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"We might die in the next few hours and you want to play a board game?"
"We don’t know that yet. And why not? Would you rather sit and sulk?"
Sylvie glares at him. Loki simply keeps on grinning in that ridiculous way that makes her stomach loop.
"I don't sulk," she answers with a huff.
"Yes, you do, and not too bad at it either.”
“You’re a clown.”
“And you haven't answered my question. Which will it be? Sulking or playing?"
"Neither."
He laughs. Sylvie can't tell if it's at her or with her, and it infuriates her.
"Just sit and wait like a normal person," she insists, crossing her arms over her chest in a full display of her foul mood, clearly still angry about them having to hide in the baggage car. If a certain other self of hers had not drunk himself silly they could have still been in the comfort of the dining car. But no, he’d just had to drink his senses away and do that stupidly adorable little dance and it was back to hiding again. Sylve hates hiding. She’s sick of it.
"Oh, but we're anything but normal, aren't we?" Loki is still chuckling, still 'full'. He’s standing on the other side of the car, where he’d been rummaging through some poor soul's belongings. At least one of them should feel some sort of guilt from tearing through the possessions of someone who’s losing their home, but Loki doesn’t seem to care and, frankly, Sylvie believes that if someone had decided that board games had been a packing priority while escaping a doomed planet, then they deserved it.
“Come on, Sylvie, it’s better than sitting and thinking.” Loki pulls out box after box, making a rather uneven stack on top of one of the many crates that surround them. Some names she recognises, others she has never heard nor cares to learn about them. "Look at this! Midgardian games! Let's play this one!"
He holds it out before her, that stupid grin widening. Sylvie squints as she reads the bright letters on the box. Another she doesn't recognise it, not that she'll admit it to him. It already angers her enough that he knows more of the common world than she does. The privilege of growing up without being on the run. "...Monopoly? Sounds boring. I'd rather stare at a wall."
"Sylvie, Sylvie, Sylvie," Loki sits across from her, deciding for both of them that they're going to play. Sylvie just wishes that he’d stop saying her name like that, like he enjoys pronouncing every syllable of it. "Can you even call yourself a Loki if you haven't played the one game famed to make any evening a chaotic one and tear families apart?"
"I don't call myself a Loki."
"Of course not."
"And I'm not playing."
“Mmhmm.”
“So you can shove over there and leave me alone.”
"I'm playing with the top hat. Which piece do you want?"
"...The little dog."
***
"Norns, I can't believe you keep landing yourself in jail!" Loki laughs again, loud enough that Sylvie feels the need to remind him to keep it down with a kick to his knee. Not because he’s winning. Not because she hates losing. Not at all.
Her face paints a deep scowl, seething as she places the metallic dog back on the jail square that seems to be its preferred spot. Fucking thing. She should have picked the shoe piece. Or demanded the top hat off of Loki. Maybe that’s why he’s winning. Or maybe…
"Are you cheating?" she accuses, the glare deepening.
Loki grins at her, a telltale little twinkle in his eyes that all but confirms that he has cheated recently, and likely for most of the game. "Am I?"
Oh, she should have guessed. Illusions and all that. Clown.
"You are."
"What a horrible thing to say. I would never."
"Yes, you would." Sylvie glares at him once more as she rolls the dice and fails her first attempt to free the little dog from the jail that it loves so much to be in. It's almost imperceptible, but she catches a movement from one of the dice that isn't natural, as if it’s being pushed by an invisible finger or a tiny pulse of magic to turn to a different number. "And again! Stop!"
Now it’s Loki who bids her to be quiet, a finger to his lips and a silent little snicker escaping him as he reaches for the dice, and Sylvie is very much tempted to smack him across the face with the entire board. Or make him choke on the damned top hat. But she doesn't. Because, fuck it all, she's actually having fun and enjoying herself. She can't remember the last time she got to do something as trivial as this with someone else, to enjoy a moment of leisure without worrying or listening for any sign that the TVA had found her. It reminds her of being a little girl again, where her only concern was what toy she would play with and what tricks she could create.
He seems to be having fun too, the rosiness in his cheeks brought forth by laughter now instead of alcohol. Sylvie finds herself wondering how long he has been away from Asgard. How long has he been running? Is he missed? Is he wanted back home?
Their eyes meet. He’s caught her looking at him again, except that now it isn’t with a glare. He notices, and the rarity of it hits him. She fully expects him to break the moment with one of his snarky little remarks to stir her anger or to remind her how much better of a Loki he is, but… he doesn’t. He just lets them sit there, looking at each other, finding so many similarities yet so many differences between them. Their eyes are the exact same brilliant blue but the grief hidden in the corners is wildly distinct, unique in its pain and so very private.
"...It's your turn." Sylvie interrupts the moment, growing agitated as her heart races yet unable to look away.
"Is it?" His lips twitch, curling into a smile she has not seen before. It's playful. Catlike. The game has suddenly shifted into another.
"Or I can steal your turn and throw the dice again." She attempts to return that very same smile, curious to see where this is going. Loki’s pupils dilate.
Magic seeps into the air, and Loki lets the dice hover a few inches above his open palm. They do a little dance, twirling over each other and beckoning her to come over. It’s almost a challenge. No, it is a challenge. He wants her to take them from him. Bastard. It shouldn't send a spark to her stomach, but it does. "Come and get them," he says, as if perfectly aware of the effect he's having on her.
One brow arches on Sylvie's expression, and her own magic reaches out to snatch them out of his grasp. It’s a silly move. Her telekinesis is wild and unfocused, unlike his, and is likely not to be much help unless sent in a wave. As expected, she's unsuccessful, and there's a flash of disappointment in his eyes that she hasn't reached for them with her hand.
And of course she hasn't. She knows what he's planning. Their minds tick with nearly the same pattern, and she has not missed how his other hand awaits to grasp hers with eager tapping of his fingers. As to what he intends after seizing her wrist, Sylvie does not know. There's a horrible part of her that wants to find out, and it’s being so terribly loud.
"Are you done messing around?" She asks with feigned annoyance.
"Oh, I've barely started."
"Started what? Being an idiot?"
"My turn," Loki says as he lets the dice fall, that ridiculous little smirk still sat on his lips. Sylvie scoffs and forces her vision to focus on the tumble of the dice. Numbers are revealed, and Loki moves his piece along the board. He lands on one of her properties, the same one he keeps landing on every loop. He's quick to prepare the exact amount, already familiar with how much he must hand over, and holds the toy paper bills out to her expectantly.
It's obvious that there is nothing innocent about it, and that’s it’s another attempt at whatever he was planning before, but this time Sylvie decides to relent. She’s far too curious, and if they might die here…well, what’s the harm?
Her fingers have barely touched the paper when his hand releases the bills and sets itself above hers. It slides upwards to curl around her wrist, all in one slow motion that gives Sylvie plenty of room to pull it away. She doesn't, letting him do as he pleases in silent answer to silent question. Their gazes lock again, and it's all the confirmation Loki needs to gently pull her forward a little and kiss her.
They shouldn't do this. They're not friends. Not lovers. Not enemies. Not allies. Sylvie doesn't know what they are but they definitely should not be kissing while trying to escape a dying moon.
And yet…it feels right. It's comfort to a worried heart and a soothing remedy to her own haunting loneliness.
Her eyes close, and she leans in, sinks into it and allows herself to be swept away.