~12:07am, January 1, 2020~

Present day

The anticipation was absolutely killing her, the butterflies in her stomach twisting and turning and spinning more and more out of control as Loki bounded up the stairs of her building, his footsteps echoing louder and louder in her ears.

What the hell was he going to do when he saw her?  She didn’t know what to make of him running up the steps this fast, leaving three flights of stairs in the dust like an all-star athlete doing stadiums at practice.  Was he angry?  Had he made his way up two blocks of crowded pavement from his place to hers to tell her off for breaking his heart, for ruining everything they’d had?  His texts hadn’t felt angry, but then again, interpreting tone from texts was notoriously tricky business.

She really hoped he was here for another reason, but now that she was seconds from seeing him, that felt far too good to be true.  But hadn’t everything about him, about these last two and a half years (the past three months aside) been too good to be true?  He hadn’t just joked publicly with her on social, or texted thousands of times, or called every single day.  He hadn’t just cooked for her, taken her on spontaneous dates, cuddled on their couches, played with Sketch, or given her things she could never afford to pay for herself.  He hadn’t just published an entire novel for her and written a heartfelt letter inside the cover.

He’d seen her at her worst.

And he’d loved her anyway.

Until October.

Feeling like she was on the verge of a panic attack, she kept her eyes on the landing across the hall, putting one hand on the wall to keep from stumbling as she backed into her apartment on shaking legs.  The second his boot landed on the top step, he rounded the corner and came straight at her, his eyes zeroing in on her with the intensity of a starving man who was looking at something he wanted to eat.  Oh f—

She grabbed the door frame for support because the way Loki moved—those long, confident strides, with a sort of swagger about his shoulders—was making her knees weak.  He had made her weak from day one.  It’s why she’d held onto his arms a little too long when she ran right smack into his chest outside of Ground Support exactly three years ago.  How he managed to walk like that, yet not come across as a pompous prick, she would never know.  To say he looked like a stunning, tall, raven-haired drink of water would be an insult to him.

Her not exactly 20/20 vision cleared as he neared her, and the fear of him being angry at her flew out the window.  It was blatantly obvious now that he hadn’t bolted up those stairs like a horse out the gate to get into a verbal boxing match with her.  Quite the opposite, he looked like he was going to crash into her, throw her over his shoulder, take her to her bedroom, and shove her face into the mattress.

She wouldn’t say no.  She wouldn’t tell him to slow down.  She wouldn’t put up a fight in the slightest.  She would let him rip this four-thousand-dollar dress to shreds if he wanted.

And she would be an absolute wreck after, because he would fall asleep as easily as ever, leaving her to spend every hour of the night freaking out over whether or not he still meant what he’d written to her in his book and how to pose that question to him without coming across as accusatory and piss him off.  Just like she had last September.  Just like the slow, painful build up to the first day of her once favorite month- the first day of many without Loki.

He spared her from having to answer the most fundamental question of all time—to fuck, or not to fuck?—because he didn’t crash into her, which was no doubt for the best, but her heart sank nonetheless.  Instead, he slowed his steps as he approached her, stopping completely just before he was within arm’s reach and gave her body a once over with wide eyes and parted lips.  He looked from her hastily pulled up hair, all the way down to her pointy-toed stilettos.  Then inch by tortuously slow inch, he raised his eyes back up her bare legs, hovering there for what felt like a lifetime to her.  The clench of his jaw grew more pronounced, his chest rising and falling faster, and ten nerve-racking seconds later, he looked up at her face again.

“You must be trying to kill me,” he said, his eyebrows knitting together.

Her grip on the door frame tightened, clinging to the damn thing like her life depended on it.  He thought she was trying to kill him?  Good god, she could say the same about him.  Not only did he look like he’d just stepped off a Diesel photoshoot in that hooded pullover and slim cut dark blue jeans, but she hadn’t heard his deep, gravelly baritone in ages, and the sound of it made her want to drop to her knees in front of him.  She exhaled slowly through her mouth, needing the extra oxygen to calm her rapidly spiking libido.

“No, not kill.  Just…um…wow you.” She turned her head sideways, eyes rolling.  Dammit, that could have been sexy if she hadn’t said um like a nervous idiot.

His eyebrows raised just a touch, one a bit higher than the other.  He hadn’t expected that.  A quip, a sarcastic turn of phrase, or perhaps just a vengeful barely-there smirk—anything but an earnest admission that Sigyn had worn that traffic-stopping dress and jaw-dropping heels for him.   He felt like his heart was about to burst straight through his ribcage.

“Mission accomplished,” he said when she cautiously returned her eyes to his.

Another round of ten or so fireworks exploded in the distance, blazing bright enough to shine a light on her face in the dim hallway, showing just how watery and red her eyes were.

Oh …sweetheart…no…

Every muscle in his body tensed up, poised to take those last two steps and wrap his arms around her.  He just needed her to give him a sign- any sign -that she wanted him to do it.  Yes, she’d said “please get up here” to him, but that didn’t guarantee she wouldn’t shove him away if he touched her.

Her last words to him prior to tonight had been “get the hell out of my apartment!” and seeing her standing right there on the other side of the doorway, just like she had been in October, reminded him just how terrified he was that he might hear them again.  Every step of the way here from his place had been one step closer to that possibility.  He would have turned back had it not been for cranking the volume up in his Air Pods.  The steady, driving, beat had engulfed the panicky voice in his head screaming at him- “have you lost your mind?…you’re on death row already!…a second rejection might as well be a fucking lethal injection!”

Thank god for one of his current favorite music groups, 5 Seconds of Summer, shutting up the version of himself that he hated—the shaking coward running away from something worth fighting for after the first shots fired—because two and a half blocks later, here he stood, staring at the only woman in the universe who could break him all over again.

Please don’t crush what’s left of me into even smaller pieces, Sig.

She pressed her lips together, blinking at him silently.  Had Loki just said, “mission accomplished”??   Oh shit, he had.

Well then why was he just standing over there?  She was about ninety-nine percent positive that he would be extremely receptive to her grabbing him by his collar and yanking him in here with her, but her legs were paralyzed by the fear of that one percent biting her head off.  The proverbial ball was in his court.  However, he wasn’t making a move.  He seemed frozen in place too.  Apparently, she needed to improvise.  Her legs were stalling out on her, but she could still form words at least.  For now.

“Were you at Strange?  I thought maybe you would be there obviously.” She gestured to her dress. “I didn’t see you though.”

Brow creasing, Loki closed his eyes for a second.  She was talking to him.  This was a good sign, to be sure.  It eased his fears the slightest bit.  Maybe she would let him in?

Oh god, please.  His entire body was buzzing with enough heat to break into a sweat from staring at his girl’s perfect thighs and remembering how goddamn amazing they felt wrapped around his head.  He wet his lips, glaring at the awful space between them, then lifted his eyes to hers again.  What had she asked him?—had he gone to Strange?

“No, I stayed home,” he answered, sliding his hand into the back pocket of his jeans, and pushing loose strands of hair behind his ears with the other.  Maddening things—they just refused to stay in his hair tie.

“I was in a mood,” he added, as though that was somehow a decent excuse.  Eyes rolling, he dropped his hand from his hair to hang useless at his side as that voice in his head started screaming at him again.

Just TELL her.  She’s letting you talk.  She’s asking you questions.  She’s not slamming her door in your face.  She wanted you to be there tonight.  She wanted to see you.  She put on a mouth-watering ensemble for YOU.  Tell her why you stayed home.  “I was in a mood” is NOT an acceptable answer.

“This day is just too fucking…” he trailed off, letting the open-ended sentence dangle above those last few cruel feet separating him from her as he searched for the right words.

Sigyn stared at him, eyes big and round and filling up with tears fast, waiting for him to finish his thought.  This day is too fucking what? Crippling? Gut-wrenching? Devastating? Agonizing?  All the above?  Why wasn’t he answering her silent plea for clarification, for an explanation, for a suitable adjective that would let her know he was just as broken as her?  He was a writer for hell’s sake!—his verbal skills were off the chart!

Just give me SOMETHING, Loki.

His silence stung more than that time, when she was sixteen, that her blind drunk uncle had come to their house at Christmas and slapped her face because she’d called him a racist piece of shit, which was a thousand percent accurate.  Her dad—an absolute hero—had literally thrown the man out their front door, then called the police and pressed charges for physical assault against his daughter.

Dammit, she didn’t call her dad enough.  There was an entire ocean between them, and he wouldn’t be around forever.  He was sixty-five years old.  What did he have?—another ten years?  Twenty at most?  She should call him and tell him how grateful she was to him for protecting her, for providing for her, for being there for her every time some stupid boy broke her heart.  God, so many kids had grown up with absentee fathers.  Loki had an awful relationship with his father.

Come to think of it, maybe that was why he loved her dad so much.  He deserved to have a father who loved him too.  To think, her father could have been that for him.  Head shaking, she dropped her eyes from his face to stare at the floor tiles as a sudden, deep sense of dread clawed its way into her stomach, overtaking the thrill of seeing him again.

More fireworks exploded, making her nearly jump out of her skin.  It was followed by delighted shouting and clapping, in the streets and next door.  The partying didn’t usually upset her, but right now?  Her neighbor’s pounding music, the shrill, discordant singing, somehow both sharp and flat at once, the “HAPPY 2020!” cheers, the roaring laughter, and those incessant shotgun-like booms and crackles, were making her ears ring and rattling her already shaking body like some sort of sick cosmic joke.

Was this it?  Was this the part where she finally collapsed in on herself underneath the ever expanding weight of her past mistakes, the weight of falling that hard for this man, of allowing herself to cut out her heart and put it in his hand with no guarantee that he would hold it tight and keep it safe?  Yet another round of blasts shot high into the air, screeching across the sky.  Knees buckling, her other hand shot up to grab the door along with the other one already there.  God dammit, those fireworks were going to give her a heart attack and kill her.  That was only if Loki didn’t do the job for them.

New Years was the pistol.  Texting him loaded the chamber.  Begging him to come up turned off the safety.  Telling him she’d worn this dress for him aimed the gun.  That last bit of distance between them that he seemed hell bent on maintaining was the finger on the trigger.  Standing here, waiting for him to please just SAY SOMETHING was the slow, steady exhale before the pull.  If he turned and walked away now—

Don’t leave me again.

She could smell the gun smoke already.

No hon, that’s just the fireworks.

Taking a deep breath, Loki pulled a hand down his face.  He knew she was interpreting what he’d just said (or not said) all kinds of wrong.  No doubt she thought he’d just insulted the one day that was supposed to be theirs—the day that no one else knew was theirs because none of them knew they’d met on New Year’s Day.  Should he tell her right now, here in this open hall with all this vacuous noise competing for her attention, that no amount of stabbing pain in his chest from not getting to call her his anymore would change how grateful he was, even in his darkest hours, for those far too short years he had called her his?  Should he tell her that no matter where life ended up taking him, he would never get over the significance of January 1st?  That he would never ever get over her?   That she would always be his girl?

He pinched the bridge of his nose.  No, those words were far too painfully honest, far too heartbreaking for him to say right now.  But that didn’t mean there was nothing he could say.

“But if I’d known you would go to Strange tonight,” he started, the bobbing of his Adam’s apple making it glaringly obvious that he was getting a bit choked up—bloody fantastic—when she lifted her head and locked eyes with him, “Sig, I swear…I would have been there in a heartbeat.”

The light on the third floor was dimmer than the others in the building for some reason, but it was just bright enough for him to see her mouth fall open as her chest stopped rising and falling for a good ten seconds.  Was there no oxygen in this hallway?—because he couldn’t breathe either.  She didn’t say anything.  She just opened the door wider, took a step backward, and stretched her arm toward him, motioning for him to come to her.  His eyes widened, and he let out a slight choking sound.

Thank. God. 

Jaw clenching, Loki lunged forward, almost as though he’d been pushed, closing the distance between them in two long strides.  Kicking the door shut behind him, he caught her waist with one arm before she could take another step backward—another step away from him.  He threaded his fingers into the messy bun just above the nape of her neck, pulling her head back, forcing her to look up at him.

She gasped in shock, or maybe it was because of the instantaneous blood rush straight to her core.  Probably both.  He had been so hesitant, so distant, in the hall not two seconds ago, but now she could see the little flecks of indigo hiding in his emerald irises, and smell the spearmint gum that he must have discarded in the bin downstairs along with a hint of eucalyptus from his shaving cream.  Combined with the feel of his long, lean arm around her waist, and his hand in her hair—

Oh hell.

She hadn’t rolled in over ten years, but she remembered the feeling like it was yesterday, and this moment, finally having Loki wrapped around her after three months that felt like years without him, was a thousand times better than that.  Forget legit X (not that shit with bath salt fillers)—if he could be bottled up, people would sell their left kidneys to get their hands on him.  Her serotonin was sky-rocketing faster than the space shuttle itself.

God help me—

The crash back to the ground was going to be brutal.

His grip on her hair was tightening, pulling on it harder, and it was maddening.  She had such a hair kink, and no one knew that better than him.  Only he knew every way to send her to cloud nine, and he was about to check all the boxes, guaranteed.

This was not smart.  At all.  She should not be doing this with him.  She might get stomped on all over again.  He might very well leave when the sunlight started pouring into her bedroom, but right here, right now, the only thing she felt was just unbelievable relief.  That, and mind-blowing, gut-twisting, please-grow-old-with-me love.  If someone took a picture of them right now, there would be hundreds of those stupid little pure cringe hearts floating around her head, and she should not let him in again without knowing that they were circling around his head too.

But her body was short-circuiting her brain, ignoring the warning sirens, shouting at her to keep chasing that high no matter the consequences, so she pushed up on her toes, and slid one arm up over his shoulder.  Slipping her hand beneath the back of his collar, she tugged on his neck, and reached up to hold his face with her other hand.  Her insides were going to explode in the next two seconds if she didn’t get her mouth on his.

A strained sound rumbled in the back of his throat as her nails dug into the tendons in his neck.  Fine with him—it was a good pain.  He’d worn her scratch marks to meetings with his editors and publishers many times, and he would do it a thousand times more if he could.  He could not have asked for a better response from her.  She was so damn eager.  He pulled her tighter against him and leaned down, the tip of his nose running along her jaw.  She whined his name then, and he grit his teeth, trying not to latch onto her neck like he wanted to.  Hearing his name like that—

“Loki…oh my god.”

Oh my god, was right.  His head was spinning.  There was probably no blood left in it now that every ounce was speeding instead to just south of his belt buckle.  

Nosing the pulse point in her neck, he groaned deep in his chest.  She was wearing that perfume—DKNY Stories (poetic for a writer, no?)—that he had given to her on her birthday last year.  He didn’t understand the chemistry of it, but that fragrance went from “oh, that’s lovely” to “take off your clothes NOW” when it touched her skin.  He was absolutely drowning.  How had he gotten through these last three months without her?  Certainly not with flying colors.

Writing over a hundred pages, then deleting them because every last one was complete garbage.  Testing the upper limits of his new motorcycle which earned him two speeding tickets that he didn’t give a damn about.  Finishing off those fifteen leftover Vicodin from that sprain in February.  Copious amounts of whiskey.  Several packs of cigs.

He’d quit eight years ago.

God. Dammit.

That utterly atrocious attempted hook up with a pretty little young thing—a 22-year-old NYU undergrad (Emma…Emily…Em? who cared)—at a HarperCollins networking event halfway into November.  That girl had been after him the whole night, and he’d hoped he could just close his eyes and blast that song about being sober (oh the irony) or whatever to cover up the sound of her voice and imagine she was the actual woman he wanted.

Right.

She’d kissed wrong.  Smelled wrong.  She hadn’t fallen to pieces when he’d grabbed her hair.  She’d called him daddy and asked if he liked that.

No—he’d hated it.  He’d always hated that shit.

“Don’t call me that.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m not your father, that’s why.”

“Neither is my ACTUAL father.”

“Sorry to hear that.”

He’d pushed her off his lap the second she’d gone for his zipper.  Apparently, he couldn’t stand anyone touching him other than his girl.  Sig’s kinks actively turned him on—they didn’t give him temporary erectile dysfunction, for fuck’s sake.  So, he’d gone home alone, unzipped his trousers alone, and watched private videos he’d taken of Sig on his phone.

Alone.

But he wasn’t alone now.  He was actually holding her, smelling her, feeling her, clinging to her.  He must have accidentally sold his soul to some evil force, because she was clinging to him too, and she felt too perfect in his arms to be real.  The writing had to be on the wall somewhere.  Something wicked had to be coming this way.  But damn, he’d take it.  Evil, wrong, sinful, damnable—any of it.  All of it.  He didn’t care.  He just wanted her back.  And he was going to keep her this time.  If she let him.

Sigyn pulled on his neck with all the strength in her arm, trying so hard to pull him closer, which was impossible (with their clothes on at least).   She couldn’t believe this was happening.  Loki was in her apartment.  He was sliding his hand from her waist down over her hip and lower.  His fingertips were grazing her skin just under the hemline of her dress.  The only thing that could make this moment better would be having his lips on hers.  No other man in the universe could kiss like him.  She didn’t need to try it with anyone new to know that.  He was practically squeezing the life out of her, but his face was still buried in her neck, and it was the most maddening tease ever.

They hadn’t addressed anything about October, about what the hell had gone wrong, and kissing him again without talking first, without knowing that his heart was still in this—that he wanted to stay this time—was probably so so SO stupid, but screw it.  She wouldn’t be able to form words beyond “oh god” or “yes” or random cursing at this point anyway.  Just when she thought she would have to scream at him to kiss her already, he lifted his head away from her throat, and swooped down, pulling her bottom lip between his.  A split second later, he sank his tongue into her open mouth.

!!!!!!

Eyes rolling back so far inside her skull, they might never right themselves, she kissed him back like she couldn’t breathe without the air from his lungs, her body giving those blasted fireworks outside a run for their money.  Honestly, the timing of those explosions out there was absurdly spot on.  What was this, a goddamn movie?  She would fall to the ground right here if he weren’t holding her up.

Being with her again like this, licking into her mouth as far as he could without choking her (god that was quite the image), was making it hard for him to breathe, but he didn’t care.  He’d been going out of his mind with this agonizing need to taste what he’d been missing for an unbearably hellish three months, and he absolutely could not take another second with these god-awful clothes keeping her from him.  He pulled her hair harder, and she stopped kissing him, breathing heavily against his mouth, and letting out a moan that made his hips jerk forward of their own will.

Bloody hell, his dick was about to tear apart the fly of these three hundred-dollar jeans because she was pushing against him harder, resuming what felt like an all-out assault on his mouth.  Seriously, his trousers were not going to survive.  He needed to calm down, or he wouldn’t last another five minutes.  Could one die from embarrassment?—what an utterly pathetic way to go.  He could see the obituary now:

Loki Odinson, 36. Found dead in ex-girlfriend’s apartment on 01/01/20 at 12:24am. Cause of death: Sudden cardiac arrest. Comments: His time came too soon.

Pulling away from her mouth, he blinked several times, breathing in and out slowly, then leaned his forehead down to hers and lowered his stance to be at her height.  Once he’d had a few more seconds to collect himself, he slid his hand up from the back of her thigh to that fucking gorgeous curve at the top of it.  Bless this short dress for moving aside so easily, and those heels for giving his girl the extra height, making it less awkward to hook his hand under her knee and bring her thigh up over his hip as he started kissing her again.

“Loki,” she struggled to say his name between the opening and closing of his mouth over hers, pushing up onto the toe of her heel that was still planted on firm ground, trying to get better leverage.

“You’re…too—” she stopped abruptly, gasping at the rough feel of his jeans against her.  God damn, it was making the throbbing between her legs so much more unbearable.

“I’m too what?” he asked, voice straining.

She let out another little moan, her head falling back. “Tall…you’re too tall.”

He smirked a little.  His ego never failed to appreciate being reminded of his height.

“I can fix that,” he breathed, bending down to grab her ass with both hands, and hoisting her up.  Her legs automatically wound around his waist as he walked the short distance to her bed.

Please let me inside you.

He would get on his knees and beg if she wanted him to.  Did she want him to write another book for her?  He would do it.  He would do anything.

Clinging to his shoulders, she locked her ankles behind him, forcing him to stay attached to her as he bent over to drop her on her bed.  Sliding one of his hands from her thigh up to the base of her spine, and pushing the other into the mattress for leverage, he lifted her a few inches off the duvet so he could easily pull her body away from the edge.

He was not going to rush through this.  Rapid, clothes flying, desperate sex with his girl would not be enough—not even close—so he started a deliberate, slow grind between her legs.  His mouth fell open, breathing hard as she arched up into him.  Seeing her bite her lip and throw her head back like this was stroking his ego more than the “you’re so TALL, Loki” thing.  They still had their clothes on, yet she was moaning and gasping like she was two seconds from an orgasm.

Wait until I pull that gorgeous dress off, love.

He slid his hand under her neck, unhooking the top of her dress.  Oh, so carefully, he dragged the zipper down…

down…

down…

down…

Sigyn bit her lip, her breathing speeding up, chest rising and falling faster beneath him as the slow slide of his fingers exposed more and more of her skin.

Oh, dying stars above—

With the way he’d lunged at her, she’d assumed he would tear this dress off, but he was being so gentle.  She should have known that Loki, of all people, would recognize a four-thousand-dollar Saint Laurent mini and handle it like a rare work of art.  He would probably even take it to the dry cleaners for her after this, ordering them to handle it with great care because—oh she could hear him now—“these are micro studs and this is a silk lining and it was made in FRANCE, for pity’s sake.”

At least he would have done that when they were a couple, but now…?

Don’t go there. Just focus on the incredible drag of his perfect hips between your legs.

Back and forth…

Up and down…

Over…

and over…

and over…

and over…

and over…

God damn, I am REELING.

The underside of his Adam’s apple, what little of it was visible beneath the somewhat high neck of his pullover hovered over her face, and she let go of the back of his head to tug the fabric lower, giving her mouth access to the dip in his collar bones.  His responding sharp inhale—a suffocating, nearly pained sound—made her scared for a second that she’d accidentally choked him with his shirt collar.

“Sweetheart…Sig… god…” he exhaled, his teeth digging into his bottom lip.

Eyes widening, she blinked.  Had he just—

Sweetheart?

He’d only used that term of endearment after he told her he loved her the first time, so…calling her that was either just a hard habit to break, or he still meant it.  Or maybe both…?  Good lord, she needed to stop overthinking this and just be present with him.  This moment deserved her full attention.  He deserved her full attention, so she was going to give it to him.

She closed her eyes and leaned in, the tip of her tongue darting out before closing her lips over his smooth, freshly shaved, sensitive skin.  He made that same toe-curling sound again, pressing her further into the mattress with each roll of those divine narrow hips between her now shaking legs.  Son of a bitch, she was about to beg him to take his trousers off.

Hissing as her mouth and teeth gently skimmed over his throat, Loki slid one hand underneath the front of her dress.  Oh god, yes—she wasn’t wearing a bra.  He’d assumed as much because the neckline plunged all the way to her waist, but it was thrilling to know for sure that she’d forgone the extra layer of fabric.  One less hurdle to jump over to get to two stunning parts of his girl’s body.  She moaned loudly, arching up into his hand.  Then he replaced his hand with his mouth, and she whined his name.  He looked up from under his brow to watch her as she writhed underneath him. 

Dammit, she IS trying to kill me—her head pressing into the pillow, neck pulling taut, panting through her open mouth as she pulled on his neck, tugging him closer.  He would have kept his eyes on her, but it was impossible to not suddenly be aware of something else from the corner of his eye.

She felt him laugh quietly, a deep, gravelly rumble against her skin, and her head popped right up to look down at him.  Eyebrows knitting together, she blew out a heavy breath.  Why the hell was he laughing?  What could possibly be amusing about this?  When she was half naked and vulnerable, giving him every little broken piece of her?

“Something funny?” she asked, her voice shaking.

Calm down.  Your fingers probably tickled his neck or something.  Nothing more.

He lifted his head, letting his chin rest on her chest, and arched one dark eyebrow.  His eyes moved from her face toward the window to her right, where bursts of light continued to flash every ten or so seconds.  She followed his line of sight, wondering if a gigantic pigeon had landed on the fire escape, staring at him with a ridiculously cocked head or something.

OH.

Nope, not a pigeon.  Something far more sinister had distracted him.  Her mouth fell into an open smile then, and she let out a bark of a laugh, then covered her face with her hands.

“Hello, Sketch,” Loki said, smirking at her cat, curled up on the green chair right next to them.  Still smirking, he slid his gaze to hers again, and she shook her head, pressing her lips together.

“His presence might have slipped my mind,” she snorted, covering her mouth to hide the embarrassing sound.

Loki hummed quietly, sliding back up her body, and pulled her hand away from her mouth.  He dropped his lips to hers in his version of a chaste kiss, which was still not safe for work, then pushed up to his knees and carefully disentangled himself from her legs.  She closed her thighs instinctively as he stepped sideways off her bed and watched him bend down in front of Sketch.

“If it wouldn’t be too imposing,” he kept his voice low, reaching up and gently laying his hand on her cat’s back, his thumb running in soothing circles over his soft, black furry head, “may we have the room please?”

He smiled when Sketch leaned into his thumb, purring heavily, then he looked back up at Sigyn.  Giving her a little heart-stopping wink, he gently picked Sketch up, holding him against his shoulder and rose to his feet.  She chewed her lip, her stomach doing giddy flips at the sight of Loki handling her cat just like he had when they’d been together—like nothing had changed, like he was back and wasn’t going anywhere, like he was committed to her no matter what.  Like he would never get enough—“Hello, my name is Loki, and I am an addict.”

She watched him walk out of her room, presumably to set her cat on her couch.  The insecure voice in her head started talking again, telling her that he was just here to get his New Year’s fix.  He was three months sober, and he would leave in a few hours to try to get clean again.  Maybe he could hold off for six months next time.

Face it, you’re just a helluva drug, hon.

Suddenly feeling too vulnerable, both emotionally and physically, she readjusted the top of her dress, covering herself again.  She sat up, pulling her knees to her chest, her arms wrapping around them.  Sketch mewed several times on the other side of the wall, and she nervously reached for her phone, which had somehow ended up on her bed.  How she managed to not drop it when Loki first grabbed her or, more shocking, when he picked her up and brought her to her bed, she would never know.  Pulling up her music app, she found her favorite playlist and held it over the HomePod Bluetooth speaker on her bedside table.  Maybe the sound would be loud enough to shut up the voice in her head.  She looked up when Loki came back into her bedroom, a frown on his stupidly handsome face as he skirted the edge of her bed.

“What are you—”

“Taking this chair into your living room for him so he’ll stop bloody meowing,” he cut her off, squatting down to grab the underside of the chair and lifting it, keeping it close to his stomach as he stood upright.

Her eyes went a bit wide as she watched him take it out of the room, effortlessly avoiding knocking it into her dresser or scraping it against the wall.  Wow, those incessant gym sessions really paid off, didn’t they.  The thing weighed a hundred pounds, which was definitely less than her weight, but still, it was an awkward, wide piece of furniture that wouldn’t exactly wrap itself around him and make the task of carrying it easy for him.

It was highly disappointing that he hadn’t taken his shirt off first, especially since he’d apparently removed his boots and socks while he was in there trying to calm Sketch down.  If he was going to take those off, why not remove the shirt as well?  Her eyes glazed over, getting lost in a little fantasy about him lifting heavy items of all kinds while half naked, wearing nothing but his jeans.  Maybe she could convince him to move her fridge or something.  Those broad shoulders, those lean arms, those back muscles that tapered perfectly to his narrow waist—

“There we go,” his sudden voice made her jump, and she let out a shriek that made him jump as he walked in once again.

Closing her doors behind him, his eyebrows shot up his forehead. “You alright?”

Why was she sitting like that?  With her dress back in place?  Curled up with her legs tucked in front of her, shielding her from his sight?

Oh shit.

His stomach twisted uncomfortably.  He could handle slowing down on the heavy petting if that’s what she needed, but if she told him to leave, he would…what the hell would he even do?  Was he just supposed to go back home?  Back to feeling like he was suffocating every second of his miserable existence?

I’ll sleep on the couch.  It’s too small and cramped, but I’ll do it.  Just don’t tell me to go.

Anxiety clawed at his chest, and he scratched the back of his neck.

“It’s okay…obviously…if you’re not alright with…this,” he swallowed the lump in his throat, gesturing vaguely to the bed. “I won’t be angry with you.”

Just myself.

Even in the dim light, he could see her trembling.  Heaven help him, he ached to wrap his arms around her, to protect her from whatever it was that had her shaking like a leaf.  He took a small, hesitant step toward her, hoping he wasn’t the reason she looked so goddamn scared.

“No, I’m not alright, Loki,” she admitted quietly, wiping away a tear sliding down her cheek with the back of her hand.

Oh, for god’s sake, would she ever not cry around him?!  It made her feel like the most pathetic waste of space.  Loki had come back to her after three months, and rather than get hot and heavy, she was just…heavy.  She dragged everything around her to the ground, didn’t she.  She was in agony without him, but she wouldn’t be able to fault him for leaving now.

So much for convincing him you’re worth staying for, hon.

“Tell me what to do, sweetheart,” he whispered, pulling his hands down his face, then dropping them heavily and shaking his head, “because I can’t stand this anymore.”

“Stand what?” she asked, eyeing him carefully.

He looked so nervous, and he’d called her sweetheart again.  Her heart was pounding, and if it had a voice, it would be swearing that it couldn’t keep beating without him.

“I can’t stand living without you…” Loki answered, his voice fading out like the end of a song despite wanting to say so much more.

She blinked at him, her pounding heart stuttering to a halt as he took another small step toward her.

“I… I think…I think I heard you wrong,” she barely managed to speak.

Tilting his head, looking her up and down, he moved closer still.

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

Her heart was working again—too hard.  It was overdrive now.  She might have said “oh fuck me” or maybe it was “Lo-ki” or possibly “LO, fuck me” but whatever it was spilled out of her mouth in a rush of air that pushed the loose strands of hair out of his face.  His hands were on her knees, and she looked down at them momentarily, watching his thumbs make circles on her skin.  Then she lifted her eyes to his again, and she released her nervous hold on her legs, letting him push her knees apart and move between them again.  Reaching for his face, she dragged him to her mouth.  He pressed into her, kissing her carefully, as though he was afraid she didn’t really want him to.  So wrong—she wanted him to kiss her even harder than he had in front of her door.  His lips were moving so lightly over hers.  It was so unlike him to not use his tongue at all.  She must have really freaked him out.

Kind of like you did most of 2019, hon…

NEW YEAR SAME HABIT CONTINUES IN CHAPTER FOUR: WRITTEN IN THE DYING STARS

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 THREE FEATURED MUSIC:

“It Won’t Kill Ya“ by The Chainsmokers ft. Louane

“Sober“ by Niykee Heaton

THEME SONGS:

“Talk Fast“ by 5 Seconds of Summer (for Loki)

“Roman Holiday“ by Halsey (for Sig)

What Readers Have Said

About CH 3 “A Helluva Drug”

“This tease of them in the present day is just perfect! I know the road isn’t going to be smooth, but I can’t wait to see these two realize it’s easier if they travel it together. Loved loved loved it all!!”

-OhTheObsessions, on CH 3 “A Helluva Drug” (AO3)

“This is definitely not trash – I’m trash for this. This was AMAZING.”

-Burningarbitterheart, on CH 3 “A Helluva Drug” (AO3)

“I can’t wait to read more about their present, I mean, reading how they broke up for a while is going to make me cry definitely, so I will enjoy the reunion gift.”

-Bullla, on CH 3 “A Helluva Drug” (AO3)

“You have the perfect amount of tension and suspense. These two together are so HOT!”

-Mischief76, on CH 3 “A Helluva Drug” (AO3)

“The joy at seeing an update of this in my inbox was unreal. And this was one hell of a third chapter. The suspense.. waiting for them both to say or do something, getting to see their inner thoughts and worries in this most important moment… Absolutely spectacular.”

-DevilishDoll, on CH 3 “A Helluva Drug” (AO3)