It started at the DreamWorks studio — the kind of day that didn’t feel real no matter how many times she replayed it in her head. Her first table read for the live-action How to Train Your Dragon.

She was Astrid Hofferson. Her childhood dream, her comfort character, her everything.

And then Mason Thames walked in.

Yeah. That Mason Thames. The guy she’d had a crush on since The Black Phone dropped. The one she totally hadn’t stalked on Instagram. The one whose smile made her forget how to form coherent sentences.

She was doomed.

He slipped into the seat across from her, blue eyes glancing up from his script, smile lazy and polite. “Hey, I’m Mason,” he said, like she didn’t already know every interview he’d ever done.

“I—yeah, I know,” she stammered. “I mean, hi. I’m—uh—Astrid. Well, not actually Astrid, but, y’know, the—uh—the actress.”

Smooth.

He laughed, soft and genuine. “So you’re Astrid. Kinda crazy. I grew up obsessed with those movies.”

“Same,” she blurted out. “Well, I didn’t think you’d— I mean—”

He grinned, eyes flicking to her face in amusement. “You’re nervous.”

“Am not,” she lied, clutching her coffee cup like it was a lifeline.

“Totally are,” he teased, flipping his script open. “Don’t worry. I’m nervous too.”

That made her laugh. He looked at her like he’d just won something.

And maybe he had.

The next few weeks blurred into training, costume fittings, early mornings on set. Somewhere between learning how to swing a sword and pretending to ride dragons, the nerves faded. Mason wasn’t Mason Thames the actor anymore — he was Mason, her scene partner, her inside-joke buddy, the boy who always saved her the last donut at breakfast.

They clicked. Effortlessly.

Sometimes he’d tease her about her chaotic coffee addiction, or she’d roast him for his dramatic warm-ups before takes. But there were also quiet moments — the two of them sitting side by side after wrap, helmets tossed aside, script pages spread out on the grass.

She’d catch him glancing at her sometimes, that soft, thoughtful look he got when he forgot to hide it. And she wasn’t as good at pretending she didn’t feel the same.

Then came the big rehearsal. The Hiccup and Astrid kiss.

She’d known it was coming. It was in the script. Everyone had told her it was “sweet” and “natural.” But she still couldn’t stop her heart from trying to escape her chest when the director called, “Alright, let’s run it once before cameras.”

Mason caught her nervous look and smiled that same boyish grin. “We can totally fake it, if you want,” he said softly.

Her cheeks warmed. “It’s fine,” she managed. “I mean—it’s acting, right?”

He hesitated, eyes flicking to her lips for just a second too long. “Yeah. Acting.”

And then he kissed her — soft, careful, like he was scared to break the moment. It was short, simple, but something in the air shifted.

They pulled back, both trying (and failing) to play it cool.

“Good rehearsal,” she muttered.

He laughed under his breath, voice a little lower now. “Yeah. Really… convincing.”

After that, everything changed in the quietest ways. He’d find excuses to hang out during breaks. She’d save him a seat at lunch. They’d walk to set together, shoulder brushing shoulder, both pretending they didn’t notice.

One night, when the crew was packing up, she caught him watching her again — that same gentle, unspoken look that said more than either of them dared to.

“Y’know,” he said finally, stuffing his hands in his pockets, “I used to have a crush on Astrid.”

She smirked, teasing, “Lucky me, then.”

He grinned. “No. Lucky me.”