[ She's very quiet. Still, with her head tucked beneath Loki's chin, looking off into the dark of the room. She'd clung to him with a particular fierceness earlier; more teeth, more sound, the crescent moons of her nails dug harder into shoulders, arms, a thing of blazing passion, like she wanted them to burn brightly enough together to leave an afterimage lingering to see any time they closed their eyes.
And now quiet. The kind that means she has something in her mouth, she just hasn't said it yet.
A few breaths later, before he can ask, she does: ]
I have to go home. To Val Fontaine.
[ Her fingers find his collarbone, stroke it gently with their tips. Slow, repetitive, something her nervous hands can do. ]
I received a letter from Maman. Papa is ill. He did not wish her to tell me, but she did.
[ He knows he should ask. Knows that the intensity of earlier bodes towards change, but... he's afraid of whatever it is, whatever it means, and tired due to the overall lack of sleep, and fairly comfortable in this moment. Part of him simply doesn't want to know.
The rest of him knows she will tell him when she's ready.
I have to go home, however, was not even on the list of suspects. Loki's arms tighten around her without him even thinking directly about it. He draws a breath for a question, and immediately discards it. If she knew how long, she'd tell him. ]
[ There are so many different things he could have said. Whens and for how longs, other queries or protests that would have let her stay carefully within her own lines, speaking bare facts for a little longer.
But instead he holds her tighter with his body, and with his mouth he lets her go. And this, this preciselyβ¦
Whatever the universe, Lokiβs hand has always been the shape of Alexandrieβs heart. And so instead of turning nimbly, numbly inwards, her shoulders tremble in that way that means she has begun to cry. ]
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action; at an appropriate timeline juncture (pre-truth-soup)
And now quiet. The kind that means she has something in her mouth, she just hasn't said it yet.
A few breaths later, before he can ask, she does: ]
I have to go home. To Val Fontaine.
[ Her fingers find his collarbone, stroke it gently with their tips. Slow, repetitive, something her nervous hands can do. ]
I received a letter from Maman. Papa is ill. He did not wish her to tell me, but she did.
no subject
The rest of him knows she will tell him when she's ready.
I have to go home, however, was not even on the list of suspects. Loki's arms tighten around her without him even thinking directly about it. He draws a breath for a question, and immediately discards it. If she knew how long, she'd tell him. ]
Will you write? [ Is what he asks instead. ]
no subject
But instead he holds her tighter with his body, and with his mouth he lets her go. And this, this preciselyβ¦
Whatever the universe, Lokiβs hand has always been the shape of Alexandrieβs heart. And so instead of turning nimbly, numbly inwards, her shoulders tremble in that way that means she has begun to cry. ]
Every day.
[ She says, and means keep holding. ]