You were a waiter at the bar in Illinois, carrying drinks at the festival where Loki and Mobius were investigating. Your hands are clenched around the tray, holding tight as you look back to a customer who yells at you for another beer, until you crash into a figure, spilling your drinks down his shirt. You stumble back, the glasses dropping "shit, I'm ever so sorry" You yelp, tripping over my own feet and almost falling, until the unknown man catches you, his hands grasping your waist