"Swanky digs." Bill went, whistling at the prestigious mansion planted up hill. He watched from the passenger seat, crossing his legs as his eye viewed the place with appreciation. "What's the occasion?" He tilted his head, chin in hand, looking at the younger driving. Dipper kept his eyes on the road, addressing Bill from the side.

"I already told you." He went, pulling up to a pair of golden gates, caging the house within. "We're getting Intel from a friend on Mrs. Lass's last sighting." Dipper paused, patting the sides of his pants before catching the bulge of his wallet in his right pocket. He slid it out, digging around the folds with his dainty nails, only to grab at a plastic ID jammed between an expired gift card and a photo of Mabel. Bill quietly sneered at the boy's obvious affection. Rolling down his window, Dipper leaned out towards a black monitor. He pressed his card against the screen, going black for a moment, only to turn green with a check mark. The gates began to open.

"Who would've guessed Twinks had friends in high places?" Bill purred fondly, kicking his feet up on the dash. Dipper slanted his eyes. "So, who is this guy anyways? Your sugar daddy?"

"Why the hell did I bring you along, again?" Dipper growled lowly, mindlessly cursing himself for his poor judgement. And to think, he almost suspected Bill of being even a tiny bit more mature than he was. How embarrassing.

"'Cause you love me!" Bill popped.

"I can feel my brain cells killing themselves." Dipper pressed his fingers against the bridge of his nose, massaging between his eyes, only to suck in a breath. He looked up at Angle. "Bill, please behave yourself, will you? She set aside a lot of time for us to talk today, and-."

"Oh~. A sugar mommy?"

"Bill!" Dipper challenged. Bill smirked, but closed his mouth. He was such a tease. "When we get in there, not a word, okay?" He leaned in, finger erect and pointing, eyes burnt with the accusing slant of unease. Why had he brought Bill along?

"Yeah, yeah, Barbie doll. Sure. Quiet as a mouse. Got it." He took his fingers, pressing them together, only to slide them across his lips with a zipping motion. He didn't flick away the key, however. Instead, he made a point of patting it away in his breast pocket. Dipper rolled his eyes.

"You're impossible."

"Impossibly amazing!"

"Impossibly annoying." Dipper opened his car door, stepping out onto the other side. Bill followed in suite.

"Oh, stop. You like it!" He met Dipper at the first step, trotting his way up the marble stairs with untainted enthusiasm.

"Are you ever quiet?" Dipper stuffed his hands in his pockets, only to take them back out, arriving at the door. He knocked three times, swiftly followed by the chipper click of dress shoes against finely waxed marble on the other end.

"Do you want me to be?" Bill asked haughtily. Dipper said nothing, straightening himself out as the door swung open. An older male- tall, lanky, and bald in every form- held the entrance for them with a bow.

"Good day, Mr. Pines." Came his grown voice, a deep slash of British refinement. Dipper cleared his throat awkwardly, averting his eyes from the humbled man. He never knew how to receive people in this form.

"Um, hey." His voice broke as he backed up, rubbing his arm as he waited for the butler to invite them in. He didn't, but instead waited for them to enter on their own accord. They'd been expected. "So, uh-. Is she here, or-?"

"Indeed. The miss awaits your arrival in her bedroom."

"So, she is your sugar mommy-!" Dipper jabbed Bill in the gut, earning a sound crossed between a groan and a laugh. He was growing rather fond of the pain Dipper inflicted on his vessel.

"Thanks." Dipper shot sharply, giving the butler a light smile as he dragged Bill along by the tip of his ear, far away from anyone he could yap at. Dread was already sinking in the pit of his stomach, twisting up his insides as regret poked needles at his gut.

'Is it too late to drive him back? Yeah, probably. Can't I just leave him in the car? He'll mess with my seat settings if I do. Why did I bring him along? No fucking idea.'

He let go of Bill's ear once they reached the banister, quickly realizing what little effect it had on him. Angle couldn't stop snickering at the tingling sensation, rubbing at his ear as a kind of stimulus. They made their way up the steps; Dipper keeping a reasonable distance ahead of him, Bill occasionally peaking at his rear every time his leg hitched up to mount another step. Once they reached the top, Dipper led them down the hallway, where a pristine white door stood with the unspoken ward to go away. Neither did so. Instead, Dipper let out a sigh of relief, slumping his shoulder at the sight of something neither polished or marble or dipped in gold. It was grounding.

"Hey, Pacifica. You in there?" He knocked on the door with his index's joint, familiar and relaxed as he did so. It was a practiced gesture, one only preformed in such environments by people far too comfortable with each other. Something Bill took note of. "Can I come in?"

"Hold on a sec! I'm putting my makeup on." A muffled voice squeezed under the door frame, coming off as a faint laugh. Dipper laughed back, resting his forehead against the pale paint.

"Jesus, Paz. Ease up on the eye shadow, will you?"

"Up yours." Came the feminine tone, once again fuzzed with laughter. She hummed mindlessly, dotting her cheeks with a pleasant rosiness. She'd done this before, the monotonous placement of pastes and powders over flawless young skin, so much so that it was burnt into her like muscle memory. And yet, whenever she and Dipper met for drinks, a possible mystery, or simply a night out, it was always that same routine that held her up. Not that Dipper minded. He knew her well enough to forgive the inconvenience on impulse. "Come in!" She answered finally.

The space was a palace in of itself, taking up a fourth of the mansion's east wing, and more than likely able to fit Bill's apartment inside. The room was framed wall to wall in hot pink paint. Tacky, but somehow fancy when associated with a deep pocket like Miss Northwest. Her bed was a queen sized ocean of rosy pillows and soft pastels, so childish and untouchable that Bill couldn't help but confirm her to be the only soul to spend the night in it. The other possible candidate being Dipper, and... You know. Pacifica sat at a vanity mirror as she viewed herself with vainglorious eyes. It took a bit before she pulled herself away to address the two.

"You're late." She poked at him, brushing away the strand of blond hair that drifted between her eyes.

"You weren't ready." Dipper shrugged back, sauntering up to sit on her bed with such an amicable attitude, anyone with an ounce less knowledge would have mistaken them for lovers. No. Not at all. She was a friend. A very, very good friend. Someone he went way back with. From summer to summer, year after year, partaking in e-mails and text messages and phone calls and holiday visits, growing more and more affectionate for one another, while also maintaining their heavily platonic status. That's not to go without saying nothing was ever there, or that nothing could have blossomed from one of them.

There'd been an incident several years back, with one confessing to the other in a heat-of-the-moment proclamation, mingling in with the bursts of confetti cannons, clinking beer bottles, and drunken friend group counting down from ten, huddled around the TV, watching Time Square's jumbled streets through the buzzing of static. Dipper was too far gone to understand her, the room too loud, far too content to ask for a repeat. He just smiled, raising his glass, waiting for her to cheer with him. She did, not repeating herself, not wanting to ruin what they had, accepting the slow death of her affection. It stuck around, though. Something shriveled up, trying its damned hardest to die, but still kicking. She never acknowledged the feelings after cutting them off, though. She was too proud.

Dipper sat down on the bed, flopping onto his back just to remind himself of the quality of her mattress. He hadn't been in her room for almost a month, stumbling in late at night like a couple of tornadoes, unable to turn the knob correctly or even speak without slurring. It was always good fun. They'd sprawl out on her bed, laughing about something nonsensical and vulgar, with such poor taste that anyone else would have scowled, wrenching the flasks from their hands and dousing them with cold water. They'd kick off their shoes, stretch out on the mattress, and sleep in their clothes. One would suspect foul play in these kinds of scenes; kissing, touching, and loving. But, they both remained clean. Untouched. Virgins.

"God, Paz. This mattress is too good for you, you know that?" Dipper lifted his head, looking over his chest to smile at her, crossing his arms behind his head.

"Nothing's too good for me." She joked. Dipper responded with another laugh, this one abrupt and undeniably charming. He sat up, sitting Indian style, clasping onto either of his shins as he rocked back and forth.

"Is this the part where you Z snap?" Pacifica hummed at his comment and considered humoring him.

She stopped herself, catching a glint of light cast against her bed's headboard, bouncing mindlessly up and down in time with everyone and everything. She looked to her right, trailing the ray to a pair of darkly polished dress shoes tapping patiently by the door's entrance. Long tips, gleaming against the room's artificial lighting, crease less and tied. Attached were a pair of long legs, sheathed in dark blue dress pants. Her eyes rose up his design with a kind of anticipation, landing on his features like a passerby er craning their neck at Godzilla. She said nothing for a moment, only snapping her neck up and down to take every detail in at once. She pursed her lips knowingly.

"Is this that Bill-guy Mabel's been gas bagging about?" Pacifica mused, shooting Dipper a steady glance. From within the sharp light she held, something unspoken was passed between the two. Mabel was crazy about Bill. Well, she was crazy about every boy of course, and this one was probably no more serious than the last billion crushes. But, it was important that everyone within fifty feet of Mabel knew when she was about to have an episode. Just a fair warning to prepare the fallout before she dissolved into a crazed lover, devoted 99% of her life to him, and scared him away through her horrifying displays of affection and the realization that, 'Holy shit. This shit's real. This girl's actually coo-coo for cocoa puffs bat shit crazy how do I get out of this?' It was a cruel cycle; one Mabel was most likely aware of by now.

"Aw, she mentioned me? How sweet! All good things, I hope." Bill posed, pulling at the base of his tuxedo jacket. He already knew what a sucker she was for him. And now, with the girl spreading word of Bill around her friend group, it was like a proposal! She wasn't even subtle about it. Pacifica stood to greet him, hand extended, reaching for his gloved digits. They shook, the silk leather smoothing over her palm pleasantly.

"Pacifica Northwest."

"William Angle. But, please-." Dipper groaned.

"Bill, I swear to god, don't go saying that every time you introduce yourself. You're gonna break your arm with how hard you jack yourself off like that."

"I wouldn't have to if you'd just do it for me."

"Did you-? Are you talking about-..? Do you mean you want me to introduce you, or-?"

"Both would be nice." Dipper and Bill stared at each other for a moment, blinking slowly as the comment became known, and sounded strangely less playful. More inviting. But, that was probably in Dipper's head.

"... Um, wow. Okay, uh-." Pacifica smacked her lips, looking anywhere but the two males. "That was kinda weird. But, uh-. I appreciate the openness. Very open, you two. Very... uh-..." She paused, searching for the word. "Progressive. Real cash money, guys. Just-." Her hand went to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, brows furrowed as she laughed awkwardly. "Not in my bedroom, okay?" She joked, slapping Dipper on the back. It was at the contact that he broke from his trance, joining Pacifica in her super weird, super uncomfortable laugh. Because, wow. That was uncalled for. Bill didn't seem to mind, laughing along with them in a far less reserved manor.

"I should have left him in the car, I know. Sorry." Dipper turned to face her, giving an apologetic look. Pacifica just waved her hand at him.

"Don't sweat it." She eased, breaking into a normal smile. She moved from the two, going to the night stand at her bedside, reaching for the drawer and sliding it open. The inside housed nail polish, face wipes, fake lashes, eye shadow, foundation, and anything else she couldn't stuff in her spacious makeup bag. She shuffled the products around, fingering at each plastic container with the tip of her acrylic nail, until she brushed against what she was looking for. Beyond the multicolored bottles and potions, powders and scents, was a slim flash drive, hidden in the back. Dipper looked at the stick expectantly, watching as she held it out for him to grab. Just as he reached for it, she yanked it back, out of his reach. "It was Hell convincing Gideon to let me use his security system, I hope you know. You owe me, nerd. Remember that."

"Relax. I'll remember. Thanks." He took the drive, flipping it back and forth in search of some kind of labeling. When none surfaced, he looked up at her. "What kind of footage are we dealing with here?"

"I don't know." She scoffed. "It's like, a two hour video. I don't have time to watch that crap."

"You've got time to apply your lip stick."

"Lip gloss, Dipper. Very different."

"Sure. Okay." Dipper hummed, looking at the drive skeptically. Two hours was ridiculously short for police footage. But, he had faith in it. Why wouldn't he? Pacifica was the town gossip, after all. If anything happened, anything at all, she was always the first person to get her hands on it. And, she wasn't afraid to go the extra mile for it."Thanks again, Paz. This means a lot." He began to turn away, aiming for the door, Bill already there and leaning against the door frame. Pacifica shot the man a look, only to grab Dipper by the arm.

"Wait a minute." She rushed. "Bill, would you wait outside? I've gotta spill the tea with my friend real quick." He seemed surprised for a moment, looking the blond up and down with a new weight to it. Did she know something? Was she about to expose him? No. Impossible. She was in the dark, just like everyone else. Bill placed his hands in his dress pants' pockets, pulling one of his famous all-teeth smiles.

"Don't be too long." He said simply, only to turn away and close the door. The second he was out of view, Pacifica was whipping around to face Dipper.

"Your partner's hot, Dipper." She blurted, confident in her deduction all the same. Dipper groaned. "Like, really hot. Did you know that?"

"Please, stop talking." He dead-panned, rubbing his forehead to calm the raging headache she'd given him. It didn't seem to deter her next comments.

"But, you think he's hot too, right?"

"No. That'd be-."

"Gay?"

"-Weird. I was going to say weird."

"Sure you were. Well, look." Pacifica whipped out her phone, seemingly materializing out of thin air, only to pull up her messages. "Mabel's been texting me nonstop about the guy, dork."

"She does that with all her crushes."

"Yeah, but she's never done it like this. She won't shut up about him. Have you talked to her about Bill? Has she said anything?"

"I try to avoid anything involving Bill as much as I can. He's not exactly a family friendly subject."

"Alright, well-." She slipped her phone away, once again like a slide of hand trick, the slick metal flickering out of existence in an instance. "You should look into it. Seriously, she seems kind of crazy when she talks about him." Pacifica paused, meeting Dipper's gaze, unimpressed and slightly skeptical. "I mean-. Crazier than usual. Not the good crazy. Bad. Bad crazy. The kind that'd end up stalking her ex if they ever broke up."

"Oh god, don't remind me." The weight of her warning started to toll on him. "We can't go through that again. That was a nightmare."

"I know, dork. I know. So, you're gonna have to figure something out."

"Like what? Separate them? You know how she sees stuff like that?"

"Forbidden love?"

"Forbidden love." He sighed, throwing his hands up. "And, that's not even the worst part. The guy's a complete jerk. He never shuts up, and he's just so cocky."

"Sounds like a real bad boy. You know Mabel's a sucker for bad boys."

"You don't even know the half of it. This whole thing's gonna be shit, I can just tell. I've been getting weird vibes from them since the day they met. Christ." Dipper moaned lowly, closing his eyes with a hiss before smacking his head. "He's gonna be all around the house if they start dating! And I can't stand the guy!"

"Hey. Calm down, loser. It's gonna be okay. Just gotta game plan, right? You're good at that stuff."

"I'm no good at romance, Paz. You know that."

"Hell yeah, I do." She paused, looking at the bedazzled hot pink kitty clock on her wall. A meeting discussion for her magazine line's cover edition of 'Top Llama' started at two. She needed to wrap things up quickly. "Listen." She grabbed him by the shoulder, spinning him around. He gave little protest, too caught up in thought to fully process the situation as she began to usher him towards the door. "Just set him up with somebody before she can nab him. Mabel'll back off, no problem."

"But, I-. Whoa!" He stumbled over the edge of her shag carpet, only to correct himself awkwardly. "I've never played match maker before."

"Don't be such a pussy." She looked to the clock again; a quarter 'til two. "You can't cock block them forever. That stuff gets tricky real fast."

"Would you date him?"

"No."

"Then who am I supposed to introduce him to?!"

"Someone nice."

"No one nice'd date that asshole."

"Then find someone terrible." She said finally, reaching for the door knob. Dipper became frantic.

"But, what if I can't find anyone?" She opened the door, pushing him onto the other end. He tripped over his own two feet, just barely missing Bill who stood patiently outside.

"Use your sex appeal, genius." Pacifica responded, slamming the door in his face. Dipper watched, stammering at the white paint job, as the shadow of her feet shifted from under the door frame, out of view.

"...That bitch..."

"You two have a nice tea time?" Bill leaned in resting his chin on Dipper's left shoulder, cheek pressed against his, fingers slowly snaking around his waist. Dipper jumped instantly, twirling out of his hold with something just short of indignity.

"Don't touch me. I'm not in the mood right now."

"Not in the mood for what?" Bill asked. And, for the life of him, Dipper couldn't describe what the 'mood' was, or even what they'd been doing. What they'd really been up to. For an instance, their interactions seemed alien. 'Arguing' just wasn't the right word. When they poked fun at each other, when he teased him, bantered, countered. What was that? Playing? Were they playing? It sounded like a good word, but-. Not right. Close, but not right. It was something more dangerous. It made him sharper. More aware. Less willing. Not out of fear, but simply hesitation. Because, was this right? Was this okay? Was he doing something wrong? What would people think? What would his parents think? What would Mabel think? Did he really want to be this?

Be..?

Be what?

What was he thinking about?

What did 'be' mean?

Dipper had no idea.