Twisted Fate || Loki Odinson

3.

I inhale deeply, slowly opening my eyes and groaning at the harsh sunlight streaming through my window. Swinging my legs over the edge of the bed, I pad over to the window and yank the curtain shut, softening the room's harsh glow.

Stepping out of my room, I freeze in surprise. There he is, that dark-haired man, lounging casually on my couch. 

Right. It wasn't a dream. He's actually here. The God of Mischief? I'm still not sure how much I believe that.

I cautiously circle the couch, eyeing Loki sprawled out with nothing but a pair of silk, emerald green pajama bottoms on. The sight of him so relaxed in my space feels oddly intrusive, yet strangely mesmerizing.

His lips quirk into a half-smile as he cracks open an eye. "Enjoying the view, darling?"

"I've seen better," I retort, deliberately nonchalant as I continue into the kitchen, trying to ignore the flutter in my chest.

"And where exactly have you seen better?" His voice follows me, a playful challenge in his tone.

"In every man I've ever dated," I shoot back, opening cabinets and pulling out breakfast essentials.

He scoffs playfully. "Your words say one thing, but your eyes... they tell a different story."

"Maybe you should get your vision checked," I suggest, setting bacon on the stove. Shifting the conversation, I ask, "How do you like your eggs?"

"Cooked," he responds with mock seriousness.

"Hilarious," I roll my eyes. "Bacon?"

"Please."

I place four pieces of bacon into the pan before turning on the stove. "So, how do you know so much about Earth?" I probe, genuinely curious.

"As a prince of Asgard, understanding all realms is my duty," he explains matter-of-factly, his gaze distant.

"You mentioned nine realms. What are they?" I press further, pouring coffee into a mug and handing it to him.

He launches into a detailed explanation, his voice filled with a mix of nostalgia and detachment as he describes each realm. His gaze drifts briefly to a far-off place, lost in memories of home. I can't help but notice the sorrow that flickers in his eyes when he mentions Asgard.

"Nine realms," I echo softly, realizing the weight of his words.

"The last one's Jotunheim... home of the Frost Giants," he adds, his tone turning somber, and I can feel the shift in his mood.

"Not a fan, I take it?" I venture cautiously.

He exhales, his expression clouding over. "That is one way of putting it."

"Alright, touchy subject," I acknowledge, focusing on breakfast as a comfortable silence settles between us. The sizzle of bacon and the smell of coffee fill the air, a strange contrast to the extraordinary conversation.

I glance back at Loki, who seems lost in thought. "What's it like being a prince?"

He smirks slightly, a hint of bitterness in his expression. "Complicated. Full of expectations and responsibilities. Not quite the fairy tale you might imagine."

"Figures," I mutter, flipping the bacon. "What brought you here, to my cabin, of all places?"

"Fate, perhaps," he muses, his tone lighter. "Or just a stroke of bad luck for you."

I chuckle despite myself. "Yeah, well, it's been an interesting morning, to say the least."

"Interesting is one word for it," he murmurs, his gaze locked on me. "You know, I find your resilience... intriguing."

"Resilience?" I raise an eyebrow, turning off the stove and plating the bacon and eggs. "You don't know the half of it."

"Then tell me," he says, his eyes meeting mine. 

I hesitate, the urge to share my story battling with the instinct to keep my guard up. "Maybe another time," I finally say, handing him a plate.

He accepts it with a nod, the faintest hint of respect in his eyes. "Fair enough."

We eat in companionable silence, the reality of our unusual companionship settling in. I take a deep breath, preparing to voice the decision that's been forming in my mind. "If you want, you can stay here until you figure out where you're going," I offer, my tone firm. 

His brows furrow, clearly shocked by my words. "You're offering to let me stay?" 

"Under a few conditions, yes," I reply with a nod.

He leans forward, intrigue sparking in his eyes. "Conditions?"

"If you stay, I won't worship the ground you stand on," I state, meeting his gaze head-on. "I don't care if you're a god or not. This is my house, I am not your subject, and I will not be treated as such. You'll help out-- clean up after yourself, do your own dishes. If you have clothes that need washing, you'll take care of them. I'm not saying I won't do anything for you, but I won't do everything for you all the time."

A flicker of amusement dances in his gaze as he tilts his head. "Where have you been all my life?"

I narrow my eyes slightly, maintaining my stance. "This doesn't mean you're allowed to stay here forever. I expect you to move on."

He nods slowly, contemplating my words. "How long are you allowing me to stay?"

"A month," I respond decisively. "You have a month to figure out your plan and where you're going next."

His lips tug back, a hint of respect in his voice, "Deal."