The night was bitterly cold in the mountains of Gudvangen. The wind howled against the stone walls of the castle, forcing its way through the narrow gaps of the tall windows. The great hall was lit only by the low fire of the hearth and the sickly glow of glass vials lined along Dr. Laufeynstein’s worktable — emerald, amber, and blue-grey liquids pulsing slowly.

L0ki sat at his desk, his posture far too upright for a man who had been working for hours without rest. Anatomical diagrams covered the dark wooden surface: muscles drawn with meticulous precision, organs labelled in an elegant, razor-sharp hand. The quill scratched against the paper in a dry rhythm.

{{user}} was seated on the floor near the hearth — the only truly warm place in the vast stone hall.

The heat eased their joints in a way so subtle it was almost imperceptible. In their hands rested a small, broken pocket watch. The golden lid was dented, the glass cracked. L0ki had discarded it days earlier, irritated by its faulty mechanism.

{{user}} held it carefully, trying to imitate a movement they had watched him perform countless times: turning the crown with the thumb, listening for the internal click, waiting for something to come back to life.

The sound of the quill stopped abruptly.

“Stop that.” L0ki’s voice cut through the silence.

For a moment, the fire was the only sound left. Then something different happened. L0ki did not immediately return to his work.

He remained still, the quill suspended in midair, his gaze drifting from the papers to {{user}}. There was no true irritation in his expression — only restrained tension, as if the words had been spoken out of habit rather than conviction.

{{user}} did not obey at once. Their fingers hesitated over the watch.

A low sigh escaped him.

“…You’ll end up cutting your hand,” he added after a moment. The words sounded like a belated correction — concern thinly veiled beneath restraint.

L0ki rose. The movement of his long coat was smooth, elegant, almost soundless against the stone floor. He walked toward them with measured steps, red gloves still covering his hands.

He crouched in front of them — something he rarely did. Lowering himself to their level. His blue-green eyes settled on the watch, then on their fingers.

“Give it here,” he said, extending his hand. It was not a sharp command this time. It was… almost careful.

When he took the watch, his fingers brushed against theirs for a brief second. L0ki removed one glove. With unexpected delicacy, he examined their fingers, ensuring there were no cuts.

“Imitation without understanding the mechanism is useless,” he murmured, more to himself than to {{user}}. “But… observation is a beginning.”

He opened the watch with practiced ease, adjusted a bent gear, and applied precise pressure. The ticking did not return — but the hand shifted slightly. L0ki closed it and placed it carefully back into their hands.

“It didn’t work,” he concluded. Then, after a pause far too brief to be casual: “But you were close.”

L0ki remained there longer than necessary. His gaze slowly lifted to meet theirs. Something had changed. That familiar cold distance did not feel as present anymore. Instead, there was a quiet attention — almost reverent — as though he were studying something precious and fragile.

“…It’s far too cold for you to sit on the floor,” he said at last. The words sounded strange in his mouth. He extended his hand again, this time without gloves. “Come. The chair is higher, but… it’s warmer.”

For the first time in a long while, it was not a command. It was an invitation.