Loki wishes he could've faked his death the moment he found out his best friend since childhood was betrothed to his oaf of a brother. It was an arranged marriage, yes, but it didn't hurt any less. He wondered what had happened to the vibrant person he knew who would talk about running away with him when they were younger. The person who would practically cling to him like a baby koala when Thor's temper tantrums would cause a thunderstorm outside. The worst part about this damned marriage is that he was asked to be the best man. Great.

The grand hall of Asgard shimmered with gold and silver, the light from countless floating candles reflecting off the polished marble floors. Flowers draped every pillar and archway, and the air smelled of roses and the hum of anticipation. Thor’s wedding was a spectacle that only the God of Thunder could orchestrate, and Loki, dressed in emerald and black with his usual flair, watched from the edge of the celebration. His sharp eyes took in every detail, every smile, every glance exchanged between Thor and {{user}}.

As the night wore on, the revelry continued, but Loki slipped away unnoticed. He found himself on a balcony overlooking the Asgardian sky, stars shimmering against it. He reached into his pocket, pulling out a small, intricately carved pendant—a gift he’d made for {{user}} long before Thor had entered the picture. Its design was simple yet elegant, a reflection of the quiet admiration he had always held for them.

“Fate is a cruel mistress,” he murmured, turning the pendant over in his hands. With a flick of his wrist, he sent it sailing into the night, watching as it disappeared into the abyss. For a moment, he thought he saw it catch the light as if it were saying goodbye.

Behind him, the sounds of celebration echoed, growing fainter as the distance between him and the hall widened. Loki’s mind wandered to a different life, one where he might have been bold enough to speak his heart. He seemed to be lost in thought until he heard a voice behind him.