A/N: I've been updating a lot lately, which is awesome, but I'm going into a tough stretch at college that means I might not have much time to work on this story about people going through tough stretches at college. Ideally Chapter 5 will be up in 1.5-2 weeks. If not, come bother me about it on Tumblr.
Thus far, college had been treating Hiccup with a solid share of surprises. He'd even started surprising himself.
Astrid was leaning against him, shoulder-to-shoulder, peering at the computer on his lap in bemused fascination, where they sat on the small sofa in her apartment's fluorescent-washed living room. The contact struck him as miraculous, somehow, his being able to feel her shaking when she laughed, the sloppy way their knees bumped repeatedly after the two or three drinks she had persuaded him to have, because if she wasn't supposed to drink at all then she certainly couldn't drink alone, could she? And he had agreed. He felt like a cliché, getting buzzed from a cheap mixed drink on a Friday night in the dorm, but it was a cliché he could stand, if he got to have Astrid inundate him into this ritualistic, bad-movie lifestyle.
"This is—oh my god," she muttered. On the screen, a bunch of guys were charging each other with prop weapons, wearing shitty fantasy costumes. "People just decided to make this?"
"Told you I'm not that crazy about Dungeons & Dragons." This particular video was one of the worst fan-made movies he'd stumbled upon—the pinnacle battle took place in what was supposed to be a sacred valley, but you couldn't miss the Dunkin Donuts in the background.
She shook her head, grinning, and sat forward to start fixing them another round of drinks. He mourned the absence of warmth by his shoulder. "I wish I had that much free time," Astrid sighed.
"Why, do you aspire to make a terrible cheap Dungeons & Dragons movie?"
"I mean, it looks like they're having fun!" Astrid proved reliably unpredictable, he felt himself grinning.
She settled back against his shoulder and handed him his refilled cup. "It does, actually." Coke and whiskey—it was this or Bud Light when she'd offered. He hadn't the courage to admit it to her, but this was the most alcohol he'd ever successively consumed: every so often he'd have a couple of glasses wine at dinner with his dad (a survival tactic), and the piss beer at that one high school party he'd deigned to attend was half-palatable at best. Something told him that Astrid had a little more experience with hard liquor. "So, what do you say, me, you and a couple of plastic swords in Washington Square?"
Astrid chortled, burying her face in his shoulder. His soul might've lurched from his body. "We could get Fishlegs to film it."
"You're joking, but he definitely would."
"He'd take it very seriously. He'd give us tons of notes and we'd just keep hitting each other with the swords." She swung at him with an invisible sword to demonstrate, and Hiccup dove aside in mock terror, nearly spilling his drink.
They laughed, and drank more, and Astrid glowed like she was genuinely having a good time, and he was again thinking about how miraculous this all was.
"I can't believe you like Dungeons & Dragons," he heard himself say. He hadn't meant it in anything other than wonderment, but her smile faltered.
"Well." Astrid examined the rim of her cup. "I do like it. At first I thought it was kind of geeky. I still think that, actually." She looked up at him, lips pursed, fine gold eyebrows knit together. A thoughtful, significant expression, he thought, though he didn't know why. "But geeky can be fun," she said in a low voice, which he could only hear because she had hovered so close to him. Her gaze fell to his chin, or maybe… "So yeah. I like Dungeons & Dragons. Do you think Dungeons & Dragons likes me?"
(Suddenly he didn't think she was talking about Dungeons & Dragons anymore.)
"Um." The whiskey—he hoped it was the whiskey—made everything he said sound soupy. "Dungeons & Dragons… it's, uh, a game, so…" He couldn't engage with what was happening, but that at least meant he didn't have the capacity to panic. Because this was a situation worthy of panic.
Astrid tilted her head to the side. She adjusted her seat to drape an arm over his shoulder, rising up a little, which brought him into unfortunate proximity with her chest—but in the movement her leg accidentally swiped the coffee table and they both scrambled to save the bottles of coke and bourbon sitting open there, the intimacy dissolving. "Sorry," she was saying over and over, "Oh, sorry, sorry."
She was kind of drunk, he realized. And he too was kind of drunk, drunk enough that his heart sunk when he understood what had just happened was not the result not of true feeling but of alcoholic mania. The disappointment reddened his already flushed cheeks, and he could see Astrid blush too, as she screwed the cap on to the whiskey.
"We've probably had enough," she said, as though she was trying to laugh about it, but instead it came out sounding winded.
"Yeah," he mumbled. What kind of hellishly awkward person did you have to be to drag someone like Astrid into awkwardness with you? He started passing her the laptop. "We never did watch a real movie—it's not even one o'clock, we could…" Anything to remedy this. She hesitated, then took the computer.
"The Princess Bride."
It dawned on him. "Because—"
"Buttercup," she confirmed, grinning again. The sunken feeling in his chest lifted, he ascended a couple of inches toward the ceiling with the new pleasantness that filled him. "I have it on my computer," Astrid announced, taking the look on his face as agreement.
"Thanks for not calling out my weird text," he told her as she went about setting up the film. Cut off or no, the drinks still greased the wheels of his conversational ability. He would never have willingly reminded her of that embarrassing incident if not for the extreme comfort in his belly.
"There are so many other weird things I could call you out on." A joke, but she didn't know the half of it. He shifted his legs away from her as she set the computer on the coffee table where they could both watch.
"Then, no thanks, I guess?" The movie had started to play.
"You're welcome," chirped Astrid.
They weren't thirty seconds in when he heard the sound of the front door opening, and someone crashed through Astrid's kitchen into the living room. Hiccup didn't recognize her—a dark-haired, edgy-looking girl with huge green eyes. She had keys in one hand and a red cup in the other.
Astrid had paused the movie. "Hey, Heather." She glanced at Hiccup. "This is Heather, me and Ruff's other roommate. Heather, this is Hiccup."
Right. He had heard something about this girl, maybe Tuff saying he wanted her to step on his face, or something equally weird. He gave her a stiff wave. "Nice to meet you."
"Hey," said Heather slowly, and he thought—no, he was certain, disconcertingly certain—that she gave him an appreciative once over before she turned back to Astrid. What was that, impressed? Or amused at the kind of person her roommate was choosing to spend time with? "Wow," Heather crooned, not giving him any clues. "I'll leave you two alone."
As she disappeared down the hall to the bedrooms, Hiccup called after, "You can stay if you… want…" When he looked at Astrid, she was hiding a grin behind her hand.
"She was just being funny."
"Yeah. Hilarious," he grumbled, and felt something strange in his jeans—his first thought was thoroughly humiliating considering everything that had been said and done tonight, but after half a second he recognized the vibration of his phone. "Hold on." He drew it out and checked the caller ID: Fishlegs. An instinct told him hitting ignore would be bad form here, even with Astrid sitting there, watching him. "Hello?"
"THEY BARRICADED THE DOOR TO MY ROOM AND NOW I CAN'T GET OUT AND I FEAR FOR MY LIFE—"
Hiccup held the phone away from his ear and hit speaker, so Fishlegs's shouting reverberated through the room. Astrid snorted. Loud music playing in the background nearly swallowed their friend's voice.
"I'M GOING TO DIE HERE, HICCUP, THEY'RE GOING TO KILL ME—"
"Fishlegs, who is going to kill you?"
"THE DELTA PSI GUYS, THERE ARE LITERALLY HUNDREDS OF THEM, HUNDREDS OF SNOTS—"
Astrid was silently cracked up now, shaking Hiccup's arm.
"Do you need us to come over?"
"PLEASE, HELP ME—wait, us? Are you with Astrid? Is it a date?"
The grin melted off Hiccup's face. Astrid had slowed, laughter dying on her lips. They looked at each other for a long, painful second.
Hiccup said quickly into the phone, "If we do this, you have to agree to DM for us in the future."
"FINE!"
"We'll be right there." Astrid, eyes on the floor, started to gather herself, as Hiccup sprung to his feet and went for the door.
The thud of the bass coming from 8B shook the entire corridor as they approached the apartment, Hiccup leading the way. The door was shut, but unlocked—the moment he cracked it open, they were met with darkness, deafening house music, and the heat of dozens of bodies packed into a small space. He exchanged an uncomfortable look with Astrid before they forged ahead: neither of them had realized how serious Fishlegs's concerns might be.
The overhead light was on in the kitchen, but someone had covered it in black construction paper, so it did very little to ease their journey through the sea of humans crowding the room. The counters and table brimmed with empty and half-full bottles of vodka and cranberry juice, cans of cheap beer, bongs and bowls. The tile beneath Hiccup's feet felt slick, he could smell the spilled alcohol and sweat. It would be hell to clean this up in the morning. He pressed on into the living room, where the stereo system Snot had insisted on installing banged out the beat they'd heard all the way down the hall; everyone here writhed against each other, and on top of getting through it without suffocating, he had to pay careful attention that no one caught his leg the wrong way—but he burst through the dam of dancers into the hall, Astrid close enough behind him that she slammed into his back.
"This is insane," he shouted at her, but he wouldn't even have known he was speaking if not for the telltale reverb of his vocal chords. Astrid shook her head at him in the near pitch-blackness, not understanding. He gestured to the throng they'd just escaped, and circled a finger by his head.
This is insane.
She pointed down the hall, to where a wall of boys blocked Fishlegs's door. He nodded, and they went toward the disturbance. Astrid took the lead here, throwing guys twice her side out of the way, stepping on feet, lunging at anyone who resisted. Hiccup toed through the path she made, squinting apologetically at her disgruntled victims. Finally, there were only two bodies between them and the door—Snot, and a tall, broad-shouldered guy who made all the other tall, broad-shouldered guys they'd just pushed out of the way look like imps.
Astrid snarled at Snot. He had learned his lesson with her, and leapt out of the way. Then, she turned to the big guy, pointing at the door.
Let me in.
He crossed his massive arms over his massive chest, and smirked. He had a chin like a fist and wore his dark hair in a small ponytail. No way.
Astrid switched gears, shoulders relaxing—throwing her chest forward a little bit? Hiccup's throat tightened. She gave the guy a simpering smile. Not even for me? She was flirting! With this guy! To help Fishlegs! Of the competing emotions that flooded him, he didn't know whether to embrace the horror or the admiration. This girl was something else.
The guy stirred, smirk dissipating. He checked Astrid out, and then glanced at Hiccup, who realized he had been standing a little off to the side, glaring at Snot's friend. He tried to fix his expression into something more neutral, but their enemy had already found him out, and he laughed smugly. Excellent; now Hiccup looked like the jealous date. Date, what an idiotic word.
Turning his unsubtle attention back to Astrid, the guy reached a hand back and twisted the handle of Fishlegs's door, which swung open behind him. Astrid grabbed Hiccup and shoved their way into the well-lit, calmer space, with Hiccup pausing to try and close the door behind them, but the big guy slipped right into his path and did it himself, shutting the four of them into the room. He grinned cruelly down at Hiccup, whose main coherent thought was, ugh.
Fishlegs sat on his bed, hugging himself. He appeared relieved at the sight of Hiccup and Astrid, the latter of whom rushed to him, but their friend froze when he spotted the room's fourth occupant.
"Eret," he whispered. "I thought you guys were helping me!"
"Are you okay?" demanded Astrid, apparently checking him for physical wounds, and in total ignorance of Eret's presence there. Assuming that Eret was the big guy's name, and not some slur Fishlegs had invented for oversized, empty-headed frat boys.
"Relax," said Eret, with a leer; he had an accent, English. London, Hiccup thought. "We were just having a little fun with Fishlegs because he didn't want to come out and party."
"A LITTLE FUN?" cried Fishlegs in horror.
Eret shoved his hands into his pockets, and added smoothly, "If you hadn't been so antisocial to begin with, Fish, we could've gotten along better."
Astrid turned to Eret, scowling. "Bullshit."
He laid a hand across his chest. "Oh, you wound me, Miss—but I didn't quite catch your name?" This was such a vapid, transparent move that Hiccup scoffed in spite of himself—drawing everyone's attention to him, of course.
"And you," said Eret, losing some charm, "you seem like a delightful bloke."
Hiccup caught Astrid rolling her eyes, and smiled. "I'm Hiccup, this is Astrid, and you should be leaving our friend's room." He folded his own skinny arms across his own skinny chest, which he knew wasn't as intimidating as when Eret did it, but hopefully he could get his point across. "Now."
"Aw," pouted Eret, "But we're only just getting to know each other." He directed this statement primarily at Astrid, who was having none of it.
"Oh my god, dude, get out." And she flipped him off.
Eret glanced between Hiccup, Astrid, and Fishlegs, then gave a little nod. "Until next time, then." And he slipped out, leaving them alone.
Astrid climbed up to sit beside Fishlegs on the bed. "Seriously, are you okay?"
"I'm fine," he moaned. "I can sleep through anything, but I wanted to get to the bathroom to brush my teeth, and they came out of nowhere."
"And they trapped you in here?"
Fishlegs put his round face in his hands. "It was horrible."
Astrid gave Hiccup a look that suggested she had a lot more to say about Eret and Snot's behavior than she was about to in the presence of Fishlegs; he frowned, and turned to his friend. "Go brush your teeth. Text me if they bother you again."
The second Fishlegs was gone, Astrid jumped to her feet. "Motherfucker, that guy is the worst."
"Seriously," sighed Hiccup.
"We're in college now, we're supposed to be adults, and he acts like—like a big bully!"
"In the morning I'm going to tell Snot he can't have him over here anymore," Hiccup decided.
Astrid stomped her foot, glaring out the window. "Human garbage."
"It's sad." He didn't exactly feel sympathetic toward the huge manchild who had threatened Fishlegs and hit on Astrid, but more than burning with rage, he felt pity toward the likes of Eret. Though, knowing the way the world tended to conspire against Hiccup, Eret would probably end up a billionaire CEO while Hiccup slaved away in a menial job at some engineering conglomerate. Maybe Eret would even be his boss—no, that was a little too much daydreaming for one night.
"Sad?" echoed Astrid, still fuming. She didn't seem convinced.
Hiccup moved toward the door. "We should get out of here so Fishlegs can get to sleep."
"Your room?"
Hiccup turned back to her—she posed this like an innocent question, but at the expression on his face, Astrid seemed to grow bashful. Your room. It was past one o'clock in the morning. He could imagine his bed: small, intimate. She traced her collarbone with a spindly white finger as she waited for his answer. Nausea kicked at his stomach. Not disinterest, just—fear. "I… I don't know—"
"Yeah, I'm kind of tired anyway." She threw her gaze to the floor and started to move past him, to the door.
Seized with regret, he caught her by the arm. "I'm sorry this night fell apart, I had no idea it was going to be so crazy."
"It's not your fault." She gave him a smile, but he could tell it was contrived. "Most of it was really fun."
"Can we hang out again tomorrow? And actually watch that movie. You know," he joked, "Buttercup!" Lame. He felt so lame.
Astrid clearly debated saying no: he could see it in the way her mouth twitched while watching him, stitching together a response. "Okay," she conceded finally, nodding, "Tomorrow. Let's do that."
As she went out in front of him, he shut his eyes. "Yeah. Looking forward to it."
The next morning, Ruff greeted Astrid in their kitchen, hungover but bizarrely happy: she offered to pour her roommate's coffee, and made them both toast, with a big grin.
"Good night?" Astrid asked, unable to help considering whether her own night had been good or not. She had only been tipsy, so the fact that she felt like she'd been run over by a truck probably didn't have much to do with drinking. Which sucked. In fact, she would've preferred a hangover. God, why had she agreed to do that again tonight? It was Hiccup's face, she decided—you couldn't say no to that face, no matter how many times he shot you down.
Ruff sat down across from her, hands clasped together. "I met him."
"Met who?"
"Bicep guy."
"Yeah?" Astrid spoke around her toast. "I thought you were at 8B last night."
"I was. He was there, he's friends with Snot."
The toast in Astrid's mouth went tasteless. "The guy with big biceps…"
"He's president of Delta Psi—"
Fuck. "Wait."
"His name is—"
"No," gasped Astrid, choking on her toast. Human garbage.
"My future husband," declared Ruff dreamily. "Beautiful Eret."
