Send me a word plus ‘Headcanon’ and I’ll give you a headcanon/drabble based on that word.
Hiccup had always been a quiet sleeper. He didn’t move around much — save for when he had nightmares. He preferred to sleep on his side, and at times his mouth hung slightly open. It wass not uncommon for him to wake up in the morning with dried up drool crusted down the side of his face, or flaking over his beard.
Astrid, on the other hand, was entirely restless.
She turned over and switched positons often. She kicked the blankets off the bed, even when it wound up getting cold at night; they would often wake up shivering, and Hiccup always complained as he pulled the covers back up.
There was something endearing, albeit terribly annoying, about the way she slept with him. After a certain point, they had to move their bed over to the wall — Hiccup had gotten tired of waking up on the hard floor in the middle of the night because of her.
It’s not that she pushed him off the bed out of annoyance; quite the contrary. At night, already fast asleep, Astrid would always seek his body. She pulled him to her, or lay herself on top of him, throwing one of her legs over his legs, nestling her head on his shoulder, wrapping her arm across his chest.
Sometimes, Hiccup would wake up short of breath, or halfway hovering above the floor, only to find her lying on top of him or entirely on his side of the bed…
Well, technically, there were no sides of the bed. Both sides were her side; or rather, the side where Hiccup slept was the side where she had to sleep also. She always had to feel his skin on hers.
And as the years went by, falling asleep without him became harder and harder. There were nights when she knew no rest until she felt his presence near her; in the silence, the sound of his steady breathing would lull her into slumber.
It is said that when a lovebird dies, its mate will not hold on for much longer. It gives up on living, unable to remain in this world with half of its soul far gone.
Astrid was found lying in their bed, wrapped up in their favourite blanket. Her white hair meticulously braided and her clothes pristine, her wrinkled features serene and rested. Blue eyes forever closed, only to be reopened once she joined her husband in the afterlife.
Over her chest, nested between her crossed arms, was the last tunic her husband wore and a drawing of them he’d made when they were young.