I see you || Loki

28. Treacherous Tricks

If a wedding was a celebration of marriage, why in all the stars were there so many other parties to attend first? Your life over the past two weeks had turned into an endless parade of feasts, fairs, and festivities. Every night, there seemed to a new reason for toasts—to your health, to your happiness, to your future children—and all the while, a stone grew in the pit of your stomach. Your wedding date ticked closer with each cheer and raised glass. As it approached, the union seemed more and more unavoidable. Whatever Loki had planned, he was running out of time.

The party roared around you, the clamor and clash of merriment as loud as any war. Thor's arm rested over your shoulders, a weight that held you in place like a pillory. He spoke with those around you and you choked back the panic that simmered just under your smile. It was all you had to do—be present, pretty, and polite—and it was nearly impossible. The crowd crushed in around you on all sides, drunken, delighted guests all clamoring to wish you and your fiancé well. There were too many of them, too close. They sucked all the air out of the room.

You stepped out from under Thor's arm, suddenly struggling to breathe. Thor looked to you in alarm—he wasn't as good as you were at hiding his emotions, he had never needed to be—and you covered for yourself by taking a gulp from your glass. The wine stuck in your throat, as if you'd swallowed glue.

"I'll just"—you grimaced and hoped it looked enough like a smile to pass—"I'll be right back." You indicated your drink, as if that was the reason for your excusal, though it was only half-empty. You strode away before you could really gauge how others reacted. You needed quiet—a room, a closet, a corner, anything—somewhere where you could stitch yourself back together before you unraveled.

By the time you reached the edge of the room, your hands were shaking. You pressed them against your stomach to hide the tremor. Fewer people looked at you here, not drawn by the beacon that was Thor's presence.

You found a spot behind a pillar, standing in a shadow barely large enough to cover you, and pressed your head against the cold stone. Your heart pounded, though there was no reason. It was as if a storm had gathered, ominous clouds roiling overhead, the air holding its breath for the rain to fall. Waiting, waiting... and never breaking. It was an endless precipice, a dark void waiting to swallow you, but you wavered on the edge, knowing you would tumble, but never quite doing so.

"Are you alright?"

You turned to find Thor at your shoulder. Your heart lurched in response. Really, could anything be worse right now?

"I—"

"You don't have to lie," he said, cutting off the excuse that has sprung to your lips automatically.

You blinked, finding tears were gathering. "No," you admitted, "I'm not alright."

Thor looked back to the rest of the room, to the crowd that somehow hadn't seemed to notice him come to you. "This is a mess."

You nodded.

"No way to punch my way out of this one, is there?"

Your gaze jumped to him just in time to see the ghost of a smile play over his lips. Was that... did Thor just make a joke? Not that he didn't joke... just that... never to you, never about himself.

You warmed. "I suppose there isn't."

"Well,"—Thor looked down at you with a smile—"if I must be forced to marry someone, I'm fortunate that it's you."

You blinked. A pleasant sort of tingle crept up your spine. Thor really thought highly of you? You had always been friendly, but... wow.

He continued, "I mean, you are—" He gestured to your form and your spirits plummeted. Oh. He thought you were attractive. It was flattering, but hardly the same.