Chapter Text
Thor Odinson's heart leaps at the familiar Starbucks sign. Sure, this one is weathered, and the windows of the store are blacked out and he's only assuming it's open because he just watched someone else walk in and they haven't come out yet, but then again it could be because they're already dead, but it's a Starbucks sign and everything is right in his miniscule world again. A world that has recently become unrecognizable. It is bearable now against the light of the sign that promises corporate drudgery with decent coffee, just like the one back home. Thor trudges across the street with an ear to ear grin.
It is not like the Starbucks back home.
Something feral and electric accosts his ears from an invisible stereo that should be blaring family-appropriate music. The comfy chairs are covered in worn velvet instead of the usual 'is it leather?' plastic brown sheen. The walls are collaged with amateur posters with big block letters and enough exclamation marks to give Thor a headache. Zine print outs. All the benefits of using organic tampons. The writing is incomprehensibly small and Thor has to put his nose up to the wall to read it. He does it more out of disbelief than an investment in knowledge.
“It's not a library,” A cold voice startles him. A man behind the cash register is staring at him with narrow eyes and a haughty expression that is somehow simultaneously bored. The stranger rolls his eyes and slides his attention over to the only person in line. Thor would peg him as a barista, but he's missing the familiar green smock. In its place is a cardigan covered by a checkered scarf.
Thor stands in line. The 'barista' goes off to make whatever the 'usual' is of the person in front of Thor. Along with the green smock he's also missing a name tag. No one else appears to be working. It's three in the afternoon, two blocks from a university campus, and there are only two other people in the 'Starbucks.' Everything Thor thinks now comes with quotation marks to emphasize how little he trusts these words. How is this place so 'dead?'
The 'barista' reappears with a paper cup filled with something caramel coloured and steaming. Scribbled on the side in black marker are the words 'carnists, right?' instead of a name. The customer in front of Thor looks at it, glances at Thor, and laughs.
“Is this actually a Starbucks?” Thor says when it's his turn.
“Sure, whatever you want. What are you ordering?” The 'barista' says. His eyes are already darting away, made more obvious by the black liner that surrounds them. The eyeliner makes the green irises stand out like acid in old tv-cartoons.
“I'll get the 'usual.'” Thor winks, like it's some secret they're both in on.
The 'barista' raises a single perfectly plucked eyebrow and no other muscles on his face move. His eyebrow is so smooth it was probably drawn on with a fucking sharpie.
“Whatever she got, the person in front of me,” Thor explains.
“Zhe.”
“What?” Thor thinks he misheard him.
“Whatever zhe got,” the 'barista' rolls his eyes again and walks away to make the drink.
Thor pays for whatever it is, holding back his words. His usual cocky demeanour is deflating. The next set might get this guy to prick it with a pin and then it's all over. This is the closest he's come to another person since he moved into his single room apartment. His Masters classes don't start for a week and there is no guarantee he'll like any of his peers. Or that they'll like him. He got along with everyone back home, but what if it's different this time? What if like the Starbucks, things are not how they're supposed to be?
Thor grabs the drink and slumps into a couch in the corner of the coffee shop. Biding his time, he tells himself.
He pulls a book out of his bag and opens it in his lap. His eyes stare at the page, moving without taking anything in. Drifting back and forth to give the illusion that he's reading. His fingers are tense on the arm rests, aching to go back to the wall. To memorize every absurd thing he sees so he'll have a story to tell his friends, or the next one he makes. He can't live in the moment, be here reading his book and drinking whatever the 'barista' made him. He's already somewhere else, deciding how the story will start. How he'll describe this strange man. What details are unnecessary clutter. What parts he can scrap.
The 'barista' crosses the room and slides into a couch in the other corner of the cafe. Thor almost misses it with his eyes moving back and forth over the page, but he hears him.
“Aren't you working?” Thor asks as he look up.
The single eyebrow arch again. Thor can't take it back, too late, his words are out in the world. Even if the reaction looks perfect, poised as if he's a model posing for a villains themed photo shoot Thor didn't know was happening, he doesn't want it to be this way. Thor wants to be on a different side of that reaction. Not the person that causes it, but the one this guy is laughing with after. Thor's hands are clammy.
Thor shrugs, “Maybe you're not, you're not wearing a name tag.” He tries to make it sound logical.
“You were looking for my name.” It's flat, a statement. Heat rises on Thor's neck. Maybe his cheeks too.
“Yeah, I was,” Thor says boldly.
The 'barista' seems to enjoy this. He gets off his couch and crosses the room.
“It's Loki,” he says as he slides into the couch across from Thor.
“Thor,” Thor tells him.
“You can put that away now Thor,” Loki says, his green eyes darting to the book open in Thor's lap. It's not clearly a demand or a suggestion, but Thor does it anyways.
Loki doesn't say anything after that, just sits there. His entire body is still. His pupils do not move from being locked on Thor's face. Thor looks away once, shifting uncomfortably. When he looks back Loki is still sitting, staring.
When Thor can't take it any longer he grabs the drink beside him and takes a deep sip. “Wow, this is great, what is it?” Thor grins.
Loki takes a few moments to respond. He's still watching Thor, not interested in getting involved until the last possible second. Thor's almost worried he didn't hear him.
“It's an almond milk latte,” Loki says eventually. His voice is as empty as his face, giving away nothing.
“Huh, how do you get milk from almonds?”
The eyebrow arch again. “Kidding!” Thor says quickly.
Loki laughs, but it might be at Thor. Still, it's a new reaction. Loki's face lights up with a happiness that doesn't reach his eyes. Those are unquestionably dead.
“Why are you here Thor?” Loki asks, leaning forward.
“Here, like in the... Starbucks?” Thor hesitates.
“Whatever you like.”
“How can it be whatever I like? You asked the question.” Thor frowns.
“The question isn't what I'm interested in.” Loki's voice draws out, slower, like he's said this a million times before. If so, he's not gotten any better at explaining it in all the trial runs that have led up to this moment. “Just answer it.” His voice is calm, but this time it's clearly a demand.
“It looked familiar,” Thor admits. He bites his bottom lip, not sure what Loki expects to hear. What he wants to hear. “And nothing is familiar here. The university doesn't have a frat. I can't join the sports team because I'm in my Masters.”
“What does it mean to you, that it's not familiar?” Loki says.
Thor stares at him and furrows his eyebrows. Anyone else would have asked him what he was doing his Masters in. Might have said that sounds rough. Instead Loki said that and Thor feels himself bristling inside, uncomfortable in his own skin. “What are you, a psychologist?” Thor laughs. It's not a happy sound.
“If you're going to use the word familiar when you talk to me, I'd like to know what you think it means.”
“It means familiar. It's got a dictionary definition you can look up. I'm not... making up some random meaning.” Thor's voice rises.
Loki doesn't budge. “Define it.”
“Fine, whatever.” Thor scowls. “Something I'm used to.”
Loki hasn't reacted. That damn silence makes Thor uncomfortable, burning to blurt out the next thing he's thinking just to fill it. “Familiar is an expected routine. Nothing out of place from how I remember it.” The words are coming easier now that he's started. “That's comforting because no matter how much everything else changes, that familiar thing doesn't and I know it's going to be okay because it's like a light in a storm.”
“People used to put lights on the sides of cliffs during particularly bad storms. In the morning they'd go out and see if they caught any shipwrecks.” Loki pauses. “They probably still do it now,” he adds thoughtfully.
“What the fuck does that mean?” Thor is completely taken aback, the novelty of being polite lost on him now.
“I used to have a professor that when you asked him what a story meant, he would just repeat the story again.”
“Okay...” Thor's exasperated, trying to make sense of why this is so ridiculous. Why his skin feels like it's crawling. “but you asked me what familiar meant.”
“Words are different,” is all Loki says.
“Can you explain that to me?” Thor says with a rough sigh, running a hand back through his long blonde hair.
“Words are meant for me. Familiar can mean a demon that obeys a sorcerer or a witch, usually in the form of a cat. Or a person rendering religious services. So you see, I had to ask,” Loki says. Thor doesn't see anything.
“Is that what you mean when you say familiar?” He laughs in disbelief.
Loki pauses thoughtfully. “Yes.” He doesn't indicate which one. Thor assumes he means the first option. He's turning out to be that kind of person. Thor bets his brain is a box of cats. No neurons, no synapses. Just cats.
“What about stories, who are they meant for?” Thor asks, no longer self conscious. In his university lectures he used to feel stupid when he asked a question. If you're thinking it, there's at least three other people who are as well and they're too afraid to ask it. By asking the question, you're really doing everyone a favour. Someone once said that to Thor to get him to loosen up. He doesn't remember who, just that it didn't work. Also, there are no stupid questions. That one probably doesn't work for anyone. Now Thor isn't worried about looking stupid. It's just him and Loki and Loki's leaning in and devouring every word. Thor doesn't know what he's doing with them when he devours them, what he thinks about them because that crazy face is absolutely empty, but he's eating them up. He's listening and it's strangely intimate.
“Most people say stories are for me, the audience, but they're lying. They're really for you - the person telling them,” Loki says.
“So... you told me about the lighthouse for yourself.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Loki shrugs. “Some things you have to say, even if no one understands them.” Thor gets that, or at least the part about being misunderstood. The more they talk, the less Thor feels like he understands. They're going in circles and somehow getting lost while doing it.
“Did you understand what I said? Was it good?” Thor asks. The words are out before he can stop them or even realize he means them, those self-denigrating words that are begging to be acknowledged.
“Nothing is good Thor,” Loki smiles as he pats Thor on the arm. “but it was interesting.”
Loki stands up from the couch.
“What does interesting mean?” Thor asks.
“That it was an invitation.” Loki pauses, then smirks. “One I'm likely to accept.”
“Then why are you leaving?” Thor can't help that it comes out raw.
“I'm working,” Loki says. That's not it, but it's smoke between them as Loki vanishes behind the counter. Gone as if he was never there. As if the entire conversation hadn't happened, but it had. Thor feels the aftereffects of it jagged and sharp beneath his skin. The ghost of Loki's hand on his arm.
Thor pulls out his book, determined to read this time. His eyes are dead weights on the paper. They drag along. He repeats the words he's reading in his mind but they don't make any sense. They are just sounds without meaning.
After a few failed minutes Thor shoves the book back into his bag and stands up. He gets a head-rush from moving so quickly, but it's what he sees that makes him shaky on his feet. Loki's leaning over the counter and talking to a customer. He's laughing softly at something that was said. The laughter is easier than it was with Thor, more real. Light and silver. Genuine.
Thor leaves in a hurry. He doesn't wave or say goodbye.
He makes it two blocks before he realizes he forgot his almond milk latte on the table. He only took one sip, the one when Loki was staring at him. He doesn't go back to get it. He falls asleep trying to remember what it tasted like, only remembering the echo of himself saying it was great.