[ Loki snarls, trying to shift Thor's weight off his legs but to no avail. He settles for digging his fingers into the soft cushions for he knows that the urge to lash out, to hurt is high and he rather not start that kind of fight. Not when his head and heart was pounding. ]

What difference does it make? It's all in my head, is it not? My imagined slights, making up wounds and stories where there is nothing. No one owes me anything.

[ Even as Loki says it, his look grows more pinched. The last thing he wants is to know it is in his head. A product of his madness. ]