My Ao3 | Send requests | Tip jar! | Brought To Justice
Sun shines in through the window and lands on the floor in squares cast by the glass frames, and for once, Loki doesn’t shy away from the light, hiding himself beneath dark lenses and a darker suit: he sits at a stool, wearing a loose, blue blouse tucked into white trousers that flow, skirt-like, around his ankles. The sun reflects off his pale skin, but he almost seems to bask in its warmth, and as he does so, his eyelids closed, his hands move over the strings of the instrument between his thighs, and his hair - now devoid of that awful grease - cascades around his shoulders in thick, curly waves.
The harp is tall, and he plays it with apparent ease, its silver strings shifting easily under his carefully moving fingers, and the music... God, Steve’s never heard such sad music in his whole damned life.
He stands in the doorway of the room, his coffee forgotten in the hot mug between his palms, and he watches, absolutely bewitched, as Loki plays. The music is soft and quiet, the sound ethereal and settling on the air in airy, resonant strands, and something about watching Loki makes Steve’s heart ache.
When Loki finally stops, he lays his left hand (his dominant hand, although he tries to hide it) on the body of the harp, feeling the dark, well-oiled wood beneath his palm. “I didn’t know you played any instruments,” Steve says.
“I play dozens,” Loki says, casually. A beat passes, and then comes the amendment: “I used to.”
“What changed?” Steve asks, not expecting Loki to actually answer, but he shrugs his shoulders. Through the sheer fabric of his blouse, Steve can see his skin, marble-like under the sun.
“Life,” Loki answers. It is simultaneously vague, and all too revealing. “I taught my daughter to play the harp.”
“She good?”
“Much better than myself,” Loki murmurs, and he presses his face against the cool, polished shoulder of the harp, feeling its cool against his forehead, as if the harp might just hug him back. Steve comes up behind him, leans, and presses his lips to the thickness of Loki’s hair, his mouth brushing against the very top of Loki’s scalp.
Loki says nothing, and Steve gently strokes his shoulder before he walks away. As Steve leaves, he hears the music begin again, and it’s a different song - happier. An aria. Steve can’t help the smile that comes to his lips as he leaves.