UNFINISHEDBartleby's never claimed not to love Loki; it's simply a surprisingly difficult case to make to a lot of people that he isn't gay for Loki. But angels don't have sex (unless they do) and so that's really the end of it (unless it isn't). No genitalia. No need and therefore no desire to reproduce. Constant response to and identification with God's love (unless they've been cut off). They don't need to seek out each other (unless they do), but they do so for the joy of interaction (or the angry, half-unwanted solace it brings them). He once spent the better part of the century sitting on a rock thinking about how he was a gigantic dickhead. About two thirds of the way through, Loki stopped by, threw a pinecone at his head, and told him, "You're a gigantic dickhead." They've always worked well together like that.
Where are the days of Tobias, when one of you, veiling his radiance, stood at the front door, slightly disguised for the journey, no longer appalling; (a young man like the one who curiously peeked through the window).
Their hoods hang heavy on their shoulders, but they slog chronologically through the years, accepting and growing accustomed to, finally, God's chosen punishment. Loki stops unexpectedly stabbing him with things and uses jokes instead. (Of course, the joke now might be "Haha! I've unexpectedly stabbed you with something!" because that's the sort of angel Loki is.) They don't spend a great deal of time together, but they're always vaguely aware of how to find or contact one another. They wander, sometimes helping, sometimes hindering, sometimes only watching, and then they will come together again because they're the closest thing they each have to God.
Early successes, Creation's pampered favorites, mountain-ranges, peaks growing red in the dawn of all beginning,-- pollen of the flowering godhead, joints of pure light, corridors, stairways, thrones, space formed from essence, shields made of ecstasy, storms of emotion whirled into rapture, and suddenly alone: mirrors, which scoop up the beauty that has streamed from their face and gather it back, into themselves, entire.


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