Most people, she knows, would hear those words and, understanding them for what they are, would be relieved. Grateful. A stereotypical romantic moment that would end with them wound around one another, kissing, promising these things won't happen.

But they aren't normal people. These things may happen, no matter what they want or try to accomplish. Loki may betray her, the TVA may take him, Sylvie may break his heart somehow. A coldness seizes her chest at his words, his touch, but there's a warmth trying to break through she's never felt until him. Something burns despite the frost and she looks up at him, her gaze nakedly afraid.

"We aren't regular people," she almost whispers, hands gripping his shirt at his waist, bunched in the material. "Something regular will stifle us." But she wants it still. Or some version of it. She wants to come home to him at the end of whatever else.