Across All Time

Chapter 5- Self Pity (Mobius)

(Well, shit's gonna start getting real.)

Possible TW for rapidly deteriorating mental health

It's dark.
I simply stared at the wall that I could barely make out. The thing about these apartments is that they give the same feeling as a mediocre hotel. Beige and brown paint. Ugly carpet design. Basic furniture design. If the lights were on, they would give an orange-ish glow.
I could hear the door open. She wasn't trying to be quiet, just like I stopped trying to sleep. She threw open my bedroom door, threw off my sheets and ripped my curtains apart.
"Get up," she said with no emotion. I robotically did as demanded. I was still in my clothes from yesterday. She looked at me and snorted at how pathetic I was. I would too if I were her.
But if I was her then I wouldn't be in this position. No, she is much stronger. It's a Loki thing.
Sylvie walked out and I headed into the bathroom across my room. I robotically showered, got dressed and combed my hair. I should probably shave, but decided to put it off till tomorrow, as per routine.
Another part of my routine was walking into the small kitchen and finding Sylvie with a steaming coffee in her hands, her boots propped up on the table and a matching chair and coffee across from her. I sat and held the cup but don't drink.
She took a sip from her mug and I could feel her staring at me, but I just stare at the mug. The pale green mug.
"You're fucking pathetic you know," she said, sipping some more. "My mornings now revolve around you because you can't fucking care for yourself." I said nothing. "Mobius," she said, and for some reason I look up. I looked in her eyes, and she mine, and her expression softened. Probably because my eyes are as dead as I feel.
She huffed and removed her feet from the table. She placed her almost empty mug down and leaned slightly closer to me.
"You know, I almost said screw you. I almost said, 'you're a grown man, why should I parent you and cook you breakfast and swaddle you?'"
I don't think you could call any interactions with that much cursing as 'swaddling' but that doesn't matter, does it?
"Mobius, I told Bea I was going to stop coming each morning, but she begged me to return, if anything just to be sure you're still breathing!" She started off soft, but started shouting, "I don't know what to do Mobius! I don't! We are all grieving, but we are also healing and you, you're a ticking time bomb! What is it? Is it as pathetic as self pity or do you need help?! No, scratch that," she burst, "You do need help Mobius. You have to live! Your life can't end just because Loki is gone. You know how gods damned bad you look? Moping around like some-"
"I can't take this," I interrupted quietly. She paused for a moment.
"Can't take what?" She asked softly.
"Any of this! Your yelling, everyone's pity. I walk through the halls and all everyone sees is a zombie, I-"
"Well what are we supposed to feel, or see? You're not doing well. So what can we do? Because- Mobius?"
I got up with my mug and rushed out of the apartment. Then I just started walking. Sylvie walked out a few moments later.
"Mobius, you need to learn how to let go," she called. I kept walking. "You're not just hurting yourself," she said, which made me stop.
"We can't take it, seeing you this broken. OB and Casey don't come around anymore, did you notice? It's for a reason. And Bea is a wreck after even talking to you. We can't stand seeing you this way," she said, choking a little.
I sighed.
"Well then," I said just loud enough for her to hear, "Don't come to see me anymore." I continued my walk, and her and her faint crying was left behind.

I leaned against the railing, looking down. It sure is a long way down, I think to myself. I was cupping my cold coffee in my hands, the coffee in that stupid green mug. I could almost feel it warm in my hands, feel my feet tangled beneath the table with his. His laughter. Destroying my salad or stealing some of my pie.
But he's not here. This isn't my mug, it should be his. I held the full mug over the edge.
There was no guarantee of success. So many odds were stacked against us. The loom was so loud and chaotic. There was little hope, but I held on to it. That was who I used to be.
I believed we would fix the loom. He would come back in, exhausted but here. We would breathe a sigh of relief. Clap each other's backs, hug.
I would hug Loki.
And maybe, just maybe, act on the impulse I've felt pretty much since day one, when he wanted to burn this place to the ground. I would kiss him.
But it didn't happen. He left. Maybe he died, and I am stuck here forever. 
Maybe it is self pity.
Maybe I should let go.
So I let go of the mug. I watched it fall until I couldn't see it anymore.
I stood there a long time after, just watching life pass me by.
Because letting go is never that simple