Thor's heart seems to sink into his stomach when Loki shoots him down, a strange chill spreading through him. It's strange, and uncomfortable, and he doesn't like the way it makes him feel as though he's lost some kind of battle before it even started. What's worse is he isn't sure why. He has no reason to fear a different drink, no reason to think that Loki is judging him for his choices. What is his problem?

A part of him knows it, but does not want to name it. In part because he doesn't have the words, and in part because acknowledging it out loud would make it real.

So he takes the cider and sips it, and it is quite good, if lacking that alcoholic tang to it. "This is delicious," he agrees, a little surprised. It's not what he wanted, but not every drink has to be able to get him drunk, right? He takes another drink, listening to his brother's chatter, casual and unassuming and utterly normal. Maybe he can still get through this all right. "Busy," he echoes with a wry sort of smile. "Looking after the kids while Loki's away," and oh he doesn't like the anxious twist in his gut when he thinks about how little he's heard from his other brother since his departure. "And the garden's growing well, I've started a bed of thyme that's growing like crazy."