His name is Loki, the strange, beautiful man tells him. He doesn’t remember anything; doesn’t know his past or where he is from or how he ended up here. He doesn’t understand the sadness from this man when he enquires after his own identity. The stormiest eyes that Loki has ever seen that stares at him anxiously and he is fascinated for a moment, and then, “Who are you?”
The man is crestfallen and he weeps, tears cascading down his cheeks, and Loki finds it a sight to behold even though his heart twists painfully at such a display. Not knowing what to do, how to quell the sadness of the man who saved him, Loki simply says, “I’m sorry.” And it sounds so foreign to his ears, even to his tongue, and he doesn’t understand why it feels that way. Even so, Loki will keep trying, will make this man cease his tears—
“I’m sorry...” He repeats.
—because there is something Loki should remember about this man. Something important, but he doesn’t know what it is.
“...because I don’t know you.”
His name is Loki and that is the only thing that he knows about himself. He doesn’t remember his past and doesn’t know how he ended up in this place, Midgard; another thing that is unfamiliar to his ear.
There’s no sign that he will regain his memory. Strangely, he feels that it’s alright to be like this.
The man, who calls himself Veur, tells Loki of a place, a far, far away place; the land of Gods – Asgard, the Golden Kingdom – where almost everything is made of gold, where the sun only rises and sets in one place, where rain rarely falls unless the God of Thunder allows it and where the blue sky is within hands reach. To Loki, it sounds like a fantasy land that only exists in a child’s dream.
Loki asks him, “Is Asgard beautiful?”
He trails his gaze over golden locks as the sun shines upon them. He wonders if Asgard is as golden as Veur’s hair. Veur casts his eyes at Loki, his stare is woeful and Loki is mesmerized with the peculiar shade of blue in those sad eyes.
His name is Loki. He still doesn’t remember anything but that is fine. And it seems strange that he does not really want to know his past, as if knowing it will hurt him, perhaps even kill him, and he won’t be the same. He likes it here and he likes it now. He likes being just Loki and enjoys sharing a life with Veur.
Loki and Veur. He smiles at that because it sounds like they are meant to be like that, whatever that is.
They have been living on Midgard for a month, have built a little house facing a big lake surrounded by a lush forest of tall pine trees and picturesque mountains. Veur tells him of The Fall.
Loki asks him, “What leads to the Fall?”
Veur lays out their game that they caught that day on the ground. He takes out his small dagger and starts skinning them. Loki thinks that Veur will never provide him any answer, but he waits, and watches how swiftly and precisely Veur removes the skin, like a true hunter. Perhaps Veur has always been a hunter.
When the last one has been stripped completely, blue eyes finally meet his.
“You let go. You fell.”
“Did you, too?”
For a while Veur doesn’t say anything as he collects the rest of the game and bundles it together, except for two wildfowl that will be for their dinner. When Veur finally answers, he isn’t looking at Loki this time. “I jumped to you. I didn’t want to let you go.”
And Loki doesn’t ask more because he doesn’t really want to know; that, he thinks, is enough for now.
Despite his memory loss, Loki actually surprises himself when he discovers that he can cook, when he knows when the meat isn’t raw anymore and is already good to eat. He feels bad that Veur does almost everything.
Loki makes the fire and starts roasting their game. Veur found some berries for them. He tells Loki that they’re alright to eat.
“Are you going to leave again?”
Sometimes Veur leaves and takes the game with him, selling it in a nearby town that Loki never knows the exact location of and he never asks, and oddly he never feels curious about it. He likes it here, enjoys watching the tranquil lake and the passing fluffy clouds across the mountains and the mist that creeps slowly into the verdant forest, obscuring everything into a haunting and mystical place.
The first time Veur had to leave, he’d reached out for Loki’s hand and squeezed it comfortingly, an action which had triggered a curious tingling in his chest. He’d told Loki that he’d be back in three days. When he returned, he brought things such as clothes and food, but the one thing that Loki could never forget was the book that Veur gave to him. The Little Prince. ‘A gift,’ Veur had said with a benevolent smile.
There were other books that Veur brought with him, such as Alice’s Adventure in Wonderland, The Jungle Book and The Wonderful Wizard of Oz.
But Loki reads The Little Prince every day. He loves it. He feels connected to it.
“Will you bring back another book?”
The only response from Veur is a subtle nod and a grin that lights up his entire visage. So sweet, so lovely, like the sun that shines on a good day.
His name is Loki and he still doesn’t remember anything before The Fall. It has been raining for the past week; the torrent of water disturbs the stillness of the lake, shrouds the mountains with dark clouds and the forest looks indistinctly bleak like the shadows of ghosts are hiding behind every pine tree.
Flares of lightning illuminate the dark sky and the rumbling of thunder fills the comforting silence in the room. Loki isn’t afraid of them and feels unusually peaceful, even safe, like home, like he has always belonged to these elements. And during this time Veur will be sitting on a chair on the porch; looking up into the grey skies, he always does, as if searching for something that has been detached from him; that has left him a partially unbroken man.
It is also at this moment that Loki finds the golden-haired man captivating, as if Veur is the thunder and lightning. Veur who is always there for him, who stays with him and makes him feel safe and sound in this foreign land.
Loki cannot sleep. He turns to the other side of the bed so that Veur’s resting form is facing him and takes comfort as he watches the other man, then he realises that Veur isn’t sleeping yet.
“Do I have a family?”
A shadow passes over his face but it is so quick that Loki ponders if he is simply imagining it.
“You have a brother.”
And his heart stutters for a brief moment. A brother.
“What is he like?”
“Arrogant, selfish, imprudent... I hate him.”
He frowns because this is the first time Veur has mentioned hating someone. All this time living with Veur and Loki knows that there is not a single hate-bone inside that man, that he is patient and kind and will know when to offer a silent comfort or go away when Loki has a bad day; that he won’t kill a hare because they look adorable and will leave a mother bear alone because Veur thinks her little cubs still need her.
“Do I hate him too?”
Loki feels the slight pull of the sheet under him. “Maybe.”
And Loki doesn’t ask more because he thinks it is enough. For now, he thinks.
His name is Loki. He knows that he came from a place called Asgard and he has a brother. A brother who never comes by and when winter rolls in, Loki starts to wonder if his brother is searching for him or if he is wondering where Loki is. Since this is the place where he landed after The Fall, surely his brother will end up here if he is to trace where the fall ends.
For the first time in the nine months of his time on Midgard, Loki is grieving because he wonders if his brother even wants him back.
“I forgive him if he has hurt me,” Loki whispers into the night.
He could feel Veur’s eyes on him. “And I’ll tell him I’m sorry. For everything I did... I’m so sorry.”
Veur grasps him and tugs him roughly. “Stop!” He sounds wounded. “Don’t say anything!” He buries his nose into the side of Loki’s face and then Loki turns and kisses Veur.
There is a poignant tug inside him as the press of their lips turn vigorous. Loki’s heart clenches because he cannot comprehend why this kiss unequivocally feels like everything and yet nothing.
Veur deepens the kiss, slipping his tongue between his lips. Loki trails his fingers on the other’s face, stroking the bearded chin. His other hand falls flat on Veur’s chest as he feels his heart hammer fast. For him. Just for Loki.
Veur caresses the inside of his mouth swiftly and tenderly and Loki melts. Pleasure coils inside him and he wraps his arms around Veur.
“Don’t ever let me go,” Loki gasps.
Veur responds with a grunt, “Never.”
He makes a wet path to Loki’s neck and bites the skin there, making Loki’s breath hitch. His hands tug Loki’s shirt, undressing him and every inch of his skin is stroked with fondness as if his touch creates a path of honest devotion, of faithful passion, of love.
Veur keeps his word and never lets go as he takes Loki, gripping his hips tight and leaving angry marks as he plunges into the tight heat. Loki moans breathlessly and wantonly as his head rocks with every thrust.
This and everything is utterly and intimately familiar to Loki and the cogs inside his mind simply click; he recognizes these hands that maps his body, the teeth that mark his skin, the lips that caresses his and the cock that’s buried deep inside him. He succumbs to this dizzyingly astonished feeling.
Hot spurts release and Loki arches as he achieves the pinnacle of his pleasure. Like each and every aching part of him has finally found a salve, he breathes the name, “Thor.”