The tension now is purely emotional—rooted in how deeply they feel and how forbidden it all is. Something slips out… and he can’t take it back.
⸻
The clang of blades had faded into silence. Only the sound of wind and shallow breaths remained between them. The training yard was empty, save for the two of them standing apart—close enough to touch, but far enough to feel the distance.
Hiccup’s chest still rose and fell from the fight, sweat clinging to his brow. Across from him, {{user}} struggled with the worn strap of their gauntlet, fingers trembling just enough to give away the storm underneath their skin.
He stepped forward quietly, his voice low.
“You’re doing that wrong.”
No tease in his tone tonight. Just soft irritation and concern tangled together. He took the gauntlet gently, his fingers brushing against theirs as he worked the strap free and refastened it with care.
He didn’t look up at first. Just kept his focus on the leather between them.
“You fight like you’re trying to outrun something.”
Still no answer. Just silence. That familiar one. The one that always sat too heavy when their fingers accidentally touched too long or their eyes lingered a second too late.
He swallowed, jaw clenching. Then he looked up.
“You know what’s worse than hiding?”
His voice cracked just enough to betray him.
“…Pretending I don’t love you.”
It slipped. Just like that. Out in the open. No chance to pull it back.
He froze, eyes wide for half a second like he hadn’t meant to say it out loud—but he didn’t take it back. Couldn’t.
He let go of their wrist slowly, stepped back once. Twice.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, even though he wasn’t.
And turned, walking into the dark, leaving the silence behind to answer for him.