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When you finally wake up in the morning, the chills are gone and you're left with burning skin. Loki is out of the bed by the time your [e/c] eyes open, and you shuffle sleepily into the kitchen to find him sitting cross-legged on your counter examining a box of Cheerios. He looks up when you enter.

"How are you feeling?" he asks detachedly, as if he doesn't care one way or the other.

"Okay I guess. My throat hurts and my skin feels all hot though. Do uh, do you need helping finding something to eat?"

"No, no, you tend to yourself first, [y/n]." You walk back out with a shrug to your bathroom, where you dig around in the closet to find a bag of honey cough drops and a thermometer. You have a high fever, the numbers mockingly blinking 102.7 degrees Fahrenheit (39.2 degrees Celsius) at you. You let out a moan and drop your head back; sick days are the worst. It's not like you can just avoid it though, so you rinse off the thermometer and put it back in its case in the closet, and pop a cough drop in your mouth, sucking on it contentedly - your throat is almost immediately appeased.

Loki is now attempting to eat a Cheerio. You watch, amused, in the doorway as he sticks his tongue out and licks tentatively at the small 'O' shaped cereal. His expression doesn't change when he pulls back and then pops it into his mouth. You can see him mentally shrug and put his hand back in the box to retrieve more. That's when you walk in, his hand overflowing, a nearly embarrassed look flashing through his blue-green eyes before he clears his throat and asks, "Is it okay if I eat this?"

You wave your hand at him nonchalantly as a smile dances across your lips and you reply, "Go for it." Before you yourself can eat, you pick up the phone and call your parents at work, and then your school, letting them know that you have a high fever and aren't going to show up. The office ladies tell you that they hope you feel better soon. Your parents don't. Once you're off the phone, you let out a dejected sigh.

"Well don't you just sound like a basketful of sunshine," Loki comments unhelpfully.

Annoyed, you snap, "Yeah, well, having parents that don't give two shits about you kind of does that." A coughing fit takes you then, and Loki slips off of the counter and gets you a glass of water, apologizing, "Sorry, sorry, that was rude. Are you alright?" You take the cup and drink it all before shrugging.

"I guess I'm okay."

"Do you… do you want to talk about it?"

You raise your eyebrows at him, wondering if he's seriously asking to take on the role of a psychologist (kind of) for you.

"Is that a no?"

The idea of actually telling someone what's been burdening you your whole life is pretty appealing, despite the fact that he may just be toying, so you motion for him to follow you into the living room. You sit on the couch criss-cross-applesauce and he sits beside you, his arms wrapping around his long legs and his chin resting on his knee. Once you're comfy, you start telling him of how ever since you were little, your parents neglected you. They never hit you, never really yelled at you, never stopped you from doing anything bad or stupid. They just kind of ignored you.

"There was this one time," you admit, "when they caught me smoking in my bedroom - I must've only been thirteen or fourteen - and my mom just looked at me and told me that I was a mistake. I haven't picked up a cigarette since then and don't really plan to - that shit is disgusting, to be honest. It's just kind of crushing to know that you're one big screw-up, an accident, and your parents don't want you so they just ignore your presence. It sucks." Loki listened intently to you, and now he whistles through his teeth.

"That sounds difficult. You don't need them though, do you? If they don't care about you, forget about them. You could just leave--"

"And what?" You interrupt. "Try to take over New York and end up on the streets? I'd rather stay where I get a roof over my head and food in my stomach, even if they ruin it a bit with their attitudes."

Loki cocks his head to the side. "Who said anything about taking over New York?" You pause.

"Isn't that… isn't that what you tried to do? I mean, those were just movies, I guess, but… I figured since you're real, they may as well be… So you didn't try to take over New York, then?"

"No, my dear," he laughs lightheartedly, "I did."