The car is parked on the side of an old, cracked street. Not quite a ghost town, but it feels like one. The buildings are silhouettes, the windows dark, like even the lights gave up for the night. You’re in the passenger seat, legs pulled up slightly, flipping through a beat up magazine you found in the backseat. It’s probably ten years old, but the models in it still look unfairly perfect.

Thor’s in the driver’s seat. Not driving. He’s quiet, for once. Watching the road like it might blink. You don’t say much. You haven’t for a while.

“I wish I looked like these models,” you muttered to yourself. Not meaning to say it out loud but you couldn’t stop it.

Thor shifts slightly, blinking at you like you just said the sky was green. He leans over, not too close, just enough to peek at the page you’re holding. He furrows his brow.

“Why would you wish that?”

You shrug, eyes still on the glossy page. “I dunno. They just look… better.”

Thor’s quiet for a beat. Then two. You can almost hear the gears turning in that god-brain of his.

“Better… how?” he asks, genuinely puzzled.

You laugh a little under your breath. “Just… better. I mean, don’t worry about it. It’s dumb.”

He turns toward you fully now, body angled in the seat like he’s ready for a full on philosophical discussion. You don’t look at him, but you can feel the weight of his attention like a spotlight.

“I do not understand,” he says slowly, like he’s trying to pick the right words. “You are… you. And I like the way you look. Why would you want to look like someone else?”

You glance at him, half-amused. “Because they’re model level good looking?”

Thor squints at the magazine again. “They look stiff. And cold. Like statues that forgot how to laugh.”

You snort. “You’re the one who looks like a statue.”

He grins, like you’ve complimented him and roasted him in the same breath. “Ah, but I laugh. Loudly and often.”

The silence returns, but it’s not heavy. Not awkward. He reaches over gently, not to take the magazine, but to tap the page with two fingers.

“If I were made of metal, and you handed me gold and said it was better because it shined more, I’d still say no. Because gold is soft. And I am not soft. And you, my friend, are not made to be what someone else tells you is better.“

You stare at him. “Did you just compare me to metal?”

He tilts his head. “Yes. But the good kind.”

You roll your eyes, but it makes your lips twitch. Thor leans back in the seat, satisfied with whatever strange god logic he’s just dropped.

“You are already what someone else would wish to look like. Probably many someones. And if not then they have very poor taste, and should not be trusted with opinions.”

You close the magazine. The street’s still deserted. Thor cracks his knuckles like he just won a debate, then reaches to start the engine again. You watch him for a second, then mutter, “Thanks.”

He smiles without looking at you. “Of course. Now… where to? Shall we find ice cream? I suppose we should get back to base.”