Work Text:
As the wind swept unevenly over his hair, Hiccup grinned touching the tiny braids that fluttered in the wind, recalling the hands that deftly plaited the asymmetrical ends of his newly cut hair. He remembered the day she first braided his hair. He had taken a flight for a moment of reprieve, his shoulders taut with responsibility, head pounding in pain and face stoic with the dawning realisation that they were not kids anymore. That he was no more a village nobody, but the heir of the Hairy Hooligan Tribe. Before, he had been met with nothing but judgment and sneers for simply existing. Now, tiny eyes looked up at him with wonder. And the invisible weight of doing the right thing pressed heavily on his shoulders. Oh Thor he wished he could be a babe again – free, wide-eyed, and untainted by the burdens of the world. Hiccup sighed, taking in the sight of the vast sea crashing against the barren rocks. Then he heard the telltale screech of a Nadder and knew — of course — Astrid had found him with no trouble, despite him choosing the most isolated, undiscovered patch of land. The thought of being found by her didn’t irk him; if anything, it steadied his heart. He turned toward her, offering a small smile, one that he hoped conveyed that, while caught off guard, he was glad for her company. Comforted, in fact.
Her lingering gaze burned into him, and before he could stop himself, the question slipped out, “What? You keep staring at something and it’s distracting me. Is there a dragon behind me?” For some reason, he couldn’t bring himself to admit that he knew she was staring at him, afraid the confession would break the spell, sending her running from... all of him. He sighed again, mentally this time, as he feigned an attempt to spot the glimpse of a tail, desperately trying not to notice the swell of her pink, kissable lips from his peripheral vision. She bit her lip, fingers twitching at her sides, like she was holding something back: like a startled deer about to be hunted — nervous, and hesitant. Hiccup swallowed hard, forcing himself to look away before his thoughts betrayed him. If he lingered any longer on the curve of her lips or the way the wind teased her hair, he was sure he’d say something incredibly stupid.
“I - no it’s just, um, your hair,” she assured him.
“Does it look bad?” he asked, his eyes widening, almost self-conscious.
“No!” Astrid exclaimed. “No, it looks good. Nice, a nice change. You just, um - you missed a bit.”
“Where?” he asked, hands going to his ear, trying to make himself presentable to her. Thor, not again... He winced, halting awkwardly.
“Not there,” she brushed his hand away. He set his hand in his lap and flexed his fingers as he struggled to push his thoughts away from dangerous territory. “Right here.” She lightly gripped a few uneven locks under his ear. The warmth of her fingers sent a jolt through him. His breath hitched. His mind — traitorous thing that it was — flashed yet another image he had absolutely no business entertaining, and he mentally berated himself. Pull yourself together, Haddock.
“What are you doing?” his voice may have come across a bit sardonic, unimpressed even to which she harshly tugged at the hair in her hands. “Ow!” he yelped.
“Hold still,” she ordered. “I’m doing something.”
It took him a moment to realize what she was doing, and when he did, his nose instinctively scrunched up. Braids. Of all things.
“Are you… braiding it?” Hiccup’s voice wavered, caught in between protest and incredulity; his mind scrambling to process the unexpected gesture. He had never been fond of braids, not since childhood, he could still recall his mother’s futile attempts at lightly tying knots to his baby hair and the fuss he used to create!
“Hush, all Vikings have braids.” She replied then asked in a much softer voice, “Do you want me to stop?” which made Hiccup pause and hesitate. He caught the soft, almost pleased expression on Astrid’s face, as her fingers worked with quiet confidence. This close he could count the freckles dusting the underside of her eyes, and the rosy tint on her cheek — and just like that, any argument died on his lips. The usual distaste didn’t come, and he realised with a start that he could get used to having his hair braided despite not liking it still. Just to see her eyes light up the way he imagines coral reefs of warmer seas of those faraway lands would.
“No,” his admission came out breathy as he kept staring at her.
“Good,” Astrid said, focusing on the task at hand. She finished one small braid and tied it off. Hiccup reached up to touch it to feel her essence in there, but she smacked his hand away again. “I’m not done,” she scolded. He acquiesced though grumbling about violent Viking ladies and poor lanky men, to which she quietly giggled and he felt content in his ability to see her relax a bit. He drifted off again imagining a day when this would be their new normal and he would swallow up that tiny giggle with his kiss–
“There,” she nodded, satisfied, after finishing the second one, and jolting Hiccup from his reverie. He reached up to touch them, mulling over the feeling of the braid and the lingering sensation of her touch in his hair, when her voice chimed “don’t take them out!” in a bossy tone. Surely, if she didn’t want him to take them out, there was hope — hope that she saw him as more than just a friend. His fingers brushed over the braids again, tracing the careful weave of each strand. He parted his lips, the words lingering on his tongue — so close, yet impossible to voice. Instead, he exhaled, pressing his palm over them as if that alone could keep the feeling there forever. Maybe one day, he’d say it. Maybe.
The happy warble of Toothless broke the moment, and Hiccup blinked as his bud landed nearby – his draconic eyes bright with discovery, and he scratched his good boy in appreciation, before running his fingers over the plaits once more. He wasn’t brave enough —yet— to say the words out loud. But this? This was enough for now. No one else would touch him this intimately, no one else would ground him so effortlessly. He had heard Gobber say once that wives braided their husbands’ hair before they left on voyages—to keep them tied to home, and Astrid was the home to his wanderlust soul. The braids in his hair weren’t just strands woven together — they were heartstrings, tethering him to home, to everything he never wanted to lose. Then, in the quietude of the moment, he acknowledged to himself that he wore his love for her — not on his sleeve, but in his braids...