Even having never known Loki's birth parents, Thor could still state that he saw much of his own parents in his brother as if he had always been their son. If there was anyone left on this earth worth taking traits from, Thor believed without bias that it would be Frigga; he could only wish that he had turned out more like her. Instead, he had been alike his violent and hubris-stricken father and while aspects of his mother had managed to cling to life within him, they had long been suppressed alongside those of Odin. Very few pieces of the boy had had been even days prior to the start of his days in the arena really withstood the test of time, the majority of them collapsing under the weight of his guilt, left to hibernate without peace in the dark, cold and untouched part of his heart.
Balling his hands into fists, Thor attempted to hide the quaking in his fingers in spite of the pain and stiffness that riddled them. All his joints ached in that familiar way, creaking quietly as he moved. It was one of the consequences of working almost every day in the stone mines in his home District. Over the past seventeen years, that mine became more of a home to him than anywhere else he had ever lived, more of a home than any place in the Capitol could ever be. Things were real in the mines, human and imperfect, safe despite the inherent danger. Everyone in the mines knew they could trust the men to their left and right without question. Things weren't like that here, where clothes and people went out of fashion at the same rate, forgotten and hated with the same passion with which they were "loved" at the drop of a hat.
"It's empty," was Thor's solemn reply as his brother's eye caught sight of the flask. Crossing the few steps and reaching for it, he twisted the top open and held the bottle upside down over his turned up palm to demonstrate before sealing it once more and tucking it away in the pocket of the uncomfortable jacket he had worn the night before. The restricting clothes he wore in the Capitol always felt as if they were trying to suffocate him, but he knew better than to wear what he did in Two.
A noise of dismissal escaped Thor at his brother's recommendation. "I am not tired, mother hen." And he truly was not. His entire body felt too compressed and his heart too jumpy to be able to find any real rest. All his muscles were tense and he could not lay down long enough to get anything worth calling sleep even if he wanted to. Thor knew what he needed, though he couldn't say as much to his brother. While it frustrated him often as they regularly argued over it, Thor was grateful Loki could not and likely would never understand his problem, his dependence on something that was slowly but surely killing him from the inside.