You're right, [ is what he starts with, after a moment to take that all in because he doesn't know what else to say at the first. ] I would love her unerringly. I don't think I can help it. I don't think I'd want to try.

And you're probably right. With time, she could come to believe me. [ He reaches his arm up to trace along the side of her face, from her temple down to her cheekbone. ] Though, Gods, I doubt she'd ever want the whole of my attention for very long, I drive her mad enough as is. And maybe I'm wrong. Maybe I don't know her as well as I imagine I do.

Maybe she would ask that of me. [ Loki's fingers spread across her cheek. ]

But I don't think I could give it. Not at the cost of casting you aside.

[ This isn't a matter of... hierarchies or rankings, in his mind. A love is a love is a love; he can't measure them that way, not so soon into having this feeling. He's not sure he'd like to develop that skill at all. ]

It is not a game where there is one or there is nothing.

Perhaps you wouldn't blame me. [ He moves forward, kisses her forehead, before whispering against her skin: ] You'd blame yourself, or decide that you weren't enough and turn away from me, and I wouldn't want either.