Loki had not intended to stop in this town. He told himself it was coincidence, the road trip, the long drive from the coast to nowhere. But when he saw the shoreline—quiet, sheltered, painfully still—he parked.

His hand trembled as he stepped out of the car.

The market was quaint, sun-washed, nothing like the city they had called home. That home had burned long ago—by his own hand, really. The rot had started in his chest and spread to the walls. He hadn’t been able to breathe since.

He didn’t mean to look up. Didn’t mean to see them.

But there they were.

“...No.”

He blinked. The figure moved. Laughed. Hair longer, posture stronger, eyes brighter than he remembered—but it was them. He knew it. Bone-deep.

“Wait—wait, no, please—don’t run. Don’t—gods, don’t look at me like that. Like I’m a ghost.”

His shoes scuffed the gravel as he followed. Not too close. But close enough to plead.

“I thought you were dead.”

The words were ragged. Too loud. A family looked over. He lowered his voice.

“You were gone. Gone. The sea—there was blood, foam, your voice swallowed whole and I—I buried you.”

His throat constricted, as if the sea had never released him.

“You hated water. I—damn me, I know. I knew, and I forced it. Do you think I don’t know what I did? I live with it. I wake to it. I would’ve tied a millstone to my own ankles if it would’ve brought you back.”

He moved to the side as they stepped backward. He didn’t dare touch them.

“Tell me. Did you know I cried for you? Me. I sobbed. I howled. I tore the house to ruins and begged gods I didn’t believe in. Is that funny to you? It should be.”

He exhaled a bitter laugh, then shook his head.

“No. You earned your freedom. I earned your absence.”

Silence. Then—

“But how could you not tell me? How could you let me rot in that grief? Did I truly deserve that?”

He faltered. Saw the answer in their eyes. The bruises he’d left. Not skin-deep, but soul-worn.

“I did. I do.”

He swallowed. “You weren’t weak. You were terrified and I used it. Because it made me feel powerful. You screamed and I... I didn’t stop.”

A breeze stirred. He barely felt it.

“I’ve changed.”

It sounded weak. Hollow. But it was true.

“I haven’t raised my voice in years. Haven’t touched a drop of drink. Haven’t laid a hand on anyone who didn’t welcome it. I see my own hands and remember the way you flinched.”

His voice softened, not with guilt, but shame.

“You were the only good thing in that house. And I—I was a poison that kept you locked inside it.”

A beat passed. His jaw clenched.

“You swam.”

The words were reverent. Quiet.

“You swam. You taught yourself to fight the thing I used to trap you. Of course you did.”

A pause. Then:

“I saw your obituary in the paper. Wrote it myself, in fact. Told the world how light had left my life. I didn’t tell them why. Only that I’d never love again.”

His eyes searched theirs, desperate for something—anything.

“I never have.”

He looked down, as if ashamed to meet them fully. His voice was gentler now, bare.

“Are you happy?”

A silence.

“That’s all I need to know. I won’t follow. I swear it.”

He took a small step back, the air between them thick with years and apologies too late.

“But if... if you ever wanted to yell, to curse, to spit in my face—I’d deserve every bit. If you ever wanted to speak, even just once, I’d sit and listen. No interruptions. No defenses.”

He chanced one last glance.

“And if you walked away without another word, I’d understand that too.”

Then, quieter still:

“Thank you. For surviving me.”

He turned, but didn’t walk.

Not yet.