AN: People always say every comment it a good comment, and that's true to a degree... But still, only demanding more updates without anything else is pretty rude. Why do you want more updates? What are you interested in? How does a story make you feel? Are you happy, laughing, crying, curious, anxious? What are your reactions? We writers need to know, that's what we feed on. xD

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Chapter 9

Hiccup wasn't really sure what he was doing. Before he really knew what was happening, he was out of his grandfather's festively decorated barn and heading for his bike. All he knew was that there'd been a stupid misunderstanding, that it was his fault, and that he had to set it right. Because if he'd driven after Astrid last night directly, he probably could have solved this confusion right away.

"Oh, Thor, dammit!" he cursed as his stupid leg made him stumble and fall in his haste. He got up as fast as he could, cursing again at the dust that now covered his elegant jacket and shirt, but couldn't help it. All he knew was that he…

What? What did he need to do? He needed to solve this misunderstanding, that much was clear. But only now did it dawn on him that, to do so, he had to actually go to her. Talk to her. And he had to do that now, when she was probably close to hating him, if he'd understood Heather correctly.

Gods!

The thought made him pause, just as he was about to put on his helmet. Could he really do that? He was hardly able to get out a coherent sentence in her presence when she was in a good mood. How on Midgard should he explain himself when she wouldn't even want to listen? But he didn't really have a choice, did he?

He liked Astrid, really liked her. He didn't want to waste this chance to maybe become more than her friend. Plus, she was hurt and angry right now, because of him, and he couldn't sit back and do nothing. No, he had no choice at all. He had to explain, and dodging that conversation now to wait for her to be in a better mood again wouldn't do him any good.

With a resolute motion, Hiccup put his helmet on and was on the street only a few moments later. It was all or nothing now. Either he could solve this misunderstanding… or he would never again get another chance.

His determination lasted exactly until he'd parked his bike in the driveway of her uncle's house and rang the doorbell.

"Hello?"

He was greeted by a broad man that, had Hiccup not been used to people of this size by his father and honorary uncle, might have intimidated him enough to make run for it after all...

"Good evening, Mr Hofferson," Hiccup greeted the man with as firm a voice as he could muster. "I-I'm here to speak to Astrid. If that's acceptable?"

The man scrutinised him quite thoroughly, the biker leather, the dusty jacket, and the wild hair that even his helmet hadn't been able to tame. "And you are… who? Because I'm not sure she wants to see anyone right now."

"I'm Hic- Henry Haddock. And I…" he gulped, then went on. "I think I'm the reason why she's upset."

That probably hadn't been the wisest thing to say. Finn Hofferson's face darkened. He was about to shut the door in Hiccup's face, but he quickly lifted his hands in a pleading gesture.

"Please, Sir, it's been a misunderstanding! She got the wrong impression and I'm here to rectify that. Please, let me talk to her."

The man paused, grumbled something unintelligible, and then opened the door again. "All right," he muttered. "But if she doesn't want to see you, I'll happily throw you out directly. Literally."

Hiccup gulped and nodded. He had no doubts that this was no empty threat, and prayed that Astrid would at least give him a chance.

He was lead up a flight of stairs where he was made to wait as the man knocked on a door. "Astrid? There's someone else here to talk to you. Do you want me to throw him out?"

Hiccup gulped, despairing a little at the prospect of not even getting the chance to see her, much less talk to her. If she refused to talk to him now, then…

"It's okay," her muffled voice sounded through the door. "Send him in."

Hiccup exhaled a sigh of relief which earned him another dark look.

"If she cries again, I will throw you out," the man repeated. "Do you understand?"

Hiccup gulped again and nodded. "I understand." He quickly walked past the man toward the door, trying not to be intimidated by his glare. Or by the fact that he was actually about to see Astrid's bedroom.

Low music was coming from somewhere, which immediately gave the room a very Astrid-like feeling, and under different circumstances, Hiccup would have found the slightly chaotic state it was in endearing. He could see that it was usually a neatly arranged room, one wall occupied by all things related to archery, another by things related to music including a fancy stereo and a hook that clearly was meant to hold her guitar, while the third wall was ruled by a tidy desk and shelves full of books and folders. But right now, the bin beneath the desk was overflowing with tissues, with a few stray pieces still on her bedside table, beneath her bed, and in the corner by one of the windows. The blankets on her bed were slightly crumpled, clearly only made in a haste, and her guitar leant precariously against the wall next to her bed. Indeed, seeing this room, such a personal part of her, in less then her usual flawless state could have been endearing – if he hadn't known that he was to blame.

For a second or three, Hiccup only stood mutely, stunned, and gazed at her where she stood near one of the two big windows. Her arms were crossed in front of her, her body mostly turned away from him so that he could barely see her profile, much less the expression on her face. "Th-thank you for hearing me out," he eventually began, unsure how to start. Odin, he should have thought about what to say to her before he came here!

"You can thank Heather for that," she replied in a monotone voice, and nodded toward her phone lying on her desk. "She texted me and told me you were coming. Begged me to at least listen."

Hiccup swallowed, and made a mental note to thank Heather in some way. Without her, Mr Hofferson would probably have thrown him out after all.

"But apparently, you have nothing to say," she eventually commented, sounding resigned. "Figures."

"I'm sorry!" Hiccup finally blurted out. It was the first thing that came to his mind. She was miserable, because of him, and he hadn't wanted that.

But for some reason, that hadn't been what she wanted to hear.

"You're sorry?" she enquired, incredulously. She finally turned to look at him, but Hiccup almost wished she hadn't.

Her sight hit him harder than her absence at the college earlier or Heather's announcement that she wouldn't come to the dance. Coming up with all kinds of explanations for why she might have changed her mind had been jarring. But seeing her like this, face swollen and eyes red from hours of crying, crying over him, was so much worse.

"Yes, I'm sorry," he muttered. He lifted his shoulders in a fruitless attempt to explain himself with gestures. If one was talking about engines, that sometimes made things easier.

Right now though? Not so much…

"I mean… I know what you saw – what you think you saw. And it wasn't… It wasn't what it–"

"–what it looked like?" she interrupted him bitterly. "Oh please…" She turned away again, her shoulders tensing.

Hiccup bit his lip and uncomfortably rubbed the back of his neck. He knew that this was his last and only chance, the one opportunity to maybe become more than her friend. He couldn't screw up, not now. So he decided to gather all his courage, took a deep breath, and started anew, as confident and coherent as he could muster.

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