There were soot prints on the floor. My boots had left a trail of ash, grease, and unidentifiable dragon gunk from the forge door to my worktable—and I hadn’t even noticed. The fire was low. I’d forgotten to stoke it. I hadn’t eaten. I think I’d skipped sleep, too, unless I’d blacked out with my face in a saddle strap at some point.

Didn’t matter.

I was *this^ close to getting the tail-fin rig to sync with the harness. This close to cracking the coil misfire. Toothless needed something sturdier—he’d torn the last flight system right out of the leather on a dive. It was my fault. I made it too light. I knew better.

So I worked. And worked. And when Snotlout stopped by, I grunted. When Gobber called through the wall about dinner, I barked something that probably wasn’t even in English. Time passed. Metal clanged. I bled on something and just kept going.

The door creaked open again sometime near nightfall, and I didn’t even look up.

“Can’t—talk—right now,” I muttered through the wrench clamped between my teeth. My hands were deep in tubing, elbow twisted at an impossible angle. I’d already broken three fingers this year. One more wasn’t gonna kill me.

But the footsteps didn’t leave.

They came closer. Slow. Familiar.

She crouched beside me without a word, her presence brushing warm against my shoulder. The scent of woodsmoke, salt air, and pine needles ghosted across the room as she set something down beside the mess of schematics and shattered gear. My stomach growled violently in response.

“You look like you’ve been rolling in dragon shit,” she said cheerfully, like it was a compliment.

The wrench dropped out of my mouth with a clank. I blinked once, hard. I had no idea what day it was. Or if I’d remembered to brush my teeth.

She didn’t care.

She leaned in without hesitation—right into the disaster that was me—and pressed a kiss to the corner of my jaw. Right where soot and oil had streaked down from my temple. It wasn’t shy, either. She meant it. It was soft. Familiar. Stupidly gentle.

"I’m still gonna kiss you again when you’re done," she murmured, lips still close to my cheek, “No matter how bad you stink.”

That’s when I froze. Fully, completely, hilariously paralyzed.

The same guy who had flown into flaming battle zones with Toothless on half a tail? Frozen by a soft kiss and a threat of more kissing from the woman who’d just told me I smelled like a dragon’s backside.

Then I laughed. Loud. Sudden. Uncontrollable. My ribs hurt from it. “Hahahahha!”

She smiled, wide and warm, like she’d just cast a spell and it worked.

And I realized—for the first time in four days—I wasn’t tired anymore.

Wasn’t angry. Wasn’t tangled in my own head.

Because she was here. With food. With the ability to insult me and make me laugh in the same breath. And even though I was covered in half-burnt leather straps, half-melted wire, and probably some of Toothless’s drool… she was going to kiss me again. Gods. I was so in love with her it made me stupid.

She stood up and stretched, rolling her shoulder, already heading toward the door, to head to our house.

“I’m going to bed,” she added softly, halfway to the door. “Don’t stay up all night.”

“I’ll be there in a minute,” I said. And this time, I meant it.

I wiped my hands on the nearest rag, turned back to my project, and finally—finally—let it go.

The tail-fin could wait. 
Love couldn’t.