There were currently two points of interest for the Berk Academy student body:

a) Astrid Hofferson's new boyfriend.

b) How long he would stay her boyfriend.

"I give it a week, tops," Ruffnut snickered, nudging her twin brother in the ribs.

"Too long. I call four days, and only 'cause they don't have the same sched," Tuffnut said, laughing. He turned to the tall, lanky brunet beside him. "What do you think, Hiccup?"

The brunet frowned in feigned concentration, bringing a hand up to his chin. "I don't know, I think he might stick."

The blonde twins balked. They felt personally victimized by this declaration, and didn't find it hard to express their sentiments.

"Dude, you can't be serious—"

"—she's way too good for him—"

"—besides, everyone knows—"

"—she likes y—"

"O-kay," Hiccup said, holding up his hands in protest. "I thought we were over that, you guys. Me and Astrid equals no."

"They brought that up again?"

The trio turned to find Astrid half-glaring at the twins, her question clearly addressed to her infamous best friend, Hiccup.

He sighed. "You'd think they'd stop after, what, four years?"

Tuffnut slowly counted off their high school years on his fingers. "Three. Three years."

"Congrats, you can count," Astrid said. She turned to the gangly boy. "Hiccup, can I talk to you for a second?"

"Sure, as long as it isn't gonna be a declaration of your love," he joked, following Astrid.

She laughed, putting a hand to her chest in mock seriousness. "Me? In love? With you? How did you know?"

He played along, dramatically moving his arms about. "It was the twins! The all-knowing Thorstons, spreading the truest gossip through Berk, as usual."

They laughed together, moving to an emptier part of the hallway, and leaving the said twins in visible annoyance. No one made a fool of Ruff and Tuff except for Ruff and Tuff.

"Okay, seriously," Astrid pleaded once they were (for the most part) alone. "I like this guy. Enough to tell you. Please keep him away from the twins."

Hiccup would've laughed if Astrid hadn't looked so serious. Then again, considering her dating record, she was due for a relationship that lasted more than a week. Poor thing. Poor, very capable, very dangerous, not-an-object, thing.

He settled for a lazy nod—the same one he would use when consoling her for one reason or another. If "consoling" included agreeing to being her (very bad) fencing partner on days when she had to let off some steam.

"Thank you," she said, hugging him. "I owe you one."

"Technically, you owe me five—"

She pulled back. "The moment, Hiccup. You're ruining it."

He stuck his tongue out at her. She punched him lightly on the shoulder, pecked him on the cheek, and ran off around the corner, yelling another, "Thanks you!" as she went.

Hiccup stood there for a moment. That was normal for them. A kiss on the cheek every now and then—he'd blamed it on their European blood or something. Family friends always did that sort of thing anyway, and they were very close family friends.

(An argument could be made if the two of them specifically were close to begin with, but everyone knew that whatever differences they had as young'uns were effectively mended the day he'd pushed her off the street and out of the path of a speeding car at age 10.)

"Ah, young love." The voice brought him back to reality. Fishlegs was behind him, making a swooning face. "So pure, so sweet, so—"

"So not actually love. Unless we define that as 'a deep closeness with one's best friend' now."

The larger teen smirked.

"Wait."

Still smirking.

"Not romantic love, then," Hiccup sighed, defeated. "You know, I don't have time for this. I need to keep the twins away from what's-his-name. Care to join me?"

Fishlegs shrugged, holding up his post-school-pre-hangout-meal. "Not like I meet with other people after school. Ever. Oh man, am I a loser?"

Hiccup laughed lightly as he led the way to the Thorstons. He swung an arm across his friend's shoulder—er, as far as it could reach, anyway. "I really don't think you're a loser, Fishlegs."

"You were the first sophomore to win gold at diving. With a missing leg."

Hiccup nudged his friend encouragingly. "And you got the robotics team to start being cool again with Meatlug, am I right?"

"Yeah…"

"Look at it this way, bud," he said, leaning in, "you've done way more than Snotlout at every corner. And he's won a few golds, too."

That cheered him up significantly. The on-going, arguably never-ending, rivalry between Fishlegs and Snotlout was almost as fierce as Hiccup and Astrid's general competitiveness. Admittedly, the latter always maintained an air of ease in their bets and deals, as opposed to the former's, ah, disastrous tendencies.

But at least Fishlegs felt better!

They stopped at the spot where Hiccup had left the twins—and started panicking at the absolute lack of said twins' presences.

"She's going to kill me," Hiccup squeaked, turning to face his friend. "Fishlegs, I'm going to die."

Fishlegs held up his hands in an effort to fend off the brunet. "Not necessarily! Astrid can be very forgiving!"

Hiccup squinted at him.

"—I bribed her when I accidentally let Stormfly out of her cage to apologize."

Hiccup nodded acknowledgingly. And then:

"—and that's the deal between those two!"

Their heads spun to the voice's general direction. They knew that voice.

"Snotlout," they said in unison, with varying levels of annoyance.

They found him in around a corner, talking loudly to Astrid's very new, very annoyed-looking boyfriend. For about three hours. Not that Hiccup kept count—that was Fishlegs' deal. And the twins'. And pretty much everyone at Berk Academy's.

It was like a major gambling ring, honestly.

"Say, Fishlegs, if Snotlout told him, then I'm technically good to go, right?" Hiccup asked nervously.

Fishlegs fidgeted. "Sure."

The two of them watched as Astrid's (possibly ex-) boyfriend began walking away with an all too familiar slump in his stride.

"I wouldn't rule out hiding out at the Cove for a few days, though," he added hastily. "To, y'know, be safe."

Hiccup pat his friend's shoulder and started to run off. "Good idea. Shoot me a text when she's done killing you!"

Fishlegs sighed. He was used to this. He took a step toward Snotlout. "And… damage control."