“You are late,” Sif stated flatly, arms crossed over her gleaming armored chest, standing like a warrior displaced in the middle of a small Midgardian café. The kind of place where the strongest battle was choosing between oat milk or almond milk in your latte. She was completely out of place—black leather, silver pauldrons shining under the soft café lights, her sword casually slung across her back as if it were the lightest of scarves. The barista behind the counter had tripped twice since you arrived, eyes darting nervously between you and her.

You blinked, caught off guard by the sheer presence she commanded. “I… uh… traffic?” you offered weakly, waving vaguely toward the streets bustling with honking cars and impatient pedestrians.

Sif’s eyes narrowed in disbelief. “You have the bifrost, the magic of the Nine Realms, and yet your means of travel is a metal box that screams and crawls in lines. Truly, Midgardians have lost their way.”

You chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of your neck. “Yeah, well… it’s the usual chaos. And… I’m a little nervous, okay? You’re kind of intimidating.”

Her expression shifted—just the slightest flicker—and then, unexpectedly, she chuckled. It was a low, thunder-soft sound, full of amused warmth that caught you completely off guard. The people around you glanced your way, some curious, others confused by the rare display of lightheartedness from the Asgardian warrior.

“That makes two of us,” she murmured quietly. “Thor warned me you would talk a great deal. I feared he had matched me with a Midgardian who never ceases flapping their jaws.”

You laughed, relaxing a little. “And what sort of Midgardian did you hope for instead?”

Sif tilted her head thoughtfully, gaze sharpening with her characteristic warrior focus. “One who can look me in the eyes without flinching. One who stands firm. You have not fled yet.”

“Yet,” you teased, a sly smile creeping over your face.

Another laugh—this time fuller, richer—escaped her lips, drawing even more attention in the small café. She ignored the stares, her focus settling back on you.

“Thor insisted we ‘bond’ over food,” she said, sweeping her hand toward the menu like it was an ancient scroll of secrets. “He spoke highly of these things called tacos. A folded feast of meat and spices. I do not understand the concept of folding food into a shell and calling it an art form, but I am willing to learn.”

You grinned and pulled out the chair across from her, feeling a strange warmth in your chest as she sat. For a moment, you forgot she was a goddess from another realm. She scanned the menu with the same intensity you reserved for a final boss fight, her brow furrowed as if deciding which choice could best prepare her for battle.

“You fought alongside Thor, faced enemies beyond mortal ken, and yet you find yourself in my humble Midgardian café, wary and curious,” you said quietly. “I’m guessing you’re not the type to relax often.”

Sif’s gaze softened just a bit. “Warrior’s rest is earned, not given. But this… this is different. I am curious about this world you call home. It is alien, yet fascinating.”

You took a breath and glanced at her, seeing behind the warrior’s mask to something unexpectedly vulnerable. “Thor said you were brave. That you faced impossible odds without powers or prophecy. That you don’t back down.”

Her eyes met yours—calm, noble, fierce—and your heart skipped a beat. For the first time since arriving, you felt a flicker of hope that maybe you belonged here, right beside her.

“And Thor said you never smile,” you added, smirking. “So far, he’s already wrong.”

Sif’s lips twitched into a smirk that slowly grew into a genuine smile. “Do not grow smug, Midgardian,” she warned playfully, but you could see the warmth glowing beneath her words.

In that moment, with the noise of the café fading away and the glow of the city beyond the windows, you realized something:

This wasn’t just a date set up by your Asgardian brother.

This was the beginning of something real.