~7:16pm, June 7, 2019~

(One Month since Sig’s doctor’s visit)

“I’m missing something,” Loki mumbled, chewing his lip as he dug through the neatly folded shirts in his bag for a ‘last hurrah’ weekend trip to his family’s summer home in Montauk with Sig, as well as Darcy ‘Dude-My-Eyes-Are-Up-Here!’ Lewis and her far superior other half James Barnes.  But then again, JB was far superior to most people, so…whatever.

After twenty frustrating seconds of ruining his perfect packing job, he figured it out—he’d forgotten his pills, of all things.  He’d picked the refills up from CVS last night, then he’d gone home, set them on the counter, walked to his bedroom to get his already packed bag from his closet, and then forgot to grab his meds on his way back out the door.  Eyes closing, he shook his head.

Face, allow me to introduce you to Palm.

Maybe Sig could get them on her way home from work.  Just as he started to text her about it, his ringtone blared through the silent room.  Nearly jumping out of his skin—“Shit!”—he accidentally dropped his phone into his bag.  He rolled his eyes and fished the damn thing out as it continued screaming at him.  God, as though his nerves needed further rattling.

If this was his editor calling him, he might just throw himself out the window.  Scratch that—if that woman pestered him one more time over the first draft of a manuscript that wasn’t due until September, he would run four blocks to his parking garage, drive down to Harper Collins, double park if he had to, run up eight flights of stairs to her grotesquely decorated corner office, and throw her out of a window.  It would certainly get him out of this god awful publishing contract.  Oh, he could see it perfectly—Sporting handcuffs and a Cheshire Cat smile, he would say a few final words to his attorney…

“Call HC and tell them I’ve just been convicted of second degree murder, and I fear I’ll have to delay finishing book three for twenty years.  Also, do these jumpsuits come in black?  Orange is NOT my color.”

“Please don’t be her, please, please, please,” Loki begged the cosmos, hesitantly peaking at the screen with one eye.  At the sight of JB’s name and picture, his painfully tense shoulders relaxed, and he heaved a sigh of relief.

“Oh thank god,” he breathed, swiping his thumb over the screen and tapping the speaker icon.

“JB,” he answered, setting the phone on the bed and removing a shirt from his bag to fix the horrendous folding job.  The creases weren’t straight, and it wasn’t a perfect square.  He might screw up everything else in 2019, but he could at least fold a shirt properly, for hell’s sake.

“Hey, Lo man.  Um…so…listen…”

Loki lifted his eyes from the shirt to glare at his phone.  The end of that non-sentence would not be good.  He should expect as much from this shit year.

“Um, the clutch in my Jeep decided to be an absolute bitch overnight.”

Grip tightening on the now expertly folded shirt in his hand, his narrow focus on the phone screen turned to a dead-eyed stare.

“Your Jeep…as in, our ride to Montauk…is out of commission,” he responded flatly.

“I took it to the dealership, but they said there’s a shortage for Wrangler parts right now.  They ordered the restock two days ago, and it oughta get there Monday.  I called every mechanic in the city.  Either they don’t have ‘em, or they’re being used for cars already there.  Earliest it gets done is next Wednesday.”

Loki looked down at the perfect creases on the shirt, then threw it at the wall with a growl.  He heard JB sigh heavily.

“I don’t wanna rain check ‘cause, I mean, obviously you won’t be back from the tour til August, but I don’t know what to do.  You HATE rentals, especially anything last minute.”

Rain check?  Hell no, he needed this trip because, as JB had said, this would be the last chance he had to do it before the Looking for Sunlight book tour.  Eight weeks.  He would be overseas for EIGHT WEEKS , starting this Tuesday.  HC had renegotiated with him, allowing him to delay the 15 April start date by two months because of Tony, and he’d lost track of time ever since.  The endlessly dragging scatterbrained days were trapped inside months flying by faster than light.

If only Sig would come with him, then he wouldn’t have to say goodbye to everything he loves.  If only she didn’t insist on needing that job to make rent as well as keep her health insurance.  Setting aside his blinding rage over the for profit American health “care” system, Sig did not need her job.

Bloody NOT true, I’ve got you, girl.

Her schedule was brutal now.  She was still playing catch-up from the time lost in April.  But the amount of work piling up on her desk and in her inbox was the least of her problems, in his opinion.  While venting her frustrations to him a few weeks ago, the words “Mr. Tangelier is after me again…I thought that was over…it was supposed to be OVER” came out of her mouth.  He asked her to elaborate, but all she’d said was “I’m not quitting my job, Loki.”

Oh, Loki had absolutely lost it, launching straight into a hyper protective speech (see: mansplaining the danger of Sig’s situation to her as though she didn’t already live and breathe it every damn day).  Said speech had rapidly devolved into a full blown fight…

“This isn’t just some random jackass cat-calling you on the street, Sig!”

“Could you please NOT go all ‘shining knight boyfriend’ on me?  I’m not a goddamn DAMSEL.”

“Two years ago, after six months of CONSTANT ogling and leering and blatant comments about your, quote, gravity-defying tits and ass, you filed a complaint with Human Resources, and what did they even DO?”

“You think I don’t know that the response ‘oh Ms. Frey, we take sexual harassment very seriously at TriBecArchitect&Design, so rest assured, we will launch an internal investigation immediately’ is corporate speak for ‘ignore this whore’?!  Trust me, I KNOW.”

“For fuck’s sake, Sig, then why the hell—”

“Say what you will about my weak handling of it—”

“I did NOT say you were weak.  I have NEVER said that.  I have enough self hatred on my own without you projecting YOUR insecurities on—”

“I’m not projecting!  Admit it, you think I’m weak for taking it on the chin like some pathetic—”

“How are you turning everything that Tangelier monster does into an accusation against ME?!  I don’t think you are weak or pathetic AT ALL.  You are the strongest person I know!”

“Oh so now you’re going to bait me with compliments?”

“OH MY GOD.  Would you prefer I hurl insults?!”

“You know what?  YEAH, I WOULD.  If you really think I’m the strongest person you know, BLOODY PROVE IT, and stop pulling your goddamn punches!”

HELL NO—Loki had absolutely stormed out of her apartment that second.  He’d been halfway down the second floor stairs when Sig had caught up to him and jumped down onto the step below him, putting her hands on his chest to stop him from leaving.  He might have continued bolting down the stairs if his girl hadn’t grabbed his belt buckle, pushed up onto the toes of those ankle boots that made her legs look miles long, and legitimately shoved her tongue into his mouth.  Bloody hell, Loki had dragged her back up those stairs so fast, he’d nearly yanked her shoulder out of its socket.

I can’t believe I actually THREW her onto her bed.

Dragging his hand down his face, Loki groaned behind his hand.  He was on the phone with JB, which was perhaps not the best time to relive pinning Sig beneath him and having very not nice sex that she had responded extremely well to.  He blew out a breath and plucked his phone up from the bed.  Opening his contact list, he scrolled through the names.

“We are absolutely going to Montauk,” he said, stopping when he got to his brother’s name, “I just need to…um…call in a favor.”

“That easy, huh?  Alright, well, just shoot me a text to let me know when you magically pull a sedan outta your ass.”

“I think asking Thor to loan me his M3 would be significantly less painful,” he quipped, texting his brother… trying to text, that is.  His thumbs felt downright paralyzed from the wretched helpless feeling.

“Is that gonna be big enough?”

“That’s what she said,” he said, voice flat as he scowled at his screen.  He deleted his insipid, whining, begging message and started over.

“Proud to say she never said that to ME, Lo man.”

“No, she merely tweeted about her big Brooklyn boy and called it a day,” Loki deadpanned, his grip tightening on his phone as JB laughed out loud on the other end of the call.  For hell’s sake, the wording of his now third message attempt was worse than the first one!  Delete.  Try again.  He would send this one no matter how pathetic it sounded.

Loki: I need your M3 this weekend, and before you bitch and moan about me asking at the last minute, know that it is absolutely NOT my fault that JB had to take his car to the shop THIS MORNING.

Thor: …

Loki glared at the ellipses, just knowing they wouldn’t be replaced with “sure thing, baby bro.”  The universe hated him too much to provide an easy button.  Gritting his teeth, he sank down to sit on the edge of the bed and refocused on JB’s voice.

“Was just questioning if an M3 was big enough for four adults plus Darcy’s ten goddamn suitcases.”

“If she refuses to pack lightly for a measly three day trip, then we’ll just tie her to the roof…” he trailed off, distracted by the text that popped up on his screen.

Thor: Shocking that Buck’s 15 year old Jeep needs work. 😂 Those things fall apart at the drop of a hat.

Squinting at the screen, Loki scoffed.  He waited five minutes for his brother to say a simple yes or no, but this is what that bland blond sends?  Setting his elbow on his knee, he leaned his forehead into his palm, zoning out a bit as JB continued talking about…suitcases?  Maybe it was trunk spaces?  Seating places?  Street races?  Hard to tell when you fade as quickly as he was at the moment.  The sound of a new message alert pulled him back to the real world, and he looked down at the screen.

Thor: Of course I’ll let you borrow it, you little shit. I’m already in the area since I’m meeting Jane for dinner up in the village. I’ll just leave it with you instead.

Slumping forward, feeling the tension (at least some of it) leave his shoulders, Loki rubbed the back of his neck and sighed.  Maybe the universe didn’t despise him after all.  Why else would it be generous enough to throw him a bone once every 36 years?

“Well, JB,” he spoke over his surprisingly chatty friend, smiling wide, “I have successfully acquired my brother’s car to replace your beloved, broken Jeep.”

“That was suspiciously easy.”

“I know r—” he stopped abruptly when another text popped up.

Thor: I’m parked on the corner of Prince and West Broad in front of the Coach store. Do you want me to bring the key to you, or the other way around?

“Wow, that was fast,” Loki muttered, standing from the bed as he typed a response and grabbed his keys.

Loki: Stay there. I’ll come to you.

“I need to go, JB,” he said, locking the front door behind him.

“Okay, Lo man.  See ya later.”

“Will do.  Bye.” He sent a message to Sigyn as he walked down the stairs.

Loki: This is is an inconvenient request, I know, but would you swing by my place on the walk back from your office, and grab my Rx refills? They’re in a bag on the kitchen island.  I meant to grab them last night. I’m so sorry, sweetheart.

She responded just as he pushed through her building’s doors.

Sig: Sure thing, handsome. 🥰

Turning left out of the building, he smiled down at the screen, deftly avoiding a kid on a skateboard zipping down the pavement straight toward him as he texted back—

Loki: You are amazing, gorgeous girl. x

He looked up, immediately spotting Thor leaning against a gleaming, 4-door, gunmetal grey BMW with blacked out tires.  Nodding in extreme approval, he crossed West Broadway.

“I’m impressed,” he said, flashing a smile as he came up to his older brother. “It’s a 2017, right?”

Thor nodded, giving him a quick hug. “Looks brand new, right?  Just had it detailed yesterday.”

Opening the driver’s side door, Loki ducked into the car to have a look inside. “Nice leather,” he said, wrapping his right hand around the gear shift. “Ah, 6-speeds—the ultimate millennial anti-theft device.”

His brother tilted his blinding blond head, much like an adorably confused golden retriever, and Loki rolled his eyes.  His clever ego just loved having to explain his jokes.  Shaking his head, he pointed to the gearshift.

“Millennials don’t know how to drive a stick, therefore they can’t steal it,” Loki sighed, his eyes blowing wide when Thor chuckled and gave him a pat on the back that was hard enough to knock him forward.  Carefully leaning over the gearshift, which his knee had very nearly collided with thanks to his brother’s overzealous pat on the back , Loki opened the glove box, squinting at the contents. “Tell me you have a tire pressure gauge somewhere in here.”

“It’s in the middle console.” Thor gestured to it with his chin. “The display will alert you if the tires are low.  There’s an air compressor in the trunk too.  Here, have a look under the hood.”

Loki stepped out, closing the door behind him, and circled the front.  Several minutes of thorough interrogating his brother about every tiny aspect of his vehicle—Carboy, indeed—he pushed the hood down again.

Thor raised his eyebrows, watching Loki walk around it one more time. “Verdict?”

“Absolutely love it,” Loki said, checking his watch.  Sig would be home any minute now.  He held out his hand, palm up. “Key?”

Backing away, Thor tossed the black and silver key fob to Loki and mouthed, “Love you, brother, drive safe.”

Loki caught the key fob easily, waving to the man as he disappeared around the street corner, then pressed the BMW symbol in the middle of it.  It beeped twice, locking with an audible click as he hurried back across West Broadway again.

Inside Sigyn’s building once more, Loki took the stairs three at a time, making a beeline for her bedroom to sit in front of the window A/C as soon as he slammed her door behind him.  Grabbing the back of his shirt, he dragged it over his head and crash-landed backwards on her bed, then blindly grabbed the four button fly of his jeans, and yanked it open.  Something that sounded like a metal ring or coin bounced across the floor—ping, ping, ping, ping —and his eyebrows shot to his hairline.

Loki lifted his head, immediately spotting a silver button glinting in the fading sunlight streaming through the window on the other side of the room.   Lips pursing, he looked down at his jeans.  Not only was the top button missing, but there was a ragged, inch long rip in the denim.

Did I…did I just…TEAR my trousers open?

He looked back and forth from the button on the floor and his jeans several more times, pressing his lips together as his shoulders started to shake.  Then he burst into side-cramping laughter.

“What the fuck…” Loki cackled, letting his head fall back.  Sig would be rolling on the floor and sobbing if she’d seen that.

You need to SPRINT around the block about five times to sweat out all the shame toxins from pulling a move straight out of gag-reflex-stimulating explicit Starboy fanfiction, LO.

For god’s sake, don’t say GAG-REFLEX-STIMULATING.

Oh, he was dying. It was just like that post JB tagged him in on Instagram—

Oh god.  Oh, the horror.  It had been a screenshot of one of those…uh…literary masterpieces, and JB only knew that literature existed because Lewis had “stumbled” on it (sure, Lewis…sure).  Loki couldn’t remember all of it (thank heaven), but he distinctly recalled seeing something about the “massive bulge” in Starboy’s pants, followed by something about him looking “angry enough to choke you, and your already overheated flesh gets even hotter.”

He loved JB, but that had been cruel.  Stars above, his mum could have seen it!  Goodness knew his sister had, and even though Hela had been kind enough to offer to lobotomize “Barnes”, it had made Loki want to dig a hole in the ground and jump in it.  Thor had commented that “his bro” would kill JB, but that JB would at least “die a hero” then that blond buffoon had apparently died from laughing.

Oh well.  At least Loki could laugh at it now too, unlike the first time he saw it.  Well, if his book inspired certain genres of the more explicit nature, have at it.

Just don’t make me READ it.

The front door swung open then, and every amusing thought in his head came to an abrupt halt.  Loki sat up like the mattress had burned his back, one hand going straight for the knife in his pocket.  Entirely unfounded knee jerk fear coursed through his veins for half a second, but as soon as his thumb touched the exposed metal clipped to the denim, the somewhat more rational part of his brain shouted at him that this was just his girl getting home from work.  Chest heaving, he flopped back onto the bed, eyes rolling at his insane reaction.  He exhaled slowly, pulling both hands down his face as Sigyn called out to him.

“It’s just me, love!”

“I know it’s just you, sweetheart,” Loki said, probably not loud enough for her to hear him.  Sweetheart, indeed—she was being almost too considerate.  It might very well be further enabling this extra madness.

Sigyn tossed her keys on the glass table in her tiny kitchen, and she winced at the loud metal-on-glass clanking sound.  Hopefully that hadn’t scared the hell out of him.  Or the door.  Or her voice for that matter.  Loki was visibly more on edge lately, and she was trying to avoid startling him as much as possible.

He was so on edge in fact, that he had now walked with her to and from work every day for two weeks (save for today), and he held onto her every step of the way.  She loved the feel, both physically and emotionally, of his arm around her, but something about it seemed problematic… kind of?

Setting her hands flat on the table, she let her head fall forward and rolled her shoulders.  She had walked to work every day all by her big girl self for nearly a decade, no problem, but now she felt almost addicted to having this tall, intimidating man walking with her so he could, you know, protect her from all the things- or some shit like that.  She didn’t think he saw it that way, so she couldn’t direct her annoyance at him.

Nope—I’m just frustrated with ME, that’s all.

If he draped his arm loosely around her neck, with his hand dangling down just over her collar bones, she would reach up to lace her fingers with his.  She usually kept her free arm around his hip, nearly always under the hem of his shirt, and if that started to feel excessively hot, she switched to holding his hand because she couldn’t possibly pull away from him completely.  This was what she had become- a woman relying on the man she loved to feel like a whole person.  Her entire sense of self was all but gone.

When did I become convinced that I am NOTHING without Loki Odinson?

No, you just can’t be EVERYTHING without him, and that is so very ‘problematic’ for you, isn’t it.

Um… I can’t be everything WITH him either.  I just… I just feel like I’m MORE with him.

But hon, isn’t that what the ‘love of your life’ should be? The person who, more so than anyone else, gives you the lift you need, who holds your hand and holds you UP when walking through the worst parts of life?

Leaning her head back, she reached up to rub an ache in her shoulder, wincing at the pain.  So many knots, and so much anxiety, none of which ought to have anything to do with her boyfriend walking to work with her.  She was making mountains out of molehills.  Maybe she was just bothered by the fact that he’d only insisted on walking with her after she accidentally mentioned the awful boss situation.  He used to offer to go with her just to be with her, but this?  This felt almost obsessively protective.

And I LIKE it.

Wait… what happened to the girl who pitches a fit when Loki goes all ‘shining knight boyfriend’ on her?  Oh Sigyn, methinks the lady has been protesting too much.

She stopped rubbing her shoulders to rub her temples instead.  Oh hell, If she couldn’t let go of this incessant need to prove she was the girl who could and would slay her own goddamn dragons without anyone’s help… EVER… she might just end up losing the best thing she ever had.  Lips trembling, she put a hand over her mouth to muffle a pitiful choking sob and walked to her bathroom, treading softly so her sandals wouldn’t clack too loudly on the wood floor.  She closed the door quietly so he wouldn’t hear her blow her nose dozens of times.  If he heard her crying, he would come running to her too fast, make her feel too good and too loved and too protected from all the bad things, only to then up and leave her alone in their beloved NYC in three days.

Is that what this is really about, hon?  You WISH you could slay the dragons on your own because they might show up again when he isn’t here to help you?

Discarding the tissue she’d just destroyed , she grabbed another, destroyed that one too and tossed it in the small waste basket on the floor between the tub and the sink.  She looked into the mirror, scowling at the hot mess staring back at her.

“Less attractive than a car wreck,” she mumbled, snatching another tissue from the box to clean up her eyeliner.

As she did so, she noticed a jet black hair tie on the vanity, and her eyes started watering again.  Oh for—she closed her eyes because the running mascara and tears burned like hell.

“Getting weepy over a hair tie simply because it belongs to Loki might be an all time low, Sigyn,” she scolded herself under her breath as she swiped up the damn thing to look at it more closely.

She twisted it, watching the color shift from shining black to deep blue in the incandescent haze of her small bathroom.  It was thinner and softer and stretchier than her ties were, but it held its shape better.

“What is this, a Gucci hair elastic or something? Ridiculous…” she muttered, sniffing as she searched for a tiny logo somewhere.

Nope.  No logo.  Honestly, she wouldn’t put it past him to have these things custom made.  This explained his envy-inducing non-existent hair breakage despite tying it back almost every day.  How had she never noticed this before?  She shrugged and put it on her wrist.  Finders keepers.

Actually, she should get her hair off her neck.  She probably would have felt ten degrees cooler on that walk home if she’d pulled it up into a ponytail like a smart person.

“You will be okay while he’s gone,” she told herself quietly while twisting her newfound luxurious elastic around her hair.  “It’ll be shitty, and you’ll hate it, but you’ll make it work.  Strongest person he knows, right?”

She went stock still then, wide-eyed with her fingers frozen in place, caught somewhere between the elastic and the hair she was trying to pull through it.  Suddenly her weak little pep talk wasn’t helpful at all because…well…sometimes epiphanies hurt like a son of a bitch.  And the one she was having right now felt like being hit by an eighteen-wheeler going 90 down the highway.

Loki is my number one fan, my biggest cheerleader, my most effective serotonin-booster, yet I am just WAITING for this relationship to fall apart.

Yeah… maybe try that whole “it’s called being PRESENT” philosophy that a certain someone lives by.  Otherwise you’ll just keep living in the possible car wrecks of tomorrow, hon.

Dropping her hands from her hair, she closed her eyes and took several deep breaths before opening the bathroom door, and gingerly stepping into her small kitchen again.  The wall on the other side of the living room blocked her view of half of her bed, but she could see that he was lying on it as she picked up the paper pharmacy bag with his unopened Rx refills from her table and walked to her bedroom.  He was wearing a pair of perfect-fitting trousers and nothing else—alright, someone ARREST this man—and looked dead asleep with his hands behind his head and legs hanging over the edge.  Even though she wanted to wake him up for less than holy reasons, she set the refills on her nightstand quietly, then turned on her heel and started back toward her living room.  Suddenly the room started spinning.

Woah, spun around too fast…should have eaten more today…shouldn’t have run up the stairs…super hot outside…oh shit I am legit passing out—

Hearing Sigyn stumble a bit while mumbling something about being dizzy, Loki opened his eyes just in time to see her sway so far backwards, there was no way she would possibly keep her balance.  Eyes blowing wide, he automatically shot forward off the bed—“Sig, holy f…!”—barely managing to get one arm around her back and his other hand under her head before it collided with the edge of her desk.

Heart pounding, he looked all over Sigyn’s face. “My god, sweetheart, what even…”

He shouldn’t have asked her to go to his apartment.  That was too much of a detour in this heat, and Sig had no doubt worked through lunch, which had probably consisted of one measly little cup of plain yogurt from the mini-fridge at her office.  His girl was probably dehydrated, probably needed salt, probably needed sugar, probably needed to go back in time and tell him to get his own goddamn prescription.

“I’ve got you,” he said, steadying his grip on her and pulling her slowly upright with him as she blinked lazily up at him.

Oh he’s got me, alright—got me feeling drugged and dazed and stupidly lovesick.

Dear god, she could feel her hearts turning into eyes right now.  No—eyes into hearts.  Thinking straight was difficult right now.  Maybe it was a combination of the stifling heat and low blood sugar making her knees weak.

Nothing to do with the guy who just saved me from falling on my ass.

Sigyn didn’t want to admit the latter, but maybe it was time she stopped judging herself about this, and just let her mind and body dig the feel of Loki’s really nice arms catching her without going on some mental soapbox rant about just saying no to toxic gender binary tropes or something.

You do you, right?

It was probably just some repressed nostalgia over the first time he let her see his off the charts protective side.  That night he’d given Sketch to her, after cracking a few jokes and watching her play with her new cat on her living room rug, he’d given her an intense look and said the first words that had clued her in on just how dangerous Loki Odinson really was…in every sense of the word.

“The silver lining on the blade in my pocket is getting to cut anyone who even THINKS of laying an unwanted finger on you.”   

Sigyn recalled that she’d taken a moment to just stare back at him, unsure what to make of that phrasing, but eventually, after deciding that she shouldn’t tell him how goddamn hot a fight scene starring Loki would be (assuming he’d walked away with all his parts, of course) she had given a slightly more conservative take.

“Sounds like something a villain would say.”

After she’d said that to him, Loki’s responding grin (one that looked like the cat that got the cream) would have been enough on its own to turn her on, but he’d also used that silver tongue against her…

“As long as you’re in my origin story, Sigyn Frey, I’ll take it.”

Honestly, if her thighs could talk, they would have screamed “Game over, man! Game over!” because she truly had not been able to get on top of him fast enough.

Sigyn would be giggling at the images in her head right now if she wasn’t so busy staring longingly at his perfect face, which would be an ocean away in three days.  He hadn’t removed his arm from her waist, or his hand from the back of her head, and his expression was so attentive and caring and…and…and?  Shit—words failed.

“I think he’ll give me reminder butterflies forever, Mum,” she muttered, completely spaced out and unaware her lips were actually creating words as she floated backward onto her bed.

Loki’s eyebrows pulled together. “Say again?”

I’ll give her…reminder…butterflies?  What?

No telling—she’s acting delirious, LO.  Just put her feet up, and get her some water and a banana or something.

Indeed, he should do those things, with one exception.  No bananas.  He could not watch her eat a banana.  Absolutely not.  Dammit—of course he was now imagining her glossy, cherry red lips wrapping around something else.  His jeans were conveniently already unbuttoned, right?

You are a terrible person, LO.

Jaw clenching, he suppressed an eye roll.  Apparently he was the one who needed some damn water.  And a cold shower.

Sigyn knew she wasn’t literally floating.  He was simply lifting her just enough to set her down in the middle of her duvet.  But she was floating nonetheless, and suddenly she was laughing a little from the almost opioid-like haze.  Hm, if the recipe for this feeling was skipping lunch, walking for half an hour in 90 degree heat, and falling into Loki’s arms, she might just stupidly do it again.  But suddenly the warmth of his arm underneath her back was gone, as was the hand that had been cradling the back of her neck, and it genuinely felt like having her favorite toy taken away.

Now she wouldn’t be able to hold him.  Or hug him.  Or cling to him like a koala bear clings to a tree.  Or latch onto him, love-bug style.  She felt his arm slip under her calves, and before she had a chance to get excited about it, he set her legs back down on top of two pillows that he’d stacked together.  He gave her ankle a little squeeze, and she pushed up onto her elbows, glancing down at his thumb making circles around her ankle bone before lifting her eyes to his face.  His downturned mouth started making words—“you need water” or something like that—and then his hand disappeared.

So… that was it?  He was leaving her here to float by herself?  No actually, she wasn’t floating by herself.  Now she was just sinking.

Unless… maybe he wanted to actually do something with her after she drank some water?  According to that deep crease between his eyebrows, and the hollows of his sucked in cheeks- probably not.  She could see his mind gears twisting her ever so dire dizzy damsel spell into some sort of indictment against him ‘making’ her get his head meds, and now he was afraid she would break under him.

Come on, love—I’m already broken about Tuesday, so what’s the difference?

The ‘he’s about to hit the gas and crash into me’ excited pulses in her tummy were in the middle of a tires-squealing u-turn, spinning out too far and crashing into a wretched ‘if he leaves for two seconds, he might never come back!’ wall of anxiety instead.  She knew it was melodramatic and irrational, but that damn book tour was screwing with her head on a level she had not been prepared to handle.  God, she was about to beg him to give her one of his Xans.

He took one step backward, and her body had one of those visceral ‘oh HELL no’ moments where it moves too fast for the mind to keep up.  As though the pillows under her feet were monsters in her bed, she kicked at them wildly, growling “get OFF me!” as she bolted upright.  She slung her legs over the edge and pushed off the edge, but just as her toes touched the floor, he lunged forward and ‘caught’ her again.

“For hell’s sake-” he gave her an exasperated look “-are you trying to crack that pretty skull open?  Lie down.”

Eyes on his, she shook her head emphatically.  Dammit, did he really think that little stunt was just her falling off the bed?  Uh noooo…the vertigo like sensation was gone.  Come on , she was merely trying to launch her body at him, and he ought to be able to recognize the difference.

“Don’t leave please please please…” She winced at the sound of her voice.  No doubt her desperate, pleading tone did nothing to convince him that she wasn’t delirious and struggling to stand on her own.

Eyes narrowed to slits, his jaw quirked.  Alright, clearly this had nothing to do with him stepping out of the room for a moment to fetch a glass of water.  This was about goddamn Europe.

Say what you REALLY mean, woman!

He was so tired of her accusatory, almost manipulative actions.  Did she intend for her sad puppy eyes and bleeding heart voice to make him feel like a piece of shit for leaving her?

If so, seriously, Sig, talk about a selfish bitch move.

As though he was choosing to abandon her like some deadbeat boyfriend.  As though he had one iota of control in his current clusterfuck of a schedule.  As though that voice in his head wasn’t shouting “you shouldn’t have signed that dotted line, YOU did this, this is YOUR FAULT!” on loop 24/7.  As though he needed her to hate him as much as he already hated himself.  For thousands of reasons.  She knew all of those things weren’t true, but she pleaded and poked and prodded and pushed and prayed and picked fights nonetheless.

Closing his eyes for a moment, he exhaled slowly. “Sigyn Elena Frey, I swear to god…”

I swear to god, I adore you, but you are making this so much WORSE.

“Don’t full name me,” she said, slinging one arm around his neck. “Listen, I just…”

Tilting his head, he raised an eyebrow as her eyes danced all over his face. “You just…what?”

She slid her free hand up his arm and over his shoulder. “I just want to feel you inside me right now.”

His lower stomach tightened reflexively.  Had he just said (in his head) that he was tired of her?  Yes, he did say that, and her words did nothing to change that.  He was still tired.  He was exhausted.

Exhausted from needing her like an addict needs that needle.  Exhausted from loving someone enough to go through hellish withdrawal when the time came to wave goodbye at the airport.  Exhausted from losing more and more of himself in her every time she said his name.

Moving her hand up into his hair, she leaned back, trying to pull him with her. “Loki… please.”

Aaaaand there it was.

“Christ, sweetheart…” he groaned, practically falling on her, willing to do whatever she asked him to.

Why did she have to his name like it was sacred scripture?  Like she believed every letter would save her soul from eternal damnation?  She made it impossible for him to say no, to admit that maybe he had actually been slowly dragging her to hell with him since the day they met.  It was impossible because the rush of blood was too damn good.

As his mouth dropped to hers, she rocketed straight back up to that floaty, starry-eyed feeling.  The ever present music on the other side of her wall seemed so much louder suddenly.  Either her neighbor had turned up the volume, or she could just hear the song more clearly now that the anxiety was no longer buzzing in her ears.  Her eyes popped wide open at the sound.

Is this…is this that “Smoke” song?  The one by PVRIS?  Oh my god, it is.  This was the one Loki listened to when he was…oh  no no no no no….

Loki stopped kissing her, and she was unsurprised to see his eyes appear more than a little dark when he opened them.  Not a hot kind of dark—a spiraling kind of dark.  He was checking out of this bedroom entirely, and it was all because of this one stupid song that her stupid neighbors had for some stupid reason turned up to stupid max volume.

“Don’t go disappearing up there into outer space without me,” she mumbled, more to herself than him as she reached up to push his hair behind his ears.

Earth to Starboy…?

His brand name could not be more appropriate in these space cadet moments.  Wherever he was going, she didn’t want him to go without her.  Even if it was a dark place devoid of oxygen, she would go.  She leaned up a bit, bumping his nose with hers, and that seemed to do the trick.  She dropped her head onto her pillow again, relieved to see him snap out of it.

“Sorry,” he muttered, letting go of her hip to pinch the bridge of his nose.  He wanted to focus on his girl, but…shit .  “I don’t want to listen to this song.”

Not with Sig.  He could not listen to this one with his girl.  He couldn’t stop his mind from running away with the hard-hitting lyrics—“This isn’t violence. This is just a war in my head. I give it time, but it never seems to end. I feel a fire in the back of my throat, so let’s get covered in flames and play some games with the smoke…”

Stars—those goddamn words hit so close to home, it felt like getting punched in the gut.  There had to be internal bleeding.

“I really don’t need to hear this,” he said, eyes pinched.

She opened her mouth to say “I know” to him, but closed it again when he let out a raspy, sad little laugh, almost like a cough, but not exactly.  It sounded like someone had reached down his windpipe, dug around to find that little laugh deep in his chest, and was now dragging it up into his throat.  If smoke had a voice, it would sound like that—like a laugh searing one’s vocal cords.

“I know what you’re thinking—” he shook his head “—a dark, guitar heavy, love-hate song called Smoke should be right up starboy’s old ashtray-filled alley.”

Her eyebrows pulled together. “No, not at all.  I know your history with this one, love.  You walked me through the details when it showed up on my recommended playlist several months back.  You told me to turn it off, remember?”

Her boyfriend was being too meta right now.  Not that she wasn’t following his meaning, but the path was so bleak and dark that he couldn’t see he wasn’t alone.  He couldn’t see her.

Clearly I’m not living up to my SUNLIGHT reputation right now.

“Oh right,” he sighed, staring at the wall where the music was coming from. “Sorry.  Fucking unbelievable.  It’s so obscure! How do your evil neighbors even know this one?  What—did they hire DiCaprio to incept my dreams in search of my Achilles heel to drive me out of their building?  Did it show up on their recommendations too?”

“Loki, it’s not th—”

“The universe is doing this shit on purpose,” he spoke over her, still glaring at the wall. “It’s such a goddamn good song, and I ruined it by listening to it on repeat every day of 2015.”

Pressing her lips together, she blinked at him.  If she tried to speak, her voice would crack horribly, and he didn’t need to hear her choke up over this.  It would only make it worse.  Yes, she knew about the significance of the song and the year.  He started writing in 2015.  More accurately, he’d been driven to write after decades of pain finally culminated into that last gasp of air before what would have been the end of all things otherwise.  Every time she envisioned him working on his first novel, it made her ache.  He even described the experience to her on their second date two years ago—

“What does it feel like?  Oh you mean literally how did I feel while writing Starboy?  Like in the moment I’m sitting there putting metaphorical pen to paper?

God.  How the hell do I describe it…um…well…it wasn’t fun, by any stretch of the word…wait…oh that’s the way to explain it.  Words.

Yes, with words obviously.  That’s not what I…No, I mean…okay, stop laughing, gorgeous girl.  You’re making me lose my train of thought.  I made a connection there, so just give me a second- fuck, I lost it.  Completely derailed, thanks.  I think I can actually FEEL my IQ dropping.  Your laugh is amazing by the way.  OH—it’s back.  Shh shh shush.

Writing it felt like…hm…like I was dragging debris heavier than lead, piece by piece, letter by letter, out of this violent WORD tornado inside my head where they’d been trapped, spinning ever faster and faster, getting flung in all directions like bullets for decades.

I can tell you the exact day, the exact hour I started that unenviable process.  Sunday, June 7th, 2015…ugh, Manhattan was brutally hot that day.

Were you in the area then?  I mean did you live here in SoHo then?  Yeah?  How did you and I never cross paths until now?  My god, Sigyn Frey, where the hell have you been hiding?  I feel like I stumbled upon a treasure trove or… something… less… objectifying… I guess.  Wow, that sounded awful.

Oh, it’s fine?  Sure sure, yeah yeah, it’s fine because I’m incredibly good-looking, insanely smart, and have a great car.  I get it.  Can’t find my damn words when you blush like that.  Jesus.

Okay, back to the original subject- I’d just gotten home from a NOT FUN AT ALL party at my ex’s place.  I felt so sick, and not just from having ten too many shots.  I felt legitimately ill, you know?  As though I’d contracted some flu of shame…I know right?  Just let me grab a four hour long shower followed by four days of sleep please.

My laptop was on my kitchen island, and for whatever reason, my feet took me toward that instead of my bathroom, and then I was typing.  I’m sitting there dragging those heavy words- the ones flying around like bullets, you know?—I’m dragging them behind me and setting them down onto a laptop miles from my head, hopefully out of the tornado’s path, otherwise… dammit… otherwise they’d just get picked up again and continue to batter my skull until it finally shattered.

It was quite corporeal actually.  Some of the shrapnel was pretty well embedded in the bone.  Certainly not an effortless task.  Quite a headache.

Of course, there is a CHANCE those headaches had something to do with staring at a screen all day for nine months.”

Honestly, she’d no doubt looked hopelessly in love when he said that.  Surely she’d accidentally stepped onto a movie set because this stunner could not be a real person.  Lights, camera, action—Cue Sigyn Frey’s death scene in which she cries out “I’m melting!” while sinking slowly off of her bar stool at The Dutch on Sullivan on Tuesday, January 3, 2017 at 9pm Eastern standard time as Loki Odinson talks to her about a word tornado in his tricky brain.  If not for his exceptionally good mood that night (the ‘oh this is REALLY going somewhere!’ kind of good) he might have put less of a humorous spin on it, but she would have melted all the same.  She’d been so enamored with him that she actually called in sick to work the next morning just to spend the day absolutely drowning in his written words for the first time.

Darce had recommended she read it the summer before that (when it was first released) but her recommendation had come with a warning—“it’s not smutty, but it’s SMOKIN hot… oh you won’t get that brilliant pun if you don’t read it… but seriously Siggy, it’s a hot read, so make sure you crank the A/C, oh and you’ll definitely get all choked up, so keep tissues handy.”  Sigyn’s response was “ um…hard pass” because 2016 had been depressing enough on its own without crying over a stupid book.  But as New Years are prone to do, 2016 turned into 2017, and when she literally collided with Loki, she tossed her ‘avoid potentially sad things at all costs’ philosophy into the trash where it clearly belonged with every man who was not this one.  His novel was no longer just some hot read—it was a MUST read.

She could have downloaded the ebook for ten bucks, but oh no no no, that wouldn’t have been good enough.  Instead, on the morning of January 4th 2017, she’d marched straight to the Prince Street station to catch the R-train up to Strand Bookstore in the East Village and bought the $47 gorgeous hardback.  The “don’t judge a book by its cover” saying clearly applied only to ugly books who needed a chance to showcase their inner beauty, otherwise she might have felt at least somewhat bad for sizing up that Starboy cover and saying “Take.My.Money.” in 3.5 seconds.  Now, what she had felt bad about was actually drawing a heart around the author’s face on the back cover when she got home.  29-year-olds should not do that.  That said, if one was to accidentally regress to doodling ‘SF + LO FOREVER’ on her grown up Trapper Keeper, hide the goddamn evidence!

She’d hid it so well…for a month.  The sheer mortification she’d felt the night he discovered it at her place on 09 February 2017 (exact date burned into her brain because it was that embarrassing) remained unparalleled.  While engaging in half naked fun with her new perfect boyfriend on her couch, he’d complained that something pointy was stabbing his hip, and she had been too tipsy to know he wasn’t making a sex joke until he dug her book out from where it had gotten stuck between the cushions.  Talk about sobering up fast.   She’d instantly snatched it from his hands before he could finish saying “ooooh the deluxe version…wait…what did you do to my pic—”

From there, she’d done the most rational thing possible.  Like something from a ‘parkour gone wrong!’ blooper reel, she’d jumped over the back of her couch, nearly popping out of her bra in the process, and from there she had darted toward her open bathroom door, thrown the book inside, and slammed the door.  When she’d turned back around to look at him, he’d pointed an accusatory finger at her—“Either you panicked because I saw that heart you clearly drew around my face, or that was just an exceptionally shitty review.”  While she’d crumpled to the ground in a laughing fit, he’d left to grab a sharpie from her desk, then came back and stepped over her to retrieve his book.  After signing the back cover, he’d handed it to her with a wink.  Along with his signature, he’d written five other words—I love you too, sweetheart.

Of course Loki first dropped the L-word by writing it on her book.  Two and a half years later, she could still actually touch the first time he said it.  All she had to do was pick up that book- the one that was now underneath her copy of Looking for Sunlight on her desk.

Those words “I love you too” were still with her.  More importantly, he was still with her, still lying on her bed with his face hovering over hers, right where he belonged.  Honestly, if she could draw a heart around his actual face right now, she would.  She leaned up to kiss him, but just as her lips touched his, he dropped his forehead to her shoulder and groaned.  Glaring up at the ceiling, she set her jaw, giving serious thought to going next door and telling them to turn down that music.

He groaned again into her shoulder.  Bloody hell, he couldn’t handle hearing this singer belting these words right now—“You’re just a ghost of blissful feelings, a cloud of smoke that I keep breathing. An illusion, I’m losing you to the games in my mind.”

Oh my god, make it stop!

This was not a SIG song, but with her underneath him and kissing him and clinging to him right now, his goddamn head was twisting and contorting every strumming forward guitar chord, every perfect soaring crescendo, every not so gentle pounding drum into an association with the love of his life.  No no NO.   This gorgeous siren song licked his wounds from a prior life better than he ever could, and he should not listen to it around her.  He had no issues with blaring it at his place…alone.

But not with Sig.  Not with my girl.

It brought back every forked tongue promise and snide warning hissed at him by a wretched thing disguised as a beautiful woman who weaponized words and sex, using them to bruise and batter him until he was nothing more than carbon particles floating next to each other in the shape of a corpse that looked like someone who used to be Loki Odinson.  A thousand times he swore he wasn’t going back for more, but soulless carbon tends to lack the necessary mental and physical wherewithal, the necessary heart, to fight against even the weakest gravity—to lift it’s heavy legs and RUN.  His carbon believed her lies, let her scare the fire out of him, let her steal the energy out of an already dying star.

But at the tail end of 2015, when he was treading water, barely breathing, exhausted, ready to end more than just a toxic relationship, something changed.  Despite his leg-shaped carbon particles being DONE, his hands formed minds of their own, and suddenly his fingers were plucking at his MacBook keys like a songwriter at a piano.  He’d had no idea where the hell those first words on the screen—“Heavy is the head, Prince Lo, so good luck trying to keep it above that freezing, choppy open water without me” —would take him.  For all he knew at the time, he could have been chasing a bad idea down a rabbit hole and landed himself in a nightmare wonderland, but when he read it out loud, alone in his kitchen, after that first day of writing, he decided the word chase was worth it at all costs.  Nine months later a book called “Starboy” appeared on bookshelves the world over, so…

At least something of value came out of my leftover ashes.

Definitely more valuable than the original thing that burned to the ground.

Silver linings.

Who knew, maybe he wouldn’t have found Sig if not for each nightmarish moment leading up to New Years Day 2017.  Again—silver linings, right?  He lifted his head from her shoulder and smiled a little, looking all over her face, unsure which gorgeous part to focus on.  She ought to be annoyed with his rapidly shifting emotions every two seconds right now, but he only saw pain in her eyes—pain for him.

Dating me must be hell.

He was always a car crash waiting to happen, driving far too fast, falling far too hard, loving far too soon, leaving far too early or far too late, and doing all of it far too often for his own good.

WHY did this song have to show up and ruin one of these last moments with my girl?  I WAS FINE.

LO, you’re giving too much power to it.  Let. It. Go.

He closed his eyes, focusing on the feel of her mouth against his ear as she said “I love you to the stars and back” like they were her actual dying words.  Jesus—now his chest felt like it was about to explode into millions of pieces of gold New Year’s confetti, and the song was nothing but a dull white noise roar.  She leaned back a bit to kiss his cheek, but just as her slightly parted lips made feather light contact with his skin, he turned his head and barely pressed the tip of his tongue into her open mouth.  He pulled away for a split second, and she muttered his name.

Boom—there it was…chest confetti everywhere.  Without hesitation, as though he had only a few seconds left on the planet with her, he forced one hand between the pillow and her neck, grabbed her hair, and dropped his mouth to hers.

Her voice was useless with his mouth on hers, but stars above, in her head she was crying his name over and over.  She was still fully clothed, yet her toes were already curling.  Not exactly shocking since Loki was basically the god of perfect kissing.  That, and he was also taking full advantage of her barely legal cutoff shorts by forcing his hand underneath the frayed denim hem.

“Oh fuck me…” she hissed—or maybe moaned—somehow the words escaped when he stopped to catch his breath.

He smirked a little, said “I’m getting there” in that same rasping, smoke incarnate voice, then covered her mouth with his again.  Uh, she certainly hoped so.  She hoped he wouldn’t flip a switch and pull away again, which was a very real possibility.  For heaven’s sake, a few seconds ago he looked like he might push off of her and pour shot after shot until he drank himself to sleep.  Now he was acting like he would die if he put an inch between them.  He switched gears faster than his car could while flying down the highway upstate.  Gut-wrenching-low could accelerate up to cloud-nine-high in 3.5 seconds.  Her boyfriend really knew how to give her whiplash.

Yeah…whiplash is really REALLY bad for you, hon- it might very well break your neck one day.

Oh but she loved it.  She couldn’t get enough of it.  She couldn’t get enough of him.  She couldn’t get enough of his pedal-to-the-metal mad love.

Please don’t ever slow down, Loki.

Eyes rolling back, she moaned against his mouth, kissing him harder as he pulled her hair harder, and just like those old school slide projectors, the last few words of Starboy flashed across the back of her closed eyelids.

Live fast, die right.

Live fast, die right.

Live fast, die right.

She must have read them a thousand times, and now it was seared into her mind.  It was probably seared into a hundred thousand minds across the globe, many of whom would probably kill to burn rubber with him.  But they didn’t get to.  She did.  Right here, right now, he was showing her how to live fast and die right.

Breathing a little too hard, Loki leaned his forehead down against hers to calm his chest a bit.  God, this perfect star girl made everything else fade to nothing, to white noise, to the light humming of an oscillating fan in a bedroom on a stifling hot summer night.  Who cared if they got on the road a bit late because he needed a few extra minutes, or hours, to feel every inch of her?  Who cared if he had to drive all night because of it?  He only cared that his girl was here in this room with him, and he only had three days left with her.

He felt, rather than heard, her whisper “I cannot let you go” next to his ear, then she pressed her heel into the small of his back, and hooked her other ankle around his thigh.  His mouth fell open, breathing even harder when she reached up to run her thumb along his bottom lip.  The air in this room was too thick, too heavy, too charged with static electricity shocking his pulse into high gear as she slid her other hand underneath the back of his jeans, reaching as far as she could.  If he wasn’t already sweating, he would be now.  She was drawing him to her like a magnet, and he was suffocating for it.

She pulls me in too close—I am in a stranglehold.

Oh, but some things are worth drowning for, LO.

Eyes closing, he kissed her again, ignoring her “I cannot let you go” words.  He didn’t want to think about Europe any more than he wanted to actually go there.

Oh my god, I will…I will…I will spiral without my girl.  I can’t do this.

You have to, LO.

Fine.  He would just get as high off of her as possible while he had the chance.  Bad trip or not, he was going to chase her to wonderland.

This Helen of Troy, this destructive siren, this little white rabbit…

Live fast.

Die right.

Kissing her like it was his last day on Earth, he heard his voice, muffled by the sound of the blood rushing through his ears, saying she was killing him, then out of nowhere, what sounded like a dozen tires outside screeched across the pavement like nails on a chalkboard.  It was followed by a formidable crash of metal on metal and shattered glass hitting the ground with a series of ear-piercing shrieks.

Wincing at the horrific sound, Loki and Sigyn untwisted their limbs from each other and shot straight up, jumping off her bed simultaneously to look out the window.  Both gaped at the scene below.

Barely a block from her building, four cars were crunched together in the intersection of Prince and Thompson, and jagged pieces of glass were scattered everywhere.  Joe from the juice shop below her place, along with several other people from businesses up and down the block were running to the collision.  A few people on the sidewalk looked like they’d been hit by the glass, cuts bleeding.  One man was in the crosswalk, lying face down, his left leg and arm bent at unnatural angles.

“OH MY GOD!” they both shouted at once, and Loki grabbed his shirt as he bolted out her door, buttoning his fly on the way.  He tugged his shirt down over his head, running down the stairs three steps at a time.

Taking off after him despite feeling like she might fall to the ground any second —I don’t care!—Sigyn snatched up her keys and phone from her kitchen table and slammed her door behind her.

Loki vaguely heard her calling 911 behind him as he shoved through her building’s double doors.  The glass that had blown in all directions glinted in the western sun as he ran toward the crash.  His feet would be absolutely shredded if he’d kicked off his Nikes upstairs.  Wait…Sig was only in sandals.  Might as well be barefoot for all the protection those would provide.

Yeah, she also nearly blacked out upstairs, and you did NOTHING to help her, LO.

Oh shit—he skidded to a stop and turned on his heel to look for her.  She was standing on the sidewalk with her hand over her mouth and her phone to her ear.  Even twenty feet away, he could see her shaking.

Heart pounding, he shouted, “SIG!”

She looked up, locking eyes with him instantly, and he pointed to her feet. “Stay right there!” In other words…

Oh my god, I adore you, gorgeous girl.  Please don’t do ANYTHING that might hurt you.

So much for living fast, huh, LO?

Looking down at the pavement all around her feet, Sigyn carefully stepped back to the entrance of her building.  Oh god, he was right.  The glass hadn’t even crossed her mind.  She’d only stopped here rather than run after him because someone had cut her off on the sidewalk. Shit—the bare side of her left foot was only half an inch from several pieces of sharp glass sticking straight up like exposed nails.  Putting her hand over her forehead, she looked up at Loki again and nodded.  She felt like she might throw up any moment anyhow.  It was best she just sit down on the steps right here, and not do anything but be a useless piece of nothing while her hero of a boyfriend dashed off to be something that people gave a damn about.

Satisfied that his girl understood him and wouldn’t come running into this disaster, Loki growled quietly and ran to the crash.  Multiple sirens were blaring, getting closer and closer, louder and louder.  The EMTs would be here any minute, thank god.  He wasn’t about to move anyone involved in the crash—that’s not why he’d come charging out here.  No, he’d run over here because he saw a woman reaching inside a broken car window, and had her hand on a kid who appeared to be unconscious along with blood dripping down his small cheek in one of the backseats.

“No no no no no NO , don’t touch him,” he raised his voice at the woman just as she started to tug the boy toward the window.  She yanked her hand away immediately as Loki bent down into a deep squat next to her and peered inside.

“He’s my nephew, and I was the one driving!  Oh god this is all my fault, it’s my fault, it’s my fault,” she sobbed, and he set his hand on her shoulder.

“I truly understand, but if his spine is injured, moving him could hurt him further.  You must wait for the paramedics, alright?  They’ll be here any moment.”

She continued sobbing into her hands and dropped her head to his shoulder.  His insides were a mess, fear and anxiety sending waves of nausea over him.

Shit shit shit shit shit, please let this kid be okay please please.

The woman was panicking.  He could hear it in her cries.  Her breaths were coming in too shallow and far too fast.  She was going to hyperventilate.  He couldn’t do anything about the boy in the car, but here in this awful moment, he wasn’t useless.  He could help this woman.

“What’s your name?” he asked, gently shaking her to get her attention. “Can you tell me your name?  My name is…”

Bar-boy.

Car-boy.

Watch-Out-He’ll-Break-Your-Heart-Boy.

Put-Another-Dollar-in-the-Jar-Boy.

Forever-Trying-Too-Hard-Boy.

Won’t-Go-Very-Far-Boy.

DYING-STAR-BOY.

“…Loki.  My name is Loki.”

She didn’t tell him her name, just continued sobbing and shaking and choking.  He breathed harder and faster, a distinct light-headed feeling forcing his eyes to close for a second.  Rolling his shoulders back once, he leaned his head down and slowly breathed out his nose.

“Okay, you and me,” he said, pulling his hand down his face. “Right here.  We’re going to put every bit of focus into not hyperventilating.  We’re going to breathe.  You’re going to do this with me.  Turn off every sound other than your own inhaling and exhaling.  Can you lift your head to look at me?”

After a few seconds, she did look up—thank heaven—her eyes moving all over his face.

“Right here,” he said, pointing to his eyes, “just look right here.  Nowhere else.  Focus.”

The panic in her eyes was most definitely still there, but it was fading bit by tiny bit.

You can help her, LO.  Don’t let this wonderful, beautiful soul down.  Be that ONE person for this woman who YOU needed a thousand times but didn’t have.

“Well done.” He nodded, then took her hand and placed it flat on his chest. “When my chest rises, make yours do the same.  When it falls, same.   Eyes on mine,” he added when she looked down at her hand.  She returned her eyes to his immediately.  “Good.  You’re going to inhale and exhale through your nose, not your mouth.”

Blinking rapidly, she nodded, clearly trying to gain control of herself.  He held her wrist, keeping her hand in place against his chest, silently begging the universe to spare this woman from debilitating trauma all thanks to those five seconds it took to cause this terrifying car wreck.  Hell on earth was really hell in one’s mind, wasn’t it.  A few hellish seconds had the power to steal decades from a person.  Oh god, watching her face was like reading the first few paragraphs of Looking for Sunlight—

I should have cancelled this appointment.  I should have cancelled the last TEN appointments actually.  I drank my body weight in vodka last night, and threw up every ounce of it an hour ago, and now I am staring dead-eyed, red-eyed, underfed-eyed at a doctor who gets paid three hundred an hour to ask how this or that makes me feel.

What exactly is the point of talking about any of this?  I’m just rehashing shit she’s heard a thousand times.  I relive those ten seconds over and over in my head, and TALKING about it for nearly two decades hasn’t changed a goddamn thing.  I’m living under never-ending grey, low-lying, claustrophobic clouds of unparalleled regrets.  No, not clouds- not plural.  It’s just one gigantic fucking cloud, and it won’t stop screaming “if only you hadn’t, if only you HAD, you should have done, you SHOULDN’T have done, it was all YOUR FAULT, you DESERVED it!”  I’ve become a broken record with vinyl skin that OF COURSE scratched on the WORST part of the song.

Loki grit his teeth, telling his writer brain to BACK OFF so he could give all his attention to this woman.  He squeezed her wrist more tightly.  She was struggling to do this with him, struggling to focus on the sound of her own breathing.  There were too many other monstrous sounds- shouting, sirens, crying, shoes on the pavement kicking up glass.  Still counting silently, he leaned a touch closer to her.

“Listen to that oxygen, only that,” he spoke firmly, “everything else is white noise.  It’s nothing.  This—” he pointed to his nose as he inhaled “—is the only thing that matters at this second.”

It’s called being present.

And presently, I am going to help this woman.

She nodded again, her eyebrows pulling together like a fighter who’d taken hit after hit on the ropes and was now finally punching back.  Keeping her crying eyes on his, she matched the rise and fall of his chest.  Within a minute, she wasn’t shaking anymore.  Another 30 seconds, the lines in her face relaxed.  He held her hand steady, still locked in a staring contest with her.

“I’m going to look at my watch, but you keep your eyes on mine,” he directed her, and she obeyed his gentle command as he barely lowered his eyes, just enough to see the second hand ticking around the dark blue face of his watch without hindering her ability to see the green of his irises.

Thumb on her wrist, he counted her pulse.  66—YES.  It had been a tachycardic 105 at the start.

You know what you just did, LO?

He shrugged, responding to the question as though the voice in his head could see him.  What did he do?  Keep someone from passing out on the street?  Not exactly brain surgery.

Nonetheless, LO…you did something of value.

Salty tears filled his eyes like legit acid.   Head shaking, he exhaled slowly through his mouth, trying to blink away the vicious burning.  At that second the paramedics came running up behind his back, and he immediately moved out of their way without being told to do so.  Letting go of her wrist, he gave her shoulder a squeeze and stood up once more, stepping away because her nephew was being pulled from the vehicle, and it was too intimate and private to stay and watch.  This was no longer his place.

Down the street, in front of her building, Sigyn watched Loki step away from the woman he’d been…helping?…presumably?  She watched him look around, his jaw clenched and clearly glaring at all these intrusive people recording this real life horror film on their greedy, instantly gratifying goddamn phones.  Son of a bitch—she hated them right now.  Yes, there were brutal occurrences that ought to be recorded of course for the sake of spreading awareness, of inspiring social progress, but not this .  They were taking Loki away from her through a digital sphere, and it was the worst thing ever.  They didn’t deserve him.  They had no business being on the same planet as him.  This was not an overreaction on her part.

I have every right to be this protective, this ready to cut anyone who goes anywhere near the love of my life.

Even from this distance, she somehow managed to hear the woman’s quiet voice saying “My name is Ana” over everything else that should have been so much louder than her.  SIgyn put her hand over her mouth, swallowing the lump in her throat when she saw Ana put both hands over her chest and mouth very clearly “thank you, Loki” to him.

“Oh my god,” Sigyn whispered behind her palm, trying not to absolutely sob right here on the steps of her building.

She watched him produce something that looked vaguely like a weak grin for the woman, then he nodded and turned away, starting to come back to her.  Had she ever missed him this much?  This was absolutely absurd.  She would run straight to him if her legs didn’t feel like lead.

No…

Actually she just wanted to disappear.  She didn’t want to see him at all.  He was everything to everyone, and she was nothing.

I don’t belong anywhere near Loki Odinson.

Pushing to her feet, she hurried back inside.  Yes, she still felt sick, and no, she wasn’t entirely sure that she would be able to climb three flights of stairs on her own, but goddammit, she would give it her all.  Hell yes, Loki absolutely was a prince (even though he hated being called one) but heaven help her, she was not the princess, not the sunlight he was looking for.  Not even close.

Heart plummeting into his stomach, Loki watched her disappear into her building as the calm, encouraging voices of the actual heroes behind him who had arrived in fire trucks and ambulances—“hi there, bud, can you tell us your name?” “your Aunt Ana is right here, okay?” “we got ya, pal”—He picked up his pace, running toward those doors, chest heaving and head reeling from the summer Manhattan heat.

Sig, where the hell are you going, love?

Run faster, LO.

Yet another dollar in that jar—he needed to get out of the middle of Prince Street.  This was actually one of his worst nightmares.

The love of my life runs away from me, and I am left alone in a crowded street feeling like I shouldn’t be alive to see the aftermath.

He barged through the doors of her building, running up the stairs after her.

“Sig!” he yelled, catching up to her in a blink of an eye.

He grabbed her arm, and pulled her down a few steps into him without a thought.  He nearly fell backwards down the stairs, but he didn’t care.  He was just so unbelievably grateful to see those iridescent eyes he would love forever looking at him.  Her cheeks were wet and pink as she looked up at him.

“Come here, gorgeous girl,” he said, his voice straining as he grabbed her waist, and lifted her straight up off the ground and into his arms.

She wound her legs around his waist, and he walked up the stairs, whispering “my god, I love you to the fucking stars and back” against her cheek.