I checked on him before going out; he was deeply asleep, breathing soft and even, looking so…young for an immortal god. I set a glass of water on the bedside table along with more pain medication in case he woke in the night and needed it. Curiosity compelled me then, to run a careful, feather-light touch over his brow, smoothing back all that long, dark hair. How could someone so sad, so clearly alone be a god famed for tricks and lies?

With a puzzled frown I took my leave, gently closing the door behind me, and headed off to get him some clothes and a few other things…did he need to shave? I didn’t know, so I ended up buying more than was likely necessary, but I just wanted him to feel like it was okay to relax around me. None of this made any sense.

He didn’t wake the next day, though I checked on him several times. Each time looking in on him and setting a tentative hand to his cheek or his forehead. The physical contact was almost soothing to me, a truth I realized that afternoon, but shoved to the back of my mind. Gods had magic, so clearly this is all it was.

I’d already messaged my boss again, saying I wasn’t any better. Since I so rarely took a day away from the labs and my dimension cannon project, she didn’t mind. 

I spent time researching frost giants and learned of Jotunheim and far more of Norse mythos than I’d ever looked into. What I read made no sense. If he was a frost giant shouldn’t he be a massive beast? Instead what I saw laying there asleep was…well…truth be told a very handsome, and very broken man.

I’d gone to the market and each time I cooked, made more than was necessary in case he woke. Perhaps this was how gods healed though, by simply sleeping.

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