AN: So, this was the result of a drabble request on tumblr for a story where Hiccup and Astrid are best friends who hook up one drunken night. Oh, yes, they were supposed to be in relationships with other people. I played around with that concept a bit. This is also posted on tumblr, but it ended up being so much longer than a drabble, so I thought I would share it here, too. (And before anyone asks: yes, I am working on ALL my in progress stories. Don't worry.)

Astrid wasn't used to waiting. She certainly wasn't used to waiting for a guy. Where was he, exactly? She'd invited him. To be here with her. He'd been hounding her for years to go on a date with him, you'd think he'd jump at the chance to walk her into Hiccup's house and show her off.

Where are you? Her thumbs moved in rapid, vicious thumps against the screen of her phone.

Someone pushed past her and opened the door spilling warmth, loud voices, and obnoxiously cranked dance music with a heavy bass beat out onto the porch. Astrid rolled her eyes and glared at her phone. Effing Snotlout. That effing jerk. He should be following her around like a puppy dog, not leaving her waiting in the cold.

She didn't want to go inside. If she went inside, she'd have to see Hiccup with his arm around Heather's waist. She should be glad for him. She should be happy that he finally had a girlfriend (even though he vehemently proclaimed that she was not his girlfriend to Astrid). He's her best friend and she should be happy but all she felt was this overwhelming sense of betrayal every time he turned down hanging out with her in favour of that girl. She hated the way he tried to appease both of them, too. Heather can't like that either. He can't be in two places at once, no matter how hard he tried.

There was the other problem, too. The problem where he was leaving her behind. How dare he get a girlfriend before she got a boyfriend. She was so pissed about that. She'd been fighting off guys since she was thirteen. She could have gone out of Eret. But she hadn't (even with those arms). She hadn't because she just didn`t want to. Astrid didn`t need a boyfriend. Why would she need a boyfriend when she had Hiccup? It was an ideal relationship – they had so much in common, they had each other's backs, and he never asked her for anything more than that. Other boys kissed her with sloppy mouths and too much tongue; they had so many hands. Gross. Hiccup never asked her for any of that. And he never assumed. Because they were friends. They were best friends. And that's why she didn't want to be inside right now. She didn't want to see her best friend making a complete idiot of himself over some girl. That and effing Snotlout was standing her up.

Her phone chimed and she hated the way her eyes flicked down to it, like she was just standing there waiting for his call. (She was.)

sorri babe games on

Astrid stared at the grammatical abomination that had infected her phone with stupidity. Her eyebrows were high up her forehead and for a split second, she had no idea what to say to that. Of course that moment passed and her thumbs started their vicious assault.

Forget it. Don't try to call me. Don't even look at me.

She shut her phone off before Snotlout had a chance to send her his asinine reply. If he showed up tonight, Astrid would pound his stupid face in. No one stood up Astrid Hofferson and lived to talk about it. Her first thought was that she wanted to show Hiccup the stupid text; she wanted to sit on his bed and laugh about Snot being an idiot; she wanted to feel comfortable and happy. She wanted everything to be right again. But she couldn't go in there and wave her phone in front of Hiccup now; he had a girlfriend.

"Well," she whispered to herself, her breath billowing out in clouds of steam, "get in there, Hofferson."

She pushed open the door, letting the sound and warmth wash over her. The usual suspects were here, drinking and yelling and having a great time in Hiccup's ridiculously oversized house. Stoick would have his head mounted on the wall if he knew what happened when he went out of town. He always assumed that she and Hiccup had spent the entire time he was gone playing Risk or trash-talking while playing MarioKart. He was so wrong.

Astrid took off her coat and hung it in the front hall closet. Judging by the marked lack of coats, no one else had bothered to hang theirs. They were probably piled on a bed in one of the many guest rooms. Weaving through the off-kilter crowd, Astrid made her way to the kitchen and paused in the doorway. Hiccup was standing next to, but not touching Heather. She was laughing at something he'd said and he was smiling at her (although Astrid was gratified to see that his smile was not reaching his eyes, which meant he was nervous about something – her gratification fell away when she realized he was probably just nervous about her). He looked over his shoulder and saw her. His smile was wide and genuine and real; it reached his eyes and they crinkled up so nicely in the corners. Her face echoed his whether she wanted it to or not. Astrid felt weird, suddenly. Like she wanted to shove Heather's stupid, too-much-eyeliner-wearing face into the fridge handle and stand next to Hiccup instead.

"Oh god," she mumbled to herself, turning her body toward the counter where Tuffnut was trying to convince anyone and everyone to do tequila shots. "I'll do a shot with you."

"Nice! HOFFERSONNNNNN!"

Astrid did a shot (or maybe a double?) of tequila and it was so smooth. She looked at the bottle.

"This is Stoick's good tequila. Does Hiccup know you're drinking this?"

"Hoff, how about we find an empty room and you can hit me?"

Astrid frowned at him and poured herself another double (it was definitely a double and not a shot) of tequila.

"I don't want to hit you," Astrid said, her tongue feeling tingly and heavy in her mouth.

"What? You always want to hit people," Tuffnut said, his words all slurred together.

Astrid poured another, very sloppy double and knocked it back. Her fingers closed around the neck of the bottle, her other hand occupied with the shot glass.

"I'm confiscating this, Tuff. You will have to move on."

Tuffnut made a vague grab for her, which Astrid sidestepped easily. She laughed at the floppy way his body moved and he grinned at her. Astrid pushed the flat of her knuckles that held the bottle against his forehead lightly and he fell, sprawled out on the floor. She laughed hard and then looked up to find Hiccup watching her with a furrowed brow. Anger roiled up suddenly. What the hell was he looking at? Shouldn't he be looking at his girlfriend? Astrid spun and stomped out of the kitchen and up the stairs, straight into Hiccup's bedroom. She rolled her eyes. What a terrible idea. If Hiccup was going to get lucky, it was going to be in his own room.

Still. She didn't want to leave. Because maybe that would prevent Hiccup from getting lucky. Yes. Astrid liked this idea far more than a completely platonic best friend should. But it was Heather that was the problem. It was her. Hiccup could have a girlfriend, it just couldn't be Heather. Why did he like her? She was so sneaky. Astrid was convinced that Heather was after something. She didn't even go to their school. She went to their rival school. And then one day, randomly, she fell in front of a car just when Hiccup happened to be walking by? What was this? A romantic comedy starring Drew Barrymore? No. This was Berk. Romance didn't happen in front of speeding vehicles. It happened on them. Or in them. Or…something. She thought about Hiccup's car – black and sleek and shiny and fast. She wanted to be in his car right now. Maybe in the backseat. Maybe with her hands in Hiccup's hair.

Wait, WHAT? Nonononono. This was Hiccup she was talking about. Hiccup who never asked her for anything. Hiccup who – was standing in the doorway.

"Astrid?"

She dropped the bottle of super expensive tequila. "Shit."

But she wasn't saying shit about the bottle. No, she was saying shit because she'd just realized a fundamental fact that disturbed her perfect world.

Hiccup had dropped to the floor, gathering up the bottle and examining it for damage, mopping up the spilled alcohol with a dirty t-shirt with his free hand. Astrid couldn't do anything but watch him with completely new (somewhat tequila-addled) eyes. He stood up and swayed unsteadily on his prosthetic. In the back of her head, there was a completely reasonable Astrid who wanted to tell him off for drinking in his prosthetic (as if he had any choice — it's not like he could just will his foot back).

"It's not broken," he said, grinning and shrugging.

His eyes came up to meet hers and his brow flinched ever so slightly. His eyes were so green. But she'd known that. Of course she'd known that. They're best friends. That reasonable Astrid in her brain was yelling at her about ruining friendships, but tequila-Astrid told her to shut the hell up because what did she know anyway?

"Astrid? Are you—"

They were best friends and she shouldn't be kissing him. They were best friends and this could ruin everything. They were best friends and he shouldn't be kissing her back. But he was.