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Honestly, Heather just likes skipping school.
That’s the main reason she tells Dagur to take shifts again, that she’ll stay home with Hiccup for a while. He’s sceptical, but she tells him she’ll have Raf drop off homework, and he reluctantly agrees.
Well– no. No, that’s not the main reason she stays home with him. She’s worried. She wants, really, badly, to make him okay– she knew him, once upon a time, when he was okay. But– she wonders if he ever really was. She never knew about this, and that… hurts. Heather understands why she didn’t know, why he chose to keep it mostly private, but it still hurts that… she was the only one.
It’s easier to pretend she just likes skipping school.
Neither of them tell Hiccup about their arrangement, how they argued over who should stay to keep an eye on him. He either doesn’t question it, or needs it so much he doesn’t mind. She doesn’t know which one she hopes it is.
It’s been… a little over two weeks since they took him in. He’s doing better, they think– his hands still shake, he still stumbles over his words, and he still just stares vacantly at the wall most of the time, but– but he’s eating, and sleeping, and safe. And that’s… that’s at least better.
Astrid hasn’t been there much– she’s still busy with family stuff, so she hasn’t been able to come over. Heather knows she contacts him often, though, sees Hiccup’s phone light up with a text or Snap or something at least five times a day. He replies sometimes, but mostly he just stares at the notification and swipes it away. Heather doesn’t blame him. He barely talks to them, and they’re actually there.
But he’s doing better. That’s what matters.
Heather is doing laundry one day, planning to put the machine on and then make some lunch for her and Hiccup. She has this fancy tripoline pasta that’s been sitting in the cupboard since July, Raf got it for her birthday– she’s wanted to save it for a special occasion, but she’s stared at it on the shelf for too long now, and all she wants to do is pair it with some leftover cacciatore sauce from the other day. First, though, she needs to put the laundry on, a chore Dagur told her needed to be done, because his favourite jeans have grease stains, or something– admittedly, she didn’t listen, she just said “yeah, I’ll do it, calm down” and put her earbuds back in.
She has them in now, blasting music as she saunters out of her bedroom holding a washing basket. It feels like half her closet is in there. She knows it will get heavier when she asks Hiccup for his clothes.
Heather relaxes her shoulders and gently knocks on his door. “Hiccup? Hey, do you have any laundry? Regular darks?”
“Um,” Hiccup says after a second, “yeah. H–hold on.”
“No rush.” She waits there for about thirty seconds, and then he opens the door, a small bundle of clothes in his arms. She spots jeans, his favourite shirt, and a sweater she distinctly recognises as Astrid’s. She tries not to smile.
“Just these,” he says, and Heather nods and shrugs one earbud off as he deposits them in the basket. “Hey, I’m gonna make lunch in a minute. Come down and keep me company?” She makes sure it’s an invitation, not a– a command.
Hiccup hesitates, but says after a second, “Okay.”
She smiles at him. “Keep me company while I put the machine on first, too?” He nods, and follows her downstairs to the laundry room.
While they’re walking, he says quietly, “Wh–what are you, what are you listening to?” He nods towards her earbud, still hanging just below her waist. Heather realises her music must be audible through it– she wouldn’t know, she’s still listening in one ear. “Oh, uh– The Cardigans.”
Hiccup’s mouth quirks upward for a split second, and then his face reverts to its usual blankness. She wonders, for a second, what he thinks will happen if he keeps smiling. “I love them,” he says.
“Really?”
“Yeah. Which– which album?”
“First Band On The Moon.”
Hiccup actually smiles this time, leaning against the wall as they reach the laundry room. Heather keeps her eyes on him as she opens the washing machine and throws a Tide pod in. He fiddles awkwardly with his hands, clearly trying to stop smiling, but he seems unable. “I– I like that one. I like that one.”
“I do too,” Heather says, dumping the clothes in the machine and surveying the knobs. She always forgets which ones she has to press. “What’s your favourite track?” he asks, and she snorts. “I don’t even know. It’s always changing. Right now, Your New Cuckoo, I’ve played it like fifty times today. You?”
“That’s– a good one. I– I like Happy Meal II.”
“Oh, solid,” Heather commends, and presses the wrong button. The machine starts, and she bangs her hand on the lid. “Fuck!”
Hiccup jumps, presses himself against the wall, and she freezes. “Shit, sorry. Sorry, Hiccup, I– I did the wrong cycle. It’s fine, though, it’ll just take longer. You’re– are you okay?”
“Yeah,” Hiccup says, but he doesn’t peel himself off the wall, and she turns to him. “Can I–” can I hug you, she wants to ask, but she doesn’t want to put him in that position. He’s a people pleaser, she knows that. He’ll say yes, no matter how much he doesn’t want to. One day, that will get him into serious trouble, but right now, she chooses not to ask. Instead, she swallows, and says, “Do you want to listen to music with me?”
He nods, and she comes closer, holding out her earbud, the wire dangling from her hand. He backs away again. “That’s unhygienic.”
Heather blinks, and then raises an eyebrow. “That’s… yeah, that’s true.” She instead pulls the cord out of her phone, and the music starts playing quietly from the speakers. She turns the volume up slightly, takes Spotify off one–track repeat, and sets her phone on the edge of the sink.
Hiccup stares at her quite owlishly, not saying anything, but he comes away from the wall, and his limbs relax. As the song plays, she extends an arm. “Wanna dance?”
He reaches a tentative hand out to touch hers, and she grabs it, pulling him into the middle of the room. She’s careful not to startle him or make him fall, but he seems okay. She grabs his other hand, and they stand there for a minute, sort of dancing, but not really. It’s more swaying. Heather doesn’t really know how to dance, though, and she doubts Hiccup does either.
After a minute, he laughs. She tilts her head quizzically, and he shrugs slightly. “Just– I– I don’t know. This feels… normal. I guess. I haven’t…”
He trails off, and Heather nods slowly. “I guess it does.”
They stay there until the song ends and Been It starts, and then they go to make lunch. She makes Hiccup watch while she stirs the sauce and boils pasta, and all the while, they listen to The Cardigans’ First Band On The Moon. They laugh when Lovefool comes on– it’s such a dramatic song, Heather says, and Hiccup laughs harder.
They do that a lot more in the coming months, and Hiccup’s right. It does feel normal.