#dani-si

"Can I take a picture of you, so I can show Santa exactly what I want for Christmas?" You drunkenly laugh at Ivar's request. He rarely speaks to you, yet here he is with a camera aimed at you - ready to snap a photo of you in all of your festive glory.

"Go for it, Iv." You encourage, striking your best pose. Making sure to show off your ugly Christmas sweater, a request by Hvitserk of course.

Posing for one or two more photos, all of which Ivar will probably use as blackmail one day when you least expect it, you fail to notice the man in the corner watching with the pout.

Sunk back in the arm chair, Ubbe nurses his rum and egg nog, watching as his unusually happy baby brother interacts with you. Ivar never speaks to you, whatever he is up to Ubbe is unsure, but he doesn't like it.

Ubbe watches as you sway to the cheesy Christmas music, humming along with not a care in the world. He isn't drunk enough to join you, not yet. Tipping back the rest of his 'nog, Ubbe licks his lips and stands to retrieve another. Once he finishes this glass, he will cut you off and engage you in a dance or other festive activities. None of which include Ivar.

Topped up, more rum than egg nog thanks to Sigurd's expert bar tending skills, Ubbe returns to the living room to find you've vanished. Taking a drink, wiping his beard to assure there is no frothy white left behind, he sighs heavily and scours the room.

Relieved when he sees Ivar sat chatting with some random friends, Ubbe reclaims his mission to find you. Wherever you've gone, you can't be far. Somewhere between Hvitserk's three Christmas trees, giant snow man display - who has that in their house anyway? - and a few dozen bodies dressed in the fugliest Christmas sweaters that he has ever witnessed, Ubbe finds his prize.

"Well, Hello Mr. Ragnarsson." You giggle, tipping your chocolate milk and spiced rum toward him.

"Hello," Ubbe sits on the floor next to you, back against the wall. "Why are you down here?" More than likely you tripped and didn't bother to stand back up.

"Watching." You replied with a smile. "Have you ever noticed that this time of year brings out the oddest behaviour?" You raise your brow, your eyes wide as you take a drink.

"How so?" Ubbe's curiosity got the better of him.

Licking your lips, you can't help a shrug. "Ivar for example," You point in the direction of the man hobbling around the house with his camera. "He is never this happy, but at Christmas, he is a kitten. He is a little boy all over again."

Ubbe wouldn't bother to point out that Ivar was never a happy child.

"He gets into it." Ubbe agreed. Christmas was the only time of year his baby brother wasn't an outright asshole to everyone.

"Or Bjorn," You squint, the eldest Ragnarsson is here, but not visible from where you are sitting. "He gets grumpy, he doesn't care, and just wants it all to be over."

Bjorn had hated the holidays for as long as Ubbe could remember. Once Thanksgiving came, his older brother was a real Grinch. Something that likely came from being a child of divorce.

"Then we have Hvitserk and Sigurd," You giggle at the thought of the party animal and the stoner. "They love any excuse to party, naturally. But even they change a little. Hvitty is even more wound up, I'm shocked we don't have to anchor him down." You tip your glass, Ubbe following your actions. "And Sig, well...you know he gave me the socks that you gave him last year?"

Sigurd doesn't have to buy for you, none of them do, but he always gives you the worst re-gifted presents. What did he think you'd do with a beard trimmer? Whatever, the thought counted.

"And then we have you," You poke him in the shoulder with a huff.

"Me?" Ubbe points to himself, smirking like the cat that ate the cream. He could only imagine what you were going to say about him.

Ubbe always gave you the best presents. Ubbe had included you in every holiday tradition his family had. Ubbe had even got you a special stocking, to match each one of the family's, to hang on Christmas eve.

You were his best friend and for the last month, his girlfriend, and he was proud of that.

"Mmm." You hum, "You, love, are a magnificent man. But, you're jealous and act like a spoiled little boy."

Ubbe's chuckle rumbled deep in his chest. "Do I?"

He would hold off on pointing out your holiday flaws, as much as he wanted to remind you that in no way are you perfect, Ubbe knew how to avoid a fight.

"You pout and sulk, whenever I talk to someone else. You and Bjorn practically got into a fight last night, when we hosted dinner." You shake your head, trying to put that entire disaster out of your mind.

"He insulted you."

"He asked where the turkey was. Not exactly a crime, when it comes to  holiday dinners." You have a burst of laughter. Ubbe rolled his eyes, you were to never speak of that again! "We invited them for turkey dinner, Ubbe."

And a turkey you would have served, but you had other plans and stupidly Ubbe had gone alone with it. Plans which were far more enjoyable than tending to a turkey in the oven.

"Okay, so other than that..." He tried to find an example.

"Tonight," You answer straight forward. "When Ivar was teasing me, don't think that I didn't see you. Pouting, because Ivar was talking and laughing with me."

"He was flirting." Ubbe protested.

"He was not," You smack him in the arm, rolling your eyes at him. "He was teasing me and taking some photos." You lean into Ubbe, "Even if he was, do you think I care?"

Who doesn't love a little flirting? Of course you like it, Ubbe wasn't foolish.

"Babe," Ubbe began, rubbing his hand across his beard.

"No, Ubbe, just listen." You state firmly. "I don't care if Ivar or Prince Harry comes in here and flirts with me, asking to take my photo. It makes no difference to me, do you know why?"

"Why?" Ubbe wasn't entirely sure he wanted to know.

He had worked hard to get you, not as hard as he would like to think, but he had waited a fair amount of years. The last thing Ubbe wanted was someone else to take your attention away.

"Because I love you, Ubbe Ragnarsson. Not Ivar or anyone else, you." You firmly poke him in the chest. "I love you and everything about you."

“Even if you do get us into trouble, from time to time, I love you too.” Ubbe smirks, leaning in for a kiss. “I'm sorry.”

"I know,” You pat his knee. “Come on, let's go home. I want to get you our of that fucking sweater." You pull a disgusted face, laughing.

Your roommate and secret crush, Ubbe Ragnarsson, stood in the gap that connected the kitchen to the living room, his perfectly planned Viking costume a part of the theme which he and his brothers had picked, making him look hot. Definition sweltering, although also attractive.

Wiping the sweat from his forehead, Ubbe puffed out a breath, the alcohol wasn't making his situation any better. When he had shown you the costume, your first instinct had been to ask if he was certain this was a good idea?

"Of course it is!" He had boasted, twirling around in the thick wool cape. "Sacrifice is part of the process, trust me, babe." Ubbe beamed showing you the fake pony tail that he had to finish the details.

Glancing around Ubbe, into the living room where the party was in full swing, you caught a glimpse of another Viking. It was Sigurd, his costume a light green tunic and pleather pants. Much more practical than Ubbe's traveling costume or even Hvitserk's leather battle armor.

Among the other guests, Sigurd danced around, enjoying another famous Hvitserk Holiday Party. The Raganarssons knew how to party. Even boring Bjorn had came, his Viking costume matching his brothers.

Moving around the center island to avoid a collision with a drunk emoji, you sided up to Ubbe, your hand extended with an orange cup in your grasp.

"Drink?" You glanced up at your taller roommate.

"Thank you," Ubbe accepted the gift, tipping it to his lips. Failing to inspect the contents before taking a large gulp, he was pleasantly surprised to find water. "Having fun?" his blue eyes making you weak.

"I am, are you?" You ask taking a sip of your drink, some punch that Hvitserk had made, mostly random bottles of alcohol.

Ubbe nodded and finished the water, resting the cup on a near by end table. "Hvitserk's parties are always fun, see, even Ivar is smiling." He gestured to his youngest brother.

Sitting on a chair in the corner, Ivar also dressed as a Viking, snarled at some drunk who stumbled by nearly knocking into him. For Ivar a mild snarl was close enough to a smile.

"Well, you look great. All of you." You complimented, tipping the cup back to your lips.

"And so do you." Ubbe's eyes swept you up and down, admiring the shield maiden costume that he had hand picked and convinced you to wear. It wasn't your first choice, but you didn't have to worry about picking a costume. "Just watch Sigurd, he's been getting handsy."

He was teasing of course, you knew that there was no way in hell Sigurd would hit on you. Much less try anything else. The poor boy had tried flirting with you once and had been shot down so terribly, Sigurd barely spoke to you anymore.

Assuring your friend that you and his brother would never happen, you did your best not to blurt out the first thing in your mind. Sigurd would never happen, but you wouldn't stop Ubbe if he tried.

Ashamed and embarrassed by the thoughts, you scurried back into the kitchen. Pouring another glass of alcohol loaded with alcohol, you tipped the cup to your lips. By the third glass, you were feeling no pain. You'd also noticed that Ubbe was gone from his post, frowning to see your friend missing, you sat the cup down and ventured into the actual party.

Lost in a sea of bad and cheesy costumes, you navigated the sweaty bodies. As much as Hvitserk loved throwing parties, his house was too small. To your right you could see Bjorn towering over the woman he was trying to chat up, no Ubbe.

Straight ahead was Sigurd, dancing away, still. No Ubbe. Hvitserk wasn't far behind, trying his best to clean up a knocked over pumpkin. Ivar still in the chair, glaring at everyone, but no Ubbe.

On the small back patio, a tall, cloaked figure caught your attention. You'd know that silhouette anywhere. Pushing by a woman who looked like she had forgot her clothes at home, you thrust open the door and stepped out into the cool evening.

"Ubbe!" You cheered delightfully. "You left me."

"Sorry, I thought maybe you and the punch bowl needed a moment," His laugh was full of mirth.

"What I need is a dance," You poked him in the chest. "With you!"

"Babe, I'm really not sure that is a good idea. Are you even sober enough to dance?" Ubbe threw an arm around your shoulder, holding you closer to his side.

Waving your hand in dispute, you giggled. "Almost nobody dances sober, love, unless they happen to be insane."

"You head in, find something worth dancing to – not Thriller and I'll be right along." Ubbe encouraged.

Knowing that if he sent you back inside, the warmth would hit you like a truck, and he would have an excuse not to dance as you whined about being suddenly sleepy. Tapping your finger to your nose, you winked and slid back inside.

Giving you a full two minute start, Ubbe continued his countdown, when he felt the time was right he headed back inside in pursuit of you. Music played and bodies were moving along, but none of them were you. Passing the pumpkin mess, a scowling Ivar, a staggering Sigurd, and a rejected Bjorn there you were.

Slumped into a chair, stifling a yawn when you saw your dance partner coming for you. Reaching your hands out, you smiled sleepily.

"Ready for that dance?" he bent down.

"I'm ready for a nap," You pouted, wrapping your arms around his neck as he lifted you bridal style. "It's so hot in here," You whispered.

"Hmm," Ubbe nodded, asking Ivar to call a cab to take you home. "Well, we can dance later. Why don't we head home?"

"We can dance at home," You mumbled, closing your eyes and sighing. "In your bed."

That would definitely haunt you later.