Thor isn’t quite so far gone that he’s ready to cling to his friend like a man drowning and embarrass himself all the more, but there’s no mistaking how much he really needs this hug right now. He has always been the type of man to touch his friends, his family, casual affectionate gestures doled out as easily as breathing. Such things have been in short supply since the day the world ended, either because those he loves are gone, or because he has been too downcast to seek out the ones that are left, fearing their rejection more than their absence.
He makes a choked sort of noise as he turns to better face his friend, leaning into the hug and returning it with equal strength. Nor is he going to be quick to let go either, emboldened by the way Prometheus does not seem to mind him doing it. He can’t tell if his cheek is wet from rain or tears, and wonders if there’s even a difference anyway, when it comes to himself.
Eventually, though, he feels ready to pull away again, having gathered himself enough to feel a little like a person again. “Thanks,” he murmurs, managing a fragile sort of smile.
He’s not ready to let the storm go just yet, but the rain does taper off, leaving only the thunder rumbling across the horizon. It’s just a little too cool to be comfortable, and Thor pulls his damp knit hat off, scrubbing his metal fingers through the mess of his hair, grown long enough now to tangle. “There’s a coffee machine at my house, if you want to warm up,” he says impulsively, suddenly quite done with sitting out here on this cold, hard rock. “Or I’ve got lots of mead, if that’s your thing.”
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He makes a choked sort of noise as he turns to better face his friend, leaning into the hug and returning it with equal strength. Nor is he going to be quick to let go either, emboldened by the way Prometheus does not seem to mind him doing it. He can’t tell if his cheek is wet from rain or tears, and wonders if there’s even a difference anyway, when it comes to himself.
Eventually, though, he feels ready to pull away again, having gathered himself enough to feel a little like a person again. “Thanks,” he murmurs, managing a fragile sort of smile.
He’s not ready to let the storm go just yet, but the rain does taper off, leaving only the thunder rumbling across the horizon. It’s just a little too cool to be comfortable, and Thor pulls his damp knit hat off, scrubbing his metal fingers through the mess of his hair, grown long enough now to tangle. “There’s a coffee machine at my house, if you want to warm up,” he says impulsively, suddenly quite done with sitting out here on this cold, hard rock. “Or I’ve got lots of mead, if that’s your thing.”