Loki paced the floor of the archive room he found himself in. He couldn’t even remember what country he was in at this point. The name Seona was uncommon enough that there were only a few on record here, wherever here was. One of which was Seona Virago. The name sounded familiar but for the life of him he couldn’t place it.

Suddenly, a memory rose unbidden.

The heat was oppressive. He hated the heat. Perhaps it had something to do with his Nordic homeland. The girl he’d been watching intrigued him. She was not only incredibly smart; she was also a gifted artist. Something made apparent by the sketches of the great Moorish fortress. Her skilled hands faithfully captured each detail of the rooms. Every stroke of her pencils was deliberate. It fascinated him to no end. Seona Virago was not a follower of the old ways but he still took an interest in her. He couldn’t say exactly what it was about her that intrigued him so much. Perhaps it was her intelligence. Perhaps it was her artistic ability. Perhaps it was something else all together. Loki watched as she went looking for something she’d dropped earlier. She was muttering curses under her breath that would make a sailor blush. He found it highly amusing and, apparently, so did her friend.

So he did know her. Seona had been the reason why he’d gone to Spain all those years ago. But he’d never been able to get close to her, at least not after he'd returned from Asguard. Loxley had started courting her and he’d been betrothed. He couldn’t break his betrothal; Odin would’ve killed him for that. And it wasn’t like he could marry a mortal anyway. Yet, he’d been smitten with this mortal since he’d seen her taking so many advanced chemistry courses. She was so different from his betrothed, Signe. Aside from the fact she was a goddess, Loki found her demure capitulation beyond irritating. Her voice also sawed along his nerves in every conceivable way possible. Another memory of Seona rose unbidden.

He walked, well more like strutted, down the corridor to the lecture hall. When he threw open the doors, all eyes turned to him. He cursed silently.

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“Sorry I’m late professor,” he said. “I’m still getting used to all the signs being in Spanish instead of Norwegian. It won’t happen again.”

“Very well Mr.?” the professor drawled.

“Odinson. Loki Odinson, sir,” he provided.

“Yes alright,” the professor waved him off. “Take a seat next Ms. Virago.”

Loki was surprised but made his way to where Seona sat.

“I guess this makes us seat mates,” he whispered as he took his seat.

Seona scoffed, “What parent names their child after the Norse god of chaos?”

“My parents are from Norway and grew up on tales of the old gods,” he told her with a shrug. “Many in Norway still practice the old ways. My parents are among them.”

“So you’re a pagan?” Seona growled.

Loki rolled his eyes.

“I said my parents are among those that still follow the old ways,” he snapped. “I said nothing of my own beliefs. Do not presume to know my beliefs without even asking.”

Seona looked at him in surprise.

“Is that not Thor’s hammer around your neck?” she asked.

Loki ignored her and focused on taking notes. While the professor spoke and wrote on the board in Spanish, Loki took notes in Norwegian. Seona must have noticed because the next thing he knew, she was asking him about it.

“Why are you taking notes in Norwegian?” she asked.

He shrugged, “It’s easier for me to understand the concepts in my own language.”

“But how are you able to translate from Spanish to Norwegian so damn fast?” she asked. “I can barely translate from Spanish to Danish as fast as the professor talks.”

“Habit,” he muttered before her second statement registered. “Wait, you translate by ear and not by sight?”

“How the bloody fuck can that be a habit?” she asked. “And yes because I wasn’t taught to read Spanish until I was already in my later high school years. I’d been speaking Spanish far longer than most of my family at that point.”

Loki’s brows disappeared into his shaggy auburn hair. That was not what he expected her to say at all. He cleared his throat and sighed. He couldn’t exactly tell her his reason was due to the fact that he was a god.

“I had a tutor as a child that spoke in Spanish during lessons,” he told her. “It was either translate or fail and failure wasn’t an option for my parents.”