Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

     Feeling full was a sensation Siffrin had yet to readjust to. It had been days, but that meant nothing juxtaposed to the recurring reminder of the endless hunger pangs he was once made to endure. The constant expenditure of energy required boundless energy, regardless if Siffrin knew it in the moment; it drained him so deeply and entirely that he had yet to return to full health since the entire ordeal went down. As such, he and his family members had yet to leave for Bambouche. 

     Siffrin knew that was his fault. They would have left already, if only his family members hadn’t all but condemned him to bed rest while he was recovering. Siffrin, deep down, knew there was no way he’d be able to keep up with everyone else in his current state. That fact kept him grimly surprised when he woke up each morning and they had yet to leave him the way he’d left them for King’s castle before. He shouldn’t be surprised. They were his family, the people who cared so much that they refused to immediately return Bonnie to their blood-family so that he could spend a few measly days getting better. He tried leaving the moment the festivities were over. It took Odile sternly telling him to give it a rest for a few days for him to finally get the hint. All because they believed he couldn’t travel given the state he was in after performing a type of magic few other people in the world knew existed for an indiscernible amount of time. Siffrin wouldn’t have gotten very far regardless. Even he knew that. 

     Was it dozens or hundreds or thousands of times before he realized it was all him? Even he didn’t know. He didn’t even want to think of how long he’d done it for, looped through the same two days with no end in sight. 

     What were a few days of mandated “bedrest” that his family members grew increasingly lenient about given Siffrin’s stubbornness after all he’d gone through? Nothing. Ironic, how he sped them along for so long, on so many different occasions, only to be the reason they were behind on starting their next journey together. He supposed he’d humor them by staying close to the clocktower, but even after a day or two of taking it easy, his own health made it feel like he hardly had a choice. 

     Siffrin’s feet kicked, swinging just above the floor. Roving eyes took in the scene before them. Odile was dabbing at the corners of her mouth with a napkin, Isabeau was leaning back on his chair with a arm laid over his stomach and a contented smile on his face, Mirabelle had already brought her plate to the sink, and Bonnie was giving Odile a very passionate (yet at least somewhat incorrect, judging by the well-veiled look of apprehension on Odile’s face) recollection of a Ka Buan legend they’d heard once. With needlessly sly hands, he managed to grab and finish off one more malanga fritter before letting out a hearty sigh. The overwhelming feeling of pure contentment seemed to be so contagious that no one teased him for the way he was lounging around now, slumped back in his chair. The air of celebration, of pride and joy had yet to leave their family since the day they successfully managed to beat King. 

     Then again, they did get teased a lot less now. Most of the time, Siffrin’s family was fussing them about not taking it easy enough. Now, they understood some things without Siffrin ever having to say or explain them aloud. It was nice, being known. He could get used to it. He would be used to it, if not for the nagging sense of dread that still threatened to tug at his stomach the moment he grew too comfortable. There was once an uneasiness that settled itself deep within their bones. It was practically gone now, at least a vast majority of the time. But it left behind feelings of guilt regarding his inaction: or, as everyone else called it, his “rest.” 

     Compared to before, Sif had made a conscious effort to avoid spacing out and spiraling within his own thoughts. He once had to live almost entirely in his own mind, back when it had become second nature to take a backseat to what was going on in the world around him, for the sake of preserving his sanity. So when he realized that most of his family members had left the table for the living space situated just behind him, he startled. Siffrin heard their voices before the panic could set in too deeply. 

     He took a sharp breath in, then a deep breath out. It was almost second nature to glance around the room and make sure no one saw. They watched him much closer now too. It was harder to get away with things now that he was actively avoiding going back in time for the sake of stopping himself from doing those things in the first place. It was frustrating being known, to have his tells be recognizable. He’d shown them too much of himself before. Sometimes it felt like the mere memory of their scared, judging, angered gazes wrapped around his being and squeezed.

     Siffrin blinked. wondered as he too-quickly stood up from the table and rounded the chair he was sitting in. His lone eye scanned the room. They fell onto Mirabelle, and his mostly-real grin widened as he walked over to her on still-sore legs.

     “Sif!” She cheered as he looked up from the intricate and feathery bird embroidery in her lap. Had she always called him that? This specific instance felt all too familiar.

“Mira!” Siffrin chirped in reply. 

“Sif!” She giggled back again. 

“Mira!” A force of habit, now. 

“Si—”

“Miraaaaa, no!” 

Siffrin’s breath stuttered. Too familiar.

     “Sif is my nickname for Siffrin!” A certain lilt in his tone– something beyond the lighthearted, almost singing tone he’d said it in. They could feel their sight growing fuzzier. His head felt filled with cotton. They continued with the script.

     “Gems alive, Isabeau! How a certain someone didn’t realize your feelings for them sooner is beyond…” She said the thing! The Gems thing! The rest of their small conversation fell upon uncaring ears. It hardly mattered now, did it? He was back and, despite being in one of those safe rooms for this conversation, they were so close to the King. They were so close to it starting all over again. 

     “Siffrin?” Mirabelle murmured softly, taking Siffrin’s hands into her own and rubbing her thumbs in soft circles against their hands, “You okay?” The question was once a nuisance to him. Now Siffrin felt guilty for even remembering such a feeling. He blinked. Of course they went off script. There was no script anymore. And Isabeau had no reason to be jealous of Mirabelle of all people. But Siffrin wasn’t supposed to know that. Siffrin blinked again, then glanced up into their intent lines of sight. Focused directly on him. He squirmed, but remembered that they weren’t here to judge him. If they were worried, it was because they cared about him. They weren’t judging you.

     “Just a bit of deja vu,” Siffrin managed to stammer out in a small voice. Their wiry hands trembled in Mirabelle’s, resistant to his urge to curl up into himself. He couldn’t hit the nail on the head yet. The way they communicated their issues had yet to be so… direct, as hard as Siffrin was trying to be honest now. Gradual looks of realization dawned upon his family members’ faces. 

     “What’s a day ja-voo?” Bonnie asked in the midst of the silence. Siffrin’s eye narrowed at them for a moment. Then, he snorted. Something about the unfamiliar way they said the words… but he wasn’t laughing at how badly they’d pronounced them, he’d promise. Siffrin looked back at his family members to see the concern on their faces nearly dissipated since he’d laughed. Unfortunately for Bonnie, their question would go unanswered. 

     “It wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, the memory,” Siffrin reassured, sly grin on their lips despite the dark look in his visible eye, “It just took me back. To the loops.” 

     “Do you wanna talk about ‘em, Sif? Your memories?” Isabeau’s voice was laced with trepidation. The air was quiet. They’d gone so long without them being brought up. Secretly, for reasons ranging from immeasurable curiosity to a deeply seeded eagerness to understand and quell some of Siffrin’s pain, some part of all four of his companions hoped he’d say yes. 

     “Not really,” Siffrin replied too quickly. Siffrin knew it was disconcerting, the idea of having spent endless time with someone and yet still— knowing them as little as they once knew him. Siffrin knew at least Mira was decently unsettled by it, or at least by the idea of them knowing her more than she knew them. His gaze was locked onto the floor, but in his mind he still saw the suspicious, untrusting eyes of his family members staring conspiratorially between each other. He closed his own and kept it squeezed shut. His eye remained that way until a pair of arms wrapped around his midsection.

     “We don’t have to talk about it right now,” Mirabelle attempted to assure him, giving his body a good squeeze that had him silently wincing, “whenever you’re ready, Siffrin!” With an experimental scan of the room, Siffrin found no one planning to leave him behind just yet. He returned the hug silently soon after, noting proudly that the amount of time it took him to hug back whenever his family embraced him was growing shorter and shorter. 

Mirabelle looked nervous when they pulled away. Her hands were folded neatly, politely before her chest, but she looked as though she had something to say. 

     He, feigning obliviousness soon after, cut off whatever it could’ve been with a somewhat obnoxious yawn. If they were going to be traveling together for the foreseeable future… Then, in theory, he had all the time in the world to tell them about his endless failures and shortcomings. It was something he was truly looking forward to, which was why he went to bed so soon after the question was asked. Siffrin never remembered being so grateful to go to bed before he regained the ability to fall asleep. 

     The next day, he mindlessly ambled through his newfound morning routine, before making his way out of the clocktower and going through his old route in reverse: not the route through the palace, but his walk through Dormont. He felt groggy, limbs stiffened and heavy. Walking felt like wading through thick waters. Restless energy built up in his system, nesting within his bones. He’d spent just as much time looping through this day, but it always felt much more inconsequential despite laying the groundwork for what he had to live through the next day. The canvassing of the town that occurred the day before Siffrin and their family attacked the king was just as important of a step in defeating him as ever, even if the King’s eventual defeat happened regardless. His feet brought him to the meadow he’d woken up in countless times before, left him standing beneath a steadily darkening sky and the quickening winds of the valley. A familiar, heavy smell permeated through the air. But Siffrin couldn’t put his finger on what it was called or what it meant. He couldn’t seem to focus on much of anything following the day they defeated the king. That was one way to look at it, The Day they Defeated the King, not The Day Siffrin Turned into a Giant and Lost it in Front of his Family Members. 

     This had happened before, only it was the same before the loops as well. The kiln, the pottery wheel. They were benign things. He doubted he used them much before. It still didn't feel right to forget. To forget a condition of the weather felt like a step beyond memory-recall failure; part of him felt as though it were sacrilegious. Something about the sight of the sky felt gravely important to Siffrin, even if its significance was lost on him. 

     “Frin!” An ordinarily more chipper voice called from a distance, much closer to town than Siffrin was. Siffrin blinked. He should probably see who it was. But his eyes remained focused on the shifting, moving clouds above him. White puffs of dense water vapor, gliding across the sky, vapor being water in its gaseous form, and gaseous implying that it was in the air or in air form. The greyer they were, the more water they held. But how much water could the sky hold? What would happen when the water pressure grew to be too much? The word sat on the tip of his tongue, a concept on the edge of his mind. Wind rustled their clothes. On reflex, hands lifted to pull at an item of clothing that wasn’t there. If Siffrin ever found their hat, he was sure it’d be threatening to leave his head amidst the tugging gusts of wind. In its stead, his all but matted hair whipped against his cheeks. 

     He was supposed to be better now. After the breakdown Siffrin had in front of his family, they should never have to see him upset again, least of all about the loops, about losing them again and again. But here he was, feeling the swell of emotions building in his chest and growing bigger than what his body felt like it could handle. It was all too much all over again. He was a mess. Who could ever love such a mess? 

“Frin…?” A meek voice spoke up before him, from the same small body that was holding on to him almost too tightly, “...you there?” 

“Oh, hey Bonbon!” Siffrin perked up. He returned the hug with a nonchalant grin, “What’s up?” 

     “‘What’s up?’” Bonnie repeated with a funny, exasperated face, before appearing to think of their next words very carefully, “I started dinner, and it’s gonna rain soon. Dile said I should come get you so you don’t track muddy footprints all over the floors in the clocktower like you did at that one inn we stayed in.” Siffrin’s gaze was askance as his mind dredged up its barebones recollection of the random day on their journey to Dormont. He got a good chuckle out of the memory of Odile’s face, felt his heart grow warmer at the remembrance of how much fun he’d had with Bonnie dancing around with soaking hair and weighted clothes, but the look on Bonnie’s face before was all too serious for him to continue that explorative train of thought. He’d have to wonder what the sky water was called and reminisce about their journey another time. 

     “You weren’t answering, Frin,” they frowned, cheek pressed up against his stomach, looking up at him at an angle Siffrin found unintentionally endearing, “I was looking right at you, and you were looking at me, but it was like you didn’t see me. You had this face…” He pulled away from their hug, holding them at arm's length for a moment before his mind scrambled with every attempt at crafting a reasonable excuse. He couldn’t fathom a single one. 

     “I’m sorry, Bon. I was just,” Siffrin flashed them one more smile, “I was just thinking too hard. I’m okay.” The fabrication was met with an unimpressed, flat look of plain worry, before Siffrin pulled their hat in front of their eyes and began to walk away. 

“Hey!” They shouted back and attempted to swat his hand away. Siffrin only snickered. 

“Let’s get back before we track mu—” A droplet of water fell on his face. But there was no water nearby, no rivers or oceans or— Another drop, this time accompanied by Bonnie’s hand wrapping firmly around his wrist and tugging. 

     “Rain!” Siffrin exclaimed as his brain finally processed Bonnie’s earlier words. That’s what it was. Rain. That thing Bonnie was just telling him was about to happen, that weather he hadn’t seen since who-remembered-when. The scent of petrichor and the sight of the cumulonimbus clouds that hung over them, blotting out the sun as the wind picked up pace. He took in a deep breath, if only to revel in what felt like a breakthrough, or at least a brief moment of clarity wherein his thoughts could finally be put to words. 

Their insistent hands pulled him from beneath the canopy, pleading when no one else wanted to get wet or made claims of having outgrown playing in the rain. If no one else wanted to humor them, Siffrin had no problem being the one who would. 

     “It’s rain!” He shouted, looking up at the sky with a bright grin. The bemused, bewildered, and fascinated look of joy on his face was enough to quell some of Bonnie’s worries about his well-being. They looked at him with a confused smile.

     “Yeah, Sif, I just said it was gonna rain! So let’s go, like now!” Bonnie urged once more, still tugging him along. Already there was a weightlessness to their steps as they readied to pull Siffrin along.

     "Don't you want to play in it?" He asked, still staring up at the sky in wonder. Bonnie shook their head emphatically.

     "Not when you're not feeling well!" They huffed, "You could get sick! Or... sicker." When had they gotten so responsible? With a melodramatic sigh, Siffrin made a show of lifting his arm to let Bonnie bring him back to the clocktower. He snickered as they ran through the drizzling rain, and Bonnie, despite their confusion, slowly found it within themself to laugh with him despite the contemplative look that once lingered in their eyes. With a few sidelong glances at their still-burdened face, Siffrin let Bonnie lead him along for a few more paces as he suppressed his own smirk. 

     “Hey, Bon,” They chirped, playful lilt in his tone, “do you know when it rains money?” Bonnie was shaking their head stubbornly as they intentionally weaved through and jumped into every puddle in their admittedly slow-paced path back to their makeshift home. They appeared to be thinking rather deeply as they stomped a few more times through the water, only before they realized the question was not a genuine one with a furrow of their brows and cross-armed pout. They looked up at him, shaking their head side by side disapprovingly. 

     “Nuh-uh, not this time, Frin!” They exclaimed resolutely, making sure to splash him with water from an already forming puddle. At most, a few drops hit his boots. They were entirely determined to make sure Siffrin got not another word in. Each time their lips parted to finish the punchline, Bonnie’s head shakes grew more vehemently and the stubborn creases of their face grew deeper and more cutting. 

It was hilarious, almost more than the joke they wouldn’t stop him from telling. 

     “Your pun allow-er isn’t here! I don’t wanna hear your—!” They exclaimed, yelling over the steadily speeding patter of raindrops. He wondered briefly who they meant, but Siffrin was nothing if not intrinsically, relentlessly determined. Someone once told Siffrin he smiled a certain way before he told a joke, and the idea of being known in such a way never really dawned on him. He wondered if his grin gave him away, or if it was the way he asked the initial question the joke relied on. Either way, as he looked down at Bonnie’s exasperated, secretly bemused expression, he hoped—despite the nagging feeling in the back of his mind telling him that it was impossible for the world to stay stagnant— that things would never be too different. 

“When there’s a ‘change’ in the weather!” 

Bonnie’s groan of pure disdain was followed by the crack of thunder and a darkening sky immediately after, and the pair’s footfalls through the squeaking, slippery grass and on the caking dirt grew all the quicker.

Chapter Text

     “Oh my Change!” Mirabelle exclaimed the moment they opened the door and rushed inside. Bonnie slammed it shut behind them, keeping any more of the torrential downpour from getting inside. Siffrin was still holding tightly onto Bonnie’s hand, broad grin on both of their faces as the two of them shook droplets of water out of their soaking hair. Siffrin was the only one of the two who looked remotely remorseful. The scolding faces Siffrin expected to be greeted by when they arrived were nowhere in sight. Mirabelle sat patiently beside Odile, both of their faces adorned with their own worriedly bemused smiles.

“I’ll get you two some towels,” Mirabelle said, standing up and quickly pacing to the washroom. Bonnie attempted to follow her out of the living area, only to be stopped by Odile holding a single hand up. 

     “Not so fast, Boniface,” Odile teased, briefly locking eyes with Siffrin, “Stay there, or else you’ll get water everywhere. ” The clocktower had certainly seen worse than a bit of water on its floors, but Odile’s attitude was the same everywhere they went together. Odile was the one most concerned with leaving the places they visited as clean as the group found them or cleaner. She had an eye for detail that few others shared. Perhaps it was why she was the only one to ever come close to figuring it all out, in the midst of it. 

Bonnie made an act of looking shocked. A wet mop of hair stuck to their creased, offended brow. 

“But I gotta finish dinner!” They argued comically, only inching closer to the kitchen. 

“I got dinner tonight!” Isabeau all but chirped from the kitchenette, “Don’t worry about it, Bonbon!” Siffrin could hear the self-assured grin on his face, and they couldn’t help but smile at the mere thought of it. The realization of the subconscious act had Siffrin wishing once more for a hat to bury his face in. 

     The scent of food suddenly wafted into Siffrin’s nose. It was a familiar smell, some sort of curry with a name that escaped Siffrin’s mind, though not as spiced as it had been the first time Bonnie made it. Siffrin wasn’t sure of how he failed to notice the aroma before. He sat on the floor near the foot of the couch with an exaggerated ‘oof!’ 

     “Siiiiiiigh,” Bonnie said aloud, a single syllable dragged out for emphasis, “if you say so, Za. But only ‘cause you’re my trusted sous chef...” Folding their arms with a dramatic huff, Bonnie sat down right beside Siffrin, all but leaning into his side as inconspicuously as they could manage. All the slyness in the world couldn’t make up for the shiver coursing through their tiny frame. One of Siffrin’s arms instinctively brought them closer into his side, resting his cheek against the scratchy top of their hat before Bonnie tugged it off, put it to the side, and shamelessly buried their face into the fabric of his relatively dry cloak. 

     They weren’t afraid to touch him anymore, he realized. No one shied away from touches of fingers when they passed food between each other, or accidental brushes in the middle of busy walkways. No one looked at him with fear and apprehension when they stumbled through their apology for touching him anymore. They welcomed it. Mirabelle grabbed him and hugged him yesterday like it was nothing. Bonnie had done the same earlier. Now here they were. And it was fantastic. Except somewhere along the way of accepting their touch, he’d started to long for it.

     His head turned towards Odile, noting her usual unbothered expression and noticing that the book she was reading wasn’t the familytale she and Siffrin once worked so hard to get. It was fine that she didn’t want to read it, Siffrin told himself. Their acquisition of it wasn’t as fulfilling of an ordeal as it once was. Reading it was never the point after all. If the book itself meant nothing before, it surely meant nothing now. Even knowing Odile’s reasons for wanting it without her ever trusting Siffrin enough to tell them herself made his stomach turn. 

     “Oh!” Mirabelle gasped quietly in delight as she entered the room with two folded towels in hand. Siffrin followed her gaze to the sleeping preteen resting their head on his shoulder, slumping forward slightly. Siffrin’s arms wrapped carefully around them and laid their form across his lap. They draped their cloak over their shoulders, giving them cover from the slight chill in the room. Unable to keep the subtle, caring smile off of his face, Siffrin swept a few damp wisps of hair out of their face. Mirabelle watched him with a grin of her own as she draped a dry towel much like a blanket over their snuggled up forms. Mirabelle took her spot behind Siffrin on the couch once more, lips pursed as the sounds of Isabeau’s cooking— pots clanking, food sizzling— and Bonnie’s quiet snores filled their temporary living space. 

     “Bonnie fell asleep pretty quickly, didn’t they?” Mirabelle asked bemusedly, stooping down beside Siffrin’s ear. The latter nodded as a muted chuckle wracked his shoulders. Siffrin idly grabbed the corner of the towel Mirabelle had given them, reveling in its soft texture on his fingers. He gently dried the parts of Bonnie’s hair with the most water before carefully laying it back over their shoulders. Behind him, Mirabelle seemed to be moving around somewhat anxiously. Siffrin turned his head, canting it in question. But before he could open his mouth—

“Are you alright, Siffrin?” Odile asked, “You’ve been quiet.” Silence rang out through the room, and despite the knowledge that every other conscious person in earshot was preoccupied, Siffrin couldn’t help but feel like everything hinged upon his answer to the question. 

“Oh… well,” Siffrin began frankly, voice hushed despite knowing Bonnie could sleep through just about anything, “it’s honestly been a while since I last saw rain.” Mirabelle gave him a patient smile and an understanding nod. 

     “Oh, I know what you mean,” She muttered, “and it was so nice outside before it started raining, too.” She sounded almost somber, eyes locked on the window across the room and the pouring rain outside of it. But she didn’t seem to grasp what Siffrin meant, or what he was implying. Odile didn’t press further. Siffrin was fine with both of those things. At the very least, he could give himself credit for being more honest with them. Even with something so barebones, bordering on ominous. 

     “You know, one day, you ought to let me brush out your hair, Frin.” She’d mentioned it before. Before-before, as in before the had loops ever started. It was clearly something that had been bothering her for a long time, the state Siffrin let his hair stay in. A sense of defeat washed over him. Towards the end is when she used to ask him this. One of the last times he’d be able to sit and eat with his family before he had to truly face the reality that they’d all be leaving him soon. In the few times he tended to each of their requests, strengthened his bond with them to the point of something actually changing in those forsaken timelines, he faced the king with more hope than he usually had. Those attempts were inherently different, their caring gazes, intuitive affirmations soothing worries Siffrin hardly acknowledged that he had, and unabashed displays of physical contact with him– they all felt earned then, in a sense. What had he done to earn them now?

“Siffrin–?”

     “You can, if you want,” Siffrin mumbled, before turning his head around and giving her a smile that was almost bashful, “You can brush it, Mira.” Please brush my hair, his inner voice pleaded. The warm body strewn across his legs, in contrast with the subtle shivers of his body as the rainwater settled in his hair and on his clothes, made him feel more real than he’d felt in ages. His heart thrummed with memories of warmth and smiles, of triumph and determination. 

Was he selfish for wanting more? 

She clasped her hands together and let out a giddy sound of shock. 

     “Really? I mean, you don’t have to, I just– you have such nice hair, Siffrin!” She was beaming down at him as he shrugged. He wanted it, her gentle hands carding through and stopping when they came across a knot too tough for her to glide through with her fingers. In Siffrin’s vague memories of letting Mirabelle brush through it, her hands were remarkably gentle. She used to insist that he take better care of it in the future. She used to say she’d help him with it whenever he wished. 

     Siffrin had memories of taking better care of it himself. He’d always waited too long before brushing it again, but when he did, the brush tore through the tangles relentlessly and with little care for his scalp or the delicateness of the hair itself. No matter how painful, when it came down to it, he at least looked presentable. 

     The next he knew, she had a flowery brush in her hands and was sitting back down right behind him. She looked hesitant to reach out for only a moment before her hand fell on top of his hair, patting unruly strands down and parting them into easier sections to comb through. Siffrin didn’t dare to move his head as she worked. He remembered being told to keep his head still while his hair was being done before. It made him antsy, but the sleeping preteen in his lap gave him enough motivation to stop himself from fidgeting. The sound of brush bristles running through gradually detangling locks of darkless and lightless hair had a tension in Siffrin’s shoulders slowly waning. His eyelids fell shut. His back leaned against the sofa astride her legs. His neck remained straight. 

     He kept expecting her to comment on how difficult it was to brush through his hair, how much of a nuisance it was that one of her companions looked so disheveled while she was the picture of prim and properness to all of Dormont. Yet he waited for a complaint that would never come, not with the new understanding his family members had of his mental state. Siffrin had never been the put-together member of the group. Where Isabeau and Mirabelle enjoyed styling themselves, Odile had likely long since suited the scholarly nature of her attire, and Bonnie was Bonnie. They were a kid. But even then, their ensemble was fitting and rather precious. How embarrassing for Siffrin, however many years old he was and still unable to muster up the will to properly take care of himself, even with so many people counting on him. 

     Soon enough, the brush was running through perfectly combed sections of hair. Bristles occasionally touched his scalp, though he found the feeling soothing. There was little to nothing left for Mirabelle to comb through, and yet her hands teased the hair as if she were looking for an excuse to keep touching it.

“Your hair’s so fluffy,” Mirabelle said with a hardly contained chuckle, “If you ever want some help taking care of it in the future, let me know! I’d be more than happy to.” It all but gave him whiplash. And yet the speed he turned his neck around to face her was measured and composed. 

“Thanks, Mira,” He offered with the best appreciative smile that he could manage. He knew it didn’t quite reach his eyes. He was so tired all of the sudden. 

Before her hands pulled away, before she decided she was done, she ruffled the unruly curls atop his head with a more than contented laugh. 

     “No, thank you, Frin,” She muttered suddenly, looking down at Siffrin with more mirth than Siffrin could physically handle. He shivered. He blamed it on the cold chill of his still damp hair. Mira shuffled off of the couch and practically bounced to the kitchen, something about helping Isabeau finish getting dinner ready. Siffrin blinked and she was out of his line of sight. His eyes fell on Bonnie’s sleeping form and a sigh of relief wracked his tense form. 

“I didn’t take Bonbon as one for catnaps,” Siffrin riffed, leaning his head back in a way that wouldn’t disturb Bonnie’s rest so that he could look into Odile’s eyes and hopefully win her over with a grin. 

     “They’re not particularly one for those, no. But they have had some trouble sleeping at night, as of late,” Odile said pointedly, “They’ve been having nightmares.” Siffrin resisted the urge to flinch. All of the suffering King had put them through, and Bonnie was still suffering: in silence, at that. Perhaps not in silence. Bonnie had told Odile at least. 

But they hadn’t told Siffrin– 

     “About the night you left.” His eyes burned. He was too wrapped up in his thoughts to try to blink away the oncoming tears. His gaze flickered back to them, curled up in his lap and clinging to Siffrin in their sleep. Odile let out an exasperated sigh behind him. He thought she was going to continue, to really let him have it, but instead her hand rested carefully on his shoulder. His head whipped around in fear, but his expression fell at the sight of her own. 

She looked almost pained. There was a reluctance on her features and a divet in her lip gave Siffrin the impression that she was worrying it between her teeth. 

Odile and speechless were not words that belonged in the same sentence. She wasn’t the most outspoken in the group, but she did not startle easily or hesitate to speak her mind when the situation called for it. For her to be stumbling over her words, speaking in broken and unclear sentences–

     “I was wrong, Siffrin. To have been suspicious of you,” Odile started, her brow creasing when Siffrin started to shake his head, “well, not because you weren’t keeping secrets. We all know you were, at this point. You have been for a while, haven’t you?” The question must’ve been rhetorical. How was Siffrin supposed to respond? Leaving wasn’t an option this time. 

“But, your reasons weren’t worth any doubt I had in your intentions.” A few tears wordlessly fell down Siffrin’s cheeks. Neither of the two acknowledged them. 

“I’m sorry,” Odile murmured guiltily. Siffrin shook his head once more. He sniffled as quietly as he could, wiping tears from his cheeks gently so that his eyes wouldn’t get puffy. 

“I don’t blame you. I was acting suspicious. You were just…” Siffrin’s throat tightened and he was quick to clear it and avert his eyes, “looking out for the family.” Her grip on his shoulder tightened. The quietness they spoke in teetered on the edge of conspiratory. 

     “You are a member of my family as well, Siffrin. Don’t forget that,” She was quick to supplement, a flicker in her eyes as if she remembered the point of her bringing it up at all, “You’re not alone. You don’t have to deal with anything on your own. You can protect us as far as you can, but do not deny us when it comes time to protect and take care of you as well, understood?” There was a time Siffrin would’ve taken her tone as scolding, especially considering the affirmation of understanding that she expected when she was finished saying something so serious. But he’d since come to the realization that even then, even when they began to doubt him, there was still enough space in their hearts for those feelings and for their love for him. And at no point did their love ever run out. It dawned on him now that it came from a place of care, regardless of who that care was for. There tenderness knew no bounds and seemed to stem from nowhere. But now Siffrin knew that some of it was his too, their worry and their knowing of him. Odile wanted Siffrin to understand for the exact same reason Bonnie clung to him. 

The first time he successfully managed to help everyone on the first day of the loop, the first time any real deviation in what they said to Siffrin the next day– it was something Odile said, something to do with family. Siffrin wasn’t sure how he managed to forget it. 

His head bounced in slow nod. She looked satisfied, her side-smile growing as her hand gripped his shoulder one last time before her eyes were fixed on a figure nearing them. 

     “Dinner’s ready!” Isabeau called from the makeshift kitchen. Odile stood up from her spot on the couch begrudgingly. Her eyes lingered on Siffrin, but she moved across the room wordlessly. Siffrin took one look at the preteen leaned against him and felt his appetite dissipate. It would be akin to a crime for him to move when the kid was sleeping on him. 

But he didn’t have to wait long for them to groan with a languid stretch, one so boisterous and dramatic that Bonnie ended up slipping past Siffrin’s shoulder and landing onto his lap. 

“You’re still here, Frin,” Bonnie groggily mumbled, arms wrapped around his midsection and face practically nuzzled into his stomach. 

“Yep, still here,” Siffrin replied sardonically as he ruffled their hair. A cheery, pretend grin danced across his features, almost as if he were secretly disappointed by the fact. Bonnie, still half-asleep, pouted. 

     “Don’t leave us again. Not without letting me say goodbye,” Bonnie’s deathly serious voice wavered, broken even in their attempts to sound authoritative, “or without saying when I’ll see you again.” The guilt cut deeper when the words came from Bonnie’s own mouth. It really was unfair of him, wasn’t it? To assume his family didn’t care about him, to put them through so much with his recklessness. 

“…It won’t happen again, Bonbon,” Siffrin held on to them a little tighter, “I promise.”