Chapter Text
“Can he not sit properly ?” Astrid complained, stretching her back for the umpteenth time that day.
Her two friends raised an inquisitive eyebrow.
“Is it mysterious guy again ?” Heather questioned, barely hiding her smirk.
- Don’t even start…” She groaned.
In a world where one’s pain transferred to one’s soulmate, although milder, she could not bear the tension over her back. If she had felt pity for her soulmate in the past as she was quite the athlete, not afraid to push her body past its limits, she definitely swallowed her words back. (Thankfully, her fated partner was not a girl, or so she assumed for she never felt any period pain whatsoever, unlike her cousin Camicazi.)
Her soulmate was a sore subject. When it was not what she presumed was bad posture, it was random pains over her arms or legs, the head every now and then.
Unfortunately, it seemed to be a topic on everyone's lips, in spite of it being a commonality. Especially on her best friends’ lips. Even if Heather was less obvious about it, she knew they were as curious as the next person. Curious about Astrid Hofferson’s soulmate.
Far from wanting to seem conceited, it was no secret she was (and felt) beautiful, smart, and popular. Many people hoped and claimed to be her soulmate. She never tried to verify each of them, and how could she have, except by inevitably hurting her own self ? If she had to do it, she would rather be sure of the person in front of her.
(And if she were, she would give him an earful. She would reprimand him to be more careful. She would keep an eye out after forgiving him…)
Nevertheless, now, more pressing matters were on her mind.
Such as finishing school.
“Come on, girls, what should I do ? It’s like— the fifth time these past two weeks.”
The black haired-girl pressed her lips together, turning off her phone.
“Some people online say nursing yourself can help your soulmate.”
- I meant : what should I do to make him stop hurting himself like that ? Because I’d rather it stops altogether.”
A sinister laugh echoed beside her, as Rachel, or the fondly called Ruffnut, cracked her joints explicitly.
“I have an idea.”
The blond recoiled, clearly uninterested in being either a test subject of Ruffnut’s curiosity or her punching bag.
“Um, thanks, Ruff, but I’d like to stay functional for the year.”
The wiry girl shrugged, unaffected by the refusal — almost as if she expected it from the star-pupil—, while Astrid sighed, eyes scanning the area in hopes an idea would strike her. In vain.
One fairly demonstrative couple and two solitary students had stayed at their desk, most people preferring the corridors to take a breather. One specific figure caught her attention nonetheless, the mop of auburn hair hunched over his notebook.
Henry Harold ‘’the Hiccup‘’ Haddock.
Suddenly, she felt the urge to smack him in the back of his head.
Did he not think of his soulmate ?
Before she could call him out — something that stunned her for not being thought through and purely impulse — the teacher entered the room. Astrid glared at him until he stilled, muscles tense, not straightening up however.
Good enough, she supposed, turning her attention to the monotone quaver taking attendance, her eyelids heavy.
Tiredness was really getting to her, for her friends had gone back to their seat without her noticing, prior to the teacher’s entrance. It was probably why her eyes slid back to the lonely figure.
Huh.
The boy was known as the klutz of her school, a shadow nobody knew except to curse him for his mishaps. She did feel a twinge in her heart knowing he was mocked and she was complicit. For her defense, it never happened near her. And yet—
The boy jumped at his name, stuttering his presence, immediately hanging his head low. Her eyebrows raised in surprise as she realized her own came after. She tried to temper the grin that birthed itself on her lips, keeping her tone level-headed as she answered the call.
The end of the day could not come fast enough for Astrid. Her body thrummed with excitement at the prospect of volley-ball practice. Taking off her mind from the piling schoolwork by doing something she loved was really a gift.
As soon as she shed her daywear, she was stretching on the field, socks high and shoes tied. The sun illuminated the gym sufficiently not to make it a furnace and the open skylights provided with a nice breeze ; in other words, a perfect session awaited them.
Heather set foot on the ground later, chatting agreeably with some of their teammates. Her dazzling green irises shone brighter, and the lines of her smile tightened for a second, surely to stifle a giggle, when her gaze fell on her.
“What was that ?” The captain nudged her best friend, as the rest formed their usual training pairs.
- Nothing.” The dark haired girl answered, voice rising in amusement, avoiding to look at her anew.
Astrid squinted her eyelids in suspicion. Heather was a good liar, but she could read through her like an open book.
“Out with it, Heather.” Astrid huffed, crossing her arms. “Is it something on my face ?”
- Something in your face. How did you listen to today’s English lesson ?”
Her braid brushed her shoulder as she cocked her head to the side, brows furrowing.
“What do you mean ?”
- You seemed pretty… distracted.” Heather offered, throwing a ball.
- I wasn’t.” She shot back.
- Not even by a certain boy ?”
- I’m afraid—” She skidded with a loud squeak, catching the ball. “I’m afraid you’ll have to elaborate. There are plenty of boys in our class.”
- Oh. Well, I’m sure Hiccup will be delighted to learn—”
- Hiccup ?!”
Her exclamation echoed in the stadium, the ball bouncing away, everyone spinning towards her. Her cheeks stung, especially the left one which she brushed forcefully to quieten the growing embarrassment.
Astrid was a prideful individual, with a perfectionist tendency, resulting in hating what was outside of her control. Therefore, she was as great a leader as she was a bad receiver of teasing.
Sending a death glare to her vice-captain (who burst out laughing), she trotted towards the net :
“Alright, girls ! Let’s improve our moves.”
Two groups formed on either side, discussing strategy. The captain listened with one hear what her team had to propose. On one hand, she was not scared to admit they were a winning team : dynamic, coordinated, if not slightly overly competitive. She trusted them wholeheartedly. On the other hand, her mind was preoccupied by Heather’s words and the weight on her shoulders.
“Captain ? What do you think ?”
Blank.
She was rarely at loss of words, her heart clenching unexpectedly.
“I, uh…” She swallowed, rolling her shoulders backwards. “Seems good. Um… Be’, take the lead today, I want to evaluate you all.”
Despite the exchanged looks of concern, they agreed in a quick nod, positioning. She watched them feeling like an intruder. Squeezing her own wrist to focus, she sought after the voice wishing to grab her attention.
On the fronting back zone, Heather was shaking her head, mouthing words.
She was fine. Truly.
A little… “Distracted” as her friend put it earlier. She would be fine, she assured herself, leaning to receive the serve.
And when the ball descended, when she ran forward, when she yelled “Mine !”, she could not have imagined she would lose her footing. Face first, she knew her fall was far from gracious. And she also knew it was not a cramp, not hers, nor his. It was a hit. Someone had hit him in the shin, strong enough to unbalance her.
A flurry of questions followed her masterful plunge.
“I’m fine. Cramp.” She lied through watered vision, rubbing her nose.
Nobody opposed her will.
Perhaps someone should have, because a few seconds passed before she curled on herself as her guts throbbed. The pain only grew, her quivering legs giving up under her. She could not hear any voices as her ears went deaf and her breath was strenuous.
“Astrid !”
What was he doing ? Picking fights he could not win ? Why did she have to have such a soulmate !
She could not wait until she met him for their pain tolerance link would break at this instant.
She cursed him through gritted teeth, clinging to Heather, waiting for the torture to pass.