#everdawn.

the great hall fell into a hollow quiet, the kind which arrives after the unthinkable has happened. not the comfortable silence of a village at peace, nor the jovial hush following bursts of laughter— it surrounds, thin and brittle, in the wake of grief. torches burn low, flames wavering as though uncertain they had the right to exist. hiccup sits hunched at a long wooden table, shoulders bowed, mind racing, contemplating, as per usual. maps sprawl before him in careful chaos: berks entire landscape, jagged sketches of drifting ice, annotations scratched in margins where ideas were born, then discarded in the same breath. small markers dotted the drawings, each representing a feeding station planned for displaced dragons, unsettled after drago's assault shattered their home in fragments of cold. unsure fingers hover over one such marker, nudging it a fraction to the left, and back again, as if precision will somehow fix what's broken.

he exhales slowly, in the full knowledge of relentlessness. on himself most of all; but astrid, the others… they followed without question. that loyalty both steadied and weighed on him in equal measure. there wasn't time to stop, to breathe, to be. not since— his throat tightens, he pushes the notion away, unable to let it root. beside him, astrid sits in revered companionship, busy in her own plans and work, presence a constant warmth. she hasn't said anything for a while now, and he hasn't needed her to. that's the thing about her: she knows when to challenge him, and when to simply stay. through the dragged mornings and longer nights, she remained steady. unyielding. his defender, his—

a shift breaks his thoughts. before he can glance up, she's moving, fluid despite her fatigue. without ceremony, she leans sideways and places her head in his lap. for a heartbeat, he merely stares at her, caught somewhere between surprise and something far softer. a laugh escapes him, quiet yet genuine, the sound rather foreign after countless days of restraint. "whoa," he murmurs, affection threading inside his tone, "tired, are we?" carefully, like she's precious and breakable simultaneously, he presses a gentle kiss to her temple. his lips linger for a moment, an acknowledgment of everything she's been when he didn't know how to stand. when he retreats, his fingers absentmindedly begin to trace light, playful scratches along her hairline— fingertips brushing through golden strands, soothing in a way that surprised even him. "you know," he adds, a hint of teasing rising above the familiarity, "if you wanted my attention, you could've just said so."

the blindfold was ripped from riley's sight without a second to comprehend it even existed. the trapdoor beneath his feet has opened wide, plunging him into the depths of his own obliviousness. the reality of the initiative — a truth tearing the layers of his carefully constructed world, unraveling them like a threadbare tapestry — clings to him like the scent of smoke after a fire. he carries it with him, through the college, the town, before finally reaching his most desired destination. xander's basement has cleared out, granting a deserved, private reunion. a chance to recoup and regather transpired emotions; all riley wants is to hold buffy until his last breath, but he can't seem to work up the courage. to stop pacing. to sit still.

then her voice rings through, and he smiles for the first time in what felt like decades. “ well, when you nearly concuss a guy on the first meeting... potential relationships are kinda' the last thing on your mind. ” he grins with a charismatic kind of normality severely lacking as of late. her name is a prayer whispered in the dark hours of the night, when his body trembled from the residue of addiction, when his hands shook from the aftershocks of deception. her eyes, able to pierce through the fog of withdrawal, the golden light of her strength cutting the haze of his suffering. her laughter, an infectious sound of both innocence and hardened wisdom that only those who lived on the edge of life could possess, soothed his aching soul like a balm.

that lightheartedness fades as quickly as it came, and now that his erratic subconscious has begun to settle, he vastly resorts to grovelling. “ god— i'm so sorry, buffy. ” [ it's hardly your doing, though it'll take a long time to properly understand this. to realise something was done to you, chemicals forced inside your system by the woman you trusted more than anyone. ] “ for everything. blaming you for profe— maggie's death. putting you — and xander — in danger with adam... ” he looks years beyond his age, ravaged with betrayal and wracked with guilt.

finally, riley closes the insufferable distance, allowing his hand to slowly stretch towards her face, palm cupping her neck, thumb soothing her jaw. her bandana remains in his pocket, a token, the one thing aiding him through those isolated days. “ i never knew you'd mean so much, either. ” he sighs, like he's releasing every ounce of toxicity in his veins, like her mere touch is enough to heal him completely. “ i… you know i would never hurt you, right? i need you to know what happened, it… it wasn't me. not the real me. ”