The Heat of the Snow // A Loki Fanfiction

Chapter 3

"Are you soon ready?" you ask, tugging on your thick winter jacket.

Outside the cabin, the snow is still falling gently, but the temperature has plummeted another 4 degrees. Typical. Taking a weird stranger to his igloo—alone—at 10pm in the freezing cold is not my idea of fun. The log cabin is so warm and you'd planned to sit in front of the fire, wrapped up in a blanket, reading one of your mother's books. She'd had so many, the cabin has a bookcase in every room, filled to the brim.

"Yes I'm ready, Y/N," Loki tells you, and with a sniff, you reach for the door.

"I'll get the dogs prepared."

"I'll gladly help."

"It's not necessary," you say over your shoulder, but your words are pointless—he's following anyway. With a final wave to Stefan and a bag of provisions in his hand, Loki stalks after you. So you pick up the pace through the snow, forcing him to do the same.

He's tall—a lot taller than you. And part of that would be intimidating if it weren't for the fire thrumming in your chest—the fire currently being bitten back by the frosty night air. "Let's hurry, it's cold," you say, heading to the kennels.

It doesn't take you long to ready the huskies, but the poor things had already settled down for bed themselves. They grumble and growl when you turn the soft lights on. "Sorry guys," you say in your own language, glancing at Loki. "Got to go out again...not my fault."

The corner of Loki's lips twitch. I wonder what she'd dare to say if she knew I could understand her. Sure, his ability to pick up all the Midgardian languages was a little rusty, but he could just about make out the inflections. English was certainly easier than this.

"How old are you?" Loki asks as you tie the last dog's harness to the sledge. Your fingers work fast, diligently—experienced. How long has she been here doing this? Loki couldn't imagine being in a place like this his whole youth. Sure, he complained about the limitations of Asgard all the time, but this was something else. Complete isolation. While it was a nice area to visit, the idea of living here seemed stifling. Doesn't she want to travel? See the sorry excuse of a world she lives in?

You don't even bother to look at him. "Twenty-one," you tell him. "But that's just a number and means nothing about how I'm able to do my job here."

Loki scoffs. "That wasn't why I was asking. I know how it feels to be judged by people who assume your capabilities are limited." You stand up straight, staring at him. There's something in his face that you hadn't noticed before. Something small...like a flicker of pain. But then it's gone, shut down as he smirks, gesturing to the dogs and how they watch you, waiting for a command. "I have no doubt of your abilities here."

You fold your arms across your chest. "Why did you ask?"

"Sorry?"

"My age," you clarify, pointing to the fixed box on the sledge where he can store his stuff, "why did you ask then if it weren't for that?"

For a moment, Loki doesn't answer. He's not sure why he did ask. He was just interested. "You seem younger," he says. It's not exactly an answer to your question, but it's the only thing that comes to mind. Your face is youthful, unblemished, your eyes wide, but sharp as if you've seen dark things during the small fraction of time you've been alive. She's felt pain too...her mother, perhaps? But despite all that, you still seem younger than your age would suggest.

"Well, I'm not," you say with a sigh, pointing to the space on the sledge for him to stand. "Are you coming?"

Loki steps up slowly beside you and sucks in a breath when you lean around to secure him to the bar at the front. This close, the scent of your hair fills his nose—a fresh, outdoors sort of smell. It drives a strange sensation through the pit of his stomach, and he finds himself breathing deeper, leaning in a little. From this angle, as you look down, fiddling with the rope around the bar, he notices how long your eyelashes are, fanned across your cheeks. Soft, he thinks to himself, completely different to her demeanour.

When you catch him staring intently at your face, your stomach freefalls and you stand up quickly. "W—what is it?" It's weird. No one has ever looked at you like that. Not even the one boyfriend you had, growing up. Not that that's surprising...seeing how that ended.

"You interest me," Loki says with a small shrug. The admission does nothing for the rabbits leaping around in your belly.

"Let's just go, okay?" you say weakly when the dogs start to whine. Loki just nods.

What is there for him to be interested in? Since your mother had died, you'd made sure you blended in. You didn't wear makeup, didn't wear any nice clothes, didn't draw attention to yourself. Everything was functional. He's lying. I must have food on my face or something.

"Mush!" you call out. And as the dogs take off into the night, snow swirling and cascading as you drive through the glades, you feel his eyes on you even then.