Loki one-shots fanfiction ♡

36. early in the morning, I'll come calling

When Loki saw Captain America in Germany he thought he'd met the man before.

The feeling was mutual.

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Pairing: Loki/Steve Rogers

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Visiting Midgard was Loki's getaway. It wasn't really a secret, but Loki never told anybody about his frequently leaving Asgard for a short trip to the other realm, and it wasn't like anybody ever noticed his absence in the palace, even Thor; especially Thor.

Thor was always busy with the Warriors Three and Sif while Loki was left feeling left out. Which, he supposed, if Thor could leave whenever he wanted for a hunting trip or an adventure in Muspelheim with all his friends, Loki could, too.

He never liked Muspelheim, though. The realm was of fire, and Loki never did well with heat. His body protested savagely by descending into illness every summer that'd rolled upon Asgard. And he hated hunting, the thought of taking lives only for sport never sat well with him. The differences explained why he and Thor only grew further apart from each other as they grew more and more out of their childhood and into adolescence.

And even if Loki missed spending so much time with Thor, laughing with Thor, like when they were little, he supposed nostalgia wasn't going to fix the emptiness creeping through the veins in his body like a plague.

Spending the day reading in Asgard's library and studying magic helped, at least it kept his mind occupied. Although lately Loki found his escape in visiting the realm of the mortals.

He figured; like the way Thor sought the thrill of going to Muspelheim to fight, Loki sought the comfort of going to Midgard to simply observe things, the animals, the nature, how different they were when compared to Asgard, and their culture, too.

He learned things in peace without challenging anyone for a fight (like Thor did on Muspelheim) and he learned that doing this — learning Asgardian etiquette — gave him peace of mind, even if he couldn't explain how.

Loki first met him during his fifth visit; a tiny mortal, that was what Loki liked to call him. Mortals were normally small, but this one was... different — smaller, even.
(At first the tiny mortal hated the pet name, but he soon grew to eventual like it, or at least tolerate it, because Loki wouldn't stop calling him that, but at least Loki didn't say it to mock, like it would've been the case, had it were to be other people calling him that. Loki simply said it because he found him adorable, and even if 'adorable' wasn't the ideal description the mortal would've preferred for his physical condition, he supposed it was still better than outright mockery)

Loki was observing the street of Brooklyn when he first found him; he was surrounded by a group of men, his back against the wall in an alley. They were hurting him.

Walk away, was the first instinct whispering in Loki's head. This is none of your business. You have no place here. You are only visiting, observing.

He was about to do just that. He did a double take when he saw the man — the target — fight back, refuse to go down, even if it was clear he stood no chance. They were bigger than him. There were, Loki counted, five of them, and he was alone.

If anything Loki didn't see fear in the tiny man's eyes. His face was already covered in bruises and it looked like he was struggling to stay upright. He held his hands into tight fists, guarding them in front of his face even if it did nothing to help when another punch was delivered right across his jawline, sending him stumbling to the side.

Walk away now, the voices inside Loki's head urged.

But that poor mortal was in trouble. He was alone and he got back up and even with that defiant look in his eyes.