Asgardians and Jotnarr have much denser tissues than humans, and Jotnarr in particular are made for harsh temperatures and winds strong enough to shred tender skin. In this form, he's very sturdy; more so, probably, than Megatron expects. Still, gentleness is never a bad thing, and Loki's fingers curl around the other's with similar care. (He's cold. That probably doesn't harm metal, but he's painfully aware of it.)

"I tried to kill my brother more than once," he says. "Even after he begged me to come home with him." He squeezes his hand gently. "Once you meet Thor, you'll see, that's like kicking a puppy."

How many times has Loki told himself all he really wanted was just a little bit of compassion? And now here he is, with the opportunity to give--to be what he needed, himself. There's something strangely satisfying about that. Something's come full circle.

He makes a small gesture in the air, pulling a cloth towel out of the pocket dimension where he keeps things. It works out to about the size of a handkerchief in his current shape, and he presses it into Megatron's hand gently.

"Have you ever seen frost flowers?" he asks.