summary: the appalling clean-up. yes, we do not talk about that one
pairing: loki mendez x lorelei rios
A pair of heavy footsteps make their way along the sleek halls of the apartment. Vivid hues of sunlight flitter through the glass-cut windows, intromitting the peak afternoon warmth.
Slipping into their shared unit, the weariness built upon the gruesome school day finally settles on her shoulders. The boy next to her smothers a long yawn, mutual drowsiness engulfing the both of them. She makes her way toward the light switch with a skip to her step. Actions hinting at her giddiness to commence her afternoon nap time session, ready to flush out the faint feeling of after-class blues.
The scene resting in front of her puts Lorelei to a halt and reels her into an exhilarating madness. Papers are strewn across the floor accompanied by the couch cushions flung all over the place. The light-colored stuffing of her silk pillows sloppily spread out, decorating the interior as if Christmas snow had breezed through their residence.
Hearing the boisterous clang from the kitchen, their heads cock toward the abrupt commotion. Loki steps out, trudging carefully into the area. The sounds of delicate footfall echo through the suite, his movement wary to catch the suspect off guard.
The kitchen was not spared from all the disarray, cupboards were rearranged as well as last night’s leftovers decorated the tile floor. Loki pushes forward, each step drawing out the sound of utensils clicking against the soles of his leather shoes. Another sign of movement startles the pair, resounding a faint creak, the refrigerator door opens wide.
The culprit reveals itself, white fur now spotted with ebony black with a paw-shaped ink trail behind its course. Freya lets out a hushed meow, a timid greeting to her owners’ arrival.
Loki picks up the cat, grime caught into a tangle of knots against its fur, and bundles her against his arms. Gaze serious on the furry offender, as if a wave of paternal responsibility washes over him, now painting her usually distant roommate in a different light.
Making her way towards the broom and dustpan, a grumble bubbles down Lorelei’s throat. She draws out a long heavy sigh, air violently coursing from her lungs to her lips, crushed from the appalling clean-up project after an already exhausting day.
“You do know that your mom and I had a long day. Now look at the mess that we have to clean up,” he utters while staring at a clueless Freya, lifting her form to eye level.
Already on the verge of deep slumber, her tired eyes suddenly widen upon eavesdropping on Loki's nonchalant implication. Feeling the heat rise unexpectedly to her cheeks, she instantly shakes her head in dismissal and shoos all the wandering thoughts away.
She reaches for the cleaning supplies when a swift hand cuts through the corner of her peripheral vision. Seizing the items into his hold, Loki marches toward the eye of their unit's chaos.
She gapes at him, bewilderment etching onto her features. Taking in the sight of something of such peculiarity, as if some unknown spiritual force had taken possession of his soul. There he is, the infamous Loki Mendez who despised carrying out the legwork, now seen tidying up their quarters. A tempting urge to conduct an exorcism on her roommate buzzes through her thoughts, adding a mental note that she should invite Alistair and Jamie to witness this monumental event happening in front of her very eyes.
Is he drunk? Did someone brainwash him to miraculously do chores?
As luck would have it, her raving thoughts were blurted out, leading the dark-haired boy to fix his attention towards her. She looks away and bites back a grin, trying to suppress her teasing remarks.
Helping her up with the mop, his hands grasp the bucket, soap suds peeking up at its brim. Loki hands it to her and he proceeds to work on a cluttered spot. He then finds Lorelie's gaze, eyes telling her to meet him halfway.
"Didn't I tell you that this is an activity I find liberating? We may be surrounded by a mess right now but all of this will pass if you actually start scrubbing the soiled floors, the chaos will not clean itself, dear Lorelei."
"Oh Loki, you and I both know that between the two of us, I am the one who often tidies up the mess," she scoffs, scrubbing the mop toward the rigid stain stuck on the black-and-white patterned tiles." And besides, I was genuinely surprised that you took the initiative to organize everything," she leans into the mop’s handle, using the tool to carry her weight, eyes scrutinizing him.
He gives a low hum of a reply.
The pair carry on with their cleaning tasks, Lorelei busies herself with the kitchen area while Loki directs his undivided attention to the mishmash of a living room. Shadows play out their efforts to reinstate their apartment back to its pre-disaster glory, movements languid from the weight of bundled student and household duties.
Their beloved club cat sits by and observes the pair’s mundane interaction through its heterochromatic orbs, the copper-haired girl directing the disheveled boy on how to organize the throw pillows upon the couch’s scratched surface.
An afternoon spent on the quiet throngs of tiresome buzzing, the soft ticks of the clock foretell daytime’s denouement, remnants of its brilliance peer over the monochromatic interior.
Lorelei’s debilitated frame lies on the crisp sofa, her right leg dangling off the edge. Soft snores reverberate through the room, chest rising and falling to the still of tired beats. Pitter-patter, the sound of a weary heart drum out small steps, til’ she hears a shatter.
Lorelei blinks, consciousness stuck between the lines of wake and asleep, her eyes finally settle on the tenebrosity of sunlight’s descent. The reflection from grey-toned cityscapes envelops the complex with shadowed blue violets, giving Lorelei a hard time navigating her dazed form around their unit.
A disconcerting hiss bounces off the walls and the perturbed girl bolts toward the bathroom door, where the disturbance must be coming from.
Small hurried steps leading to her destination. Her eyes adjust to the radiance of the fluorescent bulbs, a big reveal of a scene consisting of multicolored bubbles and overflown puddles.
Her smile widens at the sight of her occupied roommate, his usual tousled state a bit more prominent caused by the strenuous rush of afternoon’s trouble. Towel securely wrapped around a disgruntled Freya, enraged meows and tiny whines of protest pulsate through the washroom as Loki steadily pats on her damp fur.
Lorelei throws her head back in laughter as she has witnessed Freya headbutting Loki right on the forehead, earning a series of inaudible muttering from the teenage detective.
Loki then faces her, the source of amused chatter.
Her giggles consist of wind chimes ringing breezy cacophonies into summer's high.
Plopping herself by his side, arms outstretched, offering to cradle the freshly scrubbed feline. Loki instantly places Freya onto Lorelei’s grasp, a sigh of relief escapes his lips, grateful for having to rid himself of the snowy menace.
The still silence. It settles in. Of jaded breaths and heavy-lidded eyes, a wave of exhaustion washes over them a second time.
She captures his gaze. Tumultuous typhoons create greying showers within his orbs. She caves in. Her eyes soften.
He expresses a hint of a smile.
The pitter-patter from the leaking faucet echoes through the room, like small steps.
Small steps. That's how they were.
"I may have been partly responsible for the chaos as I may have forgotten to feed Freya before heading to school," he states, now avoiding Lorelei's glare.
Between chattering teeth, he blurts out "Now, now, I am trying to make this right through diplomatic negotiations. I am deeply sorry, alright."
If it weren't for the fatigue settling in, Lorelei knew that her lecture would go on, but the both of them were frazzled by the bustle of harrowing student load and so she withdrew.
Though Lorelei would admit that she is grateful, truly. Admitting your error is one thing but correcting it is another.
Realization dawns upon her.
A succession of short steps meets her own.
Her hands clasp his soaked fringe and slick them back, taking in the view of the entirety of his face.
A pained yelp. The boy clutches the space above his knitted brows.
"That was for your mistake, I don't want it to happen again," a warning.
"But," she faintly murmurs. "I'd be caught lying if I told you that I didn't appreciate what you did."
He sighs, leaning his weight on the porcelain, his still too tired eyes burning into hers with pained gratitude.
Loki Mendez is indeed a handful.
Blunt words and unconventional tactics define his very being, as the ferocious thunderstorms know no bounds. But sometimes the might of monsoons disperse into fox rain, even tempestuous gales bow down to the iridescence of the brightest star.
The boy picks himself up and quietly walks out of the bathroom. Pulling on his hoodie, Loki starts unlocking their unit’s main door.
“And where are you headed this late at night?” Lorelei questions, her one eyebrow raised.
“Need to buy replacements for the damaged decor,” his muffled reply blares from an attempt to get his head through the sweatshirt. “What color do you want your pillowcases to be?”
“Aren’t you going to contact Mr. Vasquez to pick you up?”
“My dear brother is busy with student council duties, he and Maggie will be taking overtime to make preparations for the upcoming event so Mr. Vasquez is preoccupied as of the moment."
"Fine," a rumbled sigh. "My phone is dead."
Lorelei playfully rolls her eyes.
"Would you like to accompany me?" Loki looks at her expectantly, awaiting her reply. His palm ruffling the crown of his unkempt locks, he stifles a yawn.
Tired steps bearing the weight of daylight’s distress reach their unit’s entrance, she gives him a glance and nods.
Two beings stand next to each other amongst the dissonance of busy bees skirting the dull greyscapes. Cars honking and the loud tattle of strangers over jeepney drives. The city of Angeles is most alive at twilight.
Pitter patter, two pairs of feet journey through the winding asphalt roads. Shoulder to shoulder below the raging reds, tranquil greens, and blazing yellows of dusty traffic lights.
They exchange a knowing look. Witnessing a promise of young love wished upon dandelion stars into summer’s breeze. They hold onto it.
But it’s a school day and they are caught in a crowd of thousands. Encompassed by the high-rise structures and the glaring blurs of concrete jungles, no dandelions bloom here. All they have are small steps.
Spirits a bit drained, and eyes daring to shut at any moment. Though, hearts are full. Thrumming to the beat of small steps. For small steps carry moonlit affections.
They may be minute and nimble, but these steps have steered them towards each other.
The lights turn green and they are allowed to go on. For this is their city. The figures stride through the crosswalk. The still quietness remains. Even as they go adrift together. Toward the energetic buzz of the smokey grey metropolis.
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