"My Hellequin, my Valkyrie," Loki murmurs with quiet affection. "Harley is utterly unique. There is more to her than she shows; I'll be very surprised if you do not like her, whether attraction is a part of that or not."
"And you may have to like Ian from afar, or by reputation, but if you had heard some of the sweeter things he's said to me, you would understand why I want him so much. He is a chaotician. He compared me to the Butterfly Effect, and I was so touched I could scarcely respond."
Her eyes are misty, and it's hard to tell exactly what's set off that sentimental streak, until she sits beside him. Part of her is tempted to just settle directly into his lap, but she has a feeling that would divert them from conversation. Instead, she curls against his side like she's unwilling for there to be a molecule of air between them.
"I don't think I realized it meant quite that much to you," she says. "That conversation we had. I could feel it was important, but..."
She rubs her hand over her forehead, pushing back some of the loose, inky locks around her face. "I didn't do it for that. I was only being myself."
There is something akin to a minor existential crisis going on here, if such a thing can be an utterly positive experience. Loki looks dazed. It's a strange thing to have spent so much of her life struggling to earn love she thought she had to prove herself worthy of, to give up on the task utterly in the most violent way possible, and to come out the other side determined to be the best Loki she could be and damn the consequences--and to hear here and now that that Loki, that simple instinct to sympathize with those most like herself--that Loki is worthy of all this lavish affection and protective tenderness.
Part of her wants to burst into tears.
"I never get cold," she says, "but put your arm around me anyway?"
And she looks up at the sky overhead, searching the glittering stars. "Sometimes you can see whales going past, in the Nexus skies. Some of them fly here. They're beautiful."
She scrubs her sleeve across her face and tilts her head against him.
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"And you may have to like Ian from afar, or by reputation, but if you had heard some of the sweeter things he's said to me, you would understand why I want him so much. He is a chaotician. He compared me to the Butterfly Effect, and I was so touched I could scarcely respond."
Her eyes are misty, and it's hard to tell exactly what's set off that sentimental streak, until she sits beside him. Part of her is tempted to just settle directly into his lap, but she has a feeling that would divert them from conversation. Instead, she curls against his side like she's unwilling for there to be a molecule of air between them.
"I don't think I realized it meant quite that much to you," she says. "That conversation we had. I could feel it was important, but..."
She rubs her hand over her forehead, pushing back some of the loose, inky locks around her face. "I didn't do it for that. I was only being myself."
There is something akin to a minor existential crisis going on here, if such a thing can be an utterly positive experience. Loki looks dazed. It's a strange thing to have spent so much of her life struggling to earn love she thought she had to prove herself worthy of, to give up on the task utterly in the most violent way possible, and to come out the other side determined to be the best Loki she could be and damn the consequences--and to hear here and now that that Loki, that simple instinct to sympathize with those most like herself--that Loki is worthy of all this lavish affection and protective tenderness.
Part of her wants to burst into tears.
"I never get cold," she says, "but put your arm around me anyway?"
And she looks up at the sky overhead, searching the glittering stars. "Sometimes you can see whales going past, in the Nexus skies. Some of them fly here. They're beautiful."
She scrubs her sleeve across her face and tilts her head against him.