Loki notices. How could he not, when Clint seems more Real than anything has any right to be, when Clint is honest and exposed and shining, but clearly opting not to be exactly that?

He should look away, perhaps, and grant the other man a modicum of... decency, perhaps, or even just the suggestion of it. But this is Loki, in his own mind, dreaming his own dreams. He's already turned around; he makes a gesture with his hands, summoning a robe not unlike his own, expensively made, a little heavy, long and flowing; he doesn't look away.

Instead, he walks the space between them and offers the folded robe to Clint. He could ask for clarification; if the things Clint desires are not housed and created from within himself then where else could they come from? But Loki knows the answer runs the risk of being just as complicated, just as frustrating, as any conversation on the nature of desire or the locus of where they begin between them tend to be, and so he leaves it.

"...do you want me to show you the way out?"

Well. Mostly leaves it.