Cellmates

14

The days dragged on rather uneventfully. Frigga's message still hung thick in the air above their heads, interspersed with a few downtrodden realizations and misbegotten circumstances that left them in this new state of irritating normalcy. Just another day in paradise. Loki sat slumped in his chair, his long legs slung over the footrest. He rolled his head back and forth over his shoulders attempting to relieve the dull ache he couldn't account for. Though he assumed it had something to do with his lack of sleep and constant pacing. Or more than likely from slumping in this damn chair. He hadn't managed a good night's sleep since retreating back here for the last time. It's not because she didn't want you there, he assured himself. She simply didn't want you to kill yourself for the sake of something so fleeting and needless.

But it was beautiful. To see her, even for only a moment, through closer eyes – the eyes she looked to with such passion. To almost feel her soft skin under his fingertips – her heated flesh beneath his lips. He almost swore he caught her scent; mostly lavender, seemingly infused in her curls. To have her melt in his embrace without panic or pain – it was like a dream nearly realized. But only just. She had forgotten, same as he had, that none of it was real. That in spite of everything, it couldn't be real.

Naomi lay on the floor nearby seemingly unbothered, though situated strategically close to the glass. She made him promise not to come in again and he held it as close to his heart as the others. But she seemed to hate this one just as much as he did. In all his time down here, she was the only relief from that madness he was ever afforded and now even she was drifting out of his reach. And it burned to have come so close.

In all honesty, the repercussions of that little exertion were still jarring. His mind escaped, forced through the mesh of the barrier to amount on the other side but to bring it back – his mind ached at the thought. He remembered the strain – the way it stuck but eventually slipped through for his scattered mind to recollect in his own head. But what if it hadn't? That brief moment in between reminded him far too much the Void and the long fall he took through it. It was an endless chasm between the realms – between this life and the next. It was so dark and so empty and so endless, it was maddening. Escape was only an idea and one not so often entertained. Loki frowned, quickly shoving those thoughts into the background. The whole of it did not bear thinking about.

Naomi tucked her arm under her chin, continuing her latest doodle. It was nice to see her return to it after all this time, even if she only did so out of boredom. He couldn't restrain a grin when he'd noticed she'd done a few sketches of him, many of them done before the first time he'd even come into her cell. He wanted nothing more than to heckle her about it, but not of late. After this latest turn of events, he didn't feel like doing much of anything. But it could be worse, he thought. So much worse.

She rolled over with an exaggerated sigh, almost breaking Loki's morbid train of thought. In a similarly dramatic fashion, she chucked her pen at the glass, effectively startling him this time before she slung her arms over her face. The barrier hummed with its putrid yellow glow as the unlikely weapon rolled back to her. "The pen is out of ink."

"Of course it is."

She sat up with obvious strain, crossing her legs and scooting a bit closer. "Are you okay?" Surely it was obvious, he thought. I'm hardly okay anymore. But she smiled – only slightly, but she managed it all the same. On her knees, she moved closer again as if that damn panel of glass didn't even exist. "Don't worry, Loki, I-" A cry broke her quiet consolation as her hand met the glass. She screamed as the gold barrier hummed and burned so bright he could barely see through it. And as the enchantment cooled, he found himself on his feet and she was curled on her side, nursing her hand. The moment he even got close, he suddenly felt its sting – the way its sei∂r probed for anything living to snag in its wake.