Chapter Text
Dipper doesn’t know how he ended up a participant of the personal salon Mabel and Pacifica set up in the living room. He swears, one second, he was warming up Chinese food leftovers, and the next he was practically being waterboarded while Mabel held his head over a bowl of steaming water. If that wasn’t bad enough, after, she slathered some goop onto his face that felt like it was stabbing a million tiny needles into his skin as it dried. The only plus side was that he wasn’t alone, Stan and Ford also getting dragged into the girls’ night.
Not that Ford seemed to mind. Out of the three of them, he was the only one taking an interest, asking the girls a multitude of questions.
Rubbing the clay mixture between two fingers, he asks, “And what’s the purpose of this mask?”
“It’s used as a torture method,” Dipper says dryly as he scratches at his face.
Mabel reaches up from where she’s sitting on the floor to smack his hand away. “No, it isn’t. It gets all the oil and gunk out of your face, Grunkle Ford. You can use it in your hair, too.”
“Nah, I’m with Dipper on this one,” Stan cuts in, also scratching his face, “this stuff could drive a man crazy. I’m gonna use it on Gideon next time I see him.”
“Gideon definitely uses his own face masks.”
Tucked into her own corner of the couch, it’s one of the few things Pacifica’s said all night– she was even silent when Mabel told Ford that it was okay to sleep in makeup as long as you laid on your back.
“Of course he does,” Stan mutters.
At the same time, Dipper says, “Do you guys trade bullshit skincare tips back and forth?”
He feels a stab of annoyance when she doesn’t even bother looking up from her phone to flip him off. She’s been glued to the thing the whole time he’s been in the room, texting back and forth with someone.
“Are you guys still fighting,” Mabel asks, looking up curiously at Pacifica.
The blonde’s answer is sharp and immediate. “We’re not fighting. I’m right and he doesn’t realize it yet.”
Stan perks up, sitting up from his slouched position at the other end of the couch. “Sounds like drama. What’s happening?”
Pacifica mutters, “Nothing,” as Mabel launches into the explanation.
“Okay, so, Pacifica has this friend, Iris. Iris is at a party and Callum, Pacifica’s boyfriend, is at the same party. Guess what Iris texted Paz? Ashley, Callum’s ex–”
“Mabel, this is too many names.”
“–is at the same party with him!”
“He’s not with her. He’s there and she’s there but I just think it’s weird that he wouldn’t tell me himself that she’s there.”
Dipper rolls his eyes. Like it’s not bad enough he has to give up his night to do some activity he couldn’t care less about, now he has to hear about Pacifica’s petty relationship problems. This might actually be torture.
“Well, how long were Callum and this girl together,” Ford asks, his tone the same as when he was preparing to solve a scientific equation.
“Like, a year, maybe? I don’t know,” she says distractedly, her fingers flying over the screen as the conversation between her and her boyfriend clearly grew heated. “But she’s obviously his favorite ex.”
“Sounds sketchy,” Stan says. “You wanna know what I think?”
Distractedly, Pacifica waves him off. “Yeah, whatever, hold on.” She stands, thumb swiping over the screen of her phone before she brings it to her ear. Her voice is sickly sweet as she speaks to the person on the other line, fading the further she gets from the living room. “Oh my gosh, hi. Did your other girlfriend finally let you make a phone call?”
The three Pines are silent as they wait to hear what Pacifica will say next to whatever Callum responds with. By the time she speaks again, though, her voice is muffled by already having gone up to Mabel’s room in the attic.
“Damn it. Mabel, sweetie, go eavesdrop on your friend and then come back and tell us if she breaks up with that guy.”
“Grunkle Stan!” Mabel chastises.
It’s not the worst idea Stan’s had, Dipper finds himself thinking. Immediately, he shakes the thought away. He’s spending too much time around Stan if he thinks that idea is even remotely good.
“Mabel, I’m gonna go wash this crap off,” he says, standing up from the couch.
Mabel allows it, waving him off as her timer sounds a few seconds later anyway.
For a split second, Dipper considers using the upstairs bathroom. It’s definitely more hygienic than rinsing his face off in the same sink they wash dishes in. And if he happens to hear the rest of Pacifica’s call with her boyfriend while he’s up there, it’s not his fault they forced him to put the stupid mask on in the first place.
Once again, he shakes the intrusive thought away. Way too much time around Stan.
Dipper spends the next hour in his room switching between editing his journal, watching Duck-tective 2: Fowl Play, and playing the– admittedly, super addictive –restaurant game he let Isabel, Soos’ daughter, download on his phone. None of that keeps his attention for long though, a restless buzz settled under his skin. He finally calls it quits when he keeps missing the turning part of the movie, having already rewound it four times.
Usually on nights like these when he needs to burn off extra energy or his anxiety decides to randomly overwhelm him for no reason, he escapes into the woods. There’s no better distraction than Gravity Falls’ weirdness, and no matter how much he learns about it, there always seems to be more. But after miscalculating how close he was to a phoenix and ending up in the emergency room last week, Mabel, Stan, and Ford basically placed him under house arrest.
He contemplates sneaking out anyway but decides against it. The lecture he’d get if they found out isn’t worth it. Instead, he grabs his pack of cigarettes and heads to the roof.
His mind is blessedly silent while he goes through the motions of smoking a cigarette, and for the first few minutes he doesn’t think about anything else. When he gets to his second, though, his mind starts to drift.
He wonders how Pacifica’s call ended.
“Out of pure curiosity, obviously,” he adds. “I mean, it’s not like I care what–”
“Are you talking to yourself?”
The yelp that comes out of him is totally manly and not at all embarrassing.
As if he summoned her with his thoughts, Pacifica carefully makes her way across the slope of the roof. She holds her hand out to him when she gets close enough and Dipper takes it, pulling her onto the solid ledge.
“What are you doing out here?”
She reaches for the cigarette pack sitting on top of the cooler, tapping one out. “Mabel’s on FaceTime with Candy and Grenda, and I’m not exactly friends with them, so,” she tapers off, shrugging and lighting the stick. “What are you doing out here?”
He takes an intentional drag of his own cigarette. “What’s it look like?”
“Like you’re a loser who stands outside talking to himself?”
“Fuck off,” he says, rolling his eyes, and she lets out a small laugh. Then, because he is purely curious, he asks, “Did you and Emerson work things out?”
Pacifica side-eyes him, clearly unamused. “That’s nowhere close to his name, jackass.”
Dipper shrugs. It makes no difference to him what his actual name is, he was just another rich douchebag her parents set her up with; they all blended together after a while.
“But yeah,” she continues, “we did. Lucky for him.”
“That’s debatable.” Pacifica’s response to that is the oh so eloquent double middle finger.
A comfortable quiet settles, nothing but the chirping crickets and the faint sound of their burning cigarettes between them. Leaning forward a little, Pacifica takes in the view.
Dipper realizes it’s her first time on the roof when she says, “It’s kind of terrifying up here.”
He shrugs, looking down too. He’s been on the roof a million times without ever thinking about how far the fall would be.
“I guess.” An idea pops into his head, and he smirks. “You’re right, actually. The fall could do some serious damage.”
Suddenly, grabbing her by the waist, he jerks her forward closer to the edge. She grabs his arm, letting out a short, terrified shriek that blows his earlier yelp out of the water and sends him into a fit of laughter.
Pacifica turns to face him, smacking the back of her hand to his chest. “You are such a fucking dick! Don’t do that!”
Croaked out between his laughs, Dipper’s “Sorry,” does little to quell her anger. At her glare, Dipper smothers his laughter but isn’t able to get rid of his wide, amused smile. “Okay, okay, sorry. Here, come on.”
Hands still on her waist, he pulls her a little closer before jerking her again.
“Dipper!”
“I couldn’t help it,” he snorts. “Last time.”
Once upon a time, Pacifica’s glare used to stoke Dipper’s own irritation. Now, as she looks up at him, eyes narrowed, he wonders if thinking that she looks even hotter than usual when she’s mad at him is indicative of some underlying problems.
She has a boyfriend , his mind screams as his eyes drop to her lips.
With each passing second, Dipper cares less and less.
He loses the battle when Pacifica tips her face up, her free hand tugging gently at the collar of his shirt.
“Fuck it.” Tossing the butt of his cigarette, he leans down, eliminating the space between them.
The second his lips touch hers, Dipper remembers that it’s been a month since they last kissed. He didn’t realize how much he likes the artificial cherry flavor of her lip balm until this very moment. The taste of nicotine on her is new and immediately filed away with the rest of his knowledge about how Pacifica Northwest tastes.
Her hand moves, going from the collar of his shirt to the back of his neck, sending a shiver down his spine as her nails lightly scratch against the nape of his neck. He pulls her flush against him, one hand splayed against the small of her back as the other goes to her jaw. Tilting her face up, he nips at her bottom lip, wanting more access to her. She grants the silent request, parting her lips. Her tongue brushes against his, and he can’t hold back his groan of pleasure.
Shit. Kissing Pacifica should not feel this right. Especially when she’s in a relationship.
Her relationship. Fuck.
All at once, Dipper’s conscience hits him like a freight train. Even if it is just some asshole she’s only with because her dad pointed him out of the lineup of other rich assholes, he kind of feels like shit being the guy she’s cheating on him with. He takes a step back, the summer night air that he swears was warm just minutes ago now feeling frigid.
Pacifica’s eyes open and he watches the haze clear from them. “Shit,” she curses as what just happened seems to hit her. A flash of panic strikes across the blue of her eyes for just a second before it clears. She looks at Dipper, back to her usual self-assuredness and superiority. “This never happened.”
That sounds great to him. So why he blocks her path when she tries to step around him, he has no idea. “That’s it,” he finds himself asking. “You’re going to pretend this never happened and stay with him?”
Pacifica cuts her eyes at him. “Why wouldn’t I?”
“Uh, maybe because you’re kissing other guys,” he says sarcastically, returning her glare. “Seems like a good reason to break up with someone.”
“I’m not kissing other guys. That was–” She gestures noncommittally, letting out a frustrated sigh. “That was nothing.”
“That is such bullshit.”
“I’m not breaking up with Callum! I like him. And my parents like him, and–”
Dipper rolls his eyes. He doesn’t even need to hear the rest of her bullshit reasonings. “Of course.”
“What,” Pacifica snaps. “‘Of course’ what?”
“You don’t ‘like’ this guy,” he says, putting quotation marks around the word ‘like’. “Your fucking parents just want you to date him, and you are incapable of saying no to them. Are you actually expecting to fall in love with him or something?”
An angry flush fills her cheeks. Dipper hates that it makes him want to kiss her again. “Shut up! He’s cute and he’s nice and he actually fucking listens when I talk, unlike every other asshole I’ve been with. So, yeah, maybe I will fall in love with him.”
“Then what are you doing out here with me,” Dipper shoots back.
She recoils and for a split second, looks unsure. Before he can feel bad, it's gone, her furious expression back in its place. “Leaving!”
Her shove at his chest does nothing to move him, but it does knock her off-center. The heel of her foot slips over the edge and she comes dangerously close to actually falling off of the roof. Immediately, Dipper grabs her again by the waist and pulls her back. His heart racing a mile a minute at the close call, he turns them so he’s the one standing closer to the edge.
“Pacifica,” he breathes her name, all of his previous anger knocked out of him. He scans over her face to make sure she’s okay. Her eyes meet his, her anger replaced by the residual fear of almost slipping.
“Break up with him,” he says the first thing he thinks of. He doesn’t add ‘please’. His whole tone is the plea.
Her mouth opens, and Dipper can tell whatever she responds with will be angry and probably mean and restart their whole fight over again. At the last second, she seems to decide against it.
“Goodnight,” she says instead, pulling out of his hold. She turns, opening the exit that leads into the Shack and disappearing down it.
Dipper ignores his instinct to follow her, to convince her that she should leave her boyfriend and… And…
He shakes his head, instead lighting another cigarette. Pacifica Northwest– her relationships, especially –is none of his business.
Notes:
idk if anyone cares but that’s the first time either of them has said goodnight to the other since they first started hooking up. this au is so serious to me
edit: changed the title of the fic. it's now named after malcolm todd's mr. incorrect
Chapter Text
“Yeesh, kid, you look like shit.”
Waking up to the feeling of someone shaking him, Dipper squints to see Stan standing over him. His head pounding, it takes a second to place where he is before he remembers the previous night spent cycling through benign, mindless activities before he finally crashed on the couch an hour ago.
“Rough night?”
Body sore from the lumpy couch, Dipper groans as he sits up. He rubs his fist into his eyes, trying to get rid of the annoying stinging that comes from an all-nighter. “Understatement.”
He and sleep have never been on the best of terms, but last night was particularly brutal. If he thought his attention span was bad before he went on the roof, it was shot to hell after he came back in. He couldn’t keep his attention on anything long enough to be worth staying awake and couldn’t lie still long enough to fall asleep. The whole night was spent flipping through Gravity Falls’ terrible cable channels, going back and forth between the kitchen and the living room, and taking multiple trips to go smoke outside.
Eventually, he ended up passing out at five in the morning, only for the short hour of sleep to be invaded by a familiar pair of blue eyes and pink lips. In his ear, on his skin, pulled up to smile at him. He almost wished Bill had paid him a visit instead. Better the literal demon you know than the one you’re not supposed to be thinking about.
“Well, tell me all about it after you take a shower. You reek,” Stan informs him frankly. “What, you smoke your whole pack of cigarettes?”
Dipper’s hand goes to the outside of his sweatpants pocket, feeling for the smooshed pack with only a single one left in it. “Pretty much.”
“Can’t wait to hear what brought that on.” Stan starts towards the kitchen, saying over his shoulder, “Go. I’ll make coffee.”
Standing, Dipper goes to his room and grabs his towel before heading upstairs to the bathroom. Reaching for the handle, his fingers only brush the knob for a second because, at the same time, the door opens wide, hitting him with a rush of steam. On the other side, Pacifica stops short to avoid running into him. At the sight of him, surprise colors her features for a second before disinterest takes over.
“Oh,” Dipper says awkwardly. After his temporary moment of insanity on the roof yesterday, he was hoping he’d be out of the house before he bumped into her. “You’re up early.”
Pacifica was never up before eight, let alone getting ready at six in the morning.
“I have plans,” is all she says.
Dipper nods. Once. Twice. Three times is officially too many nods so he forces himself to stop. “Right.”
Involuntarily, he looks over her. If she feels any guilt or apprehension at all over what happened last night, it doesn’t show. Skin rosy from her shower, she looks refreshed and perfect like always. Watching a drop of water steadily make its way down the curve of her neck and over her collarbone, his mouth goes dry.
“Can you, like, move?”
The demand snaps Dipper back into focus. His first instinct is to do as she says. Thankfully, his second follows immediately after and is stronger. “Sure. As soon as you ask nicely.”
Pacifica tries to push him aside. When he doesn’t budge, she cuts her eyes at him, and puts more force behind her push. “Oh my god, Dipper, move!”
“Say please, Pacifica.”
As soon as the sentence leaves his mouth, they both freeze. Those same three words, breathed against her skin as her frustrated moans echo around his room, firm hands holding her still against him.
Face already flushed, Pacifica’s cheeks turn even pinker, and she instantly removes her hand from his arm. Before Dipper can backtrack and just step aside, she forcibly shoulders past him.
“Ugh. Fucking annoying,” he hears her mutter under her breath as she goes into Mabel’s room.
Dipper groans, dragging a hand down his face. He’s gonna blame his sleep-deprived brain on that one.
Stepping into the bathroom, he’s immediately surrounded by the smell of Pacifica. Her rose-scented body wash hangs in the air, thickened by steam.
For some reason, it only annoys Dipper. It’s like he can’t escape her; she’s everywhere. In his dreams, his house, burrowed under his fucking skin.
He lets out an annoyed sigh, getting into the shower. He wishes he could say he feels completely re-energized by taking a shower and shaving, but honestly, it puts maybe 10% in his battery. Still, it’s better than the absolute fumes he would’ve been running on.
In his room, it doesn’t take him long to get dressed, putting on a graphic tee from one of his favorite sci-fi shows and a pair of cargo shorts. Toweling through his hair, he tosses it on his bed once the strands are dry enough for him before leaving for the kitchen.
The last people he expects to engage in one-on-one conversation, Dipper’s surprised when he sees Stan and Pacifica sitting next to each other in the living room. They seem comfortable enough for two people who have nothing in common. Stan says something that sends Pacifica into a fit of laughter. Her hand comes up to hide the laugh, but from where Dipper’s standing, he can see the open smile anyway, nose crinkled as she cracks up. He wonders what they could possibly be talking about for Stan to get a genuine laugh out of her.
Spotting his usual coffee mug on the dinosaur skull next to Stan, he passes in front of them to get it. Desperate for the caffeine, he practically drains half of the mug. The Shack’s coffee maker is ancient and burns every single pot it makes, but still, Dipper’s grateful for the awful cup of it.
“Thanks, Stan.”
“Yeah, no problem,” he says before asking Pacifica, “You sure you don’t want some?”
“I’m sure.” She stands, smoothing her hands over the back of her skirt. Despite Dipper standing directly behind Stan, Pacifica doesn’t even bat an eyelash in his direction, keeping her attention solely on the old man as she says, “I should get going, my parents will kill me if I’m late. See you later, Mr. Pines.”
“Alright, cupcake. You have a nice day.”
“You too,” she smiles before turning to leave. Her silence towards Dipper is obvious.
Glaring at her back, Dipper switches to give Stan an unbelieving look when she’s out of sight. The remnants of Stan’s smile disappears and he grunts. “What?”
“Cupcake, ” Dipper repeats, taking the seat Pacifica just vacated.
Stan shrugs. “She’s a sweet kid.”
“She’s Satan.”
“Eh, you’re just being like that because you two got into that fight last night.”
Dipper narrowly avoids choking on his coffee. “She told you about that?”
He only realizes the mistake after he’s already confirmed it. That information couldn’t be tortured out of Pacifica, let alone her casually telling Stan, of all people.
“Took a wild guess,” Stan says with a smug smile. “So, what happened?”
“It’s Pacifica, Stan. We fight every time she’s over here.”
“Cut the shit, Dipper. I know you two have been sneaking around this summer.” Dipper’s denial is instant but Stan cuts him off with an impatient wave of his hand. “Listen, you guys are pretty good at hiding it, but I know everything that goes on under this roof. So don’t bother trying to lie to me.”
Fuck. Pacifica’s going to kill him.
“Fine, whatever,” Dipper concedes. “We got into a fight about her boyfriend, but it was nothing. Doesn’t matter.”
“Sure. Doesn’t matter so much that you’re losing sleep over her.”
“I’m not losing sleep over her!” The response is way too defensive. Clearing his throat, he says, more evenly, “You’re giving her way too much credit. She has a lot of faults, but I don’t think I can start blaming Pacifica Northwest for my insomnia.”
“Dipper, you couldn’t look worse if you tried.” Ouch. “A guy only looks that terrible when he’s got lady troubles.”
Dipper rolls his eyes, focusing on drinking his coffee. What would Stan know? He doesn’t even look that bad.
“Especially when he’s in love with her,” Stan says before taking a sip from his mug.
This time Dipper does choke. Coffee immediately goes down the wrong pipe at his uncle’s words and he starts to splutter into his fist. “Stan– What the fuck–” His attempts at speaking fail and he’s not able to get a coherent sentence out until his airway has completely cleared with the help of Stan’s pats on his back.
“You alright there,” the old man asks.
Dipper ignores the question entirely. “Are you crazy? I’m not in love with Pacifica.”
Stan snorts. “Kid, I have eyes.”
With his cataracts? “Barely.”
Setting down his mug, Stan gives Dipper the same look that he gives Ford whenever he’s gearing up for an argument with him, “You can’t keep your eyes off of her whenever you two are in the same room.”
“What? That’s not true.”
“And you’re always in the same room. Whenever Mabel has Candy and Grenda are over, I couldn’t pay you to crash their sleepover, but when it’s Pacifica, you always have to be near the living room for some bullshit reason or other.”
“They’re monopolizing the space! It’s not my fault Mabel has her sleepovers in the most used room of the house.”
“You two fight like an old, married couple.”
That didn’t mean he was in love with her! She was annoying and had an uncanny ability to find Dipper’s worst nerve and proceed to strut all over it in high heels, but that wasn’t because he was secretly in love with her. It’s Pacifica; she could find a way to get under a monk’s skin.
“None of that is proof that I’m secretly in love with Pacifica. You know that right,” he says to Stan. “I’m not one of your romance shows, you can’t just make up theories about me based off of nothing.”
Stan sighs heavily like the conversation is exhausting him . “Alright, kid, be difficult. When she marries that schmuck her parents set her up with, don’t come crying to me.”
Dipper’s stomach turns. He blames it on the coffee on an empty stomach.
“Yeah, don’t hold your breath,” he tells Stan, standing from the couch. “I need food.”
Hand going to one of the pockets of his cargo shorts, Dipper groans when he feels the empty box of Newports. And a new pack of cigarettes.
Dipper’s house arrest gets lifted in the next few days. Thank god because it’s easy to forget about his insane conversation with Grunkle Stan when he’s too busy hanging out with the Multi-Bear or discovering a species of man-eating plants. Even easier when he doesn’t see Pacifica for the remainder of the week.
At first, he barely notices that her random visits to Mabel at the Shack or their sleepovers have stopped, but when one week bleeds into the next with no sight of her, Dipper starts to worry. Sure, Pacifica’s not his favorite person, but Mabel seems to have gotten really close to her since they started hanging out. He doesn’t want her to stop coming over to the Shack because of their fight.
Guilt gnaws at Dipper, which doesn’t make sense because he is objectively in the right. Pacifica’s lying to herself, trying to convince herself she’s happy with her relationship. It’s not his fault she didn’t want to hear the truth. But no matter how many times he reminds himself of that, it still doesn’t stop him from feeling bad with every passing day with no sight or word of her.
Finally, after both Ford and Mabel point out that he’s been acting more on edge than usual, he decides to bite the bullet. Leave it to Pacifica to drive him crazy when she’s not even around.
Barely noticing that his phone is only on four percent, he scrolls through the barely used device until he finds Pacifica’s contact. Clicking on the ‘call’ icon, he brings the phone to his ear. For how long it rings, he thinks he’ll get her voicemail, but at the last second, the line picks up.
“Hello?” Deep and masculine, the voice that comes through is decidedly not Pacifica’s.
“Hi?” It comes out more like a question as Dipper pulls his phone back to make sure he actually chose Pacifica’s contact. Sure enough, the simple P. he assigned her lights up his screen. “Uh, is Pacifica there?”
“She’s kind of still asleep,” the voice says, “but hold on.”
“No, that’s okay. Don’t–” Dipper rushes to say, but he already hears the shuffle of the phone moving and the faint “Phone for you, angel,” in the background.
Pacifica’s soft, drowsy voice comes through a second later. “Hello?”
Fuck. “Hey,” Dipper says awkwardly.
“Dipper? It’s six in the morning.”
“What?” Dipper checks his watch just in case he somehow managed to completely mix up the time, but the bold 10:03PM reassures him. “No, it’s not.”
“It is in Ireland. What do you want?” Before Dipper can ask what she’s doing in Ireland, she asks, sounding more alert, “Is Mabel okay?”
“Mabel’s fine,” he tells her. “No, it’s–” He lets out a frustrated sigh. This was supposed to be a cut and dry conversation. “I felt bad. About two weeks ago. I thought you were avoiding the Shack because of it.”
Pacifica’s huff crackles his phone’s speaker before it’s immediately followed by an annoyed, “Bye, Dipper.”
Dipper’s mouth opens– not that he knows what he’s going to say –but before he can get anything out, she hangs up. His thumb moves to click the ‘call’ icon again before he stops himself. There’s no reason to call her back. She’s not purposely avoiding the Shack, just out of the country. In fact, he’s sure that as soon as she gets back she’ll be over to tell Mabel all the details of her trip.
Good. Now he’ll finally be able to focus on something without her sneaking her way into his thoughts.
Dropping his phone on the top of his desk, Dipper picks up his cigarettes on his way out of the room and to the roof.
As he’s passing through the living room, Mabel walks out of the kitchen, a family-sized bag of Cookie Chips in hand. “What’s up, bro-bro?”
“Hey, Mabel.” He takes a couple of the thin treats when she tilts the bag in his direction.
“Wanna watch Duck-tective with me? They’re running a marathon of the whole show.”
The cigarettes feel heavy in his hand, but Dipper pockets them. He can delay getting lung cancer by a couple of hours. “Sure.”
***
Even twelve years after its end, Duck-tective still holds up. Dipper and Mabel get halfway through the first season, discussing plot points that now seem obvious and snickering at the mature jokes that flew over their heads when they were younger. They’re on the tenth episode, the one where the Constable is framed for the murder when it’s actually the victim’s boss (which Dipper totally called when it was first aired) when he speaks.
He doesn’t know what causes the question to pop up in his brain, but before he can even register what’s coming out of his mouth, Dipper’s already asking, “Hey, is Pacifica on vacation with her boyfriend or something?”
“Yeah!” Mabel’s words come out muffled through a mouthful of Cookie Chips. “In Ireland. Callum wanted to introduce her to his grandma. Isn’t that so cute?”
Dipper swallows down his vitriol with a gulp of Pitt Cola. “ So cute.”
“How’d you even know that?”
“Uh–” His mind goes blank with panic for a split second before it comes up with something. “Heard some girls talking about it at the mall. The people in this town are weirdly obsessed with her life.”
For the first time ever, Dipper’s thankful for Pacifica’s status in town when Mabel believes the lie with no question. “Well, everyone does think he’s gonna propose to her over there. I asked, but she–”
“Propose?” He doesn’t even hear the rest of her sentence, his brain singling in on the word. “They’ve only been dating for two months. He can’t propose.”
Mabel only shrugs like the idea of Pacifica getting married to some guy she barely knows isn’t completely ridiculous. “Yeah, but her parents have been on her back about it for a while now. And they do really like each other.”
“Like isn’t love, Mabel,” he snaps. “That’s– She doesn’t know what she’s getting into. That’s going to end really badly.”
“They’re not Mom and Dad, Dip.” The patient look and gentle voice she uses immediately irritates him.
“That’s not what this is about!”
“Then what is it about? Dipper!”
He ignores the confused call of his name, already standing and striding out of the living room.
Was Pacifica engaged when he called her? Did he interrupt her night with her fiancé?
Outside, Dipper pulls the Newports from his hoodie pocket. Smoking definitely won’t help the sudden ball of lead in his stomach or the frustration at the base of his throat, but it’s either that or calling Pacifica again.
If Mabel found out how much Dipper had been smoking lately, she’d kill him. Or start making him sit through her one-woman plays again where she dresses up like an old version of him and acts out dying a slow, gruesome death to lung cancer. He’d prefer the former.
A small exhale escapes past his lips as he steps out of the humid, drizzling summer night and into Twenty-Fourers’ air-conditioned convenience store. Heading straight for the checkout counter, Dipper’s eyes immediately go to the row of Newport 100s standing amongst the other brands of cigarettes. His fingers, tapping restlessly against his thigh, pause when he looks to the cashier and sees the couple in front of him in line. Even with both of their backs turned to him, a jolt of recognition goes through him at the familiar long, golden hair.
Before he makes the conscious decision to, Dipper’s already speaking. “Pacifica?”
Sure enough, when she turns, it’s Pacifica looking back at him. She gives a little eye roll, realizing it’s him. “What are you doing here?”
“What are you doing here? This place doesn’t hand you a bottle of sparkling water the second you walk in.”
The glare she sends him shouldn’t feel as satisfying as it does.
“That’s my fault,” a new voice chimes in, and Dipper’s attention is forced away from Pacifica as he looks at her boyfriend. Even with him standing right there, he forgot she was here with him. “Nothing’s open this late on our side of town, and I convinced Pacifica we might as well get snacks while we get gas.” The other holding onto Pacifica’s, he extends his free hand towards Dipper. “I’m Callum, by the way.”
“Dipper,” he introduces himself, shaking his hand.
“Nice to meet you, man.”
Dipper studies Callum. Everything about him is smooth and flawless like one of Mabel's old Glen dolls. From his perfectly styled dark hair to his movie star chin and jawline. Even his voice sounds like satin; Dipper bets he completely skipped past the awkward puberty stage straight into assured adulthood. Even worse, he looks nice as he smiles kindly at Dipper. It makes him feel bad that just two weeks ago he kissed his girlfriend. Even worse that he wants to tell him about it just to be spiteful.
He looks at Pacifica, leaning comfortably into the taller man. As if she can read his mind, her eyes narrow at him. Don’t.
Dipper looks back at Callum, giving him a forced smile, instead. “Yeah, you too.”
“If you guys are done,” Pacifica cuts in, “let’s go. I’m seriously exhausted.”
Not bothering to wait for Callum’s response, she turns to grab their bagged snacks. In the brief moment it takes, Dipper sees her bare ring finger before Callum takes the bag from her, lacing their hands together again. He barely registers Callum wishing him a good night as they leave.
She’s not engaged.
The relief that hits Dipper is so strong, he’s surprised that he doesn’t actually sigh out loud. He feels lighter than he has in days.
Only buying two packs of cigarettes, his transaction is quick, so when Dipper leaves Twenty-Fourers, Pacifica and Callum are still around. She leans against what has to be Callum’s car, a smile on her face as she looks up at him. Dipper watches as Callum leans down, whispering something into her ear. Her laugh at whatever he says to her is faint but seems to reach Dipper clearly. He can see the lovesick smiles on both of their faces, and when Callum's head dips down towards her, he averts his eyes before he can see them kiss. Getting in his car, Dipper finally acknowledges the tight feeling that’s returned to his chest.
He’s in love with Pacifica.
And he’s pretty sure she’s falling in love with someone else.
Notes:
okay so i got extremely lazy and disinterested and stopped caring towards the end of this chapter but i was so sick of having it in my drafts and really wanted to get it posted so that's why it kinda sucks
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the43rduberorange on Chapter 1 Sat 15 Feb 2025 12:55AM UTC
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