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Astrid Hofferson is worried for someone she's never met.
The gold lines that indicate a soulmate's scars are ubiquitous. Everyone has at least one. It might be on their arm, a burn from an oven tray. Legs, a childhood fall's memory etched on. Astrid herself has given her soulmate more than a few, from dance accidents or football training or the time Heather forced her to try archery and she dropped the arrow on her sandal-clad foot.
But the sheer quantity of marks over every inch of Astrid's skin is concerning.
There's scarcely a part of her skin not shrouded in gold. It's most concentrated around her left knee, just below. Probably a surgical scar. When it appeared, Astrid noted it on the diagram she made some time ago, and added a note: amputee?
It's four in the afternoon when she feels an ache in her chest, and she recognises the kind of pain as soulmate pain. She's had plenty of time to learn to tell their pain from her own.
When she checks it later, two more surgical scars slice across her chest, and she notes top surgery? FtM? in the book alongside them.
None of those are what concern her, though. There are some smaller ones, injuries, nothing worthy of note, nothing useful.
What does is the ever-increasing number of straight, neat, deliberate marks that coat her arms and her upper thighs. They're short, straight in an unnatural way, a way that doesn't appear from most injuries. There couldn't be surgery over that much space.
Astrid is worried for someone she's never met.
Dear Mr & Mrs Hofferson,
As we are sure you are aware, Astrid has a large number of golden soulmate scars on her arms and legs. These have, at times, been distracting to other students in the classroom.
If, whenever possible, you could send Astrid into school wearing long sleeves, it would be much appreciated.
Typical school bullshit. She wears a T-shirt and shorts into school in December just to fuck with them.
Heather <3: i think i just found my soulmate
Heather <3: she has the scar over her eye i've been walking around with for six months
Heather <3: what do i do???
Astrid: Talk to her, you dummy!
Astrid: You're so lucky, don't waste this chance!
Heather <3: you're right
Heather <3: but she looks so cool she might think i'm stupid
Astrid: She is literally chosen by the universe to love you
Astrid: And you're probably the most awesome person I've ever met
Astrid: She's going to adore you
Heather <3: <3 love you too
Heather <3: wish me luck!
Heather <3: her name is ruffnut
Heather <3: we have a date for Friday
Heather <3: i was right, she is cool, but she's also possibly the nicest person i've ever met
Heather <3: i think i'm in love
Astrid: Remember, serial killers have soulmates too
Astrid: Text me your location before you go
Astrid: And good luck, H, you deserve the most awesome soulmate ever and I really hope Ruffnut is her
Heather <3: <3 thanks!
It hurts, a little, when a new one is etched into her. Presumably not as much as it hurts her soulmate to get them, but it still hurts. She hopes she's taking at least some of the pain her soulmate is feeling away from them.
That is why, at two in the morning, Astrid wakes up. There's a stabbing pain in her wrists. She's felt it a million times before, and will a million times later, but this time feels different. This time feels wrong. It's deeper than before. She doesn't know how she knows that.
Astrid flicks on the light and watches as a golden scar slices its neat way across the inside of her left wrist.
Then another, along her right.
Then nothing.
For a moment, she stares at them, frozen. What the hell do you do when this happens?
She thinks of calling 911, but dismisses that. What would she say? 'An amputee trans boy just cut his wrists somewhere and I don't know where he is or who he is or even if he lives in the US, but I think he's going to die'?
She doesn't know where he is, or who he is, or what's going through his mind, and there is nothing she can do but watch.
Sure enough, five minutes later -- five minutes of staring and watching and hoping hoping hoping -- the scars on her wrists are black. All of them are. She checks her back. Her legs. Her arms. Frantic, with the help of her phone and a mirror, and all of them are black, black, black.
Astrid screams.
Astrid grieves for someone she's never met.
She spends hours on her computer, googling. She knows there's no chance, no chance at all. It might be in a different language, or just not have been reported the way it should. He might be in a place where this kind of stuff doesn't get reported. It might have been deleted off the internet.
She does it anyway.
Her parents don't like it.
More than that, they’re worried.
She knows from the way they stare at her without speaking, from the air of quiet disapproval from all around her, from the hushed arguments they think she can't hear. From the 'it's natural to grieve' and 'it's not healthy, what she's doing' and 'should we get her help?' that drifts up the stairs.
Astrid puts on her headphones and continues to research.
It's been days, almost a week, and she knows there's no chance, but she has to try.
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Her friends are worried about her.
They don't tell her. Heather shows her worry in a different way to her parents: she shows up more, rather than less. Scarcely an hour goes by without her phone going off with a text or a call.
Heather's worried she'll end up like her soulmate. She nearly said it herself, during a heated argument. Astrid didn't like her clinginess at first. Now, she wonders if it would have saved her soulmate.
They spend more time together in silence than they used to. Astrid rarely feels like talking.
“She might be – you know the stats, you know what could happen – and you want her to spend her last moments obsessing over some kid she’s never met?”
Astrid turns her music up.
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Still no hits. The people are either too old or too young or cis or not amputees.
Heather <3: astrid? how are you doing?
Astrid: Better. Not great.
Heather <3: that sucks
Heather <3: want me to come over?
Astrid: I think I need to be alone right now
Astrid: Sorry
Heather <3: no need to apologise, just... let me know you're okay, alright?
Astrid: Sure
The doctors her parents drag her to after two weeks say it's normal for someone to fall into depression after the death of their soulmate, especially if they're young.
She doesn't miss the pitying look on 'young'.
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People still stare at her scars, but now they don’t tell anyone. They look in glances and sideways looks and whispers of poor girl. She ignores them.
They know what her chances are.
She's exhausted all the permutations of the fifty states and cities when she starts trying places outside the US. The time zone must be similar to her own -- most of the cuts happened in the day time. Certainly all the surgical cuts.
She starts with Mexico. It yields no useful results.
It's when she types 'teen boy suicide canada may 14th' into google that she gets something useful.
Astrid: Heather
Astrid: I found him
His name was Hiccup Haddock.
He was seventeen. Her age.
He had a history of depression and self-harm -- the evidence is all over her body -- and was bullied at school.
He lost his leg in a road accident when he was thirteen.
He lived in Quebec.
The news article says he was good at maths and science. His father, who seems to be the only relative he has, says he wanted to be an engineer when he grew up.
He won't be anything now.
This is all she knows.
Heather <3: astrid
Heather <3: ruffnut was 'digging around' or so she says, i don't really know what she did, but she found his dad's email
Heather <3: do you want it?
Astrid is typing...
Astrid is typing...
Heather <3: it's fine if you don't, honestly. you could just try to forget and that is valid too
Astrid is typing...
Astrid: Send it over
Heather <3: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: Your son
Dear Mr Haddock,
I don't know how to start this email properly -- I don't think anybody does -- but I'm not faking or trying to scam you out of anything. Especially not money. I don't want money. I think I should lead with that.
Alright.
I think I'm your son's soulmate.
There are pictures of my scars attached, so you can see if they match. I'm sorry if I'm dragging up something you'd rather not think about -- truly sorry -- and I'm not really sure what I'm doing either. But I would like to meet you and learn a little bit about my soulmate, if that's at all possible.
Yours sincerely,
Astrid Hofferson
She doesn't get a reply for a few days, and she spends them agonising over every word in her email. She probably wrote it wrong. Too formal. Not formal enough. The whole idea of emailing her dead soulmate's father was a terrible idea and were they even soulmates? Was her soulmate dead somewhere else? Or could he be the Canadian future engineer she read about, and his father just didn't want to read her email? Had she hurt him more, by trying to find him?
And then, there is a notification on her phone. An email. Subject line: RE: Your son.
Astrid's heart skips several beats, and she clicks on it faster than a peregrine falcon.
From: [email protected]
Subject: RE: Your son
Dear Miss Hofferson,
I don't know what to say to you. I don't think I could answer many -- or even any -- of your questions about Hiccup. As evidenced by... well... all of it, I didn't know him as well as I thought I did. But I can try. Your scars do match his.
I am very sorry you never got to meet him.
I don't know where you live, so I can't say much about the feasibility of meeting. Perhaps we can start over email?
And you can call me Stoick.
Yours,
Stoick Haddock
Astrid: Remember how I emailed his father?
Astrid: Well, he replied.
Astrid has sent a screenshot
Heather <3: wow.
Heather <3: what do you think you're going to ask?
Astrid: I don't know
Astrid: I guess I just want to get a sense of him which isn't from a news article
Astrid: And maybe see if we'd have liked each other if we'd ever met
Heather <3: i hope you find that. honestly, i have nothing to say
Heather <3: nobody ever says what to say about stuff like this
Heather <3: i just hope i can help
Astrid: Trust me, H, you've helped more than anyone. I love you so so much, and I'm so glad you have your soulmate
Heather <3: i'm just sorry you don't have yours
Astrid: I can try to find him, though, secondhand through his dad
Astrid: It's not the best, but it's there
From: [email protected]
Subject: RE: RE: Your son
Dear Stoick,
I guess I just want to get a general sense of what he was like. Did he have many friends? What were his interests? What was he good at? What was his room like? What did he do with his time?
I want to see if we'd have crossed paths if we were in the same country, to be honest. If we'd have liked each other, other than the soulmate thing. I live in Boston, so I don't know if we could meet too soon.
I'm pretty sporty, and I speak Spanish, and my best friend's name is Heather. She's amazing. She's really been my rock through all of this. Who was Hiccup's rock? Did he have one?
I hope I'm not overwhelming you.
And you can call me Astrid.
Yours sincerely,
Astrid Hofferson
The email comes a day later.
From: [email protected]
Subject: RE: RE: RE: Your son
Dear Astrid,
I probably don't have the full answers to all of your questions, but here's the version I gleaned from him.
He didn't have many friends. His best friend was called Fishlegs Ingerman, and he has said I can give you his contact information, so here's his email: [email protected]. He also talked to his cousin -- and Fishlegs's soulmate -- Snotlout Jorgenson regularly, and his email is [email protected]. They can probably tell you more about him than I can.
Other than them, he didn't really have anyone he spent a lot of time with. He spent a lot of time alone.
He loved maths. He was taking advanced maths and physics and chemistry, and he got As in them too. His teachers said he was on track for university. He wanted to be an engineer, and he spent a lot of time in my garage (photo attached) building various gadgets and gizmos to make his life better. He was always interested in it, but it got more intense after he lost his leg -- he wanted to build prosthetics that worked better for the people who used them, and mobility aids too.
The pride shines through every paragraph of the email. Stoick clearly loved his son.
He was good at art too, but he didn't take classes in it -- he said it would have killed the joy in creativity for him. I understand that, I think.
His room... well, I've attached a picture. We fought about it a lot. I wanted him to clean it up, and he said there was no point because the next day he'd just take it all out again. It was a pointless fight. Those are the sorts of things you think about afterwards, I suppose.
He spent most of his time in either the garage or his room. Sometimes Snotlout or Fishlegs would drag him out of there to be social, but I don't think he liked it very much. Or, let me rephrase, he wouldn't have done it without them making him.
I don't think you would have, if you are very sporty. He didn't do a lot of sport. And it was mostly the sporty kids who were picking on him, that kind of crowd, from what I picked up.
I'm glad you have someone. You're still young, and it could be rather overwhelming to have to deal with all of this now. I hope she helps you. I mean, hell, I'm an adult and I'm still drowning. I blame myself, a bit.
You're not overwhelming me at all. It's nice, to get to talk about something which isn't how he died, because he was so much more than just that.
I hope I've helped you understand him a bit better. I think he would have liked you.
Yours,
Stoick Haddock
Astrid doesn't know what to write back.
She could stop here. This seems like a natural place to stop. She probably won't get more information than this, and there will never be any closure here. Nobody would begrudge her stopping.
She starts to write an email.
To: [email protected], [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: Hiccup
Dear Fishlegs and Snotlout,
I'm Hiccup's soulmate, and I didn't realise it until about two weeks ago. I'm trying to learn as much about him as I can, and Stoick said that you guys were good people to talk to in order to do that, and he said you guys were friends?
If I'm overstepping, I sincerely apologise, but I'm just trying to figure this out. I don't really know what to do.
Yours,
Astrid Hofferson
From: [email protected]
Subject: RE: Hiccup
jeez why use email nobody emails anymore just use my fucking number. dunno what i can tell you about hiccup but he was alright. annoying sometimes. didn't like parties much. text if u have more questions.
or text fishlegs, he's better to bother with this dumb crap.
He also sent his number.
From: [email protected]
Subject: RE: Hiccup
Ignore whatever Snotlout emailed you, he's generally pretty testy, and we're all under a lot of stress right now. I can tell you stuff about him, if you want, but I'm not exactly sure what you're asking. Do you want a biography? Because I could try to give you one, but it would be probably incomplete. If you want a sense of who he was, his social media might help? It shouldn't be too hard to find.
Here's my number if you have other questions: 450-555-0164 -- feel free to text Snotlout too, he'll grouch but he'll be fine with it.
Fishlegs Ingerman
Astrid: His dad -- Stoick -- said he was bullied.
Snotlout: yeah. got pretty bad sometimes.
Fishlegs: By bad, we mean bad. Properly bad. They'd beat him up -- he was running around with bruises all the time, cuts, burns.
Snotlout: and he didn't fucking tell us until they put him in the hospital. idiot.
Fishlegs: He said he was scared they'd hurt us instead.
Snotlout: weak excuse. he should have told us.
Astrid: Wow. I don't know what to say.
Fishlegs: You don't need to, nobody does.
Snotlout: least of all school admin. they did fuck-all and he kept getting beat up. until i gave one of those shitheads a black eye, and then it eased off a bit, i think.
Snotlout: but how the fuck would i know? he was good at hiding it.
Fishlegs: You can't blame yourself.
Snotlout: don't you dare tell me what to do fishface.
Fishlegs: love you too <3
They text. About Hiccup, when Snotlout gets especially maudlin and guilty and self-blaming. About Hiccup when Fishlegs is reminded of something Astrid might want to know. She notes down everything he tells her in the notebook, next to the diagram that will never change again.
He grouched when it got too warm.
He got phantom pains in his leg.
He hadn't had a birthday party since he was seven.
He hated TikTok.
They text about other things too, sometimes, but she doesn't note those down.
She finds his Instagram. Fishlegs seems to have turned it into a memorial for him -- at least, she assumes it was Fishlegs. His account is private, but he accepts her follow request pretty quick.
He didn't post much. Maybe he didn't have much in his life he wanted to post. There's some stuff, some pictures, no parties, memes, jokes between friends. A video, clearly filmed by him, shaky camera and laugher through the shitty mic and Fishlegs and Snotlout laughing too, a joke she can't get because she wasn't there.
She doesn't realise that it's the first time she's heard her soulmate's voice until she's in bed, replaying it over and over and over.
He sounded so happy, in the video.
Astrid: I downloaded a video off Instagram because it has his voice on it
Astrid: Am I crazy?
Heather <3 is typing...
Heather <3 is typing...
Heather <3 is typing...
Heather <3: it does sound a little crazy
Heather <3: but i don't get to judge. i found my soulmate at sixteen. i'm so lucky it almost hurts sometimes.
Heather <3: people say that not having your soulmate can feel like not having a limb -- and that's when they're, you know, alive
Heather <3: there's a reason people often die soon after their soulmates
Heather <3: i'm just thankful you haven't
Heather <3: so you get to do whatever you want, whatever helps, whatever makes you feel more connected to him. and nobody gets to say shit.
Astrid: You know you're a really great friend, right Heather?
Heather <3: <3
Astrid: Seriously, thank you so much
Astrid: Out of curiosity, what have you read about people without their soulmate?
Heather <3: there was an article in the New York Times about it
Heather <3: do you want me to send it?
Astrid: Yes please
She reads the article. It's long, lots of case studies. Young and old alike sit between the pages, blurring into one.
There's a woman with her soulmate, her wife, her life partner dead, trying to make her way through life without her. 'Sixty percent of people who lose their soulmate die within a year', the article reminds, a small stinging blow against Astrid's heart. 'It is believed that the bond between soulmates, when broken, is akin to cutting off an artery: the body's life force begins to drain out.' The woman is still optimistic, trying to staunch the flow by loving as much as she can.
There's a man who hasn't found his soulmate and has given up trying. He says it was a 'fruitless quest'. What does it say about her that she'd do anything to have it again?
There's a little boy with his scars black already. He plays in the background of an interview where his parents worry for him. He might not ever reach an age where he'd understand why, because a stranger died.
Astrid is lucky.
Astrid: That article says I’ve got a year
Heather <3: …yeah
Heather <3: i wouldn’t put too much stock in that
Heather <3: there’s a ton of variation, and it’s just a trend – we have no idea why it happens
Heather <3: even in non-soulmate couples, people tend to die after their partners
Astrid: Maybe I’ll beat the odds, who knows?
Heather <3: i really hope so
Trying to find him with her notes is like trying to find infinity by counting on her fingers.
He had a kitten called Toothless. Snotlout adopted him.
His mother left when he was young.
He ate in the art classroom every lunchtime. Sometimes Snotlout and Fishlegs joined him.
He decorated his prosthetic with stylised designs of dragons.
His favourite colour was blue.
She finds an interview with a soulmate expert – Dr. Ava Li – in a corner of a reddit forum, r/LifeAfterSoulmates.
It really helped me, the poster writes. Especially with coming to terms with the fact that he’s gone and not coming back. I held some resentment towards him for condemning me to death – I didn’t understand the full science of it – but it’s a decade later, and I’m still here, so I guess I beat the odds.
She clicks faster than she can remember properly, scrolling right down to the meat of the transcript.
K: So, I’m going to get to the bit I think everyone’s here for. If my soulmate dies, does it mean I will die?
L: [laughs] Well, that’s a difficult question. I would have to say, as far as our knowledge goes now, no. I mean, everyone dies eventually, but that’s not what you meant, is it?
[laughter]
Many people do die soon after their soulmates – around 60%, if I remember correctly, in the United States, around 60% die within a year of their soulmate – but that doesn’t mean it’s a guarantee. We don’t fully understand the mechanism behind it – or behind any part of the soulbond, to be honest. It was thought of as mythical for so long that there was a real stigma against exploring it – sort of an affront to God.
K: But there are still people who think that way. I heard – in your book, you wrote about an anecdote involving some people who picketed your offices?
L: Yes. And they – they can be a real barrier to researching this, but there are far fewer. It’s less of a mainstream belief. And so, I think, in the next thirty, forty years, we’re going to see some really interesting science on the biology of soulbonds and we can demystify them a bit. And it might seem like basic research, but that basic research has just never been done before, so it will be, really, breaking new ground.
Thirty or forty years doesn’t really help Astrid, not unless she’s one of the lucky lucky lucky ones on the far right of the bell curve.
She tries not to think about the peak around six months.
Astrid: Heather
Heather <3: what is it?
Astrid: You know that it's the summer holiday here?
Astrid: It's summer in Canada too
Astrid: I texted Snotlout and Fishlegs and they said I could come up for a couple of days
Astrid: They said it would be alright if you came too
Astrid: Please?
Heather <3: you're inviting me on a road trip to canada?
Astrid: Quebec City to be exact
Astrid: Ruffnut can come too if she wants, I do kind of owe her for that email address and my car's a four-seater
Astrid: My parents said yes
Heather <3: when are we going? i'll have to talk to my brother but it should be cool
Heather <3: what are Fishlegs and Snotlout like?
Astrid: Thank you so much for agreeing to comeeeeee
Astrid: Fishlegs seems pretty quiet, nerdy-ish, and I don't think Snotlout likes me too much but he did agree to let me come so I don't know
Astrid: They'll probably like you, you're amazing
Astrid: Ruffnut's a bit of an...acquired taste, but I acquired it pretty quick so hopefully they will too
Heather <3: don't talk smack about my girlfriend hofferson
Heather <3: ruffnut is astounding and you should be grateful to look upon her
Astrid: Are you taking the piss or is this just what having a soulmate feels like?
Heather <3: little of both
Heather <3: sorry if I stirred anything up
Astrid: Don't worry about it
Ruffnut shows up in a crop top and shorts. She's dressed alright for Boston. She's going to die in Canada. Astrid tells her as much, and gets only a breezy "I run warm, don't worry about me."
Astrid doesn't worry about her. Ruffnut doesn't seem like the type to moan, so hopefully it won't become her problem.
Everyone's licensed to drive – Astrid makes Ruffnut show her the card before she'll let her in the driver's seat – and they load the car in near-silence. Heather's social awareness has always been Astrid's envy, but now it is even more of a godsend than usual, especially since she's holding back for two.
Astrid drives first. It's only six hours, more with traffic. They can do six hours straight if they're stupid and caffeinated enough. Ruffnut brought a sixpack of Red Bull as a hostess gift. Astrid gets the sense she would drink Four Loko if it was still legal.
"I didn't really know what to pack," Heather admits with a breathy laugh when they hit the freeway. "I mean, it's summer, but it's also Canada..."
"... and Canada is freeze-your-nipples-off freezing," Ruffnut finishes.
Astrid wonders if Hiccup would have finished her thoughts.
Snotlout: astrid? where are you?
Astrid: New Hampshire
Astrid: Ruffnut (my bff's soulmate) is buying more Red Bull
Astrid: She's driving next
Astrid: Pray for me
Fishlegs: At least if she's driving she probably won't be able to bounce off the walls?
Astrid: You'd think so, wouldn't you?
Snotlout: wait didn't you have six cans at the start of this drive?
Astrid: …yeah
Astrid: We may have run out
Fishlegs: ASTRID
They reach Quebec City in less time than they were supposed to. Astrid may have broken traffic laws. She doesn't know Canadian traffic laws anyway.
"Heather?" she asks. "Can you text Fishlegs, tell him we're pulling up?"
"On it," Heather says, typing away. She's the only person Astrid's met with the typing sound still on, other than her parents, and she keeps her ringer at full volume. It practically echoes through the car.
They go to a café near their houses after the inevitable awkwardness, one that Fishlegs recommended. It's a quaint little place, cosy and quiet, and they get an outdoor table and order drinks.
"You're Snotlout and Fishlegs," Ruffnut says.
"Indeed," Fishlegs says. Snotlout nods tersely.
Only slightly after the awkwardness.
"Cool. Coolcoolcoolcoolcoolcool." She looks to Heather. "Darling, I have exhausted all conversation topics."
Astrid snorts a loud laugh.
"At least bring up our dead friend," Snotlout says. "He's right there! Use him!"
"Don't joke about that," Astrid says. "That's not something you joke about."
"Well, I let my cousin die, so this is hardly the worst thing I've ever done," Snotlout tosses off, leaning back further in his chair.
"No," Astrid says, louder than she means to. "You're not doing this shit."
"What shit?" He's louder than her. People are staring. He doesn't care.
"This self-deprecating, self-blaming bullshit! It's not your fault, and there is nothing you could have done."
Heather turns away slightly, and Ruffnut follows her lead.
"Yeah, except there was, so maybe don't lecture me when you don't have all the facts." Snotlout looks cocky, and that almost fools Astrid into thinking he's said a good argument for a moment. Almost fools her into thinking he has a point.
"What? Other than 'be better at everything'. What could you have done?" She stays combative, up until he sobs. Then she collapses like a dam besieged by water.
"He called me," Snotlout says quietly, through sniffs. Fishlegs holds his arm, and he lifts his head up. "He called me. The night he... he called me. And I didn't pick up."
"How come?" Astrid leans over the table. She's trying, as hard as she can, to strike a balance between knowing and hurting.
But she's seventeen and her soulmate died and she's already broken it fifteen times over and it worked, so her efforts are thwarted by inertia and pain and the slow steady knowledge that she might have only a few days left to find out anything about him, that their broken bond might be sapping the life and the love from her.
Astrid Hofferson, half-dead of a broken heart, and all she needs to know is what happened to the other half of it.
"I was drunk." He spits it out like a curse, and though he's been swearing all day it seems more violent than any of those words. "I was drunk and passed out on some fuckhead's couch and my phone was dead and I only found out when I got back to my house and my mom sat me down and told me that he'd -- he'd --"
He breaks down into a fresh fit of sobbing, and Fishlegs holds his shoulders in a hug. It feels too intimate to look at, like Ruffnut and Heather finishing each other's sentences. Something special, and private.
While she looks away, she notices all the other patrons doing so too.
"I could have stopped him," Snotlout says, wiping away his tears. "If I hadn't been drunk and my phone had worked, I could have stopped him. Or found him. Or gotten him help. Something."
"No," Fishlegs says, with a quiet conviction that seems so like him. "You couldn't have."
"I saw the scars," Astrid admits, and both of them freeze. "I – you see these two? -- I saw them as they came up, and I didn't do anything. I could have done something, and I didn't."
"What would you have done?" Fishlegs says. "What would either of you have done? Astrid, you had no idea who he was. You didn't know what to do because there was nothing to do. And you, you loveable idiot" – he points to Snotlout – "he didn't decide to commit suicide after you didn't pick up. You would just be torturing yourself over whether you said the right thing on the call now."
"I know you're right," Snotlout says. "I just don't believe you."
Astrid nods in agreement.
Fishlegs sighs. "To be honest, I don't believe myself either. I think that comes later, after you say it enough times."
"I hope so," Snotlout says.
It's the morning again when she pads downstairs, the sun already up. She goes into the kitchen in hopes of finding something to eat and instead finds Snotlout, in a dressing gown, making coffee as quietly as he can.
"You alright?" she half-whispers.
His head turns to hers.
"My best friend is dead," Snotlout says. "I'm peachy."
She snorts, and he smiles tentatively.
"Is that how you've been answering that since he died?"
"Any chance I get."
She laughs, and he changes the subject.
"D'you want coffee?"
"I'll take a cup."
They work with the coffeemaker, side by side, and he shows her how to use it. She can't quite believe how many buttons there are on it and teases him about being rich.
Toothless comes down the stairs, mewing plaintively, and Ruffnut follows him.
"This little rascal," Ruffnut says, "has been meowing outside my door for half an hour. I can't take it. Where the hell's his food?" She launches herself at the nearest drawer and begins frantically opening cupboards.
Heather misses a step on the stairs and swears. "Why are your stairs so weird?"
"It's artsy!"
"It's irritating is what it is."
"It's also artsy."
Fishlegs emerges from the guest room down the stairs, rubbing at his eyes in a dressing gown with a pattern of fish on it. "What is wrong with all of you? Why can't you shut up?"
They all answer at once.
"I was making coffee –"
"Why the fuck does this coffeemaker have so many buttons –"
"WHERE IS THE CAT FOOD THIS MEOWING BASTARD IS DRIVING ME INSANE –"
"We're in the same boat here, dude." Heather offers out her hand for a fistbump and Fishlegs accepts.
"Y'all are not cool enough for fistbumps," Astrid says. "Or you just made them uncool."
"Congrats," Ruffnut says, digging through a cupboard. "Is this – nope, tomato soup. Dammit." She shoves it back in.
"There's a system to that," Fishlegs says, rushing over. "The cat food isn't even in that cupboard! That's human food! It's over here." He opens a high-up cupboard and pulls out a tin. "Here you go."
Ruffnut stares at it. "It's not a ring pull."
"Yes."
"There's a tin opener here," Snotlout says, surprisingly quickly. Astrid thinks he doesn't want her to start fighting his kitchen again.
She reaches for her coffee and looks down at her wrist. The black scar across it seems less violent now. It seems to have softened into a grey not unlike pencil lead. She could pretend she drew it on herself, bored in class and doodling.
It seems anticlimactic, to have such a pivotal moment whimper out like this. Fading into her skin and disappearing as if it had never existed. Never hurt her as badly as it did.
But as she looks around Snotlout's kitchen, her old friends bickering with her new like milk mixing into water, coffee in hand and happiness in heart, she knows it's always better to go out with a whisper than a bang.
"Astrid?" Heather's voice, frantic. Her brain is stuttering, foggy.
Her lips try to move.
Beep
Beep
Beep
"I don't know what happened! She just -- collapsed on the floor!"
The coffee cup smashed, liquid spilling out.
A smile on her face.
Beep
Beep
Beep
A voice she knows, but doesn’t know well.
Hiccup smiles, and her eyes slide shut.