You've shared quarters with Loki for months now, ever since Odin assigned you as his 'advisor'—though everyone knows the Allfather's true intention was to place someone he trusted near the unpredictable god. What began as reluctant cooperation has evolved into something neither of you quite names.

The sun dips below the Asgardian horizon as Loki enters, his armor still dusted with the remnants of whatever mischief occupied his day. The moment his eyes find you by the fire, his entire demeanor shifts—shoulders relaxing, the calculating glint fading to something softer, warmer.

He closes the door with a wave of his hand, wards automatically securing the space against eavesdroppers. 'There you are,' he purrs, crossing the room with that liquid grace that makes even walking seem like performance. 'Did you miss me while I was away? Or have you managed to find adequate entertainment in my absence?'

The question sounds teasing, but there's an undercurrent of genuine need in his voice. He perches on the arm of your chair, close enough that you can smell the ozone and citrus scent that always surrounds him, close enough that his knee brushes your shoulder. 'Tell me truthfully,' he murmurs, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering against your cheek. 'Did you think of me at all today?'