The stop light sat frozen in time, blaring red and with profound brightness through the gloomy overcast. I had swung past the diner just moments ago, grabbing myself another coffee before work. I always needed one. It sat on the dash, its white coat partially hidden behind a cardboard sleeve that drooped and absorbed the coffee's dripping.

My eyes shifted to just beyond the car's roof, examining the boiling red that seemed to provoke a sort of trepidation as it burned against the sky's dark exterior. I didn't worry about being late to work. I wasn't on a fixed schedule. Red lights simply annoyed me, and I felt particularly restrained when confronted by them.

I sighed, reaching for my cup just as the light swapped to a gaudy green. A small sip, burnt, sharp and deprived of sweetness, before my foot eased down on the gas. Mabel always blanched at my drinks, sniffing at the steam that rose to her nostrils before snapping it away from her face and considered pouring it out. I would laugh.

We had always been so different. I reminisced on these little things, even going so far as to recite the few bits of conversation we had had on separate occasions, as the dreary exterior of cold granite and paled windows approached.

Grey. The building was grey. And, on days in which the sun couldn't so much as lighten its tint, the bricks almost looked nefarious. A dull slab, bland and evasive of color and wonder.

At least on the outside.

On the inside, I was instantly greeted by rushing bodies, fixing their collars, pulling at the hems of their skirts, carrying papers, leaning over water coolers, brushing past me to take a drag outside, or maybe just to make a personal phone call.

All before 9 AM.

The police department hadn't always been so heavily employed. On the contrary, hardly anyone was qualified to emerge as an officer in this town. Even the sheriff. The majority of them were imports, plucked from their original stations in New York, Kansas, California, Louisiana, and wherever else the state's population could read beyond a fourth grade level.

Weirdmaggedon had done some strange things to the town. Although unspoken, people had become more cautious. More skeptical. More despondent. A slow dissolve of their own self-reliance emerged, though cloaked by the boasting of Bill's demise. But, it wasn't fooling anyone. We had almost been destroyed.

So, a police force. A bigger one, more elaborate and with more-experienced individuals. All of whom were vaguely briefed on the town's lore, complete with supernatural displays of ghosts, goblins, and gobblewonkers. But, they had all either seen too much or cared too little to acknowledge the strange creatures. All matured and unnervingly level headed when faced by something otherworldly.

"Morning, Pines." Came a casual voice.

He stood by the water cooler, a Styrofoam cup held between curled fingers. A mess of inky black hair slicked over his forehead, insultingly Asian as it shot down, flat and lifeless, into a bowl cut. He was pasty, though red and sensitive against mild sunlight.

He wore spectacles. Without comical nerdiness or a broken bridge that was taped up by visibly white bandages. Just thin. A delicate pair that perched over his nose, simply used to tilt his face forward and peer over their rims to seem as though he knew more than he did. A sort of glance that made you check yourself. Your hands. Your clothes. Your shoes. To make sure none of the evidence had been unceremoniously added to your design.

And, by the time you flinched to examine the cuff links of your suit or the eaglets of your laces, you had given yourself away to him.

"Morning, Kings." My hand rose in a half-hearted lift before flopping back down against my slacks.

We weren't friends, really. He was a bit too slow for me. Not to say that he wasn't smart. He was very much so. There was just a laziness about him. Something oddly pretentious in his late reports, early clocking outs, and complete disregard for dress code. As though to say he couldn't be bothered.

But, we were otherwise chummy. He enjoyed talking, something I didn't mind listening to. Most of the time. Not to mention he was well-versed in everything nerd. I'd invite him over for some 'D, D, and more D', if I didn't dread the idea of him making sure his 'schedule was clear.'

Like he was in high demand or something.

"How's that case you're working on?" Derision was just barely smothered by his otherwise indifferent tone.

I had seemingly been pinned to a stale case, one with little information and few leads. And, as far as he was concerned, it had been laid on me like an anvil. Only I seemed to know how badly I actually wanted to work on the case.

"Good. I've got an idea of where they'll be striking next, actually." I leaned towards him, my coffee paralleling his water.

I tried my hardest not to slit my eyes, keeping up that friendly exterior we both understood was partially pretense. He let out an amused scoff, his lips curling into a tantalizing smirk. That bastard.

"Really? Fascinating!" He didn't even bother to ask where, simply responding with condescending disbelief and a hint of sarcasm. I huffed, shifting my eyes away as my fingers went to comb through brown curls.

"Well, anyways." He continued. "How'd your date go?" I had just lifted the drink to my lips, coffee spreading over my tongue with a bitter strangle, only to freeze as the question reached me.

He hadn't cared about my case at all. It was simply a leeway into what he really wanted to know. How was it? My lips continued to press against the cup's plastic top, eyes finally narrowing, though focused on nothing as I faced just ahead of me. With one swift motion, they snapped his way with venom, viewing his suggestive expression as his eyebrow cocked up playfully.

The drink lowered from my mouth, lips parted just slightly as I scowled in distaste. I didn't want to talk about last night. I didn't want to talk about Wendy. I didn't want to talk. All he wanted from me was a full blown description. How she looked. How she felt. How she tasted.

"Fine. We had dinner."

"Who cooked?"

"I did." Cooking had come surprisingly easy to me. It was like chemistry. Just balance out the elements and make sure everything works together without exploding. Simple.

"What'd you have for dessert?" A wink. A grin, slowly twisting into a mischievous smile. I glowered.

"I didn't make any." He rolled his eyes, readjusting his specks at my response. An air of amused frustration began to bubble over in good humor.

"Oh, come on man! You know what I mean! How was dessert?" He rephrased it, this time jostling me with his elbow. A stupid beam remained cracked over his lips, though I was quickly losing my patience.

"Fuck off, Kings." I remarked, light yet sincere. He feigned being wounded, more than familiar with my surprisingly foul mouth.

"You're no fun." His advances seemed to soften, though he continued to persist. "You could at least rate it."

"Zero." I dead-panned, looking at him with lidded eyes.

"God, Dipper." A snicker slipped out of him, his drink rising to his lips. But, not before he presented me with this beauty. "Any other guy'd kill to be in your shoes. Are you gay or something?"

It was a joke. A simple joke meant to demean and humiliate my manhood with the prompt: Do you like being fucked?

I should have laughed. I should have scoffed and rolled my eyes, redirecting the same statement right back at him. I should have lied and told him how good the sex had been. I should have given him every detail and exalted myself as a dominant male. I should have just said 'I'm straight.'

And yet, the words choked me. I couldn't force them out, and I became defensive as he slurped his drink, eyes closed and content. It was just water. There was no way he was enjoying it that much! My brow furrowed, hand trained to remain calmly wrapped around the cup of piping hot coffee.

'I'm not gay.' I thought, my eye twitching as his head continued to tilt back, sucking down the liquid with fervor. 'I'm not gay at all.'

"I'm gonna work on my case, Kings. Call me if you get your dick stuck in a blender." I slipped away, dumping the remained of my drink in the trash as Kings watched me in confusion.

"Was it something I said?" His voice faded away, muffled by the elevator's closing doors. I scowled hard, staring as my silver reflection smoothed against the door's metallic surface. And from it, I made out the slightest flicker of Mabel in my features. Far less than everyone else could see, but just enough that I could see the resemblance.

'You look feminine.' One side went.

'Go fuck yourself.' Responded the other.