Loki is the only one who calls him Narukami. He does so almost pointedly, the slightest hint of emphasis on that one syllable - a knowing half-smile in green eyes, faintly callous. The look hasn't changed, even though so much else has, but where once it could have been almost infuriating, the only reaction it sparks now is closer to acceptance than anything else. Narugami knows why Loki persists in doing so, or at least thinks he does - the trickster god was never the easy one to fathom - and that soothes the sting of condescension a little. Even if it's more mockery than anything else, an underscoring of the fact that this human body is all he has now, at least it's recognition that he used to be...something more. Still, Narugami likes to think that he doesn't need the constant reminder; the small shift of a letter that recalls the true word. Even if the only name he hears now is the one he has taken, and even if it gets easier, as the days pass in a blur of too-short-lived jobs, to think of himself as Narugami, and forget why he chose that name to start with.