Loki is curled up in luxurious silken sheets, a Midgardian novelty that both he and Thor had grown fond of, simply enjoying a midday rest. He’s not avoiding the warriors three and Lady Sif. That’d be ridiculous. It’s not as if he’d frozen their weapons in one of the more remote gardens. The god of mischief smirks into his pillow.
He hasn’t heard any thunder, so it’s fairly certain that Thor has not gotten involved this time. Rolling over, he eyes the door. What he would like, at this very moment, is his once-brother in bed with him, making it warm and even more comfortable. He groans, remembering that the demigod is off rescuing Midgard from someone who is decidedly not him.