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"One for the road?" Astrid doesn't know why she asks Snotlout the question.

Or, she does, in that he looks very pathetic standing in the door of her hut, holding a crate of his belongings that had somehow migrated into her hut over the last few months of…of whatever they were doing. Dating doesn't feel right, dating is about getting to know someone, and she already knew him going into it. Or, she thought she did. But either way, she also doesn't think it can really be dating when she would have spent most of her waking hours with him either way.

They were not betrothed. Nothing that official, for all of the reasons that they talked through yesterday and the day before. Again and again, trying to make them sound different. Less mean or less stupid or more consequential, worth the weight they're putting on her heart.

"One what?" Snotlout asks, frowning, everything bullish in his expression a mask that she knows too well now and hates more than she ever did.

It's not his fault who his dad is, and maybe it's cowardly that she doesn't want it to be her problem, but here they are. It's not her fault that she cares so much about Stoick's opinion, it's just how she's built. And he likes how she's built. And she hates that his dad is his dad, but they can't change any of it and here they are at the end of something that she can't make herself regret starting.

"Oh. Nothing." She looks into his crate instead of at his face, frowning at the dagger she's going to miss and the socks he somehow kept repeatedly leaving on her floor. The comb that isn't right for her hair, that made it frizz the one time she borrowed it. The little pieces of them, disbanded, sent away with him for safe keeping.

She never left much at his hut, and now that feels unfair and makes her scowl.

"No, tell me." He looks at her, flushed and more than a little petulant, an expression that makes her want to poke even though that's not her right anymore.

"I was joking." She shrugs, wishing she were holding her own box of memories to distract herself from the present.

"Since I'm not laughing, maybe you need to explain it to me," he says, shifting his grip on the box, ridge of his forearm flexing with it.

"I was joking that we should kiss one more time, for the road." She rolls her eyes and reaches for the door to her hut, feeling nonsensically like slamming it in his face, even though he's been very reasonable about all of this.

Maybe because he's been so reasonable about this.

"That's sad," he snorts, "need something to hold you over forever?"

"I was just worried about you, I don't know when you'll next convince anyone to kiss you," she says, the old brand of mean feeling sharp and undeserved on his part, unearned on hers.

"Psht, I'm not worried about it. It's you who should be worried, with your spit issue."

"My what?" She freezes.

"You know, the wet kissing thing—"

"What wet kissing thing?" She knows what he's doing, because if he'd had any kind of issue before, he would have brought it up. "You never complained."

"Hard to complain when you're trying not to drown—"

The first time Astrid kissed Snotlout, it was to shut him up when he was being stupid and wrong. It's only fitting that the last time is under the same circumstances.

He inhales sharply, like the first time, but tries to get a few more irritating words out, confident that it's not going to drive her off. She nips his bottom lip to silence him, hand on his shoulder, pulling herself in even though she has to bend around the crate, hard edge of it jabbing into her ribs.

As always, they don't argue about this. Astrid was surprised, at first, to find that for all of the rest of Snotlout's habits and behavior, he's a good kisser. A little shy in the beginning, like he wasn't sure what he was doing would be allowed, and that shyness is back now, making Astrid feel a little panicky and unmoored. Yes, they're broken up. Yes, they're a dead end. But those facts don't change the last few months that they got really good at at kissing each other.

She gets her hand in his hair, fingers under his helmet in the back, nails digging in a little until he responds with a sigh, giving himself over to it, half-rebuilt walls crumbling. His tongue glances across her lip at the exact same time as he drops his crate, directly into the arches of both of Astrid's feet.

"Snotlout!" She yelps, jumping back, not sure which foot to hop on because they're throbbing equally.

"Warn a guy!" He snaps back, crouching down to reload the crate, giving Astrid a moment of privacy to wipe her swollen lips with the back of her hand. "If I'd known you were going to attack me like that, I could have set down the box."

"I didn't attack you. Plus, you were the one clling me a wet kisser, what did you expect?"

"You bit me." He juts out a swollen lower lip like evidence and she rolls her eyes, ignoring the little purple imprint of teeth on the pink skin.

"You're being a baby." She lets herself look at him like she's never going to see him again, flushed and irritated and stomping, blush spreading over his jaw, and he can't help his dad and she can't help what she wants and there's no point of hanging out at a dead end, waiting for something that can never come. "You liked it."

He snorts, "yeah, I did."

"So." Astrid doesn't want to wring her hands or slam the door now, too aware of how many eyes there might be looking their way. She punches him in the arm, harder than is explicitly necessary. "I'll see you around."