Atreus is easier to talk to than anyone in Asgard has a right to be.

He sits across from you in the courtyard, asking questions with genuine curiosity. No venom. No games. Just a boy trying to understand gods who wear cruelty like a second skin. You laugh once, quiet, surprised and he smiles like that alone is a victory.

“You’re… nice,” he says, a little relieved. “I didn’t think anyone here would be.”

Before you can answer, the air tightens. You feel it before you see him.

Heimdall stands at the edge of the archway, arms crossed, expression frozen into something sharp and unreadable. His eyes flick between you and Atreus, reading everything, the ease, the warmth, the trust. His jaw tightens. He doesn’t interrupt. He doesn’t need to. He waits.

Atreus senses it too. He stands, awkward. “Uh… I should go. Odin wanted something.”

You quickly nod in agreement before he quickly leaves.