spelling the names
The bathroom has taken on the ambiance of a sauna, mirror beginning to streak as condensation gathers, beads, and runs. Dipper doesn't know how long he's been in the shower, but it's probably too long.
This thing with Pacifica—and he knows it's kind of juvenile to think of it as a 'thing,' but it is—has taken sudden definition today. The kiss was unexpected, obviously, but equally so is the way she hadn't retreated from it. Pacifica had only reached out enough to start becoming a friend in the midst of a dark, desperate moment. Dipper had figured she'd need more time to work through their mutual attraction. And, filled with self-doubt and innate awkwardness though he is, even he can be certain now that it's mutual. She kissed him, after all, not the other way around. And he's clearly a few steps behind. He had still been trying to wrap his head around the hand-holding.
Now it's the night after Pacifica's first day at school and Dipper is thinking in the shower because she's given him a lot to think about. If he is somehow wrong about every signal he's received (and if a consummate solipsist like him received them, then they were loud and clear) then he is truly bat crap crazy. Pacifica likes him.
He can't decide how to feel about it. On one hand, there's the amazing fact that a girl who is his friend and happens to be very (very) attractive is interested in him romantically. A little less than a year ago, he would have been disappointed that she isn't the correct attractive female friend, but he's well past that. Disappointment is not a factor. He likes Pacifica's sharper sides in their more tempered form, admires her social confidence, respects her for making a concerted effort to better herself, and finds her to be exceptionally pretty. Reciprocation isn't a problem either.
On the other hand, there's the question of what they have in common. There are some deeper things they share: Gravity Falls binds them to its fantastical contours. But is that enough to overcome surface differences? They come from such opposing backgrounds. He doesn't even know what pastimes they share, what they can do together as a… couple? Is that the term? Or are they just fumbling around, too young to know what they're doing?
Heck, maybe he's too young for this kind of reflection. The part of him that likes Pacifica is telling the rest of his brain to shut up and go for it. Who cares if they don't like the same movies? They'll just play video games. He's out of his mind if he turns her down in some lame attempt to be adult about it. Why is he thinking about this so much? Pacifica Northwest will probably let him kiss her. Like he needs any other motivation!
He can hear Grunkle Stan's voice in his head as clearly as if the old man were actually saying it: Kid, guys like us don't get a shot at a girl like that everyday. There's a million and one jerks out there just waiting to move in on that money! Uh, girl. She's a girl, she's not… she's not money. The point is, you're the jerk she's looking at. So get in there! And if she ever asks for a pre-nup, say no.
Okay, so even Pretend Grunkle Stan's advice makes Dipper feel kind of dirty (no mean feat, considering he's in the shower). And that's definitely not what the real Grunkle Stan said about it, though he'd just been talking about Dipper's need to intercede, not a possible relationship. Still, the basic point stands: No one knows tomorrow. Take a chance. Be spontaneous. Basically, don't be himself.
But—he thinks as the relentlessly forward-thinking, impossible to quash corner of his mind begins to issue a refutation—but, her life is in the middle of a total upheaval. What if he's taking advantage of that? What if she doesn't really know what she wants anymore, doesn't know herself anymore, and she's just latching onto him as the closest port in a storm? Would he be a bad person for taking what she offers?
Or—his other mind and his hormones vociferously rejoin—or, that same upheaval has brought them together in a way that's true, has allowed them to know one another far beyond the shallow, puberty-driven relationships of their peers. They can build something better, based on respect and trust and hard history. She's reaching out to him not in a way that's superficial; she's reaching out to him in a way that is anything but that. She's not confused. They connect.
And he likes kissing her. Which is a far more compelling argument than its simplicity suggests.
Man, he really is good at rationalizing.
Whatever the case is, nothing is going to be settled—no matter how long he thinks in the shower—until he and Pacifica talk about it.
A pounding at the door underscores the finality of the thought. "Dipper!" Mabel yells through the door. "How pruny are you trying to be?!"
"Alright, I'm getting out!" he yells back. He is starting to feel kind of wrinkly.
He dries off and dresses, brushing his teeth quickly in the steam while watching his fogged reflection. His sleeping shirt is damp by the time he opens the door, which is fine. He'll be extra cool beneath his ceiling fan.
Mabel is waiting, holding her own pajamas. "Woo!" she exclaims, leaning back as the steam billows out. "Geez, Dip, are you writing a report on the rainforest or what?"
"Take an exotic safari in your own bathroom," he advertises, waving her in.
Mabel favors him with a knowing look. "Are you going to avoid her all day tomorrow, too?"
"I'm not avoiding her," he protests. "I'm just… working some stuff out."
"Don't tell it to me, bro," she retorts, striding into the steam.
Well… When she's right, she's right.
Pacifica isn't in his room or Mabel's, which is fair. He should have to go to her. She's taken her share of big steps for the day. He's still so pleasantly surprised about what happened at lunch. Maybe it wasn't a huge deal for the collective, seeing as nobody knows who she is, but he knows it was a huge deal for her. What happened is less important than what she meant.
Downstairs, the house is cool and quiet. The hum of the central air permeates the background beneath the deep hiss of the pipes as water runs to the shower. Pacifica is in what used to be the study, sharing her space with a bookcase Dad intends to move. His work computer has been relocated to the basement; Pacifica's arrival was the impetus Dad needed to finally set up the workstation down there he's always talked about.
She's supposed to have a delivery of her things at some point. Dipper doesn't know what all is on its way but knowing her it's more than she has room for. He has a feeling that space in the Pines house is about to become a premium.
The living room is dark, lit only by a soft glow from the kitchen. Dipper peeks in to see the recessed light over the countertop is on, probably serving as a nightlight so Pacifica can make it to the bathroom without stubbing a toe. He moves past the couch where Wendy had so recently slept—and that fact strikes him as strange, as if he's not in Piedmont and the house has shifted six hours north, where Wendy can crash whenever she wants.
In the alcove behind the living room are the double doors to the study and the sliding glass that leads to the back patio. The study doors are open; he hears the whir of the ceiling fan inside and sees the faint yellow emission of the standing lamp.
He knocks on the door frame, just in case she's getting dressed or something. "Pacifica?"
"Dipper?" she says.
"Yeah, it's me. Can I come in?"
There's some rustling and what sounds like a closing book. "Okay."
He steps inside. She's sitting on the edge of the foldout guest bed, waiting for him. She's wearing a matching set of sleeping shorts and a soft t-shirt, both of which look expensive. He's wearing a ratty white shirt with some conspicuous holes and a pair of mesh shorts with the string drawn so tight it almost touches his knee. They're both dressed for comfort, but of course she still manages to be stylish.
She's looking back at him in the dim light, devoid of makeup, blonde hair slightly tousled from the towel. She is gorgeous in the near-dark—almost ethereal. His mouth is suddenly dry. He's forgotten what to say.
"Are you going to bed?" she says, prompting him.
"Uh, yeah, in a minute." He's got about twenty different openings and he can't settle on one. He blows out a slow breath. "So, we should probably talk, huh."
She tilts her head up imperiously, fine nose raised. He is suddenly a supplicant before Oregonian royalty. "About what?" she says archly.
Not so long ago, this would have ended the conversation badly. He would have been confused, annoyed, turning to leave with a roll of his eyes and something suitably sarcastic on his lips. Luckily, he's seen her defenses rise and shatter too many times over the past months to be fooled. She's protecting herself. She's afraid he will hurt her.
How does she think that will happen? Does she fear rejection? It's the possibility that best fits the moment. Dipper isn't exactly in his element here, but he's nothing if not logical. Her sudden distance is therefore a good sign. If she fears his rejection then, logically, he doesn't have to fear hers.
If only such rational conclusions worked as well on the heart. Logical as it may be, he still feels… well, Mabel put it best.
Awkward and sweaty.
He might understand what she's doing (he hopes); that doesn't mean he appreciates it. He calls her bluff. "About the bell. I think we should bury it tonight, just to make sure we don't get in trouble."
It works. Confused by the sudden change in topic, her body language loses its rigid tones. She blinks. "Oh. Okay, if you think that's…" Then she sees the smile he can't entirely suppress, trying though he is. Blue eyes spark and narrow. "You jerk!"
"Me?" he protests. "I came down to talk to you and you were all, 'about what?'" he parrots, busting out his curled lip impression of her valley girl cadence.
She's not flattered. "I don't sound like that!"
He continues to contort his face until she hurls a pillow at him; but she's giggling as she does it.
"Fine, you don't sound like that," he concedes under the threat of further barrage.
"Oh, really? I thought I was the worst," she says, looking away.
That has nothing to do with what they're talking about, and everything to do with what they're supposed to be talking about.
Dipper sighs. "Pacifica, I'm sorry I said that. You're not the worst."
She curls her legs up and sinks into the pillow behind her. "…I'm sorry for everything," she says, barely audible.
He shrugs it off. He'd stopped holding a grudge for past behavior the moment she'd volunteered for the assault on Bill's fortress, and maybe even the moment she pulled the lever. "It's okay."
"No, it isn't!" she suddenly bursts out. "Why are you so nice to me?"
She sounds almost resentful. He doesn't know what he just started; all he knows is that he has to keep talking until something gets settled. "Because you're my friend, and… I— I like you," he manages to say.
There. He's openly reciprocated. That's clear, isn't it?
As it turns out, not clear enough. Pacifica slumps on her bed again. "Maybe you shouldn't."
Okay, so this is… guilt, or something. Or she likes him back but doesn't want to, a possibility that makes his heart start to sink, so hopefully that's not it. Whatever the case, this is the moment. It's monologue time. He needs to put the words together that will fix this. He's managed to say the right things to her in the past. That couldn't have been all luck. Could it?
He lets his gut lead because his brain isn't helping.
"Why shouldn't I like you?" he challenges.
She looks at him like he's lost his marbles. "Uh, because I was a total tool to you and Mabel, duh."
"Yeah, like a year ago. And you've been working so hard to move on, why bring this back? I don't care about that stuff anymore, and I know Mabel doesn't."
"Because! Because I—" she cuts herself off, eyes glistening wetly in the low light. "…Because I really like you and I want you to like me back, but why would you? My parents don't like me. Sometimes I don't like me," she finishes with a whisper.
Dipper is relieved. Not by her admission, but because this he can make better. She doesn't have to be afraid, not of what he feels. What he ends up saying is a far cry from smooth, but it's honest. "Pacifica, I do like you. A lot. And not as a friend—no, I mean, I like you a lot as a friend, too, you're… awesome—but as a girl. I like you. And when you kissed me today, that was just… wow. That was the best. So not the worst."
He wishes he could tell what she's thinking. He's done well reading between the lines of her words, but when she wants it to be her face is undecipherable; probably something she learned swimming with the sharks of her old social circles.
But he's sure that this is necessary. It's his turn to put himself out there. That doesn't make it any easier to just stand there, trying not to sweat. What if she's toying with him? What if this whole thing is some kind of incredibly, unnecessarily elaborate revenge?
No. No, she's better than that. That's not what this is. Hasn't she proven herself enough times already?
It's then he realizes her mouth has just slightly opened, as if in shock.
He can only take feeling this exposed for so long. It's a gauntlet of self-consciousness. "Well, uh, I should probably go to bed, I guess—"
"I like you a lot!" Pacifica bursts out. Then she grimaces. "Stupid Mabel and her dumb…! Just because she was right about this doesn't mean she's an expert!"
Dipper can't help but laugh. "Oh, man, you too?"
"She's so weird," Pacifica huffs. "Like she wants to be Cupid or whatever."
"She sort of was for about a day," Dipper recalls.
"So weird," Pacifica reiterates.
The pause that follows is loaded with dawning realization. "So… you really like me?" Dipper can't be too sure.
Pacifica tosses her hair back in exasperation. "Did you not feel me hold your hand? I kissed you in front of, like, a million dweebs you dummy!"
"Hey, this is new to me," Dipper defends himself. "I've never had a…" He doesn't finish the thought, not sure if he should say the actual word. Is it too much?
She watches him expectantly from the shadows.
He straightens up, braces himself. "I've never had a girlfriend."
"Do you… want to be my boyfriend?" she asks. The shaky underpinnings of her sardonic tenor betray her anxiety.
Dipper smiles shyly. "I kissed you back, didn't I?"
Blue eyes go wide, exhilarated. Then, suddenly, they smolder. She leans forward, hands pressed to the bed on either side of her knees. Her head tilts invitingly. "Not really…"
His mouth goes dry as fast as his palms go slick. "Oh. So, um… M-Maybe I should…?"
"It's only fair," she says imperiously. She's almost daring him, flush with excitement, with nervousness, with the acknowledgment of what it all means.
There's still so much to say. As he starts to approach her, he knows there will be time and space to say it. And right now, he knows exactly how to express what's on his mind.
There is a sudden rap at the door frame. Dipper stumbles to a halt and Pacifica jolts so hard she nearly falls off the bed.
It's Dad, standing in the doorway in his sleeping clothes, his hair damp from the shower. "Time for bed, guys," he says casually, but his expression is shrewder than his words.
Dipper is just glad it isn't Mom. He and Pacifica are just standing and sitting there, respectively, the door is open, nothing happened! Dad's expression remains neutral and friendly, but his eyes catch Dipper's meaningfully.
"Um, yeah, I was just saying goodnight," Dipper says, shuffling away from the bed. "Goodnight, Pacifica."
"Goodnight," she says, only the slightest pout betraying her disappointment.
Dipper follows Dad into the kitchen to get a glass of water and then goes back upstairs. At the top he pauses when Dad's hand falls on his shoulder.
"I might have heard a certain someone will be checking on you tonight," Dad says conversationally. "Probably be best if she finds you in your bed, huh?"
Dipper wishes he could turn invisible. "Yeah. Sound asleep."
"Mm-hmm," Dad hums genially, and gently squeezes Dipper's shoulder before returning to his own room.
An hour later, as Dipper stares at the ceiling and pictures the girl who is so close, he can't help but wish Dad hadn't delivered his timely warning. It's not that Dipper wants to get in trouble again or anything like that.
It just would have been worth it.