[ There's a nasty burn on his cheek, right into the shifting muscle, and it hurts when he smiles exhaustedly. His grip tentatively gets a little tighter around Peter's hand, not wanting to hurt him and not entirely trusting himself, but in dire need of the concern and care pouring off Peter in waves. ]

The love spell. It made me ... made me act on ... thoughts I had. Old feelings for others. [ He doesn't want to lie; he always does. ] It was not real with them.

[ A charred hand with black-tipped fingertips shakily rises to trace Peter's jaw, the green of Loki's stare surrounded by red broken bloodcells. His voice is raw as he exhales from smoke-seared lungs. ]

I resisted, Peter. For you.