A/N: Hello! So, I've had a thought, did some stuff, listened to some music and this came out. I've done a one shot for the PunkNerd HiJack AU and a lot of people liked it. So I figured to start up an entire fic for it. For those that follow me already, my other fics are being written as well. This was just some motivation and a push into writing again. Anyway, the basics. I don't own How to train your dragon nor do I own Rise of the Guardians. Thank the gods, too, otherwise, I'd ruin them both. So, enjoy!

"That was completely ridiculous. You didn't have to act like that." He hissed his voice. It sounded almost as vicious as the rain that hit the car as we drove.

Even though it was nighttime, raining, and no street lights, I took this time to floor it. I was just too pissed, I had to get home before I kicked the dashboard so hard, the airbag would fly out. "You heard the way he was speaking to me. Disrespect!"

"Well, Jack, you surely didn't respect him either." Hiccup pursed his lips, moving them as close to his tongue as possible. He always looked cute when he was angry or frustrated. Sometimes, I would catch him doing it while he was thinking or he'd be staring at his phone with wide eyes as he did it.

"I would have respected him if he gave me a warmer welcome." I glared at the road. Slick, black, long. Not a car or anything for miles it seemed. "Him saying 'oh, so you're the one' and then ignoring my offer for a handshake? He wasn't for respect, Hic, he was asking for my fucking fist in his face!"

He turned to me completely and I could feel his glare from the side of me. "Language, Jackson! And, you know, you aren't exactly the warmest log in the fire! You glared at him all night!"

"That's only because he glared at me!" The whole time his father stared at me with this cold look and I could see his knuckles turn white from gripping the fork too tight. No doubt, he wanted to throw it between my eyes. No doubt in my mind at all. "Your father hates me, so I might as well hate him back!"

"He wouldn't hate you if you didn't come over like this!" I could feel Hiccup gesture to my piercings, tattoos, t-shirt, baggy pants, and overly used shoes. I had a sweatshirt, but I was too angry to put it on and instead threw it in the backseat as we left his house.

His parents weren't hateful toward his sexuality like my father was, but at least one of them was hateful toward me. His mother saw the good in me while his father looked only at my crust, my outward appearance. He didn't ask why I dressed this way or even if I had a reason to. All he did was listen to rumors, take them in, and judge me for himself the moment he saw me. While his mother smiled and shook my hand, saying it was nice to meet me, his father snarled, throwing that comment like a spit. Nobody who acted like that deserved my respect.

I stayed silent as my boyfriend groaned and slumped in the seat next to me, throwing his head back. When things got tense like this and he did that, I would usually throw a free hand at his stomach and begin tickling him till he was breathless. Not only would it light up the mood, but it would get him smiling again. Those buckish teeth, the gaps between them, the way his eyes sparkled like untouched snow. I would give anything to see that right now. But I was still pissed and I knew no amount of tickling would relieve his stress at the moment.

"Why do you even care anyway?" I could hear his adam's apple bobbing in his throat as he spoke, his head turning toward me and his eyes glaring at me once more. "You told me you didn't care if any of them liked you."

Finally, I turned my head and stared at him. To unknowing eyes, he looked relaxed; arm slumped over his stomach, body leaned back into the seat. But I just glared back. What a terrible mistake. "I don't give a shit what I said before, I do care." I did. Having his family accept me would have been awesome. It didn't matter now, though.

Hiccup's green eyes swerved, doing a double take as his screams deafened everything else. I turned with wide eyes and didn't hear the screech that the tires made as I tried to turn away from the whatever it was with lights. It didn't even take on a full shape. All I had time to see was two bright orbs ramming into my face. My arm moved over and plastered itself onto my boyfriend's chest, hoping that the lights wouldn't strike him as well. I could feel my head pound against the roof of the car and his body jerk against my hand. The windshield cracked and glass showered over us, grass filling its place. I blinked and then I could see the bright orbs staring at me again. Another blink and I saw Hiccup's bloodied face against mine, the car still twirling. I blinked once more and…

PAUSE.

Every Sunday, we'd walk two blocks to go to the movies. We'd always pick the ones that stopped showing that week. So that we'd be alone and we could scream at the characters all we wanted, throwing popcorn around and crying when other people would have stared. Sometimes, we'd bring my little sister and she'd sit between us so we 'wouldn't do anything funny'. She is very protective over me to the point where she hardly even allowed me to hold hands with another person in her presence.

If we were sick or just too lazy to go or had to come home late, we'd pick a movie from my many shelves of video tapes and DVDs. I liked those days better; cuddling up on the floor in a pile of pillows, watching Hiccup push his glasses up his nose with his middle finger, making root beer floats…those times were better than going to the theaters. And when one of us got up to use the bathroom or get more pillows or get something to drink, we would yell 'pause'. Sometimes I didn't. Hiccup would then glare at the remote in my hand and tell me the rewind so that he could see what he missed.

There was a lot between the first day and the day of the dinner. And like a movie, it started playing in my head.

REWIND.

In books and in movies, the day someone meets the love of their life is usually a happy one. The sun is usually shinning or it's snowing beautifully outside. Or they stare into each other's eyes after one had just moved into the neighborhood and began going to school with the other. There are many different ways love is brought up in media; childhood friends turned couple in high school, two sides of the tracks fall for each other behind family's backs. But it's always the same; the other is usually depicted as beautiful and striking and the narrator can't stop thinking about them, their hands get sweaty and the world spins at the sight of them. That's not how it goes, though. Not for real.

It was raining outside. And not that kind of rain that makes you sing and dance and twirl your umbrella. It was the cold, October rain that damaged your hopes of Halloween being possible in the next week. And there I sat in the third floor boy's bathroom, window open and cigarette dangling between my fingers. The school was nice and clean save for this one bathroom that hardly anyone used and everyone forgot about. Except for me.

The ladies used the first floor girl's bathroom more than the second. Something about how it was close to the locker rooms and they could see baseball players come out in their towels sometimes. The second floor boy's bathroom was close to a classroom with a teacher inside that spent way too much time on her looks. Everyone had a dress code, including us students with our uniforms, but she took it to a level that made every boy's jaws drop to the ground. So that made the third floor boy's bathroom unused all the time.

As I watched cars drive down the street a little ways away, I loosened my tie and scratched the back of my head. Bringing the butt of the cigarette up to my lips, all I could think about was my little sister, Emma, and her pleading this morning when she asked if I could play with her when I got home. I smiled and breathed in the smoke that I was so used to. Hide and seek, hopscotch, red light, green light; all her favorite games. And that's not even counting the board games as well. I turned toward the window and breathed out, the smoke trailing out the window and getting lost in the slight mist.

That's when he walked in. At first, I thought it was a teacher. So, when I looked over at the doorway for the bathroom, I couldn't help but glare and bite my bottom lip to get ready for a fight. But instead of a teacher standing in the doorway, there stood that lanky brunet; glasses hanging off the tip of his nose, face red with embarrassment more than likely, knuckles white from clutching the bottom of his shirt. His eyes were wide with what looked like fear and he even whimpered slightly as he walked toward the stall. He never took his eyes off me as if I was a spider he didn't want to be around. I ignored him for the most part; going back to looking out the window and skipping English class. I didn't understand what was so scary about me other than my piercings and tattoos. I hardly ever picked fights and when I did, it was for self defense. They had always started it, I was just finishing it. But other than the designs imprinted on my body, my dyed white hair, and the silver rings and balls around my ears and face, I looked no different than he did. Still wore the same uniform, had the same shoes. I took a puff off the cigarette again and let the smoke sit in my throat for a second before breathing out the window.

In truth, I hated the taste. The whole act made me feel sick. But if I didn't, I'd feel even more sick. My hands would shake, my chest would feel tight. I hated the people that dragged me down into performing the act in the first place.

As I brought the cigarette up to the window to tap off the ashes, the small framed brunet walked out of his stall, coughing. He glanced at me once more before walking away, his arm up over his mouth and nose. When school ended, I saw him once more, walking in the hallways with his chin up and glasses pushed back. His nose was rounded and looked a lot like either a baby's balled up hand or like a smallish potato. His freckles dotted each part of his face, hardly leaving actual skin behind. His most striking feature, though, was his eyes. Those bright, deep eyes that looked all too much like the apple Jones soda I picked up after school kept staring off into nothingness.

Continuing down the hallway, he began glancing this way and that until he tripped and fell, causing the books and papers in his arms to scatter across the floor. Everyone moved out of the way but not a single one of them stopped to help him. Papers were stepped on, books were kicked open, more things flew out of the brunet's hands as he tried to hurry and pick things up. I sighed at the sight and looked around before beginning to pick things up myself.

"You okay?" I asked as he pushed his glasses further up his nose.

"Y-yeah. Yeah, I'm fine." He nodded, not looking up at me as he picked his stuff up a bit slower now. He even shot out a smile as he lifted his head when I handed him one of his many books. As soon as he saw my face, though, the smile disappeared and his face instantly became red with even more embarrassment. He gasped and backed away, grabbing the book from my hands and stuffing it into his messenger bag.

"I-I-I'm sorry!" He quickly stuttered out as he stood up, his glasses almost falling off his nose. "I-I-I have to g-go!" And with that, he ran off, not even looking up anymore.

I shrugged and continued on my way. I nodded at people with a smirk as they called my name and waved teasingly at teachers that glared at me. Almost all the staff gave me some sort of look. All except the ladies at the front desk who ignored everyone. Until you walked up to them and asked them something, then they'd be glaring and spitting words at you like you were some criminal. Or maybe it was just me.

By the front desk was a row of trophy cases. Most of the trophies and awards were for academic events. Like chess, spelling bees, geography, things like that. Hardly any sported a baseball man on top and even less with a giant golden football. Right in the center though is where the team photographs sat with brass plaques showing the names of each member. And there, right there was the geography team from last year.

The almost all looked the same but I stopped and stared. There, right to the right, was the potato nose brunet himself, forcing a smile. I searched for the name. Alan…Trevor…Henry. Henry Haddock. Now I remember the name. I made fun of him sophomore year for how close his name sounded to hungry haddock. Back then, he looked like a runt child. Now…he still looked like a runt but a bit less like a child. Mostly like a hiccup if a hiccup had a physical appearance.

I chuckled and continued walking home, not really thinking much of him afterward. I played hide and seek with my little sister, helped my mother cook and serve dinner, and stayed about as far away from my father as I could. He was like an angry drunk if people could get drunk off bottled water. There was hardly a time in which he didn't have a bottle in his hands and his robe off his back. When everything was finally cleaned, my sister tucked in bed, and my father's reminder that I was lucky to be in his house sounded, I climbed into my bed myself.

The rain continued outside and I wondered if we'd still be able to trick or treat on Friday. Trick or Treat or not, I'm still wearing my costume to school…

A/N: Shall I continue or not even bother? Let me know in the reviews! - ADAM

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