READ CHAPTER 158 FIRST IT HAS THE CONTEXT FOR THIS (unless you're not here from LMTAPS and you just want to read about Steve and Loki, in which case, welcome and I hope this makes sense idk)

He can hardly see, he can hardly hear, he can hardly walk, but somehow, he makes it out of that room, and now, his only thought is that he has to get somewhere far, far away; somewhere that nobody is going to find him.

So he teleports to the roof.

He stumbles on the landing and falls to his knees, but he hardly notices the stinging pain it brings. He squeezes his eyes closed and clutches his chest. He can't breathe. He can't breathe. He's breathing, but he can't breathe.

He can feel his whole body going numb, like he's not really here, like he's watching from the outside, and yet he can still feel every strained breath he takes. He's on fire, sweating even in the cool nighttime air, yet all he wants to do is pull his sweatshirt tighter until it swallows him whole.

It's okay, he tries to tell himself. It was just a movie.

But it wasn't just a movie.

And he's not sure he's okay.

He chokes out a sob. He hates this. He hates this. He hates that the littlest thing can set him off. He hates that something as simple as a kids' movie can send him into a panic like this. He hates that he can hardly move. He hates that he can hardly breathe. He hates that he can hardly think. His whole day is ruined – whatever's left of it – because of a stupid animated princess movie.

He can just barely hear the soft grunting from below, and he swallows back any more sobs threatening to escape. As hard as he tries, he can't relax. He feels like he's stuck how he is, arms pulled tight against his chest as he kneels helplessly on the ground, but at least he's not sobbing. It could always be worse.

Steve climbs his way onto the roof, and when he makes it up there, he sits down a few feet away, giving his friend plenty of space. "Hey." He gives him a small, sympathetic smile. "What's up?"

Loki shakes his head. He can't talk about it. He can't talk at all.

"Are you okay?" Steve asks.

Not at all.

But Loki just nods.

Steve frowns. "Loki..."

Loki swallows hard and tries to take a deep breath – though it's really no different than an ordinary breath, he's sure. "I'm fine." He can't find it in him to raise his voice above a whisper.

"No, you're not," Steve says. "What's going on?"

"I..." He shakes his head helplessly. "I don't like that movie."

"It was the movie?" Steve repeats, confused. "What's wrong with the movie?"

"It just... It felt too real." He doesn't know how else to describe it. It felt real. To him, that movie – that scene specifically – was real.

Steve sighs. "It wasn't real," he says gently. "It's a movie. That's all it is."

"No, you don't understand," Loki insists, and he can feel that panic rising again as he thinks of it more. "It felt real. It felt..." He shakes his head. He can't finish that thought. He can't explain it. It just felt real.

Steve slides closer and puts a comforting hand on Loki's shoulder. "It wasn't real," he repeats. "Nothing about that was real."

Loki closes his eyes.

"Yes, it was."

His form changes then, from the ordinary pale Asgardian the Avengers know to what he truly is: a Frost Giant. A born monster. This will show him. He'll see the truth now.

Steve sucks in a sharp breath, pulling his hand back, just like Loki knew he would.

"You don't understand," Loki says again, his voice barely a whisper. "It felt real. To me, it was real."

But then a hand brushes against his face, a small, gentle movement, and when Loki opens his eyes, he's not met with a look of fear, a look of disgust; he's met with...

Awe.

But more than that, it's almost... adoration.

And Loki doesn't know what to do.

Here he is, exposed, vulnerable, showing his truest friend his worst self, and he doesn't care. He didn't recoil in disgust; he reached out in awe.

"You're..." Steve's eyes flicker across his face, taking in his every new feature.

A monster. That's what he is. He's a monster. He knows that, and now, Steve does, too.

"You're beautiful," Steve breathes.

"What?" But he's... He's not. Can't he see it? This isn't a face of beauty; it's a face of terror. It's a face of a million horrors, far beyond his comprehension.

"You're beautiful," Steve says again, and the way he's looking at him, that sense of wonder on his face...

He almost believes it.

Steve gazes into his eyes, his bright red eyes, and he's never felt more vulnerable. He'd thought Steve would flinch, would pull away, would never want anything to do with him again, and yet here he is, somehow more captivated by him than he's ever been before.

And, for some reason he can't quite place, he doesn't mind. He doesn't care that Steve can see him for who he is. He'd thought this would ruin any semblance of trust between them, but somehow, as Steve looks at him, he doesn't see a monster. He just sees him.

And then Steve remembers himself, remembers where they are, remembers who he's with, and he pulls away, his hand making its way to his neck as he rubs it awkwardly.

"Um..." Steve looks away, and Loki does the same. "Sorry, I just... You look really... really nice."

Loki scoffs. "I don't look nice, Rogers." He shakes his head helplessly. "Can't you see? I'm a monster."

"No," Steve says immediately. His voice is firm, immovable, not an ounce of doubt in it. "You're not a monster. I know you, Loki, and you're not a monster."

"Yes, I am," Loki insists. He can feel that stinging behind his eyes once more, and he wills himself not to let a tear slip because he knows that once he starts, he doesn't know if he'll be able to stop. "Don't you see? That wasn't just a movie. That was me. That was my life. I am the monster they think that she is."

"Stop it," Steve says. "You're not a monster."

"I am," Loki insists. "I thought I could push it away. I thought I could pretend it wasn't real; that I was normal. Even when I found out what I was, I tried to be normal, but I–"

"You're not normal, Loki," Steve says. "You've never been normal. But that doesn't make you a monster. This..." He gestures to his face. "This doesn't make you a monster."

Loki shakes his head, and he can feel the tears threatening to fall. "You don't understand–"

"I don't think you understand," Steve says, his voice gentle but certain, so sure of his words. "I know you, Loki. You've been my best friend for years. And I know that you're not a monster. You're a hero."

"I'm not a hero," Loki says. "I'm a monster, Steve. How do you not see it? I–" His words are cut off by a sob he's been trying so hard to hold back. "I'm a monster. I'm a murderer. I've hurt so many people, killed so many people – innocent people, who didn't–"

"And that was years ago," Steve reminds him. "You've changed since then. You've grown since then. I've seen it first-hand. You're not the same person you used to be."

"Aren't I?" Loki asks, his eyes filling with tears. "You don't know even a fraction of what I've done. I've always been a monster. I was born a monster. I was born to cause pain and death and suffering, and when I die, that will be the legacy I leave behind."

"No, it won't be," Steve insists, his voice full of desperation. "Because that's not who you are. You're a hero, Loki. You're one of us."

"Don't say that," Loki pleads. "You're good. You're good people. You don't deserve to have that tarnished because you've been stuck with me."

"Loki, we're not stuck with you," he says. "If we wanted to leave, we would, but we don't. I'm not here because I have to be. I'm here because I care about you."

"You shouldn't," Loki mumbles. None of them should. He's a monster. He doesn't deserve their affection or their sympathies.

"Will you stop saying that?" Steve asks. "All of it. Stop saying you're a monster. If you really think I'm a good person, then you need to stop calling yourself a monster."

Loki furrows his brows. "What...?" He doesn't get it. Where's the connection there? He is a monster; Steve is not. What doesn't he understand about that?

"If you really think I'm a good person," Steve says, "then you have to admit that you are, too. Because a good person wouldn't fall in love with a monster, so if you're a monster, I am, too."

Loki blinks back his tears, trying to get a better look at Steve's face, trying to make some sense of his words. A good person wouldn't fall in love with a monster. That almost sounds like he means it romantically, but that can't be the case. He says it too casually to be confessing his love. But then, can "fall in love" even be used in a platonic sense?

Steve eyes him uncertainly. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"You just said..."

Steve's confusion only seems to grow, which makes Loki all the more confused, too. He doesn't understand how his words could possibly invoke some sort of surprise? They must have been platonic, then. He must have just chosen his words poorly.

"I just said what?" Steve asks.

Loki just shakes his head. It's nothing. He's reading too much into it. It's just his mind trying to trick himself into thinking that he's loved, that the person he cares for most in this world cares for him back, cares for him more than anyone else. But it's just wishful thinking. He should have known that from the start.

Steve just looks at him for a few moments, silent, and then a look of realization passes over him. "You didn't know."

"I didn't know what?" Loki asks. What is happening right now? He doesn't understand it. He doesn't...

"That I love you."

He says it so casually, so factually. He says it like it's nothing. He says it like it won't break Loki's entire worldview; like it won't change everything.

"I thought it was obvious," Steve says. "Tony and Nat tease me about it all the time. I mean..." He shrugs, growing a bit sheepish now, the more he talks about it. "Yeah. I love you."

Loki just stares.

He doesn't know what to do. He doesn't know what to say. He doesn't know what to think. Steve loves him. Steve is openly admitting that he loves him. He loves him so much that the rest of the Avengers have already figured it out. And Loki had no idea.

"You don't have to do anything about it," Steve adds. "I know you don't like me that way. I'm not expecting you to change your mind. I just... think you should know. Since we're kinda talking about it anyway."

Loki bites his lip, looking at him in disbelief. He really... Wow. That's all he can say: wow.

"So stop calling yourself a monster, is what I'm saying," Steve says, and he circles back around so easily, so casually, like he hasn't just dropped the biggest bombshell on him since he discovered his true heritage. "You're not just insulting yourself; you're insulting me by saying that I would fall for a monster."

Loki swallows hard, and finally, he forces himself to speak. "How long?"

"How long?"

"How long have you...?"

Steve shakes his head. "I don't know," he admits. "I guess it just happened over time. I think I realized it when I found you that you were Sylvie – or when we talked about it, I guess. And you said you didn't feel the same way, so I just... left it."

Loki did nothing wrong and he knows that he did nothing wrong, but a wave of guilt washes over him nonetheless. He remembers that conversation. He remembers making a point to promise Steve that it was just an act; just a game. He thought he was making things better. He thought he was stopping things from becoming weird between them. He never would have thought...

As though reading his mind, Steve says, "You don't have to feel bad. I'm not telling you to make you feel bad. I just don't want you to think you're a monster, because you're not. I've spent enough time with you over the last few years to know that. And I don't care if you're..." He gestures vaguely to him. "If you're secretly blue. I already knew that. That doesn't change anything."

It should, he wants to say. It would, if you knew what it meant.

But he doesn't know. He doesn't know about the Frost Giants. He doesn't know their history. He doesn't know about the bloodshed, the monstrosities they've committed. He doesn't know the monsters that Loki hails from.

But then, maybe he doesn't have to. Because he knows the monstrosities that he's committed, and he overlooks them as though they were nothing. He doesn't care what Loki's done; why would he care what his ancestors have?

This is almost surreal. He can hardly believe that he's sitting here as his true Jotun self, and not only did Steve not recoil in fear; he chose to stay, to sing his praises and then tell him he loves him. He never would have thought...

"Do you feel any better now?" Steve asks, a bit cautiously.

Loki nods. "Much better," he says. "Thank you. For being here. It means a lot."

Steve gives him a small smile.

Loki takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly as he gazes out at the sky. It's a nice, clear night. He can see all the stars in the sky. It's beautiful, really. He much prefers it to the dull, cloudy nights that he frequently finds.

"Do you want me to leave you alone now?" Steve asks him. "Or do you want me to stay?"

Loki shrugs minutely. "Whatever you'd like," he says. "I certainly won't be offended if you'd like to finish your movie." As long as he doesn't have to watch it himself, he doesn't mind.

"Well, I just missed the whole beginning," Steve says, "so I'd probably go to my room and read or draw or something if I go anywhere. It's your call."

Loki ponders this for a few moments. Well, if he really doesn't care... "I suppose I could use the company, if you're sure you don't mind."

"'Course I don't," Steve says.

Loki offers him a smile, then lies down on the roof, hands folded behind his head. Steve lies down too, beside him but not on top of him, not overbearing, not imposing himself. It feels purposeful – and maybe it's just Loki's preoccupation with their conversation that makes him feel that way, but he really does feel it.

So Loki squirms closer to him and rests his head on Steve's chest. Steve puts an arm around him, and Loki almost feels like Sylvie again. He's getting the love that Sylvie gets, but he's getting it as himself, and that makes it feel so much more real.

It's quiet for a while, and he finds himself enjoying it more than he thought he would, more than he usually does during the Avengers' parties. It's just so... nice.

Eventually, he breaks the silence, musing aloud, "I've never been overly interested in romance. I'll admit that I do enjoy a nice romance novel, but it's never interested me very much as far as acting on it."

"That's fine," Steve says. "I guess it's not for everyone."

"I've always thought that as well," Loki tells him, "but then, I've never had somebody in my life who truly cares for me. My whole life, I've surrounded myself with people who entertain my presence out of obligation or because I had something to offer them – connections, status, sex."

He can feel Steve's huff of laughter at that.

"But this feels different," Loki says. "You're different. You really seem to like me – as I am, with no expectations."

"Of course I do," Steve says. "You're my best friend."

He says it as though it should be obvious, as though it's normal, as though anybody has ever thought Loki worthy of being not just their friend, but their best friend. And he's so genuine about it, so earnest in his words. It's as though the Norns gifted him this human as an apology for everything he went through in Asgard.

"Steve?"

"Hmm?"

"I think I want to try this."

Steve pauses. "Try what?"

"This," Loki says. "I don't understand romance. I have no real experience with it. I don't understand how it works. But I'd be willing to try, if you'd like."

Steve sighs. "You don't have to do that," he says. "I'm more than happy just being your friend."

"But I want to," Loki insists. "I want to know what it's like to be in love. And if anybody could show me that..." It's going to be him. It's always been him.

Steve's quiet for a few moments, until finally, he says, "If you're sure, then yes, I'd love that. But you can change your mind at any point. I don't want to pressure you into–"

"You do remember that I'm a god," Loki interrupts, an amused smile on his lips. "I would like to think I am immune to this kind of 'pressure.'"

Steve chuckles. "Yeah, probably," he concedes. "I just don't want to ruin this. I'd rather be your friend than try for something more and watch it fizzle out."

"We can start slow," Loki offers – although admittedly, he doesn't know the normal speed in which a relationship progresses (though Frozen did just teach him that one does not typically marry a man they've just met, which is a good starting point).

"Yeah?"

"Mm-hmm," Loki hums. "From what I've gathered from movies and books, one would ordinarily begin their new relationship with either a date or a life-threatening adventure or some sort."

He can feel Steve's chest bouncing slightly as he laughs to himself, which puts a smile on Loki's face. That's exactly the reaction he wanted.

"Unfortunately, I cannot leave the property," Loki says, "so we may have to think outside the box."

"What if we just start with this?" Steve asks. "Just you and me, alone, lying on the roof and pretending it's not freezing cold outside."

Loki furrows his brows. "You're cold?"

"You're not?"

"I don't get cold easily," Loki says vaguely, brushing past that. One day, he'll tell Steve everything. One day soon, in case Steve changes his mind once he's heard it. He'll sit him down and tell him his whole life story and that of his ancestors. But for tonight, he isn't a Frost Giant. He's just a bluer version of himself, snuggled up against Steve's chest.

He conjures a blanket (and it totally is a blanket) (it's definitely not a napkin) (okay, yes, it is) and covers them both up with it, then looks up at Steve expectantly. Is this good enough? Does this help?

Steve chuckles and pulls the blanket tighter. "Any chance you've got a hidden pillow, too?"

"Unfortunately not," Loki says. Although... He conjures a hoodie – he likes to have an extra on hand, just in case – and holds it up to him. "Would this suffice?"

"You are so prepared," Steve remarks, amused. He bunches the hoodie up and slips it under his head, and then his arm returns to where it was, gently holding him close.

Loki smiles and closes his eyes. This is nice. This is really, really nice.

He really thinks he's going to like this.