{Chapter: 364 Tangled Hearts and Truths in the Drink}
William smiled as he watched Sif down a full glass of liquor in one go. His lips curled into a devilish grin. "Damn... how was it? For a warrior of Asgard, I bet that felt like drinking plain water, right?"
Sif's face twitched slightly, a reaction she couldn't quite hide. The moment the fiery liquor hit her throat, she felt as if a small dragon had ignited inside her. Her chest burned, and her sharp warrior instincts screamed that this drink wasn't ordinary. The pungency was unlike any Asgardian mead or ale—this was a storm bottled into liquid.
She tried to hold her composure, lifting her chin defiantly. "It's... just water," she muttered through gritted teeth, though her face had flushed a telltale scarlet. "You Midgardians brag too much."
William let out a chuckle, offering her a playful thumbs-up. "You're incredible. Seriously."
Sif narrowed her eyes at him. "Don't just sit there. Are you not going to drink too?"
"Of course," William replied smoothly. He raised his glass and drank it all without a flinch, though inwardly, even he acknowledged the kick of this Chinese Moutai. It scorched his throat and made his vision ripple for a moment. But thanks to his beyond superhuman constitution, the effect faded like a breeze through his veins.
He set the glass down with a smile that could only be described as charmingly smug. "Strong stuff, huh?"
Sif didn't answer. She knew she'd already taken in more than usual, but the fire of her pride burned hotter than the liquor. She would not lose—especially not to him. She poured another glass with shaky fingers.
"Don't think you can outdrink me with your tricks," she said coldly. "I've trained my tolerance through a thousand feasts and battles."
William gave her a wink. "Then let's raise the stakes, shield maiden of Asgard."
The two locked eyes and clinked their glasses together. The sound rang like a challenge across the fire-lit beach. Then, without a word, they tipped their heads back and drank again.
By the seventh or eighth glass, Sif's elegant posture had begun to falter. Her eyes glazed slightly, her braids loosened around her flushed face, and her usual stern scowl softened into something far more vulnerable.
"More…" she demanded, slamming the empty cup down.
William chuckled, pouring them both another. "You sure? You're looking a little warm."
"Shut up," she snapped. "You're just afraid. That's why you keep talking."
"Afraid?" William smirked, pouring her a full cup. "I'm afraid of a lot of things, Sif. But you? You're not one of them. You're more like a puzzle I enjoy figuring out."
Sif's lip curled. "Don't try to charm me, you lying snake. I see right through you."
"Of course you do. That's what I like about you," William murmured, tapping his glass to hers. "You always see what others ignore."
Sif snorted but couldn't meet his gaze. Her vision was starting to blur. She could see two of him now—or maybe three. Still, her pride refused to bend.
"I'm not drunk," she announced, swaying. "You're just... blurry."
William leaned in closer, his voice low and teasing. "Then why are you talking to three of me?"
Sif blinked. "There are... three?"
"You're drunk," William whispered with a crooked grin.
"I am not! You—you're scared! You know I can outdrink you!" Sif laughed, her voice turning into a disjointed melody of bravado and denial. "You beast… you cheat… give me more wine…"
William gently refilled her glass. "As you wish, Lady Sif."
She downed the cup in one final flourish and set it down with trembling fingers. "See? Not drunk…"
But as she tried to reach for the cup again, her fingers slipped, knocking it to the sand. "My... my cup," she mumbled, crouching down unsteadily to retrieve it. Her knees gave out halfway and she plopped onto the ground, laughing weakly.
William knelt beside her, his smile softening as he watched her struggle. There was something oddly endearing in her vulnerability—a warrior stripped of her armor, fierce yet fragile.
He reached out a hand. "Sif…"
"Don't... pity me," she muttered, half-lucid. "I hate you."
William raised an eyebrow. "You always say that. But then you keep drinking with me."
Sif looked up at him, her eyes swimming with more than just alcohol. There was fire there, but also hurt, confusion… and perhaps something else. Something unspoken.
"I hate how you make me feel," she whispered. "Like I'm not in control."
William exhaled slowly, eyes resting on the woman whose pride had long been a shield and sword. He watched her expression flicker—resentment chasing longing, hatred laced with something softer, something fragile.
"You don't always have to be in control, you know," he murmured gently, brushing a strand of golden hair from her cheek. "Not with me."
Sif didn't respond. Her head, heavy from drink and emotion, drooped forward and landed against his shoulder. Warm. Trembling. William's hand steadied her, not forcefully—just enough to let her rest.
"Sif," he said with a soft laugh, "you're seriously drunk."
Sif stirred. Her brow furrowed, confusion spreading across her face. "You... who are you?" she slurred, staring at him as if through fog.
William arched a brow. "Really? You don't recognize me?"
"I'll ask one more time," she said unsteadily, lifting her chin, her warrior's pride not quite extinguished. "Who are you? Tell me—or I swear I'll knock your teeth in."
He chuckled. "Come on, Lady Sif, I'm your husband."
"Husband?" she echoed, tilting her head like the word was foreign. "Is that… is that a kind of drink?"
William fought the grin trying to spread across his face. "No, no—it means your man."
"Man…" she blinked, thinking hard. "I remember a beast… named Wi… William! Yes! William the Beast..."
His eyes sparkled with amusement. Alcohol did loosen the tongue.
"Alright then," he said, leaning forward. "What do you think of this beast William?"
Sif's brows pulled together. "He's a scumbag. He always bullies me… Why does he do that? Why—why is he so kind to Jane, and always so cruel to me? It's not fair... it's not... fair..."
Her voice broke. William's smile faltered slightly, his gaze softening.
"Easy," he said gently. "Just breathe. You're going to get yourself worked up."
"I just don't get it," she muttered, eyes glassy. "Why does she get his heart… and I get his fists?" She clutched her stomach. "Ugh—"
She turned, retching suddenly. Before William could react, she vomited—right on his shirt.
He froze, expression blank as the mess dripped down his chest.
"Well," he said flatly, "at least your aim's consistent. Right in the heart."
Sif wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, visibly woozy but slightly relieved. She looked at him, recognition dawning in her muddled eyes. "William…"
He gave a dry laugh, walking toward the beach and peeling off his shirt. "Congratulations," he said over his shoulder. "You finally remembered me."
He plunged his hands into the seawater, scrubbing his face like a man trying to erase a memory, not just vomit.
When he returned, he knelt beside her with a smirk. "Feel better now that you've gotten that out of your system?"
"William, you beast..." she growled, still dazed but lucid enough to cling to her indignation.
"I've heard worse." He extended a hand. "Come on. Don't sit in the sand like a kicked puppy."
"I don't need your help," Sif snapped, trying to stand on her own. Her knees buckled, and she stumbled into his arms.
"You're doing great," he said sarcastically, catching her before she hit the ground.
Sif tried to twist away. "Let me go! Don't touch me, beast—"
William leaned in, voice low and teasing. "You really think I got you drunk for no reason?"
Her eyes widened, fury sparking again. "You're disgusting!"
"Sif, you've got one hell of a body—strong, tight, and built for battle," William said, eyeing her up and down with a hungry grin. "You're not just a warrior—you're a sexy, hot chick who rocks those metal outfits like they were made for sin."
He stepped closer, hands bold, voice thick with heat. "That armor clings to every curve like it's worshipping you. And you? You walk like you own every room you step into... deadly, divine, and dangerously hot."
With a growl of appreciation, he swept her up into his arms. "You don't just fight like a goddess—you look like one too."
He chuckled. "So you can call it disgusting,
I'm just being honest in my administration. There's a difference."
Sif struggled in his arms, but her strength had fled her with the wine. "Why are you like this… Why do you make me feel like I'm nothing—and then look at me like I'm everything?"
William paused at that. For a moment, even his smirk faltered. But instead of answering, he swept her up in his arms and walked toward the campfire where Jane lay, sleeping peacefully with a teddy bear tucked beneath her arm.
With a flash of blue light, a large bed materialized beside them—comfort woven with comfort.
William set Sif down gently. She mumbled something incoherent and curled slightly to one side, the fatigue finally taking full hold. Within seconds, she was fast asleep.
He turned to Jane next, his expression softening completely. Carefully, William scooped her up, brushing a kiss across her forehead.
"My sweet Jane," he whispered, "I don't deserve you."
She stirred in his arms, nuzzling into his chest with a small smile. "Mmm… William…"
He smiled down at her, the edge gone from his face, replaced by something real—something raw. He tucked her beside Sif and lay down between them, letting his body sink into the warmth.
Two women. Two hearts. One filled with unconditional love. The other torn between hate and something terrifyingly close to love.
After doing all this, William pounced on Sif and Jane, "Hahaha, it's time to have fun."
Just as he was about to pounce on them somewhere, in the air, an impish voice echoed softly, laughing:
"Sorry for disturbing you… Hahaha…"