Loki always chided himself whenever he felt angry.

No.

He can't get angry.

Yes, perhaps his father doesn't love him, but he still has Thor and his mother.

Atleast that was what he thought.

Then that night came.

It was the same night. The times when Thor would came into his room, listened to the stories he made by whiff. His eyes would grow wide as he would also join in, spinning exagerrating tales of fightings with his loud voice that their mother scolded them for not falling asleep yet.

Loki loved those bits of moments with all his heart. Although sometimes Thor can be rambuctious and annoying, it was nice.

But then it stopped.

Thor was out playing in the field when Loki founded the perfect story for that night.

He was so happy he could've explode! He knew Thor would like the story. For it contained many fighting parts and acts of valiant. Loki can't wait to tell his brother of it.

Yet it was still midday back then. And Loki was stuffed inside his room, as always. Reading a thick historical book.

He decided it was enough for the day and closed his book. Loki settled his chin propped on his arm as he fell into deep thoughts. Thinking about the story.

Loki was supposed to be studying and he knew that. And yet he risked himself to face the wrath of Odin, as he forgone himself into daydreams.

In midst of his mind, he recounted when Thor once asked him to tell a story of a dragon. Loki told him the about it of course, the story about The Crying Dragon, which Thor labelled as lame since it didn't contain any fights.

It was the first time Loki knew Thor likes fighting scenes.

Loki didn't give up since then. He revised his stories. Remade them. And as he told those stories, Thor would pointed out something missing. Whether it be another dragon, a giant, warriors, etcetera..

They would then share jokes. Surpressing their laughters together in the midst of night as they tried not to wake anyone.

And so, when supper came, Loki can barely contained his giddyness anymore. He was practically squirming in his seat. Even skipping desserts just to go into his room. Preparing his story.

He wanted to make the best bedtime story for Thor.

It was not untill his sixteenth draft and the clock strucked to his bedtime when Loki was finally satisfied with the story. Smiling triumphantly as the few important storylines he jotted down, words and conversations in looping calligraphs.

Loki donned himself in his nightgown and crawled into bed. His scroll tucked beneath his pillow as his mother came in to kiss him goodnight. Still smiling as he curled up under his blanket, his mother bid him good dreams as she shut the door closed.

Loki counted into ten. His ears peeling for Frigga's footsteps echoing through the halls. When the sounds dispersed, Loki sat up. Lighting candles.

With large lumping pillows as walls and blankets in the middle of it, he created what Thor would call a 'blanket fortress',-to keep them safe from nightmares he would say-. Loki himself, was proud of his stealth and quietness as he settled on the left side of the nest, letting Thor take the right side with more pillows.

And then he waited.

And he waited.

And waited.

Thor never came.

Loki was concerned. Did Thor got injured when playing out in the field? Even when he was exhausted, Thor woud always came for bedtime story, falling asleep almost immediately before the fighting parts begun.

What made Thor unable to came for their usual story?

Loki shook his head from thinking the worst possible things. Thor was strong. He shouldn't be hurt that easily. Besides, he looked perfectly fine at supper.

Thor was probably too tired to move from his bed. Yes. That must be it.

Loki climbed down from the blanket fortress, one hand clutching the scroll with the other holding up the candle. He pushed his bedroom door open slowly, peeking left and right in case anyone was wandering still.

Thor's bedroom was just across his, the door was deep brown wood with golden intricates. Loki himself, had carvings of plants on it. He pushed Thor's door open, neither him nor the door making any sound.

After he closed the door with the same fashion, Loki tiptoed to the side of Thor's bedroom, finding his brother fast asleep, snoring with his golden locks sticking all over the place.

"Thor. Wake up." Loki whispered gently, to which he earned a groan and hoarse voice.

"Fwhath?"

"Do let yourself up brother. You are making a fool of yourself." Loki rolled his eyes, watching as Thor rolled to his side and blinked. One hand rubbing his eyes as he yawned wildly.

"Loki? What are you doing here?"

"You missed our bedtime story."

"Our what?"

"Bedtime story. I've got a good one today." Loki said, unable to contain his glee.

Thor didn't seem to share his enthusiasm. For he nodded slowly, yet he wore a blank expression.

Loki knew that face.

He knew that face all too well.

"Thor?" Loki said, albeit his voice was void of emotions, Loki felt his stomach twisted.

He knew what Thor was thinking.

"Loki. I think we shouldn't have bedtime stories anymore."

Of course.

And yet. Despite it. Loki still felt the lump in his throat. His breathe hitching.

"Why."

"Well for starters. We are no longer three-hundred-and-sixty-years old. It's time for us to grow up, to be warriors and Princes like we are meant to be!" Thor gloated, oblivious to Loki's pained whisper.

Loki knew that.

He knew.

He never thought the day would come that fast..

"Loki?"

"Alright then, brother. Pardon me for intruding your slumber, I shall return to my chamber." To keep his voice from wavering, Loki had spoken his words too fast than usual. Fortunately Thor didn't notice it, infact, he didn't seem to care of Loki at all.

"Sure Loki. Goodnight."

"Goodnight." Loki forced himself to smile as he closed the door shut.

And that's when his walls fell.

And tears fell to his cheeks.

He risked himself of his father's wrath, skipped desserts, spent hours to daydream. For what?

Nothing.

He was stupid.

He went all the troubles for nothing. By the next morn when his father shall test him of his knowledge, he would be done for. And he would be grounded, locked in his room for weeks whereas Thor would be playing in the field. Laughing, cheering with his friends.

He can't breathe.

Loki felt stupid.

To heck the stories and tales he swindled. He just wanted to spend time with Thor. He just wanted to be with his brother.

Was it so much to ask?

Loki buried himself beneath the thick blankets. Tears streaming from his eyes as he wept himself into sleep, trying to ignore the cold wrapping around him. The absence of the warm and loudly snoring figure by his side.

Loki was alone.

He was scared.

The loneliness hung on him like a thick fog. Cutting off his lungs from air as water blurred his vision.

Loki can't breathe.

His chest felt heavy. His stomach felt sick. His mind was muddled.

He can't think. He can't move.

He can't breathe.

That night Loki woke up in his own pool of sweats, dried tears stained his cheeks as he panted for air.

The blanket fortress could not keep him away from the nightmares.

Since then Loki stopped creating stories. He drilled himself with dull books and monotonous diplomacy, ignoring the small part of his mind screaming at him of boredom. Locking himself in his studies.

He cutted himself from any social life.

And loneliness became his only friend.

Ummmmm... is.. that too drastic? *nervous laugh* I hope I got it right.