You've been haunted by nightmares for days now. You’d wake up drenched in sweat, heart racing, sometimes screaming, barely holding off a panic attack. It was starting to wear you down—and everyone could see it.

Everyone on the Edge has noticed your exhaustion and sharp temper. So they’ve started taking turns sleeping beside you, hoping their presence might help. Tonight, it’s Hiccup’s turn.

He’d given you his bed without hesitation. Now he lay beside you, on the floor and on his back, hands resting on his stomach, eyes shut but restless. Sleep wouldn’t come to him—not with your breathing uneven and your fingers twitching every few seconds.

Then suddenly, your eyes snapped open. They were wild, full of terror, haunted like carved glass. You didn’t move, but your whole body screamed tension.

Hiccup sat up fast, instinctively reaching out—but he paused, his hand hovering just inches away. He wouldn’t touch you without your consent.

“You’re okay,” he said gently, voice steady and low, in total contrast of your own state. “You’re safe. I’m right here.”