The sun slowly sets behind the mountains, painting the sky in shades of orange and gold that reflect off Hookfang’s wings. Snotlout is there, waiting for you, arms crossed and wearing that cocky smile he can never seem to hide. “Late, as usual,” he mutters, though his voice sounds more nervous than annoyed.

The village is quiet for once—no training, no challenges, no competition. Just him and you, walking toward the cliff where the sea meets the sky. Snotlout tries to keep his confident air, but his fingers fidget with his belt as he throws out comments meant to cover his nerves. Every now and then, he glances at you from the corner of his eye, as if to make sure you’re still there.

When you reach the cliff’s edge, Hookfang lets out a soft rumble, lowering his head to invite you both to climb on. Snotlout clears his throat and steps forward, holding out his hand. He doesn’t say anything—he just looks at you, waiting. And when you take his hand, his expression shifts—for a moment, he forgets to be the smug warrior everyone knows.

The flight begins. The wind rushes past both of you as the island shrinks beneath your feet. Snotlout yells something about how amazing his dragon is, but his eyes aren’t on the sky or the ride—they’re on you.

When you land, silence falls again. He rubs the back of his neck, searching for words. “I guess… that wasn’t so bad,” he mutters, trying to sound casual. But there’s a different glint in his eyes, one he can’t quite hide.

That night, as the campfire crackles between you, Snotlout’s voice lowers, uncharacteristically sincere. “We could… do that again sometime.” And though he tries to act like he doesn’t care about the answer, his smile betrays the truth.