30 Days - Silver

[felicitygs]

 It catches him off-guard.

 

Not because it is unexpected; oh, no, not that. Common enough on Asgard, after all.

 

Only… it feels as if it has barely been any time at all. He examines himself in the mirror.

 

Silver is, he supposes, better than grey (even if the difference between them is oftentimes a matter of semantics).

 

(And if it feels as if it has been no time, it simultaneously feels as if he’s lived lifetimes, can point at a trail and chain of events that came and went and were lived, and that is equally satisfying, like good wine (which they’ve had much of, or he has, at any rate) and better food (which, yes, they’ve both had, if only because Steve takes so much joy in indulging his whims) on a long summer’s evening (near fifteen, in fact).)

 

“Loki?” Steve calls from down the hall. “You ready?”

 

“Yes,” he says absently, smoothing his hair back and leaving the bathroom.

 

Gold, he thinks, is treated as a birthright by those who have it, flashy and ostentatious.

 

Silver is earned, marker of a hundred thousands small lifetimes to make up a whole.

 

He smiles and Steve smiles in return without knowing what he smiles for, a reassuring touch to the small of his back as they walk out the door.