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piscespetals · 7 months

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summary: you & sevika work in an office, and developing a silly schoolgirl crush is the last thing you expected to happen at this point in your career...

word count: i stopped counting 3/4 of the way through once I reached 16k so this is pretty hefty!

content: pinning (of course), fluff, gay disaster, the tiniest sliver of smut

thanks for reading!

Kinda in my feelings about what it would be like to work in the same office as Sevika...

╰➤ I feel like you see her in passing a lot, since her office is only a few doors down from yours.

╰➤ The both of you often strike up casual conversations in the break room, filling the silence while awkwardly waiting for your food to heat up in the microwave.

╰➤ You always notice when she walks into the same room as you because she's constantly dressed to the nines—slacks hugging her thick thighs just right; form fitting and sleek. They shape the curved muscles of her calves as if the manufacturers make the material just for her.

╰➤ You also notice that she has a knack for neutral colors, especially with her dress shirts. She likes the top buttons to be undone, sleeves rolled up to her elbows and collar perfectly crisp. The air that swarms her is usually woodsy with a hint of spice.

╰➤ She's magical.

╰➤ And because of that, you aren't surprised at the buzz about her in the workplace. She's one of the new hires so it's natural for her to stir up curiosity. But beyond that, there's no doubt that she's quite the enigma. You've even heard a few colleagues gossip about how much they want her.

╰➤ The first time you interact with her is when you're waiting for the microwave to finish warming up your lasagna.

╰➤ Her dress shoes click softly against the tile floor as she enters the break room, causing you to glance over your shoulder. Your eyes widen when her gaze flickers from the microwave to you.

╰➤ "Hi," You mumble pathetically. Your stomach churns and your toes curl and all of a sudden, it's like you're a shy prepubescent person all over again.

╰➤ She smells good.

╰➤ "Hey," Her voice is deep and warm. It rings straight through you before settling at the pit of your stomach.

╰➤ "Uh," You swallow, shifting your weight. "I'm almost done. Then you can use it."

╰➤ She doesn't say anything else.

╰➤ Her lack of silence sparks a wave of nerves. Next thing you know, you're gesturing towards the microwave wordlessly.

╰➤ She follows the motion, eyebrows quirking up with interest.

╰➤ "I'm having lasagna for lunch," You announce. "This is my third time having to warm it up. I forgot how stubborn pasta can be in a microwave." Then you're patting the top of the rectangular miniature oven.

╰➤ You almost allow yourself to think that her expression has morphed into amusement. But before you get carried away with your thoughts, a loud ding! sounds.

╰➤ Quickly, you open the microwave door, carefully reaching for your steaming tupperware container so that you don't burn yourself.

╰➤ "Well, it's all yours!" You don't have the courage to meet her gaze anymore, finding more interest in the carpet as you leave the room and make a beeline straight to your office.

╰➤ Interactions after that are somewhat similar. Sometimes, she asks, "How've you been?" If the wait to use the microwave is longer than usual.

╰➤ The conversations are more surface level than anything—a routine song and dance to fill up silence for the sake of politeness.

╰➤ They're strings of, "The weathers been nice lately" and, "What are you eating today?" and, "How's the workload been for you?"

╰➤ Then you both are scurrying off to your own little sanctuaries, not planning to see each other until the next business day.

╰➤ There's another time when you're late to going on break. You usually like to be one of the first ones to clock out and heat up your food. There's only one working microwave because your boss is too cheap to replace the second one (that has been broken for several months now), which causes a long line to form for those wanting to warm up their home lunches.

╰➤ Unfortunately, today is the day where you have to join the majority and step in line. Due to a phone call that lasted longer than you expected, you don't end up going to lunch until 15 minutes later than you usually do.

╰➤ You're softly rocking on your heels when Sevika comes into view. She rounds the corner of the office, stalking towards the line with taut muscles and a grinding jaw. An air of annoyance lingers around her, eyes unfocused and seemingly far away, hands—

╰➤ "Are you gonna step forward?" Shane, a co-coworker, asks. He appears disgruntled, pointing at the gap of space in front of you.

╰➤ That seems to gain Sevika's attention. She peers at Shane shortly before dragging her piercing stare towards you.

╰➤ Shane huffs at your silence.

╰➤ "Oh, right!" You breathe, breaking away from Sevika's regard. "Uh, sorry."

╰➤ Taking a few steps forward, you close the distance, doing your best to ignore Shane's rant about "dillydallying workers."

╰➤ A few moments pass before that familiar image of Sevika's grey eyes resurface in your brain. Glancing back towards her, you find her scuffing the heel of her dress boots against the carpet, attention set on no particular thing. She jumps between the carpet, to the gossiping co-workers nearby, to the flickering ceiling lights.

╰➤ Just when you're about to turn back around, she glances towards you. Your gut pulls, ears rushing with adrenaline and veins buzzing.

╰➤ Then, she mouths, "Hi," and you almost combust right then. Gone is the frustrated expression that was adorning her features moments before. Instead, a ghost of a smile plays on her lips.

╰➤ You blink a few times; stunned.

╰➤ You think you wave back at her, but you can't seem to be entirely in touch with whatever your body is doing.

╰➤ "Um, hey." You reply, clearing your throat.

╰➤ It's loud enough for her to hear. But it also may have been too loud. A few other people surrounding you look over in confusion.

╰➤ "Were you talking to me?" Brian, a colleague who's standing right in front of Sevika, asks.

╰➤ You bite the inside of your cheek. "Oh—uh, no. Sorry."

╰➤ Brian looks around, not so subtly, probably trying to find out who the hell your greeting was directed to.

╰➤ Sevika laughs at the interaction. It's the kind of laugh where she presses her lips together, shoulders shaking and eyes dancing with humor. She's trying to be polite—trying to contain her laughter—but she's not doing a very good job.

╰➤ The sight causes you to shuffle your feet in embarrassment, blowing a raspberry.

╰➤ "Look, I've only got twenty minutes of my lunch break left so if you aren't gonna pay attention..." Shane admonishes, voice thin. He's gesturing to the growing gap in front of you again, clearly fed up with your lack of wherewithal.

╰➤ You bite the inside of your cheek, choosing to ignore the way that Sevika seems to be laughing harder now. Fighting off a giggle of your own becomes difficult.

╰➤ "Okay." You reply. Then you face forward, catching up with the rest of the line. "Sorry."

╰➤ The next time you see Sevika, it's when you run into her before a staff meeting.

╰➤ Literally.

╰➤ You aren't paying attention, too busy with shuffling through your purse for a granola bar, eyes downcast and head hung low, when you walk straight into her.

╰➤ Her body is firm, your forehead knocking against the rounded muscle of her shoulder. Your breath catches, eyes widening as you try to glance up, struggling to regain your bearings.

╰➤ Strong hands grab onto your upper arms. The feeling of thumbs pressing into your skin jolts you awake from the daze you've been experiencing all day. And like a moth drawn to a flame, you feel yourself hovering closer—drunk off of the delicious air that surrounds you.

╰➤ Sevika's air.

╰➤ "Oh," You huff, blinking up at her with wide eyes. In the back of your brain, you register the feeling of her large hands encircling your biceps. It's a feeling you welcome. But it becomes faint when you realize the reality of the situation. "I'm so sorry," You spit out, remorse crashing into you. "Fuck—I mean...frick." A startled laugh escapes you. "Frick because fuck is totally not work appropriate...obviously."

╰➤ You swallow thickly. Your legs tremble, an undeniable pressure sprouting in your gut under the feeling of Sevika's pressing gaze. Her stormy grey eyes examine you with interest. It leaves your mind clouded over with impure thoughts—unprofessional thoughts.

╰➤ "I wasn't looking." You add.

╰➤ "Clearly." Sevika's sporting a shit eating grin. Her hands squeeze your biceps. "You good?"

╰➤ "I'm good. Just—" You clear your throat. "Well, I was actually looking for a granola bar. I forgot to take a lunch break because I'm drowning in paperwork. And then Cam announced the meeting at the last minute so I thought I could get a quick bite on the way. Except I'm pretty sure I've somehow lost my granola bar which is just my luck. And-"

╰➤ Sevika's eyebrows are raised so high that they almost meet her hairline. "I see," She mutters, sounding impassive.

╰➤ Fuck.

╰➤ Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

╰➤ Maybe you're talking a bit too much—a habit you've been trying to break lately—but it's only because Sevika makes you nervous.

╰➤ It goes beyond her demeanor that screams, "I don't like people so respectfully, leave me the fuck alone."

╰➤ Sevika is your work crush. She's gorgeous and good at meeting the weekly stats, and smells good.

╰➤ Despite the office rumors of her unapproachability and death glares, she's not entirely awful in your presence. She's pretty cordial with you in fact. Which means, she doesn't dislike you as much as she probably does the others.

╰➤ After all, she always lets you use the microwave before her. And she doesn't make you feel completely useless when you tell her a cringey joke, or make an embarrassing attempt to strike up conversation.

╰➤ But now, you've opened your mouth.

╰➤ You've opened your fucking mouth and have probably turned her off before she could even get a chance to truly know you.

╰➤ You've fumbled.

╰➤ The realization embarrasses you.

╰➤ "Yeah," You respond. The both of you fall silent and you imagine a static screen being displayed on a person's TV somewhere in the world. That's the perfect personification of this moment, you think.

╰➤ Sevika hums, letting her hands fall back to her sides. Then she's stepping back, slightly faltering and looking down at the space between you both. You follow her gaze, eyes widening at the sight of fingers gripping the hem of her shirt. Your fingers.

╰➤ "Oh! Sorry," You repeat. You tug your hands away, breath catching in your throat. "This is—" Your lips pinch together.

╰➤ God, this is embarrassing.

╰➤ Clearly scandalized, you tread a few paces backward.

╰➤ "Um, actually, I should go pee! I haven't had a chance yet, w-with the workflow and all. Especially now that the staff meeting starts soon," Your thumb juts in a general direction of the restroom behind you. "Gotta hate those bladder infections, am I right?" Pathetically, you force out a laugh.

╰➤ Humor trickles onto Sevika's features. Her lip twitches. "Right..."

╰➤ "Not that I have a bladder infection right now! I'm preventing one by going to the bathroom. My bladder is perfectly fine." One of the straps of your purse falls off your shoulder. You readjust it. "...Not that you care, or like, anything."

╰➤ A pause bleeds into the atmosphere. Slight chatter travels from a few offices down. People emerge from their desk, hastily making their way to the conference room behind Sevika. You struggle to ignore the sound of tapping keyboards and squeaking chairs. The lull is excruciating.

╰➤ "Okay, well–" You force a cough. "I'll go now. Catch you later, Sevika." You almost allow yourself to believe that her eyes widen when you say her name.

╰➤ But then you're turning on your heels and scurrying away, discarding the ridiculous notion.

╰➤ It's the next day when you run into her again. There you are, standing in front of the microwave, when you hear chuckling. It's easy for you to know it's hers. You find yourself savoring the sound every time it leaves her lips.

╰➤ A smile stretches across your face, and you peer over your shoulder, eyes landing on her for the first time that day. Sevika's wearing a white long-sleeve undershirt, partially covered with a black sweater vest and beige slacks. She has her hair styled in a half-up, half down. She's fiddling with a gold plated watch on her wrist, expression smug and eyes regarding the person beside her.

╰➤ The microwave beeps; a sign that it's time for you to retrieve your lunch and head back to your office. But your eyes can't help but linger on the stranger beside Sevika.

╰➤ Well, they're not really a stranger. Their name is Kai. You don't know Kai personally. You just know of them. They work in the warehouse, so you only see them during the times that all departments are required to attend the staff meetings.

╰➤ Occasionally, you may see Kai if they visit one of their friends that work on the same floor as you. They have chestnut brown eyes and a badass sleeve that covers their entire right arm. But besides that, they’re a complete stranger.

╰➤ "Smells good," Kai announces, turning to you. There's a glint in their eyes as they gaze at you, and that makes you feel exposed for some reason. You can't understand why or even how.

╰➤ Then, your attention diverts to the way that Kai’s fingers dance along the cuff of Sevika's sleeve. They trail up the material, alongside Sevika's forearm, before pulling away. It's the smallest gesture—something a general onlooker wouldn't notice without staring incredibly hard—but you noticed. You wish you hadn't.

╰➤ "Thanks," You mumble.

╰➤ You turn around, swallow, blink, and open the microwave door. You ignore the burning of the tupperware container against your skin, trying to shut out the pounding of your heart.

╰➤ "Hey," Sevika greets, the quietest she ever has.

╰➤ It's harder for you to meet her eyes in that moment. You're distracted by Kai’s swaying, and how it's perfectly on beat with the music that echoes through the office speakers; how they’re majestically relaxed in a way that you never can be.

╰➤ You don't understand why such strong feelings surge through you; feelings of envy and doom and a hint of jealousy. It doesn't make sense. It isn't logical. But it's there. It's annoyingly there.

╰➤ "You're the one who just got promoted to be Cam's assistant, right?" Kai asks. You stop in your tracks, halfway between the microwave and them. A wave of shock washes over you. You never thought they ever noticed you.

╰➤ "Um, yeah. It's not really a promotion, though..."

╰➤ "No?" Kai glances at Sevika out of the corner of their eye. "Vika said so. She's mentioned it a few times, actually."

╰➤ That's when you find the courage to glance over to Sevika. Her cloudy grey eyes observe the floor, jaw grinding and hands shoved into her pockets. Sevika knows your job title?

╰➤ It feels ridiculous to be excited over such a revelation. After all, you and Sevika work in the same fucking building. How can she not know what you do?

╰➤ But there are countless coworkers in surrounding cubicles who never catch your attention; people you've never talked to. People who would never know that your office resided within walking distance from them. And the notion is the same for you when you find yourself surrounded by unfamiliar faces on days you stray too far from your office.

╰➤ But Sevika knows. She pays attention. Whether that's a good or bad thing, you allow your heart to savor the thought.

╰➤ "Oh," You mumble, swallowing thickly. Suddenly, the thought of Kai’s close proximity to Sevika doesn't seem so bad.

╰➤ "Well, anyways, there's a clerk position opening up and I may have interest in it. Kinda wanna be a corporate person now, you know?" Kai grins, laughing lightly. You smile in return. "If I land the job, maybe you can help me get adjusted to office life? Show me the ropes a little. Vika says you're the best one on the sales team."

╰➤ Vika says you're the best one on the sales team.

╰➤ Vika says you're the best.

╰➤ Sevika's head lifts, rolling her eyes as she nudges Kai with her elbow. Kai yelps then coughs seconds after.

╰➤ "I just do what's in my job description." You bashfully admit.

╰➤ Kai’s grin widens. “Right…” Their words are slow and heavy with an unspoken implication.

╰➤ Their gaze shifts to Sevika, then you, then Sevika, and back to you again. The hairs on the back of your neck stand and you find yourself feeling self conscious; it feels like they know something about you that you don't want them to.

╰➤ “I’m just gonna squeeze by really quick,” Kai announces.

╰➤ You side step, allowing them to head towards the vending machines. You make the mistake of not being spatially aware, moving over a bit too far and knocking into the table positioned to your right.

╰➤ "You okay?"

╰➤ Your eyebrows furrow at Sevika's question—at her concern. The way her gaze flickers between you and the table has your stomach tugging. Your fingers tighten around your tupperware container.

╰➤ "Just clumsy," You explain, nodding at her. "Which you probably already, uh, know."

╰➤ Your memory travels back to the day before, and how you ran right into her.

╰➤ You're not sure you'll ever be able to forget something so embarrassing.

╰➤ Sevika smiles and you realize that it's the most genuine thing you've seen all day. "Oh," She says knowingly. "I do."

╰➤ She's teasing you but you don't mind it. You couldn't even if you tried because you're too caught up in how breathtakingly handsome she is. The intricate details of Sevika's smile always has a powerful effect on you.

╰➤ She has the tiniest dimples in her chin, puffy dark lips gorgeously contrasting to the whites of her teeth. And her gap—goodness, that gap has you wanting to curl up into a ball and melt away. It's placed right between her two front teeth.

╰➤ You hold your tupperware container tighter against the lower pouch of your belly, feet rocking forwards and backwards, head swimming from Sevika's presence. She has you completely gone for her. A proper crush—and surely, due to the current circumstances of being coworkers—a rather inappropriate crush too.

╰➤ "You know," You find yourself saying. "I just realized...I've never actually introduced myself to you."

╰➤ Sevika straightens, eyes flashing with that familiar light of humor. "You're right. You haven't," She clicks her tongue. "How rude."

╰➤ Your skin prickles, "I'm the rude one?"

╰➤ "Are you insinuating otherwise?"

╰➤ "Yes." You nod, trying to erase your smile. Your cheeks are starting to ache. "Did it not take you two months to say more than just Hi to me?"

╰➤ "Not true." She clears her throat. "Sometimes, I would say hey instead."

╰➤ Your jaw drops and silence fills the room.

╰➤ And then you're laughing. It's the type of giggle that bubbles over with an emotion similar to returning home. Your cheeks ache and so does your stomach; your vision momentarily blurs from the action of squinting. Sevika joins you with her own laughter but hers is more beautiful. It's like the soft breeze of the wind on a spring morning. You'd try to make her laugh forever if you really could.

╰➤ Soon you're exhaling softly, features relaxing as you glance towards her. "I'm sure you already know who I am, and what I do here. But, for formality reasons..." You begin. It feels weird to introduce yourself to her, especially after seeing her nearly everyday for the last four months. After all, it seems like she knows enough to have already talked about you to Kai. But it makes you feel better to do it this way. You give her your name personally and shake her hand.

╰➤ A proper introduction.

╰➤ Sevika repeats your name under her breath, trying it out for herself. The sound of it causes your toes to curl inside of your shoes. When she shakes your hand, you take note of how large her fingers are compared to yours. One of her hands could engulf the both of yours without any effort. And her skin is warm and calloused. Despite the rough exterior, she touches you with such fragility that you have to glance down for a second. It's almost as if she's afraid of breaking you.

╰➤ But then the moment is over. Kai returns, this time with two bags of Doritos in their hands. They throw one at Sevika, and thanks to Sevika’s fast reflexes, it’s caught without a single flinch.

╰➤ “This should hold us over until Leah clocks out.” Kai sighs. “She wants to go to Famous Dave’s again and I’m kinda in the mood for like, anything other than that. Like I can only eat a certain amount of that stuff before I start suffering from a serious case of heartburn.”

╰➤ Sevika scrunches her nose, popping a chip into her mouth. “Then tell her that.”

╰➤ “I can't,” The whine of Kai’s voice becomes oddly endearing. “You know how she gets.”

╰➤ “Then don’t tell her.”

╰➤ “Or maybe you can tell her. She listens to you.”

╰➤ Sevika rolls her eyes. “No.”

╰➤ “Why not…”

╰➤”Kai, just talk to her. It’s literally not that hard.”

╰➤ “...That’s what she said.”

╰➤ You marvel at the way that Sevika stops mid-chew, gaze still downturned at the red bag in her hand before muttering, “Hilarious.”

╰➤ You try to wipe the growing grin off of your face as you bite the inside of your cheek. Kai glances at you once more, eyes sparkling a gorgeous brown. “Do you want to join us? We’re catching dinner at Famous Dave’s.”

╰➤ Your jaw falls slack, shock hitting you like a ton of bricks. “Oh.” You respond. A breathless laugh leaves you. “Um…”

╰➤ “It’ll just be me, Leah and Vika. Do you know Leah? She’s in accounting. Kinda tall, lanky…socially awkward with bright purple hair?”

╰➤ The description doesn't ring any bells for you. “Uh, no. I don't think I’ve seen her around yet.”

╰➤ “Understandable. She works all the way up on the 8th floor.” Kai tilts their head, regarding you with a warmth you aren't used to receiving from anyone in this building besides Sevika and your boss. “Anyways, the offer still stands?”

╰➤ That’s when Sevika glances up at you through her lashes. She doesn’t necessarily crack a smile, but a corner of her lip has curved into something subtle.

╰➤ “I wish. But I’m working overtime to help Cam with our pitch tomorrow.” You attempt to ignore the way your heart deflates as you say this.

╰➤”Aw, man.” Kai tosses their empty Dorito bag into a nearby trash can.

╰➤ "But we should definitely plan something soon.” Before you do anything stupid, like flaking on Cam last minute just to meet up with coworkers for dinner, you urge yourself to bid them goodbye. “I'll catch you guys another time, alright?"

╰➤ "Nice meeting you!” Kai calls. A short hiss escapes the bottle in their hand as they twist off the cap and tilt their head back. It's a diet coke.

╰➤ "You too!”

╰➤ It's awkward when you slip past them both, proximity dangerously close to Sevika. You find the courage to whisper, “Later Vika,” to her at the last second.

╰➤ Her body stiffens and it almost sounds like she chokes while swallowing another mouthful of her chips. It’s probably the least collected display of behavior you’ve ever witnessed from her.

╰➤ You stifle a laugh, brushing past her and towards the direction of your office.

╰➤ You feel really fucking sad today.

╰➤ Days like today are days that you dread. It isn't a result of anything particular. Of course, you want to be able to blame an event or cause. But the truth of the matter is that you're just having a really bad mental health day.

╰➤ It first starts off with you waking up late. You never wake up late. Your mornings are pretty routine. Some may call them mundane, but routine helps you get through the day easier. So when your alarm doesn't sound and you wake after a bad dream, realizing that it's 30 minutes past the time that your alarm usually rings, your heart sinks.

╰➤ You don't have time for a full breakfast. You have to settle for toast and orange juice instead, slipping on the cleanest pair of jeans and shirt that you can find. When you make it to work, you're just on time. But everything is off.

╰➤ Because instead of your usual business casual attire, you're sporting faded jeans, a blank t shirt and beat up sneakers. Your muscles are still sluggish and your eyelids are heavy. So far, the morning isn't great.

╰➤ As time passes, you realize that you're quite ahead in your work. Cam is off for the day, which means you don't have any extra errands or tasks to do for him. There is truly not much left to accomplish.

╰➤ You settle on the mission of clearing out your voicemail box. But that's soon completed. Your latest emails are nothing of importance and you don't have any upcoming meetings to attend. A cloud of doom hovers over you. By 11 AM, it doubles in size. Once noon hits, it's time for your lunch break and a sorrowful cloud clings onto you like a leech.

╰➤ It's hard to gain a semblance of what to do next. Your heart's true desire calls for your bed and a long restful sleep. Your chest seizes with dull aches and your mind swarms with everything yet nothing at all. This is a familiar feeling that you always hate. It's hard to prevent days like this. It always creeps up on you before you can find the strength to prevent it.

╰➤ You're nearly 30 minutes late to taking your lunch today. You've packed a deli sandwich with grapes, pretzels and a bag of potato chips. But none of it is appealing. And for the first time in months, it's a cold lunch—which you don't usually prefer.

╰➤ Your legs take you to the break room. It's almost empty, with only the buzz of a few coworkers trailing in and out. You sit at one of the tables in the corner, sighing softly and staring down at your lunch.

╰➤ You aren't hungry. Whenever the rare days like today hit you—days when your appetite for life fades—a dwindling appetite for food soon follows. But if you don't eat, then you'll later find yourself crouched in your bed with aching temples, fighting off the pains of a skipped meal. So you open the tupperware container that has a handful of green grapes and take a few bites.

╰➤ There's something about working in an office environment that you enjoy. It's mostly independent-driven, which you prefer. You don't mind the quiet solace that comes along with being in your own office, surrounded by towers of paperwork and due dates. The system of doing the same tasks throughout the day—of working through the same checklists—always leaves you feeling at ease.

╰➤ Even the soft rings of telephones and fingers typing against keys provides you the same comfort that brown noise does for other individuals. Everything about your job is monotonous and ordinary, and therefore absolutely perfect.

╰➤ Your shoulders soon relax as you eavesdrop on a conversation between two coworkers huddled together on the other side of the break room. It's silly workplace gossip about other folks that you don't know, but for the sake of people watching, you allow yourself to become preoccupied with the way they interact with one another.

╰➤ Both of the girls are dressed in fashionable attire, with sleek knee high boots and pencils skirts. Their faces are painted with spotless makeup, nails freshly manicured and eyebrows perfectly arched. Your gaze travels back to your faded old jeans and dirty white New Balance sneakers.

╰➤ Sighing, you tug on the soft hem of your crew neck sweater, which you've thrown on due to the chilly air of the building. That's when a chair beside you squeaks. The legs are dragging against the tile floor due to someone pulling it out and sitting on it.

╰➤ You're met with the familiar features of Sevika. Her hair is pulled back into a perfectly sleek low-bun. There's a slight hint of mascara and eyeliner, barely noticeable if you hadn't already seen her on the days where she's bare faced. She smells of everything good; the walking embodiment of heaven.

╰➤ And she looks just as nice as she smells, with her beige button up and black slacks and matching black dress boots. She looks expensive. She always does.

╰➤ You blink, not only taken aback by her beauty, but also by her sudden presence. Isn't her lunch break supposed to be over by now?

╰➤ "Hi." She greets, which is nothing more than a murmur.

╰➤ Sevika has a very distinct way of communicating. Her lips move so fast that sometimes, you aren't sure if she's truly speaking or if it's all just your overactive imagination. She doesn't talk much, but when she does, it's intentional. You know that every word she does say is meant to be said. And you appreciate that trait about her.

╰➤ She's not the type to raise her voice. Out of all the encounters you've had with her, there's never been a time when she's even gotten remotely close to losing her composure. But a part of you is not sure if composure is the right word. Sevika just seems to be naturally indifferent; mellow. Constantly unbothered. That's what draws you to her. And that's why you feel a dose of comfort shoot through you at that moment. Her presence will probably always be welcomed, no matter what mood you're in.

╰➤ You give her a small smile in return before popping another grape into your mouth.

╰➤ She hovers for a bit. You're not sure what to say, or even if you should say something.

╰➤ "Not using the microwave today?" She adds.

╰➤ You force out a small chuckle. "No."

╰➤ Silence resumes.

╰➤ Her lashes are quite long.

╰➤ She really is beautiful.

╰➤ You glance away from her, absentmindedly playing with the tattered ends of your sleeves. Your left leg is crossed over your right, rocking back and forth out of habit. There's a moment when it lifts a bit too high, knocking into Sevika's shin.

╰➤ You grimace, "I'm sorry."

╰➤ Out of the corner of your eyes, you pick up on the movement of her broad shoulders shrugging. "It's all good."

╰➤ Your rocking resumes. You make sure to angle your body away from her after that; ensuring that you won't accidentally kick her again.

╰➤ Slowly, you nudge your container of grapes towards her, "Would you like some?"

╰➤ She hesitates, "No." Another pause, then, "It doesn't seem like you've eaten much of your lunch today."

╰➤ "I'm not as hungry as I usually am. It's been a rough day."

╰➤ She positions herself to where her elbows lean against the tabletop. It appears that she's inches closer and the smell of her practically overpowers you because of it. "Is it worth talking about?"

╰➤ You peer up at her, eyes widening when you see the dilation of her pupils. Her hands are clasped together, chin resting on her knuckles and grey eyes regarding you with interest. The squaring of her shoulders causes her muscular biceps to bulge through her beige dress-shirt. It's a gorgeous sight.

╰➤ Your heart stutters.

╰➤ "Um," You blink, trying to concentrate despite the ongoing brain fog. "I'm just sad today, Sevika." You swallow thickly, finding yourself inching a little closer with your chin resting on your own hand. "But there's not a particular reason why. It's ridiculous, to be honest. Simply one of those days, you know?"

╰➤ She shifts towards you.

╰➤ Your foot brushes against her calf.

╰➤ A solemn ease envelopes around the both of you as an expression of understanding trickles onto her features. She nods quietly.

╰➤ There's not much to say, or rather, not much that you want her to say. You're grateful that she doesn't make a huge deal of your admission. Sadness lives in every human throughout their life. Just sitting with her is enough to ease the tide waves of grief that has been rolling through you. At that moment, sitting in the break room with Sevika, your sadness somehow finds a way to transform into still water; a sea of tranquility solely from Sevika's presence.

╰➤ She hooks her foot around the leg of your chair, dragging you closer towards her. Your stomach does somersaults and if you weren't so flustered, you'd probably be brave enough to ask her why she's doing this. But instead, you're left trying to stabilize your heart and trembling fingers. You allow yourself to bask in her closeness.

╰➤ "Your sadness isn't ridiculous," Sevika begins, wetting her dark full lips. Her breath smells of peppermint. Your foot grazes against her calf again, this time for a few seconds longer. "I don't know who or what's made you believe that, but it never will be."

╰➤ The shift in her is abrupt; something powerful enough to cause you to gawk at her. With each passing second, all of your worries slowly begin to unspool and relax, because her words ring with unrelenting truth. You know that she 100% believes everything that she's just said. That's enough for you.

╰➤ "And I don't blame you." Sevika adds. "I mean, this job alone is enough to send anyone into a fucking spiral."

╰➤ You laugh for the first time today. Your palms rest against your cheek and your eyes crinkle shut momentarily. Somehow, she makes laughter on even the most difficult days easy. "Oh, I don't know." You respond, after finally calming down. "This place isn't so bad."

╰➤ "Are you sure?" Her eyebrows raise. "I find that very hard to believe."

╰➤ "Well, there are perks. Like the wattage for the microwave here...It's—what—1500? That's way better than the one in my apartment."

╰➤ She rolls her eyes, but you don't miss the way that they flash with amusement. "Sweetheart, no wonder you're depressed. You've turned to microwave usage as a source of entertainment."

╰➤ A giggle escapes you and you squirm in your seat from her teasing.

╰➤ Sweetheart.

╰➤ The pet name echoes in your ears.

╰➤ "There's not much else to be entertained by. The wallpapers here are quite dreadful."

╰➤ She grins, glancing at the wall behind you. "Oddly obsessed with microwaves and picky about interior design. Noted."

╰➤ Your nose scrunches as you fight off another smile, sighing melodramatically.

╰➤ Sevika looks as if she's going to speak again. But then her phone vibrates against the tabletop quietly. She grabs it, peering at the screen before exhaling. "That's my cue." She says with a reticent expression. "My lunch break is up."

╰➤ You feel yourself deflating but you do your best to cover it up, nodding instead. "I should be getting back too."

╰➤ You both stand up, the lingering tension in the atmosphere snapping like an elastic band. Sevika spares you one more look, pocketing her phone and stretching her arms. Her smile is small but the effects of it leaves you feeling disembodied.

╰➤ "See you around, sweetheart."

╰➤ Then she leaves.

╰➤ You stare at the door in front of you, trying to gain the courage to knock on it.

╰➤ This is ridiculous, really.

╰➤ You're ridiculous.

╰➤ Your palms are sweaty and your heart is beating entirely too fast. You want to turn around and walk back to your own office. You want to forget about ever doing this, or being delusional enough to think that this was a good idea.

╰➤ But you've already gone through the trouble and effort of preparing everything...

╰➤ Plus, numerous coworkers have witnessed you standing in front of this door for quite some time now. Turning around and walking away without even knocking would not only be embarrassing, but also probably attract some negative attention.

╰➤ Sucking in a breath, you raise your free hand, knock three times, then exhale.

╰➤ One second passes and you instantly regret it.

╰➤ You shouldn't have done this.

╰➤ You're sure numerous minutes pass before the door finally swings open—at least it feels that way. Round brown eyes greet you and your heart skips a few beats.

╰➤ You definitely should have thought this through a little more.

╰➤ "Oh, Kai." You breathe. "Hi."

╰➤ “Hey!” Surprise filters onto their features. "What are you doing here? Have you been standing out here for long? Sev—uh, you have…” They disappear behind the door, whispering something indiscreetly.

╰➤ "I was just stopping by." You shift your weight, growing uneasy. You try to glance past them but it's hard to see considering you're several inches shorter than them. "F-For um, well... I was hoping to speak to Sevika."

╰➤ Kai appears in front of you again, smirking impishly. “...Any minute now, Vika. It’s not like you have someone waiting out here for you or anything.”

╰➤ You swallow. Inconspicuously, you glance around you, hoping that no one is eavesdropping from their cubicles. "I was wanting to give her something. I'm sorry that I interrupted." You rub your palm against your forehead, not knowing where to go from here. "Honestly, it can wait. It's not urgent or anything. It's just a gift. I know we don't usually stop by each other's offices like this so I'm sorry for showing up unexpectedly. I just thought...I don't know. I can come back? Yeah, I'll just come back another time-"

╰➤ "That's not necessary." Sevika appears over the shoulder of Kai. Your chin tilts up in order to meet her gaze, and you take a few steps backwards, clasping your hands behind you. "You weren't interrupting anything." The handsome woman muses, brows raised. You marvel at the way that her eyes glaze over you, up and down, before settling on your face again.

╰➤ Nodding, you allow your attention to flicker to Kai, who is now standing in between the both of you with raised eyebrows. The awkwardness of it all makes you clear your throat, shuffling your feet and wishing you had thought of a better way to do this. Maybe you should haves waited until you saw Sevika again in the break room.

╰➤ "I’ll catch you guys later, okay?” Kai chirps, barely glancing at Sevika as they pocket their phone. They’re practically beaming at the both of you when they step past the door threshold. Then, they disappear behind the rows of cubicles.

╰➤ Your mind reels at everything that's just happened. You struggle to fully understand why the temperature of the central AC suddenly feels like a searing heat wave.

╰➤ When you peek over at Sevika, you find that she's already observing you. Her two front teeth sink into the plump flesh of her lower lip, eyes a darker shade of grey and swarming with undeniable heed. You can't help but admire her lips and how they appear to be perfectly crafted. They look softer than a billow of feathers, and you desperately want to touch them—want to feel them—and want to allow them to sweep you up into another world.

╰➤ That hunger inside of you grows, a specific feeling that she's only been able to bring out lately, and you know that no one can ever satiate such a desire but her.

╰➤ God.

╰➤ You've got it bad.

╰➤ She releases her lip and you become enamored with the way her throat jostles as she swallows. Painfully aware of your obvious staring, you force your attention back to her eyes.

╰➤ "I've got something for you," You say. Your voice is unfamiliar to your ears—huskier.

╰➤ Silently, she gestures for you to come in. You step forward and close the door behind you.

╰➤ Sevika's office is similar to yours. The desk and chair are quite the same, along with the filing cabinets and additional chairs for guests. But she also has a dark purple rug, with numerous framed pictures and a mini fridge shoved in the corner.

╰➤ A pair of dark purple curtains are drawn, allowing the sunlight to creep in, and more picture frames line the windowsill.

╰➤ Before you allow yourself to get too swept up with your surroundings, you turn to her and pull your left hand out from behind you, which holds a card. It's a simple blank one that you bought at the store and it has the words thank you written with one of your favorite sparkly ink pens, along with your signed name and lip print stained by your favorite lipstick shade. Above the personalized message are a few pairs of pressed tulips.

╰➤ "I just wanted to express my gratitude." You explain. She takes the card, staring down at it silently. "I was feeling a bit down the other day and you helped me by keeping me company. It may sound silly because it was just a simple conversation but," You shrug. "Conversation goes a long way sometimes. Especially for those that need it."

╰➤ Her thumb traces over one of the petals, lips parting and eyes widening. It's hard to know exactly what she's thinking and a part of you believes that maybe you've overstepped—that you've crossed an unspoken boundary. Her ongoing silence causes an unexpected panic to stir within you.

╰➤ Desperate to clean up a situation that you fear will go haywire, you open your mouth to say, "These are from a small garden that I’ve been trying to grow." Your forefinger hovers above her thumb, gesturing towards the flowers. "I pressed them myself, so that they won't die on you." You lick your lips, mouth feeling dry all of a sudden. Oh god. Why does she look like that? Why isn't she saying anything? This can't be good. "And I...well, now that I'm thinking about this, I'm realizing that this may be coming off as weird. I'm sorry. If I've made you like...uncomfy or anything, I totally understand and I'm sorry. My intention wasn't to make things weird."

╰➤ Her head raises at that, expression completely unguarded. It's rare when you're able to see unfiltered emotions flitting across her features. Sevika isn't the type to walk around with her heart on her sleeve. But with the way that she's looking at you, you realize that there's something unbelievably tender about her gaze.

╰➤ "And you'll probably tease me for this," You continue. You curse yourself for sounding breathless. Tearing your eyes away from her, you point at the card again. "But I used my microwave to press the flowers. Only because the other methods would have taken too long."

╰➤ That's when she laughs.

╰➤ You exhale softly from her hearty chuckles, relief immediately enveloping you.

╰➤ Laughter is a good sign.

╰➤ "I should have maybe waited to give you the card. I just didn't want to anticipate your reaction until noon, if I'm being honest." You wring out your hands, not able to shake the nervous jitters running through you. "I hope you like it."

╰➤ She runs her thumb over the material once more, lips rolling inwards before she rubs them together, deep in thought. You impatiently wait for a sign, any sign, that indicates her feelings towards your gesture.

╰➤ Her eyes, set deep above the plane of her cheekbones, slant as they peer downward towards the cardboard in her hand. She inhales through her nose, relaxes her lips, then exhales.

╰➤ "You didn't have to do this," She finally replies. "But of course I like it." She doesn't smile. However, you do notice a new light in her expression when she refocuses her attention on you. "Also, you apologize a lot." She pauses before adding, "...More than you need to. You haven't done anything weird at all."

╰➤ You want to bury your face in a pillow and squeal. But you settle for a smile instead. "Oh."

╰➤ Her lips crack into a knowing grin before she turns on her heel and walks over to her desk. She delicately positions the card so that it's standing upright next to a picture of her and a skinny brunette man. "The card is beautiful." She observes. Despite the natural raspiness of her voice, it has a warmer lilt to it now. "Thank you."

╰➤ You determine that Sevika thanking you is a new favorite. You want to shower her with endless gestures if it means that she'll continue to show fondness towards you.

╰➤ She leans against her desk, halfway sitting on the top surface, before shoving her hands in her pockets. Through the material of her slacks, you notice that they seem to be balled into fists.

╰➤You shift your weight as a strong sense of pride swells in your chest, opting to rest your shoulder against the door frame.

╰➤Only—you remember too late that nothing is actually beside you, and that the door frame is several paces behind you. Instead, you stumble when you realize that there's nothing close enough to catch your weight.

╰➤ Your arms sprout out in an attempt to catch your balance.

╰➤ "Um," You mumble dumbly, flustered by the mess that you've become. "...Thought there was a wall beside me." You clear your throat, attempting to right yourself again.

╰➤ Sevika stares at you, eyes dancing with merriment, as she struggles to swallow her chuckles. She forces out a few coughs, trying to cover up her mirth, but it's clear that she finds your lack of coordination entertaining.

╰➤ You rest your hands on your hips in an attempt to find a comfortable standing position. You want to cringe. You want to crawl under a rock and never be perceived again.

╰➤ You puff out your cheeks before blowing out a heavy exhale. The room feels really hot and your heart is doing backflips in your chest. You can't tell if it's because of your stupid schoolgirl crush or the embarrassment of nearly eating shit in front of Sevika.

╰➤ Probably a combination of both...

╰➤ "Gravity really hates me." You jest.

╰➤ Her grin widens. "I can tell."

╰➤ You let out an exasperated chuckle, palm reaching up to rub against your forehead. She has to be aware of her effect on you.

╰➤ Like it's just painfully obvious at this point.

╰➤ Right?

╰➤ Your lips part and your hands pool with more sweat and you feel like the biggest lovesick loser to ever exist. There she is, with her perfect face and perfect laugh and perfect everything. You've barely talked to this woman outside of lunch breaks yet here you are, giving her pressed fucking flowers and worshiping the ground she walks on just because she sat with you for a few minutes. There can't be any other way that you can become more obvious.

╰➤ Your hands are flailing ridiculously around you, towards her plush purple carpet and curtains and picture frames before you're saying, "Nice office by the way."

╰➤ And she's looking at you with that knowing expression that's borderline condescending, which you really love despite how much you want to hate it, when she replies, "Thanks, darling."

╰➤ You blink rapidly and try not to combust right then.

╰➤ Your feet carry you to a nearby bookshelf before you can think otherwise. A shitload of CD’s are neatly stacked on them with names of artists you didn't know anyone still listened to. You preoccupy yourself with shifting through them, trying your best to ignore the zoo erupting in your stomach. There’s collections of Nina Simone and Freddie Hubbard and Bill Withers. Your eyebrows raise at the eclectic catalogue, not bothering to swallow the surprise that sprouts within you. It should be known at this point that Sevika will never fail to surprise you.

╰➤ Your hands tremble as they hold an ABBA CD. They cling tighter to the plastic case, attempting to make the shaking less noticeable. Something warm brushes against your shoulder, before taking the CD from you. You peer at Sevika, observing the way that she wordlessly takes out the disc and moves to a CD player that is situated farther to your left.

╰➤ Despite her being concentrated on getting the speaker system to work, you’re totally enraptured by her. Her smell surrounds you like a cloud of ecstasy. Her hair is down today, a feathery cut that stops just below her jaw. Loose ends are tucked behind her ear, highlighting the rarest features of her face that you probably have overlooked before. Her lips purse together while she deeply concentrates, puffing out in a way that makes them look unbelievably inviting. Your breath catches, a prominent ache building between your thighs as the room fills with the beginning chords of The Winner Takes It All.

╰➤ She hums underneath her breath as the first verse begins, neatly placing the CD on top of the player. Slowly, her eyes drag back to you, unfocused and clearly lost in the music that fills the room. But then she freezes, seemingly not expecting you to already be observing her. The harmonies of the song contrast to the moment of stillness then; a corded tension falling between the two of you.

╰➤ The feelings you have in that moment are visceral. Your head is spinning and your heart is racing. No matter how hard you swallow, your throat remains dry and your skin yearns for her—for her touch and her warmth and her firmness.

╰➤ Your eyes burn and you have to blink rapidly in order to clear your vision. You can't understand why these feelings have hit you so suddenly, and why they're so intense for a woman that's only your coworker. But you try not to scold yourself too much, rubbing your palms against the material of your skirt instead.

╰➤ “What’s wrong?” She whispers, scanning your face.

╰➤ And that's when you realize how close you're standing to her. Maybe you were the one to step forward—or was it her?—and shorten the distance, but you can't know for sure. You should pull away. You should bid her a good day and return to your office (you'll have to be on the clock soon anyways) but you can't.

╰➤ You can't because it's too late. She’s already roped you in with her aloofness and cheshire grin and warm sultry voice. The window to escape has already passed. You're simply in too deep now.

╰➤ “You're just really fucking beautiful.” You blurt out.

╰➤ When Sevika registers what you've said, it seems like she stiffens in shock. Her lips part, a sharp breath being sucked in while her stare intensifies.

╰➤ You don't have enough wits to properly downplay your words or try to retract what you've said. The most you try to do is blink away the tears in your welling eyes and say, “I’m sorry.”

╰➤ You take a step back, then two. The reality of the situation hits you like a brick wall. You let out a heavy exhale, trying to calm the storm beginning to brew in your mind.

╰➤ Holy fuck.

╰➤ What if you’ve made her uncomfortable? You've clearly crossed a line. You're at work. In fifteen minutes, you’ll both be on the clock and trying to get your day started. This is inappropriate.

╰➤ You feel like employees from the Human Resources department will barge right in at any moment, confronting you about your intentions and hauling you off to be questioned. Guilt rumbles in you like an unrelenting river breaking through a dam.

╰➤ Sevika is shaking her head, eyes searching yours with growing alarm. “Sorry? Sweetheart, you have nothing to be sorry fo-”

╰➤ “...with the flowers and the card and calling you beautiful. I shouldn't be doing those things and saying stuff like that. I mean, not because I don't think you're beautiful. You're so beautiful. It's just... Oh lord—I’m doing it again. Fuck. Frick. Uh,” You gulp, taking a few more steps backwards. “I just don't want to make you uncomfortable. I'm totally aware that we’re coworkers. And I don't wanna be that one creep in the office who-”

╰➤ “No, it's okay.” She shakes her head again, a small smile appearing on her face. “You haven't weirded me out at all.”

╰➤ You stop mid rant, mouth hanging open and eyes trailing back to her. “Are you sure?”

╰➤ “Completely sure.”

╰➤ Your attention hooks onto the details of her laugh lines. They become more prevalent as her smile widens. You want to brush your lips against hers and feel the curve of her laugh lines against your skin.

╰➤ You fight the urge, responding with, “Okay,” instead.

╰➤ She hums quietly underneath her breath, arms folding against her chest.

╰➤ “Okay,” She echoes. Her weight rocks backwards, a slight sway that causes her hair to brush lightly against her jawline. You're captivated by the sharp edge of her jaw—and how it seems to become even sharper with each passing second—as she momentarily clenches it.

╰➤ She’s opening her mouth to say something else when there's a knock on the door. “Sevika?” The silhouette of a woman, probably a coworker, shines through the frosted-glass door. Reality slams into you like a semi truck.

╰➤ Your heart jumps at the interruption. For some reason, you take a few more steps away from Sevika and your muscles tense.

╰➤ There's a hesitation that looms in the air.

╰➤ Sevika's eyes hold something undefinable. Her gaze is level and full of intent. And you can't understand why everything feels so convoluted right now.

╰➤ After a few agonizing seconds of silence, she sighs, shoulders falling as she shifts her attention to the ground. “Come in.”

╰➤ The door opens and a pretty brunette with glossy lips and mascara-coated eyes walks in. You've seen her numerous times throughout the day. She's one of the receptionists.

╰➤ She smiles at you and you're surprised when she greets you. You’ve never realized she knows your name.

╰➤ “Tara,” Sevika addresses. “What's up?”

╰➤ The receptionist turns to her, “I was trying to call you but it was going to voicemail. I wasn't sure if you’ve turned on your phone for the day? I’m really sorry for interrupting. But you have a gentleman waiting for you in the lobby, he says he has an 8 o’clock with you? I just wanted to confirm.” She clears her throat, shifting her weight awkwardly. Then she’s eying you again with a small smile. “I’m sorry—”

╰➤ “No, no. You're totally fine.” Sevika’s features morph into an expression that's more genial. “Did you catch his name? I do think I have an 8 o’clock, I just lost track of time.” She’s making her way over to the CD player, swiftly cutting it off. The music stops and the air stills.

╰➤ Hair stands on your skin as she walks to her desk, fiddling with a few buttons on her landline.

╰➤ “Yes,” Tara replies, glancing down at a yellow sticky note. “He’s from the branch in Chicago. He goes by…”

╰➤ “I’ll catch you later, Sevika.”Your voice is rushed and barely above a whisper. The feeling of overstaying your welcome floods you.

╰➤ Sevika glances up under her lashes, hands faltering from the paperwork she's rummaging through. You don't give her a chance to reply, simply shooting her a smile and wave before slipping out of her office.

╰➤ You sigh at the sign in front of you, bold words reading, BROKEN! PLEASE USE ANOTHER ONE on a piece of paper attached to the microwave. A low groan burns in the back of your throat. You’re starving. In fact, it’s been forever since you’ve let yourself grow this hungry.

╰➤ You didn't eat breakfast this morning. You were too preoccupied with thinking about Sevika’s gift, and how the hell were you going to give her a card with pressed flowers in a non-creepy way. But the task has been done, and for the most part, Sevika didn’t appear turned off by your gesture. So now, you are hungry.

╰➤ Your stomach growls and your mouth pools with saliva. Spinning on your heels, you march out of the break room, trying to think of any other parts of the building that has microwaves. Your floor definitely doesn’t, which means you would have to take the elevator. And you don’t want to do that, especially if it means having to walk through another department.

╰➤ Your mind is swarming with what ifs and maybe’s as you travel through rows of cubicles. The possibility of finding an unoccupied microwave is slim to none. If the one on your floor has been broken all morning, then there’s surely a growing line at the other ones. Dread gnaws at you and you huff with distaste.

╰➤ There’s a part of you that considers eating your food cold. But your nose wrinkles at the idea and it’s quickly disregarded.

╰➤ When you reach the elevator, you're met with the sight of Sevika leaning against the adjacent wall. She is lazily scrolling on her phone, her other hand occupying her pocket, and her cross body bag hanging off of one of her shoulders. Similar to the sudden dip of a rollercoaster ride—visceral and unexpected—a warmth spreads within you. Your head feels light–weightless even–and you can feel the rush of adrenaline coursing through your veins.

╰➤ Your arm lifts and presses the button that summons the elevator. It’s a silly action, since you’re sure Sevika has already pressed it if she’s waiting for it to arrive. But you need something to do with your body; something that can expel some of the excess energy and calm your belly acrobatics.

╰➤ Your movement seems to catch Sevika’s attention, causing her scrolling to momentarily freeze as she glances up.

╰➤ Your gazes lock and your breath hitches and you’re pretty sure you begin to hear fireworks sounding in the distance. She smiles and you return the gesture. Or was it you that smiled first?

╰➤ “Hi,” You say.

╰➤ Her attention trails to the lower half of your face, lingering there for a few moments before climbing back up to your eyes. In a millisecond, she’s pushing off of the wall, body upright and phone slipping into her pocket. “Hey, you.” Her grin curves even more.

╰➤ You don’t know what’s making you feel so lovesick: the inviting cadence of her voice or the fact that she’s practically glowing. You don’t think you’ve ever seen any blemish on her face besides a few faded scars. Seriously–what kind of skin care routine did the robust woman have? You made a mental note to ask her.

╰➤ “The weather’s been nice today.” She adds.

╰➤ You fight off a chuckle, nodding in response. The conversation is elementary and completely like all the other ones that you’ve had with her countless times before. But you enjoy how mundane your chats are with Sevika. It isn’t really the topics that interest you rather than the calming consistency of her presence. The both of you could be counting the wall tiles to pass time for all you care.

╰➤ Sevika cards her fingers through her hair as she rolls her eyes at a corny dad joke you’ve just told. “Clever.” She quietly muses, husky voice thick with sarcasm. Her lips are fighting off a smirk though, so you know she isn’t as annoyed as she’s trying to seem.

╰➤ “Thanks.”

╰➤ When Sevika centers her weight, she peers at the carpet, causing a singular strand of hair to fall in front of her forehead. A small part of you wants to reach out and run your fingers through it, but you softly shake your head to refocus. You listen to the faint rings of telephones in the distance instead.

╰➤“Well,” You drag out, growing uncomfortable by the silence. “Did you have a good weekend?”

╰➤She lifts her head, nodding softly. “Yeah.” A slight pause. “I went to dinner with some friends on Saturday, and then we watched the superbowl on Sunday…Made a day out of it, really…” She clears her throat. “Yeah. It was nice… What about you?”

╰➤ You don’t register the swaying of your body until your shoulder brushes against her bicep. “It was okay, I guess. I finished a novel. Went grocery shopping…did some gardening.” You wrinkle your nose, embarrassment washing over you. “Probably not as fun or eventful as yours, I suppose.”

╰➤ “Ah,” She chuckles. Her bicep brushes against your shoulder again. You can’t decipher if it was her fault or yours this time. “I doubt that.”

╰➤ You offer a thoughtful hum, but keep quiet otherwise.

╰➤ The elevator sounds with a soft ding! All too soon, Sevika is encouraging you to step on board before her.

╰➤ “Hi Shane,” You say, smiling at the coworker that is already inside of the service lift. He barely regards you, lips frowning and worry lines prevalent on his forehead. He takes off his baseball cap momentarily, revealing a receding hairline glistening with sweat, before wiping it off with the back of his hand and repositioning the cap.

╰➤ “Hi.” The middle aged man grumbles. He nearly throws a fit when Sevika takes her time walking through the elevator doors. His face is firetruck red, left foot tapping impatiently as his finger presses the button for the 8th floor.

╰➤ Your eyebrows shoot up and you look at Sevika. She observes the entire situation with passive amusement.

╰➤ “Stupid elevators.” Shane grumbles.

╰➤ You press your lips together, trying your best to refrain from laughing while reaching around him to press the button for the 6th floor. Usually, there’s a few microwaves on that one. “Where to?” You angle your head towards Sevika.

╰➤ “6th floor as well.”

╰➤ The atmosphere fills with the trademark grinding of the elevator and Shane’s disgruntled mumbling. The minutes tick by agonizingly slow and you even feel bad for giggling quietly when Shane huffs again, looking up at the ceiling with a grinding jaw.

╰➤ Your fingers press against your lips in an attempt to remain calm, and your eyes flit over to Sevika knowingly.

╰➤ Shane’s always been pegged as overly anxious and impatient in the office. He seems to be perpetually unhappy with everyone and everything. He seems to just be unhappy in general.

╰➤ A few levels down, the doors open and relief fills you. Riding the elevator with a fretful Shane definitely wasn’t on the top of today’s To-Do list. But then you falter at the sight of a plain concrete wall in front of you. Your eyebrows furrow and you glance back at the row of buttons. The number 6 is no longer illuminated, but you certainly aren’t facing the cubicles on the 6th floor right now.

╰➤ "Shit…" Sevika mumbles. “This isn’t good.”

╰➤ “Oh, come on!” The elevator shakes slightly in response to Shane obnoxiously stomping his foot.

╰➤ Your breath hitches and you feel your arms searching frantically, trying to grab onto something to ground you, but only finding empty air.

╰➤ Sevika’s already scanning the surroundings, probably for an emergency call box. You don’t say anything. You’re not sure if you can.

╰➤ Don’t freak out. Don’t freak out. Don’t freak out.

╰➤ “I can’t believe this!” Shane’s voice is several pitches higher now. “I’m going to miss my appointment. Dammit!” He stomps his foot again, snatching his cap off. It falls to the ground and his hands tightly grip his hair–or, what’s left of it.

╰➤Sevika’s head snaps in the general direction of his. “Let’s not do that.” Her voice is icy. It comes off as a command instead of a suggestion and even you find yourself trying to gain your bearings.

╰➤ Shane sends her a glare but he makes sure to keep his foot planted and his mouth shut.

╰➤ Your eyes are burning and you're beginning to find it hard to breathe.

╰➤ You’re stuck.

╰➤ The elevator is fucking stuck.

╰➤ No–you can’t freak out. That won’t help.

╰➤ Your hands are bunching against the material of your clothing, feet working into nervous tapping. Oh God.

╰➤ Oh God.

╰➤ Sevika finally finds a button next to an icon with the emergency bell symbol, which doesn’t seem to be immediately obvious at first glance. The noise is loud and jarring when she presses it, before an automated voice begins to speak words that you can’t fully register.

╰➤ And then she’s talking with an operator, that much you can process, but it’s all blurring together too much for your liking.

╰➤ Shane is breathing loud. Annoyingly loud in fact.

╰➤ You want to tell him to shut the hell up, especially when he starts crying, but you can barely see through your blurred vision and it doesn’t seem like your body will listen to your brain even if you will it to.

╰➤ Then there’s warm hands pressing into your shoulders, squeezing them, before lowering to your elbows.

╰➤ “It’s okay,” Sevika reassures. “I just talked to the operator. They’re going to try to reset the system.”

╰➤ You shake your head and grip onto her shirt. “We're going to die.”

╰➤ “Hey,” Her breath fans against your cheeks as she ducks down to look at you levelly. Her touch retracks before you feel warmness on your face. Her thumbs are swiping your skin. “Sweetheart, it’s gonna be okay.”

╰➤ That’s when you realize that you’re the one who’s breathing heavy, because you’re also the one who’s crying. Her thumbs are wiping away your tears.

╰➤ “Sev…” You respond, breath ragged. “I’m sorry. I’m just scared, I-”

╰➤ “It’s an honest human reaction.” Her lips brush against your left earlobe as she pulls you in for a hug. “...Better than stomping your foot and shaking the entire cabin, that’s for sure.”

╰➤ You let out an ugly combination of a sob and laugh.

╰➤ “Not funny, you asshole.” Shane isn’t too happy with the jest.

╰➤ “Hey!” You find yourself objecting. You lift your head but know it’s no use. Sevika’s too tall for you to be able to see over her. “Be nice, you two.”

╰➤ Shane grumbles a few other curse words, this time much quieter. Sevika tightens her hold around your waist, nose rubbing into your shoulder with an odd tenderness, but she doesn’t say anything else.

╰➤ You’re sniffling as you try to relax in her hold. You’ve given up the task of restarting your heart because you know that you’ll never be able to truly calm down until you’re safely out of this elevator. But for the meantime, you try to distract yourself with the smell of Sevika, and the feeling of her pressed against you. You cling onto her like a raft in the middle of a storm, praying that she can continue to keep your worries at bay.

╰➤ “Sev,” You say again, voice shaking. “I’m really scared.”

╰➤ “I know.”

╰➤ The elevator slips down a considerable amount, causing the both of you to lose your footing and nearly fall. Your scream melts into a gurgle of cries as Sevika curses lowly.

╰➤ She lowers the both of you to the floor, hands attempting to steady you. The panic you feel is definitely taking over now.

╰➤ “We’re going to die.” You hiccup, eyes widening.

╰➤ “Darling,” Sevika pauses. You almost believe that she’s trying to gather more patience, and you can’t blame her if she is. But the pause is too brief for you to know for sure. “We aren’t going to die. Hey–”

╰➤ Her fingers are gingerly pinching your chin, urging you to meet her gaze. An air of passivity rolls off of her. “Can you breathe with me? You’re hyperventilating.” Her brows begin to furrow. “I can’t have you passing out on me, you know.”

╰➤ “We won't make it out of here.”

╰➤ Her lips fix into a thin line, “Do you trust me?”

╰➤ Your reply is immediate, “Yes.”

╰➤ “Can you trust that I will make sure you get out of here safely?” Her palms begin to press against the sides of your face, holding you close to her. She strokes the apples of your cheek with her thumbs, expression pensive. “I've got you. I…” She wets her lips, eyes flickering with an odd light. “I promise.”

╰➤ A few stray tears escape your eyes, rolling down your face and onto her palms. You inhale a long shuddering breath as you nod, mouth souring everytime you think of your current predicament.

╰➤ “Okay.” You rasp.

╰➤ The both of you are a breath apart, huddled in one of the corners. That's when you realize that you're actually sitting in her lap.

╰➤ “I just can't believe I’m stuck here simply because I was wanting to use the 6th floor microwave.” Your eyes flicker shut, another wave of doom hitting you. “I just wanted some lasagna!”

╰➤ Sevika laughs. “If only you took the stairs.”

╰➤ “I know, right? I don't usually because I'm lazy, but maybe-”

╰➤ “I get that this is an emotional moment right now,” Shane grunts. “But does anyone have a bottle or something? I really need to piss.”

╰➤ Your nose crinkles. Ew.

╰➤ Sevika grinds her jaw. “You will keep your pants on, or so help me God…”

╰➤ “Okay, okay. I got it.”

╰➤ You clear your throat, shifting in her lap and glancing at Shane. He has his left leg crossed over his right, legs tense and face seemingly straining with concentrated effort. A vein is bulging out of his neck and sweat is gathering around his forehead again.

╰➤ “Tell me another one of your lame jokes.” Sevika whispers, completely disregarding him and squeezing you closer to her.

╰➤ The shift in conversation feels like emotional whiplash.

╰➤ Everything about today has been weird. You never thought a day would come where you're actually sitting in her lap, and being comforted in the most gentle way.

╰➤ But then again, you never anticipated getting stuck in an elevator with her so…

╰➤ “They are not lame.” You refute, feigning offense. “They're dad jokes.”

╰➤ “Okay, well...” Her attention zeroes in on your nose. One of her hands raises, brushing at it before inspecting a small fuzzy and flicking it away. “Tell me one of them.”

╰➤ Your blink in thought, scanning your brain for one that you haven't told her yet. It's starting to become hard to decipher which jokes you have and haven't shared with Sevika, especially as the months continue to carry on. You fear that you'll run out of them sooner than you’d like to (at least the funny ones) and then you won't know how else to entertain her.

╰➤ “What do you call a fake noodle?”

╰➤ Her forehead scrunches as she ponders on a possible answer.

╰➤ A slow smile curves at your lips while you mutter, “An impasta.”

╰➤ You can practically see the gears in her brain shifting before she registers the pun. Her lips are puffy from constantly being chewed on when they pull into a playful scowl. The tiniest wrinkles appear along the slope of her nose as she scrunches it, eyes peering at you through narrowed slits.

╰➤ “You're ridiculous.”

╰➤ That causes you to laugh, heart warming at the slight annoyance in her voice. “Ridiculously funny and charming? Sure.”

╰➤ “...Oh my god.”

╰➤ “You love my jokes, just admit it.”

╰➤ “Sweetheart…They're not actually yours. I know you google them.”

╰➤ “ It's my delivery though. No one delivers jokes better than I do. It takes actual skill.”

╰➤ “Somehow, I find that hard to believe.”

╰➤ “...There's the timing you have to consider and the vocal inflection.” Your hands fall down her arms, resting in your lap as they tug on one another. “It involves real artistry.”

╰➤ “How dumb of me to think otherwi-”

╰➤ “Oh, thank you! God! Thank you!”

╰➤ You jump at Shane’s outburst, examining the way he stands to his feet, a grin breaking across his face. He’s pointing at the elevator doors, which are now closing. A low hum fills the air. Soon after, the sound of cogs becomes louder and the elevator begins moving.

╰➤ You and Sevika startle at the sudden shift, moment now broken. When you peer at her, she's smiling softly, grey irises drinking in every one of your features.

╰➤”I told you we’d be okay.” She says.

╰➤You're too relieved to properly respond, allowing her to help you stand up instead.

╰➤ The intercom beeps and a voice says, "Rescue team here. Please remind us how many people are there with you?"

╰➤ “If you feel any sort of stress from today, please don't hesitate to use this number.” Cam says as he shoves a business card into your hand.

╰➤ You roll your eyes. “I’ll be fine. I swear.”

╰➤ “There's no shame in using the services, I promise. Just input your employee number and the company code on the website and it’ll—”

╰➤ “Cam,” Your left hand reaches up to squeeze his shoulder. You make sure to hold his gaze. “I’m totally fine now, I promise. I’ll admit that it shook me up a little, because it felt like we were going to be stuck in there forever. But everything's okay.”

╰➤ He scans your face, searching for any sign that you're being untruthful. When he doesn't find any, he nods smally. “Go home.” His stare becomes stern. “Take it easy for the next few days.”

╰➤ “Cam—”

╰➤ “I’m serious! If you go back to your office for the rest of the day, I’ll take a deduction from your wages.”

╰➤ You roll your eyes, “That doesn’t sound legal.”

╰➤ “I’m sorry, I can't hear you anymore.” He shrugs his shoulders, pacing a few steps backwards. “I have meetings to attend now.” He doesn't allow you to object, adding, “Have a good weekend, kid,” before turning around and leaving the room.

╰➤ It hasn't been long since you’ve been rescued from the elevator—maybe 30 minutes, at most. Cam made his way over to the three of you once he received notice of everything. You feel relatively fine. The medics accessed you first, since you seemed to be the most shaken up when they arrived. And ever since they finished, Cam has somehow convinced himself that you, Shane and Sevika should take the rest of the day off.

╰➤ He also seemed adamant about offering you the free therapy services that your company provides, hence the business card in your hand. But you feel like it might be a desperate gesture to cover his ass. Surely, this isn't the first time that someone's been stuck in the elevator while on the clock.

╰➤ The medic team seems to just be finishing their assessment with Sevika and Shane now. You stand off to the side, watching helplessly, as Sevika sits in a chair and chats casually with a buff paramedic woman.

╰➤ The three of you were momentarily moved to a nearby conference room when rescued from the elevator. One of the office supervisors said it was to give you all a space to “wind down and decompress.” But you're pretty sure it's because the company is trying to gloss over the elevator incident.

╰➤ The door to the conference room opens and you're met with the familiar face of Kai. Their eyes are wide—frantic—as they scan the area.

╰➤ “Dude,” They gasp, attention on Sevika. “You won't believe the stuff that's circulating the office right now…it's some crazy shit!”

╰➤ Then they’re grabbing one of the chairs closest to Sevika, plopping down in it. “Are you guys okay? Seriously, what the fuck happened?”

╰➤ “We were stuck in that stupid contraption.” Shane butts in. “We could have died and they only care about giving us PTO and a stupid link to telehealth.”

╰➤ It's the first time you've heard him talk since stepping off of the elevator.

╰➤ “I missed my damn appointment and the fee I’ll get charged is ridiculous,” He slams his hand on the table, fingers spreading out against the surface and jaw grinding. “I’m gonna sue these motherfuckers.”

╰➤ Surrounding medics have been slowly packing up their equipment, but they momentarily freeze at the sound of Shane's threat. The one closest to Sevika lifts an eyebrow, expression bemused as she pockets her phone.

╰➤ “I’m not sure if you can do that, Shane.” Kai quirks. Their eyes dance with humor as they swallow a chuckle.

╰➤ “I’m 62. I can do whatever the hell I want!”

╰➤ Kai nods, slightly taken aback. “Touché.”

╰➤ Shane grumbles under his breath, standing to his feet with the help of a nearby medic. He’s slightly hunched over, gripping the lower part of his back while he hobbles to the entrance door.

╰➤ “Bye Shane!” You call.

╰➤ He waves you off irritably, not bothering to turn around and give you a proper farewell.

╰➤ “And they said you fainted when the rescue team came,” Kai turns to you, expression morphing into something kinder. You think you see their eyes travel to Sevika for a split second, but you conclude that it’s just your overactive imagination. “How are you feeling now?”

╰➤ You laugh incredulously, “Do people just live to gossip here? That was barely an hour ago.”

╰➤ “It's not like there's much else to do around these parts,” Kai grins wickedly. “Besides the scandalous office romances that people chat about. But that's old news. This is the most exciting thing we’ve had since Christmas!”

╰➤ You laugh harder, hands coming up to rest against your cheeks as you work through your shock. “That's one way to put it.”

╰➤ The three of you are alone now since the last two medics managed to slip out of the room inconspicuously. And now it's harder to escape the overwhelming fatigue that looms in the air. Secretly, you thank Cam for giving you the rest of the day off.

╰➤ “I have to get back soon. I’m supposed to be meeting the Amazon delivery driver in t minus one minute.”

╰➤ “Oh my god,” Sevika rumbles, shoving her friend out of their seat. “Go do your job.”

╰➤ “Yes ma’am.” Kai wipes their hands on their jeans, leaning down and kissing Sevika on the cheek before ruffling her hair. “I’m glad you didn't like, die or anything, loser.”

╰➤ Sevika merely grunts.

╰➤ Kai winks at you, “Bye lovebirds!”

╰➤ And then there were two.

╰➤ You carefully pivot to face the herculean woman a few feet away from you. The crease between her brows, even though heavily prevalent when Kai was here many seconds ago, are now gone. She stares at you for a beat, lower lip caught between her teeth and hands drumming against the muscles of her thighs.

╰➤ “Sorry about Kai. They're a bit childish sometimes.” Sevika mutters. But despite her words, you can tell she thinks fondly of Kai.

╰➤ “I like them.” You find yourself admitting. “They’re funny.”

╰➤ “They’re annoying.”

╰➤ Her lips twitch into the smallest hint of a grin. Your own smile grows and subsequently, her eyelids flutter. In the midst of today's chaos and fading professionalism, the heart of something tender passes between the both of you. The air cracks and sparks fly. It's fleeting—but it's there.

╰➤ Her throat jostles as she swallows, “How are you feeling?”

╰➤ There's an unmistakable burn within you that her question creates. “I’m better than before.”

╰➤ Her eyes trail down your body, then back up to your face. You assume that it's a mistake. But then her gaze wanders again, and this time it's for longer. This time, it has more intent. Your stomach flips.

╰➤ Her lips barely move when she responds, “Good.”

╰➤ You sense the moment slipping away, and a tiny part of your brain nudges you to leave the room and go home. God-forbid Cam stumbles back in and sees that you're still here. But for some reason, you hover.

╰➤ “Thanks for earlier, by the way,” Your tongue feels heavy in your mouth and your hands are growing clammy. “For helping me and stuff.”

╰➤ And stuff.

╰➤ You're not sure if thanking her for the other stuff is appropriate, considering you were practically straddling her and holding onto her in ways that's crossed many, many lines. But that seems to be the ongoing trend between you and Sevika; you cross too many lines with her.

╰➤ “No need to be thanking me.”

╰➤ You shrug, “...Was still kind of you.”

╰➤ Her lips rub together and that's when you realize how soft they look. A small hum escapes her and you watch inquisitively as she opens her mouth.

╰➤ But then nothing comes out, leaving her with a slack jaw and gaping mouth. Your brows start to furrow, chest tightening while several more beats pass and Sevika remains dazed.

╰➤ A whooshing sound fills the air due to the AC turning on. Dust particles begin to circulate around you, and your ankles are tickled by the new draft blowing from the vents.

╰➤ “Is everything okay?” You try to keep the worry out of your voice, but the shift in her is abrupt.

╰➤ Her eyes cloud over with something indescribable, a sense of apprehension rolling off of her in thick waves.

╰➤ “Um,” Her words drag and her eyes dart away from you. They settle on an empty space between you and the nearby wall. Her body is completely rigid, as if the floor will give out at any moment. “Would you ever want to hang out?”

╰➤ Your heart crawls up the walls of your esophagus, beating with all of it’s might.

╰➤ You shift your feet, then tug at your fingers.

╰➤ “Like, outside of work?” She clarifies. She dodges your eyes, settling on the other details of you instead; like your restless feet and your fidgeting hands.

╰➤ “You’d want to do that?”

╰➤ “Well,” She gives you a sidelong glance. “I wouldn't be asking you if I didn't.”

╰➤ Your internal debate resolves and your smile stretches wide—so wide that you think your cheeks are becoming sore.

╰➤ “Oh,” Your voice is barely above a whisper, so you have to clear your throat. “Okay. Well, I want to also.”

╰➤ She mirrors you and breaks into a silly grin, gap visible and nose wrinkling.

╰➤ “Just let me know when,” You add. “And I’ll be down.”

╰➤ “How about Saturday?”

╰➤ “Um—wow. I didn't know you meant so soon. Will Kai be okay with you choosing the day on their behalf?”

╰➤ Her eyebrows shoot up. “Kai?”

╰➤ “Yeah, have you even asked if…” Oh.

╰➤ Oh.

╰➤ Your gut ignites at the revelation.

╰➤ The greys in her irises darken an alluring shade.

╰➤ “Okay,” You nod, understanding completely now. She doesn't need to say anything more for you to realize the full weight of her offer.

╰➤ God.

╰➤ Oh God.

╰➤ You've dreamt about this moment for months but you never thought it’d actually come true.

╰➤ “Okay,” She parrots. “It's a date, then?”

╰➤ Your toes curl inside your shoes. Nodding enthusiastically, you confirm, “Definitely.”

╰➤ You never are the type to enjoy the action of driving cars.

╰➤ It’s mostly to do with the fact that your life could very well be in someone else’s hands. The likelihood of surviving another day without being in a car accident feels like sheer luck sometimes.

╰➤ But your road anxiety is heightened even more as you brave the heavy city traffic, trying not to pee your pants at the idea of being near Sevika in less than an hour.

╰➤ You exhale, drumming your fingers against the steering wheel restlessly. Why is this taking so long?

╰➤ After ages of waiting, you’re finally able to get to the other side of town. It’s quieter here and far less busy. Sevika texted you the suggestion this morning and you immediately agreed–the quieter, the better.

╰➤ But your heart stops when you find yourself parked in front of a towering brownstone building, with multi-story terraces and sleek black protective gates. The streets are nearly empty and the distant chirp of birds fill the air.

╰➤ Your lips are pulling into a frown when you look at your phone screen, reading, You have arrived at your destination for the nth time.

╰➤ Swiping away from the GPS app, you allow your thumbs to click on Sevika’s contact number.

╰➤ Two rings sound before she answers, “Hello?”

╰➤ “Hi–” You crane your neck to look out of your window. “I think I‘m here? I’m not sure where your place exactly is though...”

╰➤ You hear shuffling on the other line along with the soft hum of music. Then you see movement from a window on the second floor. Curtains are pushed aside and a familiar figure comes into view. The sliding glass of the terrace door is pushed open, and she’s sticking her head out, scanning the row of cars lined up along the street.

╰➤ “Oh,” You breathe, heart stuttering. “Nevermind. I see you.”

╰➤ You remain seated in your car, like an idiot, while her eyes lock with yours.

╰➤ Then she grins, which is a heartbreakingly beautiful thing to witness.

╰➤ “Sorry for being late,” You rasp into the receiver, eyes never leaving hers. “I got stuck in traffic.”

╰➤ “You’re two minutes late, sweetheart.” Her voice is thick with amusement. “That’s hardly anything to fuss about.”

╰➤ The following stretch of nothing is almost too painful to bear. Something is holding you back from stepping out of the car. Whether it be fear or nerves, you can’t really tell. All you know is that this feels like uncharted territory.

╰➤ “I’ll come down and get you,” She says. You nod. She disappears into her apartment and the line goes dead.

╰➤ The air of Sevika’s apartment smells overwhelmingly like her: woodsy with a hint of apple cinnamon. Your shoes click against the floorboard when she guides you through the doorway, knuckles brushing against your forearm and leaving a fire in its wake.

╰➤ “This is me.” Her voice is soft around the lock of the deadbolt and chain guard. There’s a lowly dimmed lamp hanging from the ceiling, a coat rack placed in the corner and a sitting bench to your left. She looks over slowly–hesitantly; as if she’s trying to gauge your reaction.

╰➤ You find yourself swallowing thickly as you’re smacked with another smell of her.

╰➤ When you don’t respond, she toes out of her shoes, movements quiet and swift. Silently, you follow her lead. She gathers your boots with hers and positions them underneath the sitting bench.

╰➤ “This way,” She mumbles. You allow her to side-step, walking down the hall and toward a connecting room, where you faintly see a burgundy living room set. The walk down the corridor almost feels too quick, since you keep getting distracted by the countless art and picture frames lined up on her wall. You realize that the walls appear to be so decorated that you don’t see much of the paint.

╰➤ Her living room appears to be similar, littered with different pieces of art and photographs that you could stare at for hours if given the chance. The atmosphere is tranquil but the furniture and color scheme is deliberate and poised. The ceiling is much higher than yours and the windows are fairly large. Much of the interior is splashed with dark velvety hues of red and purple.

╰➤ Two brimming bookshelves stretch to the ceiling, lined with countless collections of CDs and novels. The brick fireplace is already lit and emmenates a warm glow around the room. Sevika’s gaze is clear and level when you peer at her. And her eyebrows lift inquisitively.

╰➤ “It’s…” Your voice cracks, causing you to clear your throat. “This is really nice.”

╰➤ Her head is tilted, eyes squinting ever-so-slightly with a nature that is purely meditative; as if she’s trying to pick out any signs of dishonesty. The burning sensation of her dissection is potent. Your mouth pools with saliva as the seconds tick by.

╰➤ A low whistle escapes you as you try to compensate for the tension. “Why so quiet?” Your legs shuffle.

╰➤ She licks her lips and hums. “Just trying to make sure this is okay.”

╰➤ “What?” Your eyebrows are furrowing.

╰➤ She gestures at your surroundings, “This. My home—at least, that you’re comfortable being here. If you prefer to spend time in a more public place, then…”

╰➤ “Oh.” Your features relax. She’s trying to be polite. “No. This is fine, Sev. I’m always comfortable around you.” You wipe your sweaty palms against the material of your pants.

╰➤ Her eyes follow the movement of your hands, before they linger on the lower half of your body for the tenth of a second while her jaw flexes. You gaze at her with growing anticipation due to the dead silence. She takes a long inhale through her nose, refocusing her attention back to your eyes with what seems like a great deal of concentration.

╰➤ A shaky smile spreads across your lips. You travel over to one of the nearby bookshelves, which holds a CD player that’s currently playing a smooth jazz solo. You have to find something to do—anything—other than stand there and grow lustful under her pressing gaze.

╰➤ “You have quite a collection,” You begin.

╰➤ Your back is turned to her as you look through the cases that are neatly stacked together. Despite being covered with clothing, the skin of your back grows hot, as if her gaze is seeping straight through the material of your shirt.

╰➤ “A lot of them were my parents. They loved collecting music.”

╰➤ You don't have the heart or gall to mention the past-tense reference of her parents. Instead, you nod.

╰➤ You feel like you're hypervigilant to everything about her in that moment. The sound of her weight traveling across the carpet becomes heightened, and the hairs on the back of your neck stand when you see her shadow appearing out of the corner of your eye. When you look towards your left, you struggle to contain the zoo that rips through your stomach. She's close. Very close.

╰➤ Her shoulders brush against yours while she reaches across you to turn down the stereo. "You can pick something else if you want," Her voice dips into something low and syrupy. "I don't know what type of music you like." Then she's walking away. Your eyes follow her as she disappears into another room. "Are you thirsty?"

╰➤ "I'll listen to practically anything as long as it's not country." You shuffle through the CD's, stopping when a particular one catches your eye. A classic. "What do you have?"

╰➤ Once you've replaced the CD with one of your choice, you mosey into the other room to join her. It's a kitchen, fairly minimalist compared to the living room, and painted with nearly all black decor. The sight of Sevika standing there is unfamiliar. Her hair is tied up in a half up half down, small tendrils escaping and brushing against the sides of her face. Her nose is wrinkled, eyes squinted and lip rolled inwards.

╰➤ She leans most of her weight onto her hands, which are resting on the surface of the kitchen island. Her sleeves are rolled up to her elbows, and attention is focused acutely on a book that's sitting on the counter. Something savory wafts in the air and you spy a stove behind her that seems to be emanating an exceptional amount of warmth.

╰➤ "Um," you mumble. "Is everything okay?"

╰➤ Her eyes flicker up to meet yours, at first holding something distant, before they cloud over with an undeniable light. Her hands tighten into fists, pressing against the marble countertop before she relaxes them. Then she's standing upright, one arm falling to her side while the other rubs against her forehead. "I'm..." Her words trail off as she glances at the watch on her wrist. "Fuck."

╰➤ Then she's whipping around, opening the oven door. A small cloud of smoke appears.

╰➤ "What are you cooking?" You close the distance between the two of you, swiping through the smoke before peering into the oven.

╰➤ "Nothing anymore." She sighs. "It was supposed to be—"

╰➤ "Lasagna."

╰➤ You reach for the oven mitts sitting on the nearby countertop, slipping them on before grabbing the deep-dish pan.

╰➤ "I noticed you have it a lot." She continues. "I just thought—since you seem to like it..."

╰➤ You set it on the hot pads, inspecting the top layer of the pasta dish.

╰➤ "Actually, it doesn't look too bad." You say. "It'll have to go back in, and we'll need to turn the heat down to 375, so that it cooks all the way through the layers without scorchi—"

╰➤ That's when it hits you.

╰➤ "Wait," You abruptly right yourself, snapping your head towards her. She's already watching you, drinking in everything you were saying. Her eyebrows raise at your outburst. Hands still covered in mittens, you're stepping around her, doing a double take at the book that's still open on the kitchen island. "Is that a cookbook?"

╰➤ She doesn't immediately respond.

╰➤ When you crane you neck to get a better look, you're barely registering the words Classic Homemade Lasagna Recipe before her large hand abruptly lands on the book with a loud smack! Her fingers are outstretched, keeping you from being able to see majority of what's written. But it's too late, your assumption has already been proven right.

╰➤ The book is shut before you can say anything else. She opens an overhead cupboard, sliding it in there with one quick motion.

╰➤ "Oh my god," You fight off a wave of giggles, lips stretching into a wide grin. "That was definitely a cookbook."

╰➤ She brushes a few loose hairs out of her face and chooses to avoid your gaze.

╰➤ The stillness that follows is nearly unbearable. In the distance, you hear the current song from the CD player fading out. A car is honking from the street outside and the buzz of the AC comes on. You're still turned towards her, hands covered by her oven mitts and cheeks aching from the smile on your face. She continues to dodge you; resolute.

╰➤ You can't contain your laughter anymore. It's bellows out of you like a songbird breaking free from its cage. That seems to finally draw her attention, and wills her to glance at you. Upon locking eyes, slowly, she smiles an equally warm grin.

╰➤ And just like that, the elastic band of tension that existed all evening snaps.

╰➤ Her laughter quickly follows yours, deeper and soothing and just as beautiful as the last time you heard it. Her rigid stance melts away and her fingers relax.

╰➤ "Sev, why—" You wet your lips. "You didn't have to go out of your way to a get recipe and make this. I would have been fine with take-out."

╰➤ "Kai sent me the link to the cookbook yesterday and I figured why not. It was only $20," She rolls her eyes. "Plus it has better reviews that the lasagna recipes I was looking at online."

╰➤ The cookbook was only $20.

╰➤ Adrenaline courses through your veins from such an implication. Sevika bought a cookbook just to make one of your favorite foods. No one's ever done something like that for you before.

╰➤ No one's ever paid close enough attention to even notice your love for lasagna.

╰➤ The way Sevika always manages to nonchalantly flatter you will forever be something you struggle to fathom.

╰➤ You're biting the inside of your cheek, trying your best to contain your buzzing excitement as you place the pan back into the oven. Your back remains turned to her, stomach flipping and fingers nimble.

╰➤ "This is very kind of you to do," You find yourself muttering.

╰➤ "I mean," The sound of her body weight shifting is subtle. "It's our first date. It's the least I could do."

╰➤ "Still kind."

╰➤ You don't allow yourself to brush over one of her many kind gestures. You don't allow yourself to take any of this for granted. Sevika has been very good to you, especially in a world where people haven't been in the past. Often times, she's been more than just your friendly coworker.

╰➤ Whether she wants to admit it or not, she's the one who's actually a sweetheart.

╰➤ "Why don't you like to accept my compliments?" You inquire. You take off her oven mitts, setting them on a nearby counter-space before turning around. Droplets of perspiration trickle down your forehead and the back of your neck. You wipe them away with the palm of your hand, stepping away from the searing hot oven and towards her.

╰➤ Sevika is resting against the kitchen island, arms crossed over her chest and eyes solely fixed on you. You don't miss the way her jaw flexes as you come closer. But you choose to ignore it, positioning yourself to where your right hip is pressed against the island cupboards, just off of Sevika's left shoulder.

╰➤ "Because most of the time, I'm not doing anything extraordinary." She wrinkles her nose. "It's the bare minimum, actually."

╰➤ "Well," You almost come to a standstill as you rack your brain for an appropriate response. "I still appreciate it."

╰➤ That's when you send her a smile. Similar to an innate feeling, you expect her to return the gesture, since there's never really been a time that Sevika hasn't.

╰➤ But the seconds continue to stretch and her smile never appears.

╰➤ Her lips part and her throat bobs as she swallows thickly. You don't think you've seen her eyes look so lucid before.

╰➤ A part of you wants to be consumed by her. You want her to have you; in whatever way that would mean for her. You'd be happy with any scenario. But another part also wants you to remain present in this moment; to fully cling onto every moment that passes with you in her presence. It's a heartbreakingly beautiful conundrum to be in.

╰➤ "The bare minimum barely checks off the list. You know that, right?" Her voice is firm during this wake of silence. Assertive. Strong. But her words manage to undue something within you; something you didn't even know was tightly wound to begin with. "You deserve to receive so much more than the bare minimum from someone. And you deserve to not have to thank them for that."

╰➤ She says it with such conviction that you almost believe that she's been thinking about this for a while.

╰➤Hearing those words nearly break you.

╰➤ They're arguably obvious. But despite how much the general public likes to make instagram captions and TedTalks about it, you've never really been told this before. Not directly. Not with such certainty.

╰➤ "And," She wets her lips, eyes darting away from you for the first time. "Of course I don't want to be too full on this soon. I'd like to think cooking you one of your favorite foods would give me a good start. But there's—" She's shaking her head with creases forming in between her brows. "...a lot more that I want to offer to you other than shitty lasagna."

╰➤ You don't respond for a beat as you feel a new unspoken surge of energy igniting between you two. It's takes form as an invisible current, growing with each ticking second.

╰➤ Her attention doesn't waver, remaining clear and steady and safe. You find it hard to breathe with the careful way that she's studying you. Air pacts into your lungs at an alarming rate and your heart beats a mile a minute while your throat locks.

╰➤ Your lips part. Then, "What else are you wanting to offer?"

╰➤ You watch as she cards her fingers through her hair. There's a bounce to her silky locks that leads you to believe it's been very recently washed. If you step forward more, all you have to do is reach up to touch it. She's so close.

╰➤ Incredibly close.

╰➤ You don't know how it's happened but somewhere deep inside of you, where the abandoned and empty house of your life resided, a bright light has been ignited. Somehow, that house is no longer empty. It's no longer cold. Sevika has managed to cast an exceptional amount of life into you.

╰➤ Everything becomes watery at the revelation; her black marble countertops, her crème colored button-up, the swirling grey of her irises. It's all blurry. You struggle to blink away your welling tears.

╰➤ How typical of you to get emotional during a time like this...

╰➤ Sevika doesn't reply. She just peers at you with an expression that makes her look as if she's short circuiting. The air is warm, with the oven being heated to a scorching 375 degrees just a few feet away. It's warm and Sevika doesn't falter in managing to unravel you from her regard. It's warm, and your hands are reaching out. It's warm because it's her. She's the warmth.

╰➤ Your hands stop mid-reach, hovering in the air as she fleetingly glances at them. Your pulse thumps against the side of your neck; eyelids fluttering. "What else?" You press. A gentle nudge. A plead.

╰➤ You need to hear her say it; for the sake of confirming that everything is requited.

╰➤ She closes the rest of the distance by grabbing your hands with hers. They're larger and wrap around yours without any extra effort. The gesture is small. But it somehow still causes your legs to nearly give out. She tugs you, urging you closer. You stumble as you give into her magnetic pull. But you're too caught up in all that she is to truly feel embarrassed by it.

╰➤ "I want to offer you everything good." Sevika states it firmly; earnestly. "I don't feel that with people very often. But you," She squeezes your hands, puffing out a heavy exhale. Her breath brushes over your face, minty and enticing. "...I'd do anything to bring goodness into your life."

╰➤ "You already have." The lump in your throat explodes, almost blowing it out completely. Your voice is hoarse—thick with emotion.

╰➤ Her breathing becomes shaky and her mouth falls open. You watch as shock transforms itself onto her features.

╰➤ "Seeing you everyday in that stuffy break room...getting to know you and being able to talk to you," You continue, head bowing as you try to gather your thoughts in a way that won't overwhelm her. "Those days rest with me right here." You bring both your hands and hers to rest against your chest. "I already hold a deep tenderness for you. And it's something that's only for you. Do you know that?"

╰➤ She keenly follows your lips as you speak, leaning so closely now that her forehead grazes against yours. The movement is painstakingly subtle but it still makes your surroundings blacken. The feeling that takes over is close to a rebirth; like being pushed into the ocean by yourself and somehow resurfacing with Sevika fundamentally built into you.

╰➤ And when she kisses you, you know, down to the marrow of your bones, that this is something holy. Teeth clatter and hunger intensifies. Her hands have found solace by clinging onto the rolls of your hips, digging into you, hooking you to her. Ink becomes imprinted onto your heart, screaming—scrawling—Sevikasevikasevikasevika endlessly.

╰➤ She trembles slightly when you press against her; your hands resting against the firmness of her biceps. You reach for her further, never fully satiated, while your toes pull you upwards. Your neck cranes and your chest constricts from the way you desperately lean against her. You're chasing her—her mouth, her smell, her lips, her taste—and she welcomes you with just as much desperation.

╰➤ She's whispering, "...okay, okay," her voice a gentle echo. Her fingers curl into you, positively leaving marks. "I definitely know now."

╰➤ Sevika transforms from warmth to burning heat at that moment. You cherish the feeling.

╰➤ Somewhere, not too far away, a celestial body explodes.

╰➤ When she's lifting your shirt off of you, the burgundy color of her duvet being lit by a bright moon shining through her window, that same feeling of your world revitalizing returns.

╰➤ A mix of soft sighs and oh sweetheart and countless cresting follows. Your legs quiver and symphonies sound in your ears while she devours you as if you're her last meal.

╰➤ "Don't stop," you continuously plead, drunk off of the beautiful disaster that such a person could cause.

╰➤ She whispers into your skin, mouthing—kissing—and nipping, with a broken voice, "I won't. I promise."

╰➤ I promise.

╰➤ The headboard cracks. There's laughter, and snack breaks and savory kisses.

╰➤ And when you're lapping into her with unadulterated vehemence, giving her everything that she wants to take, you promise too.

╰➤ You'll promise everyday if she asks you to.

╰➤ You'll promise until your life expires—until the world ends. Until she decides that she doesn't want you anymore.

╰➤ Long gone are the moments of uncertainty; of hesitancy.

╰➤ After the both of you have recovered from chasing such a high, her arm remains draped over your waist, tugging you into her. She mumbles, "Stay," with a vulnerability that has you shaking your head before a beat of silence can pass.

╰➤ "Always."

╰➤ Another explosion emerges; this time larger. A supernova.

╰➤ Your lips press against her throat. She shivers. Her grip tightens. The moon shines brighter.

╰➤ Always.

#au writing #fanfic #arcane au #lesbian #arcane netflix #fluff #sevika #sevika x reader #piscespetals writing #sevika pls marry me #sevika imagine #sevika x y/n #arcane sevika #arcane women #coworkers to friends to lovers #foolish senseless desperate gay pinning #this took me two weeks to edit good grief

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tswwwit · 1 month

Text

Cult Part Four, coming at ya! Here's parts One, Two, and Three for reference.

Bill’s patience is running out.

Dipper can see the way his eye narrows from across the room. His tapping fingers hit a frustrated staccato, rather than an idle bored beat.

Any moment now he’s going to act. There’s no preventing it; only enduring. Dipper hunches down in his seat.

Hopefully it won’t end up as bad as last time.

“Boring!” Bill shouts. He throws his arms in the air before slumping down dramatically on the couch. “Are you really gonna spend all your time reading?”

And there it is.

Dipper watches Bill for a deliberately long moment, then turns back to his book.

Unfortunately, for Bill, yes, that is how Dipper’s going to spend his time. After the last debacle, he knows better than to ‘go with the flow’, as Bill so annoyingly put it.

“I get that you’re quiet for respectable enough reasons, but do you gotta be a homebody while you’re at it?” Bill rolls onto his stomach, chin braced in his palm. “What about all the other entertainment around? Our little outing the other day was way more interesting.” Without looking up, Dipper gives him a thumbs down. And though Bill makes a derisive sound, he doesn’t argue.

That’s as good as admitting Dipper was right. One more day without horrifying demonic escapades in the nightmare realm, and a personal win.

What’s good for the demon… isn’t nearly as good for squishier, more mortal beings. Annoying as it is for Bill, he knows that as well as Dipper does.

Which is likely why he’s not pushing it.

Even he has to admit that the outing didn’t go great. Keeping his human captive alive must be worth a little boredom.

That ‘fun little tour of the Fearamid, to ‘show you around the place!’ was supposed to be easy. As if wandering around a physics-defying realm is a walk in the park. One filled with hundreds of overpowered monsters who think ‘mortal’ is a synonym for ‘snack’.

Even if Bill had advertised it as a trainwreck, it couldn’t possibly have gone more off the rails.

To Bill’s credit, his infinite power did keep the slavering hordes at bay. They were on their best behavior. It’s just that their ‘best’ behavior is barely human-adjacent.

The day ended with Dipper somewhat more informed, miraculously unharmed, and only shaking a little. Getting all the ash and viscera off took three rounds of laundry and two baths.

Bill, of course, laughed nearly the whole time.

So yeah. Dipper’s not going out again anytime soon. Eventually he’ll have to, if he wants to go anywhere but the apartment - but he wants to get way better at magic first.

Unfortunately for Bill, that means waiting. And he hates waiting.

Another long, bored groan from the couch. A quick glance shows Bill practically melting off it onto the floor. Torso dangling, arm draped along the carpet.

More dramatics. Typical Bill. It’s not serious and Dipper doesn’t need to placate him. He has to remember that.

Instead, he stares at the text in front of him. Concentrating on it is a lost cause, but it’s better than meeting Bill’s eye. That just makes him uncomfortable.

It’s just.

Like, he can understand if having a guest sit around the house all the time is a bit boring. Bill’s used to higher stakes. More excitement, and explosions.

But Bill’s also a hypocrite, because Dipper’s absolutely caught him with his nose stuck in a volume or six of dense magical literature. He just shoves them under the couch cushions and pretends he was doing something cooler.

There’s a billion ways Bill could entertain himself, and ninety-nine point nine repeating percent of those options don’t require some random human to be involved. He could run off into any distant realm of reality. Pull some pranks in another galaxy, bamboozle some head of state on a random planet. And if he didn’t want to go out, he could stick around and torment some demons in the Fearamid.

Nothing is making him bring Dipper along for the ride. Hell, if he’s that desperate for this specific company, he could try out some peace and quiet. Sit on the couch, whip out a book, and spend time reading. All he has to do is stop putting up a front for like, five seconds.

Dipper watches as Bill slowly oozes onto the floor, about as liquid as a presumably flesh-and-bone demon shape can be.

Yeah. No way Bill’s going for the last one. But that’s not Dipper’s fault.

Seeing him sulk is kinda reassuring. Any time Bill spends complaining is time he’s not concocting a devious ploy, or taking up his hobbies of conquest or slaughter.

Best of all, it means this has nothing to do with Dipper. Aside from being convenient to complain at.

Because Dipper is special. He’s there for a reason.

In the fullness of time, he’ll be tangled up in some complicated, demonic scheme. Designed for him by fate, and handled by a master of machinations. He’s been waiting for the other shoe to drop for a while - but apparently it’s not happening today.

Right now Bill’s just being obnoxious. Just like every other day that ends in ‘y’.

Judging by his slumped position, Bill also doesn’t look like he’s getting up anytime soon. Maybe…

‘What’s wrong?’ Dipper traces the letters with his finger. A thin glowing line left behind in its wake.

He’s still learning the hand gesture language, with a limited vocabulary, but he already knows how to write. Learning a little illusion magic has been useful, and Bill wasn’t even a jerk about it. Much.

The words hover in midair, alight with white-blue light. Dipper waits for a few seconds, then frowns.

The downside of writing to Bill is that he has to see it to respond. The big sulky demon god is too busy contemplating the pile on the carpet to pay attention.

Dipper’s frown turns into a glare.

A snap of his fingers makes a bright burst of light, sharp as a flashbang. Bill jerks up from his liquid position like he was never out of shape.

“What’s up, sapling?” Bill rolls onto his side to lounge, head propped up on one raised arm. Likely aiming for suave, but with his legs still on the couch it just looks stupid. “Are you as bored as I am?”

“No,” Dipper writes, then again, “What’s wrong?”

“Pfft, nothing! Don't be ridiculous.” Bill says, letting his legs slide down to join him on the floor. “I got everything under control here.”

That’s ominous. Dipper didn’t even imply that something might be out of control.

“What-” Dipper continues. Then hesitates. “You seem antsy.”

Bill snorts. Though Dipper knows he doesn’t have any trouble reading backwards script, he doesn’t offer a reply.

Not helpful. Classic Bill. And he’s avoiding the question. Dipper slumps in his seat.

Trying to make Bill admit there’s a problem won’t work. He could spend a million years on that quest and still get evaded.

With that in mind, Dipper taps his foot on the floor a few times. Redirection, then. He tries, “Who messed up?”

“Ha!” Bill claps once, grin resuming its rightful place. “Astutely observed, sapling. You wouldn’t believe the amount of incompetence I gotta deal with on the daily.”

Dipper nods in sympathy, rolling his eyes when Bill’s not looking. Then he sits back, an audience for the oncoming speech.

“You’d think that one simple request wouldn’t be tough to pull off.” Rising to his feet, Bill tucks his arms behind his back and starts pacing. “But no! Apparently the losers for hire these days take over two weeks to manage one tiny,” He pinches his fingers together. “Itsy bitsy little request! Even with encouragement!”

Dipper raises an eyebrow.

The type of ‘encouragement’ Bill typically offers would light a fire under anyone’s ass. The fact that it hasn’t says a lot.

For a short while, Bill simply paces back and forth. He looks like he’s about to say something, glancing at Dipper - then he turns away, eye narrowed. “I hate waiting.”

Yeah, no kidding. All evidence points to Dipper getting the most patient version of this creature, when others barely get seconds to respond. He punched him in the face and he’s still around to tell the tale.

Other beings aren’t so lucky. Even for minor infractions, or just ‘looking funny’ at him.

Dipper should know. He scraped plenty of their viscera off the other day.

Writing something to placate Bill would get him huffy. Asking a question… Dipper has a sense that he’d deflect. If Bill wanted to go into greater detail, nothing would stop him from spilling the beans.

So instead of any of that, Dipper smiles.

Like always, Bill responds with one of his own. Everything about him brightens, like flipping a switch.

“Eh, whatever. It’s no big deal!” Sauntering over, Bill leans against the back of the chair. His arm dangles down to brush the back of Dipper’s head. “Word is they’re finally done with the job. Should be here any day now!”

Bill’s playing a bit with Dipper’s hair, but he doesn’t come any closer. Not because he doesn’t want to, but because the high back of the chair prevents him.

Tough luck for Bill. This seat is comfy and all, but Dipper really picked it because it made it hard for him to loom.

Disobeying his god’s will is, of course, blasphemous, insolent, and absolutely forbidden.

But Bill doesn’t care. And frankly - Dipper doesn’t care much anymore, either.

Making Bill work for what he wants feels right. Appropriate.

Every time Bill runs right into a roadblock, watching him grumble and scheme his way around it is honestly kinda fun. Giving Bill something to work around seems to entertain him, and for Dipper - it almost feels righteous to thwart him. He’s kind of getting the hang of it. aside from the occasional burst of guilt.

Overall, Dipper’s really, really glad he read all those books.

The mini-library in the guest room has been an amazing resource. Not only for magic, but for the Fearamid, and monsters. It’s helped him brush up on his Latin and learn a bunch of spells.

He also learned that Bill probably didn’t stock these for him. No, these were there well before Dipper ever showed up.

Though Bill tries to hide it, he likes books. The guest room ones wouldn’t be of much interest; the magical material’s too basic for him to care. Of course Bill would have flipped through them anyway, but if anything truly bothered him, he’d have pruned the collection, merely for his pride.

But Bill either didn’t notice - or didn’t care - about the anecdotes.

Sprinkled in those studious texts are dozens of tiny notes. Between every monster examination, or explanation of a complicated magical theory, there are mentions of Bill himself. A sentence scribbled in the margins, or a short paragraph explaining how Bill ‘thought it was stupid’ or ‘helped with this part’. All written with a steady, studious hand.

There’s nothing about Bill’s powers, or his domains. No sense of any weaknesses or strengths. Some anecdotes are a little funny, some a little strange, but for any academic or enemy purposes they’d barely be worth reading.

To Dipper, they’ve been absolutely invaluable.

They speak volumes about Bill’s personality.

That’s totally critical information if you have to deal with the demon himself. Reading between the lines revealed traits Dipper never learned in sermons.

How Bill loves a good joke. How he’s temperamental, but easygoing as long as he thinks he’s in charge. The kinds of things one can get away with, if they’re clever. All of it written with absolute confidence, oozing a type of exasperated affection that leaps off the page.

Someone lived in that room before. A human. A guy who knew Bill, who did tons of fascinating stuff - and that guy got away with way more defiance than is rational or reasonable.

Though that must have been centuries ago. The books are really old.

There’s a low hum behind him. Dipper can feel the chair rock a bit, as Bill either tests its balance - or whether he can rip the back off, in service of more efficient human-bothering.

Another one of Bill’s personality traits. One Dipper could have guessed by himself.

He loves being the center of attention.

“Hmmm,” Bill hums again, stalking around Dipper with a contemplative look. Circling much like sharks are said to, though thankfully without the testing bites. Treating this more like a puzzle than an act of defiance.

Looks like the chair is giving him some trouble. Even though he offered to create the seat since Dipper wouldn’t join him on the couch. If anything he’s at fault for making it an option.

With a huff, Dipper shifts until his back is pressed against the cushion. Bill pauses in his circling to inspect the new position, tilting his head.

Once Dipper saw a video of a tiger in its cage, rolling a pumpkin filled with raw meat. It seemed like it was having a lot of fun, batting it around and biting into the flesh.

Bill might not mind some defiance, if it serves a similar purpose.

Before Dipper can wonder what amount of it fits the - well, bill - he’s interrupted by a foot stomping on the seat.

Dipper claps the book shut. Leaning away, he stares at the leg beside him.

Bill’s taken his shoe off and stepped right onto his chair. His three-eyed monkey-patterned sock, toes wiggling, trying to nudge itself under Dipper’s thigh.

What the hell is this supposed to accomplish? Dipper glares upwards at a bright, bold grin.

“What’s the big deal? It’s my chair, technically speaking!” Bill winks with his single eye, tenuously balanced as he barges into Dipper’s personal space. His foot finds a weak place and slips between Dipper’s thigh and the cushion. “Scoot your cute butt and make some space.”

It’s a big deal because it’s rude, for one. And second, Dipper’s not scooting anywhere.

Drawing his legs up in an attempt to kick Bill’s out fails spectacularly. A whole calf gets wedged underneath him. Bill’s straddling the arm of the chair, his idiot bulky leg nearly shoving Dipper out of it.

Shoving him back just makes him laugh. And work harder.

It’s a tense ten, maybe twenty seconds of squirming struggle. No matter how Dipper tries to use balance or leverage, he ends up with more inches of Bill underneath him.

This is ridiculous. Bill has an entire couch to himself. He can make furniture appear and disappear out of nowhere. If he wants a damn chair, he could just create one.

But. That’s not the point, is it?

He wants Dipper’s seat because he’s not allowed to have it. The desirability is directly tied to the difficulty of obtaining it, with a side of annoying a human to boot. Dipper could be lying on a bed of nails and Bill would still tip him out, just to get his kicks.

He’s not even sitting in the chair at this point, merely hovering while using the arm for balance. Trying to plop back down would land him more on Bill than on cushion.

Screw it. Dipper cedes his position with as much dignity as possible. Standing up tugging the rolled-up flannel sleeves down his arms.

The newest conquest of Bill Cipher: One seat in the living room. Dipper hopes he’s real happy about it.

Funny thing though. In the process, he left his own throne unguarded.

Dipper stalks towards the couch - he doesn’t like the material it’s made of, but it’s either make a point or start huffing off to his own room -

Only to be hauled right back in.

The grip on his hips is firm and fast enough that Dipper doesn’t have time to resist. Butt hits thigh, then gets tugged further back until he’s fully, unquestionably, in Bill’s lap.

He just got out of the chair. Bill had won. What the hell.

Dipper gives him an incredulous look, and Bill responds with a big, self-satisfied smile.

“Well, well, well,” Bill says, dripping smugness so thick that Dipper could wipe it off in globs. “Look what we have here.”

The only reply he’s getting for that is a grunt. While this isn’t the first dumb stunt Bill’s pulled, Dipper knows better than to react. It only eggs him on.

Of all the people Dipper’s met, Bill Cipher is by far the most touchy. The closest runnerup is a few lightyears away.

Even now, his arms loop loosely around Dipper’s waist, patting him on the side. He’s warm and close, in an alive way, not like a warm bed or a shower, or even a seat that was sat in before.

It’s… not unpleasant. Not exactly. Dipper shifts around, trying to settle into his new ‘seat’ on Bill’s thighs. It’s just -

Damn it, he doesn’t know what it is. Touching someone else isn’t bad, Dipper has to admit that - but it makes him too aware of himself. Feeling every way he positions his arms, or moves his weight. Like remembering he can breathe manually, with an extra uneasy sense that someone might catch him in the act.

Bill’s unbothered. But basically nothing bothers him. He’s chummy and touchy and weird, the concept of ‘guilt’ might not even fit in his head.

Something about Bill just... Makes Dipper think too much. Makes him weirdly restless. Like he’s doing something wrong - but also like he’s totally going to get away with it. A tense energy that builds slowly over time, until he either has to escape, or like. Explode or something.

It’s probably Bill’s magic. He should rein that in better. It’s far too strong to dunk an entire human in all the time.

“Ah, ease up already.” Bill says, clapping Dipper’s thigh with a startling motion, squeezing him just above the knee. “You still got a seat, only it’s better.” His voice grows quieter, close to Dipper’s ear. “Don’tcha like it?”

His breath is warm. It tickles. Dipper barely avoids slapping him in the rush to cover his neck.

Which doesn’t bother Bill. In fact, he laughs. Dipper has a sneaking suspicion that even if he had smacked him, he’d be outright cackling, because again, total weirdo.

Across the room, there’s a wordless, agonized scream.

Dipper nearly leaps upright, kept in place only by an instantly tightened grip. Bill snaps towards the sound, looking surprised.

Ah, right. The doorbell.

That goddamn sound. Even when Dipper knows what it is, the temptation to run for cover is as strong as the first time.

“Oh for - “ Bill draws a hand down his face. “Had to be right now, didn’t it.” His leg jogs in place as Dipper tries to get up. “Hey, hey, hold up! Where do you think you’re going?”

Off his lap, duh. With someone at the door, Bill has to get up anyway. Not that he’s making it easy.

Dipper takes the initiative to pry himself away - or attempts to, until Bill clamps back down without even looking at him.

This is getting ridiculous. He can’t hang on to one human forever.

When the doorbell screams again, Bill looks downright sour.

“Ughhh.” Bill groans, standing without warning. It nearly topples Dipper over. “Yeah, yeah, hang on, will ya?”

Giving Dipper a brief pat on the small of his back, Bill stomps over to the door. Another scream rings through the penthouse, then again, the sounds overlapping.

Freedom. Finally. Out of sheer pettiness, Dipper drops down to reclaim his rightful seat.

Still, he’s curious.

From this position he can’t quite see the doorway. Only the sight of Bill’s back, storming towards it.

There haven’t been many visitors. When Bill wants demon interaction, he heads outside the apartment. The only other time someone rang the doorbell, they brought some big weird box Bill grabbed before kicking the delivery guy to the curb.

Yet another interesting fact, filed away in his personal Bill folder. That he gets deliveries. He doesn’t make everything out of nothing. Maybe he can’t.

Which means even in his own personal realm, Bill Cipher isn’t totally omnipotent. Another knock to his all-powerful status. Not a big one. Bill’s still so close to a god that it might as well not make a difference.

But it does. To Dipper, it does. Knowing that not everything bends to Bill’s will feels…

He’s just glad he’s not alone in that, he guesses.

Off in the distance, Bill opens the door. His frown flips right into a smirk - then he steps outside, and shuts it.

Probably another package. He looked extra smug about the last one, like he’d been waiting for it for a while. This follows the last one.

Dipper leans over, staying seated. With the door closed he can’t see anything, and if they’re having a conversation, he can’t hear it.

Secrets. Smugness. The mentions of ‘errands’ earlier, and the waiting -

Bill’s up to something.

The Grand Plans of Bill Cipher are invisible to those outside his circle. His divine machinations are how he leads his followers and manipulates the masses. All eventually leading together into the Grand Goal: the subjugation of Earth, illuminated eternally under his golden image.

Though if conquering a world involves internet delivery, it’s a lot less dramatic than it was made out to be.

Dipper lets his head thump back against the seat cushion.

Not that, then. Something else.

Pretending Bill isn’t up to something would be dumb at best, and Dipper’s not the type to ignore evidence right in front of him. Getting strange deliveries. Rubbing his hands together and cackling to himself, the fact that he’s Bill Cipher - all of it points towards a plan. A poorly hidden, minor one, but still.

None of the scriptures he learned are accurate, according to the god himself - and Bill’s kept mum about any new escapades. Without clues to go on, all Dipper can do is speculate.

Eventually, Bill will show his hand. An offhand comment, or an extra-bizarre set of actions. Until then, he’ll have to keep an eye out for Bill acting weird.

Well. Weirder.

And hope, rather nervously, that he’s not too deeply involved.

Dipper sets the book aside, folding his hands in his lap. He looks back at the door, then over the living room.

The fireplace in front of him crackles with warmth, typical fire-colored flames lapping up into the nonexistent chimney. The flannel shirt he’s wearing is almost too warm, but he keeps it tucked around him anyway. Under his weight, the chair’s cushions sink around him, sturdy yet soft. Rich and opulent and comfortable.

Despite how strange it is here. How confusing, weird, and occasionally frustrating…

Living with Bill doesn’t suck.

The other shoe is going to fall at some point. That unpreventable, oncoming disaster. Dipper’s always worried about it, he never won’t be.

But right here, and right now, he’s…

Not safe. Never safe, not around a god and demon. But maybe close enough to feel that way, sometimes.

Despite the fact that it’s impossible - if things could stay like this, then -

His thoughts are interrupted by a sudden loud slam. Which is. The door. Right.

Dipper pries his nails out of the arms of the chair. He shuts his eyes, and lets out a slow, careful breath. He needs to stop flinching, damn it.

He hears Bill’s cackling laughter rings through the room, loud and bright. Dipper rolls his eyes, leaning back in his seat.

Alright. Time to make some mental notes.

What’s Bill up to now?

If it’s anything like the last package, he’s going to act all mysterious about it, while also implying Dipper should be very curious and intrigued. Then never answer literally any question and giggle before running away. Both stupid and annoying.

“Finally! I’ve waited way too long for this,” Bill says. There’s a package wrapped in brown paper, tucked under his arm. He rubs his hands together, looking Dipper over with anticipation. “Paid a pretty penny for it, too.”

Dipper runs over a slew of options - subtle, hinting. Maybe if he throws in a smile, that’ll sway Bill into spilling a secret….

Fuck it, he’s in a good mood. Dipper just asks. Writing out, “What is that?”

“Oh, you’ll see. You’ll see.” Bill tosses the package aside - it floats in midair - then seizes Dipper by the shoulders. “Get yourself ready, sapling! Cause we’re doing this tonight.”

What.

Dipper tries for a smile. He tries to gesture out ‘My what’, and is immediately thwarted as Bill hauls him up from his seat; he grabs onto Bill’s arms so he’ll stop with the shaking.

Enthusiasm is nice and all, but seriously, what the hell?

The way Bill talks makes it sound like he was in on this. A co-conspirator, who should share his excitement about getting this delivery - Which wouldn’t be too bad, except he has no idea what’s going on.

“Aw, don’t make that face,” Bill tuts, chucking him gently under the chin. “Getting all the junk required was a pain to subcontract, lemme tell ya - but wait’ll you see the results! Your surprise is almost ready!”

A surprise. Just for him. How fantastic.

So much for not being involved.

Dragging his feet doesn’t help; Bill’s arm comes around his waist and pushes him along. If he dawdled any harder he might just be picked up.

Getting Bill’s attention fails, because he’s not looking. Gesturing words, writing them - nothing turns his head. He’s laser focused on dragging Dipper up and towards his fate.

No, not ‘fate’. Surprise.

That could be bad. Really, really bad, or it… could be good. Some surprises are good. That’s within the realm of possibility.

Who the hell is he kidding. It’s never a good surprise, not even once.

Bill hums to himself, bright with energy and - now Dipper’s certain - deliberately ignoring the struggling human in his arms. He’s too busy pulling Dipper towards a doorway. One that wasn’t there a minute ago.

Dipper’s seen this happen before; it’s another part of the penthouse. Leading to a different, unknown part of the Fearamid.

He casts a longing glance back at his chair. Can’t they just do whatever it is in the living room.

“Now, to set the scene-” Bill says, opening the door wide.

Into a dark room, candle-lit. Sconces flicker with fire on the walls, draped red fabric over seats, and at the end - a large, flat mass of stone. Dipper goes very, very still.

“Whoops! Wrong setup.” Bill slams the door shut, flashing a grin at Dipper that entirely fails to be reassuring. He taps the doorknob a couple times. After a moment, he opens it again “Here we go!”

Clutching Bill’s arm tight, nails nearly cutting the fabric - Dipper gets a glimpse of white and black and gold, a bunch of tile - then shuts his eyes and digs in his heels into the carpet. Useless. Pointless. But a small, deliberate act of defiance.

“Not the most dramatic scenery, but eh, whatever.” Bill keeps talking, as casual as if he’d flipped to the wrong photo on his phone. Dipper’s socks skip on the carpet, then slide against the tile as Bill drags him forward. “There’s something to be said for easier clean up!”

Cleanup.

Dipper clenches his mouth shut, ducking his head and refusing to look. He can’t watch this again. Not ever. He’ll-

“Now stay here, sapling.” Bill pats his back twice, and Dipper hears his shoes clacking on tile as he walks away. “Gotta do some quick concocting, be about five minutes - and then we’re gonna have a great evening!”

Great for who, Dipper wants to ask. He wisely doesn’t. He doesn’t move an inch.

This is going to be bad.

Bill leaves, still cackling. Dipper stands where he is, eyes shut. Tucking his arms around himself, even though it isn’t cold.

This entire time, he’s known he was here for a purpose. That living here wasn’t some grand generous gesture, that Bill’s ulterior motive would rear its ugly head. He should have spent more time figuring it out. Learning how to escape it. He has a whole huge list of things and none of them are any goddamn help.

Bill said he was special. Gods don't grant that adjective without implications.

What little information he has gleaned isn’t useful. The last time Dipper asked, Bill just looked amused. Closing the distance between them with a slow, dangerous smile, repeating exactly what he said again, low and pleased.

Dipper had to go and sit in his nice quiet room after that. It made him really nervous. Not knowing what’s coming makes him nervous.

Okay, a lot of things make him nervous, but this time he has very good reasons to feel that way.

Time to think. Get ahead of whatever’s going on, and find a way out. What does Bill want?

It could be he was kidnapped from that particular sect because of… something something magic reasons. Anything could cause it. Maybe something in the ritual. What if whatever it did didn’t just summon Bill, but affected Dipper, now he’s roiling with sacrifice potential, he could -

He grips his wrist, tracing a thumb over the scar.

With the bandages gone and the stitches out, it’s nothing more than a line. Slightly raised from the rest of the skin, pink with healing.

No. Blood’s not the answer. That’s all staying inside.

But it is a major magical component, both literally and symbolically. If something else made Dipper weird, it’d show up like antibodies after an infection.

And Bill brought him into a special place for easy cleanup. If anything’s more ominous, Dipper sure as hell can’t think of it. This place with the shining tiles, and the cold floor, full of -

He hasn’t checked what it’s full of.

Swallowing dryly, Dipper takes in the clean surfaces, the shining tile, and all of the…

Bathtubs?

The one set in the floor is big enough for three people. Two are stuck into the walls, another bent ninety degrees to fit in the corner, and one on the ceiling, of all places. There’s a big, semi-transparent curtain around an alcove containing over eight showerheads. There’s a rubber duckie that has six wings and too many teeth.

This looks like a bathroom. One weird, physics defying, nonsensical - wait a minute -

On impulse, Dipper scoots over and picks up one of the bottles near the multi-headed shower. He sniffs at the cap.

Yeah. He knows this smell. It’s close enough to put a finger on. In that it’s put finger and palm and annoying arm around Dipper, all the freaking time.

He sets the bottle back down, setting fists on his hips. Glaring at his surroundings doesn’t make them change, but it does make him feel better.

This is Bill’s bathroom.

What kind of evil plan takes place in a bathroom.

Freaking out seems less reasonable and more a waste of time. Easy cleanup - was that literal, or another bad joke? Bill would think that crap was funny.

He breathes in, and then lets it out, slow and careful.

Obviously there’s still a purpose. Probably it’s not great.

Terror’s just hard to sustain when he’s wondering why Bill needs four different loofahs. His list of awful fates never involved shower gel.

Dipper shuffles back over to the sink - wishing he’d had shoes on, he nearly slips twice - and checks himself in the mirror.

He looks small and oddly colorful, out of place among the black-white tiling. Standing out like an awkward, human thumb.

Pulling some big, important move here doesn’t seem likely. The aesthetic’s terrible, Bill’d pick somewhere way cooler.

Overall the bathroom is kinda normal - by Bill standards - both fairly humid and warm. The air smells like shampoo and soap, instead of blood and magic.

Now, the altar room would have made sense. Human sacrifice, demonic soul-devouring, messy blood ritual - it’s a multipurpose setup. Getting dragged in there would have shortened Dipper’s list by a ton. Only to the goriest and most awful fates, but at least it would narrow it down.

Unless… this doesn’t have to do with why he was kidnapped.

Dipper frowns at his reflection.

Thinking about it, didn’t Bill suggest getting in the tub with him a few days ago? At the time Dipper thought that was a joke. Unless it wasn’t?

All this happened because Bill got a delivery. Something Bill couldn’t make for himself. He’s been planning this for a while, and he was really, really excited about it.

…Bath bombs better not be literal in this place. That’d be a stupid way to die.

As he stares in the mirror, his reflection looks back. Dipper looks tired, but mostly, kind of exasperated. He sighs, rubbing at his eyes with the heels of both hands.

Yeah. Bill’s being Bill again.

And honestly? Could be worse. Dipper knows how to deal with a few random deific impulses by now. He can ride this one out, too.

Since Bill isn’t back though…

After that first panicked flight into Bill’s bedroom, Dipper hasn’t seen much of his private stuff. Staying clear of another incident took priority. Now, there’s an opportunity to investigate.

A close sweep reveals zero secrets, other than Bill using like, ten different skin products and a stupid amount of hair ones. The sharpest object in the entire place is a bunch of toothpicks and nail products. There isn’t even a razor in here.

In the middle of wondering how to bathe in the Rube Goldberg machine that passes for a shower, he hears the door open again.

“Here we are!” Bill says brightly. “Didja miss me? Admit it, you missed me.”

Dipper spins around with a start, socks skidding, and meets one of the biggest grins he’s ever seen. Which is saying something.

“No time to waste! I’ve got a whole evening laid out for us.” Bill says. He gestures in the air with a thin glass syringe. “And it all starts with this.”

Light glints off an absurdly large needle, thinned to an impossibly sharp point. The glass underneath swirls in a sickening cloud of grey-green fluid, dotted with tiny rainbow sparkles. Actually, the shower might not be good for bathing, but could be a good place to hide. There’s a lot of things to grab onto when someone tries to drag you back out.

“Hey hey hey!” Bill snags him by the waistband before he moves more than an inch. Almost like he anticipated the retreat. “Don’t get your knickers in a twist, kid. This is gonna be great! You’ll love it!”

Dipper shakes his head rapidly. He makes an X with his arms. Neither of which stop Bill from pulling him in with relentless strength and terrible amusement.

Running’s off the table. Squirming away from Bill hasn’t worked literally any time he’s tried it, either - but that’s no reason to quit now. Even with Bill grunting and swearing as limbs flail and sorta-maybe accidentally on purpose get him in the gut, if Dipper can get to a faucet and make everything wet that’ll make it harder to hold-

“Calm down, Pine Tree.” Bill says, then sighs as Dipper’s elbow collides with his chest. “Don’t you want your tongue back?”

He’s got to -

What?

It’s surprising enough that Dipper stops. A little too fast, maybe; he should have toed his socks off earlier. If Bill weren’t holding onto him, his face might have hit the floor.

“Ha! Knew that’d get you listening.” Bill says smugly. With a quick tug, he gets Dipper back on his feet - primps his collar for him, in an annoying way - and winks. “You, me, your tongue - we’ll all get along famously, guaranteed.”

That’s not possible. That’s -

Dipper glares at this asshole for playing yet another game, and not a funny one at that. Bill beams back at him, and doesn’t elaborate.

“What, still a skeptic?” Bill raises an eyebrow. “Hello! I’m Bill friggin’ Cipher. You think a little body horror’s outta my purview?”

Okay, fine, but. But Dipper just figured out that Bill isn’t as much of a bigshot as he claims.

This is - has to be - another big fat stinking lie.

Before he can argue, Bill starts talking again. “See, I’ve been thinking about it for a while now.” Tilting his head back, he looks up at the ceiling like he’s being thoughtful, instead of frustrating. He taps the terrifying syringe against his cheek. “And I figured - Hey! I don’t like fixing other people’s mistakes - but this screwup was too bad to ignore!”

A mistake, he says. A screwup.

Dipper bites his lip. Sure, Bill’s said those things before. But. He’s never even breathed the word ‘fix’.

This is something that he wants Dipper to believe. There’s no basis in reality. To bring this up now, out of absolute nowhere, is cruel and insane. There has to be a complication, it won’t be easy, or -

Possible. It’s not possible.

Dipper wants to slap himself; he grabs his shirt instead, holding it tight in balled fists.

This has been over with for a long, long time now. He screwed up, he got caught, and even if he didn’t deserve it then, well. What’s done is done. He’s learned to live with that. Been there, done all the steps of grief, despair and rage, bought the t-shirt.

Nobody could have stopped it. Nobody would do anything about it then, and won't now. Nobody was ever going to save him, or make things right.

Maybe Bill didn’t order this. Or condone it. It doesn’t matter.

None of that changed how things turned out.

Bill has been watching Dipper for a while. Not in an upset way, just curious. Like he’s reading Dipper’s mind - which he probably is - but hasn’t bothered to correct him. He catches Dipper’s gaze in the mirror and flashes a smile, before his face returns to semi-neutral.

Guess he isn’t going to fess up. That’s fine.

If this is Bill’s idiotic plan, getting Dipper worked up, he might as well know what the cruel, senseless motivation is. Or make it look as dumb as it clearly is.

Time to pick this ploy apart.

Unfortunately, that brief moment of hesitation bought Bill enough time to get behind him. His stupid face is so smug in the mirror’s reflection, and his palm is warm on Dipper’s waist.

Dipper grimaces, hunching his shoulders. He can’t let himself be swayed. Not to this insanity.

Some things just have to be cut off.

“It won’t work.” He writes.

“Bullshit.” Bill says flatly. He taps Dipper’s shoulder, slight irritation in his voice. “I didn’t put in this much effort and that much cash to make a friggin’ placebo.” A quick, semi-gentle shake. “You think I don’t know what I’m doing? That I’m some run-of-the-mill sucker? I deserve more credit than that!”

And - yes, hard to argue with. For all of Bill’s many flaws, he’s not truly stupid.

Still a liar, though. A fact proven over and over again. That he’s persisting with this one shows real commitment to the bit. This awful, prank that he’s -

…pretty damn excited about it. Practically bursting with enthusiasm, bright and eager to move on with things. Like regrowing a body part is like running a quick, exciting errand. Like it’d be simple. Dipper wonders if it is, before glaring in the mirror again.

It’s the confidence. Bill always acts like could stride forward into any situation, and no matter what, the forces of his magic and his ego will come out on top. He’s so certain of himself it’s downright convincing.

Damn it. Dipper rubs at his eyes.

Overthinking, again. Leading him to the train of thought Bill wanted him to take. Now he’s finding it hard to derail.

And - and besides, even if Bill could do it, he would have earlier, wouldn’t he? Would have fixed things as soon as he knew. He waited with bated breath to hear Dipper speak, that expectant look started from day one. Spoken at length about how much he hates the tongue situation, too. It’s like it bothers him more than Dipper at this point, which is so weird that it almost loops back around to make sense. He would have used anything he had on hand -

Dipper looks up. His own face in the mirror stares back at him, wide-eyed.

Unless he didn’t have it on hand.

The packages.

Another glance at Bill’s face shows the same expression, maybe a little more intrigued. It might even pass for reassuring, if he wasn’t holding a needle sized more for puncturing cat-sized butterflies than any medical procedure.

Bill can’t do everything. Only mostly everything. Dipper’s seen that firsthand.

And when he does have everything he needs for a plan, he snatches the first possible opportunity to pull it off.

It’s -

Dipper can’t. He needs more information.

‘What’s in that’, He writes the words in the air. Legible, if shaky.

“Eh, you got your hydra plasma, some troll platelets, unicorn spit,” Bill casually lists off the ingredients with practiced ease, flicking the side of the syringe. “Some stuff of my own design - and a few drops of your blood.”

His - Dipper pats himself, checking his arms, his torso. Nothing hurts, and he hasn’t noticed new scabs. Surely he would have seen Bill coming over to -

Another snort. “Uh, hello? You left plenty around the place when I stitched you up, kid. It was hardly in short supply.”

Another bit of truth; it did kinda go everywhere. And Bill would save some, like a creep.

Dipper rubs at his wrist, reminding himself that it’s absurd to be embarrassed about getting an arm slashed open.

“I get why you’re not jazzed, kid. Not a fan of mouth stuff after your last big show, am I right?” Bill moves to sling an arm around his shoulders, missing as Dipper ducks and slides closer to the sink. He holds his arm out wide instead. “But think about the benefits! Don’tcha wanna talk again? Taste again? All the other stuff?”

Yeah, of course Dipper does. He’s thought about it over and over and over.

He remembers what it was like. Moving around. Talking. How food tasted better, in that he could taste something without it nearly being in the back of his throat. All those aching nights feeling a deep literal emptiness, clamping his teeth shut as if it’d make the yawning gape feel more complete.

Staying awake, with a burn he couldn’t swallow and a pain that wouldn’t stop.

He was up night after night after night, hanging with those thoughts. Hoping for something entirely out of reach.

Eventually it was easier to stop thinking about it.

When he dreams, he still has his tongue.

“After all this time, you got the solution right here! In a solution, conveniently invented by yours truly.” Bill claps a hand to his chest, grinning from behind Dipper in the mirror. “Give it a shot! Literally!”

The ceramic of the sink is cold. Dipper’s holding onto it too hard, his knuckles are starting to hurt.

He’s so tired of hurting.

“Or, y’know. Stick with the super happy situation you have going on right now.” Bill makes a face, sticking out his own tongue before blowing a raspberry. He lowers the syringe. “Your choice.”

Before Bill’s arm can fully fall, Dipper seizes him by the wrist. He doesn’t know when he moved, fast enough that even Bill looks surprised.

Gotta calm down. Think about this rationally.

There's an all-powerful demon. A smart, conniving asshole, who spent time and effort on a completely crazy plan in this unearthly, magical realm. Carrying an evil implement of unknown origins, wanting to stick it right into his face.

Because he’s been planning this. He played the long game. Bill’s been wanting to hear from him for ages, and he’s anything but stupid.

If there was ever a place this could work, it would be here.

Despite everything. The position he’s in, the man standing behind him, and his own internal swearing at himself -

Dipper feels a flutter of long-extinguished hope.

A million things could go wrong with this. As far as he knows, he might have like, his head exploded instead of a good result. He could grow five tongues instead of one, or maybe it’ll come out rainbow colored or everything will taste like blood forever. He shouldn’t go along with this. It’s going to suck and be dumb and there’s no real guarantees.

Also, that needle is fucking terrifying. Another reason not to let Bill do whatever he wants.

Dipper shuts his eyes briefly, then writes, ‘Will it hurt?’

“Yep!”

The expression on Dipper’s face must alert him to how bad that answer was, because for a brief moment Bill looks chagrined. He glances away, clearing his throat.

“Look. We’re talking about a piece of flesh smaller than a pack of playing cards.” Pinching his fingers together, Bill squints through the gap. “So what if it’s not a great time? It’ll take like twenty seconds! A minute, tops.”

In the mirror, Dipper watches his reflection’s shoulders drop just a bit. He breathes out through his nose, and rolls his eyes.

That… really shouldn’t be reassuring.

Only it is, because Bill didn’t sugarcoat it.

He could have claimed it was a totally painless process, or tried to deflect and change the subject. Which would set off Dipper’s bullshit alarm pretty much instantly. Leaving him to wonder exactly how bad this would be.

As it stands, Dipper’s betting that ‘not a great time’ actually means ‘will horribly, horribly suck’. And it’s still better than being lied to.

Another question. “And then what?”

“Then the fun starts, kid! I got a lot of ideas for activities, once you got the ol’ wiggler back in your yap.”

Not what he was asking; Dipper elbows him none-too-gently in the stomach.

“Yeah, yeah,” Bill grumbles a bit, then sighs. “Yes, it’s gonna hurt, you’re gotta shed some scar tissue,” He lifts a few fingers with each point, “Lotta bleeding and liquids and whatever. But super simple! Don’t chicken out now!”

A minute of agony. That’s it. Straightforward. Temporary. Super easy.

Dipper’s palm slips on the sink; he wipes his sweating hands on his pants. He’s standing on the floor but he has to grab the sink again to stave off a swelling sense of vertigo.

If it’s as quick as Bill says, he can handle that, maybe. If it works.

It better work.

“Remember, Pine Tree! All the benefits! Like talking! Midnight snacks!” Bill chimes in, sounding too much like a used car salesman to be truly convincing. “Attempting to stick it up your nose, getting it stuck to a lamppost in winter, making out with handsome immortals! Everything you’ve been missing out on.”

Dipper knows all of those, or - most of them. Bill doesn’t need to tempt him, he gets it already.

He just. Needs a minute. To think some more about the implications and all the details and such. A little more time and he’ll have his head on straight.

“We might even take a trip to your old cult.” The thump of a hand on Dipper’s shoulder has him tense, briefly, before relaxing again. “Dontcha wanna let ‘em know exactly how dumb that move was?” His voice lowers, quieter but closer. “Imagine the looks on their faces when you tell ‘em - out loud! - that they could never hold you back.“

Dipper looks up.

Of all the scenarios he’d dreamed about, that had never entered the picture. Too impossible even for a daydream. Stupid and self-indulgent and insane. Only a madman would think of it.

In the mirror, Bill’s eye has gone very bright. Leaning over Dipper, and muttering right into his ear.

Dipper writes, “Do it.”

“Finally!” Bill lets out a breath, a tension dropping that Dipper didn’t notice until it was gone. He beckons him in. “Alright. Show me the ol’ lingual stump there, sapling.”

In the second Dipper needs to parse that, Bill’s already turned him around. With a bright grin, he makes an odd gesture at his chin; it takes a second to get.

Right. For Bill to stick that huge thing in there, Dipper has to open his mouth.

A simple motion. Dipper can manage. The first thing to do is stop clenching his teeth together.

With effort, and a bit of struggle, Dipper lowers his jaw and tilts his head back. Bill takes hold of it, and Dipper deliberately doesn’t go tense. Watching the syringe lift into his vision, as shining bright as the grin on Bill’s face.

He shuts his eyes tight. He might have to feel it, but Bill can’t make him watch.

As Bill gets into position, he keeps up a tuneless cheerful hum. Dipper tries his best not to picture it. The way Bill’s probably loving the entire situation, even when this is gonna suck.

“You’re gonna feel a little pinch here.” Bill says, peppy as ever, and something stabs into the stump of his tongue.

On instinct Dipper tries to jerk his head away, but struggling against the grip Bill has on him - fuck, moving only makes it hurt more. And that awful groaning sound, he realizes, is him. Strangled and inhuman, ringing against the tile and in his own ears.

Fighting - not this time. He has to let this happen, let it -

A moment later his teeth clink on thin metal, and he realizes with a start that the needle was probably that long so he wouldn’t bite Bill’s fingers off.

“There we go!” Bill sounds delighted. The needle slips back out, almost nonchalantly, as he hums a little tune to himself. “Great job, sapling. Not much left now!”

Dipper blinks rapidly; his vision’s gone blurry and he tries to clear his throat.Thank fuck, the first part’s over with.

The rest better not be too long. Better not hurt much more. The back of his mouth feels like he’s been stung by a bee, a hot and growing ache. Touching the underside of his jaw with cool fingers helps for a brief moment, but it’s only cool on the outside.

And it spreads. Fast. Down his neck. Up into his jaw. A stinging heat, rising and expanding.

Dipper clamps his jaw shut, teeth grinding, but the pressure’s barely a distraction. This - he grabs onto Bill’s arm, shaking it hard.

“What?” Bill looks nonplussed. He tilts his head to the side. “I toldja it would hurt!”

Yeah, but he could have been more descriptive.

More pressure helps; a hand on his throat, one over his mouth. The burn builds, like bile rising in his throat, like acid. Like he swallowed fire, spreading down his throat and up into his face and nose; his eyes start watering.

Throat bobbing, trying to swallow, Dipper wants to make a sound, but doesn’t dare. Not when things are moving in his mouth with increasing wetness, thick and metallic, just like - god, he’s such an idiot. He knew he shouldn’t have trusted him, never should have let him touch him, ever or at all, not if this was the result.

“Don’t hold it in, kid!” Bill says brightly, adding a light smack on the back of his head that sends him leaning over the sink. “See? Not so bad, is it?”

It’s so, so bad. Like his head is going to explode, like his throat will shut; it’s hard to breathe. The throb redoubles, then triples, mouth so full his cheeks are going to split open, why does Bill sound so calm.

Leaning over was a good idea though.

Dipper opens up over the clean white porcelain, blood pouring out of his mouth. More than he thought could come out, even after the last time. A sick flood partly mingled with clear fluid, spiraling into a pink swirl in the basin.

Which. Does help with the pain. The disgusting torrent washes away the ache, even as it makes a miniature murder scene in the sink. Dipper’s whole head feels like it’s bursting, his nose is running, he spits and gags, and a thick chunk of grey-red fleshy gunk splats into the basin.

He spits again - his jaw throbs with pain, but there’s less liquid this time. A couple more times and it’s dry. His head feels clearer, more headache than fire - and says “What the fuck.”

Then he jerks his head up, staring at his reflection.

What he just heard. That wasn’t Bill.

The Dipper in the mirror stares back at him, wide-eyed and pale in the face. Chin wet with blood and unknowable fluids, some dripping on his shirt.

Behind him Bill stares in starry-eyed, open-mouthed delight.

“What the fuck,” Dipper repeats, watching his mouth move in the mirror - and claps his hands over it. Bill claps his hands rapidly, like a huge, yellow, demonic seal.

Dipper said that.

His voice. Strangely deeper than he remembers, resonating in his own head.

The pain is fading, fairly quickly. A thin sweat is cooling on his skin. Pulling his sleeve over his chin only gets about half the mess off. As the pain fades he’s aware that his whole face feels gross.

In the first actually helpful move of the evening, Bill turns the sink on for him.

Splashing his face with warm water feels good. Refreshing. Especially scrubbing away the slick mucus and sticky blood. He has to spit again a couple of times; the inside of his mouth feels so thick.

Then he feels a heavy clap on his back, one that drifts up to tousle his hair. Bill starts laughing. “Ha! Toldja it wouldn’t be so bad, kid. How ya feeling?”

What a question. How to answer.

There’s simply too much feeling. His mouth is full. Like he put too much food in there, but it’s not - not bad? Weirdly wet and taking up so much space. Like… a really new big finger he can wiggle around. Touching it to every single tooth in his mouth, and tapping it against the roof, and feeling - no, tasting - a strange, metallic tang that makes him want to spit again.

Was Dipper’s mouth always this wet? He thinks he needs to brush his teeth. There’s ridges and bumps and - he winces as he bites down a little too hard.

Strange yet familiar sensations. Feeling and touching and tasting. Not a distant memory that he focused on too hard. Not a dream.

In disbelief, Dipper sticks his tongue out.

The air is cool and tastes like nothing, aside from the bizarre feeling of his tongue drying out. There’s no extra tentacles, no visible scars. He only sprouted one rather than seven, and it’s not forked or some bizarre color. Just pink and damp and round.

Hell, there’s even the birthmark, just like before. Like it was never missing.

Tentatively, he presses a finger against the surface - yep, that’s real. Also, he can taste himself touching it. Which isn’t bad, but is super weird.

“Huh.” Bill says. Soft, almost surprised.

Dipper glances up in the mirror. There’s a weirdly contemplative look on Bill’s face, which blossoms moments later into a grin.

“So that’s where that was!” Bill says. A second finger joins Dipper’s, touching the mark. “Pretty cute!”

Dipper’s tongue zips back inside at the first tap. He claps a hand over his mouth, glaring back at Bill.

Welp, now he knows what ‘god’ tastes like. It’s skin, with a hint of soap. At least Bill washed his hands first.

The move was also annoying enough that he almost forgot that truly out-of-nowhere comment. Almost.

Dipper narrows his eyes, and asks, “Where what was?”

Okay. Just kinda blurted that one out.

He touches his throat, rubbing his palm against the soft flesh. Then his mouth, pressing fingers on his lips.

Three more words. He’s speaking words.

Flexing a muscle he hasn’t had in ages comes with fewer issues than he’d imagined. His voice is a little creaky, but his tongue moves just fine. One relief there; he’d worried he’d need to learn everything again.

“Eh, it’s nothing.” Bill lies. With a flourish, he pulls Dipper around so they’re face to face. “Now, what about you?”

Dipper opens his mouth again. Then he catches Bill’s expression, and shuts it.

Of all the smiles he’s seen on Bill’s face - angry, smug, arrogant, amused, excited - none of the others compare.

This one seems genuine.

“Ahem.” Bill clears his throat. “So! Any first words for your very handsome host and healer, here?” His single eye flutters, like he’s trying a coquettish bat. “Maybe a thank you? A ‘you’re so great’?”

There’s the expectant look again.

One of the first things Dipper learned about Bill Cipher - he wanted Dipper to talk to him. An insane request for an unknowable reason, from an equally insane and unknowable being. So far they’ve made due with other methods, communication has improved, but at the end of the day -

Bill really wanted this. A lot.

Now what the hell should Dipper say?

He rolls his tongue around, trying out silent syllables without opening his mouth. The words came so easily when he wasn’t thinking; now they’re all scrambled around in his head.

The first thing he says should mean something. Be important. They should be - not devoted, Bill hates that. It should -

No, wait. He knows the answer.

Dipper turns around, bracing himself on the sink.

When he smiles, it’s not because Bill expects it, or because he thinks he should. Just because he wants to.

“Hi, Bill.”

And Bill bursts out laughing, high and delighted.

“Ha ha ha!” With startling swiftness he scoops Dipper up, raising high and swinging him in a circle. Dipper grabs at his arms, his heel clips the sink as they twirl. “Finally!”

Two disorienting turns later, Dipper hits the floor again, only for Bill pulls him into a tight, unmistakable hug.

Dipper goes still for a moment, squished by strong arms - then fumbles, awkwardly, to pat Bill’s back in return. That’s what people in hugs do, right.

Normal people probably don’t get squeezed like someone’s trying to pop them, though. A few seconds in he thumps Bill on the back, until the jerk finally remembers mortals aren’t so durable.

“Nice to hear from you again, kid! Not much flair to your intro, but we can work on style later.” Bill holds him out at arm’s length, looking him up and down. “So! Now that you’ve got your tongue back, whaddya say we give that thing a workout?”

For a split second, Dipper wonders how tiny a barbell that would take, and how it would even work, before remembering that’s insane. Those aren’t a real thing.

Then he remembers that he’s hanging out with Bill Cipher, so. Hopefully it’s a very small barbell.

Before he can ask or write the question, though, Bill seizes his wrist again. Dipper shakes his arm - no good, as always. Still worth doing.

Surprisingly, Bill snorts - then lowers his grip, taking Dipper’s hand instead. He squeezes that once, because everything’s a stress ball to him, then goes right back to dragging Dipper around like a toy wagon.

Matching his pace this time, Dipper follows in his wake. They leave the bathroom quickly, fading into a long, elegant hallway.

Glancing around the place - opulent, check, grandiose, obviously - Dipper looks down at their joined hands and frowns.

So much for getting any context. Bill’s just. Going to do the physically impossible, celebrate it, then move right onto the next thing. Without looping Dipper in on any part.

As Bill reaches his target - another door, big and fancy and frankly tiring in how much Bill’s clearly showing off - Dipper grips his hand tighter.

No, wait. If he remembers right, this time there was a clue.

Earlier, Bill said there was a surprise for him. The tongue had to be that, but then… there was an entire evening he wanted to get to. A series of events, perhaps. Knowing Bill, each one’s more bizarre and frightening than the last.

“Hey!” Bill snaps his fingers, and tugs Dipper’s hand. He’s backing into the new room, grin alight as he spreads his arm wide. “Get outta your head and in here already.”

Shrugging, Dipper follows him in. After the last ‘surprise’, nothing’s going to catch him off guard. He doubts it’ll be as out of nowhere, or as bloody. Bill’s set a pretty high bar.

This time, the room is… Dipper pauses.

Dining room. Big table, the super long kind from medieval times, fancy tablecloth and chairs and heaped upon it, so much food.

Taking his tongue out didn’t ruin his other senses; it smells fantastic in here. The spread is lavish and vast, piled way too high for any two people to possibly finish. Like everything Bill has, it’s over-the-top and way too grand.

Dipper feels a sharp pang in his chest as he remembers he won’t be able to -

Wait, no. Not anymore.

He rolls his tongue around in his mouth - still weird - and swallows. He rubs at his throat, and glances, carefully, at Bill.

That gets a smile, and a fairly smug wink. Bill clicks his tongue twice, gesturing him over to the table.

Things click into place. Exercise. An evening plan.

Bill set this up for the express purpose of using his tongue on stuff, which is, mostly, duh, eating.

As Dipper hesitates, Bill rolls his eye. “What’s with the holdup? You’ve got a major sensory organ back!” He nudges Dipper forward to the table. Pulling out a chair, he gestures with a flourish for him to sit. “Why not enjoy it?

Refusing would be rude, Dipper guesses. He takes the offered seat, then braces himself on the table as Bill pushes the chair in, patting his shoulders.

A moment later Bill’s taken his own seat right next to him, looking pleased. “Whatd’ya think of the spread? ” He waves over the table, nearly knocking over a candlestick in the process. “Anything catch your eye?”

It’d be easier to list what doesn’t. There’s too much.

Dipper’s only read about half of these dishes, and there’s a solid quarter he’s never even heard about. Bowls of noodles and a whole roast something that he can’t identify; platters of pasta and fried tidbits, a whole board full of cheeses, green vegetables piled high -

His mouth is watering. Like, a lot. A strange sensation, though not unpleasant.

“Go on! All yours, sapling.” Bill scoots his chair a little closer, grinning wide. “Have anything you want.”

How does he manage to make an invitation sound ominous? Dipper side-eyes him as he slowly picks up a fork.

What to choose. What will Bill let him have. To start with he’ll go for something simple; nothing that would be funny to yank out of his hand.

Now to just… narrow down the dozens of dishes into ones he can identify and probably aren’t poisoned.

Bill watches him fret for about thirty seconds, heaving a huge sigh. He plucks something up with his fork - some kind of noodle in green sauce - and tries to shove it right in Dipper’s mouth.

His jab takes out an eye instead of hitting the target as Dipper flinches. Some sauce smears on his cheek, Bill makes another stab at it. Before he can do any damage, Dipper seizes the fork out of his hand.

Alright, jeez, he gets the hint already. Being cautious is the smart thing to do here.

And what is this.

Pasta, obviously, though it’s a weird noodle shape. A green sauce when it should be red. It was handed to him by a crazy demon. Multiple reasons not to put it in his mouth.

But it looks pretty good, and it smells pretty great. Kind of herbal and rich, and - actually, Dipper’s really hungry, now that he’s thinking about it.

Fuck it. If he was going to get in trouble, it’d probably be that one time he punched Bill in the face, not for eating food he was nearly forcefed.

Here goes nothing.

Dipper opens his mouth, trying to ignore Bill staring. Carefully guiding the food past his lips.

And with a thump, he sets the fork down. Shutting his eyes, and letting out a closed-mouth groan.

Oh fuck.

It’s great.

The flavor alone has him reeling back like he’s been punched, filling his whole head with taste and smell. The sauce is creamy and rich, both herbal and slightly sweet, while the pasta tastes bready and not at all like sad cardboard. He can even taste the cheese on top, savory and sharp. Nothing like a microwaved plastic plate of mush. Something real, and filling, hot and fresh. Something substantial.

And chewing. He’d almost forgotten chewing like this. The simple sensation of a noodle, firm but yielding between his teeth, makes him have to blink rapidly to clear his eyes.

No more tilting his head, no dry mouth. He can swallow with absolutely zero effort. At no point does he have to struggle to get it down, it just happens, without ever feeling like he’s going to choke.

Dipper takes another forkful. Then another, pulling the bowl towards himself without bothering to put it on his plate. Bill looks on, with that same eternal smile, but whatever. He’s not the most important thing in the room.

Eating, so painlessly, effortlessly simple. He’d almost forgotten what this was like.

Forget everything else Bill has done, for a moment. Ignore the way he’s staring like a creep. Right now, Dipper could kiss the ground Bill walks on. Maybe even his cheek.

Giving Dipper this back is the only thing Bill’s ever done worth worshiping.

Eventually Bill drags the pasta away, tutting about Dipper being ‘unadventurous’ and ‘boring’. Whatever, there’s a lot more to try. More to investigate.

“How’s the grub, kid? Good?”

Dipper glances at his plate - piled high with nearly a dozen things - then raises an eyebrow. Bill raises one right back.

Oh right. Words.

Swallowing, Dipper says, “It’s. Really good.” Then, uh, he should probably add. “Thanks.”

“No problem at all. In fact, my pleasure!.” Bill leans an elbow on the table, resting his chin in his hand. He pokes him in the ribs; it tickles a little. “You gotta put more meat on those bones, anyway.”

With a shrug, Dipper tentatively takes another serving of the green pasta. Currently it sits at number one on his list, but the rankings have been changing rapidly with each taste test.

Bill’s also making odd comments, as is his wont. Sure, Dipper guesses he could stand to be a little less scrawny, though it’s not like he’s meatless. All humans are made of -

Now there’s an unpleasant thought.

“Wait, is, uh.” Dipper carefully sets his fork down, bracing his palms against the table. If he has to make a quick escape, it’ll give him leverage to shove off. “Is any of this. People?”

“Nah! Human flesh is really more for show than for taste, unless you’re an obligate anthropophage.” Bill snorts, waving off that thought. “You guys’re kinda stringy and bitter. That’s novelty food.”

Then he pauses. His eye narrows, he starts looking thoughtful.

Before he can open his mouth, Dipper interrupts. “No, that’s fine. I really don’t want any. Thanks.”

“Eh, suit yourself.” Shrugging, Bill settles back in his seat. He plucks a couple of mozzarella sticks off a platter and pops them into his mouth. “Like I shaid, y’re not mishing muh.” Wow, he has terrible table manners.

Another ‘horrible fate’ crossed out on the list: Bill isn’t fattening him up to eat him.

Dipper didn’t think it was a likely option, but it never hurts to be sure. And with that out of the way…

Eating is so much better now. He has a lot of things to taste.

During his search, Bill’s eager to offer suggestions. A slice of rich dark meat, a sampling of something sticky but savory that goes well on it. A smattering of vegetables, a mozzarella stick or three. He even insists Dipper take a bite of some white meat pried out of the shell of a huge red bug. Deflecting his offer fails miserably, so thankfully it does end up tasting good. Though Dipper thinks that the dipping butter’s doing a lot of the heavy lifting.

Between the spread on the table, and Bill’s infinite creativity, there are infinite possibilities - and only one limit. His stomach.

When Bill tries to push another crepe on his plate, he waves it off. He leans back in his chair, breathing slowly.

Good news is, he learned a lot about a variety of foods. He’s full and content. Bad news is, he really, really can’t take another bite or he might be sick.

As far as Bill Plans go, this one’s hardly the worst. Even Dipper has to admit this was a good idea.

“Wait wait wait. One last thing,” Bill interrupts. He holds up a few fingers, turning away as he rifles through a small box. through something with a bunch of frilly paper. Once he finds what he’s looking for, he turns around with a flourish. “Can’t have dinner without dessert.”

Dipper nearly waves him off again- then does a double-take. Is that -

The small circle in Bill’s fingers is definitely chocolate, and Dipper’s only had that like, twice. Ever. Full or not, he can make room for this.

His first grab at it misses; Bill dodges easily and wags the treat with a mocking smile. “Ah ah ah, not so fast! Lemme do the honors.” He brings it close to Dipper’s mouth, eyebrows wiggling. “Open up.”

Dipper tightens his lips, narrowing his eyes in suspicion. Then looking from the chocolate, back to Bill. The smugness of his grin does not waver.

Normally Dipper would skip this entirely, rather than let Bill go ahead with this shady-seeming move. Unfortunately, the box is behind Bill’s elbow; he can’t just make a grab for the others.

So with a sigh, and a bit of a shrug, Dipper opens his mouth and lets Bill push the treat in. Reminding himself that Bill literally just fixed it, he won’t ruin it now.

The moment the chocolate hits Dipper’s tongue he knows he made exactly the right choice.

Reach and sweet, just as good as he remembered. No, better. Smooth and not too cloying, as it warms and melts it fills his whole mouth. An involuntary groan comes out of his throat as it vanishes, gone all too soon - but some of it has melted on Bill’s fingers too. Dipper flicks his tongue out to catch the last of it, warm and sweet.

A sharp intake of breath. Dipper blinks his eyes open.

Bill’s staring at him, very close. He must have scooted his chair over, they’re almost touching.

“Pretty great, right?” Bill says. His thumb brushing Dipper’s chin, tongue flickering out over his own lips. “How ‘bout you let me have a little taste.”

“Uh.” Dipper licks at his teeth, nose scrunching up as he frowns. “I already ate it?” He glances over at the box, tilting his head to get Bill’s face out of his vision. “But, uh. There are more over there.”

Bill blinks twice. His lips tuck in, mouth in a flat line. The box on the dinner table must have slipped his notice somehow, because he turns to stare at it with a narrowed eye.

“Hm. Mhmh.” A grunt, his eye twitches - then the grin slides back into its rightful place. “So there are!”

With one snake-fast motion, Bill snatches a ball from the crinkly paper. He jams it into his mouth and bites down hard with too-sharp teeth. Chocolate splinters from the force, scattering on the table.

Ignoring the atrocious table manners beside him - Dipper leans back in his seat. He’s never had a meal like this before; Bill really went all out this time.

A second later, he yawns. It takes a few shakes and some blinking to clear his head.

Eating too much has side effects, he guesses. Part of him wonders - but no, if Bill wanted to drug him, he’d be passed out at the table. “Looks like you’ve had enough kid. Now up you get,” Bill says out of nowhere. An instantly later he’s pulling Dipper up hands under his arms. “Can’t just pass out at the dinner table when the night’s hardly started!”

Wait, this wasn’t it? He’s got more planned? What the hell else could there be?

As Bill surges forward, Dipper just manages to step away before he’s bodily picked up. He brushes off his shirt as Bill blows a disappointed raspberry behind him.

“Fine, fine. Use your legs if you gotta!” Bill scoffs, as he slides a guiding arm around his waist. “Get ‘em moving, then, ‘cause we’ve got at least one other stop tonight.”

He’s always fast. Always rushing. Always dragging Dipper out of one situation and towards another door. This could be his whole life, it seems; always another mysterious room, another terrifying situation, all with a jerk who doesn’t explain anything.

Keeping up with Bill is easy once Dipper’s expecting it, but he casts a worried glance back at the dining room.

Leaving all that food there seems like such a waste. Then again, it is god-demon realm and all. For all he knows it could remain there in stasis, awaiting the next visit. Or just evaporate into nothing now that they’re done, which is even more of a waste.

Rethinking it, though - Bill did say he could have all he wanted. Encouraged him to indulge himself.

Maybe his full stomach is making him too optimistic, but he thinks some might ‘magically’ end up in his kitchen later.

Or it’ll vanish completely because Bill and conserving go together like oil and water. Better not get his hopes up.

Whatever their next step is, Bill seems pretty cheerful about it. He’s even humming a tune to himself, one that Dipper can’t place. Refraining from giving Dipper any helpful information, per usual.

Bill loves secrets. Mysteries. Keeping the events of the evening must amuse the hell out of him what with making it all seem intimidating, and ominous.

Unfortunately for Bill, his secrecy has some holes in it. A pattern has been building in their night. Two data points, both leading to…

Not a certainly positive third. Nothing’s certain. But it is trending in that direction.

Besides, if Dipper had to guess, the next one’s not the bad one. The theoretical fourth event is where Bill will pull the rug out from under him. Breaking a fully established pattern, right when he has his human lulled into complacence, is much more dramatic.

Before that happens, Dipper will cut things short.

The guiding arm steers him around a corner, through a series of doors, leading into…

The living room again.

Dipper gives it a quick once-over. Same furniture, same lighting, same obnoxious company. He’s been steered around a mobius strip leading back to the original spot.

“Pfft, what’s with the look? Relax!” Bill says, and shoves him onto the couch.

Dipper nearly jumps off of it; this not his favorite furniture material. Bill pushes him down again, grinning like it’s a game of ping-pong rather than a guy not wanting to sit on furniture that’s slightly cannibalistic and could lick him at any time. Another attempt fails; Dipper’s palms sink into soft fabric, there’s not enough leverage to -

He stops. Patting once, then twice. Looking down at his seat with mild surprise.

Okay, there’s one difference. This couch isn’t made of human skin.

A weird, but rather welcome change. Getting up at this point feels like too much effort, so he slumps into the seat.

The new couch, fabric and all, sinks easily under his weight. Soft enough to mold around his body, like it’s eager to absorb him. For a moment he worries it might, until Bill flops down right beside him.

“There’s only one way to follow up dinner with company. The classic human scene for this kinda thing, one might say!” says Bill, clapping his hands together. “First - setting the mood.”

A quick snap of his fingers, and the firelight dims. So do all the lights in the room.

“And second -” Bill grins, like he’s being very clever, and says, “Pick your poison, Pine Tree.”

Wait - they already ate, what is -

At Dipper’s startled face, Bill rolls his eye, and holds up a finger. His face scrunches up as he leans forward, fishing around in the couch cushions.

A second later, Dipper gets a remote chucked into his lap.

“You didn’t get a lot of shows back in the ol’ cult digs, am I right?” Bill jabs his thumb at the opposite wall - and the TV that’s appeared in the last five seconds. “No time like the present to start getting caught up!”

Secular media causes degradation of the spirit. Outside influences are absolutely forbidden. The only way to get access would be by sneaking around, or sticking one’s nose where they shouldn’t.

Dipper’s seen several shows, and he got them by himself, not through the cult’s terrible black market selection. Calling himself an expert would be an exaggeration, but he’s been around the block before.

And honestly, getting back into that sounds great. Ten or so TV shows can’t compare to the likely hundreds that are out there; people must never run out of stuff to watch.

Plus, Bill will have demon media, too. Finding out what that’s like could be downright fun.

Two minutes into channel surfing, Dipper has to admit he’s out of his depth. How much of it is missing out on a normal person’s experience and how much is Nightmare Realm stuff is hard to tell. Except for the obviously demonic shows, none of these seem familiar.

There’s literally a million freaking channels. Picking any one is impossible.

Meanwhile, Bill offers quick, one-word comments about how one’s ‘boring!’ another ‘meh’, a third ‘wow, that one?’, and a fourth ‘ooh, body horror!’ - Dipper flips quickly through the next twenty channels, hoping he won’t decide for them.

At one point Bill tries hitting the opposite channel button so they flip back through the same two things for over a minute, until Dipper finally wrestles the damn remote away. If he ‘accidentally’ kicks Bill in the leg, either Bill doesn’t notice, or does a good job of pretending he didn’t. Either way, he’s laughing the whole time.

Eventually they settle on a demonic movie, something that Bill casually mentioned was ‘alright’, with an askance look at Dipper. Applying Bill-knowledge to that look - Dipper interprets it as him, wanting to watch it. With a side of ‘can’t show interest and still Be Cool’, and a half-serving of ‘maybe the human shouldn’t see it’.

Dipper sets the remote down. They’re sticking with this one. Anything Bill doesn’t want him to see probably has very juicy information.

And if he notices that eternal grin widen, a bare fraction of an inch - he doesn’t comment on it.

About ten minutes in, Dipper realizes he should have asked if this would be all in English. This one has some, sure, but seventy percent or so is in Bill’s demonic language. Subtitles aren’t a thing; he poked at the remote for them but it just made the channels jump around, until Bill very casually flipped it right on back.

Between the lack of language knowledge and demon knowledge, following the plot is hard. Dipper squints at the screen, as if that’ll make things easier.

What little of it he follows shows a long, complicated drama. A lot of power plays, interpersonal violence. Mild-for-demons gore interspersed with over-dramatic arguments. The two main characters seem to be at each other’s throats all the time, while also being metaphorically attached at the hip.

Nearly an hour passes before Dipper gives up on fully tracking the plot. A valiant attempt was made, but the language gap’s too large, even though the actors are basically chewing the scenery. Sometimes literally. Changing the channel’s out of the question, too; Bill too enraptured, Dipper too tired.

It’s strange, really. Sitting here, with his ‘god’. Something he’d never thought he’d do, ever. Because Bill wasn’t real, then because Bill was up to something, and now….

A glance at Bill fails to clarify anything, as always.

He knows Bill had a plan for the evening. He said as much. And it hasn’t gone off the rails, or Dipper would have noticed; this ‘god’ never misses a chance to complain.

The only conclusion is that things are going how Bill wanted. What that might mean is more of a mystery than the demon himself.

So far, they’ve only done a few things. Terrifying bathroom regeneration, dinner, and sitting here watching TV. A list too short to be helpful. None of them have much in common.

Dipper nestles down further into the couch, blinking slowly. Nearby, Bill pours himself another drink by snapping his fingers and summoning it.

What, exactly, is Bill’s goal with this? There has to be a purpose.

Giving Dipper his tongue back is obvious. It’s for talking.

Bill’s been bored more than once waiting for a written reply - and while Dipper’s pretty sharp, he’s still a beginner at sign language. Add on Bill being a good but very impatient teacher, and things weren't going great. Hearing him make twenty guesses at Dipper’s next word while he was trying to remember the damn thing left both of them frustrated and annoyed.

So the first part makes sense, even as a standalone. Regrowing an organ is way faster than learning an entire language, and Bill gets exactly what he wanted, right from the first time they met.

The food, well. Dipper’s still running that over in his mind, but he thinks it’s not much more complicated. Mostly a followup to the tongue thing. Possibly to show Dipper how great going along with Bill’s absolutely insane ideas is. Plus, Bill gets company, and to show off his power and all his ‘cool stuff’. He’s never hesitated to prove how quote, ‘awesome’, and ‘swimming in money, kid’, he is.

If that’s right, it could be very useful. A little finesse, maybe a smile or two, and Dipper might get a repeat performance.

Both of those events fit with what he knows of Bill. Dipper can see how they work together, one leading into the other.

That brings them to now.

Sitting on the couch. Watching some way overextended drama thing with a language Dipper maybe catches one word out of ten in, while this ‘god’ lounges next to him with zero signs of ill intent.

This one… doesn’t fit.

Hell, he’s not sure how any of this fits. Not into a greater purpose. There’s no benefit. No grand plan, no conquering. No motive beyond ‘convenience’ and ‘entertainment’. No real gain for Bill himself, which more than anything makes zero sense, and these days Dipper can find a little bit of that in Bill’s actions, even if it’s backwards from the human kind.

But.

If there isn’t a greater plan in mind. No scheme to empower himself, no urge to torment or conquer -

Then this entire day was simply a series of selfish, bizarre whims from a guy who can do anything.

Which… is like most of the days Dipper’s spent around the guy.

Beside him, Bill swirls his drink, snorting at something onscreen before taking another sip. Looking pleased with himself - typical - and wearing the common domestic smirk. No sign of any ulterior motive.

Okay. Say that there was a plan, of sorts. Just one that Bill thought would make his life more fun, and convenient. Hell knows just does whatever, whenever he wants.

Then…

…Maybe it’s just movie night?

There’s a low groan next to him. With a huge, almost theatrical yawn, Bill stretches his arms wide, raising them in the air Once he's done, they thump onto the back of the couch; the closest one lands around Dipper’s shoulders.

Wow, even Bill’s tired. A big meal must have that effect on demons, too.

Dipper holds back his own yawn. For about five seconds. It happens anyway, leaving him slumping down, eyelids heavy.

He still can’t put the pieces together. None of the respective tabs and slots seem like they line up.

But fuck it, it’s late. He’s tired. Trying to think through Bill’s convoluted mind is a task for a more life threatening scenario.

Sitting here with Bill, sinking into the soft fabric of the couch, in a dimly lit but very warm room -

As far as plans go, Dipper can imagine far worse fates than this.

In a way. A small one. He could almost get used to this.

Underneath the strange dialogue, he can hear the gentle flickering of the fireplace. Between the full stomach and the dim light, there’s a warm lassitude filling his limbs. Dipper stretches his arms, then his legs, before shuffling further into the enveloping embrace of the couch.

Clearing his throat, Bill adjusts his position. The motion bumps his side up against Dipper’s, a solid, surprisingly not-unnerving presence.

Dipper grunts. After a moment, he tilts his head to look at Bill. He doesn’t seem to notice, too focused on the drama playing out onscreen.

It’s strange - everything about Bill is strange - but in this relevant quiet and calm, Dipper can get a good look at him. Most of the time they’re close because his personal space is being invaded, and that doesn’t leave any space to think.

For a magical shape inhabited by an interdimensional entity, Dipper has to admit - the human form is very well designed.

The body next to him isn’t full of sharp edges. Much softer than metal. It feels like a real person, somewhere underneath that permanent suit. The angles of Bill’s face and the shape of his body fit easily within the human spectrum, he could pass easily for one on the street. Anyone taking a second glance would notice the positives before the oddities. Even those weirder bits kind of fit Bill; they come together a strangely compelling way.

Hell, Dipper knows it’s an artificial body, and he’s still fooled sometimes. It’s a truly excellent facsimile.

Given the chance, there could be more to figure out. Stuff to prod at, or examine. But Bill probably wouldn’t like that, and anyway it’s late.

Dipper feels the weight over his shoulders shift. He hums a brief sound of apology; he didn’t mean to jostle Bill’s arm too much. It’s not bad, having it there. A warm, solid thing that holds him close, silk shirt soft under his cheek.

Too warm. Soft shirt.

Slowly, Dipper lets his heavy eyelids shut.

A scream cuts through the air. Kinda tinny sound. Must be the doorbell again.

Then Dipper’s pillow shifts under his cheek, and he startles slightly. Not very far, maybe an inch.

Wait. This is - not his room. The living room.

Orienting takes a second. The scream was - from the tv, right. Onscreen a demon gets murdered in a grisly fashion, swearing as it’s carved open. For some reason Dipper’s view of it is sideways.

Wait, where is he?

Dipper leans up slightly to get a better look, and hears a muffled snicker. A firm hand presses his head back down, fingers carding through his hair. His face gets smooshed against silken fabric.

Not couch fabric. Clothing fabric. And underneath it, a body.

Which is the person next to him, who is sitting next to him, who can only possibly be Bill.

Dipper nearly drifted off right next to the guy. That’s no good.

How did this happen? One moment he was vaguely watching TV, the next he was out like a light, it’s weird. It hasn’t been a long day. He hasn’t exerted himself, he’s not sick or hurting, he hasn’t even lost any -

Alright, he did lose some blood. The wound just healed over too fast for it to be a problem.

And now that he’s concentrating on it - physically, he’s fucking exhausted. His arms and legs have a faint familiar ache, like he’s been running and hiding for hours.

Maybe regrowing an organ took more out of him than he thought.

Trying to open his eyes is more difficult than anticipated. Dipper has to open them. Just gotta get up the will to move. Shove himself off the couch and escape.

Forcing his eyes open, Dipper catches the movie just as a dramatic confession scene starts playing out. There’s a lot of arguing. And some kissing? He can’t tell if it’s eternal rivalry or love, but either way Bill seems deeply intrigued.

Dipper could get up. There’s no compulsion on him. No curse, or any kind of spell.

But between the exhaustion, his full stomach, and sitting in a dark warm room, watching the fire flicker - Bill’s fingers, running in slow circles on the back of his neck and through his hair - it’s hard to think why he would.

Moving’s effort. Nobody’s making him do it. Even Bill’s distracted, watching his ridiculous drama; Dipper could drift off again, right here and now, and be totally, probably fine.

He’s gotta get up anyway.

Falling asleep on a literal Lord of Nightmares is a bad idea. Time to go to bed. In a real bed. Even if Bill doesn’t mind getting Dipper-drool on his fancy shirts, at best it’s rude as hell.

Eventually Dipper gets his heavy arms to move. He tries lifting his head. It’s briefly stopped by the pressure of Bill’s own cheek, before it disappears like… okay, maybe Dipper imagined that part. From there - standing’s effort, but surprisingly easy without demonic interference.

Not that Bill doesn’t look a little like he wants to grab Dipper again. His eye narrows, but he doesn’t move when he asks, “Hey! Where’re you going?”

“Sorry,” Dipper starts, then pauses. Bill’s got a weirdly pinched expression; he must not have liked that - The words start stumbling out, unbidden. “It’s not - Sorry. I mean, I just. Uh, I’m really tired. I should go to bed-”

“Why do you gotta leave for that?” Bill leans back further, onto the arm of the couch. He pats his shoulder, then runs his open hand under it like a showcase display. “You were plenty cozy here! Stick around!”

“You’re not a pillow though,” Dipper tries to argue, but Bill keeps talking. “Says who? I can be anything I want, whenever I wanna.” Bill sniffs, lifting his chin. “You should see me shapeshift, sapling, it’s a hell of a sight!”

Dipper shrugs. He looks down, digging his toes into the carpet.

By all rights Bill should be offended that Dipper touched him at all, except for how he’s pretty touchy himself. It can’t add to any plan or conquer any planet, at best it would….

Does Bill… want human drool on his shirt? Is that a thing? Collecting blood is one thing, what do other fluids do?

“Ahem,” Bill pats his shoulder again, then his lap. “Get back here, already. You know you wanna!”

A command, though one that’s not harsh. And Dipper doesn’t have to follow Bill’s orders. He knows that. Bill hates that, he prefers to make a solid, convincing argument rather than watch Dipper fold like paper. Dipper could leave, right now, and it’d be fun for him, it’d be fine.

There’s an argument to be made that this order wouldn’t be too awful. He was pretty comfy.

Unfortunately for Bill, it's also a bad idea.

Leaning up against a literal Nightmare Lord and taking a nap is bound to have terrible effects on the human psyche. Between the way Bill radiates magic like heat - like a goddamn furnace - feeling his chest through the thin shirt, the arms coming around him -

Dipper covers his mouth, looking away. He can already feel the flames of Bill’s magic licking through him, and they’re not even touching.

Definitely a pass. He prefers his brain unfried, thank you.

He almost speaks up to say so before Bill snaps his fingers. An idea has struck him, apparently. By the look, he thinks it’s a great one.

“Not where you wanna rest your head? No problem! You got options.” Bill says, casually waving off any concerns like errant spiderwebs. “How bout this?”

In one quick motion, Bill undoes his tie, letting it drape loose around his neck. Another flick opens the first button of his shirt. He continues down, in a line of quick movement. One, then two; three and another. Dropping down, step after step, fabric parting until it reveals a wide expanse of skin.

What is he- Dipper turns his head away - then back when there’s no horrible explosion of fire or blood or, or -

He doesn’t know what he expected. It’s just an open shirt.

With his work done, Bill kicks his legs up on the couch and lounges back, arms tucked behind his head. “So? Whatdya’ think?”

There’s probably a good response to that. Thinking of one is hard, though. Dipper’s never, ever seen the suit come off. Wasn’t sure it could.

He’d kind of wondered if there was skin under his clothes, and, yeah, turns out there is. A lot of it.

“Hey!” Bill snaps his fingers, then grins at Dipper’s slight startle. “Now, if a shoulder doesn’t appeal to ya, this might suit your fancy.” He motions over the half-opened shirt. The body’s so human looking under the clothing; all warm-looking skin and the curves of muscle. “Mortals love nestling up against flesh, am I right?”

“Um,” Dipper says. Reaching for a word, or a phrase, to tell Bill that this is.

Not wrong, exactly. Sleepovers exist, not that Dipper’s had one. But he’s sure they don’t work this way. Neither of them are in their pajamas, there isn’t a pillow for or a bed around - and demon gods with dubious motives are never part of the equation.

Cultural clash, maybe. Bill could have misunderstood how this works. A brief moment of confusion, or insanity -

Billgiving Dipper a look that makes his stomach do a flip. Both dark and a little playful, a strange mix.

So much for misunderstanding. Bill seems like he knows exactly what he’s doing.

Dipper wipes his suddenly sweaty palms on his pants. His newly-grown tongue feels thick in his mouth. He tries to look at the carpet instead of at- anything else, and fails miserably.

Each time he looks up, he’s confronted with Bill having a body and a chest, looking at him with a half-lidded gaze in the dim, flickering light of the fire.

The fireplace should have been turned off fully, come to think of it. It’s way too warm in the room right now, making Dipper lightheaded and slightly damp in his own shirt. Along with building energy. A weird tremulous feeling, like he shouldn’t just stand there. He should take action. Move.

“I gotta go,” Dipper blurts, and heads for his room.

He keeps a respectable pace while he’s at it. Not too slow, not too fast. This way it feels - and looks - less like fleeing.

“Whoa, wait wait wait,” Bill says. The thump behind Dipper tells him he’s gotten up from the couch. “C’mon, kid, no need to rush off back to your bed! What, is it the mini-me you’re after? Cause the real deal’s a million times better than that bite-sized scrap of fabric.”

The door’s nearly there. Though Dipper hears Bill storming up behind him, he only picks up his own pace. A brush of air ghosts over his arm as Bill makes a grab at his wrist.

The heat, the energy, the weird, light feeling in his stomach - Dipper can put a pin in the core feeling now.

Nervousness.

All the more reason to leave. Feeling scared means something’s coming. Ignoring the danger only lets it catch up.

Time to leave.

He gets his hand on the doorknob just in time for Bill’s palms to slam into the wood on either side of his head.

Too fast, damn it, he doesn’t know why he didn’t think of that - and the low chuckle behind him sends a warm shiver down his spine.

“What’s the matter kid?” Dipper’s stomach does an awkward somersault as he feels Bill’s breath ghost over the back of his neck. “You didn’t think you were gonna get away that easy, did you?”

The doorknob isn’t turning. Dipper grabs it with both hands now, but no matter which way he moves it, it’s stuck or something- Bill’s laughter rises into a high, delighted cackle, fingernails scraping down the wood.

“Not a chance,” Bill says. His voice is low as he presses Dipper closer to the door. “I’ve got big plans for you, Pine Tree.”

Oh.

The flushing warmth drains from Dipper’s face; his blood runs cold. The way Bill crowds him in feels less like his normal bullyish habit and more like being in a trap.

There was an ulterior motive; something dangerous and demonic. Stupid. Idiot. He should have known better before this happened. He shouldn’t have gotten so close, shouldn’t have agreed to anything tonight. Everything was leading up to a part of Bill’s grandmaster plan and running away ruined it, now he’s in trouble, he should have listened to his gut and gotten out of there first thing.

Bill keeps saying that he’s special. How stupid was it to hope it was in a good way.

“No running off, kid!” Strong hands turn Dipper around and push him back. He hits the door with a thump. “You-”

Bill might be quick, but in this, Dipper’s quicker. He already has his arms up, covering his head, his face. His mouth works without permission as he says, “Please don’t-”

Then clamps his teeth shut before the next word. Maybe Bill won’t - he probably wouldn’t, or not start now, he hopes. He thinks. Saying it could put the idea in Bill’s head if it’s not there already and protesting wouldn’t stop him if it was, it’d just make Dipper sound weaker than he already is now.

A hand reaches out. Dipper flinches away so sharply it hits the door behind him.

Nothing touches him. No punishment lands.

Each moment that it doesn’t makes Dipper think that maybe, just maybe, nothing’s going to happen. Hopes it won’t. Bill hasn’t harmed him so far and he wants things to stay that way.

But he’s so, so close.

In the silence, Dipper hears only his own harsh breathing.

“To start with,” Bill says, slow, though not as loud - Dipper realizes he’s drawn back a bit, one hand is lifted. “You’ll need this.”

He’s not going to look. He’s not -

Okay, he does peek, because he’s curious. Since he’s already in trouble, he might as well know why.

Held between Bill’s fingers is an elaborate golden key.

“Your door’s locked, kid.” Bill wiggles the key back and forth between index finger and thumb. “Might wanna do something about that before going beddy-bye.”

“Oh.” All of Dipper’s held breath escapes him in a rush. He lifts his head slightly, checking - but Bill’s standing a good two feet away now. Not. Doing anything. “Oh, yeah, um. Right.”

That’s all it was. The knob wasn’t working because he locked it. That’s all. It’s fine. He’s fine.

He doesn’t remember doing that, though- Wait, did his door even have one.

“Seemed like the sorta addition you’d been waiting for. No skin off my nose to make a quick renovation.” Bill purses his lips in a pout, like he’s about to sulk again. “I was gonna tell ya, but then you ran off! Ya gotta hear me out before fleeing, sapling.”

Oh. That’s - yeah, he did kind of want that, he just thought. Bill controls this place, he owns everything here. Asking felt wrong, could have got him in trouble, and anyway he hasn’t barged in in weeks, so really, Dipper hadn’t minded. But now….

Though the key’s right in front of him, it’s hard to get his limbs to cooperate. Dipper takes a slow breath, brushing off his shirt, smoothing back his hair.

He just. Needs a second.

“Lemme just get that for you,” Bill says, with a brightness that doesn’t quite ring like his usual. He winks, stepping to one side and unlocking the door with practiced ease.

The instant it’s open, Dipper rushes into his room.

Bracing himself on the footboard, he takes stock of the situation. The light is on, and everything’s in place. His bed is halfway made and his book is on the table where he left it, there’s no ominous presence chasing him into this miniature sanctuary.

He’s fine.

He’s back in his room. Back where there’s a soft bed, with cozy blankets, all of his stuff. Everything’s in place, nobody’s messed with it, even the plushie is still next to his pillow. Nothing’s hurt him in here before and it won’t start now.

A few moments helps him compose himself. Dipper runs a hand through his hair, letting out a shaky breath.

Plus. There’s a door that locks. Not much protection against the creature he’s cohabiting with, but that’s okay. If Bill does burst in, he won’t be able to lie and say he didn’t know he shouldn’t.

…Bill hasn’t burst in now, either.

A quick check over his shoulder shows him still standing in the doorway.

For a man who doesn’t like being ignored, he’s gone unusually quiet. Dipper waits. He fidgets with the hem of his shirt.

Any moment now Bill’s going to fill up the silence. Babble something inane or intimidating.

He doesn’t.

In fact, he hasn’t moved an inch.

Bill stands just outside the threshold, hands by his sides. Watching Dipper like he’s a million miles away instead just a few meters, looking like - Dipper can’t place it. An expression that, on another face, would make more sense. On Bill it’s more like something’s gone wrong.

More seconds pass in silence. Too awkward, and too quiet, Dipper should - Bill shouldn’t look like that.

“Um. Thank you,” Dipper says, stilted and awkward, but sincere. “For, uh,” He gestures, even more furtively, to his mouth

The corner of Bill’s mouth quirks up. “Eh, no biggie.” He flicks his fingers in a dismissive manner, then polishes them on his still-opened shirt. “Don’t get me wrong, I do love the sound of my own voice - but a guy can use a little variety around the place, y’know?”

“And, uh. Dinner was nice too,” Dipper continues, a rush of words, whatever comes to mind. Knowing that any moment Bill could leave gives him a weird burst of energy to keep rambling. If he’s talking, Bill will listen. He just said as much. “I really liked that. Did you always have a dining room that big? Does it always exist? I mean, yeah, you can just make stuff, but making entire architecture’s a big ask. Do you just move stuff around, or make it from scratch every time? I know you have a lot of magic, but don’t you need to, like, save it up for stuff, or does it-”

The questions keep coming, awkward over his new tongue. All the ones he’d been wondering about, and now that he can just say them, they pour out in an almost involuntary flood. So much faster than writing.

Getting all the thoughts out of his head is kind of a relief. Bill’s eye widens briefly; he must not have expected that.

At some point Dipper realizes he’s been rambling at Bill levels of length, and shuts his mouth with a click.

“So, uh.” Dipper clears his throat, feeling awkward. “Yeah.” That was way, way too many questions. Stupid. Intrusive.

Bill leans casually against the doorway now, raising an eyebrow. Again, amazingly, he hasn’t minded a bit of it.

In fact - while Dipper was speaking, every word added an incremental increase to his grin. Now it’s bright on his face again, full-force.

“Dinner, huh?” Bill says, electing to skip over any kind of answers, like a jerk. Looking amused now instead of - whatever that was. He claps his hands together, rubbing them with anticipation. “We should do that again sometime! Tomorrow, even!”

“Sure,” Dipper agrees in a rush. Damn, maybe that was too fast. He sounds too eager, Bill could use it as leverage, dangle it in front of him then pull it away. He shoves his hands in his pockets. “That. Sounds okay.”

Bill chuckles. He takes a half-step, stopping just before he enters the room. “What, no followup questions?” His smile is teasing now. “Here I thought I was gonna get the whole spiel!”

“No I- It’s cool.” Turning away, Dipper rubs his face. He clears his throat.

No more distractions. He was going to bed. He was getting away. Conversation over, he shouldn’t drag it out.

“Forgetting something?” Bill speaks up. Dipper glances back at him, where Bill, again, raises an eyebrow. Again, he waggles the key in Dipper’s vision.

Damn, he did forget; he’ll need that. Dipper takes a step closer. Then another.

His own hesitance annoys him; Fuck it, it’s not like this is the worst thing that’s ever happened to him. With a huff, he draws himself up and stomps over to Bill. Holding out his hand, palm up.

The slow smile that spreads across Bill’s face is downright wicked. Another bit of showmanship; he’s clearly covering for something.

Dipper narrows his eyes, and stands firm.

One of Bill’s hands comes up underneath Dipper’s, cupping the back. The other sets the key into his palm, a motion that comes off as almost too casual. It might have worked, too, if he didn’t slowly trace his fingers over it, tickling the skin. “Here ya go, kid.”

The touch leaves a tingling feeling in its wake. Probably magic, something with the key - Dipper pulls his hand back a second too late, clutching it to his chest.

“Nighty-night, sapling.” Bill winks, and annoyingly, gives double finger-guns at him. As he backs away, the door slowly closes in his wake. “Don’t forget about tomorrow! Mark the date!”

Dipper raises an eyebrow. He’s not going to forget the literal next day. Bill’s an idiot.

“‘Cause I’ll be seeing you real soon,” Bill continues. His face leans into the slowly closing crack of the door. Aiming for ominous, probably. Pity his timing’s off. “Sooner than you think! In fact, I could-”

Dipper steps forward and shuts the door with a ‘thunk’. The muffled ‘Hey!’ from behind it has him forcing down a grin of his own.

Defying Bill shouldn’t be good. It should scare him. It should feel more wrong.

Instead it gives Dipper a bit of a spring in his step, and a faint burst of pride. The weirdness of this place must be catching.

He makes a quick change into pyjamas, shutting off most of the lights. Flopping back into the comfy bed, with the lamp on the bedside table letting out a dim glow.

Mini-Bill, keeping vigil on his pillow, stares at Dipper with the same focused intensity as the real version. Dipper scoops it up in his arms, and rolls onto his back, holding it above his head.

“At least you’re not scary,” Dipper says, and smiles. Because he can speak now, god, it’s going to take a while to get used to that. He pulls mini-Bill down and into his face, nuzzling the soft, worn fabric.

Then sits up, suddenly alert. Somewhere Bill just swore really loud; it’s since faded into a long, complaining groan. He stubbed his toe again, didn’t he.

A minor annoyance, considering. As exhaustion looms. Dipper flicks the bedside light off, and pulls up the blankets.

This is probably the… not the longest day he can remember, but certainly up there. So much has happened. He’s learned some stuff - not enough yet, but some - and he’s going to get to do even more tomorrow. Because Bill’s a lot of things, but he’s never boring, and the whole time Dipper will be full and fixed and whole.

Thanking Bill earlier was sincere. But it didn’t cover everything, or how much it meant. It’s too vast; a mind-reader like Bill can’t know how he feels when even he’s still working it out.

One day, Dipper might find the words to describe it. How important this was. And, well. Special.

Maybe he’ll even say them out loud.

He squeezes the plush tighter, and almost doesn’t feel dumb for doing it. Bill’s never judged him having mini-Bill and if it could be made fun of, he would, so. Keeping this, holding this, is okay. Curling up around it in the cozy bed, and holding it close.

Sleeping with it in his bed. In his room. He has a key to the place and everything.

…Dipper could live like this, he thinks. In this place of danger, extreme weirdness, and relative peace.

He also knows better than to think it can last.

But hey, screw it. Until then, he might as well enjoy himself.

Back in the cult he never had a tenth of the creature comforts, and the company was definitely subpar. Here in the Fearamid, he’ll learn new things, all the time. Doing magic, having his own place, living and eating well. Finding secrets.

And occasionally getting a bout of sheer terror, but, well. Bill is a Nightmare Lord and all. Complaining about that would be like bitching about water being wet, and here it happens less often than back on Earth.

For now, he’s doing okay. Comfortable, warm, well-fed. Mostly, temporarily, safe.

When Bill finally makes his move, Dipper hopes it’ll be obvious. Most of what he does is too weird to find a pattern. There may not be any clues until Bill’s already kicked off the events that will seal Dipper’s eventual fate.

All because he’s special. And he only has one clue as to what that means.

Dipper wedges mini-Bill further between his chin and his shoulder. Running his tongue over his teeth, curling it in over the birthmark - then letting it lay still, heavy in his mouth.

As far as he knows, the plan could have already started.

#This took forever and I'm sick of looking at it #So now all of you get to stare at these words!!#I hope it's a fun read!#I could probably have done yet another editing pass #But I am v tired #The stupid document hit 65 pages so it's a big ol' post #I hope you can enjoy my foolish typings #Gotta get started on More Writing now

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