Work Text:
October 2022
Snotlout knew he would get caught someday. His trips into Astrid’s room, rustling through her closet to admire her clothes -and the very brave day he dared to try one on himself- can’t have lasted forever.
The twins are out doing interviews on Thor-knows-what for their podcast episodes, and Hiccup and Fishlegs are doing the weekly grocery shop. Astrid left five minutes ago, going to the campus gym to blow off steam after an unfortunate incident outside her lecture hall that left a guy with a bloody nose.
Snotlout sneaks in as he usually does, being careful even though he’s alone. He only ever looks in the section of the closet where she hangs all her things; he’s not that creepy. And it’s not like he’s into her anyway. But still, he sticks to the hanging space, and lets his fingers trail -carefully- along the skirts.
When he was a kid, he used to wonder what he would look like in a skirt. Now he’s eighteen and he still wishes he knew.
His hands move by themself, unclipping a ruffled, pink skirt with tiny white flowers on them, and slipping them over his leggings. He wonders how he looks, and then shakes it off. He should get out of this. It’s weird to borrow Astrid’s clothes without asking. Weird and rude.
He knows, the minute a key jiggles in the lock, that something is about to go horribly wrong. Then, Astrid comes in, swearing loudly enough for anyone within a ten foot radius of the house to hear. He catches something along the lines of “stupid gym’s closed” and his stomach drops. She’s already running up the stairs, and he does not have the energy to deal with an angry Astrid Hofferson right now.
“Snotlout?”
He doesn’t reply, holding his breath.
The door creaks open, and he thinks he might pass out with how hard his heart is beating in his chest.
He braces himself; he can almost hear it: the laughing, the mocking, the teasing, the voices begging “hey guys, come look at the freak in a skirt” .
But Astrid looks him up and down, tuts to herself, and says “pink is not your colour.”
She turns around and starts rummaging in her wardrobe. Snotlout stares, baffled. “Uh… what?” This is somehow worse than being laughed at.
“Some people just suit certain colours,” Astrid explains, ruffling through coat hangers. “You, for example, just don't suit pink. Turquoise, maybe, and red. Oh, black would be good on you; brings out the hair,” she speaks in short sentences.
Snotlout gives her a look. “Hiccup learns this in graphic design, I… picked some stuff up.”
Snotlout waits for her to be done, his heart racing. Finally, she turns around with three skirts in her hands.
“Try this.” She throws a shimmery turquoise garment at him, and he catches it, struggling for grip on the slippery fabric. On her, he can see it brushing her knees; on him, it would reach his shins at least. Plus, he is much stockier than her; he doesn't want to stretch her lovely clothes. It suddenly occurs to him he never thanked her, so he does. She doesn't say anything, but he can see her smiling in the mirror. The skirt on, he turns back and forth, admiring the iridescent shimmer in the loose folds of the fabric. It pinches his waist, but it looks good.
“Like it?” Astrid asks.
“Yeah. It's cool.”
“Just cool?”
Snotlout thinks for a while. “Could I try the black one on? Please.”
“Sure.” She hands it to him, and leaves the room with a swish of her hair. Finally, Snotlout gapes in disbelief. Is Astrid really lending him her clothes? So he could try them on? He shakes his head, and focuses on the skirt. He can already feel how much comfier the black skirt will be. When he shakes it out, the fabric swirls like a summer breeze. He stares at the motions, mesmerised. It looks like it would go to around his mid thigh on him. He can already feel it brushing his skin.
He takes the turquoise one off, lays it carefully on Astrid’s bed, and puts the black one on. He doesn’t dare to look in the mirror just yet, but he admires it on his legs. It’s cooler than most of the things he wears, mostly jeans and joggers, and -honestly- feels way nicer. It sits comfortably on his hips, matching with the red flannel shirt he wore. He privately wonders how smokey eyeshadow and eyeliner would look, like how Heather does her eyes sometimes, but he shakes off the thought. Skirts are one thing, but makeup is another, and he doesn’t know if he’s ready for that yet.
“Astrid?” He calls out, his voice much quieter than he intended. “Astrid?” He repeats, louder, and she walks in, and stops, staring at him.
“What?” His heart thudded in his chest. Already, he could feel the judgement coming his way, staring him in the face. “Do I look-”
When she finally speaks, her voice is soft, and her words are kind. “That really suits you, Snotlout. Take a look.” She steers him towards the mirror, the one he’d been avoiding so desperately, and he screws his eyes shut.
“Don’t be scared,” she says. “Just look.”
He opens his eyes, and finds a stranger staring -open mouthed- at him. Yet it feels so much like him, he knows he must know this strange, smiling boy from somewhere. Something inside his chest clicks at seeing him, like a puzzle piece slotting perfectly into place.
That’s me, Snotlout suddenly thinks. I look like that.
“I take it you like it?” Astrid says, grinning.
Snotlout tears his eyes away from his reflection, and smiles back at her. “Thank you so much.” He flings his arms around her, and she awkwardly pats him on the shoulder.
“Anytime.” Astrid seems to smile genuinely for a moment, but her face hardens. Snotlout braces himself, euphoria vanishing like a droplet of water on a hot pavement. “But don’t you dare go through my closet again without my permission.”
“Can I keep this?” Snotlout asks, running the beautiful skirt over his fingertips.
“No, I really like that one,” Astrid says, and while it’s perfectly fair, Snotlout can’t help but feel his heart sink. “We can go to the shops once everyone’s back and have a look for something similar, though. How does that sound?”
Snotlout nods, too eager for words.
Twenty minutes later, the others return, and Astrid leads him downstairs with a “ta daa!”
They stare at him. They stare for a really long time.
Then, they all walked towards him, and Snotlout braces for a punch, but they’re all hugging him, complimenting - complimenting!! - him, saying it suits him. Hiccup whispers in his ear “I always thought you’d look good in a skirt.”
“Why didn’t you say so?” Snotlout exclaims, rather annoyed that waiting to feel this good for so long could’ve been shortened.
“Um, because until seven years ago, you would’ve punched me in the face?”
Snotlout laughs guiltily. “Fair enough.”
“Hey, we should get you one of those pleated skirts for Christmas or something!” Tuffnut says, patting Snotlout on the back.
“Nice try, I’m already taking him shopping for one,” Astrid says, oddly protective as she hustles him out of the door.
“Why are you doing this?” He dares ask when they’re down the street.
“Dude. You don’t think I remember looking like a guy and being so afraid to go shopping for skirts?”
“I’m not-”
“I know,” she said calmly. “But that’s where people’s minds will go. But if we pretend it’s for me, you don’t have to be scared people are gonna judge you.”
Woah, that’s kind, he thinks, and he barely mumbles an “I’m not scared” before Astrid punches him in the shoulder.
“You’re Snotlout, you’re full of every emotion under the sun and you don’t let anyone see it.”
He nods, wondering if this has something to do with the ‘patriarchy’ Astrid sometimes talks about when she’s asked about her gender studies lectures.
“You could stand to show a bit more,” she says.
“Guess I’ll have to roll my skirt up, then,” Snotlout teases, and she punches him in the shoulder.
“That is not what I meant and you know it,” she grumbles, but he can see she’s laughing too.
“Yeah.” He smiles. “I know.”