This time, Louis came to with a hand thrown back behind him to hold himself up. He slid up cautiously against the cupboard, catching his breath. It wasn't stopping. How many of these would there be? He didn't think he could stand now even if he wanted to. The world had slowed a little, but he was still dizzy every time he opened his eyes.
The purity of a child's innocence and love were a jarring contrast to the feelings in the memory that came before, and Loki's attention was roused as soon as he recognized the room in which the child was standing. There was a whirlwind, briefly, of emotion - regret, affection, frustration. He remembered those days, sneaking between rooms, staying up all night on the balcony, back when the differences between them hadn't seemed so stark, back when they had still felt like two halves of a whole, equal.
Louis leaned his head back against the cupboard and let the trickster have his moment of sorrow. Maybe it would teach him something about remembering none of the good along with the bad. All he cared about was getting through this, waiting until it stopped, and then leaving.