Chapter 1: It Was Half A Second, And I Was Halfway Down

"Shit, fuck!" Peter cursed vehemently as he attempted to drag his giant suitcase up the narrow stairs. He knew Aunt May would scold him for his language if she were here to witness this catastrophe, but she wasn't. And if she were, Peter wasn't entirely convinced that even she could abstain from a few choice words regarding the ridiculous dimensions of this stairwell. It was probably a safety hazard. What did they expect people to do if there was a fire, jump out the window?

Peter grunted and groaned as he hauled the suitcase up the last few steps to the third floor. He had to use some of his super strength, if he was being honest, because those walls were fucking emtight/em and he'd packed almost all of his belongings into this one bag (even though he was just moving across town). When he finally pushed open the stairwell door and stumbled out into the hallway, kicking his bag out in front of him, he was panting lightly with effort. He leaned against the wall for a moment, catching his breath.

A boy with short blond hair and a Stanford t-shirt was passing by. "There's an elevator over there." He told Peter blandly, pointing down the hall.

"Oh." Peter felt his cheeks growing warm with embarrassment. "Right. Thanks." The boy didn't stop to chat, and Peter sighed as he watched him go, stomach sinking slightly. Way to go, Peter. Great job with first impressions. Maybe this year you'll get to see what it's like to be the dumbest person at school instead of the smartest. He watched a girl and someone who looked like her mom pass by as well, both glancing at him curiously before rounding the corner. He offered them a smile, but it was weak. He almost wished Aunt May were here to help him move in, but she'd had to work. Well, she emoffered/em to take the day off and come with him, but Peter had insisted that he'd be fine on his own. He knew she couldn't afford to take time off. So here he was, all by himself, having lugged a super-sized piece of luggage and a backpack half-way across the city. (Getting through the subway turnstiles had been hell, and Peter had had at least one near-death experience with the train doors.)

Peter gritted his teeth and pushed off the wall, preparing to go search for his room. He glanced around at the room numbers to make sure he didn't take off in the wrong direction, because wandering around like he was lost was really emnot/em going to help his rep. He started walking in what he thought was the right direction, dragging his suitcase along behind him and continuing to look around curiously.

So. This was where he'd be living for the next year. It was… Nice. Not the newest building, but it looked well-kept. He supposed it's what he could expect for a freshman dorm at an ivy league school. Unless the building was infested with rats (and Peter really hoped it wasn't), it would still be better than his apartment building in Queens. He felt bad about leaving Aunt May to live there alone, but she'd insisted she wouldn't mind. She'd even joked about turning Peter's room into a home gym as soon as he moved out. He'd argued at first, thinking that it would be cheaper to live at home and commute to school, but when they found out that Columbia was offering Peter a full ride, Aunt May had insisted. The real college experience, she'd said.

And if Peter was being honest, he kind of liked the sound of that.

He just hoped that he'd get someone nice for his roommate. Someone normal.

He read the room numbers until he reached 318. He stopped outside the door and dug in his pants pocket for the key he'd picked up at the registration desk outside. But he hesitated before unlocking the door, suddenly nervous. This was it. He was meeting the person he'd be living with for the next ten months. Would they be friends? Good friends? Would it be one of those situations where they just tolerated each other and hardly spoke? Would they have anything in common? Peter had to make a good impression. He really didn't want to spend the whole year tiptoeing around someone who hated him. Especially since he was planning on sneaking out every night to swing around the city in a brightly colored costume and hoping that this person didn't notice anything weird.

Peter took a deep breath and ran his fingers through his thick brown hair, trying to tame the mess a bit. It was a losing battle, but he felt like he ought to try anyway. He almost reached up to adjust his glasses, but then he remembered that he wasn't wearing them. He hadn't needed them for two years now, and if he was being honest they didn't provide emthat/em good of a disguise for his secret identity… After all, there were these useful things called contacts that people wore now. So Peter had decided to go glasses-less this year. A fresh start at a new school. He hoped that maybe he'd have more success, you know, socially, than he had in high school if he didn't look like a total nerd. Speaking of which… He glanced down at his clothes to make sure there wasn't anything blaringly wrong with his appearance. He was just wearing jeans, a faded Beatles t-shirt, and a torn-up pair of converse. That was normal, right? Peter hoped so.

Okay. Good. He was ready. He started to insert the key into the lock, but paused again. Should he knock? He wasn't even sure his roommate was already here. The room might be empty. But it was better to be safe than sorry, so Peter held his breath and knocked lightly.

"Come in." He heard a quiet voice call from the other side of the door.

Shit, he was here. Peter swallowed against the sudden butterflies in his stomach and smoothed down the front of his shirt. Then, realizing he shouldn't linger in the hall like a weirdo, he hurried to open the door. It was already unlocked.

"Hi!" Peter's voice was a little higher than normal as he fixed a smile on his face and stepped inside, dragging his bag in with him. He blamed it on the nerves. Hopefully his roommate wouldn't notice. His eyes flickered around the room, taking in two twin-size, extra-long beds pushed against opposite walls, a desk by the door, an open closet (already containing a collection of hanging clothes), an empty bureau, and a second desk by the window. The second desk had someone sitting at it.

The first thing he noticed about his roommate was his clothes. He was wearing a thin, dark green v-neck sweater that looked incredibly soft, like cashmere, and plain but very well-fitted black jeans. He looked rich, and Peter suddenly felt just a little self-conscious about his own clearly second-hand clothes. But then his roommate stood up, and all thoughts of clothing flew out of Peter's mind.

He was taller than Peter by at least a couple of inches, and thin in a similar way (not skinny, really, but what people might call 'wiry'). But his extra height made him look like someone who was deceptively strong. People wouldn't mistake this guy for small and weak like they did Peter. He had raven black hair that curled past his ears, longer than most guys wore it but not too long that it was unattractive or strange. His face looked like it was stolen from an angel, all sharp cheekbones and ivory skin, dark lashes framing pale, ice blue eyes.

Most of all, he looked startlingly, incredibly familiar. Just like a young…

"Hey. I'm Lawrence." He stepped forward, smiling politely and extending his hand for Peter to shake. Peter blinked at him, trying to wipe the surprise off his face as he noticed the curious, almost analytical tint to Lawrence's sharp gaze. There was something else there too, something more difficult to identify.

"Uh…" Peter succeeded in looking like a complete idiot before instinct took over and he offered his hand in return. "Peter." He must be wrong. Even though he looked emjust/em like him, there was no way his college roommate was…

As soon as their hands touched, Lawrence's cool palm pressing against his, Peter's last memory of Loki tore vividly to the front of his mind.

It had been just over a year ago. Not long enough that Peter didn't still remember the details, even if he tried to convince himself otherwise. The Avengers had been fighting an invasion of Kree for hours, and it was an absolute mess. The battle was vicious, worse than anything Peter had seen before. After half a day and maximum effort from all of the superheroes within traveling distance of New York, they'd finally managed to push the alien forces into a heavy retreat, leaving the city slowly emptying as the fighting wound down. It hadn't come easily. Dozens of Tony's unmanned suits had been destroyed and almost all of the Avengers were sporting injuries of varying severity.

Spider-Man had been perched on the edge of Stark Tower's roof, watching some of the crippled alien ships disappearing into the sky above the setting sun. The city was awash in an orange-red glow, and it had reminded Peter uncannily of spilt blood. His broken arm hung limply by his side and he gritted his teeth against the pain, waiting for his spidey sense to calm down enough that he could go inside and make sure it was set correctly for healing. A noise on the other side of the roof had caught his attention, and he turned just in time to see Thor grab Steve by his throat and slam him down onto the rooftop.

Peter had sprung to his feet and made an aborted movement towards them, a startled noise leaving his throat, choked with confusion. A hand on his shoulder stopped him from interfering, and he turned to see Captain America, a small, sad frown perched below his earnest blue eyes. Shocked, he looked back at Thor. He watched, wide-eyed, as the other Steve melted beneath the Asgardian's unyielding grip. His throat turned pale and thin beneath that massive hand and warm blue eyes froze over, hard and cold as chips of ice.

And he laughed. Loki laughed as Thor slammed his head against the pavement. He laughed, half-crazed, as his brother's powerful fist connected with his face. Over and over. He laughed, coughing, choking weakly as his head rolled to the side, glazed ice eyes meeting Spider-Man's gaze across the roof. His teeth were stained red with blood, his grin a wild, spiteful thing. He laughed, that choked sound cutting off into an undignified squeak as Thor hauled him up by his neck and raised his hammer to the sky. They disappeared in a blinding column of light, sparking colors like a prism. Dark had settled in after that, the silence eerie after hours of nonstop fighting, the rooftop empty except for a light, chilled wind.

Peter would never forget that face. It had haunted his dreams for a while after that, after he found out that Loki had been in collusion with the Kree, instrumental in planning their invasion. No. He would never forget Loki's face.

He gaped at Lawrence as their hands fell apart, watching the polite smile on his deceptively beautiful face drop away into an expression of disappointed disdain.

"Well, fuck." He drawled. Peter blinked at him, stunned. Lawrence just sighed, running thin fingers through his hair as he returned to his desk. He stood beside it and began to fiddle with some papers that were sitting beside an open laptop. "Hello, Spider-Man."

Peter gasped, literally gasped, and for a moment it felt like his heart was falling into his stomach. How had he even…? Hearing those words was like something out of a nightmare. It felt surreal. Like this had to be a very, very bad (and very bizarre) dream. "W-What? I'm not… What?" He stuttered, taking a step backwards towards the open door.

Lawrence sighed again, tired, as if some huge burden was being thrust onto his shoulders. With a careless flick of his wrist, the door slammed shut behind Peter.

He yelped, startled, and could suddenly hear his pulse pounding in his ears. He watched, eyes wide with apprehension, as Lawrence's clothes melted away, inky shadows like silk and smoke and sin morphing seamlessly into dark leather accented with subtle bronze and deep green. His Asgardian garb was unmistakable.

Peter swallowed hard, icy fear clutching at his heart. "Loki." He breathed. He hadn't wanted to believe it, but now the man's identity was undeniable.

Shit. This was bad. This was really fucking bad. He knew. emLoki/em knew. Tony was the only other person in the world who knew who Spider-Man was. emAunt May/em didn't even know about his nighttime activities. But now Loki did. He knew who Peter was. And now he could tell anyone. Everyone. But Peter knew Loki's reputation. He wouldn't just throw the information around carelessly… No, he would use it like a bullet, releasing it at precisely the right time and place to cause Peter as much damage as possible. And Loki wasn't just any super villain; he was a emgod/em. Not to mention possibly the most powerful magician in the universe and a literal genius. There was no way Peter could hope to overpower him or convince him to do anything.

He was fucked.

Peter's hands had curled into fists, his fingers searching uselessly for the web shooters that were currently packed at the bottom of his suitcase. He didn't emneed/em them to produce webs in an emergency, but he still felt vulnerable without his specifically designed weapon of choice. His breath was coming heavy now, and he felt a bit light headed with panic as his mind scrambled desperately for a solution, for emsomething/em he could do to fix this.

"Stop panicking." Loki sounded exasperated, but also resigned. Like he was disappointed about something. And Peter could hear his subtle Asgardian accent now. "I'm not going to tell anyone about your silly little secret identity." He didn't look at Peter as he sat in front of his desk, focusing his attention on the laptop and starting to type something into an open document.

Peter stared at him, perplexed, still waiting for the other shoe to drop. But Loki just sat there, typing away, completely ignoring him. Slowly, Peter's heart rate returned to a normal human pace and his thoughts cleared slightly. He said he wouldn't tell anyone who Spider-Man was. But wasn't that why…? Hadn't he come after Peter for some reason? Why else would he be here, posing as a freshman college student? He was probably lying. He was known for that, after all. But somehow… Things just weren't adding up. Peter knew he shouldn't trust the trickster god just because he seemed genuine, but something made him almost want to believe Loki.

Was it possible that this was all just an insane coincidence?

Peter decided to go along with it for now. After all, there wasn't much he could do about it. He'd keep his guard up, and try to figure out what Loki was up to. Moving slowly, and watching the Asgardian out of the corner of his eye, Peter crossed to the unclaimed bed and sat down on the edge. He eyed Loki suspiciously, examining his profile as he continued typing whatever it was that he was working on. Was he planning something? Nothing good ever seemed to happen when Loki showed up.

Maybe he should contact Thor. He would definitely want to know what his brother was up to. Spider-Man wasn't officially an Avenger (although he liked to think that it was just a formality thing and that for all intents and purposes he was part of the team), but he could get ahold of any of them pretty easily. He had Tony's number, and he could pop by the Tower any time. There were usually at least a few supers hanging around the building and surely some of them would know how to get in touch with Thor, even if he was off-world.

It seemed like the smart thing to do. The only question was whether Peter should turn Loki in as soon as possible, or wait until he got some clue as to what the Asgardian was up to? Was it more dangerous to let him hang around, or to betray him when Loki now had the power to oust Peter to whoever he liked? Thor knew his brother best. Maybe Peter could just talk to him, scope out the situation a bit…

Loki shifted slightly in his chair, glancing briefly at Peter before focusing back on his computer. "You don't need to run and tell my brother dearest." He stated simply, a slight edge of emsomething/em to his voice.

Peter stiffened, his mouth falling open in shock. "Can you read my mind?" Oh shit. Shit shit shit that was so not emfair/em.

Loki's lips twitched slightly, but his expression remained blank otherwise. "No." His tone was cold, condescending, and casual all at once. "Just your expression."

"Oh." Peter sat up straighter and tried to arrange his face into a weak imitation of Loki's effortless neutrality. He wasn't practiced at controlling his facial expressions since he was usually in a mask whenever he needed to be careful about that sort of thing. He gave up after a moment, deciding that it didn't matter much since Loki already knew what he was thinking about. "Why…? Um. Why?" Peter was really eloquent today, wasn't he?

Loki turned his swivel chair to face him, crossing his arms over his chest. His eyes were disinterested, his expression bored, but there was a slight tightness to the set of his jaw. "I'm not going to hurt anyone. I'm not plotting any more attempts at world domination." His gaze bore into Peter, indecipherable but heavy all the same. "I'm just going to school."

Peter stared, a small crease appearing between is eyebrows as he tried to assess the truthfulness of that statement. "Why?"

Loki turned back to his desk. "I'm bored."

"Oh." emOh/em. Hm. He thought back to the look on Loki's face when he realized who Peter was; an expression of something like disappointment. And before that, when he'd first walked in, 'Lawrence' had offered him a polite smile and greeted him in an almost friendly way. And there had been something in his eyes. Something other than the cold detachment he wore now. Something that might have been… Hope?

Things were starting to fall into place in Peter's mind, slowly painting a picture bit by bit. But why was Loki emhere/em? It made a certain type of sense that he wanted to pose as a student and go to school for something interesting to do. Peter got that. School was cool! Learning was great. But why was he here, in a freshman dorm? Surely he could magic his way into any position he wanted. He could live anywhere. If he wanted to live on campus, he could probably get himself assigned to a single room with a snap of his fingers. So why share a small room with some strange freshman? Why put up with the loss of privacy, the lack of air conditioning, and the communal bathroom? What could he possibly get out of that arrangement? Unless…

And suddenly, Peter thought he understood.

Loki was lonely.

He looked at the raven-haired man's profile again, studying him in silence for a few moments. When he looked closely, he could see the subtle tension in his jaw, the stiffness in his shoulders as his fingers flew across the keyboard. His eyes were lidded and blank, but his lips pressed together with just a hint of discomfort.

He'd wanted a normal roommate, too.

Peter allowed himself a moment for the strangeness and wonder of that realization to wash over him. Loki, god of lies and attempted conqueror of Earth, wanted to go to school like a normal human college student.

"Okay." Peter finally said. He reached for his suitcase, pulling it towards him so he could tip it onto its side and unzip it to start pulling out his things.

He watched Loki go still out of the corner of his eye, the muted tapping of computer keys falling silent for a moment. Peter wouldn't have noticed if he hadn't been looking for it, but he smiled slightly to himself when he saw a bit of the tension bleed out of the Asgardian's shoulders. He seemed to relax slightly with that simple statement, with Peter's quiet acceptance of the situation. He went back to work on his laptop without saying anything, but Peter understood.

He wasn't naïve enough to think this meant he could trust Loki implicitly. But it was something. A truce of some sort, an understanding. And Peter was willing to give it a try and see how things turned out. He was willing to give the trickster god a second chance. He knew not many of the Avengers would agree with him (if any at all), but they didn't have to know, right? And if things turned out badly, he could always go to Thor when he needed him. Besides, Spider-Man was all about giving people chances. The benefit of the doubt. A little faith. Loki shouldn't be an exception to that just because he was probably more dangerous than all of the villains Peter had ever faced before combined.

Peter really hoped this wasn't going to come back to bite him in the ass.

As he stacked clothes on the end of his bed, sorting them to be put away in the dresser, he saw Loki's alien clothing dissolving into those smoky shadows. They were almost instantly replaced by the simple green sweater and black pants that he'd been wearing before. Peter looked at him across the room and smiled slightly.

Loki looked nice in human clothes.

And maybe this would be a good thing, after all. Peter had been concerned about keeping up with his Spider-Man duties while sneaking around behind his roommate's back. It would be a bitch to hide the bruises that disappeared within a day, conceal his odd hours, figure out how to slip out at night without being noticed. He couldn't exactly leave out the window if his roommate stayed up late.

But now he didn't have to worry about that. Because his roommate knew.

Because his roommate was Loki. A god. An alien god. An (ex?) super villain alien god who was also an incredibly powerful magician and master trickster.

He watched with wide eyes as Loki held one hand out carelessly to the side and a white computer charger flew out of the closet. It hurtled through the air, narrowly missing Peter's head, and landed neatly in Loki's pale, outstretched hand.

What the actual fuck was Peter Parker's life?