The Date

The Date...

Smith knew the knock wasn’t normal.

Normal knocks didn’t carry that kind of weight. They didn’t feel like intention pressed flat against the door.

He opened it anyway.

Prudence stood there.

She had tried. Not loudly. Not theatrically. But intentionally.

Dark dress. Clean lines. Hair pinned back just enough to show effort. Eyes steady, but expectant.

Behind him, Bruno stepped into view, enormous head level with Smith’s ribs, golden eyes locked on her.

Prudence looked him over.

Old boots. Faded black shirt. Jeans with dog hair clinging to them like loyalty.

She blinked once.

“You’re wearing that?”

Smith frowned down at himself. “What are you talking about?”

“Our date.”

The word hung between them.

“Oh,” he said. “Right.”

Her eyebrow lifted.

“Yeah… about that. I just got back from Greece. Things were complicated. I got busy.”

She folded her arms.

“Rain check?”

“No.”

He blinked. “No?”

“This date is happening,” she said. “And it’s happening tonight.”

Smith ran a hand through his hair. “I haven’t even showered.”

She stared at him.

Then she snapped her fingers.

The air tightened — not with spectacle, just with precision.

Smith felt the change before he saw it.

The dog hair vanished. The scent of soap replaced sweat and travel. The weight of his clothes shifted.

He looked down.

A dark tailored jacket stretched across a chest that looked carved from granite. The suit didn’t slim him — it framed him. Broad shoulders filled it cleanly. The fabric pulled just slightly across muscle that had been earned the hard way. The shirt beneath clung enough to remind anyone watching that this wasn’t vanity — this was forged strength.

The sleeves ended precisely at his wrists. The trousers fit close along thick thighs built from lifting more than weights. Polished boots grounded him.

He looked formidable.

“You just—”

“Yes.”

“That’s cheating.”

“You were stalling.”

“I was grieving.”

“You were avoiding.”

He tugged at the sleeve. “That’s tight.”

“It’s tailored.”

“It’s restrictive.”

“It’s correct.”

Bruno made a low approving sound.

Prudence glanced at the dog. “He’s coming too, isn’t he?”

Smith looked down at Bruno.

“Yeah,” he said. “I’m dog-sitting. The gang’s still in Greece.”

He adjusted his collar.

“Big guy wasn’t exactly blending in over there. Too many ancient grudges. So he tagged along when I came back.”

Bruno blinked slowly, unapologetic.

“He doesn’t blend anywhere,” Prudence said.

“No,” Smith agreed. “But at least here he’s only terrifying the mailman.”

She stepped aside.

“Let’s go.”

The patio restaurant had no idea what it had invited into its evening.

Bruno lay at Smith’s feet like a furry monument. The waitstaff gave him space without discussion.

Prudence tried. She asked gentle questions. She offered warmth without demanding it. She smiled when it made sense.

Smith answered. Carefully. Like a man used to carrying more than words.

Halfway through dinner, the air shifted.

Not weather.

Ego.

“Great,” Prudence murmured. “It’s Gary.”

Smith didn’t look up. “Of course it is.”

Gary stepped into the patio light like he owned the sky.

Broad shoulders. Thick chest. Man bun tied deliberately. Shirt open just enough to announce himself. Tight leather pants hugging confidence.

A silver chain rested against his chest with a tiny Mjölnir pendant.

He smiled at Prudence.

“Prudence.”

She nodded. “Gary.”

Bruno rose slowly.

“The wolf remembers me,” Gary said.

“Dog,” Smith corrected. “And yeah. He does.”

Gary’s eyes finally landed fully on Smith.

On the suit.

On the way it stretched across his shoulders.

Something in him tightened.

“You clean up,” Gary said.

“She insisted,” Smith replied.

Gary turned back to Prudence.

“You deserve someone who commands storms.”

Smith scratched Bruno’s head. “He practices that line in mirrors.”

Prudence’s voice was calm.

“I have no interest in you.”

Gary blinked.

“What?”

“I said no.”

Gary’s smile thinned.

“You won’t even compete?” he asked Smith.

“I’m not competing with you.”

“Afraid?”

Smith leaned back.

“No. I just don’t need to prove anything anymore.”

Thunder rolled faintly overhead.

Gary spread his arms.

“I am the storm.”

Smith sighed.

“You’re embarrassing yourself.”

Lightning flickered along Gary’s shoulders.

“You think you can ignore me?”

“I’m trying.”

And then Bruno moved.

No bark.

No warning.

Just a blur of fur and muscle.

A sharp yelp split the patio.

The storm flickered.

Gary stumbled backward, clutching himself.

“YOUR DOG JUST BIT ME IN THE—”

Silence.

Bruno calmly returned to Smith’s side and sat down.

Smith didn’t move.

“Technically,” he said evenly, “not my dog.”

Gary glared.

“And yeah,” Smith added, scratching Bruno’s head, “he’s got a thing for biting… problematic areas.”

Prudence struggled not to laugh.

“Don’t believe me?” Smith continued. “I can introduce you to a demon who no longer has one.”

Gary’s outrage tried to reignite the storm.

It didn’t quite take.

A familiar voice drifted in.

“Oh, for the love of—”

Loki stepped out of thin air.

He surveyed Gary, Bruno, Smith, Prudence.

“I told you not to come,” Loki said.

“This isn’t over!” Gary roared. “I swear vengeance!”

Loki clapped once.

“Yeah, yeah, vengeance. Don’t worry. There’s a very long list before you.”

Smith raised an eyebrow.

Gary vanished in wounded thunder.

The patio exhaled.

Prudence watched Loki.

“I thought Loki was the bad one.”

Smith answered without hesitation.

“Humans get things twisted.”

“Really?”

“I never held up the universe.”

“You didn’t?”

“No. That was Atlas.”

“And he held up the world.”

“He held up the sky.”

“Who’s holding it up now?”

“No one.”

She frowned.

“It never needed to be held up,” Smith said. “Dad convinced him he was doing something special.”

“He tricked him?”

“He gave him a story.”

“And Atlas believed it?”

“Yes.”

“So he wasn’t punished?”

Smith gave a faint smile.

“Oh, he was.”

“For what?”

“For believing he mattered in the wrong way.”

“And what’s the right way?”

Smith didn’t look at her.

“Without needing applause.”

Loki studied him for a moment.

“Try not to waste the quiet,” he said lightly.

Then he was gone.

They walked.

Away from spectacle.

Away from ego.

Prudence slowed.

“You’re a lot deeper than the gym-bro act,” she said.

“What act?”

“The grunting. The lifting. Pretending you only understand protein and punching.”

“That’s a hobby.”

“It’s armor.”

He studied her.

“And you?”

“I let people think I’m cold.”

“That’s not fair.”

“No,” she agreed. “It isn’t.”

She stopped.

“What’s wrong with me?” she asked softly.

Smith frowned.

“Am I really that unattractive to you?”

The hurt in her voice was quiet but real.

Instead of answering immediately, Smith reached into his jacket.

He pulled out a worn little toy lion.

Prudence’s breath caught.

“You still carry that?”

“Yeah.”

She swallowed.

“Do you hate me because of that, Smith?”

“No.”

“You don’t have to protect me.”

“I’m not.”

He rolled the lion in his palm.

“You were doing your job.”

“It wasn’t just a job to me.”

“I know.”

He looked at her.

“Someone I hated with every fiber of my soul gave me some good advice recently.”

She knew who he meant.

“She told me maybe it was time to stop fighting ghosts.”

He closed his hand around the lion.

“Maybe it’s time to drop the act.”

He met her eyes.

“And move on.”

“I don’t want you to move on without me,” she whispered.

“I don’t know how to do this perfectly,” he said.

“I don’t want perfect.”

“Good.”

He stepped closer.

“I want to try.”

She stepped into him.

He hesitated only a moment before wrapping his arms around her.

Warm.

Solid.

No thunder.

No applause.

Just quiet.

Bruno sat at their feet, satisfied.

Meanwhile…

On a small island off the coast of Greece…

Maggie froze mid-step.

“Oh my God.”

Stacy looked up. “What.”

“They’re dating.”

“…Who.”

“Smith and Prudence.”

“How do you know that?”

“It just… came to me.”

Mr. Whiskers stretched lazily.

“Looks like someone’s powers are getting stronger.”

“She’s been my apprentice for six months,” Stacy said.

“Exactly six,” Maggie muttered.

“And she’s never done that before.”

Mr. Whiskers opened one eye.

“Growth rarely asks permission.”

Stacy narrowed her eyes.

“Is that what this is?”

The cat flicked his tail.

“Tell me more about this date.”

“You’re changing the subject,” Stacy said.

“Am I?”

Maggie smiled faintly.

“He finally let go of something.”

Mr. Whiskers’ tail flicked again.

“Or finally chose something.”

The sea kept moving.

And somewhere far away, something had shifted.