The forge smelled like smoke, ink, and the faintest trace of burnt bread someone had left out hours ago. It was well past midnight in New Berk, but you wouldn’t know it from the soft clatter of tools echoing from inside the workshop.

And there, exactly where he’d been since sunset, was Hiccup—hunched over his desk, oil-smeared hands flying over parchment sketches, gears and leather straps strewn around him in organized chaos.

The glow from the lamp had dimmed to a dull orange. His eyes were bloodshot, half-lidded but still scanning every detail of the half-finished mechanism in front of him. A new tail design for Toothless. Or maybe a portable saddle upgrade. At this point, even Hiccup himself had lost track of what version he was on.

He hadn’t noticed the hours slipping away. Or the way his body screamed for rest. Or the soft padding of paws and claws behind him.

Toothless sat in the doorway, blinking slowly.

The Night Fury let out a small, concerned chirp.

No response.

He tried again, louder this time.

Still nothing—Hiccup was too focused, shoulders stiff and twitching slightly every few minutes, like his brain had fully taken over and refused to shut down. There were at least four crumpled pages on the floor and two cups of untouched tea, both cold.

By the time Astrid showed up, the sky outside was pale with the start of dawn.

She hadn’t seen him come to bed. And that was never a good sign.

She stopped short when she saw him through the open doorway—still seated, still scribbling, still muttering under his breath. The bags under his eyes were darker than the shadows outside.

“Oh, Hiccup…” she murmured.

Toothless looked up at her, ears low, as if to say, He’s still going.

Astrid stepped inside slowly, careful not to startle him.

“Hiccup,” she said gently.

He didn’t move.

She placed a hand on his shoulder—he jumped slightly, blinking like he was seeing her through water.

“Astrid?” His voice was raspy.

“It’s morning,” she said softly, crouching beside him. “You didn’t sleep at all, did you?”

He looked down at the papers scattered in front of him and blinked again, like realizing time had passed without permission. “…I guess I got a little carried away.”

Astrid smiled gently and ran a hand through his hair, brushing it back from his forehead.

“You think?”

Toothless came over and bumped his head against Hiccup’s side, letting out a low whummph that clearly translated to You absolute idiot, go to bed.

Hiccup sighed, shoulders slumping all at once like the tension was finally letting go.

“I just… I wanted it to be perfect. For him,” he said, glancing down at the design.

Astrid leaned in and kissed his temple. “He already thinks you’re perfect. And so do I. But you don’t do anyone any good like this, Hiccup.”

He finally smiled, soft and tired. “Yeah. Okay.”

Toothless gave a satisfied grumble.

Astrid helped him up, steadying him as his legs wobbled under him. He didn’t protest as she guided him away from the bench. Toothless followed close, tail swishing gently.

Outside, the sky was turning gold. And inside, Hiccup finally allowed himself to rest—pressed between the warmth of Astrid’s arms and Toothless curled protectively at their side.