Archive of Our Own ^beta

“Sif, are you letting me win?”

Sif glances up at you from his half-empty glass of pinot noir.

It’s well past two in the morning on your birthday (well, technically the day after your birthday now), and after a busy day out and about in downtown Poteria, the two of you are winding down with a game of crazy eights in your shared room at a local inn. The rule is that every time one of you draws a card, you need to take a sip of your drink.

You were initially hesitant to agree when Sif proposed a drinking game. It’s been a little under a year since you and your companions defeated the King, and you’ve seen Sif enjoy the occasional drink since then, but never enough to get more than mildly buzzed. You ultimately decided to go along with their idea — partly because you didn’t want to patronize them and partly because you’re a massive pushover — but you’re beginning to think that was a mistake. While drunk Sif is undoubtedly very, very cute, multiple glasses of wine + a person who’s still dealing with the aftermath of some highly traumatic events = probably not a great combo.

Sif bats his eyelashes in a feigned display of innocence.

“What makes you think that?”

You sigh.

“Sif. Siffster. Siffaroni and Cheese. With the number of cards in your hand, it is statistically impossible that you don’t have at least one you can put down.”

Sif pouts adorably, aware that they’ve been caught darkhanded, and you do your best to stifle a laugh.

“How are you so smart even when you’re drunk?”

“Hey, I’m only a little tipsy!” you retort. “You’re the one who’s drunk-drunk.”

“I’m at least sober enough to know you’d lose in five seconds if I played normally. You have the worst poker face ever.”

Now you’re the one wearing a playful pout.

“I’m an expressive guy! Is that so wrong?”

“Nah.” The corners of Sif’s mouth perk up. “Your face is bad for card games, but it’s a good face in general.”

…Holy crab, they’re flirting with you.

That’s a thing they do now.

Because they like you.

Romantically.

They told you so a few weeks ago (three weeks and two days to be exact — but who’s counting?), and you think you’re going to be riding that high for the next century.

Sif did clarify when he confessed to you that he wasn’t ready for a full-on romantic relationship, and you’re totally fine with that. You don’t want to rush into things either, and you’re honestly really happy that he felt comfortable setting that boundary. And even if Sif ultimately decides that they never want to make things official, that’s okay. Simply knowing that your feelings are returned is enough to have you feeling utterly euphoric.

You’re still getting a feel for your new dynamic. Sif suggested using the label ‘Crush Buddies’ for the time being, which you think is adorably apt. After all, you’re friends first and foremost; that’s never going to change.

That’s not to say that nothing has changed, though.

For one thing, the two of you have become a lot more physically affectionate with one another over the past few weeks. The number of hugs shared between you had already been steadily rising ever since Sif initially cleared up your misconception that he disliked being touched. Following his confession, that number has increased exponentially — you’re hugging each other at least once a day now, usually more than that. Plus, you’ve recently discovered that Sif really likes forehead kisses — which works out quite well since you really like giving forehead kisses.

You’re also spending a lot more one-on-one time with each other these days, largely due to Mira’s efforts at playing matchmaker. She was the one who insisted that you celebrate the second half of your birthday alone with Sif, and her gift for you was a pair of tickets for the debut of a new romantic drama.

Poor, well-intentioned Mira had no way of knowing that the play would end up being absolutely terrible.

The star of the show (who you discovered upon checking the program was also the playwright and director) was a downright bizarre man with zero charisma or acting skills, the characters were unlikeable and inconsistently written, and the plot made so little sense that it seemed to have been devised in a fevered frenzy.

You’re honestly shocked the theater was willing to host such an awful show. Maybe they were hoping word of its poor quality would spread, and people would be inspired to attend future performances out of morbid curiosity.

But in all honesty, the play’s badness made your outing (could you call it a date?) all the more fun. It gave you and Sif plenty of material to laugh about over dinner — which was also Mira’s treat. She gave you a gift certificate for a cozy little restaurant, where Sif ordered a horrifically spicy seafood pasta dish that you severely regretted trying a bite of, and you had the house specialty: eggplant parmesan. Your meal was delicious, and the portion sizes were quite generous; you still have plenty of leftovers for lunch tomorrow.

The server also insisted on giving you a complimentary bottle of wine to bring back to the inn upon hearing that it was your birthday. A very large bottle of wine that is now more than halfway finished, primarily due to a certain someone’s efforts.

A certain someone who’s very clearly enjoying your embarrassment at their flirting.

You shake your head and do your best to regain your composure.

“No, I won’t let you distract me with compliments!” you insist. “We’re talking about your bad behavior, not my handsome face.”

Sif pouts some more.

“Giving you the chance to win is bad behavior?”

“Yes. Yes it is.” You cross your arms. “And I’m also not fully convinced you’re doing this out of the goodness of your heart. Are you really drawing more cards to let me win, or do you just want an excuse to drink more?”

“Who says it has to just be one or the other?”

You hold back a sigh.

“Sif, I know you’re an adult and you can make your own decisions about alcohol consumption, but ya gotta pace yourself, bud. You’re gonna be super hungover tomorrow if you keep going at this rate.”

“Awww, c’mon!” he whines. “I’m not that much of a lightweight!”

“I didn’t say you were. I’m just saying, you’ve had…how many glasses of wine now?”

“Don’t ask me.” He takes another sip. “You’re supposed to be the one who’s good with numbers.”

“That’s…not a reassuring response, Sif.”

“I’m fine, Isa, really! See?”

Sif raises their glass to their lips, chugs the remainder of their wine in one long gulp…

…And immediately brings their hand to their mouth.

They run to the bathroom, leaving the door open behind them in their haste, and the sounds of them emptying their stomach echo into the bedroom.

…Yeah, you expected this might happen.

You move to a spot on the bed directly across from the bathroom door so you can keep an eye on Sif while giving him some space to get his bearings.

Fortunately, the vomiting doesn’t last long, and he returns with freshly brushed teeth a few minutes later.

“You okay, Sif?” you ask.

“All good!” They flash you a toothy smile and make a beeline for the bottle of wine. “Just makin’ room for more!”

You’re about to protest, but thankfully, he stops just before pouring himself another glass.

“On second thought, maybe I should wait a minute,” he says, bringing a finger to his chin. “I just brushed my teeth, and toothpaste and wine kinda sounds like a gross combination.”

“Actually,” you interject, “I was thinking it might be bedtime.” You stretch your arms behind your head in a very exaggerated motion. “I don’t know about you, but I could use some shuteye.”

“Nooo!” he cries. “The night’s still young!”

“Sif, the night is very much not young. The night is geriatric at this point.”

“But I’m still wide awake!”

Those words might be more convincing if you hadn’t just heard them yawning a few minutes ago.

“Maybe you are,” you say, “but I need my beauty sleep.”

Sif plops next to you on the bed with a groan.

“You’re tearing me apart, Isa!”

They beam at you, clearly quite proud of their (admittedly very clever) callback to the horrible play you just saw.

“Geddit?” They poke the side of your arm. “Like the line from the play?”

You try and fail to stifle a laugh. It comes out as a snort.

“Yes, I get it.” You pat his head. “You’re very funny, Sif. But we really do need to go to bed.”

“But then your birthday will be over!”

“Technically,” you declare, holding up your index finger, “it’s been over for a couple of hours now.”

Sif’s eye widens.

“Wait, really?”

“Yep. Look at the clock; it’s almost three!”

“It’s still your birthday in some time zones, though,” Sif argues. “And besides…” His voice gets a little quieter, and his gaze turns downward. “I still have another birthday present to give you.”

You’ll admit your curiosity is piqued.

“You do?”

They nod.

“Okay, then did you want to give it to me now?”

“Yeah.” Their eye is still turned to the floor. “But, um…it’s not, like…a physical present. Like, the kind you can wrap.”

Interesting…

“What kind of present is it?” you ask.

Sif pinches a handful of his cloak and starts fiddling with it anxiously, rubbing it back and forth between his fingers.

“So, uh, remember how after we beat the King, you said there was something you wanted to…practice together?”

…Oh.

You most certainly do remember that. You’ve only mentally relived the conversation, what, a few hundred times?

Sif looks up at you shyly.

“The gift is…doing that.”

Your heart rate doubles.

Under just about any other circumstances, you’d be thrilled at this development, but Sif is definitely not in any state to consent to such a huge milestone right now.

How can you say no in a way that doesn’t completely crush him?

“Oh, Sif.” You grab their hand, gently running your thumb up and down the back of it. “That’s a really sweet idea for a gift. But…don’t you think that’s something we should both be sober for?”

Sif’s face darkens and they immediately look away.

“Oh. Right.” He slips his hand out of yours and stands up. “Sorry, that was…that was a bad idea. I’m…gonna go get some water.”

They grab their glass from the nightstand next to the bed and speedwalk to the bathroom sink.

Crab. This isn’t going well.

“Sif, are…are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” they insist, very deliberately avoiding eye contact as they return from the bathroom. They set their glass back down on the nightstand and crawl under the covers, letting out an obviously performative yawn. “Just a little tired. It is pretty late; I should probably go to bed.”

“Sif…” You settle down next to them and place a hand on their shoulder, moving slowly so they can see it coming. “I’m not gonna make you talk to me if you don’t want to. But it would mean a lot to me if you told me what’s on your mind…maybe as a birthday present?”

Sif clenches his fists around the bedsheets, his body visibly stiffening. He’s still not looking at you.

“Why are you being so blinding nice to me?” they growl.

You can feel your heart sinking down to your stomach.

“Why wouldn’t I be nice to you, Sif? I love you.”

“But I ruined your birthday!” Their voice is just shy of a shout. “I acted like I wanted to…to do that for your sake, like it was a gift…but I was really just being selfish! I was only thinking about what I wanted, and I made you uncomfortable!” 

Their fists tighten even harder around the sheets.

“It’s just like…it’s just like what happened before!” he continues. “I keep making the same stupid mistakes over and over again, and you put up with those mistakes because you seem to think I’m a much better person than I actually am, but I’m still just as bad as I was back then! I haven’t changed at all! And…and I don’t know why you’re always so forgiving!”

You’re not entirely sure of the mistakes they’re referring to — you don’t know too many details about what happened in the loops, and you have no intention of making Sif reveal more than they’re comfortable with — but you think you more or less get the gist of what they’re saying.

“Sif…” You slowly move your hand toward his, giving him the chance to pull away if he wants. He doesn’t.

“There’s nothing to forgive,” you tell them, tracing small circles on the back of their hand. “You suggested an idea, I said we should wait to do that idea, and you took no for an answer. You didn’t do anything wrong, and you definitely didn’t ruin my birthday.”

You give his hand a gentle squeeze, and he turns his head toward you — not quite making eye contact just yet, but at least looking in your general direction now instead of down at his lap.

“Heck,” you continue, “I actually think this is the best birthday I’ve ever had! And that’s because of you.” You lightly poke his nose. “Well, you and M’dame and Mira and Bonbon, but you’re the one I spent the most of the day with.”

“You’re…not mad at me?”

They’ve finally mustered up the courage to look directly at you, and their eye is all big and watery. Probably a side effect of the alcohol — unlike you, who will tear up at anything from a cheesy romance novel to an elderly dog, Sif almost never cries. In fact, with one notable exception, you don’t think you’ve ever seen him cry.

Seeing him in this state, you can’t help but reach out and hold him.

“Oh…oh, sweetheart, no!” You rest one hand firmly on their back and softly stroke their hair with the other. “I’m not mad at you! Not even a little bit. Can you breathe for me?”

They bring a shaky hand to their chest, and the two of you take a moment to breathe together. You can feel a bit of tension leave their body when they’re finished, and they sink deeper into your embrace.

“Thanks for doing that with me, Sif.” You press a soft kiss to the top of their head. “And to clarify, I promise that my ‘no’ before wasn’t, like, a permanent ‘no.’ It was just a ‘not tonight.’”

You pull back slightly so Sif can see your face, keeping your hands on their shoulders. You hope the affection bursting out of every pore in your body is self-evident. You love them so much, and you need them to know that.

“Once you get over your inevitable hangover tomorrow,” you continue, “if you still want to try kissing, I’d love to do that with you. Or we can choose a different day to do it. Or if you decide that’s something you don’t want to do at all, that’s fine, too — I won’t bring it up if you don’t.”

Sif looks like he’s calmed down at least somewhat. Their breathing has steadied, and their eye is drier now.

“Okay,” he says. He looks downward again, but this time it appears to be more out of shyness than distress.

“I…I think I will want to do it tomorrow,” they declare. “I mean…I’ve wanted to for a long time now.”

…Wait, really?

A grin slowly spreads across your cheeks. You can feel your heart doing somersaults.

“What a coincidence,” you tell them. “So have I!”

A nervous giggle escapes Sif’s throat, and you can’t help but laugh along with them, relieved that the worst of the night seems to be behind you. Within a few seconds, the two of you are having a full-blown laughing fit, tears streaming down your faces as you fall back onto the bed.

The spell is eventually broken when Sif starts coughing, and you reach across them to hand them their glass of water. He sits up and takes a sip, and you catch him staring down at the glass with a big smile on his face, cute little dimples on full display.

“Whatcha smiling about over there?” you inquire.

Sif’s gaze remains locked on his glass of water.

“Nothing.”

“Aw, come on!” you whine. “Are you really gonna keep secrets from the birthday boy?”

“It’s not your birthday anymore,” Sif states, finally managing to look at you as they place the glass back on the nightstand.

“It still is in some time zones,” you assert.

“No fair! You stole that argument from me!”

“It’s objectively true, though.”

Cue a second, smaller laughing fit.

“Fine, fine, you win.” Sif eventually relents. They break eye contact again and look down at their lap, their hands messing with a loose thread on the comforter. “I was just thinking about how, um…before. You...called me sweetheart.”

…Oh.

You sure did do that, didn’t you?

You can feel the blood rushing to your face.

“Oh crab! That just…kinda slipped out!” You bury your face in your hands. “Sorry, that was weird, wasn’t it?”

“No, no, that’s not what I meant!” Sif sputters. Peering through the cracks between your fingers, you can see them waving their hands in front of them.

You lower your hands, and Sif grabs one of them.

“It was nice,” he continues, smiling up at you. “You can…call me things like that more often if you want. I wouldn’t mind.”

Wow, drunk Sif sure is forward!

“You wouldn’t mind, or you’d like it?” you ask. “Because those are two different things.”

He looks away.

“Don’t make me say it.”

“Sif, I won’t know what you’re thinking if you don’t tell me.”

You think you know what they want to say, but you won’t get your hopes up just yet. You need them to say it out loud so there’s no room for misunderstandings.

“I’d…like it,” they squeak.

You’re pretty sure a party popper full of confetti just went off inside your chest.

“Oh?” You raise an eyebrow. “Well then, that can certainly be arranged, my sweet Siffarooni.”

You pull them into a hug, making a conscious effort to avoid crushing their bones in your excitement.

“Love of my life.”

You kiss their forehead.

“Cutie pie.”

Several more forehead kisses.

Oh, you can get used to this!

“I take it back!” Sif giggles, squirming in your arms. “This is way too embarrassing!”

“Sorry, Sif,” you tell him. “No take-backsies. I love you very much, and I’m gonna be so gross about it.”

Sif groans.

“You’re the worst!”

“But you love me!”

“...Yeah. I do.”

A smile slowly works its way across Sif’s cheeks, and you can see his face settling into its signature ‘I’m about to make a really bad joke’ look.

“I like you very much…lover…boy.”

You bring a palm to your face.

“Sif, I love you so much, but for the love of Change, please stop quoting that terrible play.”

“Nope!” They stick their tongue out. “That’s what you get for teasing me.”

You sigh and ruffle their hair.

“If that’s the price I have to pay for the privilege of calling my Crush Buddy cutesy names, then so be it.”

Looking at their face, flushed from a combination of intoxication, embarrassment, and laughter, your heart swells with affection. The passage of another year has you feeling even more sentimental than usual, and you can’t help but smile at just how lucky you are to be able to share moments like this with such a kind, thoughtful, funny, wonderful person.

Change, you love him so much.

They rest their head on your shoulder.

“I think that’s a fair trade.”