A gift for Oliver (namelythedanger-2) on tumblr! I hope you enjoy reading this fic, even if it veers a little from the original prompt ^^.
I listened to Dvorak's Symphony of the New World while writing this!

Wirt wasn't sure why he came in earlier than usual that day. Well, in fact he did know, but that was beside the point. He had to walk Greg to school earlier that day because supposedly he was going on a field trip with the rest of his class, but Wirt couldn't be sure of that. Still, that reason lacked poetic quality.

Ok, so Wirt did know why he came in early that day, but for the sake of romance, let's say that he didn't. Let's just say that his heart led him there, that it was the red string of fate which excitedly jumped up and down on his chest that morning in order to wake him up at... was it five o'clock? Honestly, he had been too groggy to care, and still was by the time he entered the school building; he wasn't much to look at, honestly, with dishevelled hair and half his shirt hanging out of his pants, glasses and bookbag askew... The complete package.

This was the first time he was this early though, so he thought that he may as well make the most of it by going to the school library. The chances of his favorite seat being occupied at this time of day (or night, judging from how dark it still was outside) were minimal, but it just so happened that not only was there someone already sitting there when he set foot in the musty old room, but he also happened to be surrounded by a good quantity of his favorite books, and strangely enough, he was also taking notes like his life depended on it, sweat beading at his forehead and visibly coating the palms of his hands.

All this would have been perfectly normal, if not a little strange nonetheless, were it not for the fact that the person that was sat there was no other than Dipper Pines. Dipper Pines, the one who could punch anyone out cold if they even dared look at him or his sister wrong. Dipper Pines, who without doubt was a troublemaker, but who also had that bad boy charm which had a good quantity of the girls swooning and the boys vying for his attention, said attention that he gave out in bite-size format, like canapes. Dipper Pines was untouchable and above all, cool. But here he was, so deep in his research that he hadn't even heard Wirt's approaching footsteps, who felt like he had just stumbled across something wonderful and weird and intriguing, like a werewolf transforming. And this was probably just as dangerous as his metaphor would have been.

Of course, what was fated to happen happened, and the moment was broken. Dipper looked up, probably sensing Wirt's gaze on him, a mix of emotions flashing across his face, ranging from terrified to infuriated, to finally settle into a frown and a stone-cold gaze.

"What are you doing this early in the library?" he asked, snapping the book he was reading closed. It was an old tome, and one that Wirt loved dearly, so he winced a little when he saw how brusquely he treated it.

"I… I can leave, I..."

"Wait just a minute, you're that Wirt lad? The poetry nerd?" he interrupted, getting up and pacing closer. "I could use your help, actually."

Whatever this was, he didn't want to get mixed up in it. This was a weird situation, and Wirt had learned the hard way that meddling in these never ended well for him. He may have been the 'hero', the 'pilgrim' at one time, but he no longer wished to be known by those titles. Nope, he would rather retreat as quickly as he could. He would rather, yet he found himself incapable of doing so. For some reason, he was rooted to the spot, breathless and sweating a little. He now understood why Dipper Pines was so.. well, why he was so popular, he guessed. His aura, because that was the only way he could define it, was as intense and blazing as the sun. He was scary and… somewhat attractive at the same time. Well. Aesthetically pleasing, rather.

"Well?" he said, snapping Wirt out of his thoughts. "Can you help me out?"

"Oh, erm yeah, sure," he stuttered, the words escaping him before he could process them correctly. What had he just agreed to? Oh no.

"Will this require skipping any classes?" he asked quickly. The uncommitted hum that answered him was not the most encouraging response that he could have wished for, but there wasn't much he could do about it. Like a white ermine, he had fallen into this snow-covered trap, and it is only once the deep crimson of his life force showed through the pureness of the icy blanket, only once it's too late, only then will people realize that…

"Hey, Wirt, Wirt? I need your help here!"

Lost in his thoughts again. Wirt pinched his brow, trying to wake his still slow brain up, hoping that his propensity to drift off would not lose him one day. By angering a person who could knock him out with a single punch, for example.

"Alright, erm, are you looking for something in particular? Are you studying… poetry for a class?"

"Well, not really, I just need a poem, a love poem, in French if possible." Dipper picked up a pen and chewed on the end, a stark contrast to the cigarette that usually occupied that position. "I need it for… research. For something else."

"Oh." Well, that sounded like he wanted to write a love letter. "Wouldn't you rather… I don't know, maybe you'd prefer to write it yourself? I can help, I take French and… well, my French is alright."

Well, he was fluent actually, but he wasn't going to brag. Dipper looked up at him, a small spark flashing in his eye for a second before it disappeared, replaced by a knowing smirk. Wirt swallowed thickly, physically feeling the unease from the small white lie which had been pierced through without a second of hesitation.

"I would appreciate that very much. I can convey the message way better if it's an original piece, you're right. Oh, and please don't make it rude or anything like that, someone might get very, very angry if it is."

Whelp, that most definitely was not an invitation to his sister's dinner party. Actually, it sounded quite a bit like a threat. For his integrity, Wirt made a mental note to never anger the other boy, not that he was planning on doing so in the first place: he had no grudges against him other than the fact that he smoked and that motorcycle of his was loud and…

Dipper coughed. Right, Wirt, concentrate. You can do this, don't let him lose patience with you.

"Right right… erm, yes, how do you want to start? Maybe with the girl's name?"

A shake of his head, displacing a single strand of slicked-back hair that fell over his eyes, but that was quickly patted back into the mass. "No, this has to be anonymous. How about something to do with eyes? I think that would sound good. Beautiful brown eyes..."

From then on, the writing went smoothly enough. Dipper dictated the bulk of what he wanted to be said, the main ideas, and Wirt jotted them down in his second language, trying, as he did, to rearrange them in an order that would have the best poetic quality. Still, he did so with a heavy heart: being by nature a hopeless romantic, Wirt felt somewhat bitter writing these words. He wanted to be able to give them to someone special too, someone close to his heart, a someone he did not have at the moment (Sara… oh Sara, such as fallen leaves down a stream, she had drifted away from him forever…). Still, the time he spent there wasn't all that negative: Dipper, it turned out, revealed a lot of things about himself that he did not reveal out in public. He had a faraway look in his eye as he tried to resume the particular flavor of the poem he wanted written, in a language that was more suited to the sciences rather than to the intricate, flowery one that he was attempting to convey. If he were to tell the truth, it was rather endearing. Because Wirt could tell that the boy was subtle in certain domains, but this one was very much not suited to him, it seemed. It was like watching an elephant manipulate a delicate piece of china using its trunk.

Another advantage of this encounter was the fact that Wirt was able to admire Dipper as much as he liked. No no, not admire, he meant observe, rather. His brain was rather slow this morning, wasn't it?

As he had stated before, his aura was strong, and that in itself had always been a factor when it came to his decision to not approach him in the first place. Well, there was his style also, the way he held himself, how he styled his hair… All was rather impressive. He worked out too, he could tell. The birthmark that had earned him his nickname was openly displayed, the dots interconnected with lines that were as thin as a spider's thread, moving a little when his face scrunched in thought at the correct wording he wanted for his poem…

The stars themselves move when you will them to.

Wirt froze, pen hovering above the paper, completely unmoving on the exterior whilst on the inside a gargantuan wave of what in the Unknown? crashed down upon him, washing all thoughts of poetry far, far out into the great Ocean of his mindscape. Well, maybe not entirely so, but still… He was rather shocked at his own thoughts. He had only ever thought up such lines in presence of one person before, and that person had been Sara. And Lorna, maybe, but that was in the heat of the moment and beside the point. He was getting off track again. He was getting off track of getting off track, right, Dipper's slightly impatient face-scrunch was enough to tell him that he'd better get back to the task at hand quick.

Using all his mental strength, Wirt pushed aside the whirlwind of his troubling realization and dropped his head back down to the paper, the words coming to him even more easily than before, which was somewhat even more worrisome.

"Well, that's about it, I guess. What do you think? Can you read it out to me in French, then translate it word for word so I can get a feel of it?"

Wirt obliged, but he did so with trembling fingers and cold sweat sticking his shirt to his back, nearly bleeding through to the sweater vest beyond. This was… a really good love letter, if he were to say so himself. He had rarely written such good poetry, especially in French, for a very long time, and not only that but he had done so in one go, the words coming oh so easily to him with a little bit of guidance and inspiration. Yes, because he now realized that he had inspired himself from the person sitting across from him, his usual perfectionism hushed as he was simply pushed along on the tracks of admiration for his… muse.

At the end of the first reading, he sighed. It was beautiful, and his heart beat fast when he remembered the fact that it had been a collaborative piece, it was not just him that was imprisoned in between the delicate web of words, hiding between the ink and the page; no, it was them, it was both him and… and Dipper.

The second reading was somewhat slower, the words grating a little to the poet's ears as he dutifully transcribed them into the language that was not meant for them in the first place, but Dipper's trusting, approving nod every few sentences was enough to counter the painful feeling that hurt his mind so.

"I like your reading voice."

Immediately, Wirt's head snapped up, uncertain of whether he had heard those few murmured words correctly. Dipper was looking right at him, still listening intently, it seemed, as he was tense and holding himself in such a way that proved that theory.

Wirt shook his head a little and resumed his reading, pushing aside his questions. It was better not to think about it too much, he reasoned. When he was finally finished reading out loud the last line of the letter, Dipper dusted his hands off, the sudden, louder-than-usual noise snapping Wirt out of his unavoidable reverie with a jolt.

"That sounds perfect, thank you. Right, I haven't finished with you yet, it is-" he glanced at his watch. "-half past nine."

Class had long since started, then. Wirt suppressed a groan, unwilling to anger Dipper or to make him seem reluctant to help him out. He was but a shrimp next to him.

"So, it's about half an hour's ride away, and then another half hour's walk… I hope you don't mind walking through the woods, we're going to go to the lake..."

Woods. Lake.

Well, he did mind, but heck, that had been years ago. The Unknown had not left him unscarred, and the woods had since been a place of much fright for him. Still, there was not much he could do. Saying 'no' at this point was out of the question, but still he wondered… He wondered what Dipper was wanting to do in the woods, why he needed Wirt in particular to complete his task.

"Is your girl… home-schooled?"

The laugh was unexpected, and scared Wirt so much he jumped and moved back, cringing away into his seat, but once the initial shock passed, he relaxed, happily enjoying the glee of the person he knew very well was making fun of him, but that seemed like a detail in the instant. He was happy to see him happy, and that was all that counted.

"Not quite… You'll see when we get there, I promise, it'll be worth it," he assured once he had calmed down a little and wiped the tears of laughter out of the corners of his eyes. "Right, we'd better get going."

With that, he got up from the seat he had been sitting in and walked off, stopping at the end of the line of bookshelves and glancing back to see whether Wirt was following him. The boy got up quickly from his seat, readjusted his glasses and followed up Dipper's assured footsteps with his own, uncertain ones.

The day blinded Wirt momentarily when they stepped out of the building, which was quiet and deserted apart from the movement of students in the classes, the odd scrape of chair on linoleum, the dull chatter and warmth of human presence that in itself was not entirely visible, but definitely there. The morning was still chilly, but not so much as to form dragon-breath in front of their faces anymore.

"Here, take this," Dipper offered, holding out a helmet to a bemused Wirt. He looked around a little more, noticing that they were now standing in front of a motorcycle, all red and chrome and stickers. Dumbly, Wirt took the offered object, putting it on and doing the clip under his chin.

"Wait a second, don't you have one for yourself?" he asked, to which Dipper looked back and smiled, a smile that was mocking and filled with warmth at the same time, one which, Wirt was loathe to admit, made his heart skip a beat.

"I'll be fine, don't worry," he answered, and with that the discussion was closed. He climbed into the seat and patted the bit that was left free behind him, gesturing for Wirt to climb on. Obviously, at this point, he was too scared to do much more than oblige, and did so while trying to fold the mass of his limbs onto the seat without getting in Dipper's way, or too close to him, for that matter.

"Ok, hold on tight, we're off!"

And they were. The vehicle bounded forward like some fearsome beast, engine roaring just like one as it did too. Wirt let out an inarticulate scream and threw his arms around Dipper's waist, not caring about how close they were now, simply not wanting to fall off. It was scary, everything was fast, and he buried his head into the other boy's leather-clad back while the latter laughed, happiness and giddiness and freedom tainting his voice and making the knot in Wirt's stomach loosen a little. Only a little, mind you, the situation was still terrifying and the only thing making it worthwhile at this point was the fact that no way on Earth would he ever be closer to his new-found crush. Speaking of crushes, he hoped he had not done so with Dipper's rib-cage. He may be skinny, but he had a death-grip which might choke him if he were not careful.

Needless to say, it was the longest half-hour of traveling in Wirt's life. Despite Dipper's encouragements, he did not loosen his hold on him, nor did he look up to the trees rushing past them at a dizzying speed to the sides of the road more than once. Besides, Dipper's shoulder was warm and welcoming, and he preferred that to any giddying rush of adrenaline that he may experience otherwise.

Dipper parked up, and slowly, reluctantly even, Wirt let go, frozen fingers gradually loosing their hold on the leather jacket that he had been gripping with strength enough to turn his knuckles white. When his feet met the ground, he had to take catch himself on Dipper again, however, as it turned out that his legs were shaky and couldn't quite hold him on their own for the time being.

"Are you alright?" he whispered, the breath of his words tickling Wirt's ear and making him shiver a little. He swallowed heavily and croaked out a 'yes', turning his head away to hide his blush and moving off as soon as his knees found new strength.

"Ok, we might as well take a break before going through the woods then," the other boy decided, pulling out a pack of cigarettes and flipping it open expertly, taking one out and lighting it in the same movement. "Do you want one?"

Politely, Wirt declined with a shake of his head and a wave of his hand. None of this was right. He was supposed to be in class right now, not wandering around the edges of a forest with the school's resident rebel, nor was he supposed to have developed a crush on him in the time it usually took him to get ready and dressed in the morning (admittedly, he did take a relatively long time). Still, he couldn't help but think… this boy that he was observing right now, the image he gave off with all his rebellious façade of an attitude, there was more to him than that. He had perceived that little bit of him through his writing, the way that poem had turned out; there was both sense and sensibility in him, both things that Wirt could not help but admire.

Before he knew it, Dipper ended his cigarette break, careful to keep the butt in his pocket once he had extinguished it thoroughly. Then, he seemed to disappear through the trees, fading into the forest as if he were one with it. The Beast was able to do that, whispered the unwanted voice in Wirt's mind, but he ignored it and followed Dipper instead. This was not the Unknown.

That, unfortunately, became pretty apparent once they started their trek. The Unknown had not been wet and dirty, and not quite as cold either, discounting when it started to snow, of course. Every step he took could be heard for miles around, not like the practically-unheard, cat-like footsteps that Dipper took without a problem despite the fact that he was wearing a pair of huge boots. Several times, he had to stop so that Wirt would catch up, and by the time the lake came into view, the sun was high in the sky, higher than it would have been if they had indeed taken the planned amount of time walking through the woods.

Despite this, Wirt was too exhausted to feel guilty. Hands on his knees and panting like he had run miles rather than walked them, he sat down on the small rocky beach, the only place that was a little dryer than the surrounding dew-moist grass, and debated on whether drinking the lake water was a good idea or not.

"Hey, Wirt?"

He looked up to see that Dipper was there, handing him what looked like a cyclist's bottle. He took it with a wordless nod of thanks, downing more or less the entirety of the contents in one gulp. Water. Good.

With a crunch of the beach's pebbles, he joined him, sitting by his side. The boy looked out across the surface of the lake, eyes lost in a reverie that Wirt was all too familiar with for having experienced that state himself. Now that his bodily needs had been appeased, he joined Dipper in the contemplation of his surroundings.

If the truth were to be told, Wirt had not been near a body of water this large since the incident, and in time, it seemed that he had forgotten the beauty of such places. The trees hung over the oil-slick surface, only interrupted from time to time by the undulation which spoke of the presence of fish, or else the delicate falling of a leaf. From where he was, with the sun so high in the sky, the trees didn't seem menacing, nor dark. They were simply there, like guardians of this small haven. A bird flew above, and Wirt wondered whether it was a bluebird, maybe.

"I'm sorry for dragging you all the way out here," Dipper murmured, in a tone of voice that didn't break the moment, but rather faded into it like the mixing of two shades of a watercolor. "I've been wanting to do this for a long time, but… I guess I've been lacking courage."

Suddenly, Wirt remembered the reason why they were here in the first place. "The girl?"

An amused huff answered him. "Well, there were two reasons why I asked you to write that poem and why I brought you here, and I guess that one is related to a girl… wait! Here she is."

Wirt looked around, confused, but Dipper lightly touched his shoulder and pointed with his other arm to the place furthest away from their side of the lake. There, a weeping willow stood, tall and proud, but even as he watched, Wirt could see a movement, one unnatural to the rigid trunk of the tree. Slowly, it dipped down, bowing, it seemed. The trees around it followed the movement, an eerie silence falling over the whole lake like a muffling blanket. Wirt swallowed his saliva, moving subconsciously a little closer to Dipper's reassuring presence. He didn't notice the arm that wrapped around his shoulder, pulling him still closer, as he was now transfixed by the creature that had just emerged from behind the bowing trees.

The color, he could only describe as a green-tinted mother-of-pearl, the iridescence the first thing that he caught sight of, even before the general shape of the creature. When he did see it, though… it was bizarre, that was the only thing that he could say. Beautifully bizarre. It was the size and shape of a donkey, up until the hind-legs, that is, which ended in a snail's shell. As it advanced upon the lake's surface (because yes, it walked on water not even disturbing it with ripples as the leaves and fish had done), it left a trail of the same pearl-like quality that the rest of its body had.

"Her name is Caracolla," Dipper whispered, so low and close that absolutely nothing could have heard his words save Wirt. "Go ahead and read the poem. It doesn't matter how loud you read it, she'll hear the words."

Dipper placed the paper in Wirt's trembling hands, who had to force himself to look away from the slow-moving creature that was drifting along the lake's surface as would a slow-moving sailing ship. With a pasty mouth and a slight hoarseness to his whisper, he recited the poems, line by line. At some point, he felt the weight of Dipper's head fall to his shoulder, alerting him to the fact that he was more or less draped over him now, but he didn't stop. In fact, knowing that he was so close gave him new courage, and he proceeded his reading with more feeling and force than before. Every single word that spilled from his lips, he meant, and with every word that he recited, he realized all the small things that had brought him to where he was now. Dipper had never been really that popular, his sister far surpassing him in that domain, it was him and only him who was impressed beyond words by his presence, as he had been with Sara. His nervousness was only borne of the fact that he had liked him for so long, but had not necessarily realized it. He had only seemed cold to him, he had always blinded himself with the bad-boy, greaser figure that he displayed in appearance, only to force himself to stay away from him.

And their closeness right now… Despite the creature in their presence, this was probably Dipper's idea of romantic. They were close, he had an arm wrapped around his shoulder and his head in the crook of his neck, for crying out loud!

The last verse he practically shouted out, tears pricking at his eyes at his own anger at himself, at his stupidity, at his blindness. Of course, despite the whole situation, he still wondered whether he liked him back, the thought pervading his mind like a worm in an apple. Again, he was getting sidetracked, and the fact that he was so under such circumstances was scary. The last words echoed around them before getting lost in the trees.

"Hello."

Whoever had spoken was close, very close, and when Wirt looked up to see who it was, he had to force himself not to squawk in fright. He did move back a little though, or attempted to, anyhow, but Dipper still had a strong grip on him, holding him as close as possible.

"H-Hello," he replied in the same language. The creature had addressed him in French, something that made sense, now that he thought of it. It blinked its eight eyes, one by one, the milkyness of the pupil reminiscent of a blind man's eye, yet again the entire creature was that same color, so Wirt couldn't really judge from that.

"Oh, cool! Dipper brought an actual French-speaker this time. Do you know how dreary it is to hear poetry in English? Oh my goodness, Latin, I think that was the first time in a few centuries that someone has tried to call me with Latin, absolutely ridiculous, if I may say so myself..."

Wirt barely managed to keep up with the babbling, the unexpected heavy Swiss accent puzzling him more than the fact that a creature half-donkey, half-snail (and maybe there was some arachnid in there as well, as the eyes suggested) could speak, let alone French, of all languages.

"...I'm Caracolla, Fae of Dew, by the way. You're a handsome young man, maybe a little thin... Still, I'll give it to him, Dipper has good taste. Wait a second, I'll just bless your love real quick."

Before Wirt could process the implications of what the spirit had just said, it had morphed one of its donkey forelegs into a human arm, and with a playful 'boop', tapped the tip of his nose. It tingled for a second, feeling as limbs falling asleep did, before it faded away back to normal. He turned his head and watched as the creature did the same thing to Dipper, the boy laughing at the contact.

"There, you should be protected from a fair bit of prejudice. You can hold hands in public and stuff without attracting unwanted attention. Ok, I need to go now, bye! Come back whenever to read me your love poems, yours are super sweet!"

And with that, Caracolla moved off (at a snail's pace, Wirt reflected), and disappeared behind the trees, that yet again bowed to her as she went past. Slowly, the lake returned to its usual self, the wind now daring to whistle in the bushes now that the trail that the fae had left faded into the water, no sign of the chatter-prone creature remaining.

For a second, Wirt felt himself doubt the events that had just happened, but then Dipper moved, reminding him that he was still very much very close to him. He unwrapped his arm from around his shoulders, the feeling of emptiness hurting a little for a second before Wirt turned fully to face the other boy. He looked away bashfully, a blush fully spread out across his cheeks in a way which contrasted sharply with his whole style and demeanor.

"So… what did she say?"

Right, she had been speaking in French.

"Erm, n-not much. I think she's Swiss," Wirt replied, wishing instantly to have never said that.

"Cool… I've been studying her for a while, but you know, the language barrier and all..."

"Yeah."

An awkward silence, not an elephant in the room, but more like a sea-monster in the lake fell between them. Well, he had to to get it out somehow, because right now Wirt's suspicions were eating away at his gut more than the butterflies were, which was a feat in itself.

"Was this all just an elaborate plan to ask me out?"

Dipper fidgeted a little whilst Wirt waited, nervousness at its worse in that instant. What if he had read everything wrong? What if this was all some big joke, a way to frame him, to mock him? Was this even real?

"M'yeah, actually… Yes. So, erm… would you like to maybe… go out with me? If you want, I mean, yeah… I sorta really like you, have done for a while, and… Mabel tried to discourage me, she thinks that my plans are always… I don't know, 'over the top", but hey… yeah, I mean, I'm rambling, sorry."

Well, that was adorable.

"Yes, I mean, yes! I just… next time, can you just invite me out to the cinema or something? Just… yeah… Maybe next time we could do something which doesn't mean we have to skip school, and..."

Wirt's thoughts weren't left to drift off any further, as he was silenced and dragged right back into the moment when lips met his, and he instantly found himself energized and relaxed at once. He melted into the light kiss, which to his taste ended all too quickly, so after a few seconds of drowning himself in the polished mahogany of Dipper's eyes, he initiated another, deeper one, which lasted just about long enough to satisfy him.

"Nicotine doesn't taste as bad as I thought it does," he whispered, and their next kiss was filled with laughter and happiness.

Wirt wasn't sure why he came in earlier than usual that day, but one thing was certain: he wasn't going to be regretting it anytime soon.