This one isn't so fun. It's actually kinda sad. But I hope you guys enjoy reading it anyways.
Trigger Warning: Death
Anger was really disgusting sometimes.
You say things you know will hurt the other person, just so you could get the upper hand. So you could win whatever argument you were having.
When was the last time they actually looked at each other?
Jack didn't want to think about it.
They've had their fair share of disagreements and arguments before, but neither of them had ever yelled at each other.
He couldn't even remember what they were arguing about.
But he did remember Hiccup's face. Right before Jack had stormed off.
Hiccup had looked so shocked.
And scared.
And hurt.
Both sides were hurt.
Neither were ready to apologize.
Back then, he remembered what he said, and he knew it was wrong to say it, he knew it would hurt Hiccup, but Jack had said it anyway. And he hurt his best friend.
It took a few days, but Jack decided to apologize.
He couldn't get that look out of his mind.
It was awful, seeing Hiccup so hurt.
That look was so out of place on him.
So he walked to Hiccup's house, mentally rehearsing his words, making sure nothing was left out and none of the words would hurt his friend.
Then he got a call.
Stoick, Hiccup's father.
Jack had known the Haddock family for years, and only once had Jack known the man to cry.
And now, Jack could hear the man's voice.
Heavy and cracked.
Just about to break.
Hiccup had gotten into an accident.
Hit by a distracted driver when crossing the street.
Someone had called an ambulance, but he didn't make it to the hospital.
Jack could barely remember what happened after that.
The funeral was a blur.
It wasn't a large affair. Close friends and family only.
A modest funeral for a modest boy.
Toothless wasn't there.
The black cat was at home. Lying on the bed that was always too big for the cat and his boy. Refusing to move, and hissing and growling at whoever came close to any of his boy's belongings.
He couldn't remember what was said or done.
He didn't want to remember watching as Stoick and Gobber and Aster and North lowered the coffin that was too large for the too-thin boy into the ground.
North, as Jack's guardian, had made Jack take a few days off from school. To sort everything out.
Emma had stayed home too, distraught over the death of a boy who was just as much a brother to her as Jack was.
So he was home. In his room. On his bed.
Thinking of what was said and what wasn't.
He laid on his side, back facing the door, his hand placed gently on the empty pillow next to his own.
They would've bought an apartment together.
Because he knew Hiccup couldn't be trusted to live alone.
No, the brunet would've had the bare essentials. Probably less.
And Hiccup would always forget to eat.
Mind too busy to remember that he needed food and water.
He was always so stick-thin.
So Jack would make sure he ate.
Three square meals a day. With snacks in-between. He'd make all his favorite foods. Maybe bring him breakfast in bed whenever the brunet slept in.
And the bed.
The brunet's bed would've been a rickety old thing. Shouldn't have even been called a bed, really. But he would've bought it anyway, because a bed was a bed, right?
Hiccup would never get a good night's sleep in that.
He always had such dark bags under his eyes. He always looked so tired.
And a creaky old bed wouldn't have done the boy any favors.
Jack would buy the best bed he could afford.
With the comfiest mattress to help Hiccup get the best night's sleep he'd ever gotten.
And they'd fall asleep talking about anything and everything and nothing at all, knowing that Hiccup would still have those reoccurring nightmares of the day he lost his mother and, soon after, his leg.
Hiccup would fall asleep to kisses placed upon his brow and wake to lips pressed against his cheek. Always followed by a loving nuzzle.
So Jack closed his eyes.
Dreaming of that kind boy, eyes bright with intelligence, forever green and livelier than spring. And all the more lovely.
With the stars mapped out upon his skin, placed just so.
With chocolate brown hair, softer than silk, shining in the sun.
With a laugh so silly and cheerful, warm and light.
With a sweet, gap-toothed smile, so loving it set his heart alight.
His dream, so vivid. So lively.
Jack woke up, his eyes wet.
And he remembered.
That boy was dead.