"And she's been coming in a lot?"

"Every day," Hiccup grunted, his voice muffled from the screwdriver wedged in his mouth. "I just wish I knew what I'd done to piss her off so much."

Hiccup was sitting cross-legged on the floor behind the counter, wrestling with the coffee machine in his lap. It had started sparking the day before, sputtering and refusing to function properly, before it conked out completely. Gobber had told them to leave it for an electrician, but Hiccup's frustration had built and built until there was nothing to do but take it out on the broken appliance.

Fishlegs chewed on his lip, casting a worried eye down from his position behind the counter. "I think you're making it worse."

Hiccup scowled, stabbing the machine twice with the screwdriver. "It's got to be something more than just me beating her in a couple of tests. She's got it out for me."

He put the screwdriver back in his mouth, attacking the machine with his fingers instead, attempting to rip the back end off by wedging his fingernails in between the cracks. It didn't work.

"Do you even know anything about electronics?" Fishlegs asked.

"I don't even know her that well. How is it possible that I've ticked her off that badly," Hiccup grumbled, screwdriver hanging on the edge of his lips, "when I've barely even exchanged two sentences with her before last week?"

"You're going to electrocute yourself."

"She's got all of her friends in on it, you saw them giggling when she came to get her drink today. She's got a vendetta against me, I swear," Hiccup said, stabbing the coffee machine again.

With a jolt and a clang, Hiccup managed to fling the casing of the machine open. Fishlegs' eyes bugged out as he watched Hiccup lift the screwdriver up, ready to descend it down onto the wiring.

"Hiccup, stop!" Fishlegs flew from the counter and forcefully snatched the screwdriver from Hiccup's fingers. "You're going to hurt yourself."

Hiccup gave a very long, tortured sigh, but he let Fishlegs rescue the machine, letting out a groan and resting his back against the counter.

Fishlegs tutted, running his little finger along the dent Hiccup had left. "You realise we're going to have to pay extra to fix this now?"

Hiccup said nothing, sticking out his lower lip into a pout and crossing his arms, childishly. He knew he was being ridiculous - the floor was sticky, there would probably be customers he needed to attend to soon, and it certainly wasn't Fishlegs' fault that he was in such a bad mood - but even so, he couldn't stop himself. Astrid Hofferson brought out the absolute worst in him.

"It's like dealing with a toddler," Fishlegs muttered.

He was about to chide Hiccup some more, but he was interrupted by a cough, and then an "ahem?" in a very familiar, unwelcome voice.

Fishlegs swivelled - somewhat ungracefully - around to greet the customer, his lips curling into a fake smile. "How can I help you?"

Astrid - Fishlegs had become very familiar with Astrid now, from Hiccup's descriptions, if from nothing else - smiled sweetly. "I need to speak to Henry," she said.

Hiccup's face twisted in horror, and he flattened his back against the counter, covering his eyes as if to hide himself. "He's not here!" he stage-whispered up at Fishlegs. "He's gone on his break!"

Astrid hadn't been alone today. She'd queued up with two other girls - both of them unfamiliar to Hiccup, but if they hung out with her, they were probably just as heinous. While she'd ordered, the other two had watched, while smirking. Astrid's drink today was a venti coffee Frappuccino with two scoops of ice, five pumps of frap roast, double blended. It had been so thick, he'd had to scoop it out with a spoon, and he was pretty sure that their blenders had met the same fate as the coffee machine he'd spent the afternoon wrestling with.

The last thing he needed was to remake that order.

Behind the counter, Astrid broke into a peal of laughter, and Hiccup's jaw clenched. He'd never thought laughter could sound so grating.

"So, is he going to hide behind the counter until I'm gone, or does he just enjoy sitting on a grimy floor?" she said to Fishlegs.

Hiccup scowled again - it was becoming a permanent fixture on his face - and dragged himself up off the floor to meet Astrid at the counter.

Henry Haddock did not look good. Usually, he looked rather placid and unimposing, with wide green eyes that were covered by a flop of brown hair. Instead, his hair was sticking up all over the place, there were dark circles under his eyes, and his shoulders were hunched beneath the loose black shirt he always wore for work. She felt a nasty, vindictive rush of pleasure at the thought of Henry having a bad day - it was nothing less than he deserved.

"What can I do for you?" he asked.

It was a standard, polite customer service line, but the sentiment didn't quite reach his eyes. He glared down at her, hands twisted into fists on the counter, his eyes darkly daring her to mess with him even more.

Who was she to pass up an invitation like that?

"I need another drink," Astrid said, not bothering to hide the smile playing on her lips.

Henry clicked his tongue loudly against his teeth. "What was wrong with your other one?"

Astrid shrugged. "Didn't taste very good."

"It's policy, Astrid, I can't make you something else just because you didn't like the first one. You already paid for it."

She rolled her eyes. "Henry—"

"—Hiccup," Henry said with a grunt. "My name is Hiccup."

"I can't believe you'd willingly call yourself Hiccup over Henry," Astrid said, "and I wasn't asking for another one for free."

She waved her wallet at him.

"Fine," Henry said, exhaling with more than a hint of exasperation. "What can I get for you?"

Astrid stroked her chin, her eyes flickering across the menu, as if deliberating very carefully. "I think I'll try a Trenta iced coffee cream, with twenty pumps of raspberry and twenty pumps of white mocha."

As he punched the order in, he looked up at her in disgust. "Twenty?"

"You heard me."

The two locked eyes for a moment, Henry staring at her with one eyebrow raised, the picture of disdain. Astrid held his gaze, resolute.

Henry was the first to look away, mumbling, "I don't know why I even bother to ask," as he tapped the rest of the order into the computer. "D'you want anything else with that? A slice of cake? A muffin? A shot of insulin?"

A splutter of laughter burst from Astrid before she could stop it. She smothered it with her hand, ignoring the look Hiccup was giving her. "Not today, thanks," she said, trying to stop herself from smiling.

He turned and let his back face as he made the order, while Astrid rocked from foot to foot and whistled a little tune. "Nice day today," she commented, her hands behind her back. "Good day for making coffee."

"Yeah," Henry mumbled, "you know what else it's a good day for?"

"What's that?"

"Leaving," he said emphatically, slamming her drink down onto the countertop.

Astrid didn't try to smother her grin this time, her smile stretching across her face as she picked up the cup. "Thanks, Henry," she said sweetly, before turning towards the door.

"My. Name. Is. Hiccup!"

It wasn't until after she'd closed the door behind her that she descended into giggles.

"If I close my eyes and don't look," Hiccup said, splayed across the sofa, his good leg flung across the back cushion, his prosthetic resting against the coffee table, one hand pressed over his eyes, "then Astrid won't be in all of my classes this semester."

She'd visited the coffee shop every day that week.

First, it had been a grande, quad, nonfat, one pump, no-whip mocha. Then, it was a vanilla bean Frappuccino, with five pumps of every hot bar syrup they had. She did all the standard things annoying customers did - demanding a grande in a venti cup, deliberately mispronouncing espresso, asking for free water - and by the time Friday rolled around, Hiccup was ready to pull his hair out. He'd skipped out early, shutting the coffee shop a good thirty minutes before it was supposed to be closed, and headed home. Fishlegs followed him, if for nothing else but to stop him from destroying something out of frustration, like the poor coffee machine.

It wasn't until Hiccup had freed himself from his prosthetic and thrown himself across the sofa, that he remembered he was supposed to check his class list for the new semester.

"Check for me," Hiccup mumbled, rolling over onto his stomach and pressing his face against a cushion. "I'm too afraid."

His laptop was open on the coffee table, and he nudged it towards Fishlegs with the tips of his fingers.

Fishlegs sighed, but he pulled the computer towards him anyway. "Alright," he said, clicking through, "Elizabethan literature, renaissance, modern and contemporary… sorry, Hiccup, looks like she's in all of them."

"You're joking me," Hiccup exclaimed, throwing himself towards the table and grabbing the laptop from Fishlegs' hands.

"It's kinda hard to miss, your names are right next to each other."

Hiccup checked it for himself, and sure enough, there were the names: HADDOCK, H and HOFFERSON, A, written next to each other in damning black script across his screen.

He groaned, flinging himself back onto the sofa. "This is the worst day of my life," he said, and then a horrible thought came to his mind. "Oh god, what if they make us sit alphabetically?"

"They won't make you sit alphabetically," Fishlegs said, "this is university, not pre-school."

Apparently, this was pre-school.

"Sorry!" Cathy, their seminar tutor, said brightly, "I know it's not ideal, but I find it's easier to learn everybody's names if I seat you alphabetically!"

Dr. Cathy Wainwright had been a lecturer and tutor since his first year, and despite her PhD and numerous accolades, she still treated everyone as if they were back in school. She looked a bit like a school teacher too, with tweed skirts and a pair of red-rimmed glasses that she had to keep pushing up her nose.

Despite her twee appearance, she had a sadistic streak, or at least Hiccup thought so, otherwise he wouldn't be sitting at a table at the front of the room, inches away from Astrid Hofferson. Cathy had lied – she knew everyone's names already. She'd done this deliberately to torture them.

He could feel the hatred radiating off of Astrid. She hadn't said so much as a word to him since he'd sat down, but he'd seen the subtle curl of Astrid's lips as he'd been assigned the seat.

What did I do to you? He wanted to scream it at her. What did I do to make you hate me so much?

He didn't scream at her though, he just watched her out of the corner of his eye as she drummed her blue-painted fingernails up and down on the table while they waited for class to start.

"Right!" Cathy said, clapping her hands together. "Who wants to start the discussion?"

Nobody in the room spoke.

"Come on, don't be shy!"

The class stayed silent.

Cathy put her hands on her hips. "If nobody is going to speak, I'm just going to have to pick someone at random and make them talk."

Oh, no.

She pulled out her paper-form register and let her finger trail down the list. "Let's see here…"

Not me. Not me. Not me.

Hiccup did everything he could to seem inconspicuous. He ducked his head down, stared solidly at his fingers.

"Ah!" Cathy said. "Henry Haddock! You're always very quiet, how about you start us off?"

Hiccup's heart sank. His hand instantly went to scratch the back of his head. "Er…" he mumbled.

He could feel Astrid's gaze hot on him, and although he wasn't looking at her, he knew her mouth had twisted into a smirk.

"Maybe you could give us some of your thoughts on Romeo and Juliet?" Cathy prompted.

"Well, I—" Hiccup began. He could feel the whole room looking at him. God, how was he supposed to form sentences when so many people were looking at him? "—I suppose it's a very romantic story—"

"—Romantic?" Hiccup was cut off by a very loud scoff from the person sitting next to him.

Astrid was looking at him incredulously, one eyebrow raised. "You think it's romantic?" she carried on.

"I guess?" Hiccup stammered, embarrassment creeping up the back of his neck. "Everything's against them, and they choose each other anyway."

"What good does it do?" Astrid said, firmly. "They die. I hardly see how that's romantic."

Hiccup felt the indignation burning his chest, and bit by bit, he stopped thinking about everyone else in the room, just about her. He wasn't going to let her make a mockery of him.

"Isn't it about throwing yourself into something, no matter the odds?" Hiccup said. "To be so passionate about something that even though you know the whole world's against you still give it a shot?"

Astrid eyed him for a moment, and then curled her lip. "No. It's a cautionary tale - don't fall in love, look at all the problems it causes."

"But don't you think that's a shallow reading?" Hiccup said. "To boil down one of the greatest tragic love stories to a simple anti-love statement seems a bit reductive, doesn't it?"

Astrid narrowed her eyes. "Let's see," she said, counting down on her fingers, "Romeo and Juliet 'fall in love'—" she aggressively air quoted as she spoke— "after one day, get married after two, attempt to run away and then botch their own fake suicides and manage to do it for real, all whilst getting three people killed along the way. I don't understand how that's not a cautionary tale about teenage love, how it doesn't work, and how you can't be in love after one day."

"That's just reducing it down to the basic beats rather than giving any consideration for what any of it means," Hiccup said, crossly. He could feel himself going red. "You put so much effort into explaining why you think Romeo and Juliet are idiots that you don't take any time to consider what the feud means for them. It doesn't matter how old or mature they are, they could have been in their twenties and had a courtship for years and it still would have ended the same way - it's not them as people, it's not their fault, it's the fault of the families, and of the feud."

Hiccup took a breath, and then realised that he and Astrid were practically nose-to-nose. He'd forgotten about the class full of people, and just now noticed that everyone was staring at the two of them.

Cathy was watching them carefully, a grin on her face. "Excellent points, both of you," she said. "I'd like to add a few words about the feud. Think about it: there are two families who have been fighting for so long - it's all they know, and it's all they know how to do. They haven't even considered that there could be another way - the Montagues hate the Capulets, that's just how it is. That's the real tragedy of the story, that it takes six people, including their own children's suicide, for them to realise that they don't even know why they're fighting in the first place."

Hiccup and Astrid eyed each other, and then both looked away.

"Right," Cathy said. "Anyone else got anything to add?"

The seminar continued, and Hiccup did his very best not to look Astrid's way again.

After it was over, Cathy pulled Hiccup to the side.

"I'm happy to see you in my class again, Henry," she said. "Even happier to see you participating! I don't think I've ever heard you speak so much."

Hiccup just shrugged.

"Y'know what I think?" Cathy said, "I think Astrid's really good for you."

"I don't—" Hiccup said sharply, and then stopped, when he realised he had no idea how to express just how wrong she was.

"I think you need her," she said, reaching out a hand to squeeze Hiccup's shoulder. "She's like your foil, she makes you work harder."

Bullshit, Hiccup thought to himself, thirty minutes later, still stewing and grinding his teeth.

Astrid wasn't good for him. Astrid made him question his morals, because he'd never considered murder so appealing until he'd met her.

He needed Astrid Hofferson like he needed several splinters up his fingernails.

Hiccup was still fuming about the seminar much later at his evening shift, storming around the store as he shut off appliances, cleaned tables, and swept the floor.

He slammed his mop into a bucket of soapy water with so much force that he almost spilled it everywhere.

"What's got your knickers in a twist?"

He'd been so focused on violently wiping away as much dirt as possible that he'd walked straight into his manager. He looked down at Hiccup, his hands on his hips, a half smile on his face.

"Nothing," Hiccup said, with a scowl.

"Well, you've wiped the floor at least three times over and if you grip that mop any harder, I'm worried you're going to break it."

Their manager was huge, thickset, with a scraggly yellow moustache; he would have been imposing if it weren't for the crinkles either side of his eyes and a quirk of a half-smile that softened his features and made him approachable. He spoke with a thick Scottish accent, and he'd asked all of them to call him Gobber. When they'd asked him why, he'd said, wryly, "that's a story none of you need to know."

"He's thinking about Astrid Hofferson," Snotlout called from his seat on the countertop, not looking up from his phone.

Gobber scowled. "Get off that bloody thing and do some work. What do I pay you for?"

"'Kay, sorry," Snotlout muttered. He made no sign of movement, still not looking up from his phone.

Gobber raised his eyes to the heavens. "Who's Astrid?"

Hiccup opened his mouth to answer, but Fishlegs, who'd been cleaning one of the coffee machines underneath the counter, popped his head up and answered for him. "She's this girl who keeps coming in to order weird, complicated drinks. Hiccup thinks she's got it in for him."

"She does have it in for me," Hiccup insisted. "She's deliberately trying to make my life difficult."

Fishlegs scoffed. "She's not trying to do anything."

"Are we talking about the same girl?"

"Remember," Gobber said, "everyone's welcome in Bean & Gone. We must treat every customer with the utmost respect."

"She's as welcome as a bath mat made of lego," Hiccup muttered under his breath.

Gobber cuffed him over the head. "What's got into you? I expect this from the likes of him—" he jabbed his thumb in Snotlout's direction— "but you're usually so polite. What's this girl done that's so terrible?"

"She just—" Hiccup clenched his jaw— "gets under my skin."

"Well, don't let it get to you," Gobber said. "We can't afford to get complaints. I have inspectors breathing down my neck every other day, we don't need to give them any extra leverage."

"Fine," Hiccup said, sourly.

"Which reminds me," Gobber began, "does anyone want to explain to me why the broken coffee machine looks like the last bastion of caffeine in a nuclear apocalypse?"

"It started sparking last week," Fishlegs explained, "And then Hiccup decided to let out his frustrations on it."

Hiccup flushed a bright red. "I was fixing it!"

Fishlegs raised an eyebrow. "You were stabbing it with a screwdriver."

"So?"

"It's amazing you didn't electrocute yourself."

"Guys, please," Gobber groaned. "I told you to leave it for the repair guy. You know it costs extra when it looks like it's been messed with."

"Sorry," Hiccup and Fishlegs mumbled together.

"And while I'm on the subject, we gotta talk about health and safety."

Snotlout let out a long groan. "Must we?"

"We must if you want to keep your job," he said, patience wearing thin.

Snotlout pressed his lips together into a thin line. "Fine."

"First of all, I've sent for an electrician to check the wiring. I know we've had a few power cuts here and there and I'm slightly concerned that it's going to turn into a bigger problem. If something happens when I'm not around, if anything starts sparking or you smell anything weird, report it immediately," Gobber said.

All three of them nodded.

"Next," Gobber said, "you guys have gotta be more careful of where you put things. For the love of God, Snotlout, you have to stop leaving delivery boxes on the shop floor, because one day someone is going to trip and hurt themselves. I don't care how difficult it is to carry them round the back. You do it."

Snotlout leaned back in his chair, his arms folded, and his chin practically touching his chest and his pouted. "Fine," he said, his lower lip sticking out.

"Good," Gobber said. "Anyway, I won't keep you three for any longer, just make sure you're in on time tomorrow, and no slacking off. I'm looking at you, Snotlout."

Snotlout had already pulled his phone back out from his pocket. "Yeah, bye."

He stood up and swept out of the room. The rest of them watched him go.

"Unbelievable," Gobber muttered, before turning his attention to Hiccup and Fishlegs. "Have a good night, you two."

Hiccup and Fishlegs bade their manager goodnight and gathered their things. On the way out, Gobber squeezed Hiccup on the shoulder.

"Don't let this Astrid girl get you down," he said, kindly. "It's not worth it, in the end."

Hiccup nodded but bit his lip.

It was a nice sentiment, but he had a feeling that it didn't matter whether or not he let Astrid get to him - that girl was going to find a way to burrow deep into his nerves and bring them all to the surface.

He was pretty sure that however awful Astrid had been to him so far, he hadn't seen the worst of it yet.

He couldn't have been more right because across campus it was time for Astrid's nightly contemplation about murder.

Her work with Professor Vaughn-Stretton was as frustrating as ever. Since the last time she'd tried to get him to read her work, he'd turned his nose up every time she attempted to get him to look at another paper. He was always too busy, he didn't have the time, "my work is just too important to leave right this minute!" he'd say.

She always asked the next day, and his answer was always the same. He'd suck in a breath, he'd give some excuse, and then he'd say, "ask me tomorrow, I'll get to it then!"

That's what he'd said tonight, and not for the first time, Astrid had to grit her teeth, put on a smile, and wonder why she put herself through this.

"Miss Hofferson, you couldn't be a dear and photocopy these sheets for me, would you?"

I'd like to slam your head under a photocopier.

"No problem!" she said, with a fake smile so big and forced that it hurt her cheeks.

Astrid stomped out of the room, her fingers curling around the sheets of paper so hard that she had to fight off the urge to rip them. Fortunately, her self-control and her fear of Vaughn-Stretton's wrath had her keep them in pristine condition by the time she got to the photocopier.

As she put sheet after sheet through the machine, she was reminded of something her mother taught her long ago.

When Astrid was a toddler, she'd been the type of child to throw tantrums. The kind of wobblies that could bring an entire pre-school classroom and its poor, underpaid teacher to their knees. One day, Astrid's mother had taken her hands and knelt to her level.

"Astrid, my dear," she'd said, "some days you're going to feel angry at everyone. Some days everyone around you is going to frustrate you so much that you just want to scream and scream and scream. But sometimes you can't scream. Sometimes you need to put on a smile, and a brave face and power through it."

Astrid had puffed her cheeks out and pouted. "How?"

"You have to think about what makes you happy," she'd said. "Instead of focusing on what's making you angry, you have to think about a place, or a time or a situation where you were happy."

The conversation drifted into Astrid's thoughts as page after page came shooting out of the photocopier.

Where was her happy place now?

She wouldn't describe it as happiness exactly, but it wasn't hard to recollect the last time she'd felt good – it had been a sadistic kind of glee, the kind of terrible satisfaction that came from messing with someone else, and as she gathered photocopies into her hands, Henry Haddock flickered in her mind.

There was something wonderful about bringing him down a peg. After so many hours of hearing stories about the golden boy who could do no wrong, there was a sadistic thrill in watching him struggle over ridiculous drink orders, and stammer whilst she grilled him in class.

Maybe that made her a horrible person. Maybe she was okay with that.

When she went back to Vaughn-Stretton's office, she found that was no longer angry when Vaughn-Stretton demanded something else ridiculous from her. Instead, she was thinking about all the different drinks she could order, all the different combinations she could try, in short - she was thinking about all the ways that she could make the boy behind the counter suffer.

Henry Haddock had no idea what was coming.