AN: I started writing Gravity Falls fanfiction apparently. I don't know how that happened. Written in 2nd person for experimental purposes, originally posted on Tumblr. I don't own anything, not even myself. : )

Also, because I'm just a little anal-retentive at times, I confirmed the visibility of the constellations Dipper mentions from Portland, Oregon in mid-summer. Ursa Major and Minor (containing the Big and Little Dippers, respectively), Cepheus and Cassiopeia are circumpolar so it was easier to go with them as they'd be visible year long in most of the US instead of naming any of the seasonal ones.

It's close to midnight and the party still isn't winding down. If anything, it's reaching critical mass, the kind of situation in which the cops show up to break it up and everyone scatters — except the only two members of the police force you've seen in town the entire summer are currently sticking their hands in the chocolate waterfall and giggling like schoolgirls, and also the idea of any member of the Northwest family getting arrested or even slightly reprimanded for anything short of murder (possibly) is ludicrous. As Pacifica said once on a fated day that resulted in a self-imposed ban from the golf course: money makes problems go away.

It's more than a little jarring how different the pretentious snob from only a week or two ago is from the girl you hid under a table with while the fireplace erupted in an explosion of unholy flames and spat out a skeletal ghost to the tune of every animal head mounted on the wall intoning incomprehensible words through the blood flowing from their mouths.

It's only slightly troubling how quickly you've grown used to this kind of thing. It's still terrifying, but not in the way that it would be for someone who hadn't already taken down a secret society, made an ill-fated pact with an actual demon, and fought a bear with multiple heads. You're pretty sure you're going to need a therapist eventually.

To her credit, Pacifica didn't outright faint and become dead weight the way you expected from the beginning. More than likely due to having already encountered the paranormal activity for the majority of her life (a revelation that makes you respect her even more), but also probably attributed to her apparently irrepressible will. You can just imagine her threatening to sue a ghost. She probably did during the brief moment of mindlessness followed by becoming a wood carving of yourself.

The thing with the therapist might happen sooner than later.

You're still not entirely sure what you think of her, but after a brief moment of trashing her parents' silver carpet earlier (as well as the fact that technically she saved both you and your sister's lives) it's further down the scale towards actual friends than whatever you were before. Not mortal enemies — that's reserved for the floating pyramid who shall not be named whose antics resulted in you needing a tetanus shot and the psychotic Pillsbury dough boy wanna-be that struck out with Mabel and lost his head over it. Semi-enemies? It doesn't matter anymore.

At any rate, you've spent the last few hours bragging about your role in averting the catastrophe from earlier, snacking on food that probably costs more than both your parents make in a year, and watching the populace of Gravity Falls take several years off Preston Northwest's life with every spill and every broken plate. You're really not one for wild parties, especially the noisy, boisterous kind (not that you've been invited to many anyway, at least not yet), so you slip past your sister and one of her friends lying in a pile of live quails and chicks and head off to find somewhere quieter. You're not ready to bail entirely, especially given that it's not like you walked here.

After wandering around aimlessly for awhile, growing ever more offended by the ostentatious excess coating every corner of the mansion from the wallpaper inlaid with gold to a small restroom with a golden toilet — who the hell needs a golden toilet? — you find your way back out into the garden you ran through before. It's a lot larger than you imagined (although you were too occupied to appreciate the scenery earlier), sprawling flowerbeds and a few smaller fountains in addition to the larger one. The peacocks must have turned in for the night; you're okay with this. Birds that are nearly as tall as you are unnerving. Whether blooming on their own or imported, the flowers fill the night air with a sweet, heady aroma, and the further you retreat from the manor proper the only sounds you hear are the splashing of water and a hint of cricket song. Compared to the rest of the place, it's nice. You don't feel like you're going to break anything just by looking at it hard enough out here.

You continue strolling through the garden, appreciating the solitude.

"Dipper?"

Yelping in surprise is a reflex at this point.

You look around for the source of the voice for a moment, finally glancing up and noticing the large statue (or sculpture, you can't really tell without much light) a few feet away. It's about five feet tall, with weird carvings all along the sides, and the top seems to be a flat surface upon which Pacifica is perched, staring at you with something between confusion and interest. The ground lighting nestled in the flowerbeds doesn't extend this far, but the moon provides enough thin light to show that she looks different from before. Her dress? Her dress is different.

"What are you doing out here?" Her tone isn't accusatory; if anything she sounds a little wistful. "You do realize there's a once in a lifetime, exclusive party going on in there?"

You raise your eyebrow. "You mean the one you hold every year?"

"The one people like you usually don't get invited to?"

"The one that you opened the gates and let all the people like me in at?"

She pauses. "Yeah. That party."

You look at each other for a moment, one of those brief flashes of shared comprehension, and start laughing. If there was even a hint of tension in the air, it's gone now. After a minute or two she calms down and stares down at you again. "Seriously though, my parents are probably going to kick everyone out at some point."

"It's fine." You shrug. "I'm kinda partied out anyway. Why are you out here? It's your party, isn't it?"

"It's my parents' party," she corrects you, and the wistful expression is back. "It's not like I have any say in anything. I don't even know half the people they invite."

Maybe money doesn't make every problem go away. You remember the bell in her father's hands, and the sight of her flinching at the sound.

"The photo ops are cool, I guess. And some of the guys are cute."

You have no idea why that statement strikes a raw nerve.

"Definitely not my type, though."

Nor why that statement soothes that raw nerve instantly.

You're about to make some snide remark about her type when she beckons, waving you over to the statue. "You can come up here if you want."

"Aren't you afraid to be seen with me?" You quip, because sometimes you can't help being an ass.

This time she actually smiles, and it's not the mean-spirited smirk you've seen on her face so many times. "It's not the worst thing that's ever happened."

The sides of the statue have jutting outcroppings that make it relatively easy to climb on up, even without the range of motion your normal clothing provides. Once you're up there you sit down as far away from her as you can, dangling your feet over the side. Somehow it's just occurred to you that she's a girl. And now that you hate her a lot less, you can admit to yourself that she's actually really pretty when she's not being a jerk. She notices you staring at her dress and suddenly averts her gaze, as if embarrassed. "My mother didn't want me to wear this one, but I've broken enough rules tonight."

You wave your hand dismissively. "They'll get over it." And then, completely on impulse that horrifies you as soon as the words leave your mouth, "It looks good on you." And then, because your brain is stupid and it makes you do stupid things like continuing to talk when you should shut up, "I mean better than the other one. Because of your hair and stuff."

It occurs to you that if you pitch yourself over the side of the statue you'll probably only break a limb if that, but you might get lucky and end up with a concussion.

Instead of looking aghast or pushing you over the side while screaming about how much of a dork you are, she turns away again, and you can just make out the "Thanks."

Oh, if Mabel could see you now.

In an attempt to change the subject, you comment, as casually as possible, "Nice view up here." It's true. From where you're sitting, and with most of the light pollution focused on the mansion behind you, you've got a good view of the stars. It's a clear night unlike yesterday, and they're out in full force. There isn't much light pollution in the area anyway, so all summer long you've been able to see all of the visible constellations clearly. Even the one tattooed across your forehead.

"I know." Pacifica looks up at the sky, and her ridiculously long hair that may or may not be fake brushes against the surface of the statue. "My parents used to get really mad whenever they caught me up here, but I think they gave up after awhile."

"Your parents are really…" You don't have to finish the sentence, because she nods, sighing.

Wanting to change the subject (and not liking her downtrodden expression; you suspect she's actually really worried over what tomorrow will bring), you gesture towards the sky. "Hey, do you know what that one's called?"

She reaches for the smartphone you didn't notice behind her. "Hold on, I can Google it."

Before you realize what you're doing, you stay her hand by placing yours over it. "You don't have to. I know most of them by heart anyway. I'm a star guy." Oh God.

For what it's worth Pacifica seems too distracted by the fact that your hands are touching to notice your incredible awkwardness, but now that you're in your element you shrug the incident off. "That one that looks like an M?"

"I always thought it was a W."

You look back at her in surprise. "Is that why you come up here?"

"I like stars." She frowns. "That's not too weird or geeky or anything is it?"

"I'm the wrong person to ask," you joke. "I think it's pretty cool. So you know what that one's called?"

She hesitates. "Um…"

"Cassiopeia. It's one of five figures in Greek mythology."

To your initial surprise, she lets you wax poetic about the subject, listening while you tell her about Cepheus, and how he and Cassiopeia nearly doomed their daughter Andromeda. You pick out the individual stars of Ursa Major and Minor, tracing the Big and Little Dippers with your finger (she actually laughs over that one, and you notice that her laugh isn't as aggravating and jarring as you once thought, but when she asks why you're named after it you change the subject hastily because you're not that close yet). Once you're finished with the circumpolar constellations you start on the seasonal ones, and in the midst of showing off you don't realize that the two of you have gradually closed the distance between you until your hands touch again.

You taper off, glancing over at her with a flush that you're glad she probably can't see in the moonlight and catch her looking at you with a similar expression. She looks away before you do, and you stutter for a moment before picking up where you left off, but she doesn't move her hand and neither do you, and after a few minutes her fingers slowly interlace themselves with yours and she leans her head against your shoulder. Both of these things make it rather hard to remember which constellation is which so you're pretty sure you start mixing up and renaming stars altogether.

But she doesn't seem to mind, and neither do you.