Archive of Our Own ^beta

There were several good things about going to a small college in the middle of nowhere, Maine. Not having to be near his family, the ability to ignore his brother’s calls, being able to go by his birth surname instead of his adopted one, a consequence of which is that no one knows who he is. All of those? Good things. 

Bad things? Loki couldn't bring himself to talk to any of his classmates - for being a liberal arts college, Loki hardly felt like he can relate to any of them. 

The worst thing, however, was the absolutely dismal size of the library. Only one copy each of his favorite works; Shakespeare’s histories. Only one Richard II, only one Henry IV Part I, only one single, solitary copy of Henry V. 

There were at least ten copies of all the common plays, as Loki called them. The ones people always studied. Romeo and Juliet , Loki thought with a sneer, and Hamlet. Merchant of Venice of course. Julius Caesar. The only history that had multiple copies was Richard III, which Loki avoided as an act of self preservation; the less attractive younger son always overlooked for his prettier, stronger brother felt a little too true to life. 

Whilst, yes, Richard was likely wrongly maligned by history (Sigyn’s voice in his head was yelling, “Tudor propaganda!”), the topic still felt touchy. 

So that one was out. 

Loki walked into the library on a too-hot September day in the beginning of his junior year at the Carter College of Literature and the Arts (itself the founding place of what would one day become SHIELD University) with only enough assignments to keep him busy for an hour. He packed up all but his notebook and some pencils, and stood up briefly to go see if whatever vile wretch that had borrowed Henry IV Part I had been bothered to put it back yet. 

He did not find the book, but on the other side of the bookshelf there was a small set of chairs, where students could routinely be caught napping. Today, however, two of the seats were occupied by two very awake persons. 

The one facing Loki was one that he was quite familiar with; Natalie Rushman had taken his Russian literature class last semester, and they had both battled bitterly for the top grade. Loki smirked at the memory of the day he learned that he had succeeded. 

Loki was unable to identify the other person by the back of their head. The person looked masculine, but looks can be deceiving. Blonde hair that gave the distinct impression of too many months of too few haircuts, wide shoulders, and somehow dwarfing the entire (delectable, if he was honest, which was rarely) large figure in an even bigger flannel shirt. There were paint splatters on the shoulders and some at the ends, like this person had a habit of wiping their hands on their shirt. 

An art student. How wonderful. 

Sarcasm, of course. Those ridiculous types always arguing about which shade of cerulean was best for whatever inane art installation that would inevitably one day get them thrown in jail. One could vomit. 

However, on the little table off to the side, Loki could see it: his beloved Prince Hal. 

He sighed softly. Part II was probably around here somewhere, but Part I really was his favorite. He wondered for a moment if he could just slip over and grab it, but Rushman would undoubtedly notice him, even if her stupid friend didn't. 

“Steve,” she said, “I just don't see what the big deal is. You don't have to do this.”

“I know,” Steve replied in a deep, tuneful voice, “but I-”

“‘But I'm Steve Rogers and I don't know how to back down from a challenge.’”

Steve sighed. “I'm already past the first three. It'll give me something to do in my spare time, which is, I will remind you, something you have been bugging me to do for three years.”

“Yeah, but I meant for you to join a club, or make the football team worth watching.”

Loki suppressed a snort. No one in the school could even tell you why they had a football team, and it was notoriously awful. 

“Maybe I will, now that Rumlow’s gone.”

“He is? Praise be, he was the worst.”

“Yeah, he got expelled. Don't know why, there's lots of rumors. But maybe I will. It would give me a reason to keep working out.”

“Steve, you'll keep working out anyway.”

“Yeah, but when people ask why, I can say it's for the football team and not that if I don't keep my body in top condition it might start to eat itself alive.”

Natalie sighed, and placed a sympathetic hand on Steve’s arm.

He patted her hand, and gave her a rueful smile. “And then I wouldn't have time for Shakespeare, which for some reason, would make you happy.”

“I don't want you to have anything in common with that awful Fabruti guy in my Russian lit class.”

“Nat, he can't be that bad.”

“‘I'm Steve Rogers, and I always want to believe the best in people,’” Natalie mocked again. 

“Natasha.”

“He stole my top grade, Steve.”

“Have you considered that he also worked his ass off for it?”

Loki smiled a little vindictively. 

“No, he's some spoiled rich boy from Chicago who's never worked for anything in his life.”

Loki blanched. How did she know where he was from? It wasn't like he had an accent. He'd been accepted into a boarding school in the British Isles when he was young, and hadn't let himself drop that accent. 

“So you think the school is just giving him good grades?”

Natalie (or was it Natasha? Steve had called her Natasha) crossed her arms. “No I don't Steve, but just let me be angry about this one.”

Steve held his hands up in mock surrender. “Okay. But tryouts aren't for another month, and I'm at least finishing the two Henry IV plays.”

Well, at least the stupid dolt knew that there were two, although that wasn't much because they were next to each other on the shelf, clearly labeled I and II. 

“How do you like it so far?” Natalie asked.

“It's really good. I'd love to see it performed live. There are so many different ways the characters could go. Is Hal genuinely nervous about being king, or is he carefully calculating his public figure? Does Hotspur just hate him, or is he jealous? Does Hal actually like Falstaff, or is he just using him for a quick laugh? Are Hal and Poins doing it?”

Loki scoffed, but quickly covered it with a soft cough, and grabbed a random book off of the shelf. 

“Hal and Poins are not doing it,” he whispered to himself as he walked back to his seat. 

He'd grabbed...Oscar Wilde. Not a bad read, but it wasn't to sort of comfort-read he had been looking forward too. Besides, The Importance of Being Ernest was overrated anyway, and it only made him think of that awful movie. Honestly, Colin Firth in those glasses, what were they thinking. 

He pretended to take notes on it anyway, so that the librarian wouldn't kick him out. He hadn't been able to determine whether she adored him of despised him.

He spotted Steve and Natalie leave, and he keeps his tread light as he walks back over to the area they had been seated at. 

Steve had left the book on the table. What an idiot. 

Loki picked it up, and a pencil dropped out. Loki drew in a deep breath. If that muscle bound Neanderthal had scribbled in a library book, Loki was going to slaughter him. 

But no, there were several scraps of paper shoved in as bookmarks. Some had little notes on them - ‘Dude, chill’ was written on a piece tucked between the pages of one of Hotspur’s monologues, and Loki repressed a snort - and some had bored drawings. A crown, a sword. They were, admittedly, quite good. Loki sighed. What he wanted to do was dump the silly papers in the garbage and check the book out himself. The good thing to to would be to leave it be. At least Steve hadn't drawn in the book. Loki huffed, and left it. 

The next day, Steve was back in the library. Loki peaked up at him as he entered. His grey shirt read ‘ To be or not to be, that is the question,’ though the shirt was stretched across his chest and looked fit to burst at the seems. Loki rolled his eyes. Hamlet. How pedestrian. 

After he had finished his homework for the day - he didn't keep his 4.0 average by slacking off, thank you very much, he did work for things, Ms. Rushman - he wandered back over to the plays. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Steve sitting on the window sill, a notebook open, pencil in hand, and Part II in his lap. So he'd finished the first one, then. He scribbled a long note, tore off the section of paper it was written on, and placed it in the book. Loki picked up Henry V. He walked around the shelf, and sat down on one of the chairs. 

Steve looked up as he sat down in the squeaking chair. When Loki caught his eye, Steve smiled, a little shy, but brightly enough to shame the sun. 

Loki just nodded in return. 

They sat in silence for a good hour. When Loki stood to leave, Steve gave him a soft, yet genuine sounding, ‘goodnight.’

Loki had better control over himself than to stumble, but it was a near thing. 

The library was closed on Sundays, so instead Loki found himself drinking subpar coffee at a local cafe. He had a table all to himself thankfully. 

Or he did, until Steve Rogers came up to the table with a hot drink in hand, bag over his shoulder and - were those glasses?

“Yes?” Loki asked. 

“Hi, uh, I'm Steve Rogers.”

“Loki Fabruti.”

“Nice to meet you. I mean, we kinda already met, yesterday, at the library-”

“Did you have a point here?”

Steve blushed, his fair skin not hiding anything. “Every other table is full, and I thought it'd be worth it to at least ask if I could sit with you. May I?”

Loki sighed, and gestured towards the empty seat. 

Steve exhaled. “Thank you so much, I promise I won't bother you, I just couldn't stay in my apartment another minute.”

“Why?” Loki found himself asking, even though he doesn't care. 

Steve blushed again. “My roommate’s boyfriend is visiting.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Normally I'd go to the library, but-”

“It's closed,” Loki finished with him. 

“I won't bother you anymore. Thanks again, Loki.”

A fair amount of time passed - Loki wasn't good at gauging such things - before Loki looked up at Steve. He wasn't reading Shakespeare today; instead there was a large textbook sitting in front of him, notebook next to it and pencils and highlighters scattered around Steve’s space. 

“Why do you call Natalie Natasha?”

“Huh? Oh. Natasha is her name. Or, well, Natalia is. She prefers Natalie for academic environments, because it's more ‘American,’” Steve said as though reciting from a script, “but Natasha is what she goes by casually.”

“Why?”

Steve shrugged. “With Nat, I generally don't ask.”

Loki huffed. “No Shakespeare today?”

Steve blushed. “Noticed that, huh? No, I've got homework I need to do. The Shakespeare is a side thing.”

“Why?”

“I was telling a friend about how I think that Hamlet is Shakespeare’s best work. He said I had to read all of them to really know that. So I'm reading all of them.”

Loki scoffed. 

“What?” Steve asked, offended. 

“Hamlet is just so, so-”

“So what?”

“Average. It's so normal. Everyone knows Hamlet.”

“That's because everyone studies it because it's the best.”

Loki took sip of his tepid drink, and slammed it down perhaps harder than necessary. “I suppose you like Romeo and Juliet as well.”

“What's wrong with Romeo and Juliet?”

“King Lear, too, then.”

“No, King Lear is bad. But what's wrong with R&J? It's a classic!”

“Steve, sometimes classic just means ‘old.’”

“Well what's your favorite, then?”

“Henry IV Part I.”

“I finished that a few days ago. It was alright.”

“How can you say it was only alright?!” Loki demands, sitting up straighter in his chair. 

“I mean,” Steve said smugly, raising his cup to his lips. “It's no Hamlet.”

Loki made a disgusted noise. “How can you possibly like Hamlet? There is not one interesting thing about it.”

“What?” Steve said, now also mad. “Would you prefer I list them alphabetically or chronologically?”

“I recognize that meme, don't think your better than me just because you speak the language of every other person here.”

“I don't think I'm better than you, Loki. You asked my opinion, you've asked me questions, and you haven't given me the chance to answer them.”

Loki glanced at his watch. “I have to get going, anyway.” Sigyn would probably be calling him soon. 

“Loki, wait-”

“I wish I could say it was nice talking to you,” Loki interjected, gathering his things and dropping his cup in the trash. 

“He's so normal,” Loki sneered into the phone. “He likes Hamlet.”

“A lot of people like Hamlet,” Sigyn replied, bored. 

“A lot of people are fucking imbeciles.”

Sigyn sighed. “Loki, it sounds like he wants to talk to you. Maybe you should try retracting your quills for a few minutes. He might be interesting.”

“And what could I possibly do with him?”

“Have a friend that isn't me?” Sigyn asked. “Loki, seriously. This isn't healthy. Make friends.”

“I'm not the friendly type. You only talk to me out of some twisted sense of obligation from having gone to school with me.”

Sigyn sighed. “Get a therapist,” she said, before hanging up. 

Loki tossed his phone on his bed. His roommate was out at some ridiculous party. Loki grabbed his laptop and flopped on his bed. He tried to pay attention as he streamed The Hollow Crown, but his mind kept wandering back to Steve Rogers’ earnest expression when he'd asked Loki’s opinion. Like he really, truly cared to know what Loki thought. 

He closed his laptop with a huff, placing it on his bedside table and climbing under the covers, too angry to sleep but too distracted by Steve Rogers’ wrong opinions to do anything else. 

On Monday, Loki didn't make it to the library on account of having classes. When he'd went to it afterwards, he'd seen a sign proclaiming it to be closed. He'd texted Sigyn about it, and it was at her suggestion that he had ended up at the school gym. 

He had some music queued on his phone - a standard workout playlist from an app - an old t-shirt, and pair of shorts he usually reserved for sleeping, and a water bottle. 

Steve Rogers was there, because of course he was. 

Loki tried to ignore him, but when he went to refill his water, guess who was standing there doing the exact same thing. 

“Loki, I’m sorry if I upset you yesterday, I never meant to do that.”

Loki gritted his teeth and swallowed his pride. “It's alright. I promise I didn't leave because I was mad. I have a friend who lives in England. She calls every Sunday afternoon.”

“Oh,” Steve said. “Well, if you ever do wanna let me answer your questions, you know where to find me.”

“The library, the gym, or the cafe. That's too many places to look. Just give me your number.”

Steve blushed but smiled a little, imputing his number into Loki’s phone. He (thankfully) hadn't added any emojis near his name. Steve Rogers. Simple, just like the man himself. 

“Afraid it's mine turn to leave. I'm meeting my friends and we're having a movie night. Unless...would you wanna come? We're probably watching something ‘nostalgic,’ as Nat puts it.”

“I don't think she would want me there.”

“Because of the Russian Lit thing?”

“Yes.”

“Well lucky for you it's in my apartment, so she can't say anything about it.”

“Is your roommate’s boyfriend gone, then?”

“Oh, yeah, Riley left this morning, so Sam’s a little mopey. Honestly, having someone new to talk too would cheer him up.”

Loki clenched his stomach muscles. “Sure,” he agreed, even though he didn't want too. “Just let me go back to mine and shower. Text me address?”

“Yeah. Don't worry, movie won't start will like, 9. I'm just going early to make sure that the place is presentable. What kind of pizza do you like?”

Loki hesitated. His family had never been pizza eaters. Odin had thought it below him. 

“I mean,” Steve said, sensing Loki’s discomfort, “I'm going to get some of everything anyway. Even pineapple, because Nat’s boyfriend is weird.”

“Mayhaps I'll meet this friend of yours with the better taste?”

Steve rolled his eyes. “I'm pretty sure Tony hadn't ever read Shakespeare. He just likes arguing with me.”

“So why are you doing it?”

“Because once I've read them all I can tell him my point still stands, and he won't have a counter for it.”

Loki felt his lips quirk up. 

He did not put extra care into his appearance after his shower. Loki prided himself on looking presentable, regardless of the situation. He wasn't trying to impress anyone, least of all the easily pleased Steve Rogers. Absolutely not. Don't be absurd. 

The apartment wasn't far, so he walked. He asked the woman at the desk to let him up to the fifth floor, and when she asked which apartment he was visiting, he answered, “5-107.”

“You a friend of Steve’s, then? Or is it Sam?”

Taken aback that this woman would know their names (the woman at the desk of his own complex certainly knew him enough to give him judgmental looks as he passed), and answered without thinking, “Steve's.”

Which raised the question in his mind: were he and Steve friends? Loki wasn't sure. They'd read Shakespeare next to each other. They'd sat at the same table, and then Loki had insulted his taste. They'd bumped into each other at a water fountain, and now Loki was joining him and his friends for a movie night. Steve probably thought they were friends. 

Loki rode the elevator alone, smoothing his hands down and stealing his nerves. 

107. He knocked on the door. 

“Steeeve!” A voice called from inside. “Someone’s here! And it ain't Natasha cause she wouldn't knock.”

A muffled curse followed the words. 

Steve pulled the door open, and Loki saw that he was rather overdressed. He was wearing a collared shirt and a nice pair of jeans, while Steve was wearing sweatpants and a hoodie. 

“Hi,” Loki said, somewhat awkwardly. 

“Hey, come in,” Steve said with a large smile. “This is my best friend, Bucky.”

A man on the couch waved. 

“Sam’s back in his room doing whatever it is Sam does, Tony just texted me that he parked, Nat and Clint should be here soon, and I think that's everyone?”

Loki tried to smile. “Want something to drink? Nat normally bring the stronger stuff, but I've got kiddie drinks, as she calls them.”

“Just some water?” Loki asked, sliding his hands in his pockets for lack of better things to do. 

“Sure,” Steve said, smile still bright. “Pop a spot on the couch before Tony gets here and tries to take the whole thing.”

He then disappeared into the kitchen. It was rather spacious, for an apartment. 

“So, Loki,” Bucky started. “Where'd you meet Steve?”

“At the library.”

“Oh, you hear about his quest to finish every Shakespeare play? He read Cymbeline aloud to me in the hospital. Shit, that play is weird.”

“Yes, I did. Tony is the one that brought it up?”

“Tony's an asshole. No one remembers why we're friends with him, but no one has the heart to kick him out of the group.” Bucky caught the look on Loki’s face and smirked. “I'm just kidding. Tony’s fun, he just needs a reminder of where to draw the line, sometimes.”

Steve walked into the room with a glass of water in his hand right as the front door opened again. 

Natalie/Natasha Rushman stared him down. “Steven G Rogers, what is he doing here?”

“Nice to see you too, Nat. Loki is here because I invited him.”

“You said you were inviting friends.”

“Loki and I are friends.”

So there was that question answered. 

“And you're friends with him?”

“We spent like all day yesterday studying together.”

Bucky muttered something in a foreign language, and Natalie-Natasha laughed. Steve shot something back at them, and she laughed harder. 

She walked up to Loki with a calculated grin. “I'm willing to put the past behind us for Steve’s sake. Natasha Romanov.”

“Loki Fabruti.” 

She thrust her hand in his direction, and he shook it. 

“This is my boyfriend, Clint Barton.”

Loki cocked an eyebrow at him. “We've met.”

“We have?” Clint asked. 

“We had organic chemistry together last semester. We were lab partners for four months.”

“Oh. Did you change your hair?”

“No.”

Clint laughed awkwardly. “So, what're we watching?”

Steve sat down on the couch in between Bucky and Loki. It was a bit of a tight fit. “We're watching The Mummy and I don't want to hear any complaints.”

“We always watch The Mummy after Riley leaves,” Clint pouts, flopping on the smaller couch. Natasha sits next to him. 

“That's because it's Sam’s favorite movie and he deserves to feel better,” Steve says, something distinctly fatherly about his tone. “So we're watching it.”

“What's The Mummy?” Loki asked. 

One would have thought Loki had made the most offensive joke in the world for the way everyone in the room turned to him at once. 

“Oh,” Clint said, smirking. “Now we're definitely watching it.”

“We're waiting for Tony and Rhodey,” Steve said. “They should be here any minute with the pizza.”

“Steve, darling! Open the door! My hands are full!” A voice called from behind the door. 

“I told you,” Steve said back, “if you keep calling me darling I'm not doing anything for you ever again.”

Sam emerged from his bedroom, and opened the door. Tony Stark (whom Loki had not shared any classes with, but knew by reputation) walking into the apartment with seven pizza boxes in his arms. Someone - who must be Rhodey - walked in behind him, carrying only one. 

Steve raised an eyebrow at him. 

“He called me baby in the car,” Rhodey explained. “I told him, baby is reserved for Pepper.”

Steve laughed, an infectious sound that filled the room. Loki felt his mouth pull into a smile. 

“Who's the new kid?” Tony asked. 

“This is my new friend,” Steve answered. “Loki, meet Tony and Rhodey.”

Loki raised his left hand in greeting. 

Sam walked back into his room and pulled out pillows and blankets, and the floor became a mess of them as Steve queued up the movie. 

It wasn't a scary movie, per say. It was a little gross - bugs under the skin? Really? - and there were a few jump scares. At one near the end of the movie, after Loki had finished his drink, and his hand gripped down on - not his own thigh. 

It was Steve's thigh. Right above the knee. He stiffened, unsure how to proceed, but Steve placed his palm on top of Loki’s and tucking his fingers under Loki’s own. 

“I wasn't a fan the first time I watched this movie either,” he whispered, leaning over so that he said it right into Loki’s ear. “But once you watch it a few times, you know what to expect.”

Steve didn't let go of his hand for the rest of the movie, squeezing it occasionally to let him know when other jumps were coming. 

Loki's stomach felt funny in a way he couldn't describe. Probably just the alcohol disagreeing with him. 

After The Mummy, Clint insisted on putting on the sequel. Everyone else wanted to take a break, so Loki discretely asked Steve where the bathroom was. 

Loki looked at himself in the mirror as he washed his hands. 

When he went to grab another drink, he grabbed something much stronger this time. 

He woke up in an unfamiliar room in a bed that was certainly not his own, with all of his clothes still on, thank god. 

He sat up in the bed. It was larger than he was used to; a queen as opposed to his twin. He'd never seen the appeal of a large bed when he was the only one sleeping in it, but waking up without some of his body hanging off was nice. Loki always tossed and turned in his sleep, and he'd fallen out of his bed once or twice. 

He rubbed his eyes and looked around the room. He recognized the messenger bag hanging on the desk chair. So this was Steve's room. 

A little sparse. The desk was organized in a messy sort of way, every inch of it covered, but everything in a specific place. The dresser had a few things on top of it, all in neat rows. Bookcase, also covered but organized. The wall next to the window had a variety of pictures hanging on it in frames. Looking at them felt too much like intrusion into Steve's privacy, so Loki stood up and shook his head a little to clear it. 

His shoes were next to the bed, and he pulled them on, tying the laces. 

He walked into the living room, and Steve was asleep on the couch. 

Loki debated for a moment if he was just going to leave or if he should wake Steve's but Steve made the decision for him by grumbling himself awake. 

“Oh, hi Loki,” he said, smiling even though there were creases on his face and his hair was askew. “You fell asleep during the sequel last night, and I don't know where you live, so I figured you could just stay here.”

“Thank you, Steve.”

Steve smiled. “Coffee?”

“I really should be getting home.”

“I can give you a ride if you want.”

“No, I'm capable of walking back.” He tried not to think of the look the concierge would give him if he walked back wearing yesterday’s clothes. 

“I can lend you a change of clothes if you want.”

Loki took a second and debated which facet of his pride was more important: borrowing something from someone, or looking like he was walking back from a one night stand.

He sighed. “If you think you have anything that would fit me.”

Steve smiled. “Clint also spilled some beer on your pants, and I've got laundry to do anyway. If you want you could leave them here and I'll wash ‘em and you can come over another time and get them.”

“Thank you, Steve,” Loki said through gritted teeth.

Steve came back out. “I left it on the bed, so you can go change in there. Just leave your stuff in the basket by the dresser.”

Loki nodded. 

It was nothing Loki would have picked for himself. A pair of old-looking black jeans and a grey t-shirt. A pair of socks, as well. 

Loki pulled them on, surprised by how well they fit. The shirt as a little baggy, and the jeans a little too short, but really, it wasn't out of place with some of the things Loki had seen other people wearing around. 

He straightened after he'd put his shoes back on, and ran a hand through his hair. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror and he looked...softer, somehow. 

“Everything fit alright?” Steve asked. 

“Yes, thank you.”

“Good. You can keep those jeans if you want; they don't fit me anymore.”

“Thank you,” Loki said, even though he had no intention of ever wearing them. 

Steve pulled him in for a hug at the door and Loki stiffened. 

“Oh, I'm sorry I-” Steve started, pulling back. 

“No, it's alright, I just wasn't expecting it.”

“I should've asked first. I will next time. And you can say no if you want!”

Loki placed a hand on Steve’s shoulder. “Goodbye.”

“Bye!”

Loki walked back to his apartment. He walked past the woman at the front desk. He very much saw the once over she gave him. 

In the mirrored elevator, he looked more closely at himself. 

These were very obviously someone else’s clothes. Firstly, Loki wasn't even sure what ‘The Howling Commandos’ was. A band, probably. The jeans didn't hug his legs the way his own normally would. His hair is very rumpled. 

An alarm went off on his phone. 

Shit. 

He had class in half an hour. He'd only have time to grab his bag before darting back out to catch the bus. 

This was all Steven G Rogers’ fault, of course. Him and his insipid friends. Who has a movie night on a Monday?

On the bus, Loki checked his phone. It had dinged twice earlier as he'd rushed to get ready. 

Steve Rogers: you make it back home okay?

Steve Rogers: just, you know, checking

Loki felt his lips curl up and forced his face back into a frown. He was not going to be one of those people who smiled at their phone on the bus. 

Loki Fabruti: yes, but I was only home for a moment. I don't know how I forgot I have class on Tuesday mornings. 

Steve Rogers: oh shit, sorry. Everyone else has theirs in the afternoon on Tuesdays and thursdays, so Mondays and Wednesdays are normally our movie nights

Loki Fabruti: no, it's my own fault. I shouldn't have fallen asleep. I suppose I was just more tired than I'd realized

Steve Rogers: well, we do that just about every Monday. Youre welcome back at Chez Rogers any time :)

Loki stared at his phone, unable to formulate a response. 

He was on time for his composition class, of course. He just looked distinctly like he had not spent the night at his own home. Maria Hill looked him up and down with a raised eyebrow, took note of his shirt, and smiled to herself. 

Loki sat down at his desk far less gracefully than normal. He pulled his phone out and searched ‘the Howling commandos.’

They were a band, as it turned out. He scrolled through pictures and...apparently they were a band that Steve had been in at some point.

The professor walked in, and Loki dropped his phone into his bag, trying to focus on whatever benign topic he was to be tortured with today. 

Steve's laugh filled the empty space in his mind as it wandered. He had a 99.9% in this class. He could afford to mentally check out for just one. 

Loki kept going to movie night. After two more incidents of him falling asleep at Steve’s house, Steve had suggested that Loki bring clothes over. 

There was a small space in Steve’s closet where three of Loki’s shirts and two pairs of his trousers. 

It didn't occur to Loki that he and Steve had also taken to spending every Sunday at the cafe, every afternoon together in the library, and sometimes would watch movies, just the two of them, sat on Steve’s bed with popcorn and hard cider between them. Neither of them liked beer much. 

Late November was chilly, so when Steve slung his arm around Loki’s shoulders as they walked - it wasn't a good angle, Loki was taller than him and eventually Steve would settle his hand on Loki's waist, instead - Loki assumed he was just cold. 

It was Sunday, and Loki was sitting at their table at the cafe - having already ordered Steve's drink for him, an americano with extra espresso and caramel flavoring - when Steve sat down with a triumphant smile on his face. 

Loki raised an eyebrow at him. 

“I did it, Loke,” Steve said, because he's also started calling him by a nickname, just like all his friends (Tone, Nat, Cly, Buck, Sammie, Riles, Pegs...Loke), “I finished all of them.”

“Admirable. Do you still hold to your original point?”

“I do,” Steve said, grabbing out his books. 

“I occurs to me that I never let you answer my questions. Why do you find the inane so fascinating?”

Steve blushed, eyes downcast. “The first time I ever read it was a month after my mother died.”

Loki swallowed. “I’m sorry,” Loki reached out and took Steve’s hand, stroking his thumb over the back. 

“No, no, it's not like it was...unexpected, or anything. She was really sick. And when I was cleaning out her room for Sam to move in...I found this old copy of Hamlet. So I started reading it. And, granted, no one had murdered her, there was no grand conspiracy, and certainly no ghosts, but something about Hamlet’s grief…felt real to me, in a way that nothing else really had since she died. ‘Oh, that this too, too solid flesh would melt.’ Act I, Scene II. That one got me hard. I wanted to die, after my mother passed, Loki. I really, truly, did. But...it helped, to know that someone else had felt that way, even if it was in some story from 400 years ago.”

Loki clasped Steve's hand in both of his own. 

“And the way Hamlet described his father to his mother…that felt real, too.”

Loki's wasn't any good at comfort, so he tired for distraction. “And what of Ophelia? How can you explain Hamlet’s treatment of her? ‘Get thee to a nunnery,’ and all that?”

Steve placed his other hand around Loki's. “He knows shit’s about to hit the fan. He wants her out.”

“Why?”

“He loves her.”

Loki scoffed. 

“‘Doubt thou the stars are fire; Doubt that the sun doth move; Doubt truth to be a liar; But never doubt I love.’ Act II, Scene II.”

“He's only saying that because he wants to get into her pants, as it were.”

It was Steve's turn to scoff. “Why are you so cynical?”

“Why aren't you?”

Steve looked at him sadly. “Okay then, how about this? Ophelia’s funeral. I had to put the book down for three days after that.”

“Everyone thinks he's mad.”

“No!” Steve said, a little louder than necessary. “There was no reason for him to act that way. ‘I loved Ophelia. Forty thousand brothers could not with all their quantity of love make up my sum.’ Act V, Scene I.”

“The very next line Claudius says that Hamlet is mad.”

“Mad with grief. This is exactly what he was trying to avoid when he told her to go! He's lashing out, ready to murder Laertes. But Claudius has another plan. He's going to kill Hamlet, remember?”

“And did Ophelia love Hamlet?”

“That's harder to pin down. Her character is very much defined by those around her. I've seen it played both ways.”

“Which do you prefer?”

“That she loved him.”

“So his departure brought her madness?”

“Ophelia was never ‘mad.’ I think she was wise to Hamlet’s act. When her father died at the hand of the man she loves, and then they made Hamlet leave, and Laertes wasn't there, her entire support system fell apart. No one seemed to care about her anymore. Even Gertrude wouldn't see her. No, I think Ophelia knew exactly what she was doing. Her first ever real choice was when she decided to die.”

Steve shifted in his seat. “She doesn't want people to feel bad, though, so she stages it like an accident, but maneuvered so that they could still feel the blame. Had Claudius not killed the king, none of this would have happened, and Ophelia wouldn't have ‘gone mad.’ Ophelia is wicked smart, in my opinion, which is why Hamlet liked her so much. She could match him, and she wasn't afraid of him. She refused to let him sit with her at the play. They were equals, to each other. It's ironic, almost. For all his talk of death, Hamlet was afraid of dying, and with all her hope for him to get better, Ophelia chose to die.”

There were tears in Steve's eyes, and one rolled down his cheek. Loki reached up and brushed it away. “Mayhaps I judged Hamlet by reputation, rather than what it deserved.”

Steve smiled at him. Loki's stomach got the now-familiar sensation like it was closing in on itself. He should probably see a doctor about that, but currently he couldn't be bothered. 

When he got home that night, he was almost asleep when his phone buzzed. 

Steve Rogers: Goodnight, sweet prince, and flights of angels sing thee to thy rest

The funny feeling in Loki’s stomach was back.

Loki let his forehead connect with his desk. He'd had enough of The Iliad. Classic literature was boring. 

His phone dinged, and he picked it up, grateful for the distraction. 

Steve Rogers: What are you up to?

Loki Fabruti: Trying not to tear my hair out over the Iliad. My eyes don't like it for some reason

Steve Rogers: please don't, you have beautiful hair

Steve Rogers: You taking Erskine’s class? He does classical still? I thought he'd switched to pre-war Germany

Loki Fabruti: Yes, that's him. He's teaching Classical Literature with Queer Theory. Did you know Achilles and Patroclus were gay for each other?

Steve Rogers: Everyone knows that

Loki rubbed his eyes, tossing the book onto his bed. 

Steve Rogers: Come over, I'll read it to you

Loki Fabruti: I'm not some child who needs things done for them

Steve Rogers: No, trust me. Sometimes hearing it helps. I helped Nat do the same thing with The Canterbury Tales

Steve Rogers: Also, I'm about to finish making chocolate mint chip cookies

Loki Fabruti: Give me ten minutes

Loki hung up his coat on his bright green hanger (Sam and Steve had designated hangers for all their friends, Loki hadn't asked why). 

Steve was wearing an apron and oven mitts. He greeted Loki with a hug, as was his wont, now. Loki reached up and placed his hands on Steve’s back briefly. 

“I brought it.”

“Good. You settle in on the couch and I'll bring the cookies over. He have you reading the Fagles version?”

“Yes.”

“Good, I've got that one more or less memorized.”

Loki gaped. “Why on earth-”

“Do I have it memorized? I was sick a lot as a kid. My mom was a professor at SHIELD Medical College. Dr. Erskine taught organic chemistry there for awhile before he switched to his real passion; books. He and my mom were friends, so when she couldn't be with me in the hospital, he'd come visit. ‘Rage — Goddess, sing the rage of Peleus’ son Achilles, murderous, doomed, that cost the Achaeans countless losses, hurling down to the House of Death so many sturdy souls, great fighters’ souls, but made their bodies carrion, feasts for the dogs and birds, and the will of Zeus was moving toward its end.’”

Loki flipped open the book to the first page. Word for word. 

“What exactly are you majoring in again?”

“Architecture and design. My real passion is charcoal drawings.”

Steve placed the plate of cookies and two mugs of milk down on the small table that lived in front of the couch at non-movie-night times. 

“I've actually done a few of you. I hope that's alright.”

Loki swallowed. “I'd like to see them.”

Steve blushed and cleared his throat. “Sure.”

Steve came back out from his bedroom with a small sketchbook. 

“Some of them aren't great, but this is my favorite.”

Steve handed the book to Loki with it open to a specific page. 

It was very much Loki. Head bent over their Sunday study table, brow furrowed as he marked a line in his book with his finger, coffee cup next to him, hazy lines around the form of him to signify a background. Steve had gotten every feature Loki prided himself in - used a clever trick of shading to get the glossiness of Loki’s hair, had gotten his defined cheekbones, and his thin nose - and all of the things Loki hated about himself. His left eye was slightly bigger than his right. His lips pouted when he made that expression, even with his slightly uneven front teeth digging into the bottom one. Every line around Loki’s eyes that would one day turn into a wrinkle. He hadn't shaved the day this drawing came into being, so there was a slight shadow under his jaw. 

“It's beautiful,” Loki said, after what had probably been a too-long silence. 

Steve breathed out, relieved. “I'm glad you like it.”

“You've really captured...me.”

Steve blushed. “It took a lot of tries. Your cheeks are very distinctive.”

“Thank you?”

Steve laughed at Loki's uncertain tone. “You're welcome. It was a compliment. You have an interesting face.”

“Interesting?” Loki raised an eyebrow. 

“Would you prefer sculpted? Handsome? Ethereal?” Steve suggested, smirking. His face became serious. “Because you are, Loki. Sometimes I don't think you see it, but you are really somethin’ special.”

Loki felt his cheeks go hot. He grabbed a cookie to hide his discomfort. “I suppose you're not the worst looking person I've ever seen.”

Steve threw his head back and laughed. 

Loki curled up on the couch and watched as Steve read. At some point, Loki was sprawled across the couch with his head in Steve's lap. He was unsure how he had ended up in that position, but Steve's hand carding through his hair felt nice. 

“Hey, Loke,” a voice whispered through the haziness of Loki’s consciousness. “Wake up.”

Loki rubbed his eyes and groaned. He sat up and looked at Steve. 

“Sorry for not waking you earlier, I just know you've been really stressed lately, and when you're stressed you don't sleep. Anyway,” Steve held up his phone, “Peggy texted me. She and Angie won tickets to go see that production of Henry IV Part I, and I know that's your favorite, and Angie doesn't really like Shakespeare, so I asked Peggy if I could take them off her hands. I know it's really last minute, but it's tonight, and I'd love it if you would go with me.”

His favorite play, performed live? As Clint would say, “hells to the yeah.”

“I must warn you, if their Hal or Hotspur is subpar in anyway, I'll complain all the way home.”

Steve smiled. “Counting on it.”

Loki borrowed one of Steve’s ties. It was a deep grey, and looked nice with his green shirt. Or, at least, that's what Steve said. 

Steve changed into a dark blue shirt and a dark red tie. Loki returned the compliment - “You look very nice, Steve” - and for once it didn't feel forced. The radiance of Steve’s answering smile was worth it, as well. 

They took Steve’s car. Steve drove. It was a bit of a long drive - they lived in a college town, not a cultural hub. 

As they drove, Steve and Loki exchanged anecdotes. Steve told Loki about the time that he and Tony had had a fight that made them not speak to the other for almost two months. The fight had been about the rules of monopoly. Loki told Steve about how his brother had accidentally mislabeled one of Loki’s boxes as he was packing up for college, and the majority of his books had ended up being donated instead of his old clothes, including all of his Shakespeare. Steve made a sympathetic noise at that. 

The production was fantastic. Hal’s first monologue almost brought Loki to tears. At some point, Loki had reached and grabbed Steve’s hand, just like that first night when they had watched The Mummy. Steve laced their fingers together. 

Loki gushed about the play as they left the theater, walked to the car, and the entire way home, barely letting Steve get a word in edgewise. 

“I'm sorry I basically steamrolled our conversation,” he said once Steve had parked outside of Loki’s building. 

Steve smiled at him, silent as they walked towards the door. 

“It's alright,” he said, taking Loki's hand in his again. “I appreciate your enthusiasm for Shakespeare.”

It occurred to Loki, suddenly, that if this were a movie, the mushy romantic type that Tony liked, Steve would have kissed him, here, on his front porch, under the orangey yellow light of the street lamps. 

But this wasn't a movie, and Loki certainly wasn't that type of lead, so Steve hugged him and bid him goodnight, just like he did with Bucky, and Sam, and Tony, and Rhodey, and Nat, and Peggy, and all his other friends. 

Because that's what they were. 

Friends. 

The snow was getting oppressive as finals neared. 

Steve was a godsend. Loki spent more nights in the two weeks before at Steve's apartment than at his own. Steve supplied him with someone to rant at, someone to make sure he was actually working, and endless amounts of tea. 

He provided Steve with a subject for his art, someone to bounce ideas off of, someone to remind him to take a break, and someone to remind him to eat. 

Sam was not angry that Loki had taken all of his usual tasks, and said that Loki and Steve were providing him with, ‘free entertainment.’

He even let Loki use his printer to print his final paper. 

When he got the grade back on said final paper, he walked right to Steve’s house from the bus station, went right up to Steve’s door, paper triumphantly in his hand. 

“100%,” he said simply, holding it up. 

“Woo!! Congrats!!”

Loki pulled Steve into a big hug. “If it weren't for you I may have given up.”

“You wouldn't have given up,” Steve said, “you just wouldn't have tried your best. Now,” he said, pulling away, “I believe I owe you more cookies?”

Loki laughed, walking into the kitchen after Steve. 

As Steve began to pull out ingredients, Loki slipped on to a seat at the counter and took note of the Christmas decorations. 

“Any plans for winter holidays?” Loki asked. 

“Sam's visiting Riley’s family. Clint and Nat are staying here. Tony and Rhodey are going somewhere but won't tell me where in case I tell Pepper because apparently it's a surprise.”

“Steve, I asked if you had plans.”

“Oh, no. I'll probably just stay here. Watch some movies.”

Loki hesitated. “Would you like to go somewhere?”

“Where?”

“Chicago, Illinois.”

“What's in Chicago?”

Loki sighed. “My family.”

“You want me to meet your family?” Steve asked after he had dropped the measuring cup he had been holding. 

“They'll probably like you more than me to be honest. Don't look so happy, in practically throwing you to the wolves.”

“Tell me about them.”

“Odin is the patriarch. He owns Asgard, Inc. Frigga is his wife. Hela is Odin’s daughter from his first marriage. Thor is Odin and Frigga’s son. Then there's me. I was adopted, and yet that never seemed like something they wanted me to know.”

Steve's eyebrows drew together sympathetically. “Sure, Loke. I'd love to meet your family.”

“You'd have to go to Asgard’s holiday party.”

“I've got a suit.”

“ A suit?”

Steve looked at him with a deadpan expression. “Yes. A suit. One. Singular. It's black. Is that acceptable to you?”

“I suppose.”

“So how are we getting to Chicago, Illinois?”

“I'll tell Odin to book an extra plane ticket. It won't be any problem. And you can stay at the house with us, Mother will insist.”

“Why do you call Frigga your mother, Thor your brother, Hela your sister, but not Odin your father?” Steve asked, mixing the eggs into the dry ingredients.

“The lying was his machinations. Frigga just went along with it, but she, at least, never treated me differently than Hela and Thor. Thor was too young to know what adoption was when it happened, and I was an infant. Hela...she and I have an odd relationship.”

“When do we leave?”

“Day after tomorrow work for you? Finals are over.”

“Sure. Try some of this cookie batter. Is it good?”

The plane ride didn't feel that long, not with Steve softly reading The Great Gatsby in his ear. At one point he fell asleep with his head on Steve’s shoulder. 

When he woke up, Steve's head was resting against his. He very much did not feel like moving. 

When the flight attendant asked if they needed anything, he gave her a genuine smile and a kind, “not right now, thank you.”

“You two are very cute together.” She walked away before Loki could tell her that no, actually, they weren't together. 

The plane landed with little fanfare, and Hela was waiting for them at baggage claim, even though they each only had a carry on. 

“Long time no see, baby brother,” she said, giving him a purely perfunctory hug. 

“Hmmm, it's almost like it was on purpose.”

Steve extended his hand towards her. “Hi, I'm Steve Rogers.”

She took it, a little disdainfully, taking in Steve’s comfortable jeans, t-shirt, flannel, and leather jacket combination. “Hela Borson. Charmed, I'm sure. Come, Loki. We mustn't keep Mumsie and Poppy waiting.”

Steve gave Loki a confused look. Loki just rolled his eyes in response. 

Loki tried not to be nervous about introducing Steve to his family. Hela likely wouldn't care - she didn't care about anyone except herself and her image - Thor would probably bond with Steve over the fact that they were both blonde and muscular, Frigga liked everyone. 

Odin was the only variable. He may like Steve, or he may eat him alive. 

Loki looked over at Steve in the backseat of Hela’s car. Steve caught his eye and gave him a gentle smile, taking his hand and rubbing his thumb softly over Loki’s wrist. 

“Well,” Hela announced. “They’re here.”

“Brother!!” Thor yelled, bounding down the front steps. He was wearing some ridiculous festive sweater. 

Steve walked up to Frigga and Odin right as Loki was crushed against Thor’s chest. He couldn’t hear their conversation over Thor babbling in his ear, but whatever it was made Hela raise one perfect eyebrow. 

Probably not good for Loki, then. 

There was a cot set up next to Loki’s bed. 

Loki set his own bag upon it. 

“I’m not taking your bed, Loki.”

“You let me take yours all the time!” Loki countered, tired both from their trip and from having to deal with his family. “Let me do something for you for once! I can’t keep owing you!”

“Loki…” Steve started. “You don’t owe me anything. I like doing stuff for you, and with you.”

“What possible reason could you have for that?” Loki snapped. 

“I love you, Loke,” Steve said, easily, because he said that to everyone easily. Steve was the sort of person that accidentally said ‘I love you’ to the pizza place while ordering over the phone. 

Loki sighed. “Love you too, just...let me do this, Steve.”

Steve placed his hands on Loki’s shoulders, rubbing his thumbs into the base of his neck. “If that’s what you want, Loke. But….”

“What?”

“We could share the bed, if you want.”

Loki turned around and glanced at his bed. It was big enough to share; Thor had had a habit of falling asleep in Loki’s bed if he was having a bad day. They’d both fit. And Loki really didn’t want to sleep on the cot. 

“If that’s alright with you.”

Steve smiled. “Wouldn’t have suggested it if it wasn’t.”

Loki sighed, walking into Steve’s arms. “It has been an exceedingly long day.”

“If you want, I can cover for you at dinner.”

Loki laugh harshly. “And leave you to fend for yourself? I don’t think so.”

Steve dropped his own bag on the cot as well. “Then let’s go get dinner over with, then we can sleep.”

“That,” Loki said, rolling his shoulders, “sounds fantastic.”

“So,” Odin started. “Steve. You go to college with Loki?”

“Yes, I do. We met at the library while we were studying.”

“What do you study?”

“I declared my major at the end of last semester, Architecture and Design. I dabbled in a bit of everything before that, art wise. Considered literature for a bit, but I love to draw too much.”

“What does a bit of everything entail?” Frigga asked, taking a sip of her wine. 

“Painting, digital art, oils, watercolor. I still work with acrylics on occasion.”

“His favorite is charcoal drawing,” Loki said, do that, if anything else, no one could say he didn’t say anything at dinner. “He’s quite good. I haven’t seen any of his paintings.”

Steve frowned. “Sure you have. That painting above the couch is mine.”

“You did that one?” Loki asked, incredulous. 

“I mean, I know it’s not great-”

“Steve, it’s incredible.” He turned back to the table. “It’s of his mother and father. The detail work is particularly impressive.”

“Maybe you can paint something for us, some day,” Frigga said. “Something of Odin, to hang in headquarters after he retires.”

Steve blushed, and took a bite of his food. 

“Do you do anything besides study and draw?” Thor asked, plate already mostly clean. 

“He’s the quarterback on the university football team,” Loki said. He was fine with talking so long as he was not the topic. 

“Wait,” Thor said, dropping his fork. “ You’re Rogers? Number 45?”

Steve blushed harder, taking a drink of his wine. “That’s me, yeah.”

Thor brightened right up. “Brother, why didn’t you say so? I thought you were bringing us some boring artist type! Not the man who’s single handedly making SHIELD’s football team something to pay attention to!” He turned back to Steve. “Listen, I’ve got this friend Volstagg, he works for the North Dakota Valkyries, and they were talking about sending somebody there to scout you.”

Steve turned a violent shade of red. “I’m not really...all that in to football. It’s more of a hobby.”

“But with that arm-”

“Really, Thor. I’m not really an athlete at heart. I’m not that competitive.”

Loki snorted and almost choked on his wine. 

Steve turned to him. “What?”

“I didn’t say a word.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “I suppose you disagree.”

Loki pointedly took another drink and didn’t meet Steve’s eyes. 

“So, Loki,” Odin started. “About your own plans after college….”

Steve grabbed Loki’s hand under the table, and it felt like that was the only thing that got him through the rest of the dinner. 

Loki woke up the next morning already ready for the day to be over and done with. 

Asgard’s holiday party was tonight. 

He also woke up pleasantly warm. He opened his eyes hazily and saw Steve wrapped around him, head resting over Loki’s heart. 

His stomach fluttered in its usual way. 

Hela was wearing a shimmering black dress. Chanel, apparently. Custom made. Backless, low neckline, and a long slit up her thigh. The message of the dress was clear; beautiful and deadly. 

Asgard’s holiday party was one of the many too-formal events that got monikered as the most important social event of the year. Anyone who was anyone was there, as they said, which meant cameras and news and questions. Loki’s sighed as he finished walking down the stairs. No, he wasn’t dating anyone. No, he didn’t know if Thor was either. Yes, he was in school. No, he didn’t feel like telling which one. 

Loki held up Hela’s matching coat for her, trying to think how he might spare Steve from that mess. 

“You look even more dower than usual, Brother.”

Loki hummed. “You look nice.”

“Chanel, darling.”

He hummed again. 

“I see you’re in the Versace.”

Yes, he was. Also custom made, mostly at Frigga’s insistence. Hela and Thor would be getting new attire, so Loki should too. She already had all of his measurements, and anyone with an internet connection could find his picture, so she had sent them off to a designer neither Thor nor Hela picked. 

The suit, as it turned out, was similar to Hela’s dress. Black fabric, with green undertone. Golden accents brightened along the seams, matching his tie. Were Loki in the mood, he would be admiring himself in the full length mirror in the foyer, but as it stood, he slipped on his own coat and turned when he heard Steve coming down the stairs. 

The suit was simple enough. Black, as he had said. His shirt was stark white, his tie the red one he favored. It fit him well, hugging his arms and shoulders, but not in a way that he might burst through the seams of it. It highlighted his figure well, not something Loki would have expected from a man whose closet was mostly various pairs of skinny jeans and shirts that were either too small or too large. The black dress shoes he was wearing were worn in, but not over much. 

“Not bad,” Loki said with a smile, “especially for being the only suit you own.”

Hela scoffed. 

Steve smiled at him. “You look absolutely incredible, Loki.”

“It’s the Versace,” Hela said. “Everyone looks good in Versace.”

She went to check her coal black lipstick in the mirror, and Steve leaned in close to Loki and whispered, “all I know that from is the Bruno Mars song.”

Loki snorted, tried to compose himself, and laughed again. Hela would be furious if she ever heard that, and would likely never look at Steve again. Odin and Frigga came down the stairs, and Loki was still laughing, hand on Steve’s shoulder. Frigga smiles fondly at them as Odin helped her into her coat. Her dress was a glittering silver, the cut of it conservative in consideration of her age and position of matriarch. Dior. It went well with Thor’s iron grey Hugo Boss suit. 

Odin was dressed most simply of all - black suit, white shirt, black tie. He had no need to impress any cameras. He was the host of this event, enough eyes were on him without a flashy outfit. 

“You look lovely, Steve,” Frigga said, smiling at him. “It’s freezing out, where’s you have a coat?”

Steve blushed. “I’ve only got the leather jacket with me; I forgot to pack my nicer one.”

Loki patted the small of his back. “I have one that should fit you, let me fetch it.”

The grey jacket was a bit too long on the length, but it could be mistaken for a style easily enough. Steve was broader in the shoulders than Loki, so he filled it out well. He truly did look like he belonged. 

They all climbed into the limousine, seated in the order they would exit. Hela first, as the oldest, then Thor, then Loki himself. Steve would be with him, most likely. Frigga and Odin would emerge last, the latter helping the former out. 

“Just smile for the camera, don’t say anything, and we’ll get inside easy as a breeze.”

Steve smiled. “Easy, breezy is the saying actually.”

“Mayhaps it is when you say it.”

Steve exhaled softly through his nose, an approximation of a laugh. He took Loki’s hand in his.

The party went off without a hitch, of course. It was too well planned out for anything else. 

Loki had doubled back after Steve was safely inside, and done his duty, answering questions in that deceptive way that sounded pretty but mostly meant nothing. Though Steve could attest that Loki was much quieter in his private moments, if there was one thing Loki surpassed his siblings in, it was the art of words. Some outlet that claimed to be news had once said of him, “were we in another time, he might have been monikered ‘Silvertongue’ for his way with words.” Loki had remembered that one. He’d liked it. 

Thor hadn’t gotten so drunk he became obnoxious, Hela had been dangerously charming, Frigga was truly queenly in her grace, Odin talked to all the right people, and Steve kept Loki from snapping too harshly at anyone, a thumb pressing against Loki’s spine when he felt the sharp inhale that usually preceded an unkind word. Feeling the warmth of Steve’s hand against his back kept Loki sane. 

Loki stripped off his suit methodically, hanging each piece individually before pulling on soft pajamas and his favorite, most comfortable shirt. 

Steve did the same, and smiled when he looked over at Loki. 

“What?” Loki asked in response to his staring. 

Steve walked over and held him. “That’s my shirt.”

Loki pushed away from Steve enough to look down at his chest. 

The Howling Commandos. 

It was Steve’s shirt, the one that he had given Loki on that first day Loki had awoken at his house. All these months, and Loki had never given it back.

“It’s soft,” Loki defended himself.

“You can keep it,” Steve said, tilting Loki’s head down and brushing his lips against his forehead. “Looks better on you anyway.”

Loki’s brow furrowed. It made him look rather shapeless, really, but Steve was probably just saying that. 

Loki exhaled deeply. “I can’t remember the last time I was so tired.”

Steve’s smile never left his face. “Then let’s go to bed.”

They both climbed into the warm bed, and Loki pressed himself up against Steve’s back with only a moment’s hesitation. 

“You smell divine,” he said incoherently, just moments before he fell asleep. 

Loki woke up with his nose still buried in Steve’s hair. He could feel Steve’s spine pressing into his stomach. He felt more well rested than he could ever remember. 

His cheeks flamed as he remembered Steve kiss from the night before. He’d never done that with Bucky, or Sam, or Natasha, or Peggy, or….

Loki hadn’t seen him do it with anyone else. What had he meant by that?

Steve’s shirt had rucked up in night, and Loki’s hand was pressed against bare flesh. Steve’s body was very warm. Loki could feel his fingers when he woke up, a rare feat. 

Steve hummed in his sleep and rolled over, displacing his shirt more and nuzzling his nose into Loki’s collarbone. His hand snuck under the hem of Loki’s shirt (Steve had said he could have it after all) and those long artist’s fingers trailed up and down his spine. 

The odd feeling was back in his stomach. 

Loki could feel his heart beginning to race uncomfortably. 

Steve pressed a messy kiss to the side of his neck. “Y’r thin’in’ too mush,” he slurred. “Sleep.”

Loki felt his heart swell with unimaginable fondness, along with other feelings he didn’t have a name for. 

“They’ll be starting breakfast soon,” he whispered. This moment felt very soft and delicate. A loud voice could break it. 

“Breakf’st’s dumb.”

Loki exhaled, a quiet laugh. “You are adorable.”

“Sleeeeeeeeep.”

“Aren’t you normally an early bird?”

“I go’ no classss t’ go to. Bed’s warm. You feel real nice. Could stay here forever.”

Loki could feel soft, warm lips against his jugular, barely pressing, just sitting there, slightly open. His heart raced again. 

“I’m going to breakfast,” Loki said abruptly, shoving Steve away roughly and standing. 

He pulled on the first clean set of clothes he could find and hurried out of the room. 

Running from his feelings, just like he always did. 

Hela cornered him after breakfast. Quite literally, she backed him up against the railing of the main staircase, and bracketed him with her arms, staring him down. 

“So,” she opened. “How’s the boyfriend?”

Loki’s brow furrowed. “Boyfriend?”

“Steve? The Adonis you have up in your bedroom? The boy toy you never told us about?”

“Steve,” Loki stuttered. “Steve is not my boyfriend.”

Hela pulled back a little, her face readable for once. She was taken aback by this information. 

“If that’s the case, you better tell him that.”

Loki matched her confused expression. “I’m sorry?”

“He introduced himself to Odin and Frigga by saying, ‘nice to meet you, I’m Steve Rogers, Loki’s boyfriend.’ He was rather clear.”

All the blood drained from Loki’s face. 

Oh. Oh no. 

He shoved Hela away from him and darted up the stairs. 

Steve was dressed when Loki arrived at his room. He looked ready to exit when Loki entered and slammed the door behind him. 

He gave Loki another one of his soft smiles and Loki’s heart stuttered. 

Upon seeing Loki’s face, the smile shifted to a look of concern. “Loki, what’s wrong?”

“You are not my boyfriend,” Loki said bluntly. 

“I’m...what?”

“Oh, good,” Loki said, recovering once he saw the confusion on Steve’s face. “Hela was only playing one of her jokes.”

“What?”

“She said that you introduced yourself to Odin and Frigga as my boyfriend, which, of course, you’re not.”

“I’m...not?” Steve’s voice wavered. 

“No, of course you aren’t. We are not dating,” Loki said, a little impatiently. “What part of that aren’t you getting?”

“The part where you’re saying we aren’t dating?”

Loki’s heart stopped. 

“We aren’t?”

“Oh. Okay.” Steve swallowed and turned toward the window. 

“What? Why would you think we are?”

Steve’s shoulder shook. “The part where I invited you to your favorite Shakespeare play and held your hand? The part where I learned how to make chocolate mint chip cookies when you said they were your favorite? The part where I put my arm around you and you moved closer to me? The part where we sat on my bed together and watched movies? The part where we spent almost every day together? The part where we studied at my house? That when good things happen the first person you tell is me? The fact that we having a fucking table at the one coffee shop near campus and no one sits at it on Sundays? The part where you’ve been wearing my t-shirt all over the place? The part where you’re always talking about how much you hate football but you haven’t missed any of the home games? The part where you invited me to family Christmas? The part where we’ve been sharing your bed? The part where you’ve been clinging to my side every time we’re together? The part where you grabbed on to me last night? The part where you let me kiss you? The part where I told you I love you and you said it back?” Steve’s voice broke. “Do you understand how I might have reached that conclusion?”

“Oh,” Loki said, silver tongue turned to lead in his mouth. 

“Yeah,” Steve said. “Oh. I...I think you and I came here for different reasons. It’s probably better if I just go back home.”

Steve shoved his things in his bag, threw it over his shoulder, and pushed past Loki to exit the room. 

Look stood, staring at the empty space Steve had once been in, unable to move. 

“Shit.”

Loki lied to his family and told them that Steve had a family emergency. 

Now that he knew what Frigga thought their relationship was, every word she spoke of Steve stung. 

Three long days passed where Loki mostly sat in his room and sulked. He scrolled back through their text messages. Reading them in a detached sort of way, it did look like they were dating. 

Loki was, as Hela always told him, a fool. 

One question plagued him above all else: did he love Steve? 

The answer evolved over those three days, from a maybe, to a probably, to a definitely. And he’d fucked it all up. 

Christmas morning came, and Thor practically dragged Loki down the stairs to sit in front of the big tree that Loki was allergic to. One sharp inhale and he already had a headache. 

“Steve left this one for you, dear,” Frigga said gently, handing Loki a large bag. 

Individually wrapped packages of varying sizes filled it. He tore them open one by one. 

King John. Edward III. Richard II. Henry IV, Part I. Henry IV, Part II. Henry V. Henry VI, Parts I, II, III. Richard III. Henry VII. 

All of Shakespeare’s histories. None of them matched each other - not even the two Henry IV’s - all of them different sizes, all of them different levels of wear on them. Some of them had notes in the margins. 

There was an envelope at the bottom. A card with a drawing of Loki wearing a crown captioned ‘Henry V.’

Hey Loki, I felt really bad when you told me that your favorite books had been donated and you hadn’t gotten the chance to get new copies. So I went and tried to find you new copies myself. It took a long time and a lot of thrift stores, and even then I didn’t think I’d find them all on time (King John look longest, if you’re interested; I found it the day before we left). But I succeeded! I’m less happy for my own success and more happy for making it so that you don’t have to go to the library every time you want to read your favorites. You might meet another handsome stranger with an interest for Shakespeare, and I would hate to have to inform the guy that that position is filled. 

Love you, Steve

A wet spot appeared on the paper, and it occurred to Loki that he was crying. He threw the paper back in the bag and ran up to his room. 

He buried his face in his pillow - it smelled like Steve - and cried harder. 

For the first time he could remember, Loki stayed with his family for the entirety of winter break. 

He barely left his room the entire time. 

The day before he had to leave, Frigga took pity on him, dragging him out of his room to do his laundry. 

(He didn’t wash the shirt he got from Steve, all those months ago, and he wouldn’t so long as it smelled like Steve.)

Maine, at least, was cold and dark and dreary and miserable, just like Loki was, which also meant he was wrapping himself in large, chunky sweaters (which may or may not have previously belonged to his not-boyfriend), drinking large cups of tea, and wallowing. 

He did most of his wallowing in the library. 

He tried, really, genuinely tried to get a head start on his assignments, but taking a Shakespearean Literature class was not helping his mood at the moment. 

Hamlet was the first thing they were reading, and it was impossible not to think of Steve. 

“Are you wallowing?” Sigyn asked him on one of their phone calls. 

“No,” Loki answered, knowing already that she would call his bluff.

“You are, Loki.” Over the phone, Loki heard her sigh. “Do I need to come all the way from Britain just to kick this boy’s arse?”

Loki sunk further into the collar of his sweater. “If by boy you mean me.”

“Dearest, explain it to me again.”

“Steve Rogers was the best thing that ever happened to me, and I didn’t realize it until I’d already mucked it all up.”

Sigyn sighed again. “Take a step back, Loki. Just tell me the facts.”

Now it was Loki’s turn to sigh. “I saw a beautiful art student reading Henry IV Part I. We sat next to each other in the library as he read Part II. Then on that next Sunday, he asked to sit with me at the cafe, because his roommate's boyfriend was in town. We had a very passionate discussion about Shakespeare.”

“Which is basically foreplay to you as I understand it,” Sigyn chirped. 

“I could hang up on you,” Loki huffed. 

“But you won’t. So, Shakespeare.”

“I walked out to call you.”

“And complain that he loves Hamlet, yes I remember.”

“Well, then he invited me to the movie night he and his friends do, and we, uh.” Loki swallows, flushing pink. “We held hands and I fell asleep on his couch.”

“And then you woke up in his bed fully clothed while he was on the couch.”

“And he gave me a shirt for a band he used to be in.”

“Wait a moment,” Sigyn said, and Loki could hear the teasing smile in her voice. “The boy you are so hung up over is a combination of the three things you hate most in the world? Artists, football players, and indie guitarists?”

Loki pulled his knees up to his chest. “How did you know he plays guitar?”

“Loki. I googled him.”

Ah. “Anyhow, then I went to more movie nights? And fell asleep there more often, so I may have, uh, brought some clothes over.”

“Loki, honey.”

“I know, alright? So then, after some, ah, private movie nights, and the continuation of our Sunday study-” Loki hesitated over the word dates. He carded his fingers through his messy hair. He was really due for a shower but couldn’t summon the will too. “Well, I went over to his house and he was making mint chocolate cookies.”

“Your favorite.”

“Yes, my favorite. But I needed help with The Iliad which he apparently knows how to recite by heart.”

“Sexy.”

“Shut up. And his friend had two tickets to see a production of Henry IV Part I, but she didn’t want them.”

“Loki, he made your favorite cookies and he took you to your favorite play. Normally you’re quicker on the uptake.”

“You want to know the worst part?” Loki asked, dismal. 

“What’s the worst part?”

“I genuinely thought, for a good few moments, that he was going to kiss me on my front stoop when he took me home.”

“Loki, dearest, I don’t mean for this to come off rude, but did it ever occur to you that you could have kissed him?” 

“No.”

Loki heard the distinctive sound of Sigyn slapping her hand against her forehead. 

“Oh, it gets worse, trust me.”

“I’m almost scared. Continue.”

“I invited him to Christmas at my family’s house.”

Sigyn gasped. “But you hate going home for Christmas.”

“I do. But with Steve...it was bearable. Well, anyhow, after Odin’s usual soirée-”

“Where he had his arm around you the entire time, I saw pictures.”

“Yes, well. We, ah. Well, this is going to sound like something else, but I promise you that it is quite literal, but we, ah. We had been, sort of - well, not sort of at all, we were actually-”

“Loki?”

“We were sharing the bed.”

Sigyn groaned. “Really?”

“Really,” Loki replied. “But that morning Hela asked me how the boyfriend was. Because apparently Steve introduced himself as my boyfriend.”

“Oh no.”

“Now we get to the part where I’m the world’s biggest idiot. I immediately went upstairs and told him in no uncertain terms that he was not my boyfriend.”

“And how did he react to that?”

“Looking back, he was much...kinder to me than I deserved. He looked quite hurt, explained how he came to that conclusion, and then left.”

“He didn’t yell? Rage? Stomp around?”

“No,” Loki moaned pitifully. “He was very polite about it. Do you want to know what he got me for Christmas?”

“I’m almost afraid to ask.”

“Well, you know how all of my Shakespeare were mistakenly donated.”

“I remember a call in which you threatened to murder your brother several times, yes.”

“Steve got me all of the histories. And wrapped them in order. And drew a picture of me as Henry V. And wrote quite a sentimental note where he said he loved me.”

“Oh no.”

“But we’d already said that the night before he left.”

Loki heard the sound of Sigyn’s palm hitting her face again. 

“The central question here then seems to be this: do you love him Loki?”

Loki swallowed, not wanting to admit it out loud anymore. If he says it, here, with no excuses, then it means it was all real and he really did ruin it all.

“I do.”

Loki was bent over the library’s copy of King Lear, trying to read something he and Steve had never discussed, but all he could hear in his head was Steve telling him that King Lear was bad. 

He sighed, rubbing his temples and reaching for his tea (the taste of coffee reminded him of Steve).

The scrape of the chair across from him being pulled out made his head snap up. 

Sam Wilson sat across from him, Bucky Barnes standing behind him, as terrifying as he had once been friendly. 

“What the fuck did you do to Steve?” Sam demanded. 

Loki’s shoulders hunched up. 

“Whatever it is, you need to fix it,” Bucky added. 

Sam glared. “There’s only so much sad One Direction music I can stand before something needs to be done.”

Something in Loki was filled with vicious joy at the idea that Steve was also suffering, but it was vastly outclassed by the miserable part that knew it was responsible for the pain. 

“Steve was under the impression that we were dating.”

Sam and Bucky looked at each other, eyebrows scrunched. 

“Well, duh,” Bucky said, looking back at Loki. “No shit, dude.”

Loki’s head dropped against the desk. “Well if I’d known that, we wouldn’t be in this situation, now would we?”

“So let me get this straight,” Sam said, kicking Loki’s shin under the table to make him look up. “You broke up with Steve without ever knowing you were dating.”

“Essentially.”

“Damn, you’re stupid.”

Loki couldn’t even muster up a proper glare to return Bucky’s comment. He was right. 

“Do you want to be dating him?” Sam asked, waving Bucky off. 

“I hadn’t considered it as an option. I thought he was out of my league.”

“That’s not what I asked,” Sam responded at the same time Bucky said, “he is.”

Sam cleared his throat, pointedly looking in Bucky’s direction. 

“I asked if you want to be dating him.”

Loki stared at his clasped hands resting on the table. “Yes.”

“Well then, there’s a simple answer to this whole thing,” Sam said, clapping his hands together once and beginning to stand. 

“What?” Loki asked, bewildered. 

“You’re gonna apologize for being a dumbass,” Bucky said, walking around the desk and pulling Loki’s chair out, “and beg him to take you back.”

“What Bucky means to say is that you are going to explain to Steve how you reached the conclusion that you weren’t dating.” Sam wrapped an arm around Loki’s shoulders in a way that was too forceful and guiding to be friendly. “But first we’re going to get you some flowers.”

“Do I get a say in this?” Loki asked. 

Bucky and Sam answered at the same time. “No.”

Flowers firmly in hand, Bucky frog marched Loki to the door of Steve’s apartment. Sam unlocked the door, and then Loki was standing in front of Steve’s bedroom. 

Bucky hasn’t been joking about the One Direction music. 

“Steve,” Bucky called. “We’ve got someone here who wants to talk to you.”

“Buck, I’m really not in the mood.”

Loki’s heart broke again. Steve’s voice was raw, cracking. 

“For fuck’s sake, Rogers,” Bucky bitched. “I’m so done with your bullshit. Your Ma I understood but this is just some guy.”

From inside the bedroom, Loki heard the rustling of bedsheets. 

“Loki is not ‘some guy’ Bucky,” Steve said, mockingly. “He’s the love of my life. And he’s an ASSHOLE.”

Loki blushed. Sam snorted and Bucky rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, I agree!” Sam said, and, well. Loki figured he deserved that one. 

“But really, Stevie,” Bucky said, voice softer than Loki had ever heard it. “We really need you to talk to this person.”

Steve sighed. “Fine. Five minutes and then I need you to leave me alone. I’ll turn off the 1D and finish my homework.”

“I want it on the record that I hate when you call it ‘1D’ and were it not for the fact that you know much worse things about me I would 100% friend dump you,” Bucky griped. 

“That and the fact that he’s still processing his not-boyfriend breakup,” Sam added. 

“Yeah, that too. Anyway, we’re gonna leave and when you hear the front door close you’re gonna open your door and talk to our guest. Agree?”

“Fine,” Steve replied. 

“Do not fuck this up,” Sam hissed in Loki’s ear as he made to leave. 

“By all means fuck this up,” Bucky countered. “Natalia and I will have a lot of fun if you do.”

Sam messes up Bucky’s hair. “Lots of fun making fun of your skinny ass and stupid hair. That’s it. Right Bucky?”

“I will neither confirm nor deny-” Bucky was cut off by the closing door. 

Steve swung the door open. Saw it was Loki. Slammed it back shut. 

The thing about Steve was-

Well he was gorgeous, first of all. His jaw and his beard and his glasses and his face and his eyes and-

His everything. 

The flannels Loki hated, with paint near the seams, the stupid band t-shirts that Loki didn’t get, the fraying jeans, the ancient boots, the impractical leather jacket. 

The objectively dumb face he made as he concentrated on his work. Loki had read once that an artist at the craft is at their most beautiful, but that’s ridiculous because Steve stuck his tongue out and sucked his lips in and furrowed just one brow and chewed the end of his pencils. 

All the different calluses on his fingers; from drawing, from football, from playing guitar. They weren’t soft hands, not like Loki’s. 

An artist. A jock. A musician. All rolled into one, everything Loki ostensibly hated, all in one perfect, perfect man. 

Worst of all, someone who liked Hamlet. 

And Loki was in love with him, the type of way people wrote soliloquies about, the type people died for rather than return home without, the type that made a sad story worth it, the type that changed monster into man. 

Loki wasn’t sure how he’d ever missed that fact. He hoped he hadn’t also missed his chance. 

In the brief moment that Loki saw Steve through the open door, he saw his beard longer than ever, his skin pinked, and his hoodie strings damp. 

It was disgusting and all Loki wanted to do was kiss him until he couldn’t breathe. 

“Steve, wait-”

“Tell Sam and Bucky to come back in here because I’m not talking to you. God, Loki. I can’t even look at you.”

Loki leaned his back against the door and slid to the ground. The plastic casing of the roses crinkled loudly and awkwardly. 

This wasn’t going at all to plan. 

“Will you listen to me from here? Just five minutes?”

Silence. 

“Steve,” Loki said, voice hoarse. “Please.”

“Five minutes. Five minutes and then you forget that I exist, okay?”

“Five minutes,” Loki repeated, knowing that never, ever, in a thousand millennia, when books that weren’t even published yet were studied as classics and Shakespeare had fallen away, could Loki forget Steve Rogers. 

“Four minutes and fifty seven seconds.”

Dammit, of course Steve set a timer. 

“Ideally I would have had a speech prepared. It would have been written in iambic pentameter, and rhymed, and been at least two pages long, and I would have gotten Tony and Clint to drag you into the theater for me to perform it for you. But I don’t have that speech, Steve. I didn’t write it. I never even dreamed of what I would say in this situation. Do you want to know why?”

The other side of the door was quiet, but Loki could feel weight pressing back against him. 

In the quietest voice, a muffled “why?”

“Because I could live a thousand lifetimes and never deserve you, Steve Rogers. I didn’t realize I was in love with you until I opened your gift - your wonderful, thoughtful gift - and thought that I never wanted to take another breath without you. I didn’t realize that loving you - that you loving me - was even an option, because I knew I could never earn it. I know who I am, Steve. I’m brackish and irritating and closed off and prickly, and pages of other unflattering adjectives, and frankly it’s astonishing to think that you continued talking to me after I was so horrible to you in the coffee shop. I’ve never believed in the idea of love, Steve. Not until you.”

A choked, “three minutes,” sounded from the other side of the door. 

“Not because you loved me, per say, but because you love everyone around you, so strongly and so openly. Love pours out of you into the world. I never let myself even think that you might love me any differently than you love any of your other friends because even that love was alien to me.”

Loki sat silently for a moment, trying to think what to say next. 

“You done?”

“I wanted you to kiss me,” is what exploded out of him, “that night, after Henry the Fourth. I remember standing on the stoop, the street lights flickering, and thinking ‘if this was a movie, Steve would kiss me right now.’ But I’ve never been kissed, Steve. And it’s probably for the best that you didn’t. I wouldn’t have been ready for you to have loved me so deeply - if you even did at all - then. I realized, with my family, how much I’ve grown in so short a time, just by having you all open your door to me. I think I’m ready now, Steve. And if you won’t give me a chance to woo you properly now that I’ve gone and thoroughly fucked everything over, I understand and respect that, Steve. I really, truly do.”

“A minute and a half.”

“I can’t think of anything else to say. Hell, I can’t even remember what I just said. None of this feels real.”

“Minute ten.”

“I love you, Steve. I love you like Abélard loved Héloïse, I love you like Darcy loved Elizabeth.”

“Sixty seconds.” A rustling at the other side, Steve was standing up, Steve was going to kick him out. 

“I love you like Hamlet loved Ophelia.”

The door opened abruptly and Loki fell back gracelessly.

The sun was setting through the window. Loki was no art historian, but Steve standing above him, in his own estimation, looked like an angel. 

The fucking One Direction was still playing in the background. 

“Loki,” Steve breathed, quiet and broken as a prayer. 

“Steve,” Loki replied, reverent as one. 

“Are...are you gonna stand up?”

Loki scrambled to his feet. The flowers were crushed. He held them out anyway. 

“I got these for you.”

Steve’s face was unreadable. “You really fucked up.”

“I did.”

“But it wasn’t, like, all on you. I should have been more clear with my expectations.”

Loki swallowed. “Probably.”

“So uh. Since you just did the whole feelings thing. I figure I should give my expectations.”

“I would like that, yes.”

Steve reaches out and took the flowers. “We go into the kitchen and put these in some water. I go get dressed and we go on a real, actual, 100% for certain and agreed on date. I’ll walk you home, and this time I will kiss you on the doorstep. We go from there. A relationship but we both know it’s one this time. Sound good to you?”

“All but one part.”

“What's that?”

“Can I kiss you now? I’d really, truly like to kiss you. Now.”

Steve laughed, smile spreading across his face like icing on a warm cake. “Yeah, now sounds good.”

“Fair warning, I might be horrible at this,” Loki admitted, gently placing his fingers on Steve’s face. 

Steve laughed, his hands warm on Loki’s waist. “I don’t care, we have time to figure it out later.”

Their noses smushed together, their teeth clacked a little, and Steve’s breath was atrocious. 

It was perfect.