Long time no posting, sorry...
Lots of personal progress lately, so yaay
I've been promised a work trip next month, but rule #1: never trust promises. They break as easily as they are made ;) Let's hope it all goes well

Cuddly cute chapter for yall

Twenty-Six

I do not remember sleeping this close to him before.

Not when I asked him as my boyfriend and not when we had sex for the first time. But it still feel like a bless to hold him so tightly against me, his arms laced above the pillow, my hands rubbing his naked back.

But unfortunately, the Earth insists in spinning towards the morning, earlier than what I wanted, and all the enchantments of electricity and gravity and rotation makes his alarm go off.

"Morning." He whispers, resting his head on my chest after smashing his alarm.

"Morning you." I reply, joining our lips in a good-morning kiss. I think I'll always feel this way every time I kiss him, this euphoria and anxiousness before pressing his lips. I can't get enough of it. "Ready for today?"

He sighs, breathing in my chest. "As ready as I'll ever be, I guess." My fingers climb from his back to the base of his neck, locking against the locks of his hair. "But can we just wait a few minutes? I don't want to rush this."

My grin splits my face in two. "As long as you want." I whisper before switching our positions, so I'm between his legs as we close the gap between our mouths in a light kiss.

The feeling of something warm and hard against my hips reminds me we are still naked. We both blush a deep shade of red.

We dress ourselves faster than what we normally would, and Hiccup grabs his bags before sprinting to the exit. His mom is in the kitchen, pouring herself a cup of coffee and not even surprised to see (the guy who sleeps with her son) me coming downstairs.

"Good morning sweetie." She says, lowering the newspaper to look at us. The air tastes like metal and fuel. It is heavy, enough to make my feet lost and my head dizzy. "Had a good night, Jack?" She asks.

I nod and grin. "Yes, Mrs. Haddock, thanks."

"Do you guys have everything ready for today?" She says, her eyes still locked on me. Hiccup nods this time.

"Our bags are ready since yesterday. Mom, have you seen my grey shirt? I couldn't find it."

Sometimes I wonder how much Hiccup resents his mother. None at all like right now, or just enough like yesterday. Apparently, hatred itself has its own mood.

"I washed it yesterday, honey, it should be dry by now." She tells him as sweetly as ever.

As we sit around the table for breakfast, I imagine a spoiled Hiccup. I imagine his mom reading stories for him to sleep. I imagine she kissing his forehead and cheeks every time they went outside. I imagine his first cut. I imagine if she has ever seen one. I imagine that, if so, how she must've felt.

A complete failure.

I make a mental note, hugging my mom more often.

As we finish our bowl of cereal, we chat about a hundred things we could do at Nana's Overland. Like skating. Toasting marshmallows on a campfire. Cuddling beneath the stars on the clear night sky (although I can't say this thought out loud).

As soon as we hear my dad's car on the driveway, Hiccup and I jump out of our seats, grabbing our trunks before he can kiss his parents one last time.

My mom is waiting outside the house. She looks at me, grinning. Usually I would just enter the car, but for some reason I watch my legs crossing the war zone until her. I step on the grass, and they scream in sorrow as I approach my mom.

My arms also create their own mind, my whole body is acting on its own as I hug her and kiss her goodbye.

"Stay safe." She says. As I imagined, my mom's brown eyes are glassy.

"I will."

My dad slams the steering wheel, buzzing me that we have to go before I step away and turn on my heels towards the car. I am not sure exactly if there is a manual of where-to-sit-on-your-dad's-car-that-you-don't-enter-for-years-plus-you-have-an-occasional-best-friend/boyfriend-with-you, but I sit next to Hiccup on the backseat.

I stare at my dad's icy blue eyes, as he hides his angst and smiles at Hiccup once, greeting him and asking if he's excited and if he is nine when his life-standing joke of crocodiles driving on his seat does not make us laugh anymore.

But Hiccup does. He goes according to plan and a car-world war is avoided. And when we pull away from his driveway, we stare for a second that feels like hours, all the promises we are yet to make floating between our eyes.