What a good boy. Thor is pretty sure that even once he sits down, he's going to have a dog's chin on his knee, those pleading eyes looking up at him to keep petting. And he's going to oblige, of course.

Thor doesn't answer the question, deciding to treat it as rhetorical. He's not here to get in an argument, even if it's petty and meaningless and won't hurt anyone's feelings. He certainly won't object to Loki insisting on feeding him, either. Homecooked meals are... not exactly Thor's specialty. Sure, he gets along fine, but most of what he knows how to make involves a campfire in the woods, and his electric stove just isn't the same.

"Mercilessly, eh?" he repeats lightly, giving Thori one more vigorous ruffling before he looks around for aforementioned stool. They must be sturdier than they look if they're in an Asgardian's household, so he does not hesitate to take a seat - far enough away that he shouldn't get dusted with flour, or so he hopes. "Listen, I..." How do you even talk about this? Thor's been rehearsing it in his head for hours, and now that the moment is here, it sounds stupid no matter how he looks at it. So instead he trails off, clears his throat. "I just wanted to see how you were doing."