Pushing Buttons

Sweet and Sour

"What did you do?"

He had heard the footsteps approaching, though he didn't bother to look up from his current reading material. "Well, hello to you too, half-breed." He sighed with a turn of a page, "Tell me, do you start all conversations this way? Or am I just lucky?"

Those raging thoughts were deafening, despite the little runt trying his best to reel in his anger. Heimdall held the book out of reach just as Loki had lunged for it, brow furrowed and nose turned up in disgust. "Try that again, and you won't have any fingers left to grab with."

The teen scowled, lips curling into a firm line as he forced himself to lower his hand. He had the Aesir's attention—that was what his goal had been from the start. "I won't ask again, Heimdall."

"Be more specific, mongrel, and maybe I'll answer."

"I know it was you. Whatever you said to her—"

"Oh her," He shifted, crossing his ankles and leaning back in his seat once more, "You're assuming the mortal is sulking because of me?" The god's voice dripped heavy with sarcasm, "Have you taken a look at yourself, lately? Running errands for the All-Father, translating runes, and hardly giving her the time of day? I doubt that little argument you had the other night left her in an elated mood."

His scowl deepened, the whites of his knuckles bleeding through his skin as his hands curled into fists.

Heimdall could see the doubt in the jötunn's mind, that it was definitely a possibility. But the runt had effectively made up his mind, sticking to his gut that the cause for her change in mood was no fault of his own. "She's gone out of her way to avoid you specifically. So no, I don't think you're the reason for her acting like a kicked puppy. I know."

The Aesir rolled his eyes. He could tell that the nosy half-breed wouldn't be changing his mind on this—see that the little runt had no intention of leaving until he agreed to do what he wanted. He clicked his jaw, shimmering eyes piercing into that clouded soul that predicted chaos at every turn. "And what makes you think that I'd even consider doing anything for one measly and insignificant mortal?"

Loki rolled his eyes. "Oh come on, you honestly believe anyone's falling for that act anymore?"

Heimdall's brow twitched. The calm mask he had worn up until this point began to crack. "Choose your next words carefully, mongrel."

The warning didn't phase him in the slightest. "Anyone with eyes can see, Heimdall." He shook his head. "Look," He tried to stay reasonable while keeping his own emotions in check, "You're probably the closest thing to a friend she has here. Whatever happened, I can tell she's hurting from it. The least you can do is talk to her."

He arched a single brow, but he wasn't giving in that easily. "Tell me, do you expect everyone to listen to you simply because you asked nicely? Oh-ho, I can see now why you have such a temper when things don't go your way."

The comment elicited the exact response Heimdall had expected. Those blue eyes were flaring, and an image of the boy strangling him played on repeat in the jötunn's mind. But Loki held up his hands, and shook his head, restraining himself from acting on those thoughts. With a sharp inhale he turned and stormed away, "Dick," He hissed under his breath.

"I heard that. Do try to be more original next time." He watched the teen leave, listening until those angry and heavy footsteps faded behind the slamming of a door. While the Aesir was mighty pleased with himself at making the entitled runt miserable, his words still weighed on his mind.