His brow furrowed, Heimdall sat unchanged on the edge of his bed and stared at you intently.

It was as if he was trying to see through your back, through every layer of fabric you wore, through flesh and bone all the way into your innermost being.

Lost in thought, you turned to his images.

For some reason Heimdall was very critical of his painting. There was not a single sheet of paper that was not crumpled nor torn.

Ink was smeared. Lines were found between some of the pictures.

Your eyes greedily devoured every single word, no matter how small.

There were hardly more than a few lines that actually fitted together, but each one carried a deep meaning.

It impressed you how many emotions could be found.

Now that you had seen Heimdall at his most vulnerable, branching moment, you could also see much fear in them. And the despair of ever reaching a point where he would no longer be of use.

"Like a tool...", you muttered to yourself while your eyes remained glued to one word.

Allfather.

It was strange but neither Heimdall nor Thor seemed to ever call Odin father.

Baldur had always been known as the son of Freya. And despite the grudge he had held against her, not once had the word father crossed his lips.

"Tools need to be sharp in order to be of use.", Heimdall said as if he repeated some kind of lesson that he had been taught over and over again until it was burned into his flesh. "If a tool gets dull, it's easier to throw it out."

You frowned.

"But you're a god.", you glanced at him with confusion.

A huff made his shoulders move. It was such a bitter sound, so little joy in it.

"Even gods have their limits. Some reach it sooner. Others later. I always hoped that mine would never come.", his eyes moved to glance at you in a cautious manner. "It wouldn't have come. If only I wouldn't have met you..."

For a breath of a second, the anger was back. But he no longer seemed to have the strength to keep the fire burning.

With a tortured expression on his face, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

You took a step towards him.

And all at once he relaxed.

A deep breath made his chest quiver. His eyebrows loosened and the wrinkles on his forehead disappeared.

"It's so quiet.", he said, audibly confused and yet relieved.

You looked around.

"No one said anything.", you smiled.

He shook his head.

"No. Mouths often are silent around me. It's the thoughts. Everything is so calm. So silent. Even if people don't talk around me I can still hear them. They are loud."

"I thought my empty head upsets you.", you tried to tease him.

For a moment he pulled a face, curled his lips and let out a low growl of warning.

"It does...", he admitted as he popped one eye open to glance at you. "It means my existence might be threatened."

"I never meant to cause you harm."

"But you did. Or will.", he huffed bitterly. "How am I supposed to know? However... behind closed doors it's... well, tolerable to have company without being bothered by constant noise."

He rubbed his forehead with both thumbs.

For a moment you looked at him.

Although he was of divine attunement, Heimdall looked like an ordinary man, exhausted, marked by exertion and cold fear.

It was as if he had never had a moment's rest in his infinite life. Only loneliness.

It sent a cold shiver down your spine to think that he had never had rest unless he was cut off from all living beings.

He must have withdrawn often, must have avoided company.

Perhaps he had known nothing else.

Taking a deep breath, you gathered all your courage and sat down beside him on the edge of the bed.

Your hand rose to give him a comforting pat on the back, but you stopped as you remembered that he didn't seem to like physical contact.

At least he had so far avoided letting anyone touch him.

Or was that possibly part of his fear?

If he couldn't read minds, then he wouldn't be able to protect his life.

Compared to his brothers, Heimdall was quite simple in stature, neither particularly muscular nor physically aggressive.

He had a big mouth. But that was probably because he had never had to fear anyone before.

He knew whenever someone had evil in mind. He could react to any threat.

So he didn't have to be a soldier. All he had to do was to be faster, smarter.

"Do you enjoy the silence?", you asked in a soft voice and folded your hands in your lap to show that you had no intentions to cause him harm.

His pink eyes jumped over every single finger of yours.

"Your nails are dirty.", he said instead of answering the question.

You glanced at them.

"I work with my hands. They will always be dirty."

"They are disgusting."

"Why are you so mean?", you leaned into his field of vision.

His head rose to avoid any contact between the tips of your noses.

"Why are you so soft?", he replied with his eyebrows knitted together and a judgemental look on his face.

"Because you crave it."

His face froze.

For a long, intensely long moment, Heimdall simply stared at you. It was as if he tried to figure out what to feel.

Was he angry that you assumed what he desired?

Or perhaps he would admit it was true?

No, his pride would have never allowed him to admit anything. Especially not that you were right.

But you could tell by the look in his eyes that he would have wanted to give it a try.

"Heimdall.", you reached out in an attempt to touch his face.

He pulled back, although not as harshly as he used to do before.

"Do not say my name.", it sounded more like a request than an order.