Chapter Text
Bound to this lonely road
You gave me hope
Gave me hope
Woke my drifting soul
And led me home
Led me home...
“May I sit?”
“Sure,” the girl nodded, barely acknowledging the tall, dark stranger towering over her. She quickly wiped the tears from her face in embarrassment as she reached over, pulling her bags to her side of the bench, struggling with the weight of them.
“Let me,” the man said quietly, noticing her distress. He lifted the two duffles with ease and set them gently down at her feet.
“Thanks,” she nodded, keeping her head down as she pulled her coat tightly over her chest. “Sorry.”
“No need to apologize,” he assured her as he sat, making sure to leave ample room between them. It was clear the girl wasn’t happy and he didn’t wish to make her any more uncomfortable. “I don’t wish to intrude. There doesn’t seem to be another bench in this infernal place for miles.“
"No, there isn’t,” she laughed through tears, shaking her head. “There's hardly anything for miles.”
“I see that,” he replied, surveying the desolate tundra around them before turning his gaze back to her. He couldn't help but notice that she was trembling. “Are you - waiting for someone?”
“Yes,” she said plainly, her eyes unfocused, her expression unreadable. “But I’m beginning to think they aren’t coming.”
“Ah.”
“And you? Are you waiting for someone?”
The man glanced irritably up at the sky as the snow fell harder around them. "No. I’ve long given up hope of that.“
"Well,” she said, fiddling in her coat pocket for a tissue that wasn’t soaked or ripped to hell. “You’re smarter than I am.”
“I wouldn’t be so certain of that.”
At his sentiment she glanced over and their eyes finally met. Her breath left her body at the sight of the strikingly handsome man beside her, his skin porcelain, his chin-length locks jet-black, his eyes a piercing, haunting blue. He wore a baseball cap and jeans with a black leather jacket and was, quite possibly, the most attractive man she had ever seen. For a moment, for the briefest of moments, she’d forgotten the pain she was in.
“Uh,” she finally said, snapping out of her idiotic reverie. “If you’re looking to warm up, there’s a small cafe a few minutes walk that way. Their coffee isn’t the best, but it’s still coffee.”
“Do you intend to freeze out here?” he asked curiously, furrowing his brow as he watched her teeth chatter. He looked down peculiarly at the combination of light jacket and thin leggings she wore, wondering if she had some sort of death wish.
“Doesn’t sound so bad,” she shrugged, shaking violently now. “I’ve always loved the cold. Not the worst way to go out.”
There was a joking desperation in her voice that he understood. He knew he should get up and walk away, for she was nothing to him. But he simply couldn't - and the inexplicable fact of that made him uneasy. Still, he needed directions. Perhaps she could be of some use to him.
“Would you care to join me?"
"What?”
“For coffee.”
“Oh, I-”
“Or tea, if you’d prefer.”
She smiled, and she didn’t know why. Because she did prefer tea. And no one had ever asked her that.
“Thanks, but I shouldn’t."
"I’m afraid I can’t leave you here like this.”
She bit her lip and scrutinized him, trying hard to convince herself not to go. She had a million reasons not to. She was a sensible girl and she knew red flags should be shooting up everywhere - a tall, dark, handsome savior appearing when she needed one the most, swooping in from nowhere to her rescue. Things like this didn’t happen in real life unless said person was a maniac. She shouldn’t even be thinking about another man after what she had been through. Still, it was just coffee - or tea, rather.
“Are you a serial killer?”
The man looked thoroughly offended. “No.”
“I’m just checking,” she said, stifling a laugh. She wasn’t sure if it was the overwhelming sense that she was safe with him or the intense grief of the day that was clouding her judgment, but she knew, looking at him now, that her mind was already made up. She stood.
“I assure you,” the man said, standing to meet her. “I mean you no harm. Miss -”
“Anna,” she said, amicably reaching her hand out to shake his.
“Anna,” he repeated, hesitantly taking her small hand in his. “I’m Luke.”
Only his name wasn’t Luke. It was Loki. God of mischief, God of lies. And there it was. The first of many lies he was certain he would tell her, a girl who he recognized was the last person in the nine realms who probably deserved it. But if he was to survive this place and eventually escape it, she might be of use to him.
Only time would tell.