She never asked him to stay.

Loving Loki was like chasing smoke—always slipping through her fingers just when she thought she had him. He would be there one night, draped over her couch with his usual smirk, spinning a dagger between his fingers. And by morning, he’d be gone, leaving only the ghost of his laughter behind.

It was a game between them. He would disappear. She would pretend not to care.

"Dramatic exits are your specialty, huh?" she teased once.

"Would you prefer I linger?" he had shot back, tilting his head.

She didn’t answer.

But then came the night he didn’t disappear. Not entirely.

That night, when she woke, groggy and reaching for water, she found something on her nightstand. A dagger—his dagger. The handle worn, the blade still warm from where he’d been holding it.

Loki never left things behind.

Her fingers ghosted over the metal. A message, a promise, unspoken.

And just like that, the rules of their game changed.

It became a habit.

When he was gone, the dagger would stay. When he was there, it would vanish from the nightstand and return to his belt. She never mentioned it. Neither did he. But every time she woke and saw it resting there, something in her chest softened.

Until one day, it didn’t return.

Days passed. Then weeks.

She told herself she didn’t care. That he had always been this way. But still, her fingers reached for the spot where it should have been. Empty.

And that was the night she finally broke the rule.

Standing at her window, looking at the stars, she whispered, “Just one more trick, please.”

As if the universe had been waiting for those words, a flicker of green shimmered in the air behind her.

"Missed me, darling?"

She turned, but this time, she didn’t tease. Didn’t joke. Instead, she closed the space between them, pressed a hand to his chest, and whispered back,

"Don’t vanish again."

For once, he didn’t.