Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Dipper sits in a booth at the diner by himself, various papers and notebooks scattered around the table in front of him—as well as a cup of coffee. One hand props up his head as he leans forward, it tangled in his hair as he concentrates. What he's working on is confusing, to say the least, but it's nevertheless something he's wholeheartedly interested in.

"And maybe, if I calculate this equation with this number here—" he mumbles to himself.

You walk past him, just so happening to be on your way out of the diner after having lunch with a friend, and you manage to accidentally glance over and catch sight of him. It’s a familiar sight; one you’ve seen too many times before. The way your heart stutters in your chest makes your breath hitch in your throat. You stop next to his table, craning your head a bit to make sure that it's him. "Dipper?" you ask, your voice slightly tentative. There’s no way that’s actually him, right? Maybe a lookalike. Plenty of men have brown curly hair and stick their tongues out between their teeth to work—

Dipper glances up at the sound of his name and is met with the sight of you staring at him. He freezes on the spot, his eyes widening a bit as he questions your name in a similar manner. Your eyes lock together, neither of you daring to be the first to look away. You nod, confirming his question. "Yeah," you laugh a little, it coming out a bit strained. You force yourself to stay composed despite your heart hammering in your chest. "How—how are you?"

Dipper is clearly still struggling a little bit to form words. After another moment of staring back at you, he eventually stutters out a response. "I-I'm...good! Yeah, I'm... good. Uh..." He takes a moment to push his notebooks aside and gestures toward the seat across from him. "Sit down," he says a bit too quickly. You look at the pile of papers and notebooks he has scattered across the table, wondering if you should even bother intruding, but take a seat across from him regardless. 

You fold your arms on the table before taking a peek at his work, trying to make some sort of sense of it. You don’t know how you’re supposed to start this conversation now that you’re here—and you know he isn’t about to make any money moves after having invited you to sit. You decide to grab the low-hanging fruit. "What are you working on?" you ask, grabbing a notebook without permission and turning it to face you to get a better look at it. Dipper's heart almost jumps out of his chest as you pick it up and begin flipping through the pages of notes and equations, both at the familiar sight of you examining his work but also his possessiveness over what he deems important. Also, it’s you; you’ve always made his heart seize. He tries his best to keep calm, though, and takes another sip of coffee, feigning nonchalance. He can’t tell if it’s working.

"J-just, you know... some nerdy stuff. Math equations, astronomy, quantum mechanics, y'know..."

You can't help but laugh a little at his answer, putting the notebook down and looking up at him. "You do know you've graduated, right?" you ask, simultaneously checking if your assumption is right as well as teasing him to lighten the air. Has he graduated? You don’t know; you should. You haven’t been… keeping tabs, as much as you would’ve liked. It wouldn’t have been good for you. Dipper laughs awkwardly, as if catching the air that you don’t actually know despite the semi-cocky tone.

"Well... yeah," he replies, sounding somewhat defensive instinctually. He fidgets with the pencil in his hand, twirling it in his fingers as he glances up at the ceiling. "There's a certain... satisfaction to it. Trying to figure out how things work... it's like putting together a really complicated puzzle, y'know?"

"No, I get it," you say, watching him with the pencil for a moment before raising your gaze to his face, a teasing smile on your lips. "I'm messing with you." Dipper meets your eyes at that, sighing a little in relief at the admission that you’re not actually chastising him. He should’ve known that—usually, he would’ve known that. But you sitting there across from him right now has put him on edge in a way he hasn’t felt in years. Why did he invite you to sit? You could’ve said your hellos and moved on. Now, he’s stuck himself in this conversation that could’ve been over before it started. He would’ve processed the moment and then moved on. He would’ve looked up your socials after, sure, but he would’ve been fine. He would’ve maybe shed some tears alone in his bed later, but he would’ve pushed you out of his head as he always does. He’s gotten good at that.

He takes a deep breath.

He would’ve always asked you to sit.

He rolls his eyes jokingly in an attempt to mask his thoughts on the matter. He’s already thinking too much about this.

"Oh, yeah. You're just so funny, making fun of the nerdy kid," he says sarcastically.

"Well someone has to do it now that we're not in school anymore," you trail off, your eyes roaming over him to note what, if anything, has changed about him. Dipper can't help but notice you looking him over, silently surveying the changes in his appearance since the two of you last saw each other. He adjusts himself in his seat a bit, self-consciously rubbing his arm. He’s always hated when you did that; it’s always felt that you could see right through him.

"Yeah, I guess that's true," he says awkwardly. He's grown a bit since the last time you remembered, his arms and legs a little longer, a little more filled out. He’s not as gangly as he used to be; now his limbs make more sense with his body. He's also let his hair grow, his natural curls returning to their full glory. You can remember the time he cut his hair and chopped the curls in half, rendering them useless. There also seem to be a few arm tattoos, which pleasantly shock you and send a wave of something through your body—he's not the type you would have ever expected, but they seem to fit him, oddly enough. They give him the edge he was never able to produce on his own. 

"How's your family?" you ask suddenly, changing the subject, forcing your eyes to leave his arms. You push any wandering thoughts about them out of your head, slightly failing at the task. "Mabel? How's she?" You don’t ask about his parents, knowing that it’s a touchy subject.

Dipper gives you a little half-smile and nods. "Yeah, Mabel's still as energetic as ever," he says, a hint of a chuckle in his voice, his hands still fiddling with his pencil. "She's off at some fashion college in New York studying, though. She sends me pictures every so often. She's having the time of her life, clearly."

You can't help but smile, Dipper’s shoulders lowering and his face loosening as he talks about his sister. "That's— really great. Good for her," you say genuinely, remembering how much she's always loved clothing. "I assume she'd be almost done, right? Graduating soon, too."

Dipper nods again to confirm your suspicions. "Yep," he says, putting the pencil down and taking a sip of his coffee before continuing. As you watch him, you notice he continually has kept his hands moving, busy. You know it’s a sign of him overthinking, and you’d kill to see his thoughts. "She's got one more semester. She was just a little behind me. Probably gonna be working for a big-name fashion house by this time next year."

"That's good," you repeat, the small talk monotony getting to you. You’ve never small-talked with him before; having to do it now feels slightly like an insult to who you two once were. Nevertheless, you persist—more for societal standards and his comfort than anything else. "She deserves that." You take in again all of his work scattered in front of you two, a question bubbling up to your surface. "You can't tell me you didn't get a job at some crazy tech company after graduating. With how smart you are." Your eyes flick up to catch his before they self-consciously look back down at his hands holding his coffee mug. Dipper laughs awkwardly once again, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. It was true, unbeknownst to you. He'd been offered a position in some high-tech R&D facility after graduating, but he'd turned them down. The thought of that career path seemed too… stagnant. Even for him.

"I— well... yeah, I... I got offered a job, but—"

"But...?" you question, gently prodding him.

Dipper can't help the miniature groan he lets out before turning his head to avoid eye contact with you fully. His hands snatch the pencil back up. "It just seemed... kinda... boring, y'know? Like yeah, it'd be a good, steady job, and I'd make a lot of money and that, but... I dunno, it didn't really sound... exciting?"

You hum at his response, agreeing with his sentiment despite his hesitant tone. "That's valid," you offer, nodding a little, your hands transfixed on just how deftly he can twirl that stupid pencil. "You need to be happy with what you do. Or you'll just be miserable."

"Exactly," Dipper adds, finally looking back at you. He seems genuinely relieved that you understand his point of view, as if you wouldn’t have. As if. "I know I could be making a ton of money right now... but this—" he gestures at the notebooks in front of him, setting the pencil down, "—this is what interests me. This really makes me happy."

"No, I know," you say, meeting his eyes. "You've always been into weird shit." You smile to emphasize the fact that you don't really mean it, except maybe a little bit, you do. Dipper smirks a little, used to getting teased about his interests, and even more so used to getting teased about them from you.

"Hey, it's called quantum physics," he retorts sarcastically. "Not that you'd get it... it requires a higher level of intelligence."

You laugh a little at his comment, rolling your eyes. His quip back does something to your heart, almost as if it signifies that he’s finally relaxing into this conversation, finally being himself. "Yeah? And that's why I got a higher grade than you that one time in AP Physics, right? Because I had a higher level of intelligence."

At this, you can see Dipper's smirk falter ever-so-slightly. "I— well, that was just... that was a fluke. I had an off day," he protests, his cheeks tinting the slightest shade of pink as he defends himself. He picks up the pencil again against its will. "Not that I need to prove anything to you. I graduated with a 4.2 GPA."

You laugh fully at this statement, knowing that it's a hundred percent true. Your GPA was high, of course, but nothing that exceeded the highest benchmark. "Hey, work smarter, not harder, right?"

Dipper rolls his eyes and also laughs, shaking his head, the newfound normalcy of the conversation doing something to his heart, too. He should pack up his things and leave. He should say he’s very busy, has a lot of work to get done, but it was so nice to see you, take care, get home safe. He should reach across the table and grab your hand and apologize. 

Instead, he continues the conversation: "Yeah, sure, if you consider using a certain asset you have on some sleazy teacher to be 'work.'"

"The only asset I used was my literal ass," you respond swiftly, still slightly laughing to mask your surprise at the fact that he even had the balls to bring this up. The unmentioned side of this story, that you both know well, would be the fact that Dipper was helplessly jealous of the fake, excessive attention you gave the teacher that year. But neither of you seem eager to explicitly bring up your high school, uh… situation.

Dipper scoffs and tries to roll his eyes playfully, but can't exactly hide the hint of jealousy now creeping into his voice. "Yeah, yeah, whatever. I'm sure you only spent hours 'studying' with him so you'd understand the test material better, right?" He doesn’t meet your eyes now, they instead are locked on his twirling pencil again. You try to mentally make him put that thing down and hold your eye contact.

You laugh a little again. "Oh, I definitely studied some test material, if you know what I mean," you joke, not missing the little hint of jealousy in his tone, of course. You decide to change the subject for his sake, as well as your own at this point. You’re treading too close to way-too-familiar territory. You shouldn’t be surprised that the conversation naturally headed that way, but somehow you are. "At least I never fucked a teacher. Remember that one girl?"

Dipper involuntarily groans again and rubs the bridge of his nose in frustration at the memory mentioned. "Ugh, god... don't remind me of... her..."

"And didn't she hit on you more than once?" you add, a teasing yet suggestive tone etching your voice.

"Ugh, yeah. More than once," he mutters, shuddering at the memory before looking up at you. "And I rejected her. Every single time.” He says it as if trying to prove something to you. “Not really my type, if you know what I mean."

You're smiling, albeit a tad sardonically, unable to hide your amusement at this conversation. "Yeah? Meaning... what exactly?" you ask, attempting to intentionally fluster him a bit.

Dipper sighs, catching your drift immediately. "You know..." he begins, his face starting to get a bit red as he figures out how to word his thoughts. "Preppy... 'I'm-better-than-everyone'... kinda bitchy. Didn't want anything to do with her. I've got higher standards."

"Uh huh," you agree, laughing a little more to yourself. You haven't spoken to him in four years, since he and you awkwardly fizzled out, but the rate at which you've gone somewhat to normal is reminiscent of whiplash. You can't tell if he's bantering to be nice, not knowing how to end the conversation politely, or to actually have a conversation with you. You can’t tell anymore, though, at one time, you knew without a second thought. You cross your legs at the ankles under the table to curb your nervous leg tapping before it has the chance to start.

Dipper can’t help but have those exact same thoughts himself, wondering how quickly and effortlessly the two of you have managed to fall back into a comfortable dynamic. It’s unnerving. Off-putting. Anxiety-inducing. Refreshing. "So... what have you been up to in the last, what? Four years?" he tries bantering, being the one to ask the questions. "Got a boyfriend?" He mentally slaps himself as it slips out, the thought tumbling out his mouth before he can stop it. He drops his gaze down to the pencil, the number two-ness of it all suddenly as interesting as his equations, trying to steel himself for an answer he might not want to hear. He doesn’t know if a yes or a no would be worse. Why does he care, either way? He shouldn’t. He doesn’t. 

He does.

You shake your head a little, intrigued that he asked about having a boyfriend while also a little confused. A pang shoots through your chest, but you try to pay it no mind. He’s just making conversation, you tell yourself, a little too sternly. That’s what people do nowadays. "No boyfriend," you say, keeping your tone casual. "Not anymore. But yeah, you know I went to school in California. Majored in English."

Dipper nods, somewhat surprised that you're single, but also somewhat relieved for some reason. Why is he relieved? He should want you to be taken; it would make all of this easier. Would it? He tries to remain casual, as well, despite the fact that part of him can't help but feel a little excited at your response. He tries to mentally curb stomp that excitement out of him. He latches on to the part of your answer he can actually make conversation with. "Oh, so you've probably read, like, every book in existence by now, huh?" he jokes.

You laugh a little at his comment, it not being far from the truth of it all. "Pretty much. They had us cranking out those shits. I know everything about every book ever."

Dipper laughs again, too, finding your sarcasm as amusing as he always has despite the way his heart is feeling as if he drank too many cups of coffee. Maybe it really is just the coffee. "Wow, you're a certified book expert now, huh? That's impressive." He pauses, studying you for a minute, before continuing. "What was your senior thesis on?"

"Beats me," you admit without a beat. "I fucked the TA to write it for me."

Dipper gawks at you for a moment, unable to tell if you're joking or not until you flash him that signature cheeky grin of yours. There goes the coffee again. He rolls his eyes and gives a semi-amused scoff. "Of course you did."

You laugh, finding his initial shock at the whole thing quite endearing. "What's that supposed to mean?" you ask, no hint of malice in your tone but rather genuine intrigue as to what he thinks of you. Not that it matters, of course, what Dipper Pines thinks of you. Obviously.

Dipper leans back in his seat, a playful smile on his face as he takes the bait. He puts the pencil down to favor crossing his arms comfortably. "Oh, you just fit the stereotype. Pretty girl who always gets what she wants by batting her eyes," he teases. "And it's always worked for you so far."

"You're absolutely right it has," you say, flushing the bare minimum at the fact that he called you pretty. It doesn’t matter what Dipper Pines thinks of you. It doesn’t matter. "And I'll prove it again right now. I guarantee I can pull a free soda from the waiter."

This piques Dipper's interest, and he looks intrigued by your claim. "Really?" he challenges. "You think you can charm him into just giving you a soda?"

"I mean," you begin, "I'm sure I could charm him for a whole lot more. But all I want is a soda right now."

Dipper scoffs again, trying not to let his imagination run wild at the implication of your words. The coffee. He keeps his cool and continues with the challenge. "Okay, then do it. See if you can get him to give you a free soda."

"Okay," you accept, standing from the booth and waltzing over to the counter where a waiter stands behind it. Dipper can't hear your words, but you lean forward a little bit on the counter, strategically letting the waiter have a clear view down the front of your shirt. You compliment his eyes a bit, you couldn’t help but notice how bright they are and they really compliment his features, and ask for a soda, instantly getting it on the house from him. You thank him, pick up your metaphorical trophy, and walk back over to the booth Dipper sits at. Dipper stares at you all the while, trying not to show it but thoroughly impressed if not a little turned on. Seeing you so effortlessly fluster yet another guy reminds him of all the times you'd do similar things in high school, which always drove him crazy for some reason. Some reason.

"Told you," you say smugly, sliding back into the booth across from him and taking a sip from your new, and free, drink.

Dipper lets out a soft hum of annoyance, peeved at how much of an ego you have. Or, more accurately, how attractive he finds it. He's struggling to keep his calm, and he knows he shouldn’t have drank three cups of coffee, the third one always does him in. "Yes, yes. I admit defeat. Happy now?"

"Very," you admit, taking another sip of your soda. Truth is, your mouth was getting dry looking at him, and you needed your own object to occupy your hands. "And what about you? Swooned any girls at school with how fast you can get an equation off?"

Dipper rolls his eyes, but he can't suppress the half-smile on his face at your snarky remark. He doesn’t give any thought to what else you know he’s able to get off, not a single thought. "Hysterical. You know as well as I do that was never my style. I actually had to rely on my ability to, you know, have a normal conversation."

"Yeah? And how often did that work out for you?" you tease, unable to refrain from smiling a little bit at him. You always found yourself smiling around him. You hate how your mouth has effortlessly eased back into muscle memory. 

"Don't act like you're one to talk," he counters, expertly diverting from your original question. You notice. "You're still single too, y'know. Apparently none of your college TAs were available?"

You lean back in your seat, mirroring him, and smirk at his comment. "Oh, believe me, they were available. They were college TAs. Obviously, they were available. Just not really my type."

Dipper furrows his brow at your words. It's not so much the fact that you're being somewhat mysterious about it, but more that a bigger part of him than he’d like to admit doesn’t like the thought of all those guys fawning over you and giving you special treatment.

"What do you mean, not your type?" he asks, feigning nonchalance in his tone.

"Oh, you know. nerdy. Nose always in a book. Too smart for his own good." You purposefully use words that describe Dipper perfectly, knowing that he'll notice and knowing that he was your exact type in high school. It’s a strategic play, one you think is the equivalent of a checkmate, but it's not meant as an attempt to flirt with him; just a joke you want to see his reaction to. You’ll pull back the pawn once you see how he flusters.

Dipper does, in fact, notice you using him as the example for your type. Of course, it wasn't difficult to identify, and he's not sure how he feels about the fact that you're saying that's not your type anymore. He just shakes his head a bit with a sigh. "That's a shame," he says. "Because I bet the nerdy, smart college guys are a lot classier than the TAs you always went after."

You laugh a little, unable to help it. "Dipper, babe," you say, not meaning the pet name romantically but liking how it rolls off your tongue. Its sweet taste mixes with the soda. "I didn't go after the TAs to try and date them. C'mon."

Dipper knows you didn't mean "babe" in earnest, but being called that by you was always something he secretly liked, even if it was just a nickname. Even if it was a nickname you called everyone, mockingly or not. He can't help but roll his eyes again at the rest of your explanation. "Yeah, I get that. You went after them because they were the only ones willing to overlook your lazy work ethic and give you passing grades that you didn't deserve."

"Exactly," you agree, emphasizing the point with another sip of soda. "But back to you. You seriously didn't get with anyone? Where'd you go to school again? Someplace fancy."

Dipper can't help but think the way you keep drinking that soda is just you rubbing it in even more. What it is, he’s not exactly sure, but that’s beside the point. He's also trying not to react to your question, but he knows that you're trying to get a rise out of him. "Stanford," he answers reluctantly, watching you for a reaction. 

"Mmm," you hum at his answer, seemingly indifferent. "That's all the explanation I need."

Dipper lets a sarcastic scoff escape his lips yet again. He doesn’t think he’s scoffed so much in his entire life. He should've known that you were going to make fun of him for going to Stanford, but he tried to give you the benefit of the doubt. "Oh? And what's that supposed to mean?"

"That all the bitches there also have their noses shoved in books," you answer. "So nobody's actually looking at anybody. Did you ever go out? Bars or anything?"

At your questions, Dipper can feel himself getting slightly defensive again. He doesn't like the fact that you're trying to imply that he's some antisocial nerd, even though that’s exactly what he is and he knows you know. He absently thinks that he maybe wanted to try and impress you, and it’s not working that you already know him. "Yeah, actually," he says with a slight bite. "Just because I didn't flirt with every girl at school and go to parties every weekend like some people doesn't mean I'm some loser who never left the library."

"Alright," you say, sipping your soda again, not allowing yourself to get snippy back for once. You note this particular nerve you’ve grazed. "No need for the defense. I'm just asking. I didn't go to parties every weekend, either."

Dipper immediately feels a little silly for getting so defensive at your lack of concern for it, and he sighs, running a hand absently through his hair before quickly smoothing down his bangs over his forehead. Your eyes drift up to watch him. You don’t want to think of how nice it would be to run your own hands through it. "Yeah, I know," he begins. "Look, I... okay, I admit I wasn't exactly Mr. Social at school. But that's how I like it. I'd much, much rather read a good book on a Friday night than try to talk over some shitty music."

"I know," you say bluntly, looking back over at the waiter to gauge if you could maybe score some free fries from him, too. His hair is nice and would be an easy compliment to throw. You look back at Dipper. The waiter’s hair isn’t as nice as his, though. "I know you. Hence why I asked if you ever went out."

Dipper frowns a little as you go back to doing the same thing as before, batting your eyes and looking over at the waiter, probably just to annoy him. Definitely just to annoy him. Why you would be doing that, he isn’t sure, but he’ll figure it out. "Yeah, well... Stanford isn't exactly a party school, you know?"

"No, I know," you admit. "Neither is UCLA." You pause for a second, rethinking your answer as well as the past four years of your life. "Actually, it is. But that's beside the point."

"Oh? So you're trying to tell me you didn't go to a bunch of parties at UCLA?"

"Well, I did," you answer, smirking slightly at him. "Just not every weekend. Most weekends. It's hard to get your work done when you're either blacked out or hungover, ya know?" You take another sip of your soda, finishing it, being careful not to over-slurp the bottom in the way you know drives him up a wall. Next time, maybe you will. If there even is a next time.

Dipper's eye twitches a little as he hears your admission. He can't help but picture you at some club, surrounded by a bunch of guys, completely wasted at a party, making out with some random guy in the corner... He clears his throat, trying to remain stoic as he ignores the slight burning feeling inside his chest. That feeling might not be the coffee this time. "How you managed to actually pass college is beyond me."

"Same here," you confess, leaning back in your seat again. You don’t remember when you moved forward, leaning towards him, but you must’ve at some point, your body subconsciously trying to be as close as it can to him. You're silent for a moment, it finally sinking in fully that you're really here, sitting with Dipper, having a casual conversation after all these years. Something about it hurts more than it should. "But really," you start, clearing your throat a bit. "Did you at least enjoy yourself? You know, do what you wanted to do?"

Dipper gives you a small smile before answering you, something about the way you ask those questions making his brain fuzzy. "Yeah, I mean... for the most part. It wasn't all just studying. I did make some friends." He pauses, unsure if he wants to mention that he actually was in a relationship. He isn’t sure why he hesitates.

"Okay, good. That's— good." You can tell there's something else he wants to say but aren't sure if you should press it or not. You decide against it but continue looking at him.

Another beat of silence passes. Dipper hesitates for a moment.

He sighs.

"And... yeah. I wasn't completely antisocial the entire time. I, um..." He pauses once again, somewhat nervous to disclose this information to you. He presses on. "Actually had a girlfriend. For... a while."

Your eyebrows shoot up at his admission as you're unable to completely school your expression into one of cool, calm, and collected. You were never good at hiding your expressions like that, and even worse at doing it around him. "Really?" you ask, a mix of excitement and some other negative emotion you can't place filling the empty space of your response. "Why didn't you mention that earlier!"

"I don't know," he admits, chuckling softly at your surprised reaction. He rubs the back of his neck, it slightly reddening from the confession and the attention you’re drawing to it. He's slightly amused and a little touched at seeing you not quite so stoic and indifferent to this. It actually makes him a little happy in a way. "I just... didn't know if I should mention it."

"Of course you should mention it. Tell me about it. How was she? You're not still together?"

Dipper smiles as he relaxes a bit more, genuinely appreciating your enthusiasm. He shakes his head, answering your second question. “No, we… broke up a while ago. It just wasn’t going to work.” He shifts a little awkwardly, not really wanting to mention a lot about the reason why… for a number of reasons. He shrugs. “Anyway, she was pretty great. Smart, funny, and incredibly attractive. We had a lot of the same interests and…”

“And…?” you gently prompt, wanting to hear more. Are you silently comparing yourself to some girl you’ve never met? Maybe. But he doesn’t need to know that, you figure.

Dipper grins. He’s not stupid. He can tell that you’re comparing yourself to her, and for some reason, that does not upset him at all. In fact, it pleases him a bit more than it should. He pauses, pretending to collect his thoughts; pretending he has to think of an answer. “And, well… I mean. She was pretty, but…” he begins, his eyes lingering over your features, specifically noting how your lips look today. He thinks it’s a darker color than you used to wear in high school. Why does he remember what color of lip gloss you used to wear in high school?

“But…?” you prompt again, in the same tone of voice.

This tone and the way your lips are parted ever so slightly is sending a strange, pleasant shiver down his spine. He forces himself not to stare too intently. He’s talking about his ex-girlfriend right now, after all.  “Well… honestly? She was sort of… boring.”

“Oh,” you say, making a face at his description of her. “That sucks.”

Dipper snorts. “It was okay the first several months. But by the end, it kind of just…” He hesitates, trying to find the right words.

“Fizzled out?”

Dipper nods, his expression agreeing to your summation, his stomach twisting as you finish his sentence. “Yeah. I mean… I don’t know if it’s just a me thing or if it happens to everyone, but after the whole ‘honeymoon phase’ stuff wore off, she just got… boring. Dull. Like, I just couldn’t see myself staying in a relationship like that with her for a very long time. I can only have the same conversation and watch the same movies a certain number of times before it starts getting stale.”

You laugh a little at his last statement, nodding in agreement but also surprised that he was willing to share that much about his relationship. “No, I— I get that. Some people are only meant to be kept around for a short amount of time, I think.” You pause. “I’m sorry it didn’t work out, though.”

A small part of you doesn’t feel sorry at all.

Scratch that. A huge part.

Dipper shrugs. “It’s fine. It was bound to happen sooner or later.” He watches your reaction carefully. His brain’s working overtime, trying to decipher whether your apology sounded genuine or not. In all honesty, there was a part of him that wanted you to be jealous, even just a little bit. He can’t tell if you are.

“Yeah,” you ponder aloud, remembering your own fizzled-out relationship in college. “Better sooner than later at that point.”

Dipper nods in agreement but still can’t shake the fact that your tone is more passive than anything. It’s not that he really wanted you to be jealous, but rather that it doesn’t sit well with him that you weren’t at least a little bothered by it. “Did you… have the same experience?” he asks. 

“Oh yeah,” you confirm. “With that guy I kinda mentioned getting with earlier. Same sorta thing happened, just less— wholesome than how you’re describing yours.”

Dipper raises an eyebrow. “Oh? What does ‘less wholesome’ entail, exactly?” he asks, sounding curious.

“Basically… we would fuck a lot, right. Like… a lot. And it was good.” A part of you wonders if you shouldn’t be explaining all of this to him, but you’re in too deep now. Dipper’s eyes widen slightly, however, and he feels his face start to flush a little as you describe your experience. He wants to be surprised that you’re opening up about your sexual escapades, especially with him of all people, but then he remembers earlier parts of your conversation. And also just… who you are as a person. “But then it just got… boring. I don’t know.”

He tries to give a nod and agree with your answer, forcing himself not to sound too curious. The question he’s really asking on the inside is: “Was it better than what we did?” “Ah. Yeah. I see,” he says instead, the internal question still gnawing at his insides.

“Yeah. It just got so vanilla so fast,” you complain, your face unintentionally making, well, a face at the thought. Dipper lets out a small snort at your complaint combined with your expression. He can almost picture in his mind what sort of vanilla activities you were referring to, and a part of him feels just a little bit miffed for some reason.

He keeps his voice calm and casual as he responds, despite his growing curiosity at what you would consider nowadays to be not “vanilla.” But he’s not about to ask. “Yeah. Sounds… boring.”

“It was, trust me.” You go to take another sip of your soda, having already forgotten you finished it. You silently curse under your breath. Dipper can’t help but chuckle again as he sees you do this.

“Aww, need a refill?” he asks mockingly.

“Yeah,” you say, grabbing your cup and standing. “And I’m boutta go score me some free fries. You want me to seduce anything out of him for you?”

Dipper raises an eyebrow, his stomach slightly churning at your offer. He’s getting a little bit sick of you being so adamant on flirting with the waiter, and he’s trying to keep it together without seeming too jealous. He shakes his head, realizing he doesn’t have the right to be anymore, and forces a scoff of amusement and indifference. “Uh, no thanks. I’d rather just, you know, pay for it like a normal person.” His irritation at your casual flirting discreetly bleeds through his voice despite his better efforts.

“Suit yourself,” you say, walking back over to the waiter at the counter. Dipper watches your display, his neck straining as he tries to look anywhere but at your chest, despite how much he really wants to stare. His stomach plays an Amish man making butter again as he watches the waiter shamelessly checking you out, and he makes a mental reminder to leave a good tip. Half to offset your shameless behavior and half to compensate for whatever pornography intro he feels that he’s watching.

After a few more moments of harmless flirting on your end, and some more bending over so he can see down your shirt, you grab your refill and fries, walking back over to Dipper. He watches you practically strut back to the table like you won a prize. He glares at you with a small frown as you take your seat again.

You set your fries in between the two of you, careful not to get anything on his still-open notebooks. “Help yourself,” you say, inviting him to eat some while you grab one yourself, popping it in your mouth.

Dipper gives you a brief glare that says, “You think I’m going to eat anything that you used to shamelessly flirt for?” before he starts to open his mouth to refuse. But then his stomach growls, loudly, as if to tell him, “Eat the damn fries, idiot.” He sighs and grabs one, mumbling his answer while keeping his eyes averted from you, “Thanks.”

You laugh a little, the whole internal exchange blatantly obvious. It feels nice, being here with him, though there’s still an elephant in the room that neither of you is anywhere near close to mentioning. “So..” you begin, “you did go out to bars while away?”

Dipper glances at you, before giving a brief nod. He’s wary, knowing that you’re probably going to ask about whether or not he drank excessively or did drugs or went to any clubs. “Yeah… sometimes,” he answers, trying to keep his answer as vague as possible.

“We should go sometime,” you nonchalantly suggest, meaning nothing by it other than its literal meaning. Or so you want to tell yourself.

Dipper’s eyes widen slightly at your offhand suggestion. He’s surprised at your casual tone, that’s almost like a direct invitation to go. He can’t tell if you’re just throwing out the idea noncommittally, how people who have no intention of seeing each other again do, or if you’re actually serious.

“Oh… um, like… together?” he asks, feeling stupid. Of course your statement implied “together.” Why would you suggest it to him otherwise? But he wants to be sure.

“Yeah, dumbass,” you retort. “That’s what ‘we’ means. Clearly, someone didn’t take enough English classes, unlike yours truly.” You pop another fry in your mouth before sipping on your replenished soda, anticipating whether or not he’ll agree to this suggestion. You decided to be bold with it, and being bold hasn’t always rewarded you kindly.

Dipper rolls his eyes and huffs at your smartass tone, his irritation growing again at how calmly you offer and then insult him. He doesn’t know if he’s really irritated with you or at the mounting anxiety that’s been building inside of him for this entire conversation. “No, I mean, like… just the two of us?” he clarifies, his voice dropping to a quieter tone without even realizing, as if it’s a secret that you two are even talking right now to begin with.

“Sure,” you say, looking at him. “I mean you can invite a friend or whatever if you want.” You offer this up, hoping he won’t actually take you up on it. You’re praying he doesn’t.

Dipper hesitates for a moment, mulling over your offer. A small part of him considers the smart thing to do would be to ask for some friends, that way it doesn’t count as a date. Are you asking him on a date? You can’t be. You definitely aren’t. The smart part of him is quickly squashed by a much larger part of him, though, that’s secretly elated that you’re offering him to go to a bar together, one-on-one.

He clears his throat before quietly answering, “No… just us is fine for me.”

“Alright, cool.” You keep your expression as neutral and disinterested as possible, his answer elating you greatly on the inside. “You free this Friday?”

Dipper almost has to bite back a smile as he nods, trying to act as casually as possible. If he had known earlier this morning that the day would end with him going out with you this week, well… he probably would have thrown up and then jumped off a bridge. But that’s irrelevant. It takes a great deal of self-restraint, but he manages to answer without his excitement bleeding through his voice. “Yeah. This Friday works for me.”

“And you’re actually gonna go? Not bail on me last minute?” Again, you know him. It’s a question you have to ask.

Dipper gives you a look of mock offense, his hand dramatically going to his chest in an “I’m wounded” manner. “Why would you assume I’d bail?” he asks, giving you a faux quizzical look, although his eyes betray his amusement.

“And what does that mean?” A smirk plays on your lips as you lean forward on your table-propped elbows to look at him better.

Dipper grins as he sees you leaning towards him, almost on instinct. Despite your snarky tone, he’s more than eager to give an answer, hoping it will amuse you. Or perhaps even make you blush. He’s feeling bold himself after your suggestion confirming that the conversation has gone well, so of course he has to put himself in a situation where he could ruin it. “It means I’m not going to miss an opportunity to drink with a pretty girl.”

You laugh a little at his response, a light flush coming to your cheeks as he says that as if on command. You lean back, taking another sip of your soda to cool yourself off. “Well. Guess you won’t be disappointed, then.”

Dipper’s smirk increases as he sees the light blush on your cheeks. He takes great satisfaction in knowing that he managed to get that reaction out of you, despite your flippant demeanor. It’s even more satisfying when you lean back, knowing he had a small part to play in that. He smiles again, taking up some of your flirty tone, his confidence continuing to build. “No… I don’t think I will be at all.”

You keep your own smirk up, taking one more sip of your soda before checking your watch and standing up. “I’ve kept you long enough, but— seems like we’ll have plenty more to talk about when I see you on Friday. Come to mine at like.. nine. My number’s the same if you need anything before then.” You reach over, grabbing the pencil from his side of the table, and scrawling your number real quick into one of his notebooks and trying to ignore how the utensil still felt warm from his touch.

Dipper just smiles in response as you stand, secretly pleased that you wrote down your number in his notebook. That means he won’t have to awkwardly ask you for it, knowing he probably doesn’t still have your contact. He looks at you, his stomach giving a small twist of excited anxiety at the notion of coming over to your place on Friday. He glances at the book as you scrawl out your number. “Alright. Friday, nine o’clock. See you then.”

“See you then.” You wink and give a small smirk before walking to the exit finally, your conversation having stalled you for a good forty minutes. You’re not complaining, though. It isn’t the first time talking to him has made you late somewhere. You hope that this wasn’t the last.

Dipper tries not to feel too flustered at your wink and the smirk, but he can’t help it, his heart pumping a bit faster as he watches you leave. Despite his excitement and nerves about Friday, he still can’t help but feel a small pang of relief as you finally head out, his shoulders sagging completely. He checks the notebook again, looking at your digits written out on one of the pages.

“Oh man…” he whispers to himself, the realization suddenly setting in what he just agreed to.

What the hell did he just agree to?