a/n: it's time to see Astrid's point of view, especially after Hiccup's accidental sleep-deprived confession in the first chapter. enjoy! reviews are extra appreciated, since i'm back to writing fanfics after a ten year hiatus. any feedback is wonderful!

Delusional

I counted the revolutions of my ceiling fan. The seconds between every minute for two hours staring at my alarm clock. I played the lo-fi CD he burned for me to listen to when I had that bout of insomnia a few summers ago. That was a splendid idea.

He was delusional. He was sleep deprived and he worked too much. There had to be some explanation for this.

The fan clicks every four hundred and seventy-one revolutions.

He didn't know what he was saying, he didn't mean to say it, he doesn't feel that way about me, and I will absolutely not spend another second awake at goddamn two in the morning wondering and obsessing and — ugh, I need to go see him. Now. I need to get out of the house and get across town and sneak into his house and wake him up and just fucking ask him. And then punch him in the chest for making me stress over this so much.

I toss my blankets aside, sitting up in bed and moving swiftly to the door.

But what am I doing? It's two in the morning!

I groan and drag myself back to bed. There is no way he'd be awake after yesterday's incident. He'd be dead asleep. Like I should be at two in the morning.

He's so frustrating. And confusing. Ugh, he shouldn't be allowed to do this to me. He couldn't have meant what he said, right? He was probably just sleep deprived or thanking me for helping him back into bed and… what am I saying? This is not any different than thanking a friend. Hiccup is just a friend…

Oh, who am I kidding? It's two in the morning, and I can't even lie to myself at such an ungodly hour.

Now I understand why he took up coffee. I'd kill for something to keep me awake right now, because I'm stuck in that sort of hypnagogic almost-asleep-but-not-sleeping state and I can't seem to shake it. It's starting to make me sappy and wishing I had stayed in his room all day with him, just wasting the day snoozing and talking and petting Toothless while he purrs. Sure, Hiccup looked rather out of it and he sounded terrible but as soon as he was back to sleep he looked so peaceful and I wanted to share that with him.

There is absolutely no way he could be in love with me. Right?

I'm not even in love with him.

Sure I love him, but! But!

I love all our friends! Ruffnut, Gobber, even Snotlout and Tuffnut, too, right?

Well, sure. Hiccup's smile gives me butterflies sometimes and his bright green eyes have a tendency to make my knees convert to jello and one glance from them sent me straight into that melty feeling that could calm even my worst nerves ... but I'm not in love with him.

Love and in love are very different!

..Ok so I am a teeny bit in love with his hands and how they feel when he holds onto my hand sometimes when we walk together. And maybe just a little in love with how handsome and intelligent and witty and clever and sarcastic he is. But I am definitely not in love with him.

Oh, why does that taste like such a lie on my tongue when I try saying it out loud? I can't love my best friend! I can't ruin such an amazing thing by admitting...—er, having such feelings about someone I am so close to. What would I do without him?

I am a tiny, tiny bit addicted to him, but not to such an extreme that it is affecting me.

It isn't affecting me. Really. I've had bouts of insomnia before all this, too. And Hiccup had—oh.

…

Well there were other times, too.

Even now when I'm closing my eyes and counting my purposely slow breaths, trying to make myself finally fall asleep, I can see his face in my mind's eye. I see him smiling and winking and drawing in his notebook and petting Toothless and …ugh. I groan with annoyance and open my eyes again. I can't sleep because I'll dream of him. I can't stay awake because I'll think about him.

Somebody just drug me and get it over with.

There must be some wine in the kitchen. Actually, I need something a little stronger. Maybe I could down the rest of my parent's bottle of vodka and spend the night puking. That would get my mind off of him for at least a few hours, right?

Alright, I am just a little in love with him. But only just a little tiny bit. And he still didn't mean it when he told me he loved me.

... But what if he did?

What if by some strange plot twist my Hic— woah, woah, woah.

Stop right there.

He was not my anything. My friend. My best friend, even. But that was it. I don't need to love him, I am just fine without that sort of relationship with him. And even if he did love me, I have seen how he handles himself. He is a walking disaster. He is a liability. It would only cause her grief trying to keep him well and on his feet and fed and out of danger and not up until all hours of the morning muttering to himself and writing in his journal about God knows what only to say things he probably didn't mean in the morning and confuse the hell out of me.

It was two (pushing three) in the morning and I had not been able to concentrate on anything else but three small words said by the one person who could say them and poison my mind into betraying me and believing him.

Maybe some tea. Yeah. Tea would make me feel better. Calm me down. Help me sleep. I padded quietly to the kitchen to start some water on the stove. He made me tea once when I was sick and couldn't get out of bed. I remember I whined and yelled at him to leave before he caught whatever I had and died with me. He brought it to me anyways with that stupid little smile of his and sat on the edge of the bed while I drank it.

Best damn tea ever.

I shut off the water on the stove and moved to the living room. I can't make tea at two in the morning! What am I thinking? I'd burn the house down. Or continue on a tangent about him again.

Oh, this is such a mess.

I pace the dimly lit living room with my hands clasped behind my back. I need to sleep because I need to be able to get up so I can see him tomorrow so I can stop thinking about him. He will probably be back to normal and most definitely not be in love with me.

Except…

I am sort-of, kind-of, maybe in total utter love with him.

Only not. Because I couldn't be. Impossible.

Ugh! He was so frustrating and irritating! Does he even know the hell he is subjecting me too?

I crash on the couch with a muffled grunt. Couldn't possibly… He was… delusional and out of his mind and … didn't mean it! Couldn't mean it.

Tomorrow this will be over. But it was two...three… four a.m.? God, what time was it? Where was the clock? How long has he kept me awake without even knowing? I couldn't even die to escape this because I would be too far away from him to even consider eternal rest.

That's it. The second I see him in the morning, I am going to hit him. Punch him right in the chest. He has absolutely no right to make me fall in love with him. Who does he think he is? Some sort guy who can go from scrawny nerdy kid to some sort of tall handsome prince charming and then sweep me off my feet? He isn't …that charming anyways. He has no right!

He is so dead.

He is so confusing and infuriating and oh God I am in love with him after all.