchen, happy and free as a bird.

Must be nice.

Twisting her head took up at him, she watched Loki lean toward her mouth, and she met him halfway, closing the barely-there distance between each other at the same time. Within seconds, he was smoothing his hands up her sides, and one of her legs was between his. Chest heaving, he unbuttoned her shorts and slid his hand into them. He groaned, teeth scraping over his bottom lip as she put a hand over her mouth to stifle a moan. They heard Darcy’s voice from the kitchen then.

“Soooo… after we do these dumbass dishes, you should put on those dog tags and take me to pound town.”

Loki ceased his movements, his eyes slamming shut. From the other side of the wall, he and Sigyn heard JB set several dishes in the sink with more force than necessary.

“Stop making references to my dick in front of other people, or you’re not gonna see it tonight,” he shouted, and Sigyn pulled back from Loki’s mouth just enough to turn and see Darcy stick her head around the doorway to the kitchen.

“Emptiest threat ever, am I right?” her best friend said, biting into a smile, then she wiggled her eyebrows at her friend. “Oooooh, am I interrupting something? Niiiiiice. Get it, Siggy. Don’t let your massive Manhattan man go to waste. Only 3 days!”

She disappeared behind the door again, and they heard a muffled slap (presumably on her backside) followed by a squeal and a giggle then fast footsteps going up the stairs.

Sigyn mumbled “for fuck’s sake, Darce, really?” under her breath as Loki glared at the empty doorway. Pedal to the metal, his ‘on edge but mostly fine’ mood accelerated to ‘destroy everything’ in 3.5 seconds. Reminding himself to be gentle, he lifted Sigyn’s hands and leg off him, then pushed his chair back forcefully and stood up.

“Think I’ll walk down the shore,” he said tightly, heading out the back door and slamming it behind him.

Apparently, this was his breaking point. He didn’t deserve this shit. He was halfway down their long, private boardwalk that led to the water when he heard the door slam again. He didn’t need to turn around to know it was Sig, since those beyond aggravating lovebirds that he should not have invited wouldn’t leave the guest bedroom for another hour at least.

“Loki?” Her voice was muffled by the crashing waves and unusually strong offshore winds as his mind traveled to the memory of his girl’s pissed off voice screaming at him three nights ago…all over a job that she did not need but would not quit and come to Europe with him:

“Filing a complaint makes for the dullest plot ever, I KNOW, but he left me alone after I did that!”
“Sig, he left you alone because he saw ME kissing you in your office, and recognized me! You left to talk to Carol about a draft, then he came in, asking if I was ‘Odinson’s boy’, and I nodded and told him to stay the hell away from you, or he might as well say goodbye to his precious TribecArchiteDeCo. THAT is why that son of a bitch won’t show his face when I’M with you!”
“Oh my god, you threatened to DESTROY the company I WORK AT?!”
“I threatened to destroy HIM, and this time it won’t just be a measly verbal THREAT.”
“Are you…are you talking about ASSAULTING my boss?”
“If by ‘assaulting’ you mean SHATTERING Tangelier’s face—”
“How does that help me if you get your own ass arrested, Loki?!”
“So now you’re saying that you DO need MY help? A minute ago I was a shining knight boyfriend who needed to rein in the overprotective testosterone! Make up your fucking mind, woman!”

Loki shook his head, fighting to push away words of the past as his feet pounded across the wooden boardwalk. Glowing orange and pink on the western horizon, the setting sun wasn’t bright enough to warrant wearing sunglasses, but he yanked the pair of classic black Wayfarers hanging from the collar of his thin, dark grey t-shirt and put them over his eyes nonetheless. He continued forward, bounding down the steep stairs two at a time, ignoring the sound of her footsteps on the wooden planks as she ran after him.

The clean, white sand crunched softly under his bare feet as he approached the water. He pushed his hair behind his ears, though the strong gusts continued to force the too long strands right back into his face. He would have pulled it back if he hadn’t left his damn hair tie on the bathroom sink. Eyes rolling, he slid his hands into the side pockets of his shorts. He heard her voice right behind him then.

“Loki, come on, don’t pull away from me.”

Nostrils flaring, his eyes blew wide.

WHAT?

Ripping the sunglasses off his face, he whirled on her and lowered his head to her level to look directly in her eyes.

“You are the one pulling away from me, Sig.”

She reeled back as though he’d hit her.

“Excuse me?”

He knew she was about to cry, which meant he was about to feel like a dick. God, he was so tired of this. He was so tired of walking on eggshells around her, of letting her lead, of being so goddamn submissive when what he really wanted to do was tell her to either pack up her office and quit that completely unnecessary job or pack up her things from his apartment.

He saw her eyes narrow for a split second, then she turned sideways, squinting into the breeze and the setting sun. Her hair seemed to levitate behind her, exposing the curve of her jaw and neck as her face took on the same warm, orange gold hue as the fading sun. He stared at her, unable to tear his eyes away because the wind was pressing her loose, thread-bare white tank top into her front, molding it to her body like a second skin. Oh hell, if she wasn’t wearing that bathing suit underneath it, he would have an absolutely mouth-watering eyeful right now.

She turned to look at him again, her gaze dropping to his mouth, then his neck, his chest, his stomach, and lower, staring at his black knee-length, drawstring jersey shorts like she could see through them.

Head shaking, he scoffed under his breath, and she shot him a glare at the sound.

“I have not been pulling away at all, Loki. I have been running back to you as fast as I possibly can! Every step forward, no matter how seemingly insignificant, has been because I don’t want to keep letting you down!” she shouted, throwing her hands up.

His jaw dropped right to the sand at his feet.

“When have I ever suggested that you were letting me down?”

Putting her palms over her eyes, she blew out an uneven breath. After a silent moment, she dropped her hands.

“Oh, you mean other than just right now?” she asked through her teeth, pointing to the ground angrily, as though the gesture more accurately emphasized ‘this second’.

He opened his mouth to respond, to defend himself, but she didn’t let him.

“Do you think that I can’t tell when you’re frustrated or angry or annoyed with me? You don’t have to expressly say it, Loki. All of April I was a mess, and I’m sorry, alright?”

Running both hands through his hair and leaving them at the back of his neck, he hung his head. Did she really think he was holding some ridiculous grudge against her for feeling completely lost for that first month after her friend died? After that cancer came flying out of left field like an EF5 tornado, leaving miles of overturned cars, shards of glass, and jagged steel frames that used to be gorgeous, glittering skyscrapers?

“Sig, I’m not angry at you for being a mess after your friend died. If anyone can relate to being a mess, it’s me,” he pointed to his chest. “You know that.”

She shook her head. “Loki, you’re—”

“No no no, I’ve said jackshit about this for two months, so hear me out,” he spoke over her, “I didn’t tell you what to do, and I never complained about missing us. You made that doctor’s appointment a month ago, not me. No one forced you to do that. You call all the shots, Sig.”

He paused to take a few deep breaths. He also needed a second to make sense of his now racing thoughts.

“How can you possibly not see that?” he asked, eyebrows raised. “After a month of misery, you get two weeks of decent sleep, and then you do a 180. From bone-chilling, winter storms to spring sunshine, all thanks to sleeping. You only needed one goddamn pill for two weeks! How wonderfully uncomplicated!”

“Are you saying you wish I had needed more meds, and for longer?” Her eyes started to water, and she held up a hand before he could respond. “Because that’s what it sounds like. Sounds like my quick turnaround is in opposition to your personal experience, and isn’t giving your tricky brain the emotional validation it n—”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence,” he said tightly, counting his breaths to contain the anger trying to rise his chest and spill out of his mouth in the worst way.

She pressed her lips together, wishing she could turn back time. Ten minutes ago, they’d been well on their way to sex, but here they were instead. Fighting. Maybe this would end in sex too. Maybe this was what it meant to be a “fight and fuck” couple. She was not a fan. At all.

I only have three days left with him, and THIS shit is what we’re doing with our time.

“Loki, this isn’t how I want to say goodbye,” she said, voice shaking.

“You wouldn’t have to say goodbye to me if you could just say goodbye to that job—” he held up a hand “—and do NOT go off on me for ‘throwing my bank account in your face’ which I have heard some version of many times, and every time you say it, it’s infuriating because that is not what I’m doing!”

Calm. Down.

He inhaled sharply through his nose, the brisk wind burning his sinuses and making his eyes water. Hands flexing, he exhaled, and started again. He had every intention of checking his tone at the door. He really did.

“SO WHAT if I want to help or take care of you or just give you nice things that you don’t need because I want you to have everything you want whether it’s essential or not?!”

Off to a GREAT start—

“Dammit, Sig, I offer to take care of rent for a bit so you can quit working at that specific job with that boss who you should press charges against and find a new better job like you say you want to, and you fly off on me! I am not trying to take away your independence! I do not think of you as my property! I’m not trying to buy your love or trick you into depending on me like some 1950s housewife! And I sure as hell am not one of those ‘shut up and make me a sandwich’ twats, so stop acting like I am! I swear to everything, you act like I have some evil plan to make you quit your job, then knock you up, then lock you up in some picket fence prison in suburbia!”

He couldn’t contain it. This awful energy had been brewing under his skin for too long. This was what he got for trying to control every single pathetically flawed, head in the clouds, worthless, traumatized cell in the clusterfuck inside his skull. He was blowing up at his girl for no reason. She did not deserve this. At all. He knew that. But he was doing it anyway.

“You keep flipping switches, and I can’t keep up!” Gritting his teeth, he pointed to his head. “And I am the God of Flipping Switches!”

YEAH, CLEARLY.

He pushed his hair behind his ears over and over and over because the damn wind just would not let up, and as his hand made a pass in front of his eyes for the tenth time, he saw his hair tie wrapped around his wrist. So…it wasn’t on the bathroom counter. It was with him this whole time.

ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!

Ripping the thing off his wrist, he gathered every last strand into a haphazard bun at the nape of his neck and wound the elastic around it as more words continued to fly out of his mouth.

“I’m glad you seem to be in the best mood of your life, Sig, because it sure as hell beats feeling like our world has gone up in flames, but bloody hell if I have to…” he stopped, growling as his train of thought derailed.

He wanted to hear a crash, an explosion, a boom of deafening thunder- anything loud enough to drown out the pack of wolves snarling at him. God the sound was horrendous. It was terrifying. And it was his own voice.

Oh my god, I sound like my FATHER.

He ought to have his not-so-silver tongue cut out as punishment for it. Without giving it a second thought, he yanked his sunglasses off the top of his head, reeled back on one leg and hurled them at the neighbor’s house because it was closer than his. They shot through the air like a bullet and, EXTREMELY unexpectedly, crashed right through a glass table on their deck as though his iconic shades had the force of a World Series MVP arm behind them. Sigyn’s shriek was as loud as the crash itself.

“Jesus, Loki! You’re scaring the hell out of me right n—”

“Goddamn right, you SHOULD be scared of me!”

THE FUCK ARE YOU SAYING, LO?!

Her responding flinch was violent as her hands flew up to cover her mouth, and he knew that was the exact moment he should drop to his knees and apologize until he was blue in the face. Had he just told her that she should be SCARED of him?! What was this, his own damn villain origin story?! Eyes blowing wide, he held his hands up as if in surrender.

“I did not mean that…” he swallowed, shaking from the adrenaline, from the norepinephrine, from the testosterone, from a cocktail of hellish over-stimulating chemicals that seemed to think some hungry lion was ten feet from him instead of a picturesque beach and a gorgeous girl who loved him infinitely more than he deserved.

“Sig, oh my god, sweetheart, I am so unbelievably sorry. That was an absolutely unforgivable thing to say to you. I don’t even…” he trailed off, hanging his head so he wouldn’t have to see the damage.

He rubbed his temples for twenty seconds or so before looking up at her again. Her lips were trembling, and the pained look in her eyes made him want to throw up. It made him want to turn on his heel and run away like an absolute coward. It also made him want to run straight to her, wrap his arms around her, pick her up, and carry her with him everywhere. He opened his mouth to say more, but she spoke first.

“Thank you for apologizing,” she blew out a breath. “I would be out of here otherwise.”

“And you would be right to go,” he swallowed again, even more nervous now.

But, oh dear god, please DON’T.

She went up onto her toes, trying to see over the tall grass on the dunes. “For heaven’s sake, how hard does one have to throw a pair of glasses that weigh maybe a tenth of a pound for them to go through a table? I’d be in critical condition if you’d thrown them at me.”

His jaw nearly unhinged at the suggestion. “I would never ever ever ever-”

“I wasn’t saying you would. I know you wouldn’t do that,” she waved her hand then pulled it down her face. “If you managed to not knock out Amora’s lights, I have nothing to worry about.”

What do kids these days say? FACTS.

“Can we not yell, and also please set aside the whole money thing because that is a side issue that I do not want to get into.” She ran both hands through her hair.

He nodded several times and licked his lips. “Yes. And just so you know, sweetheart, that’s not a sideissue. It’s a NON-issue.”

Must be nice to not have any money worries, LO.

Shut. Up.

She sighed slowly. “You are being so unfair to me. Telling me that I ought to go to this huge length, to uproot my career and fly to Europe to make those eight weeks easier to bear? You didn’t have to sign that damn contract! Why won’t you just fucking quit? You don’t need HC if you would just self-publish!”

His instinct was to lunge ten steps forward, leaving no space between them, then grab her chin, and force her to look up at him while he explained why that was unfair to him actually. But after that atrocious blow up, charging at her and grabbing her would be positively idiotic, so he approached her carefully instead, giving her every opportunity to move away if she so chose. To his unfathomable relief, she didn’t move an inch. She stayed right where she was, even allowing him to come toe to toe with her. He took a deep breath, then released it slowly.

“Do you know the ends and outs of publishing? Of how book deals work? You do. I know you do. I agreed to three books in my contract, each of which requires promotional work.” He paused to take another deep breath lest he allow his unpleasant emotions erupt again. “I wish I hadn’t signed that dotted line, but I did. You are correct that I don’t need HarperCollins to publish my work. However, I also don’t need a lawsuit on my hands for breach of contract.”

She stared up at him silently, the crease between her eyebrows deepening a little. He waited a few beats, surprised she had nothing to say in response, but she only continued looking at him. Shaking his head, he dropped his arms, and slid his hands in his pockets.

Waves crashed behind him, filling the silence between them. The water rushed up the beach, soaking his feet and pulling the ground out from underneath him as the wind blew wisps of hair across her beautiful face. He kept his eyes on hers as she inched toward him, and he couldn’t help but slide his hand up into her hair. She just responded too well to the hair thing for him to not do it. Her fingers curved over the crook of his elbow, moving up his forearm to graze his fingers as he threaded them through her hair. She stroked the veins along the sensitive inside of his wrist with her thumb, her gaze moving down to his mouth. Wrapping her other arm around his waist, she pressed into him.

Doubtless this wouldn’t lead to anything but another cold shower, but apparently his body needed a hit of whatever he could get his hands on. Lower potency is better than nothing if it saves you from the hell of withdrawals. She opened her mouth as he leaned down to her face, the tip of her tongue grazing the underside of his as his grip on the back of her neck tightened to keep her in place. She hissed softly, perhaps because his grip was a bit too tight, but if he didn’t hold her still, she might take her lips away, and that was all he had.

Hello, my name is Loki…

They separated, just enough to get a proper breath. He moved to kiss her again, but just as his lips touched hers, she released a shaky, all too vulnerable breath. Eyebrows knitting together, he opened his eyes. The absurd fear of not feeling her mouth on his was overtaken by what was indeed his need to be the smartest in the room. He needed to know why she was pulling away over and over and over. He needed to know. Needed to know. No option. He leaned back just enough to see her face and blew out a breath.

“Would you please come with me? I’m not asking you to quit your career. Just that job.”

She frowned up at him, dropping her hands from his waist and wrist. He let go of her neck, considering very carefully the next words out of his mouth.

“Ignoring the glasses through table debacle—” he cleared his throat “—I’m not juvenile, nor am I entitled. I am just so confused right now, and that is pissing me off as much as having to leave. Do you think you deserve to be overworked, underpaid, and sexually harassed? Is that why you won’t resign?”

She gave him a look. Was he serious? Did he think that little of her? That she was choosing to self-flagellate because she thought she didn’t deserve anything better?

My boyfriend is NOT this idiotic.

“Is that a real question?”

“Yes, actually!” He threw his hands up. “That’s how goddamn screwed up your decision is- so screwed up that I can’t find the method in your madness! Of all people, I ought to understand and read emotions like an open book. I’m not some mouth-breathing caveman incapable of relating to the woman in his life, yet here I am, feeling exactly like one.”

Shaking her head, she put a hand over her mouth, blinking back tears. After a good ten seconds, she moved her hand up to her eyes, letting out several small gut-wrenching gasps that made him want to pick her up and just hold her, but he couldn’t because she was backing away from him again, and what if that meant she needed space? What if his arms felt like a cage to her?

“Loki, I don’t even…shit…you are looking at this the wrong way. Just flip it around. Don’t look at me kissing you until I can’t breathe but not following you to the ends of the earth without a thought as me—” she held up her fingers to make air quotes “—pulling away from you. Look at it compared to where I was two months ago.”

Jaw tightening, he looked sideways.

You are not serious, Sig.

He already had ‘flipped it around’a thousand times! Trying to view things from her angle was exactly what he had been doing incessantly for a month, and it did not make sense! Was she honestly telling him ‘look at the glass as half full, not half empty’? Thanks, but no. Certainly neither Starboy nor Sunlight were written by a goddamn optimist. Eyes closing, he sighed.

“Let me try that again,” she said, sniffing a little then rubbing her nose and under her eyes, “because that sounded like some bullshit ‘be content with what you have’ answer, and I would be so pissed if our situations were reversed, and you said that to me.”

He raised an eyebrow. Alright then, Sigyn Frey, Architect Extraordinaire and Powerful Reader of Loki Odinson’s Mind. His girl knew him almost too well. That, or they were the same person in different bodies.

She took a deep breath. “I went to a doctor that I didn’t know, which was so scary for me, because I wanted to get better for you, Loki. I took that medication for you. I knew how brutal it was for you to see me like that, so I pushed myself to get it together as fast as possible…for you. It wasn’t some misplaced sense of obligation to someone who’s taking care of me. It’s not reciprocity. It’s just because, even during this sleepless walking dead phase, I always was and still am so goddamn mad for you.”

Her words, that last sentence in particular, were a broken record—I am so goddamn mad for you. I am so goddamn mad for you. I am so goddamn mad for you—in his head. A beautiful, broken record that he hoped never righted itself. God, things were getting real now, weren’t they. This wasn’t supposed to be a gut-wrenching conversation. He wasn’t supposed to need another dollar for the jar.

She rubbed her eyes again. “Maybe my version of ‘fast as possible’ looks like slow motion to you. My best sprint is nothing compared to what your phenomenal never-miss-leg-day body can do when you lace up those Nikes, but I swear I’m giving everything I’ve got. I’m running on fumes, but I am still running, and it’s for one reason. I’m willing to push through the pain, to keep lifting my exhausted, heavy as lead legs, for one reason.”

Oh god, he was going to make his lip bleed from chewing it this hard. Surely his ribs were shrinking and squeezing his lungs because he couldn’t seem to get a breath. One reason, she’d said. He would ask what it was if his voice wasn’t completely useless right now.

Don’t make me ask. Just tell me.

She answered his unspoken question. “It’s because I see you at the finish line,” she gave him a half-hearted smile, and shrugged her shoulders.

Fucking. Hell.

His gaze had been locked with hers for several minutes already, but now? Now he actually could not see anything but her. Tunnel vision in its most literal sense, everything in his periphery faded to black because nothing else in the universe mattered. This thing beating in his chest was out of control, pumping blood faster than new Nikes pounding the cold pavement up Greene Street, hooking a left at Spring and again on West Broad and skidding to a halt when the only thing that mattered slammed right into him.

“Then don’t you dare stop running, fast girl,” he said, trudging through miles of wet sand to get back to her, and pulling her into him the second she was within reach.

“I wish I were you,” she whispered into his neck as she tugged him down by his shoulders.

“What?” he frowned, squeezing her waist just shy of boa constrictor levels. “Jesus Christ, no you don’t, Sig.”

“Don’t tell me what I do or don’t want, Loki!” she growled, struggling in his hold until he begrudgingly released her.

This conversation was supposed to be over. This was the hugging part. The ‘go back to the house and sleep it off’ part. Apparently not. She was looking at him as though she couldn’t decide whether she wanted to throw something at him or throw her body on him. Well, if there were options, he’d prefer the latter please. Of course she didn’t give him that pleasure, only flinging her hands up in frustration, then she narrowed her eyes at him and tapped her temple.

“You’ve dealt with all this head crap over and over for almost three damn decades but you keep going! Give me some pointers here! You were hungover and freezing your ass off. It was drizzling and dreadfully dreary, and the streets were disturbingly empty save for leftover confetti and discarded, dead christmas trees that had more life left in them than you did, but you kept running!”

She’s quoting my book—my girl is quoting my book VERBATIM to my face.

Annoyance?—GONE—Replaced with ridiculous meme hearts circling around his head. Every infinitely insane cell in his body was going to explode into a million glittery gold pieces of new year confetti, and if he ever floated back to the ground, his Sig would be there to sweep him up and put all his parts back together. What had he been upset about a few minutes ago? He’d yelled at her and thrown his glasses, but he truly couldn’t even remember why now. He breathed faster, his fingers digging into his palms at his sides.

“You turned that corner and slammed into me at the exact second I needed you,” she continued.

Stop reading my thoughts, perfect girl. It’s a dangerous game.

The rising river in her eyes looked like it would break the dam any second as her words flowed over him like perfect Montauk summer waves.

“I hate admitting it because I have disappointed the feminist in me to no end by being such a needy girl, such a helpless princess, but…” she let out a shaky breath, “Loki…god…do you seriously think you’re the only one who needed someone to swoop in and take away the too heavy chain you think you linked together and hung around your own damn neck because you’re fucked up enough to think you deserve to be crushed by the weight of it?”

Lips trembling, she took several steps back and shook her head, then she grit her teeth and answered her own question. Loudly.

“NO! I needed that too! I needed to collide with you!” She pointed to her chest. “I needed my heel to catch on the crack in that uneven pavement. I needed to almost fall backwards onto those café steps so I would have an excuse to grab your stupid perfect arms and fall into you instead! I know I don’t have a diagnosable debilitating mood disorder, but that didn’t mean I had my shit together! I swear to god I was just a one woman act faking my way through a 9 to 5 with a smile plastered on my face because big girls aren’t allowed to cry either!! Know why? Because all these jokers in this rat race to that top corner office rigged everything in their favor!”

He watched her take in a ragged breath, putting both hands over her eyes and keeping them there as her chest heaved. He needed to wrap his arms around her. Now. Please. Please. Why did she have to pull away again? Did she think that he wanted to get his hands on her so she would stop yelling? Stop venting? Did she think he would shush her? Not at all! She said she’d needed to fall into him on New Years 2017. Obviously that hadn’t changed.

So come back and fall into my STUPID PERFECT ARMS and KEEP YELLING, love!

He took a step toward her, but stopped abruptly when she started shouting again.

“They’ll spew all this motivational crap about how all it takes is staying in school and hard work and you too can achieve anything you put your mind to and oh sure you can have it all! Yeah, but only if you’re a fucking psychopath who doesn’t care who they have to step on to get there! And since I wasn’t one of those monsters, it didn’t matter how hard I worked! I was still a nobody that nobody except my mum and dad gave two fucks about with nothing but memories of ex-boyfriends who tossed me aside the second something with bigger tits and fewer loud opinions came along and stacks of unpaid bills on dirty piles of laundry in my shoebox apartment!”

Bring on those LOUD opinions, smart girl. I can take it.

“And it didn’t matter that I actually had so much more than that in reality- I had a best friend who would die for me, I was healthy and wasn’t drowning in medical debt over something I had no control over, I actually could pay all my bills despite my whining about not having more in my account at the end of the month, I loved my shoebox, and oh my god I loved this city that I wasn’t from but I changed that on my own and then it was my home and I never wanted to leave! Like, this is it-” she looked up at the clouds, her arms wide as she spun in a somewhat clumsy circle- “I found my place! I might as well tattoo ‘I heart NY’ on my forehead at this point because that’s how much I love this absurd place!”

She dropped her hands, but continued staring at the clouds. “But none of that good stuff mattered. It just kept hiding behind all these angry dark clouds that wouldn’t stop building and building and building.”

Fuck, he knew exactly what she meant. He took another step toward her, but she stepped back again, and he grit his teeth. Was this magnetic girl repelled by him because they were too alike? She wasn’t supposed to be moving away from him!

Christ, sweetheart, let me HOLD YOU.

He tried another step, and this time she walked several paces toward him, and everything was right for a few seconds because, thank god, he was going to get what he wanted—she was going to let him hold her. But she stopped a few feet before she reached him, and that was not acceptable.

“Sig,” he huffed out a breath, jaw clenching, “come here.”

She didn’t. “Loki, don’t you get it? I only looked sunny and bright and smiley that day because I was looking at YOU!”

She flung her hand out toward him, then leaned her head back and shouted at the clouds through cupped hands.

“Hello, Forever Dream Boy! I don’t know this guy from Adam, but I AM GONNA, OR I’LL DIE TRYING. Grey skies, be gone! Winter? What’s that? Never heard of it! Just look at him, Sigyn! Fit as hell and smart and clever and tall with amazing hair and—” her wild eyes left the clouds and found his “—for the love, maybe best of all, you looked at me like I was worth looking at!”

He gaped, looking her up and down. “Worth looking at?” he repeated, starting toward her again. “Good lord, woman, have you seen yourself?!”

“Don’t interrupt me!” she shot back, pointing in the general direction of the neighbors’ house. “You had your little blow up back there, now I’m getting mine!”

Loki swallowed, eyebrows pulling together from the ache in his chest. He was just trying to tell her she was gorgeous for pity’s sake.

“I felt like shit that day!” she shouted, pointing to her chest and moving forward a bit, “I was just as hungover as you! Maybe even worse! Stars above, I drank myself practically into a coma the night before because 2016 felt like a disaster of epic proportions!”

He blinked mutely, watching her abruptly bend down to pick up shells and seaweed then shriek like an extremely pissed off Sharapova while flinging them at the waves.

Is she stamping her foot? She is. She is 31 and screaming and stamping her foot and kicking up sand. OF COURSE this is the woman of my dreams.

“My disgusting boss wouldn’t stop harassing me at work all year—” more grunts, more flying seaweed “—and I didn’t know who to tell or if I was just overreacting, and what if he fired me for telling, or what if no one believed me, or or or…god it never stopped! I hadn’t dated anyone for two years. Two. Years. Two—” she held up two fingers high over her head “—years! My god, the only sex I had in one 24-month period was a string of inconsistent, unsatisfying, better-make-em-wear-two-condoms hookups that would make Tinder itself grab a bell and ring it at me while droning SHAME SHAME SHAME!”

Game of Thrones reference for the win.

Oh my god oh my god oh my god oh my god, marry me, you insane unicorn of a girl.

“And why didn’t a decent chap want me? The hell if I know! I just know it made me feel like a dog. And not a cute one! But that doesn’t even work because all dogs are the cutest. So no, I didn’t feel like a dog. What’s an ugly animal…” She snapped several times, squinting at the sky, then threw her hands up when it came to her.

“Oh! An armadillo! Disgusting roadkill that even some cousin-kissing Appalachian hillbilly wouldn’t want!”

She screamed, dropping a clump of seaweed then jumped away as a crab skittered away from the clump. Then she swiped her hair out of her face, growling at the creature as it disappeared into a hole in the sand, and kicked the same bunch of seaweed, checking for more creepy crawlers. Finding none, she swiped them up again and resumed throwing the stuff as far offshore as possible.

“And ugh, oh my god, poor poor poor Carol had to listen to me bitch and moan about wishing that after dirty dancing and drinks and dinner I wouldn’t dig a divinely delectable deep dicking for dessert—”

Loki’s eyebrows shot to his hairline as his supposedly “grade A talented” brain attempted to process what the fuck those words were that had just dropped from his girl’s mouth harder than a Travis Scott hook. Dig a divinely delectable…deep… dicking…for dessert? That was…uh…seriously hardcore…

…alliteration.

Teeth digging into his bottom lip, he groaned quietly, refocusing his attention on her as she continued shouting and throwing seaweed. It was extremely hard to focus on listening to her rather than just stare at her mouth like some slack-jawed heathen now that a highly graphic image of dessert was spinning around in his head. Difficult as it was though, he managed to get beyond Neanderthal mode quickly, and every new word from her mouth only confirmed what he already knew-

This girl is my endgame. No option.

“—and I asked her why couldn’t I be bi like her, and was there such a thing as reverse conversion therapy, and she said ‘that’s not funny’ and I cried and cried and CRIED because every man on the planet was the worst, but for some god-awful reason I still wanted one of them to put me on some pedestal and tell me I was gorgeous—”

Oh my GOD, I have told her she is gorgeous THOUSANDS OF TIMES! How many times do I have to say it before she’ll believe me?! Does she think I’m lying through my teeth?!

“—and then one of my old school friends gets married over Christmas, and I was stuck being a bridesmaid for the third time just that year, and I had to do it in a hideous mauve dress that’s still in my stupid tiny closet because it cost a thousand pounds that I had to pay for, despite the fact that rent was coming up, and all that was coiling in my gut while knowing that I didn’t have someone to kiss at midnight!” She shrieked again, looking all around her feet for more things to throw, and stomping her foot when she realized she’d chucked the last available piece of seaweed in the immediate area.

“Where did it all go?! Ahhh there’s some!” She stomped toward another clump of scraggly stuff about ten yards away.

He sighed. He’d heard the dreaded New Years Eve 2016 story many times, and it hurt every time because it was just as shitty as his. Maybe one day neither of them would give a fuck about it. Maybe it wouldn’t keep popping up to kick them in their guts for years and years.

Maybe.

Shaking his head, he looked up, keeping his eyes on the clouds while he followed the sounds of her soft footsteps and little annoyed grunts. He was practically on her heels, but with his eyes up, he didn’t realize how close they were until she stopped to bend over, and his crotch collided with her backside at the worst angle possible. She didn’t seem to give a damn, since she just mumbled “my bad” and moved out of his way while his eyes popped out of his skull, his jaw unhinging as he doubled over, setting his hands on his knees and trying to breathe through the pain.

She threw her next plant victim into the sea and looked back at him. “You know what this makes me think of?”

Exhaling slowly through his mouth, he carefully stood up to his full height again. He managed to produce sounds with his mouth in response, though they were probably so raspy that she wouldn’t hear them.

“What does what make you think of?”

She pointed to his crotch. “That!”

Squinting at her, he tilted his head. “What?”

She flung her hands up. “Your balls, genius!”

GENIUS?? Oh, the DISRESPECT.

Jaw clenching, he looked down at himself, then back up at her. “What, that they just took a good walloping from your ass slamming into them?!”

“Um first, you knocked into me! And second—” she snapped several times and pointed in all directions “—follow the connection! Balls equal MEN!”

“Okay…” he looked sideways. Balls. Men. Got it. Point being?

“Every single problem I had was because of men!”

He shot her a look, stepping carefully toward her because the problematic things in his oh so offensive male body were not ready to just skip right up to her.

“For god’s sake, Loki,” she rolled her eyes, leaning down to grab yet another huge chunk of seaweed, “I mean just ‘men’ generally speaking, not you, so don’t get your goddamn knickers which you clearly are not wearing in a twist. No, all that year I was constantly thinking ‘holy shit, am I irrelevant because I’m only two years from thirty and no MEN want someone older than 25 and oh my god WHY DOES MY ENTIRE WORTH DEPEND ON WHETHER OR NOT SOME DISNEY PRINCE IS WILLING TO SLAY A DRAGON FOR ME?!’ and—”

“No no no no hold up,” he cut in, reaching out to yank the seaweed from her hand before she could throw it at him for interrupting, “I know this isn’t about me. I know you need to get some things off your chest. Fine. Good. You should be doing this—” he gestured to the scraggly stuff in his hand “—but I might forget this part about princes and dragons by the end of your rant, and this is important for me to say. I have heard Prince Lo hundreds of times—”

“And you hate it!” She shouted over the increasingly loud wind roaring around them, trying to yank her stolen seaweed back from his hands. “I know that, and I don’t call you that!”

“THAT’S NOT THE POINT!” he yelled even louder, his chest heaving. For the love—he couldn’t believe he was having a tug of war with her over this scratchy piece of ugly brown algae!

“Then what is the point?!”

She huffed loudly when he finally won, yanking his hands away with a snarl and throwing the seaweed as hard as his sunglasses, sending it so far across the waves they couldn’t see where it landed. He whirled on her, bending down to get in her face, and answered her question, keeping his voice low and deep since they were nearly nose to nose now.

“I actually am your goddamn prince, that’s my point.”

Eyes blowing wide, she leaned back to see him better. “Wha…?”

He caught her with one arm before she tripped backward from leaning back so far. Maybe she was going to slap him there for a second, he wasn’t sure what that look in her eyes was. It was a dark look for sure, though after another second he was fairly sure ‘dark’ wasn’t anger. It had a bit more of a ‘take me to bed NOW’ energy about it. He took a breath—fuck, that look is hot—trying to gather himself since apparently his balls were miraculously healed now. Ridiculous.

“But—” he held up the forefinger of his free hand “—I am not a hero. I am not here to slay any dragons for you.”

Her eyes lost that dark quality in an instant, switching to a shade he’d only seen on puppies, for hell’s sake. Did she- did she look…hurt? This fiery tough as nails fighter was sad that he wasn’t here to rescue her? No no no no, that wasn’t right. That look wasn’t sadness. It was exhaustion. She was tired. Tired of slaying dragons on her own.

Good thing that is precisely why I AM here, sweetheart.

“Sig, I can’t do that for you. What I can do—what I am trying to do—is give you a lift. I bend down a bit, you stand on my shoulders, then you climb up on top of one of those dragons, and enjoy the ride of your life because you only get one. Fly sky high, burn through every enemy, every jagoff who wants to use you and abuse you, every demon in your head lying to you, telling you that you aren’t good enough, that you don’t deserve good things, that you are hopelessly flawed, that you aren’t the most gorgeous creature in the universe, that you are weak and done. Burn all of it, Sig.”

Her mouth fell open, and her chest stopped moving. Her eyes seemed stuck in their wide open, watery position. The only sign of life was the pulse in her neck, and her fingers gripping his arms with more force.

“And when the liars send their friends in to hunt you down, you burn them too. You asked for pointers, sweetheart. Well, there you go. Burn them. That’s what I do.”

Words slithered through his mind then, pushing through the chaos, through the disaster movie that was his own life…the life of an over-privileged Starboy and his gorgeous, forever Sunlight Girl…

We down four cocktails, then trash Bloomingdales.
Dancing across the easily shattered lead glass chain-mail, we mock the blaring siren’s wailー
“Sinners! Sinners! They stole our holy grail! Find those conniving thieves and give ’em hell!”
Fixing your halo in the back of a cop car, you scream at me, beyond the pale.
“You promised me a fun trip, not a trip WIRE, you devil!”
“Told you I would take you on the ride of your life, angel.”
“You KNEW that shit was too upscale!”
“They’re just shiny things to distract you from the philanthropic oppressors behind the veil!”
“Says the loaded dying star as he drags me with him into a precinct jail cell.”
“I’d say it was worth it, save for the airー not a fan of the smell.”
God, I must get us out of this No Exit hell before closing bell.
Snapping my fingers, the lights flicker and bid farewell, a hundred LED stars collapsing under a devil’s spell.
I grab you by your soft, iridescent feather wings, keeping you with me. “ Come on, angel!”
Break bail, hightail, inhale, exhaleー legs burning, we jump the guardrail and leave no trail.
Sharp black nails hooking into my shirttails, you choke on a confession. “I’m not an angel. I’m a criminal.”
“Oh my god, love, it was just overpriced RETAIL! Unlike that overpriced shit we broke, you and I aren’t for sale.”
That halo is slipping from your black cherry waves, the feathers on your back floating away on a breeze, replaced by something less frail.
Wind in our sails, we’ll laugh through endless fails, saying “fuck your fairytales!”
And even if it all derails, we’ll survive the fiery crash because this mad love is hard as dragon scales.

Gritting his teeth behind closed lips, he groaned quietly in frustration. Once again, he inconveniently did not have anything with him to write that down on.

Christ…PLEASE don’t forget those words!

Sigyn blinked lazily, as though she’d just destroyed a bottle of wine.

You did destroy a bottle of wine, hon.

She swallowed, damn near ready to slide her hand down the front of his jersey shorts and make him pant and moan until the moment he realized he was about to come and instead would shove her to the ground and fuck her blind. Damn right, he was her prince. He was her everything, and he was ready to help her destroy everything that tried to hurt her.

Oh GOD, I need him inside me NOW.

She chose to finish her previous strand of thoughts instead.

“Then a few hours after stupid 12:00 am 2017, this man nearly runs me over. He’s cooler and hotter than James Dean himself, and turns out he is that author that everyone kept going on and on about but I’d never bothered to look at a picture of him, and oh my god I get to touch this guy, and he lets me do it for longer than is socially acceptable, and he talks to me, and actually listens to me, and I have this intense moment of ‘bloody hell I think this STUNNER might be into me!’ and ‘WHEN CAN I SEE HIM AGAIN?!’ and all that other shit…” her voice broke, and she wheezed quietly, dropping to the ground and pulling her knees to her chest.

“It all just…” she tried again, sniffing as she dragged the back of her hand over her eyes, “all that other shit just faded to black. I swear you have no idea how bright your own goddamn smile is. Best. Teeth. Ever.”

His stomach hurt, aching from taking a thousand emotional punches from her pained voice, and he sat down in front of her.

“You know,” he started, reaching up to lift her chin with the tip of his finger, “I wrote Sunlight for you, but honestly, sweetheart…” he paused, lips pursing as he nodded to himself, “I think Starboy is about you.”

Her cheeks flushed such a pretty dark red, and she lowered her eyes.

“That is…that is an epic compliment…my god I can’t even,” she dropped her forehead to her knees, then released a heavy breath and lifted her head again. “He’s flawed as hell.”

Loki nodded. “That he is. Perhaps tragically so.”

“Yet everyone is absolutely mad for him.”

He tilted his head, giving her a pointed look. “Imagine that.”

“I don’t know how to answer the original ‘then what is your problem’ question that you asked before I burdened you with my crappy 2016 story for the thousandth time—”

“Which I will listen to a thousand more times if you need me to,” he cut in, flashing her a crooked smile.

Head shaking, she let out a small laugh. “You are unreal. Sometimes I question if you are the same species as all these other idiot men.”

Smartest in the room again, thank god.

He shrugged one shoulder. “Well, there are no men like me, so I understand the confusion.”

She beamed, showing off those perfect pearly whites.

Look at this sunlight girl.

How the hell am I supposed to get through two months without her?

Her smile faded, and his eyes followed the downward curve of her lips. Maybe she was wondering the same thing. She looked sideways for a moment then returned her somewhat hazy gaze to him.

“I think…I think I just feel so guilty when we…make…love…” she cringed “…ugh I hate that flowery term, but in this case it’s kind of accurate, isn’t it.”

Very much so.

“Thing is, you feel so good and…dammit…I sound insane,” she said, covering her face.

Eyes widening, his mouth fell open. The last two months were piecing themselves together now. Feeling like dying. Wanting to die, but wanting to live because you can’t come back if you pull that trigger, and what if it was going to get better? What if you pulled the plug too soon? You must live. You have this one shot at it. But what is living? Does just breathing count? Just breathing isn’t good enough, is it. Feeling good—feeling amazing—even if only for a little while, that’s what keeps those lungs going. Right? Lungs want to breathe good, healthy, clean air, not smoke. Otherwise those lungs stop working.

Oh…oh no.

Thoughts, words, emotions, stories, experiences, good, bad, ugly—all broken glass shards that picked themselves up and went back into the forge, reminding the glassblower to not drop them after they came out of the fire and cooled off this time around. They could only handle getting burned so many times before they just gave up and stayed broken. He leaned forward and slid his arms under hers, and she let him pull her against him.

Dying stars, this hurts.

“Because when we do that,” he said, “you’re really moving on. You’re alive and in love and your fully functioning, young, healthy body is physically experiencing that love. You’re too happy with me. You’re not devastated for Tony, and you feel like he deserves more than a couple months of mourning. Is that what you mean?”

Looking at him through her fingers as though she knew the jump scare in the movie was coming, she nodded, then hesitantly set her hands on his arms.

“He’s still dead,” she croaked, unconsciously twisting the cotton fabric covering his shoulders as he leaned his forehead against hers

“And I’ll still be here when you’re not sad to be happy again, sweetheart.” He meant it. He wasn’t going anywhere.

Her eyes popped suddenly. It was as though she had only just realized it.

“Except you won’t be. You’ll be in Europe. For two months. I only have three days with you,” she said, choking on the words. “Three days. Three. Days. Oh my god.”

He chewed his lip quietly for a moment as she gaped at him.

“I know,” he mumbled, nodding resolutely, “but Sig, we’ll—”

He stopped short of saying ‘be okay’ because it was one of those phrases that he despised. People only said it to try to short circuit fear or pain or any other number of deeply unpleasant emotions. Rarely did they mean it, or believe it, and he was a stickler when it came to words. If he lied, it was calculated and convincing, and he wasn’t prepared to lie right now.

“FaceTime,” he said finally, clearing his throat, “we’ll Facetime.”

“A lot,” she agreed, pushing his hair behind his ears, “and text and call.”

They silently stared at each other for a minute, maybe two. He couldn’t precisely say how long, since time tended to move at strange intervals with her. She threaded her fingers into his tied back hair as one of those tears in her eyes fell. He wiped it away with his thumb, and she just…sort of…fell into him…as though she was collapsing under her own weight.

He dragged her closer, pulling her into his lap and whispering “I’ve got you” into her hair as she wrapped her legs around his waist and cried into his neck. She could collapse into him all she needed, but he wouldn’t let this star girl collapse into herself.

THE NEW YEAR FEVER DREAMS SERIES
A LOKI+SIGYN MODERN AU SERIES

NEW YEAR SAME HABIT CONTINUES IN CHAPTER TEN: HOTEL HELL, CLOSING BELL
Visit the New Year Same Habit main page HERE.
Chapter links: ¹ We’re Just Strangers ² Hello, My Name is Loki ³ A Helluva Drug ⁴ Written in the Dying Stars ⁵ This Helen of Troy (Worth Drowning For) ⁶ STARBOY INTERLUDE ⁷ Live Fast, Die Right (Crashing Hard) ⁸ It’s Called “Being Present” (Hit the Gas) ⁹ Burn it to the Ground, Sig. (Just Don’t Burn Me) ¹⁰ Hotel Hell, Closing Bell ¹¹ Do Not Go Gently (Run West, Boy) ¹² Happy New Year, Love.

CHAPTER NINE FEATURED MUSIC:
“Champagne” by Niykee Heaton
THEME SONGS:
“Titans” by Dawn Richard (for Sig)
“Oops (I’m Sorry)” by Lost Kings ft. Ty Dolla $ign and GASHI (for Loki)

*Notes from the author, upon original posting in November 2020: ¹ In the previous chapter, Bucky mentioned getting his aviators (sunglasses) at flight school many years ago, and Darcy called him her “flyboy”, which subtly hinted that he was a helicopter pilot in Army Aviation. (I don’t give the specifics of which type of helicopter he flew because it doesn’t really matter within this story, but I envisioned him flying the now-retired OH-58 KIOWA. *shrugs*) ² He is, of course, referring to September 11, 2001 when he says he saw “those planes hit” from Prospect Park but that Loki was only five blocks from the “twin towers”; that’s all I’ll say about that reference because I’ll start f**king SOBBING if I elaborate. ³ Bucky and Loki take the same advanced krav maga class, thus the “knife fight” reference. ⁴ The “ONLY THING I KNOW ABOUT KNIVES IS TO STICK ‘EM WITH THE POINTY END” line, to which Loki’s silent response was “Alright, Arya Stark” was a Game of Thrones joke. Arya is a character from that show/book, and that is one of her more famous lines. Similarly, when Sig says that her sex life “[…] would make Tinder itself grab a bell and ring it at me while droning ‘SHAME SHAME SHAME!”, that refers (again) to Game of Thrones when a character is forced to “atone” for her (mostly sexual) “sins” by walking naked through a crowded street while someone rang a bell repeatedly and said “shame…shame…shame.” Fun, huh? Yeahhh…not so much. ⁵ “Oops (I’m Sorry)” might just be my new favorite song. It was recommended to me on AppleMusic, and I have been listening to it on repeat for a solid two weeks now. The lyrics are clean, and as such, I have provided them below because, in my mind, if one switches out “the saddest girl in Hollywood” with “the saddest girl in NEW YORK” instead…good lord, it might as well be a letter from Loki to Sig.

“No, I never meant to break your heart, but you kind of knew I always would. Said you always wanna be a star, now you’re the saddest girl in Hollywood. Took a hit ’cause I can’t say I miss you, but I miss you now. Apologize for what I got you into, but it’s too late now. Hate me, hate me, hate me if you need to. Sorry, sorry. I’m sorry now. Didn’t wanna believe when I met you I would let you down. Apologize for what I got you into, but it’s too late now. Hate me, don’t fight me. Repay me if you need to. Sorry, I’m sorry. So sorry now. You kept on dreaming for that moment, but not tonight. You told me this is what you wanted, but that’s a lie. You said that you were on your way. That’s all I heard you say. When the lights come out girl, you just froze up on that stage. You kept on waiting for that moment and missed your time. No, I never meant to break your heart, but you kind of knew I always would. Said you always wanna be a star, now you’re the saddest girl in Hollywood. I tried to warn ya, I’m no good for ya. I tried to warn ya, know I did. No, I never meant to break your heart.”

Thank you so much for reading my work, my friends; if you’re willing to share your thoughts on this chapter with me, please do. I genuinely appreciate the feedback. -Jen Eowynir

What Readers Have Said
About CH 9 “Burn it to the Ground, Sig. (Just Don’t Burn Me)”

“OMG, You spoil us! ”
-Bullla, on CH 9 “Burn it to the Ground, Sig. (Just Don’t Burn Me)”

“They absolutely worship each other but then our poor darlings feel like they aren’t worthy to be the lowest acolyte for their god/dess.”
-Ferbette, on CH 9 “Burn it to the Ground, Sig. (Just Don’t Burn Me)”

“I think they are both gonna have to learn to love themselves before they can truly be happy.”
-Mischief76, on CH 9 “Burn it to the Ground, Sig. (Just Don’t Burn Me)”