"I'm sorry!" Astrid whispered between her fingers.
Her hands were clasped over her mouth, and wide eyes followed the amber puddle as it spread over the table, reaching out like careless fingers. Hiccup's mug lay overturned, rolling at the margins of his parchment. His hands were drenched, his pants and tunic were unpleasantly wet; and Snotlout cackled; the twins snickered; and Fishlegs glanced back and forth between Hiccup and Astrid like he sensed a harsh wind blowing.
Hiccup supposed it was not any one person's fault. He had left his drink there with foolish optimism. Astrid became more theatrical as she drank, and he had neglected to remember. The mug had been precariously placed by his latest design: a flight suit, so that he may share the sky alongside Toothless. He was proud of it, even as it soaked up ale like parchment could thirst.
"I'm so sorry!" Astrid squeaked.
Hiccup sighed, plucking the sketch from the remains of his ale. The charcoal bled black rivulets that splattered like tiny spiders in the creeping alcohol. He was no stranger to ruined designs and plans: when a much younger boy had sketched weapons, Snotlout saw fit to burn them on the regular.
Astrid looked pale. Remorse flitted about her eyes, like water, in the dancing light of the fire pit and sconces, settling in the stark shadows of her face.
In all honesty, Hiccup wasn't that upset. Drawing served to help him plan, and to quiet the creative fervor of his brain; but the images didn't fade until they were realized. He could draw it up again, fixing the minor things his critical eyes had already picked apart before crafting had even begun.
"Kiss me, and I'll forgive you," he said, holding her with a pointed glance that he hoped was more than a suggestion.
The other teens groaned and pretended to retch—but Astrid was relieved. He knew she glazed over when he shared the finer, technical points of his projects. Still, Astrid was supportive, impressed by his genius; and that was enough for Hiccup to forgive her for just about anything.
