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Chapter Text

Kjære 

/ˈçæːɾə/

Direct translation: dearie 

English equivalent: Dear (nickname) 

From the word kjær (see: dear)

Adjective: Regarded with deep affection 

Noun: Used as an affectionate or friendly form of address. 

Additional notes 

By: Mobius M. Mobius - junior researcher, VD

Commoningly used by Asgardians to address their partner. The use of the word usually surfaces after a significant amount of time together, when the surety of the partnership has reached a stable and comfortable level (see: married couples, parenting in Asgard, Asgardian partnership). 

Variations:

Min kjære - My dear & Kjæreste - Dearest (General term for boyfriend/girlfriend, partner, or significant other - before marriage). 

The first time it happens, it flies past so quickly he almost misses it. It isn’t until Loki is halfway down the hallway, Mobius staying back and bringing his cup of coffee up to relieved, smiling lips that it really registers in his mind. The cup stops for a fraction of a second, mouth half open as the realization strikes him like lightning from a clear sky.

I’ll see you there, kjære.

Mobius looks down the hallway at the flips of brown khaki disappearing around the corner, before dropping his gaze down at his coffee cup. Up again, down, up. Eyes unfocused and head slowly kicking into gear like a car left out overnight during winter. He puts Loki’s words on replay a couple of times, making sure the electrifying roll of emotions in the pit of his stomach doesn’t interfere with his memory or translation skills. No, he is sure.

When he snaps back, Mobius is feeling more awake than he has done in a very, very long time. 

They have been working on the case for weeks, at lesst he is pretty sure it has been weeks. Time is always difficult to navigate within the TVA, however counterintuitive that might sound. The task had been simple enough on paper; the variance-prediction department had talked to Renslayer about a theory on how they could more accurately predict a nexus event happening, based on repeating factors present in past missions. If it turned out to hold reliable merit, they could keep teams of minute-men at the ready during particularly precarious moments on the timeline, where variants were more likely to pop up. The last thing they had needed was a team to troubleshoot the theory in practice, and who were the leading experts on the single most likely variant to pop up no matter where they were in all of space and time? Precisely. 

Mobius isn’t completely sure if Renslayer had initially approached him with this case just because he has Loki on his team and she actually thought he could provide useful insight, or if she just wanted to stuff the two of them away in a dark corner of the TVA for as long as possible. In any case, the mission quickly became their problem to deal with. They had been given a case, a Loki variant to follow through his life on the timeline, while researching the prediction theory at the same time, looking for repeating factors in earlier cases to try and pinpoint when the timeline would be most likely to branch.

It hadn’t taken them long to create their own little routine. Get up, meet for a quick cup of coffee before combing through the archives looking for anything that could point them in any type of direction. It was tedious work, the life of a Loki was as variable as stars in the universe, and instead of having a lack of variables to look out for, there were simply too many.

Loki had grown exasperated within the first week. 

“No wonder we’re the most pruned variant in this place, none of us seems to want to live the same life, ever. Just one foot out of line and you guys come in and drag us away.” He had scoffed, whacking the file he had been reading for the past 20 minutes down on the table between them. 

“You’re telling me,” Mobius had murmured, eyes still downcast, not willing to lose his place in his own agonizingly boring rapport, “I have been studying you my whole life.” 

He had sighed then, worrying his lip for a second before choosing to continue “Not with this type of focus though.” 

“Oh? What type of focus did you have the last time, Agent Mobius?” Loki had tried his best to keep his tone conversational, but Mobius heard the smug smile in his voice all the same. 

Instead of playing into his games, Mobius had flipped the page and pretended not to have heard him. Loki didn’t have to know that he had actually made him lose his place in the godforsaken rapport, nor did he need to know about Mobius’s keen interest in the God’s approach to relationships either. Love languages, attachment styles. What makes a Loki tick indeed. 

Out of some sheer luck, or divine intervention, Loki had let the topic drop without much fuzz. Some positives had to come out of the work, one of them being the ability to bore the god so thoroughly that he had lost the worst edge to his mischief, opting instead to get through the job as fast as possible. Which had not been very fast, no matter how far he had pushed his head down and lost himself to it. 

He had settled down into the work, eventually. They both had. After a couple of weeks the morning cup of coffee and joined lunch break had turned into late nights in Mobius’s apartment, pouring over files and discussing their own theories. Then, when the late nights turned too late too many times, Loki had started staying the night on the couch. At this point in time however, if any of them had noticed how the amount of files had diminished slowly over time, and their conversations had begun to flow every which way, rarely getting back on the topic of the case, and the nights had remained as late as ever, none of them had cared to mention it. 

The fact of the matter is that it had been a while, their daily routine reduced to an artform at this point. Steadily trudging through the workload and learning to exist in each other’s company along the way. Or, that had been the fact right up until a couple of days ago, when Loki had found a lead that set off something in him unlike anything Mobius had seen in the god before. 

Loki had excused himself, practically leaping from where he had been sitting at Mobius’s little kitchen table, scanning over the last couple of pages of a file he had brought back, despite them not really planning to do much more reading that night. Mobius, who had been idly wondering what type of philosophical conundrum they would be swept up into eventually disagreeing on that night, and if it could please be an easy one so he could get a decent amount of sleep, had stared at the god blankly as he had ran around the room gathering his things. Before he could collect his thoughts well enough to ask what had happened, Loki had already disappeared out of the door. 

That was 3 days ago. Loki had not come back later that night, and Mobius hadn’t seen him around for coffee, lunch or dinner since. It hadn’t taken him long before worry had crept into the back of his mind, asking him if he had forgotten who he really was dealing with here. He had squashed those questions with no small amount of shame, reminding himself of how Loki had seemed to really care about the work in the end, and replaying the memory of his genuine excitement when he seemed to have found something that could help them. 

Besides, there was no way for the god to leave the TVA without someone being noted on the fact, and that note would eventually make its way to Mobius, in under 3 days no less. He had tried to squash that thought as well, as it left a bad taste in his mouth of a sort he had never felt before. 

No, the problem hadn’t been where Loki was, just the fact that he was gone. Between him reminding himself not to worry and actually trying to do his job, Mobius had spent the past 3 days trying, and failing, to ignore the feeling of Loki’s absence like a hole in the atmosphere everywhere he went. Like the cold seeping into the exact spot someone’s hand used to lay. The evenings had been strangely quiet and empty, not at all the blessed silence he used to cherish before Loki came crashing into his life. Out of the many weeks they had been stuck on this case, the past few days had by far felt like the longest.

Which could explain how his head went through what must have been three reboots during the short conversation they had on the morning of the fourth day, when Loki decided to miraculously reappear. 

Mobius had just stepped out into the hallway, his cup of undrunk coffee slowly cooling in his hand after his regular morning debrief with Ravonna, all the no, nothing yet ’s and yes we’re working on it’s and oh well Loki got a bit hung up ’s still playing on a loop in his mind when he had been stopped short by the sight of dark raven curls and a pearly white grin racing towards him. 

“There you are!” Loki had said. Like it was Mobius that had been gone for days, like he didn’t notice the way Mobius’s air left his lungs as if he had been knocked to the floor by a giant. 

Judging by the way Loki had kept blabbering like nothing in the world was wrong, it seemed like the latter was correct. Mobius had grabbed the moment to catch his breath, making sure the oblivious god in front of him wasn’t just a figment of his frazzled imagination. Loki had kept going on and on about something Mobius completely lost track of. That was, until Loki had clapped a hand on Mobius' shoulder, eyes shining with eagerness, saying “I understand if it’s a lot to process this early in the morning. At least, I think it’s the morning.” 

He had looked around then, seemingly noticing his surroundings for the first time, before turning back with an expression that bordered on sheepish. “I do apologize for disappearing on you like that Mobius, but this is great stuff! I think we’re finally able to get somewhere with this variant. We must update B-15 this instant, are you coming?”

Mobius had blinked at him, trying to catch up with the last five minutes of information, and eventually had been able to muster a small, “Yeah, just finishing this cup of coffee.” weakly offering the cup long gone cold. 

Loki had smiled then, something more personal about his expression, a smile that seemed like he had been keeping away for the past couple of days, saving it up for Mobius alone. 

“Great. I’ll go find B-15 and catch her up so we can get started before lunch. Oh, and by the way, what do you think about salmon for tonight? I think I have a craving. It is very odd. Well anyway, I’ll see you there, kjære.” 

Which led Mobius to where he is now - standing in the middle of the hallway outside his boss’ office looking like a complete idiot, with a cup of coffee he has no plan on finishing before following that whirlwind of charm and bright ideas who just called him dear like it was nothing.

He shakes himself out of his thoughts. Wherever Loki had been, whatever had made him behave is this way - it had something to do with their current mission. Mobius can’t make himself get annoyed about Loki’s disappearance when he decides to pop up again in such a fashion. He discards the coffee on a nearby trolley and strides down the hall in the same direction Loki had flown a few minutes before. Almost on cue, he feels a buzzing in his inner pocket, the tempad glowing orange as he fishes it out to have a look. There is a simple message displayed on the front: 

B-15: Chrono Bay Eight

Loki didn’t get far then. Mobius had decided early to keep quiet about his lack of variant companion to B-15, and although she had been gratuitous enough to keep her questions about it to a minimum, Loki showing up all alone talking her ear off about his progress on the case with no Mobius in sight must be too much, even for her. 

Mobius turns the corner and steps onto the midway of chrono bay eight. There is a bustling energy in there, with people moving and talking all over the place. He passes more than one miffed timeline analyst with their arms full of paperwork. Others are coming in through different doors, looking around like lost sheep. Loki is standing on the other side, closer to the monitors, pouring over what looks like maps with a pensive, but focused B-15 by his side. Another minuteman is standing by the table, trying to point analysts this way and that.

The latter sends Mobius an exasperated look as he makes his way through the crowd. 

“Finally,” he huffs, “someone with the actual authority to tell me what is going on here.” 

Mobius raises an eyebrow. “What do you mean?” 

“Well this one decided it would be perfectly fine for him to waltz in here and start demanding the switch of analyst teams.” The minuteman wifts an indignant hand in Loki’s direction, but the god is too engrossed in whatever he and B-15 is discussing to notice. 

Mobius represses both a chuckle and an eyeroll. This new clue must be groundbreaking for B-15 to agree on bringing in the rest of the team and taking over an entire chrono bay. It takes him a second to realize that the minuteman in front of him had kept going. 

“-and where is his collar anyway, he is a variant isn’t he? I have half a mind to put one on him right now and bring my timetwister out. That will teach him a lesson about what happens when variants like him think they can make demands.” 

Mobius raises his hand sharply. “That’s quite enough.” 

The minuteman falls quiet from the heat in his voice. Mobius lets his hand drop and takes a deep breath, stuffing it in his pocket with an attempt at a jovial smile, trying to disperse the sudden tension. His heart is still hammering hard and angry in his chest. 

“This variant is my responsibility, and an invaluable asset on this mission. Especially compared to other members of the team.” Mobius looks the man up and down with a small frown, “You will take orders from him as you would me or B-15, is that understood?” 

He is met with a stunned silence, before the minuteman grumbles, “So he is like, what? Your partner?” 

There is no time to answer before Mobius is distracted by all the monitors in front of him lighting up. Hundreds of pictures flash before his eyes in quick succession. A lone farmhouse on a remote mountainside, the sea foaming and thrashing against a stony shore, people, families and couples and individuals, old and young, walking in the snowy woods, sitting down to have dinner, a big city by the sea, a small village in a valley, sheep, cows, wheatfields, barren tundra, lush forest. 

He turns to have a better look, and in the corner of his eye he registers Loki clapping B-15 on the shoulder, before he turns his head and notices Mobus’ arrival for the first time. 

“Mobius!” He exclaims. Mobius can’t help but notice how it comes off a tad bit loud, a little too forced. 

Instead of waiting for an answer, Loki quickly walks up to stand in front of him.

“What do you think?” He asks, arms slightly lifted at his sides to show off the flashing images racing across the screens behind him. 

“I’m not quite sure what I’m looking at here, Loki.” Mobius replies honestly. His head is still a mess after the last half hour of surprises. He needs a night off, maybe even five. Had Loki really mentioned salmon for dinner tonight - or was that just wishful thought after their chat in the hallway ending on such a domestic note?

Loki only smiles, “I know where the variant is going to pop up.” He raises his arms completely, reaching out like a magician revealing his biggest trick, eyes alight. “NORWAY!” 

Mobius looks at him for a moment, then at the screens, then at B-15 still standing at the desk, arms crossed and with a thoughtful expression. 

“Just hear him out Mobius, he convinced me.” She says. 

“Come, come, come.” Loki puts an arm around Mobius’ shoulders and urges him along. Mobius lets himself be guided to the table, where several documents lay strewn over a big map. He recognises the location instantly as Tønsberg, one of the earliest settlements of the vikings in Norway, but before he can say anything Loki removes his arm to point at the map. 

“This one here is a city called Tønsberg. The key on the side explains the difference in terrain. I’m sure you can read a map Mobius, but this is in Norwegian - the closest modern language to Asgardian. This one for example is green for skog, which means woods. While this is dyrket mark, basically fields and such…” 

Loki’s words become a murmur in the background as Mobius’ heartbeat speeds up, blood rushing in his ears. It feels like someone has poured ice cold water over his head, making him both alert and dizzy all at once. 

He doesn’t know.  

The god in front of him keeps talking and pointing, completely oblivious to the fact that Mobius understands everything he is saying, even without a translation. He is the leading analyst in the field of Loki variants, of course he knows Asgardian. He has probably used this exact map in his research as a junior researcher. That thought sends a spike of fear through his chest, and he quickly scans the other documents adorning the desk. None of them looks like they could be from him, or his department for that matter. He lets out a relieved sigh, consoling himself with the fact that there would be very little reason for Loki to go snooping in those specific topics anyway. 

Loki stops talking eventually, and turns back to him with bright eyes and a smile that he probably thinks is helping to hide the air of nervousness around him as he looks to Mobius for validation. Mobius opens his mouth to answer, but quickly shuts it again as it has gone completely dry. He swallows and lets his eyes roam across the desk once more. 

“How did you…” He clears his throat. “How did you get to this conclusion, exactly?” 

Loki’s smile grows more sure as he reaches across the desk to produce one of the files that has been laying underneath a stack of paper. 

“I’m glad you asked. You remember the other day, right before we were about to turn in for the night.” 

Mobius fights to keep a blush from reaching his cheeks as it creeps up his neck. The casual tone of Loki’s voice is almost enough to send his head spinning again.

“Well, after so many weeks without nothing to show, I decided I could just as well go back to square one. In this case, that meant me, and what I did to make the TVA decide to apprehend me and purge the timeline I created.” 

Loki flips the file open. His own tired and confused face stares back up at them with the number L1130 in big bold letters stamped on the case description. It is the first time Mobius really notices how different the Loki standing in front of him looks from the one that he met first thing after they brought him to the TVA. His cheeks and eyes don’t have that hollow look, his skin is warmer and his shoulders more relaxed. 

“It was when I thought about my actions right before the TVA showed up that it struck me.” Loki continues, “What had I done, exactly, to make the timeline branch? Easy, I had done something for myself.” 

He reaches over again and retrieves the other files. 

“A quick look through other finished cases with already processed variants solidified my theory. Although the cause, time and place of the branches varies greatly from case to case, they have one common denominator; if a Loki makes a choice that will benefit them and only them in the grand scheme of things, the timeline will branch. Now, I hear what you’re saying, Lokis go to Norway all the time without creating a nexus event. However, I dare say that sooner or later, a Loki is going to want to go to a place that feels like home, just for themself.” He reaches out and puts his hand on the files. His eyes are focused, calculating. Like he is seeing red strings connecting them all across the table. “You said it yourself Mobius; I was born to help others achieve the best possible version of themselves. Every selfish act is never really selfish, until suddenly it is - and that’s when you guys come in.” 

Mobius’ stomach does a nauseating little flip. Loki’s tone is casual, professional, as if he’s not realizing the devastation laid plain in what he is saying. But Mobius can see it. Mobius knows it by heart. It is the bottom line of all his research and work with Loki variants in his eternity within the TVA, but hearing it explained so clearly by a Loki - his Loki, who he has seen grow and change and fall into place with his own two eyes for the past weeks - is another thing entirely.  

Loki turns to him once more with that same expression from before, a mix of pride and poorly hidden insecurity. At least it is poorly hidden in Mobius’ eyes, because he knows Loki. He knows him much more than he might have understood.

He places a hand on Loki’s shoulder and gives it a squeeze. His voice is warm when he answers. “That is good Loki. This is really, really good. Now tell me, what does this one say?” 

Loki beams and launches himself right into another translation, way too eager to notice the pained expression shadowing Mobius’ face as the lie passes his lips. He has made his choice now, and there is no going back. Because two things have become abundantly clear to him in the last hour. 

Firstly, he is in love. He is in love with a god and a variant and a person that has been convinced that their life’s purpose is to never have anything for themselves. He got to know him from afar and have gotten used to having him in his life, the easy domesticity of existing together. The experience of losing that, just for a couple of days, has made him see. 

Secondly, Loki loves him back, in one way or another. He’s just not sure exactly how, because, as Mobius realizes with a start, despite all his research and observations and notetaking, he has actually never experienced a Loki being truly happy. Approaches to relationships, sure. Attachment styles, plenty. But the god in front of him is right; the second any of them begin to experience true love and comfortability, the sacred timeline branches quicker than anyone can get their pens out, and that's it. Minute-men, processing, court case, pruning, paperwork. Case closed, the flow of the sacred timeline secured once more. He has never gotten the chance to truly observe a Loki being happy, not until his Loki stayed around. 

Loki, who is standing right in front of him, explaining in depth how everything that is wrong with himself has to do with him wanting something, having something that is his. Loki, who despite this has found that he wants something after all, who has spent time with Mobius, let him in, made him a part of his life despite all odds. Who is hiding this love behind a second language because he thinks it’ll never be. 

He was created to play his part on the sacred timeline, the part of the villain, the part of the outcast. Mobius lets his eyes flicker back to the picture in the original variant file and then back to the Loki standing in front of him, who could just as well be another person entirely. Because they are not on the sacred timeline, and he doesn’t have to play that part anymore. It itches something deep inside Mobius. His newfound love, sure, but also that deep set curiosity within him that has helped him rise to the position of senior researcher, an expert on Lokis. Well, almost an expert. 

Loki doesn’t know that Mobius can understand him, in more ways than one. Right there and then, Mobius makes a choice that he can never tell. It might be early, but it’s still too late, and he knows it. Even though he might know the extent of his own feelings, he has a suspicion that Loki does not entirely understand his. He has to be careful, let Loki come to his own conclusions. Underneath this, however, he can feel the need to see where this is going, to know more. He has already let so much slip right past him, and all he knows now is just how little he actually knows about how to keep Loki happy, truly happy.

He also knows that if he were to reveal his knowledge already, Loki would do the most Loki thing; flee. And Mobius would let him. Hell, he would figure out some way to place Loki back on the timeline, a time and place where he could have the possibility to live happily, if that is what he needed. That would be it.

But Mobius is patient. He can wait. Wait and show Loki that he is safe. Safe to speak, safe to have something, safe to love.

Chapter Text

Elskling 

/ɛlsklɪŋ/

Direct translation: N/A

English equivalent: Love (nickname) 

From the word elske (see: to love) 

Noun  

A person who is loved. 

Used as an affectionate form of address to a beloved person 

Additional notes 

By: Mobius M. Mobius - junior researcher, VD

While still used between partners, elskling as an affectionate nickname is often preserved for more familiar, close relations, like between two parents, or between parent and child. The use of the nickname shows a deep connection between the applicant and the object of affection, unable to be broken, like a family bond. 

Variations: 

Elskede - Beloved

If Loki is going to be completely honest - a concept he is still struggling to wrap his head around, years and years of lies and deceit coming as natural as breathing until he himself doesn’t know what is true anymore - the first time was a mistake. 

A slip of the tongue, caught in the heat of the moment. The word had been out of his mouth before his brain had even registered it was queued up. It wasn’t until he had turned the corner that realization had struck, a knife of fear shooting right through his chest. He had stopped in the middle of the hallway, vision going white with panic before he remembered that Mobius might not be far behind. So he had done what he does best; fled, and lied. Fled through the different chrono bays in a frantic search for B-15, and came up with the most convincing lie he could tell himself about Mobius not knowing a word of Asgardian. 

He had managed to convince himself pretty thoroughly by the time he had stumbled upon chrono bay eight and B-15 with her irritable footman, and soon he had been too wound up in explaining his findings, switching out teams and booting up monitors to remember that he was supposed to convince himself that his entire new life would not be over the second Mobius walked in the door after him. 

But then he had suddenly been there. Mobius. Right behind him, in a weird sort of standoff with the minuteman - Loki never bothered to learn his name - and then the monitors kicked in and tidbits of home had flashed before their eyes. Mobius had quickly lost interest in the other man and had instead just stood there wondrous, colors and lights reflecting in his eyes. And Loki had let instinct take over again, the sudden and powerful craving for Mobius’ validation urging him to put his trepidations to the side for the time being. He had let his mouth run ahead of his brain again, jumping at the opportunity to take Mobius through what he had been working on for the past couple of days. 

Then, as if he had managed to will it into existence, Mobius had admitted that he does in fact not know Asgardian. The pure relief that had flowed through Loki’s body at that very moment had been enough to almost knock him out, but he had swallowed it back to hide that there had ever been a problem in the first place, and had finally been able to let himself disappear into the work once more, with Mobius by his side. 

Work that - evidently - included making Mobius dinner every night. 

Loki’s fingers tap a soft rhythm against the kitchen counter where he has braced himself against the cupboards, watching the pot on the stove steam and putter. The distinct smell of lamb, kale and pepper fill Mobius’ tiny apartment. The living quarters of the TVA are not much to brag about, kitchen included, but Loki has been able to make do. His eyes glide up to the clock on the wall, the ugly thing sporting no numbers, just a single arm moving at a slow, steady pace to indicate that something is happening. 

He’s tried to work with it during his cooking experiments for the past couple of days, as well as monitor how long Mobius tends to be gone when he gets called in for meetings with the variance-prediction department and judge Renslayer. Despite Mobius’ repeated reassurances, and Loki’s breakthrough, they insist that it is not his place to take part in these meetings. Another reminder of his status as a variant, something that doesn’t seem to change no matter what he does. The rhythm of his fingers stutter slightly as he sighs, thinking back on what has changed in the past - however long it’s been since they got stuck with this assignment. 

He remembers being angry, then bored. How would being stuck in the dark pit of the archives for hours every day get him any closer to the timekeepers? After some consideration however, he had come to the conclusion that keeping his head low might be the best solution. Anything to keep him from getting pruned before he had a chance to hatch a better plan. They needed him on this, at least they thought they did, so he would have to be careful not to halt for too long, keeping his work satisfactory whilst trying to drag it out until he could figure out exactly what was going on in this place. 

But then, Mobius had invited him for dinner. Not just to work, but to share a meal together and have a conversation. Loki had spent most of the night trying to look past Mobius’ words to see what he really wanted, and had walked the trek back to his variant accommodation with fresh respect for the man, because whatever it was he had wanted, he had been an expert at hiding it. 

Then it happened again. And again. Then B-15 had already poured him a coffee when he arrived late one day. Then Casey had filed away some of his discarded files after he fell asleep at his desk. Then Mobius had offered him the couch late one night, pulling out a blanket and waving good night, not trying anything untowards whatsoever. 

At the start he had been confused by this. His anger returned as spring promised after a long winter. For some reason, he could not for the life of him figure out the motives behind these actions, no matter how hard he tried or how dismissive he was. It just kept happening. Somehow, the other people on his team were able to reach deep into him and slowly soothe the bristled hairs of the animal he had locked up in there so long ago. The very animal that in turn had started to reach out, desperate and starved, longing for their warmth. He had spent night after night awake in his chambers, trying to push it back into its cage, to keep it safe and hidden like he had always done. Time went on, the other shoe didn’t drop, and the others didn’t change.

Slowly but surely, the plan on getting to the timekeepers took a backseat, and he had started to focus more on the case, to look forward to getting back to Mobius’ apartment after a long day, to entertain B-15 and Casey during lunch, with no ulterior motive in mind. Then, finally, a breakthrough. He had spent days engrossed in Asgardian language and culture and history, barely recognizing how his chest hurt and his heart longed in the meantime. Not until he had seen Mobius again, and he had almost ruined it all with one small word. 

He sighs again, pushing himself upright before moving towards the sink, where his potatoes lie, prepared for boiling. He is not a complete idiot, he knows what his actions must look like from the outside. A Loki, a variant , explaining in detail that he knows all about his own shortcomings, his selfishness and lack of loyalty,  while simultaneously asking to go home. All based on a hunch. He is painfully aware of what he was created to do on the sacred timeline, that had become abundantly clear to him the very first day he spent at the TVA, but while he might not be a part of that story anymore, he is still at the mercy of the people managing it. There will be no happily ever after for him, and there never was going to be.

This doesn’t mean he hasn’t given himself the chance to experiment a little bit. Like the act of helping TVA catch this variant, something that goes against his self preservation instincts in no small part. It’s just that there’s been this feeling that has become more bold over the past couple of weeks, popping up when he least wants it. The feeling of Hope. 

After a while of failing to contain and control it, he decided to expand his experiments to the act of entertaining it. Better to let it roam around harmless thoughts than to give in and find himself hoping for the impossible. Right now he is entertaining the hope that Mobius won’t prune him when this job is done. He is hoping that if he proves himself useful, Mobius might argue for keeping him around. 

Which is how he finds himself making dinner for Mobius almost every night. His breakthrough was not enough, at least not in the eyes of the variance-prediction department, but if he could just prove to Mobius that he is worth keeping around, maybe he will be permitted to stay. He isn’t overly worried about the pruning in itself, not really. His story ended long ago. But what if he was able to make a new one, here, for himself. 

He scoffs bitterly as he drops the potatoes into the boiling water. That is the problem with letting himself hope, isn’t it? Far too quickly it turns from hoping to wanting . It has poisoned his actions from the second he let himself look at the future with a little more light. That is the reason why he keeps cooking Asgardian meals, why he only shares them with Mobius, why he is hoping he can stay when this is all over. He wants to. He wants to find meaning in his life and work with his friends and go home at night to cook a meal from his childhood and share it with his… A person he… 

He tears his eyes away from the boiling pot on the stove and forces himself to look at the clock again, counting quarters. 6 whole turns and 40% of the 7th since he left the meat and kale to steam. If he leaves the potatoes for another 50% of a turn he’ll have them done right before Mobius gets back. Then they will sit down to eat, Mobius will give him the updates from the meeting he feels are necessary to share with a variant like Loki, and Loki will try his best to help out with the next step in their plan, and he will not stare too long at the man on the other side of the table, he will not imagine them moving the conversation to the couch before Mobius gets too sleepy and asks them to retire to the bedroom, together. 

No, he will be quiet and helpful and perfect, enjoying the peace he has been able to oh so carefully carve out for himself, however long it lasts. 

This is as far as he will go. He will experiment with helping, he will experiment with hoping. He will even allow an experiment or two with wanting, knowing deep down he might not make it out of this alive, but he will never go there with Mobius. It would be like dying twice, being rejected by him and then pruned, and while Loki has lost almost all sense of bodily self preservation since joining the TVA, he will still work hard to protect his own feelings. Besides, Mobius doesn’t need Loki to be clingy and loving and wanting , that is not what the variant on his team was made for. Mobius needs him to be useful, so useful he will be. 

The sound of the door to the apartment opening and closing again rips Loki from his churning thoughts. Mobius stands by the coat rack, shouldering off his jacket. He shoots Loki a tired smile. It’s warm, but Loki can still see the tightness around his eyes, the way the smile strains to reach them. Bad news is written all over him. 

“Dinner is almost ready.” Loki says, quickly turning around to retrieve some plates from the cupboard behind his head. 

He keeps his back turned, pretending to look for the right size while straining his ears for any sounds that might indicate Mobius’s mood. He can hear the other man hang his jacket on the coat rack before switching out his shoes with his pair of frankly disgusting TVA issued slippers. Loki is still staring at the dinner plates - in truth, there is just one size - when the sound of Mobius’ shuffling steps reaches him, and a warm hand is placed on his shoulder. Gentle, but firm, much like its owner.

“Here, let me get that,” Mobius says, reaching into the cupboard with his other hand, “thank you again for doing this Loki.” 

“Ah, there’s no trouble.” Loki deflects, throwing a glance back at the clock. 6 whole rounds and 85%.

That treacherous, unruly animal inside his chest begs to accept Mobius’ touch for a while longer, curling up warm and heavy as if it were a sleeping cat and Mobius’ hand on his shoulder was the sun itself. Instead, Loki turns away and steps over to the stovetop, using the momentum to draw in a breath and shake his head, trying to clear it. 

“Just leave them on the counter right here so I can plate them up,” he gestures to the space beside the boiling pot, “you can sit down Mobius, I’ll be right there.” 

Mobius stares at him for a moment, plates in hand, before shrugging lightly and placing them as instructed. He peers into the small pot as Loki reaches over to pick it up, straining the boiling water into the sink. His nose wrinkles. 

“Potatoes again?” He asks. “You know I’m all for uniformity Loki, makes life more predictable and all that, but this is the fourth time we’ve had ‘em for dinner in just one week.” 

Loki is unable to stop the undignified scoff that leaves him. He puts the pot down besides the plates, perhaps a little harder than he wants to.

“I’ll have you know, Mobius, that potatoes haven’t always been the boring, basic plate filler we know today,” he sniffs. He’s being childish, and he knows it. Not very perfect, not very helpful. Hopefully Mobius’ bad news isn't bad enough for Loki’s nitpicking to set him off, but sometimes he just can’t help it. Part of being a Loki variant, he supposes, always a bit too much. 

“I still remember when it arrived in Norway, how it suddenly became a regular part of the offerings made to us. That wasn’t until the 1700’s. Over seven hundred years of barley, wheat and sand leeks, Mobius, seven hundred years. Then we started getting this vegetable that could be cooked and offered in a million different ways. I had never eaten so good.”

He plates the potatoes while he speaks, and when he’s done he risks a glance at Mobius. The other man has not sat down at the table as instructed, he is still standing at the edge of the kitchen counter, leaning forward on his hands which he has braced on either side of the plates, making it so Loki has to move into his space when he switches over to plate the lamb. He is wearing a faraway look. Not distant or bored, but rather like he is fully immersed in the story, imagining the great halls of Valhalla as they all sat down to eat from the offerings made by the people of Midgard, the great excitement that would run through the crowd in the first couple of decades whenever the new foreign vegetable was added with the meat. It is a look Mobius takes on often when Loki tells him about his past, his personal past. It almost looks fond. 

“It reminds you of a simpler time.” The man murmurs. 

Loki almost lets his expression slip into a frown before he thinks better of it. His life on the sacred timeline had never been something he would describe as simple , not even way back then. But this could be. His life here could be simple and comfortable, if he could just do this right. So instead he offers Mobius a small smile. 

“Something like that.” He says. Despite his sugarcoating, he still has trouble outright lying to Mobius. He hasn’t made up his mind if he thinks that is a good thing or a bad one, yet. “Now if you are quite finished with your inspection, can we please sit down before the food gets cold?” 

Mobius steps back instantly, raising his hands in a placating gesture as something that almost looks like guilt flits across his face. It is gone just as quickly, and the man grabs both the plates, nodding towards the cupboards for Loki to bring glasses of water. 

“Okay, forget about the potatoes. What else do we have here then?” Mobius is peering curiously down at his plate when Loki joins him at the table. 

“ Fårikål .” Loki answers, pronouncing the word slowly and clearly. A little flame lights up in his chest as he catches Mobius mouthing the word quietly. “It quite literally means ‘sheep-in-kale’. As I understand it, cooking sheep with greens is pretty common in several cultures in midgard, but because of their sheep-farmers almost exclusively keeping the lambs born in the spring outside in the mountains with their mothers all throughout the summer, Norwegian lamb meat has become quite the delicacy. Normally this would mean that the only period to get meat of any quality is in the fall, but I quickly found out that seasonal shopping is no problem here at the TVA.”

He winks at Mobius, who’s got that expression on his face again. Like he would like nothing better than to sit in front of his plate of untouched food and listen to Loki talk all night. It makes something in the pit of Loki’s stomach stir, both exhilarating and nauseating at the same time. He knows Mobius is just indulging him. The man had told him so himself, the first time they met. Mobius is intimately aware of how Loki likes to talk, and he is an expert in keeping it going. That doesn’t mean he is actually interested. 

He grabs a forkful and stuffs it in his mouth to give Mobius a chance to stop pretending to listen to him so he can eat his food before it gets too cold. Mobius mirrors his action, letting the tender meat part by itself as he picks at it with his own fork. He makes sure to get meat, potato and kale together before trying a bite. His eyes close as he chews slowly, making a low sound in his throat after swallowing. 

“Loki, this is incredible.” He says, before attacking his plate with renewed vigour. 

Loki smiles at him, nibbling on his own morsel of salty meat. The compliment wraps around him like a blanket, the sight of Mobius sitting across the narrow table, their feet almost entangled in the small space between their chairs making the animal inside his chest roll over and show its belly.

They continue their meal in comfortable silence. Mobius relaxes little by little, slumping in his chair as the food settles and makes them both satiated and sleepy. Loki lets the soft, warm feeling of just existing in Mobius’s presence wash over him. Somehow, the man has the uncanny ability to make him relax, even when he is not doing or saying anything at all. It is grounding, just being in the same room as him. 

At the back of his mind, Loki knows very well what this means, and he knows how much a part of him yearns for it. It is why he catches himself slipping into old habits of selfishness and manipulation more and more. He’s losing sight of the goal. He should focus on keeping Mobius happy with him, he should ask him about the briefing and ask how he can help. The memory of the tightness in the expression the man had worn when he came in the door hangs over him, but he is unable to stop the greedy, selfish part of him from enjoying this for a moment longer. 

Mobius sits there, eating the meal he thinks Loki cooked just to be nice, but Loki knows the real reason. It is to be nice, sure, to be helpful when he is not allowed to come with Mobius and be helpful by his side, but he has come to understand that he is a true Loki, and that always means a hidden agenda. So he has schemed to keep the man here, with him. For his own gain, so he can sit across the table and enjoy a meal from home while soaking up his grounding and comforting presence like the parasite he is. 

When Mobius finishes eating, leaning back with a sigh and rubbing at his eyes, Loki decides this will be as good a time as any to ask about the meeting, hoping the meal has managed to lift the mood slightly. 

“So, I take it the honorable judge Renslayer still isn’t satisfied with us?” 

It comes out like more of a drawl than he wants it to be. Mobius looks over at him with a confused expression. Loki raises an eyebrow, waiting for him to wake up from their sleepy mealtime silence. After a couple of moments, realization lights up Mobius’s expression, before it falls back down into a frustrated frown. He places his face in his hands and rubs at his temples while a tired groan escapes him. Ice cold water sloshes to the pit of Loki’s stomach, perhaps he misread the mood after all. 

“It’s me again, isn’t it.” He asks quietly. 

“Yeah.” Mobius sighs, dropping his hands to the table again. 

Loki resists the urge to bow his head. He has never been good at saying sorry, but that does not mean he doesn’t want to. The others at the TVA don’t trust him, and that has made Mobius’s job difficult. A part of Loki screams at him to do what he has always done, and fight this injustice. Take his armor and his spear and show Renslayer and the rest just how much he cannot be trusted. 

Another part of him wants to sink to the floor and crawl on his hands and knees over to where Mobius is sitting and beg him to forgive him, tell him that he will do better. 

“I’m-” 

“I just don’t understand what they are thinking .” Mobius blurts out. 

Loki promptly shuts his mouth. Mobius is clearly frustrated, but Loki is still getting the impression it isn’t him he is mad at. He is looking at him like he holds all the answers, eyes wide and mouth downturned, waiting for a clever solution. Loki swallows drily, finding himself at a loss for words, again. That seems to happen more and more often lately. 

“It’s just,” Mobius continues when it’s clear he won’t get a response any time soon, “they talk all about protocol and the proper way of doing things. They are always very keen on reminding me how they have stretched and bent the rules to give a variant such high clearance , but you are the reason we’re even here!” 

Mobius waves a hand in Loki’s direction, and Loki doesn’t flinch. He does not. He is staring straight ahead at Mobius, showing him that he is listening intently. His back is straight, his eyes are open and focused and he is not flinching . 

The man on the other side of the table deflates, sinking down in his chair and using his hand to drag it across his face once more. 

“What I’m saying, Loki, is that we would never have gotten this far in this case without you. Your theory is incredibly useful, not just in this case alone, but also supporting the variance-prediction department’s theory as a whole. We need you, I need you, and I’m trying to tell them how good you would be as a proper member of the team. I’m just frustrated they still don’t see you like I do, is all.” 

Loki’s mind goes blank. Out of all of Mobius’s uncanny abilities, this is Loki’s least favorite. Making him feel relaxed is nice, stealing his words can be worked around, but going so thoroughly against all of Loki’s precautions that his very thoughts are plucked from his head is just plain dangerous. The thought that he will never be able to get an accurate read on Mobius enters his head, and it scares the life out of him. 

Mobius’s actual words, on the other hand, do not enter his head at all. They go straight for his chest, where the bestial animal within him slowly unfurls from it’s protective stance and once again starts stretching out. By the time the words make proper sense to Loki’s dishevelled mind, it’s starting to hurt. He is aching with it, the feeling of his very soul trying to rip itself from his body just to reach the person on the other side of the table who just said that he is useful, that they need him, that he doesn’t agree with Renslayer. His superior, his friend . 

He quickly squashed those feelings down. He has come this far, and he absolutely cannot ruin this now. That light in the end of the tunnel of him being allowed to stay after this is over is shining just a little brighter, and he is determined to get there in one piece. 

“What do you need?” He asks. 

Mobius shoots him a tired smile and Loki nods resolutely. 

“They want a more accurate fix.” The man says. “Norway is a good theory, but where? When? It is a big universe out there, why should a Loki go to Norway for nothing but their own personal gain?” 

Loki nods again, frowning slightly. The same questions have struck him in the time since his breakthrough. A place is one thing, but time is an issue. He looks past Mobius, trying to think, to use himself as a starting point just like he did the last time. Where and when would he go if he were to visit Norway just for himself? The very thought is strange, it isn’t something he has ever considered before. His eyes roam over the kitchen counter and lands on the pot standing beside the sink- 

“Potatoes.” He mutters. 

Mobius startles slightly. “What was that?”

“Potatoes Mobius!” Loki exclaims. The moment he says it, he knows it must be right. “If the variant is anything like me, they will go to Norway for potatoes. It is a more specific motive, and for the question of when, it must be after the 1700’s-” 

“You had never eaten so good.” Mobius murmurs. A warm smile spreads across his face. “Oh that’s good Loki. That is very, very good.” 

Loki fights the blush heating his cheeks with no small amount of effort, but he grants his lips to smile back. That useless beast in his chest rolls over, no matter how hard he tries to keep it still. 

Mobius' smile sharpens. “You’re sure this isn’t a ploy to make me eat more potatoes, right?” 

A laugh escapes Loki. It’s short and sharp and comes from somewhere deep inside him that hasn’t been opened in a long, long time. 

“Trust me Mobius, if that was my intention I would hardly need to drag you all the way to Norway. That empty plate exposes your real feelings on the matter, and has done all the times we have eaten together this week.” 

Mobius ducks his head, chuckling. The little flame returns to warm Loki from the inside out. He stands, reaching for the plates to tidy up, and the tension that locked his muscles runs off of him like water. 

“You’re right, of course.” Mobius allows. The man stands up as well, stretching with a satisfied yawn as Loki puts their plates in the sink. 

“I often am.” Loki says. 

“Hey now, no need to rub it in.”

“I distinctly remember someone saying that they need me. That they wouldn’t have gotten this far without my correct insights.” The flame grows to a fire, and Loki lets it shine through when he beams at Mobius’s back. 

“Yeah, yeah. This is what I get for being honest.” Mobius says, looking over his shoulder with a warm twinkle in his eyes. Loki’s stomach flips. 

“Well then, probably best with an early night, don’t you think?” The man continues before he starts walking towards his bedroom door, lazily waving his hand, “we need to be well rested to follow this new lead of yours. You know where your stuff is, good night.” 

Loki looks at Mobius’s retreating back. The fire crackles, the animal lies heavy and blissful in the pit of his stomach, his arms hang down from relaxed shoulders. 

“God natt elskling.” He says warmly. 

Mobius stops with his hand on the door handle. He doesn’t turn around. 

“What does that one mean?” He asks after a few seconds. 

Loki swallows back the sudden panic that has risen in his throat at the pause. “It means good night.” 

Mobius turns his head towards him, nodding. He’s still not letting go of the door handle. He seems to think for a moment. 

“Gonat-elsklin” He tries. 

Loki’s stomach does another dizzying flip at the words. The pronunciation is a bit messy, but he can still hear them loud and clear, including his little addition at the end. 

“Yeah,” his voice is barely above a whisper, “just like that.” 

Mobius nods again, flashing him another warm smile before he opens the door and disappears into his bedroom for the night. 

The screen switches again. His own, resolute face is staring up at him, past him. Suddenly he lunges, knife at the ready, but he doesn’t get far. Another switch. Thanos is there, the blue sheen from the space stone illuminating his being, shining out from his gauntlet. A shiver runs through Loki’s body, hairs standing and skin prickling underneath the thin coverall he’s wearing. As the other him on screen gets pulled into Thanos' grasp, gloved hand locking around his neck, Loki can feel the collar around his own neck tighten. He is unable to look away, unable to blink, as he watches himself whimper and struggle. The pressure around his neck grows and grows until it is near unbearable, and suddenly he is there. Thanos’ face is inches away from his own. Small, hard eyes watch patiently as he tightens his grip little by little, and life leaks out of him. Loki can hear himself speak, but it sounds far away. He cannot speak, he cannot breathe. The collar, the hand, the thing around his neck constricts further and further until all he knows is pain. His lungs burn, his vision spots. All he can see is the face of his murderer and himself getting murdered from the outside, slowly and surely. Inevitably. At last, he can feel the bones in his throat give way and- 

Loki starts awake with a yell. One hand darts up to feel the muscles in his throat working while he desperately takes in big gulps of air, the other shoots out in a wide sweep to keep anyone, anything, at bay. It connects with something cold and hard, which in turn topples over and falls to the floor with a clear smash. 

The sound rips Loki from his sleep-induced, panicked state, and he blinks against the darkness until the contours of Mobius’s living room make itself known again. He lets his hand slide down his chest, only stopping briefly to feel the way his heart is hammering hard and fast beneath his fingertips. His breathing is coming in short gasps. They punch out of him in an unsteady rhythm. His heart keeps beating, his lungs keep taking in air. There is nothing around his neck. 

When he gets his breathing somehow under control, he brings his hands back up to drag it across his face, groaning quietly. He hasn’t had a nightmare like that in a while. The first couple of nights at the TVA had been hell. His cramped variant quarters coupled with judge Renslayer insisting on keeping the time collar on him until he had proven himself trustworthy had made it almost impossible to calm down whenever he woke up in the dark, gasping for air. It wasn't until Mobius convinced her that the collar was unnecessary, and let Loki stay at his place a couple of nights in a row that Loki got his first full night of sleep in what felt like years. 

He reaches out to turn on some light, but his hand only finds empty air where the small coffee table lamp should be. His heart rate picks up again as he remembers the sound of a crash through his fight for consciousness. The blanket Mobius has provided him with tangles in his legs as he rushes to get up from the couch, and he crashes to the floor in a heap of limbs and fabric. He manages to catch himself with his hands at the last second. Pain shoots through his left palm as something small and sharp stabs into it from the floor. Loki hisses, barely managing to get his knees beneath him before swiping with his other hand across the floor in front of him. It finds similar objects scattered around, pieces of cold porselen in varying sizes, pieces that used to be a lamp. 

No, no, no, no, no, no. 

Everything had been going so well. Despite the bad news, and the constant irritation of having a variant on his team, Mobius had let him stay. Loki had been able to provide enough to be allowed at least another night. A good meal, a warm goodnight. No variant quarters, no cold, dark, restless sleep. He absolutely can not not let it be ruined by his own pathetic nighttime terrors. He will deal with the repercussions of the broken lamp tomorrow, but he knows what awaits him in the corners of his mind if Mobius sends him away now, while it’s still dark. 

He gathers the pieces as fast as he can in the dark, ignoring the pain in his palm turning to a dull ache, only shooting up his arm whenever he flexes his fingers to make more room for the broken porselen. The area in front of him feels almost clean when the sound of a handle being turned slowly causes him to freeze. A sliver of light appears to his side, creeping across the floor until his huddled form is illuminated in the soft glow from Mobius’s bedroom. 

A shadow falls across him, and Loki tries very hard not to let his shoulders shake as much as his hands, which he huddles close to his chest to hide the pieces of the broken lamp. 

“Loki?” Moboius’s voice is low and gruff from sleep, “Are you okay?” 

He doesn’t answer. He doesn’t trust his voice not to betray his frazzled mind right now, and what would Mobius do with that? Mobius has given him so much, and this is the thanks he gets? A useless variant shivering on the floor, breaking his belongings and waking him up in the middle of the night. He is supposed to be a god.

His - the other him - last words play unbidden in his mind. Broken and wheezing through vocal cords being crushed to death. His shoulders won’t listen as a full-body shiver runs through him. 

He doesn’t notice Mobius’s approach until a broad hand is placed on his shoulder. It is impossible to stop himself from flinching this time, and he gasps, straightening up and pushing his back against the seat of the couch. 

“Hey, hey it’s okay.” Mobius whispers, crouching in front of him. 

Loki keeps his hands folded tightly against his chest. He can feel a trickle of blood making its way down the inside of his forearm. Mobius’s face is lit from the side, leaving half of it in shadow. His hair is tousled from sleep, but his eyes are awake and aware. They roam over Loki, taking in his shivering form while his eyebrows knit together in worry. Not anger. 

He’s not angry. Yet. 

“Did something happen?” The man asks, bringing his hand back up to Loki’s shoulder. He doesn’t flinch this time, instead letting the warm, reassuring touch soothe his frayed nerves. 

“I’m so sorry Mobius.” He whispers feebly. 

Mobius gives him a small, confused shake of the head, so he reveals his clasped hands, bearing the pieces of porselen he was able to pick up. Mobius looks at them, then sideways at the coffee table, no longer sporting a lamp. 

“I’m sorry.” Loki repeats. 

Mobius opens his mouth to reply, but he stops himself when his eyes land on the pieces laying in Loki’s left hand. Even in the low light from the other room it’s clear that some of the white pieces are flecked with red. The man sucks in a sharp breath, releasing Loki’s shoulder to grab at his hands. Loki quickly brings them back against his chest. Mobius doesn’t have to see that. Mobius doesn’t have to worry about him. 

“Loki…” Mobius murmurs. His voice is gentle, but firm. Much like the grip around Loki’s wrists as the man slowly pulls them away from his chest and into his lap. 

Mobius pries his clasped hands open, making sure not to press too hard. Loki stares, unblinking, at the motion. Between the nightmare and the panic over the broken lamp, to Mobius' ever gentle reactions to his shortcomings, he has no idea what to expect. Better to let things go as they may. 

Shards of porselen fall into Mobius’s lap as Loki’s palms are revealed, but he pays them no mind. The man spends a considerable long time looking at each palm in turn, even when it’s just one of them currently leaking blood everywhere. Then he hums low in his throat before giving Loki’s wrists a soft squeeze. 

“Stay here.” He says. 

He stands up and pads to the kitchen. Even through the mess of thoughts swirling around his head, Loki is able to notice those damned slippers. Mobius turns on the counter light, making the room a bit brighter without being too overwhelming, before he grabs some supplies from a drawer and comes padding back. Loki has barely moved his hands as the man crouches back in front of him. Mobius lets out a little huff at the sight, but it’s without any kind of mockery. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” The man asks as he takes Loki’s injured hand in his and starts wiping away the blood with wet tissue. 

Loki blinks at the question. Mobius is neither angry nor demanding an explanation. He is asking Loki what he wants to do. The thought in itself is so unexpected, it barely bares thinking about. This whole situation is so out of sorts, Loki even surprises himself with his answer. 

“I had a nightmare.” He says. 

Mobius looks up at him, something softening his eyes. It might be sadness. Loki blushes, ducking his head to escape the expression facing him. 

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles, “I didn’t mean to wake you. The lamp was truly a mistake, I was being careless. I can be out in five minutes, and I’ll find you a replacement tomorrow, I swear. You don’t have to-” 

“Hey” Mobius interrupts, yanking his arm lightly, “none of that. I don’t care about a stupid lamp. I care about you. They have thousands of lamps down in Repairs and Advancements. You and I should take a trip below sometime, they have all kinds of stuff down there. One time I got lost and I got talking to this one- you know what, it doesn’t matter right now. My point is; I can get a new lamp, I can’t get a new Loki.” 

Loki opens his mouth to argue that Mobius can absolutely get himself a new Loki if he should be so inclined, but Mobius yanks his arm again. 

“No I cant.” The man enunciates. “I can’t get another you . So no more talk of recklessness and being sorry and walking that sad trek to the variant quarters in the middle of the night. You said you had a nightmare? That’s understandable, knowing what I do about your life before you came here, and that’s quite a lot. Do you want to tell me about it?” 

While Mobius keeps talking, he is slowly wrapping Loki’s palm in gauze, and slowly wrapping Loki’s body in heavy warmth. He looks at the ridiculous man in front of him, so unremarkable in many ways, but still completely remarkable in all the ways that matter. The beast inside of him will never, ever, get back in that safe, cramped cage deep in the dark within him, and he is starting to think that might be okay.