Dipper laid on his bed, groaning. He slid a hand over his face after tossing his cell phone aside; a cruel message had been sent to him today.

B: Dress to impress, pine tree.

Don't ask what possessed him to give out his number like that. He'd only blame it on the blissful afterglow of an orgasm fogging his mind. But, if Dipper was being completely honest with himself- which he never was- the truth told a different story.

It'd been good.

Really, really good.

And so, after much internal debate- Splashing water on his face, reading self help books, searching the web- he decided, ' fuck it.' Why should he play the white knight around that guy, anyway? It was a waste of energy putting his best foot forward around him; not to mention poorly spent. Someone like Bill couldn't care less about internal appearance. It was all surface-level with him. Which, somehow, made the decision an easy one.

Still, it cut through his self-esteem when he looked at the situation with a critical eye. This was sort of... Gay. Okay, really gay, and he knew that. Dipper was perfectly aware of what was going on. It was probably a sign of some mental breakdown; he'd been under a load of stress, after all. And, what was sex anyways? Physical stimulation; a flood of hormonal release and ecstasy. Who's to say liking it made you one way or the other? You could still be straight and enjoy it without the ever-present title society forced upon engagers of same-sex 'entertainment.'

This didn't mean anything

Bill hadn't been joking, as Dipper previously assumed, about picking him up friday. On the contrary, Cipher had been dead-serious for once. The plan had started as a night out; a walk through the park, sightseeing, a short drive. Dipper shot the option down immediately. Too romantic. Bill offered to buy dinner. Nope; not a chance. Okay, he said, then suggested a movie. But, all of the films were either romance or horror, and no way was Dipper cuddling that freak's arm under any circumstance. In the end, the evening's plans were left bare, aside from the obvious build up intended from it.

This was just a game, Dipper knew. Some people liked to take their meals out for a short while- really show it off, get the mood just right- before inevitably devouring it. He wasn't dumb. This was an extra step leading to what they really wanted: Sex. And, that being the case, Dipper would keep it as straightforward as possible. No reason beating around the bush, like a hot meal was going to change the outcome. It wasn't a date. Just giving each other a hand with things.

The meeting was scheduled for eight. Some ' after-hours ' business he'd be taking care of at the lab; just vague enough to secure an alibi without raising any red flags. Mabel wouldn't question it. Dipper wouldn't get caught up. He'd make his way down to the car, input Bill's address, head over and be back by nine. No fuss. No mess. No cuddling. Just primal instinct. Maybe a quick drink, but nothing more. He would keep it utilitarian.

Sitting himself up, Dipper took a moment to relay all possible outcomes, the best being everything would go according to plan. But, there was always something that could go wrong. Mabel wasn't a suspicious person, but she was definitely nosey. There was always the possibility of her asking too many questions. And, not necessarily of him, but anyone. Suppose she went up to Chief Blubs and asked what he'd gotten up to last night in the lab? He'd tell her Dipper hadn't come in the night before. That'd be a problem.

Or, what if someone walked in on the two? A cleaning lady, an old friend; anyone. Not that Bill would have either of those things, considering he was Bill . It was always important to consider, though. Dipper was well-known enough to get his name out in the community. It could always spread out of control.

What if someone saw him heading off to Bill's apartment? Again, he'd be telling Mabel a different story. But, who could be so bored with their lives that they'd chalk something out of 'nothing' ? A lot of people, actually. Gravity Falls was filled with snooping priers, looking for new material to pass on over the phone. It wasn't a good place for shady business.

For all the setbacks Dipper considered, and all the anxiety it built against his throat, he had to admit that none of these struck him as serious issues. Maybe a little inconvenient, but hey: Bill was his partner. They were working on a case together; who's to say Dipper hadn't come over to investigate further? Why else would he come to Bill's place? He hated his guts, after all. It wasn't a hard story to fabricate, or one to believe in.

Everything would go fine.

Dipper stood, moving to his dresser. It made him growl, roll his eyes, and snort when he felt mild concern behind what he would wear. ' Dress to impress ,' Bill had said. What did Dipper care, though? This wasn't a date . He'd taken a shower, combed his hair, even put on a little moisturizer . But, hell if he was about to wear something fancy. He pulled on the dresser's handle, grabbing at the first shirt he saw; a white tee, printed with an asian man in a full-body pink suit, cooking ramen.

That got the message across pretty well.

Dipper slid it on smuggly, followed by a pair of jeans from the floor. He slid on some high tops, but that was the pinnacle point of effort. Looking to the mirror, Dipper held himself with odd pride when he saw his reflection. Nothing crazy. Definitely not fancy, and way too casual to suggest alternative motives.

Still, his outfit kind of matched, and the jeans were tighter than what he usually wore at work; they looked good on him. A little too good. He didn't want to look ridiculous, though. It'd only hurt himself if he went out dressed like a clown. And, even his overthinking how he dressed was a battle lost to Bill. He decided to leave it as is.

Dipper checked the time on his phone; a quarter till six. Plenty of time to consider... things. Was he supposed to bring supply? Like, condoms and stuff? Or, did Bill have it covered? No way was he texting him to find out; someone might see the messages later on, and that'd be a whole mess to explain. Buying protection would be weird, too. The baggers in Gravity Falls were chatty. Even if you were lucky enough to get out of the line without striking up a conversation, they would always talk afterwards. Purchasing protection was a no-no. At least on his end.

It didn't matter. They'd figure it out as they went along.

" Dipper!" Mabel sang through the door, causing Dipper to jump out of his thoughts. She knocked once, waited half a millisecond, and entered the room before he could process it. "Wendy's waiting for you."

Like that, a wrench was thrown in his plan.

It was Friday.

Movie night.

Shit.

Dipper had forgotten. Considering everything over the past week, it wasn't so crazy to fathom. Let it be known, he and Wendy had cancelled the last two movie nights on account of the Doe Town case. In that span of time, it was easy to gloss over their tradition of popcorn, beer, and bad horror films, exchanged for girly cocktails, blaring music, and the occasional ' hey, baby. ' In retrospect, it should've been in the back of his mind at the very least. But, no. Dipper hadn't even thought of it, too busy trying to figure out how he could successfully keep his shenanigans up. Which were bad. Very, very bad.

"Uh, y-yeah." Dipper tripped on his way to the bed, forcing him to stumble and catch himself on the foot board. "I'll be out in a sec." Mabel snorted at his slightly frazzled demeanor, taking it as a blast from the past; back when Dipper was still a sweaty mess around Wendy.

It made sense to her, taking into account how their relationship had changed over the past month. Wendy made sure to keep her up to date. Things were definitely weird between them, and they were only growing in distance as Dipper spent more and more time at work, leaving Wendy to her own matters.

But, that was just Dipper; weird . There wasn't anything to worry about, Mabel decided. She knew her brother. When he didn't get his fat brain in the way of things, Dipper was sweet. Considerate, selfless- and despite Mabel's disagreement with Wendy- romantic at times. He could keep it up as long as she kept liking him. And, she did. Way more than she should, at least in Mabel's opinion. Wendy was serious about him, in the only way a woman from her family could be.

She wanted to get married.

Of course, Dipper didn't know about any of that, and she wasn't so forward that she'd propose the idea herself. Not even Mabel knew; but, she would be the first person to go to if the day ever came. Wendy had never before considered it; a domestic life, with kids, a husband, living in the suburbs of some neo-catholic corner in Piedmont, California. It hadn't seemed like a life worth her time. But, after the first scare in their relationship- questioning where they stood as partners, who loved who, what would become of them- it backhanded her like a marble statue just how afraid she'd been of losing him.

"'Kay!" Mabel sang, sliding from the doorway. She winked at him once, closed the door, only to reopen it with a pair of finger guns pointed his way. "Dress to impress, bro-bro~." A shock crashed into him, turning cold as it rode down his spine, across his tail bone, and sat at the soles of his feet. One look into her eyes calmed him. She was teasing. Just teasing, with a wide, dorky smile smeared across her face. Still, it was a creepy coincidence.

"Not likely." Dipper joked half-heartedly, turning from her to slide back on the bed. Reaching for his night stand, yanking open the top compartment, he pulled out a small bottle that fit in the palm of his hand. Brown, thick glass was wrapped tightly with a white slip of paper: Prescription only Medication. Keep out of reach of children. Xanax tablets; 2 mg; Alprazolam tablets. Without thinking, he pressed down on the cap, twisted, and opened it to showcase long white pills. He took one, swallowed it dry, feeling the lengthy bar slug down his throat.

It'd started back in New York. A little after his first night in Buffalo, sleeping on a futon his dad had unfolded for him when the movers were still flying his stuff to the new apartment. It had been cold those days. Dark, able to feel the metal bars of his makeshift bed, suspending him above wooden flooring. Able to hear the neighbors next door. To smell what had been leftover after take out. See the silhouette of a man, three feet away, standing in a corner just left of him, asking if he needed a ride.

That was how it started. For nights, the same man stood in the corner. Smiling, cooing at Dipper's young, supple parts, wondering if he'd ever kissed a man. And he, being far too caught up in the supernatural to discern reality from the vivid mental backtrack of trauma, was almost certain John was really with him. Watching him. In the living room. The kitchen. The shower. Never touching, but speaking. Dipper was crazy back then.

He snapped half-way through the year, at the worst possible time; the Mathletes semi-finals. It was his teammate's turn, stepping up to the podium to answer some question about sin or f(x) or the square root. He could hardly remember the point of breaking; only the bare wisp of black hair, cologne, and citrus. A multitude of hands gripped at him to stay upright as he tumbled forward, onto his knees, screeching at the top of his lungs something about the Holographic Universe.

A white room. A stail, plastic mattress, coated with thin blankets, which he laid on top of. His father, seated in the waiting room, arguing vigorously with the stern woman on the other end.

"He's fine ! He is... No, I-. He says he doesn't need to see anyone anymore... Well, gosh dang it, Miriam! He can make his own decisions!"

He was informed of his team's forfeit the day after.

"Mason said he wants to stay here ."

A single shadow. The silhouette of a man: real or fake? He wasn't so sure anymore.

"He's my son, too!"

The floor was collapsing, Dipper saw, under the figure's feet. And still, he stood upright. Unaffected. Like some omnipotent being.

"Go ahead! See if I care!"

Daniel Pines took Dipper home that night, sure everything was okay. Around 2 AM, he heard a strange sound coming from his son's room. The tearing of fabrics. Metal slicing against metal. The creaking of wooden flooring. Dipper was stabbing his mattress.

That was when they took him in.

Dipper's mom was close to having him admitted, and if his father hadn't been so against it, he definitely would've been. It was just a nervous breakdown. Moving away from family; friends. A new school. A new state. It was overwhelming, his father had assured the doctors.

A prescription. Xanax; one tablet every 3 to 4 days. Alprazolam was addicting, after all. Even worse than that. It was shameful every time a refill was ordered, and the new bottle was passed on to him. Like he couldn't handle himself. Like he was out of control. But, he was fine. Everything was fine.

As long as he was in control.

Dipper shook the memory away, placing the bottle back in the drawer; the very back, against wooden paneling, behind a small notepad. He didn't like looking at the container.

"What are you guys gonna watch?" Mabel asked, leaning against the door frame. Dipper shrugged at her.

"Something. I don't know. What's out right now?"

"Wow. Would you look at that? Dipper not knowing something!" She teased playfully. Humming, she cradled her chin in her palm, looking to the ceiling for inspiration. " Let's see ... Oh! I think ' The Pretty Fish Chick Trades Her Voice For Cock ' is out now."

"The live-action?" Dipper got off his bed, stood by the nightstand and checked the time again. Ten minutes to six. Bill would never let him live it down if he arrived late. Or, maybe he would. He seemed like the type to appreciate someone who was fashionably late. In that case, Dipper could make him wait forever, and it'd only add to the anticipation.

"Nah, the Bollywood rip-off." Mabel replied, only to pause in contemplation. She looked away, pouting as her eyes slit suspiciously. "On second thought, It might be a porno."

"Sounds great." Dipper's indifferent tone passed over her with a lack of judgement. "Tell Wendy I'm almost ready."

"Yes'sir!" She saluted before dipping out of the room, leaving him to his own accord. Dipper sighed after she left, carded a hand through his hair. This wasn't exactly ideal. He had hardly even considered his girlfriend the last few days, if at all. That, above all, was confusing. It should've torn him apart; choosing between loyalty for Wendy and the system-breaking aftershock of an orgasm. Should've been near-impossible to decide.

But, it both annoyed and scared him the overwhelming clarity he felt for his decision. As terrible as it was to admit it, Wendy... couldn't satisfy him. Not that she wasn't enough as a partner. More so, there were just some needs left unattended to. It wasn't her fault. It wasn't anyone's fault. Just a matter of circumstances. She wasn't able to meet that need for him, nor he for her.

There was a pain; a searing jab in his gut at the thought. Guilt. Heavy, hard-hitting guilt driving into the side of his rib cage, gnawing at bone marrow and cartilage. It was a heartless mindset, he knew, and one only a man without humanity could live with. Even after everything they had been through- the years spent together, both romantically and platonically- he still found inside himself a willingness to betray her; insult her with this. He was spending too much time around Bill again.

A final look in the mirror: Pale skin. Dark bags. Cold, dead eyes. Dipper wasn't sure how someone could become attached to such a face, let alone grow broken-hearted afterwards. He felt like shit, to be sure. But, something else was there. Just left of his brain, along the outline of his frontal cortex, he felt a kind of sureness when he saw himself.

Who could possibly cry after losing this face? No one. No one would cry. It only gave her a way out if she discovered what he was doing to her; behind her back. In the dark of night. After cancelling plans or refusing to answer text messages. No one would miss this face. No one would miss him. And, didn't it levy the guilt Wendy would feel if she broke up with him? Their relationship was on the rocks, after all. How long did she plan on keeping this up before deciding it wasn't meant to be?

Of course. She would break up with him some day.

Wendy wasn't the marrying type.

Dipper came out after a moment more of contemplation, fighting against the weights in his stomach. Wendy sat on the couch, lying horizontally, comfortable in the familiar space. It was an old piece of furniture; the same cushioning from the Mystery Shack's living room, before Soos moved in, redecorated, and inevitably tossed it. Mabel decided to foster it, despite how it clashed with the rug.

"Ready?" Dipper addressed Wendy, who perked up instantly. The look of hesitant excitement on her face- like a coned dog seeing their owner- had his stomach flopping with dread.

"Ready as I'll ever be." She joked, bouncing from the broken sofa. "What took you so long?" Wendy grabbed her jacket; a flannel fabric, layered heavily with animal furs and skin, despite the rising temperature outside. Dipper almost broke a sweat at her question, only to catch himself. He hadn't done anything wrong in there. Only thought, took a pill, and got dressed. It was his later intentions alone that made him feel so paranoid.

"Oh- uh. You know me. Just-. Reading up on files and-. Stuff." His eyes shifted away from her as he rubbed the back of his neck, laughing.

Wendy gave him an odd look, but not one of suspicion. More concern. He'd been putting a lot of time and effort into work lately; Blubs sure wasn't helping, when he put Dipper on almost every case that sounded even border-line supernatural. He was definitely overworked. But Dipper, being the guy he was, could never turn down a case. He needed rest, though. Something to unwind, cool his head, really take things into perspective.

Wendy was happy to be the person that did it.

"Well, throw all that 'stuff' away for tonight, dude." Her voice was proud as she snorted, flicked his nose and grabbed his arm. She led him to the door. "You're about to treat your kickass girlfriend to a movie, remember?" Dipper leaned ahead to open it for her, but she was already pulling on the knob by the time he reached it.

Wendy always liked doing things herself. Which was fine; it just kept getting harder and harder to be a gentleman when she beat him to the punchline. Though, there was an odd gratefulness Dipper felt for her in those instances. It was almost endearing when Wendy went out of her way for him. Something that should have embarrassed him, but instead shot him with fickle lines of affection. Short, meaningless doses that rode through his back, into his brain. She was weirdly chivalrous for a woman.

"Oh, is that today? " Dipper acted coy, with a teasing tone of voice, as though to say ' Well, of course! How silly of you to ask if I'd remembered. How could I forget?' Even though he definitely had.

" Psh ! Yes, nerd. Today !" His remark had the desirable effect anyways, watching Wendy tilt her head back, laugh, and pull him in by the shoulder. She loved throwing her arm around his neck; it was a small reminder of the fun side of their relationship, and put Dipper at ease usually. Not this time. Instead, it channelled an unforeseen foreboding within him, the way she held him, like she'd never let go. She wanted him closer. Closer, still.

It was forced, even with her natural demeanor. The average passer-byer couldn't see it; the slight twitching of her lips; the dilated pupils; the burning of skin. It was pushed aside with one motion as she led with familiarity and pride. But, it was too cozy. Too lax, considering their lack of interaction the last few weeks. It was a silent plea, Dipper could tell, to put everything behind them. Even though he most certainly had, and it was Wendy alone that stayed in the past; refused to forgive herself. To move forward. She really did love him. Hurting him had almost destroyed her.

Their journey to the car was spoiled by unnatural conversation and too-quick dialogue.

"So, how was your week?"

"Good, I-."

"Did you solve the case?"

"Yeah-."

"That must have been hard, dude. Was it?"

"...It was-."

"What movie are we going to see?"

Every moment felt like it had to be filled with sound, and any instance of silence forced upon them immense awkwardness. Each question was without true interest; not being heard, processed, or cared about. It wasn't an attempt at cruelty, though. Rather, out of fear. Fear of silence. Wendy had never minded the silence before. In fact, she almost thrived in it. Where she charged up, recollected herself, and maintained a cool head.

Dipper couldn't help feeling she was trying to perform CPR on the conversation. True, genuine concern sprouted when he considered the possibility of Wendy losing herself to the conversation. Trying to strike up a talk like they used to, even though those days weren't gone. Even though things could still be said, and they could interact with honesty. Or, was that a lie? Yes, a lie. Perhaps things were different, then. Perhaps those days were done. Still, they pretended.

"Oh! Did you hear about Tambry? She's-.

"Pregnant."

" -Yeah . Robbie's freaking out about it."

"He would."

The drive to the theatre wasn't any more forgiving. Wendy talked the whole ride over; asking about work, Mabel, the past few cases. All familiar, but dissociated when she addressed them. Dipper grew tense, hearing the unprotected edge in her voice when she laughed, told an offhanded story, or just babbled on like a brainlet. He'd never seen her like this. It was unnerving to say the least.

But, what could he expect? He wasn't the only one going through something at the time; she'd been killing herself over their relationship for weeks, and hardly heard from him anymore. Still, it was almost surreal the way she 180'd on him so suddenly. Not cool, or relaxed, or natural. Instead, chatty and borderline frantic. Like there was only so much time to talk. But, they had all the time in the world, didn't they?

Getting in the movie was no exception. Wendy wasn't so awkward that she'd chat on at full volume, of course. But, she definitely had her moments.

" Would you look at the special effects? Someone sure liked explosions."

"Yup, sure did."

Like, what are they even doing, dude? That blood looks like ketchup-."

"Yeah-."

"You think they'll make a sequel-?"

"Wendy, it's a trailer. I don't know."

She held him close the entire time, and from the way she clutched him like a body pillow, it was almost impossible to shift around and get comfortable. Dipper had popcorn in his lap, which neither of the two took even a bite of. Nor were the drinks sipped on. He was tempted to fake a bathroom break, if only to bring circulation back into his arm, but something stopped him. Maybe it was the blatant affection. The overwhelming vulnerability. How her body language absolutely screamed for him to stay. But, somewhere deep, deep down, sprouting among the daffodils of guilt and shame, was a single, plush rose.

Pity .

Let it be known Dipper had no idea how the film ended, or who the main characters were, or even what the overarching plot was. It rivaled obsessive when she stood after the film, dragging him along to wait outside the women's restroom. But, at least he could rotate his shoulder in the time being. Had she always been so clingy ? No, he'd established that already. It was just a nervous break; like his. She wasn't being herself, wasn't thinking clearly. He had no right to judge her for the change in mood and mannerisms. After all, Dipper was partaking in his own way of coping with things.

"That movie wasn't half-bad, but... I'm not so sure it was a kid's film."

"Bollywood's a bitch-."

"Ha! Yeah, dude. For real." Wendy paused, looking out at the night sky before catching a glimpse of red paint. Dipper's car. She smiled, tugged him along, mistaking his hesitant jolt as one of surprise, and not disinterest in her touch. "I had fun, man. We should do this again sometime!" Wendy chirped as she led him to his car; she wouldn't be riding home with him. Her father was a frightening man after all, and he demanded to pick her up after every night out. It was the only way he could keep things celibate.

"I had fun, too. The movie was-... I liked the songs." Dipper's voice was unsure. Wendy frowned. She wiped it away quickly, pulling his car door open for him.

"I'll look up the names for you and send the links."

"You don't have to-."

"It's fine. I was gonna download them, anyways." But, she hadn't planned on doing that, nor would she have ever. The songs hadn't been very good. It was only by catchy tune that he caught onto either lyrics or tempo, far more concentrated on Wendy's overwhelming demeanor. It made him look connected to the scene, though. His eyes were watching the movie. His mind wasn't overanalyzing. And, if Wendy believed that much, maybe she would calm down as well.

"Have a safe drive, Dipper." Wendy smiled sadly, straightening from her bent position against the car's window. He smiled back, lifted a hand, waved.

"G'night." Dipper's tone was soft to her, almost sweet when he turned the key of his car. It was the only thing he could do that even barely made up for what he was about to do to her. This was all he could give her without sacrificing himself. He felt ridiculously selfish as he pulled out.

" Wait !" Wendy snapped back to him though, pressing at the end of his window when the vehicle started moving. Dipper pressed on the breaks, missing her toes before he could roll over her small digits. She sighed, knocking on the glass with a smile. Sad, sad eyes reflected back, only for a button to be pressed and the window to be brought down. He kept up his smiling, even as a lump drew against his throat. Wendy paused when the glass was finally all the way down, wetting her lips awkwardly as she looked away, down, and finally back at him.

"I love you." She passed on innocently, rubbing a hand on the back of her neck, rocking on her heels, resting an elbow in her hand. Again, a twist of searing pain broke through his system as he stared at her, unmoving, still pressing down on the window's mechanics. Dipper's mouth became remarkably dry. When he made no motion to speak, just looking and blinking, an odd, tortured expression passed along her features, forcing a knee jerk reaction from his lips. He shook his head once, laughed, and looked up at her where she stood.

"I love you too, Wendy." And, he did. He had to. To love her. To say he loved her, whether or not it was even possible anymore. At this time, on this day, he had to admit: the answer wasn't comprehendible. If he loved her so much, why was he still going over? Why was he still anxious to fall into another being's arms? A man's , at that. Why- despite the tsunami of pain, guilt, shame and fear swirling around in his chest, berading him; insulting and hissing- did he check his watch every three minutes? Why did he care if he kept Bill waiting? Why did he want to see the man again, and see so much more of him?

Could he still love someone, while being so vulgar?

Wendy leaned in on him, placing a chaste kiss against his lips, and an almost painful cry rung out in his mind. It felt like ripping skin from a squealing pig; heartless. Inhumane. Unnatural. The single touch had him burning on the inside with sirens, warnings, and wales of discontent, telling Dipper to get away from this scene. To wash his hands of the whole event. And, not because of guilt or regret or fear. No. Because that kiss, as sweet as it had been, felt like the most disgusting thing. He couldn't stand the heat behind them; the dryness. The chipped skin. The plastic smear of lipstick. How it lingered, imprinted, and lasted. It took every ounce of willpower not to roll a sleeve across his lips.

"Good night, Dipper." It seemed to have a different effect on Wendy, by the way she lifted her fingers, touched her lips, and almost savored the sensation of soft, delicate skin against hers. She turned from him, taking periodic glances behind her when she crossed the street, reentered the theatre, and waited for her father to pick her up.