Paul's car is there, silver dim under the sulfate streetlights. Paul's there, too, in the dim light of his small but functional apartment, a single ring light illuminating his work, hands covered in grease as he picks at a smaller car part with a delicate touch. His phone isn't anywhere near him, but he hears the rumble of the vibration on the coffee table. It's his phone, not a burner.

When he stands up he crosses the window, strong profile against the lazy neon shadows. Examining his phone takes only a few seconds before he looks up and over at the window, turning to look down.

Loki.

Loki came for him. Loki doesn't want to wait to see him, no one else, and there's a thrill that shoots up in the pit of his stomach and expands to the back of his neck. He's still at the window, texting back as quickly as he can so he can look at Loki from above. Romeo and goddamn Juliet.

door's open