It was odd seeing Loki sitting at his breakfast bar, his fingers curled around a steaming mug of coffee, perfectly calm despite the wreckage of the mansion around him. He looked…not exactly like he belonged there. The leather armour and the bronze plating was even stranger on Earth than it had been on Asgard, but when Tony pushed that aside, Loki fit. There was a faint smile playing on his lips, like he wasn’t even properly aware of it, and every so often Tony would catch a glimpse of bright green eyes studying him from under long lashes while he tried to focus on breakfast.

Loki’s reaction to coffee had been pretty much what Tony had expected: a deep love of the smell, and a tiny scrunch of his nose at the first bitter sip. He’d not said anything at the sight of the gigantic hole through the ceiling, and Tony had to give him kudos for that. Palace, his mansion was not. Especially not now he’d essentially ripped it apart in the name of science and saving his own life.

He’d have to call renovators later, and take Loki clothes shopping because none of Tony’s things would fit him and no one on Earth wore that much leather outside of a metal concert, but for now there was coffee and omelettes and a contented alien-god in his kitchen. His life was awesome.