My Best Friend's the God of Mischief // Peter x Loki

apply the pressure till it breaks

Peter noticed there was something wrong with Mister Loki ever since his return. May said he needed time - whatever had happened to him that he refused to talk about - Loki needed time. Although that didn't stop Peter from fearing Loki's scars might ran deeper than just marks on his body.

///

It's been days and Loki still locked himself in his room. He wouldn't eat, and Peter doubted he slept at all. More than once the thought crossed his mind that Mister Loki had once again left. When it did - when the paranoid thought crossed his mind - Peter found himself standing in front of the closed door, knocking.

"Mister Loki, sir, are you in here?" He asked.

"Go away, Peter," Loki responded.

"But Mister Loki, it snows outside. I thought maybe you and I could go out and build a snowman,"

"Go 'way,"

Peter sighed. It hurt - being shut out by a friend without even a clue what he did wrong. On the bright side, at least Mister Loki was still here. At least he didn't run away like before.

~~~

"I think he's angry with me," Peter blurted out eventually when he could no longer hold it all inside. May stopped what she was doing - preparing the ingredients for her stew - for the moment and turned to her boy who had been watching her in silence for the past 30 minutes. Peter sat at the table in the kitchen, both hands folded together on the wood, and was giving May the mixture of hurt and loss expression. What do I do, the question lingered in Peter's head, and he knew May heard them by looking him in the eye without him having to ask it aloud.

"What makes you think he's angry at you?" She asked.

"Come on, May," Peter said, "it's obvious," it was - as a matter of fact - obvious, indeed. The distance Loki had put between himself and the two of them. For May he wasn't so cold. But when it came to Peter.

May sighed, leaning her back against the island. "He's hurt," she said after a brief pause, "sometimes when people are hurt, they tend to push everyone away without realizing they're doing so,"

"But how - how can we help if he won't tell what's wrong, if he won't talk? He's changed. So much. Since he came back. I know you saw it. It's like - I don't know - like he's a different person. I thought I'd get my friend back when he knocked on our door, but locking himself in that room is a stranger!" Peter stopped, pressing his lips into a thin line when he realized he was raising his voice, speaking too fast it was as though words kept coming out his mouth by an invisible force forcing them out his lungs, and he was looking at himself, from a third person's perspective, as he had a mini breakdown. He exhaled loudly, tiredly. His shoulders slumped.

"I just want my friend back," he said, after all the overwhelming emotions left, quietly. His eyes no longer on May, it landed on his folded-together hands, "I miss him,"

Peter heard May sigh, and didn't have to look to know she was giving him that smile. She crossed the room, and her hands were soon on his shoulders, giving the tense muscles a little squeeze to help ease the knots. She always did that whenever Peter was having a hard time - it surprisingly made him feel better. Of course, it never solved the problem, but it did calm his nerves and he was thankful. God knew he needed all the comfort he could get. The kid closed his eyes and tilted his head backward, just for a breath or two before the heavy weight, of the matter that had been eating at him, flared up again. When it did, he jerked on his feet, taking five or six steps away and then turning around to look at May - May who held the look of a caring parent on her face.