@ofevil / “i don’t want to miss you like this.”
there’s a glass of whiskey pressed between his palms, poised to slip and shatter on the hardwood beneath them. the bottle is perched on the desk, a hundred years old ; borr bought it when he founded asgard, and odin had saved it for . . . thor isn’t sure. to celebrate geneco’s world domination? well, they crossed that bridge a long time ago.
he shifts the glass to one hand, long fingers curling around it as he brings it to his lips. it’s no better for all the time it’s sat, but at least it gives his hands something to do other than shake. thor won’t look at her. he’s looking at everything but his fiancée ⸻ everything but the woman who should be his dearest friend, his most trusted advisor.
“ amber. ” though his hands don’t shake, his voice does.
here, he’s far from the over-confident son of the most powerful man on earth. here, he’s a son who knows he’s disappointed his mother, a husband-to-be who has already broken the most sacred vow he has yet to make.
he is all of that, and he is sorry, too, though his own pride will not let him admit that. he reaches for her, taking her left hand in his own, fingers tracing the ring he hadn’t bothered to choose for her. “ sweetheart. i’m not going anywhere. the wedding’s in a month and then you’ll be desperate to get away from me. you just have to hold out a little longer, okay? ”
