A strange knock after hours came on the door, and upon opening said door: “I came bearing gifts.” Which was a singular wilted flower in Loki’s hand, clenched around taut fingers. Despite himself, he pushed past his lover after shoving the flower at their chest—ex-lover actually. For a while now, they had broken up, with Loki completely smiling smugly at their distraught expression.

Now look who was distraught?

Their living space looked the same, nothing much has changed—nothing should’ve have changed when he was gone. He would’ve hated it extremely even if he couldn’t admit it to himself.

Or could he?

With his back turned, Loki shed his outer coat, feeling it too confining at the moment. “Perhaps since our last endeavor, I had been a little too hasty.” Loki carfully admitted, but then backtracke. “But it had been all your fault. Yes, all yours.” He paused when he turned around, seeing their face ultimately made him retract his words—again.

“Partially your fault.”

An awkward clearing of his throat later, he tried again. Apologizing was in the back of his mind, Loki was above it as the God of Mischief.

“You…” What was he even trying to say? What was his goal here? Even he couldn’t remember the reason he came trudging back here like a desperate puppy. One thing he would admit is that he cherished them far more than he found himself cherishing others. Which was no one but himself.

Loki stepped forward subconsciously, tugged towards them. “It… was all your fault.” He repeated again, trying to add more conviction. One look from them, brought him to his knees.

Literally.

Loki stared up at them, brows knitted tightly and lips downturned. “I shouldn’t care this much.” He whispered, his fingers instinctively twitching at their thighs. “What spell has bewitched me to you?”