The Myriad Misadventures of a Midgardian Queen-In-Training || Loki x Reader

Chapter 37

In spite of the headache, the crazy sleep deprivation, and the copious amounts of coffee, you find yourself smiling the entire time you spend travelling, from the palace to the train to the car, through throngs of paparazzi and fans and everything in between, the memory of last night held close to your chest.

Before you left, you and Loki spent hours talking, until your throats both dried out, and even after that, and then finally sitting in silence. At some point you realized his hand was in yours. Neither of you pointed it out, not even when you had to let go and say goodbye. A simple memory, but a happy one.

The part that has you glowing even now was at the very end. When he helped you zip up your suitcase and put on your coat. When he walked you the five feet from your bed to the door, and, before opening it, leaned in and pressed his lips against your forehead, before vanishing just before Meg opened the door to help you with your things.

Your cheeks are still flushed, it seems, heart still racing, for a long time after. Eventually, though, the familiar dread sinks in again as you remember what lies ahead.

You spend a good amount of the trip pondering the immediate future, planning out conversations, gestures, hugs and goodbyes and answers to questions you aren't quite sure of yourself. But when the car finally pulls over, and one of your personal guards steps out to help you out on to the far-yet-familiar sidewalk, your mind empties at once.

You remember the last time you walked down this path. You know that mailbox, that lawn, the white siding and mossy roof, the tire swing hanging from the tree of the house next door. If you paused to look around more thoroughly, you are certain you'd see little eyes staring back, noses pressed against glass, the neighbors as nosy and unabashed as they were when you'd left.

You know this door. The dark green paint must have been refreshed since you left, but you recognize the peephole and the same familiar dent just above the knob. It takes no small effort to raise your hand to the door, but you cannot get yourself to touch it. Not yet. All of the lessons and etiquette and pretty dresses in the world could not have prepared you for this moment.

Breathe. Breathe.

You knock.

The door swings open. "Hey, kiddo."

Forgetting all sense of propriety, you hurl yourself towards him. Between the kitten heels and the growth spurt you must have had sometimes in the past two years, your face lands in his shoulder, higher than it used to. But you still feel small—tiny, really—and so, so young.

"You're home," you mumble into his sweater. It's not one you recognize, but it smells like home, like leaves and pencil shavings and the same laundry detergent Mom has used since before you were born. "You're here."

Erik laughs. "I live a few hours away, I could come back every weekend if I wanted. If I recall correctly, you were the one who hasn't been back in two years."

You feel jittery, though you aren't sure if it's the coffee or the nervousness. Probably both. "Shut up," you chuckle, pulling back and willing yourself not to cry.

That effort fails almost immediately when you pull back and see Mom walk up behind him.

Pushing past Erik, you let her envelop you in her arms in a way that you surely would have deemed "embarrassing" only a few years ago. She's murmuring something. After a few seconds you register what it is she's saying: "My baby, my baby, my baby..."

You pull back first. "Dad's at work?"

"And Carlie's at school."

Her words are directed to you, but her eyes are fixed on the the small entourage behind you. "Sorry, Mom, this Rodney and Charles. They're the security detail assigned to me for the trip."

"Oh."

She doesn't move.

You look back and forth between her and the guards a few times. "Is it...is it okay if they come inside? They aren't armed or anything. It's just protocol." Still she doesn't respond. "Mom?"

"No."