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Peter’s not quite sure where he is, but he does know it’s cold as shit.
The building he’s sat on is all cold concrete and unforgiving brick but he’s got nowhere better to be. He can hear cars down bellow and a woman’s raised voice from the building across the street; he can see the lady pace by the window every few minutes, mouth open and arms waving about like she’s just misplaced a million dollars or her cat or something. He doesn’t know, okay, cats can be a very important part of somebody’s life, and she looks like she might be a cat person.
He looks up knowing there wouldn’t be any stars, too much light pollution, but he pretends he can see them anyway—it’s not like anybody’s there to see him looking at nothing. Peter’s got his mask off, it’s almost four am by then and no one’s doing anything, wherever he is in New York, it’s safe. Safe enough, at least.
Apparently he’s feeling safe enough that he doesn’t even hear someone sit down next to him until they’re already there. He almost falls off the building in surprise, it’s not everyday somebody is able to sneak up on him. The hairs on the back of his neck stand up when he looks at the stranger though, and even if it’s late, it sets off some alarms in his brain.
The man sitting next to him is pale, kind of lanky, and eerily quiet. His hair is long and black, hanging around his face in waves, and he looks vaguely familiar—like someone he’s seen on T.V. before.
It takes Peter a minute to finally figure it out, simply because he’s wearing normal clothes, but the man is Loki. Like Loki, I’m-gonna-conquer-earth-because-I-can-and-kill-eighty-people-in-two-days, Loki. Yeah that one. He remembers the New York attack vaguely, he remembers seeing news feeds and Aunt May crying with joy when it was finally over, but not much else.
His heart stops and starts for a minute before he realizes that if Loki wanted to kill him, he’d already be dead. The small reassurance doesn’t stop his mind from running around in circles, trying to figure out why he would be here if not to kill him, and he comes up with nothing.
They sit there silently for a while, time stretching out and speeding up—Peter feels like it’s simultaneously been two second and a whole eternity before Loki speaks.
“I can’t sleep, may I stay here with you?”
Oh?
Well.
Okay.
“Um.. sure? If that’s what you want, Mr. Loki.” His voice feels small, like a bumbling fool next to Loki elegance—but he’s just a kid from Queens, ok? How is he supposed to know how to talk to a literal, actual god?
“So you do know who I am then. You haven’t run away, why is that, little spider?” Peter can see his mouth quirk up at the corners, more of a grimace than a smirk, and it makes the Asgardian look tired. And sad.
“Because if you wanted to kill me you would’ve done it already. Plus I don’t think I’d get very far, you seem like you could catch me very easily, Mr. Loki.”
“Stop calling me that, child. Just Loki is fine.”
“I’ll stop calling you that if you don’t call me child, I’m not a child,” Peter tries to hold his tongue—he really does—but it slips out without his permission. “Mr. Loki.”
At that, he actually laughs. It sounds kind of small to Peter’s ears, kind of like Loki isn’t used to laughing out loud, but that doesn’t surprise him. From what he knows about Loki he doesn’t seem like he has a lot to laugh about.
“You know I’ve killed people for less than that, but you have nerve, spider. Tell me, I’ve watched you sit here for over an hour, why have you not gone home?”
“I don’t know, I would say I’m looking at the stars, but there aren’t very many. Wait, were you stalking me?”
“I could make you stars, if you wanted. Midgard does have some very beautiful constellations, it’s a shame that you do not get to witness them.”
“I’m going to ignore the totally obvious deflection because that sounds sick, please do.” Peter doesn’t know why he’s being so flippant about this—he can hear a voice in his head that sounds suspiciously like Mr. Stark telling him he’s making a big mistake—but he doesn’t see any reason to be afraid, and he wants to see the stars.
Loki makes some weird hand flicking gesture, and a shimmer washes over his hands, like a soft green glow. It’s gone when Peter blinks, but when he looks up at the sky it’s like nothing he’s ever seen before.
He supposes it’s not really as amazing as he thinks it is, but there are millions of stars lighting up the sky now. Peter swears it’s like someone’s poked tiny holes into the night and shone a light through back, it doesn’t feel real.
“Is this really what the stars look like, Mr—I mean Loki. Loki.”
“Yes, Peter. This is what the stars look like.” The quirk of his lips is back, this time it doesn’t look like a smirk or a grimace, just a smile, and Peter thinks it suits him. Loki smiles, but doesn’t say anything else, and neither does Peter—it’s just not necessary.
He doesn’t know how long they sit in silence, but when he turns his head to look at Loki, the god is asleep. He can still hear the cars down below and the lady yelling, but now layered over top of it all he can hear Loki’s soft breathing; a steady in and out, gentle and probably silent to a normal person’s ears.
Peter doesn’t realize he’s fallen asleep too until he starts awake again. He doesn’t know how long it’s been, but the sky is still dark. The lady’s stopped yelling and the sound of Loki’s breathing is gone too.
Loki’s gone, and the only way Peter knew he’d even been there in the first place was the night sky filled with glittering stars and that it didn’t feel quite so cold anymore.