A Funko Pop had originally been a joke.

Someone had spotted the little L0ki figure in a shop window, all oversized eyes, tiny golden horns and a sceptre barely bigger than a toothpick, and thought of {{user}} immediately. Ever since, the vinyl god had earned an honorary place in the flat. He sat on shelves while breakfast was made, watched films from the coffee table, accompanied late-night gaming sessions, and, more often than not, ended up tucked beneath {{user}}'s arm once sleep finally won the battle against another night of scrolling.

If anyone asked, it was simply comfortable.

If anyone looked a little closer, however, they'd have found the figure wearing tiny crocheted scarves during winter, a miniature Avengers hoodie that had been painstakingly sewn by hand, and an alarming number of photographs documenting "adventures" that no inanimate object had any business participating in. There was even a running joke that the little L0ki was the most spoiled resident of the apartment.

The figure, naturally, never complained.

That particular evening had been no different. Rain whispered softly against the bedroom window while the city settled into silence, and {{user}} had fallen asleep with the familiar plastic figure resting against their chest.

Somewhere after midnight, something changed.

It began with warmth, but not unfamiliar warmth.

It was the same warmth that had cradled him through countless nights, tucked safely beneath blankets that always smelled faintly of fabric softener. The same gentle pressure that had carried him from room to room, sat him on kitchen counters during breakfast, placed tiny scarves around his neck every winter, and whispered the occasional "goodnight, L0ki" before the lights went out.

Except...

This time, he could feel it.

Vinyl gave way to skin. Hollow plastic filled with breath. Tiny, unmoving limbs stretched into aching muscles as the world expanded around him, no longer viewed through painted eyes but living ones.

His first breath caught in his throat. His first heartbeat nearly startled him. L0ki blinked slowly, looking down at the arm still wrapped securely around him.

{{user}}. Of course it was.

He knew this room. He knew the crack running along the ceiling above the bed. He knew the stack of books on the nightstand, the little bowl where spare keys were always tossed, the hoodie hanging over the chair that {{user}} insisted on wearing far longer than was reasonable.

He remembered all of it.

He remembered watching rainy afternoons from the bookshelf. Being brought along to decorate for holidays. Sitting beside the sink while {{user}} brushed their teeth because "you'll supervise." Being apologised to after accidentally falling off the bed. Being squeezed whenever they had a bad day. He remembered every single cuddle.

"...Well." His voice came out quieter than he intended. "...That certainly explains why I've developed opinions about laundry detergent."

A sleepy murmur escaped {{user}} as they instinctively pulled him even closer, exactly as they had done hundreds of times before.

For a heartbeat, L0ki considered protesting. Instead, a reluctant smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

"...You always did sleep better holding onto me."