Some sexual chatter in this, but nothing I'd call smut.

"Dr. Larama?"

Inside the office, Dr. Larama whirled around in her chair. Astrid waved from the doorway. "Astrid. Hello. Come in."

She did, mincing her steps to the chair that sat across from her advisor's desk. "I have a recommendation form for this internship I'm applying to. The application isn't due until January, but I wanted to make sure you had lots of time to fill it out."

"That's very considerate of you," said Dr. Larama, accepting the paper.

Dr. Larama's office, a familiar enough space to Astrid, was cozy and eclectic, with its managed clutter and the same global decorating scheme as her apartment. She kept little chocolates in a bowl on her desk, and had one of those mini sand gardens you could rake to calm down. So Astrid liked the office—she wasn't sure she liked Dr. Larama.

The last time she'd seen the professor was that strange encounter in the restaurant, on she and Hiccup's first date. Almost two months ago, now. Barring any serious advising dilemmas, it was normal for a student and advisor to go that long or longer without meeting. Astrid had felt rather blessed by this fact, until she'd realized that all the build-up would make it incredibly awkward when they did meet again.

And it was super fucking awkward.

She sensed right away that Dr. Larama had not forgotten Astrid's dalliance with her son, and Astrid guessed that Hiccup hadn't seen fit to fill his mother in on anything that had happened since then, which meant the responsibility might fall to Astrid. And she didn't want that, she just wanted to get her stupid recommendation so she could get this internship and get into medical school and get the fuck out of this place where she had to depend on her boyfriend's kind of manipulative mother for career help.

Nevermind the fact that she saw herself out of NYU and still with Hiccup. Just a symptom of happiness, probably.

Dr. Larama examined the form, down her nose through a pair of wire-rimmed glasses. "Is there anything you'd like me to emphasize in your evaluation?"

"Uh, just that I'm really passionate about becoming a doctor, I guess?"

"That you are. And when is the deadline, precisely?"

"January 30th."

"All right." Glancing up, her advisor flashed her a grin. "I will have it ready with time to spare."

"Thank you." Astrid grabbed her bag, but froze at the sound of the professor's voice.

"And how is your semester, Astrid?"

She settled back into the chair, pursing her lips. She did not like where this was going. "It's going well."

"Good."

A beat. Dr. Larama turned to her computer; it appeared she was plugging a reminder for Astrid's recommendation into her calendar.

"And how is my son?"

Yep, there it was. Astrid already had an answer prepared. "I think you should ask him that."

"Are you dating?"

This question was inappropriate, she knew it was inappropriate, and she wanted to say, "Dr. Larama, that question is inappropriate!" But that felt avoidant—it was avoidant—and the truth sat on her shoulders, shoving her toward candor. Dr. Larama did not stop being Hiccup's mother when she entered this room, and Astrid did not stop being Hiccup's girlfriend, and even though Dr. Larama spoke in her professorial tone, not the warmer one she used with Hiccup, Astrid had a feeling she was speaking on motherly terms. So Astrid replied, plainly, "Yes."

Her advisor's eyes stayed on the computer screen, her expression blank. "I do wish he would tell me these things. I know he feels angry toward me, and toward his father, but you should know we only want to do better." She looked at Astrid, a tiny, sad smile on her lips. "I'd like to know when he's happy, or struggling. Recently I have no idea."

Embarrassed for both of them, Astrid's gaze fell to her lap. "I'm sorry," she said, not knowing what other response might fit.

"If you have children one day, you will understand. Though please do be careful, I am too young to be a grandmother." This statement astounded Astrid, and even more astounding was the grin on Dr. Larama's face. Suddenly she saw a lot of Hiccup in his mother—or, she saw how much of his mother was in Hiccup. That was just the sort of buoyant comment he might make under duress.

"We are—uh, I am," Astrid replied stiffly, grabbing her bag from the floor. It occurred to her only afterward, and from the searching expression the professor had on, that this might've been some test to find out if she and Hiccup were having sex. Since Astrid apparently couldn't lie to her, she would have been better off just asking, but that didn't matter. All that mattered was escaping. "Bye, Dr. Larama."

Her advisor waved at her on the way out. "'Til next time, Astrid."

"We're going to be late."

"I'm getting my coffee, Fish."

"Astrid said ten o'clock."

"I know what she said, Fish."

"She doesn't like when people are late."

Hiccup, who'd been absently watching the barista fix his drink, turned to his friend. "Did she tell you to get on me about being late for things?"

Fish frowned and fiddled with the strap of his messenger bag. "No. This is just how I am."

"She just wants to make sure we all pull Secret Snowflake names before she has to go to her meet," Hiccup said, flashing the barista an appreciative smile as she handed him a very full, very hot coffee. "Her bus doesn't leave until half past eleven, and this is going to take ten minutes, tops. She's just being cautious. We'll say we're sorry." Either swayed by the arrival of the coffee or by Hiccup's fantastic reasoning, Fish deflated with relief, and started out of the coffee shop into the larger atrium of the student union—an even busier space than usual, given that it was packed with tables and display banners, like some kind of convention. "Oh, amazing," Hiccup muttered, drawing his coffee to his chest protectively as the two of them tried to squeeze through the sea of people. The exit on the other side of the room looked far away. "What is all this?"

"Judging from the huge sign, I'd guess it's an international study fair," Fish replied dryly, pointing upward.

"Thank you."

Sarcasm aside, Fish was right: the banners and country flags and stacks of pamphlets came into focus for Hiccup. Your Summer in Berlin. Study Abroad at the London School of Economics. Semester in Chile.

"We have a whole school in Abu Dhabi?" he asked, pausing their trek to squint at a booth. Fish waited for him off to the side, squirming.

"Yes, of course, there are posters for it everywhere. Don't you pay any attention?"

"You know, Fish," Hiccup grinned at his friend, "I like when you get sassy. I really do."

"Your girlfriend is scary when she's angry, Hiccup!"

"All right, all right, we're going," he conceded, and stuffed one of the pamphlets in his pocket on their way out.

Later that week, when the Secret Snowflake names had been drawn (seventeen minutes behind schedule), and Astrid had fully kicked ass at her invitational meet, the gang attended Fish's first poetry reading. It was also everyone else's first poetry reading, but Fish was the only one sweating profusely.

Astrid put her hands on their friend's shoulders. "You need to calm down."

"That's easy for you to say, you don't have to bear your heart and soul to a bunch of judgmental strangers!" he whispered furiously. Groaning, Astrid bit her lip and glanced at the packed main room of the creative writing building (a typical West Village townhouse, with a fireplace in every room), where at least fifty people were listening to a girl read a poem about a vagina—hers or someone else's Astrid hadn't figured out, she was a little busy. From his seat, Hiccup watched them, giving her an urgent look.

"Listen," she snapped, turning to him determinedly, "You're sweating so much you look like a melting icicle and people are going to find it disgusting, so you need to chill out, right now."

Fish stared at her for a long moment with his mouth open, and she thought, I did it. And then tears formed at the corners of his eyes and she thought, No I didn't.

"I'm not going up," Fish sobbed, "I'm just going to find my professor and tell her I changed my mind, she said the public reading was optional."

"No, Fish, I'm sorry—I was just trying to motivate you, they're going to love you, I swear!" When she looked back into the audience, Hiccup's seat was empty; he was making his way toward them, pressed against the back wall of the living room. Relief washed Astrid, she felt better not to have to do this alone. She pecked him on the cheek as he arrived, wedging himself into the faraway nook Fish had selected for his panic attack. People clapped for the vagina poem girl, and the next student stepped up to the lectern.

"What's going on?"

"I'm not going up."

"He doesn't want to read."

Hiccup frowned. "Don't be silly, Fish. You'll be great. I'm sure it's a…" He eyed Astrid, out of his depth, but she had even less expertise to lend. "Really cool poem?"

"Do I look like a melting icicle? Astrid said I look like a melting icicle."

"Did she?" She sighed and Hiccup jerked his head over his shoulder. "Why don't you go sit, Az?"

It was hard to be insulted when this was obviously for the best, and also kind of a relief. She gave Fish one last reassuring pat and went back to her seat, where Ruff, Tuff, and Snot were waiting.

"What's the matter?" Ruff whispered, peeking past her to get a better glimpse of the situation.

"He's chickening out of the reading."

Tuff poked his head across his sister, toward Astrid. "And you just made it worse?"

"Hey, shut up, it's you all's fault for forcing me to be the shoulder to cry on."

"But you're Group Mom," Tuff explained in that simple, steady way of his that made everything seem well-reasoned, "And Hiccup is Group Dad, so we have to depend on you for this stuff."

"Group Mom?" Group Mom?

"SHHHH," Snot hissed at them, loud enough that it made Astrid and a few people sitting in the rows near them jump. "There's a poetry reading going on, have some respect." All three of them looked at Snot like he had three heads, but he'd turned back to watch the current poet with reverence. She thought she might have seen him wipe his eyes. There was some really messed up role reversal going on today.

"I'm going to go talk to him," Ruff announced, after they had been silent for a minute. Before Astrid could protest, she climbed over her and out of the row. Just, yeah, bizarre. At this point, Astrid decided to be done worrying about her friends, because she was not Group Mom, nor even a particularly sympathetic person, by her own estimation. She felt soft—was she going soft because of Hiccup? She'd had boyfriends before, she'd had girlfriends too, and none of them had made her go soft. Now she was experiencing some kind of inner kindness that she hadn't even known she possessed.

Hiccup appeared at the end of the aisle and she scooted into Ruff's seat so he wouldn't have to step over her to sit down. "Well?" she muttered, careful to avoid a sideways glare from Snot.

"I don't know. He seemed pretty dead set on not doing it when I left. We'll see if Ruff can change his mind."

"We should get him very drunk tonight if he does it."

"We should," Hiccup laughed, and took her hand.

A few minutes later, they applauded and the last poet before Fish stepped off the lectern, which sat vacant for a good ten seconds. Astrid realized she was holding her breath, and also that Ruff had never returned from talking to him—she didn't know whether or not that was a good sign.

Fish appeared, finally, looking a little dryer than when she'd left him. In the same moment, she spied Ruff sneaking back into the living room and taking a spot against the wall. She was smiling. Fish spread his paper over the surface of the podium, and gazed out into the crowd. "Hi, my name is Francis Ingerman."

"But I like Sex on the Beach!"

"You sure do, and that is why you are cut off for at least two hours." Fish whimpered and grabbed at the pitcher, but Astrid snatched it away and swept into the kitchen, stowing the contraband in their fridge. Back in the living room, Ruff had out her guitar and Tuff had gotten a hold of a ukulele, which he did not know how to play in the slightest. Aside from ingesting fruity cocktails, Fish had been using his poetic prowess to help them compose dirty songs, punctuated by the occasional lilting snore from Snot on the sofa. Hiccup sat on the floor with them and hugged his personal bottle of rum, and when Astrid returned she plunked down beside him.

Immediately, Hiccup leaned toward her. "Sex on the Beach is kind of a stupid name for a drink, don't you think?"

"Don't ask me, I didn't name it."

"It should be called Sex in the Dorm."

"Very relevant," she chuckled, and kissed him quickly, and was surprised to feel his arm around her waist, dragging her toward him into a deeper embrace. He tasted like the rum, and broke away to laugh into her shoulder. She couldn't remember the last time she had seen him this wasted while she herself stayed sober, but she was trying to take dry season seriously this year and had only had one drink, and he was far gone, red-cheeked and bubbly. "Hey, babe," she laughed, running a hand through his hair. He grinned and blew air on her neck.

"Hi." Another kiss, this one initiate by him with such gusto she gasped against him, arms around his neck just to steady herself. The music stopped.

"Come on," cried Fish, draping a dramatic arm over his face in disgust at their antics—they broke apart, Astrid supporting a giggly Hiccup.

Ruff started to pluck out the melody to "Like A Virgin" on her guitar. "Just go to his room already, we know you're headed there." Astrid stood and dragged Hiccup to his feet, where he wobbled and leaned against her. Ruff switched something that sounded like the bass line out of '70s porno. "And please keep it down, I know I was nosy at first but the walls at our place are thin and I know enough." Blowing raspberries at her roommate, Astrid waved them all goodnight and helped Hiccup down the hall.

When they went in, she spied a black dot fleeing under the desk and decided that, since she couldn't catch the cat herself and Hiccup's faculties were severely impaired, they'd just have to hope Toothless didn't appear at any awkward moment. Hiccup collapsed on to her bed first thing with a hum, and Astrid crawled in after, hovering above him so they could kiss, because she didn't think he was capable of supporting himself through a more vertical make out—though he found the coherence to touch her breasts at length. Naturally. Enjoying the particularly adventurous, messy tricks of his tongue—fooling around drunk had its benefits—she reached down between them and started on his fly.

They broke the kiss so he could work on the top buttons of shirt, a difficult task for his unfocused fingers. "You're not hard," she pointed out, unable to hide the disappointment in her voice.

"Give it a minute," he muttered, and in the interest of speeding things up she began to suck carefully at his neck. Which he enjoyed for about ten seconds, judging from the noises, and then Hiccup gasped and clutched her arms.

"Wait, wait—not on my neck, I'm going to my mom's for break in two days, she'll see."

"Does she really have any illusions?" She asked, but she knew the answer, given that it was she who'd shattered said illusions earlier that week. She hadn't seen fit to update Hiccup on how much, precisely, his mother knew about their relationship, so she understood his need to be cautious, considering the family history. His father would probably be there for the upcoming holiday, too. Astrid had considered whether it was cowardly of her to hide his mother's intrusions, but she decided it was for the best—he didn't need another degree of parental grief hanging over his life. The least she could do was not tell him about the grandmother comment.

He pouted up at her, looking really very great with his hair mussed and his lips swollen and the blush of rum on his face. "Dunno… please."

"No visible hickeys, okay." She sat up and pushed up the bottom of his shirt, and grinned. "What about one you could hide?"

"Uh," squeaked Hiccup, as she started scooting down the bed, and tugging at his boxers to reveal the smooth whiteness of his hipbone, marred by a single brownish fleck.

"Look at that freckle," she muttered. He squirmed when she put her mouth on him, suckling and once rolling the skin gently between her teeth so that he whimpered, and panted, and reached down as if to stroke her hair but instead laid it ineffectually against the back of her head.

It was hitting her that it might be amazing to blow him. In two and a half months, she hadn't—he never mentioned it, never asked, and whenever she went in that direction he… changed the topic, so to speak. If she didn't know better, she'd have thought he wasn't aware that blowjobs existed, like the kind of ignorance you'd expect from a space alien new to human intercourse. But he was a nineteen-year-old boy, and had to be familiar with the concept of receiving head, especially considering his obsession with giving it. Like, had to.

Astrid kissed the reddened skin when she felt done and sat up, grabbing his crotch. He moaned and buried his face in the crook of his arm, but still nothing. "Seriously?"

"I think I might be too drunk."

Shit. Astrid shut her eyes, not wanting to see the apologetic frown on Hiccup's face. They were a few days from Thanksgiving break, they were going to be separated for a week, and then finals weren't too far away, she wouldn't see him for most of December and January.

"I'm sorry," he added, reaching toward her. "I'm really sorry, I am."

"Fuck."

"It was a really nice hickey!" The apologist compliment to her hickey-giving skills made Astrid want to stick her head under the pillow and scream.

A little desperate, she started trying to tug his pants all the way down. "Maybe if I…" Except no part of her wanted a flaccid dick in her mouth, it was just a last ditch effort. Shit, shit.

"Astrid." And his hands folded over hers, halting her.

She rocked back, looking down at him, feeling her chin wobble a little. Then she sucked in a deep breath and nodded. "You're right. You're drunk, we shouldn't."

He opened his arms and, giving up, she fell into them, brow furrowed. "I'm sorry," he said again, gentler, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "Maybe in the morning."

She huffed. "You're going to be hungover in the morning."

"Then tomorrow night."

Winding her hand into the fabric of his shirt, she pressed her nose into his chest, inhaling. "I'm going to miss you so much." This was the kind of weak, sweet thing she didn't think she could say to anyone but him, anywhere but here, in the calm quiet privacy of a shared twin bed.

"I'm not going anywhere," he replied, lowering his voice to match hers.

"I mean over Thanksgiving break. I'm not going to see you for like, a week."

"That's not so long."

"But then we're only back here for two weeks before winter break, and that's a whole month."

Hiccup stared at the ceiling, the corners of his mouth curving downward. He looked to be thinking about something else but she couldn't guess what. "We'll skype all the time."

She beat her fist against his shoulder. "Just let me whine about not getting to see you, okay? And pretend you're going to miss me, too."

"Of course I'll miss you. Here," he said, nudging her. "Roll over."

"What?" Admittedly her pulse quickened at this instruction—she thought maybe he'd managed to get it up, by some miracle. Not that demanding she roll over was commonplace (or even existent, as far as she knew) in Hiccup's sexual vocabulary, but she was worked up enough to hope.

"I want to be the big spoon."

"Oh." She started to laugh, shifting to her side so he could curl against her. "Oh, you dork."

"I am the most lovable dork in the world," he announced with a slight slur, "And sexiest."

"I would make fun of you but I don't think you could take it right now, so yeah, sure you are, babe."

He whined and pressed into her back harder, which was unfortunately kind of hot. Perhaps she'd take him up on that morning sex offer after all, perhaps it would be good for his hangover. "You're supposed to think I'm sexy."

"I do, okay, I do. Very sexy." And that was the truth, in a big way. He made a tiny contented noise and poked his nose into her shoulder. Astrid spoke before she knew why she was saying what she said. "Why won't you let me give you a blowjob?" But the reason she'd asked dawned on her: she couldn't take advantage of him drunk, but she could still sort of… take advantage of his drunkenness. Was this the best time for a serious conversation about sex? Almost certainly not. Was that part of the reason she'd chosen now to ask? Almost certainly yes.

Slowly, he pulled his nose away from her, and she stared at the wall, until the silence got to her.

"Have you not had one before? Did you think I wouldn't be into it? Because, it's different when you're in a relationship, and you… I mean, you spend a lot of time down on me, I can return the favor every once and a while."

A pause, and still nothing from him. Swallowing some nerves, she turned to get a better look at his face, and knew at once she had royally fucked up. His mouth hung open, and he genuinely seemed like he might start to cry. Which struck her as a bit of an overreaction, but alcohol tended to up the ante on smaller tragedies.

"Oh, no, babe, it's okay—" Moving away from her, he started gesticulating like he wanted to say something but didn't have the words, probably lost to intoxication and shock. "I shouldn't have asked, we can talk about it when you're sober."

He sat up, head in his hands, and she propped herself up too. "I can't…"

"That's okay, you don't have to right now." The smile she gave him wasn't entirely forced—it was sort of cute to watch a drunk, flustered Hiccup descend into panic, as guilty as she felt.

"I can't," he said again, hands shaking, and her smile wavered. She had startled him too much and, in his liquored-up state, triggered some kind of mental response. Think fast, Dr. Hofferson.

"Hold on." She climbed over him and hopped from the bed, going to the desk. Toothless's green eyes greeted her from a small, dark corner beneath it. Screwing her eyes shut—she was not great with cats, picking them up frightened her a little—she leaned over and scooped him into her arms, and brought the animal to Hiccup, who accepted him as if it were the most natural thing in the world. The anxiety waned from his face as he stroked the cat's head. After the PTSD had been explained to her, Astrid had taken a couple of psychology texts from the library and was trying to educate herself. She had begun to catalogue the best remedies for panic attacks, or mood swings, and Toothless topped the list.

When he seemed better, she kissed him on the cheek and got back into bed. "Let's go to sleep," she suggested, and he nodded. So they laid back, and she wound her arm around his, and Toothless curled up on his chest, purring. Hiccup switched off the bedside lamp, which left them in calm darkness. Still dressed, and he had on his prosthetic, but they'd fallen asleep on the floor once so it wasn't the least comfortable option. She had almost dozed off when another thought struck her, a hazy sort of musing. "Hey," she whispered, "Do you think Ruff and Fish are going to be a thing?"

"Nah," he exhaled, the cat falling and rising with his breath.

"I think Ruff likes him."

"Me too."

"So why not?"

Hiccup turned to look at her, their noses almost touching against his pillow. "He doesn't like her back."

Somehow Astrid had not even considered this option—Ruff was objectively very pretty, and sexually fluent, which should have been a dream for Fish after being rejected by someone he truly liked. But on second thought, that wasn't fair to a thoughtful, emotional person like Fish. He had grown a lot in the past year, too. "Oh," she said, and snugged into his arm.

"He might just think that someone like her would never go for someone like him." He spoke plaintively, it made her wonder.

"Did you ever feel that way about me?"

Hiccup sighed, and in the dim light from the streetlights outside his window, she saw his eyes flutter closed. "Didn't stop me from liking you." Another sigh. "You ask hard questions."

Ugh. "Okay, okay, no more questions, I swear."

"I'll miss you, Az. I will." He heaved out these words, not totally recovered from his earlier episode.

Astrid reached over and tucked a bit of stray hair behind his ear. "I know."

"It doesn't matter how long I'm gone. Or where I go. I'll miss you."

She was glad he couldn't see the puzzled smile on her face, as she spoke to him in the slightly patronizing way you did with confused drunks. "Well, you're not going anywhere, are you? You'll be in New York."

He breathed out slowly and Toothless sunk six inches toward the bed. "Yeah."

"But you can still miss me horribly."

"Mhm. We're sleeping now," he mumbled, half-conscious.

"Yeah, we are. Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Az." But she didn't fall asleep for another twenty minutes—she was busy debating how much he'd remember in the morning.