Hidden Troubles

Chapter 39

AN: so, between fits of puking, coughing up blood, crying, complaining and refusing to do anything beyond staying in bed all day, I've managed to weed out a feverish little chapter this week. I'm beyond sorry about this by the way- my immune system likes to perform a little bit disappearing act when I need it the most. I believe it's on vacation in the Bahamas.

I'm well aware this chapter is nowhere near my best but...I am diseased. My brain's barely functioning as it is.

Loki toyed with the rich meats and fruits piled upon his plate, only vaguely aware of his brother Thor eating with almost unmatchable gusto (only Volstagg could be considered such a rival), raving about the hunting trip he was about to go on, and the several hunting trips before that and all his glorious kills.

How wonderful for him.

Thor—brave, perfect Thor—Loki had reached the age where he knew of sibling rivalry and jealousy, where he could see how everyone favoured his blond haired brother over the unusually dark haired sorcerer. He thought Thor loved him, loved him enough to remember, but evidently not.

"Loki," Thor boomed suddenly, squeezing Loki's thin frame in a strangling side hug, "are you not hungry? You ought to eat more brother!"

Loki squirmed out of the hug and stood up, pushing his plate away from him. "I'm simply not hungry Thor. I'll be off to my chambers now. Enjoy your hunting trip," he stated frostily. Not allowing Thor to make any further comment, he walked off, ignoring his stinging eyes and relished more so in the oddly relieving pain from his tightly clenched fists. He thought— hoped— for a moment that Thor would remember and call him back and apologise, ruffling his hair before proudly proclaiming— but no. It was too far fetched a fantasy to imagine such a thing. And judging from the roar of laughter following his cold departure, he was right.

Loki slammed the doors of his chambers the second he reached them. He plunged his room into a purely black darkness, not a single aspect of his surroundings distinguishable. The darkness had become one of his few refugees of comfort. Cloaked by what light could never beat. Eight candles floated before him, emerging from the darkness like fireflies. Loki watched them slightly, as they moved to orbit around him, a fiery protective circle of warmth and light to ward off the gloom.

"Happy birthday to me," he whispered, before killing the glow with a gentle sweep of his hands.

The only thing the darkness heard after that were the heart-wrenching sobs of the forgotten prince.

***

The cold December sun shone obscenely through the glass windows of Loki's quarters. Today, he knew, was different from most- it was his day of naming. A day that came round every year, and one he progressively looked forward to less and less. Because who would bother remembering the birthday of a mischievous trickster? Loki sighed as he once more faced the all too familiar white ceiling.

It wasn't long before a certain redhead burst rudely in through the doors (without knocking), but the holy smile on her face made any action of hers so easily forgivable. Loki couldn't help the small smile curling up at his lips, despite his relatively somber mood.

"Come on, you're getting out of here."

"I beg your pardon?" Loki was quite happy with his newfound hermit life via self-induced room isolation. He didn't want to see anyone. Especially not today.

"You're getting out of here," she repeated simply. "Bruce thinks you've been holed up in here too long, and getting some fresh air would be good for you."