Louis could do nothing more than sit and let the storm of Loki's emotions wash over them. Normally, he didn't feel much of the god's presence, held in reserve, his thoughts kept locked neatly away. The flow of sensation from the memories was enough to break down the barrier between them, however, since they both seemed to be experiencing them at once. Louis simply breathed slowly, and tilted his face up toward the ceiling.
Loki raged, and battled confusion. How dare he. How dare he grieve, how dare he act as if - as if - but there was no reason for Thor to act out such private grieving for show with no one there to see, and Loki had been inside his mind as he did it. There had been no pretending at mourning. It had all been very sharp, very real.
That Thor had gone so far as to go to his bedchamber seeking some fragment of his presence left behind was almost more than Loki knew how to cope with. That he had waited at dawn on the towers for his return was a cold, unpleasant shock. He told himself it didn't change anything, but it did, whether he wished it to or not. It did not change what had happened, or who Thor had been as they grew up together, or how everyone had favored him over Loki. But it did stand as proof of something that made him uneasy, too plain and simple to be true for a man who searched for lies and betrayals in every word. Thor truly had missed him when he went. And not as a pet, or as someone who stood to serve his ego, but as his brother, and his friend.