Chapter Text
1974
Pacifica Northwest likes Dipper’s computer more than she likes him. Or at least it’s starting to feel that way.
After that night in his room and the subsequent note, they’d developed a sort of routine. She’d come over some afternoons to type away on the computer, and Dipper would lay on his bed and read books about the paranormal. But let’s be honest, a significant part of Dipper’s “reading” was really just looking at Pacifica.
She came over in various states of undress. Most of the time, she was her prim and proper self in mini dresses or skintight bell bottoms. He always knew when she’d come straight from waitressing, because she smelled faintly of bacon and coffee, not her usual champagne and roses. Her hair was usually down, cascading like a wave over her shoulders. Pacifica was always beautiful, but when she showed up in her pajamas or straight from the pool, Dipper’s heart thumped a little faster. The first time she’d shown up in her pajamas, it was a late night, and she had some project she was working on.
When he opened the door to his apartment, she’d been standing there in a matching lilac pajama set with her initials embroidered on the front. Her long hair was neatly done in a single braid down her back, and her bangs were pinned away from her face.
“I don’t want to hear it, Pines,” she’d said immediately.
“I wasn’t going to say anything.”
“Likely story.” Then she’d marched right up to his room.
Dipper’s roommates thought it was embarrassing that he was constantly having a girl in his room without making a move. Especially a girl like Pacifica, who’d become a sort of legend in amongst the technology dorks of Backupsmore. 1. She was a hot girl. 2. She could kick your ass at any math equation or line of code.
“It’s not like that,” Dipper would insist. “It’s about the computer.”
“Dude, she’s here for the wrong piece of equipment!”
As gross as the innuendo was, Dipper sometimes couldn’t help but think about such things as he gazed at the back of Pacifica’s neck as she typed furiously away on the computer. When she stretched, pushing out her chest and reaching her graceful arms to the sky, his pants tightened a bit.
He did feel guilty about it, if that counted for anything. The night at the party was a bit hazy—that had been the night his roommate had gotten him to try shrooms. But even if mixing alcohol and psychedelics was what gave Dipper the initial bravery to speak to Pacifica, now they had a…working professional relationship, though the circumstances were unconventional.
The little things about Pacifica were really what he’d started to appreciate. The way her long nails clacked against the keyboard as she typed, or the beat-up spiral notebook she carried with her everywhere. Everything else in her life was so neat and filtered, but that notebook was a peak into the constant stream of ideas running through her head.
***
On campus, they didn’t talk much, except for the occasional lunch at Backupsmore’s terrible cafeteria. On Tuesdays and Thursdays, their schedules lined up so that they both ate lunch at the same time. And maybe Dipper had started focusing a bit more on his appearance those days of the week.
After he finished TA-ing an introductory math class, Dipper would stop in the bathroom to mess with his hair and check that his breath wasn’t too bad. Somewhere in his squirming, anxious stomach, he’d find himself missing his sister, Mabel. She would have been great in this situation. She’d always been more social than him.
But that was a long time ago. It might as well have been a different lifetime.
Thanks to Candy and his roommates’ gossipy nature, Dipper now knew that Pacifica had grown up an heiress. It wasn’t surprising, considering her haughty nature and propensity for nice things. So, seeing her eat the Backupsmore cafeteria food was jarring, even though he’d seen it a million times. She always stuck to the salads and the desserts.
“Are you a vegetarian?” Dipper had asked once.
“No,” Pacifica had responded curtly. “I just don’t trust the meat here. It’s probably made of ground up horse or something.”
“I heard that horse is a delicacy in some countries.”
Pacifica cracked a smile. It goes without saying that even the slightest upturn of her lips was dazzling. “Shut up, Pines.”
Every time she told him to shut up, he blushed redder than the pen he used to mark exams. Hopefully, Pacifica didn’t notice.
***
“Put a record on, Pines. I can’t stand to listen to you breathe anymore.”
It was another long night leading up to finals week. Pacifica was curled up in Dipper’s desk chair, with her discrete math notes spread out in front of her. Meanwhile, Dipper chipped away at another physics problem.
“Discrete kicking your ass?”
“Absolutely not,” Pacifica insists. “I just said I’m tired of hearing your breathing.”
She gets up and starts thumbing through Dipper’s records, which were mostly random rock albums intermixed with his sister’s old Elvis collection.
“Finally, something good,” she says, lifting Fleetwood Mac’s Mystery to Me from the box.
Pacifica set the record on the turntable and the opening notes of “Emerald Eyes,” filled the room.
Dipper’s heart skips a beat when Pacifica throws herself down onto his bed, sprawled out on her back like she was doing snow angels. Some of his physics notes crunch under her body, but she either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care. Her eyes are closed and the look on her face is serene as Bob Welch sings the opening lines, You don’t know what she means, you see. She’s the heart that beats close to me.
Not wanting to disturb this moment, Dipper stays silent as the song rolls on, though the intimacy of this all is driving him insane. Pacifica Northwest lying on his bed like it’s nothing. Her long flowy skirt bunched up around her thighs, showing off her long tan legs. Her shiny blonde hair thrown carelessly over his physics notes. The strap of her tank top slipping haphazardly down her shoulder.
Really, it’s the most pornographic thing he’s ever seen (in person, at least). He’s amazed that he’s ever managed to get work done while she’s around.
“You know I always wanted green eyes.”
“Huh?” Dipper stammers.
Her eyes crack open, and she says, “The song, idiot. It’s called ‘Emerald Eyes.’”
“Oh yeah.”
“What color are your eyes?” she asks, gazing up at him through half closed eyes.
“Green, actually.”
“Let me see.”
“H-haven’t you seen my eyes plenty of times?”
She shook her head. “Not well enough.” And she stretched again, arching her back and letting out a tiny little moan.
There is no world in which he was standing up any time soon.
“I guess you’ll have to take my word for it, I guess.”
Now she was pouting. “Why would I ever do that? Just come here, Pines. Let me see.”
Dipper was frozen to the spot, but Pacifica did not relent. “Come here.”
So, he scooted towards her, as though in a trance.
“Take the glasses off.”
Of course, he listens. Dipper has never been so aroused and so terrified in his entire life.
He leans down towards her, their faces now just a few inches apart. His heart is beating out of his chest and his mind is hazy with want.
He wants to close his eyes, but he can’t. Not while Pacifica is inspecting his irises like a painting at a museum.
“Your eyes are such a nice shade of green,” she says. “More of a forest green than anything.”
Pacifica’s eyes are so dark brown that they’re nearly black. The kind of eyes you could easily get lost in, and really, he wants very badly to get lost in them. Her lips are parted just slightly and he can smell the slight scent of coffee on her breath. His mouth aches to close the gap and pull her into a kiss, yet his mind was simultaneously wracked with doubts. She is Pacifica Northwest, and he is a guy who’d never even had sex.
I mean, if it came down to it, I’d probably be no good, and she’s so smart and beautiful, plenty of guys have probably worshipped her, you know, like that, and I-
“Dipper?” her voice is soft.
“Yeah?” he croaks out.
As she peers up at him, her hand starts gently caressing his thigh. Oh God.
“I think you’re very handsome,” she whispers.
“I have to go to the bathroom!” And before Dipper knows it, he’s out of the room and down the hall.
***
Pacifica Northwest never gets rejected. So when Dipper Pines darts out of room, just to avoid kissing her, she doesn’t know what else to do but run. She throws her stuff into her purple backpack and is out of the house in an instant.
As she hurries down the street, Pacifica can feel her face burning. In her mind is a squirl of humiliation and confusion.
Me, him, and I didn’t even think—OH MY GOD, he’s a fucking NERD and I’m ME, and it’s just so—and damn! The Xerox Alto!
Pacifica’s internal monologue quickly devolved into fuck fuck fuck fuck, and nothing more.
***
By the time Dipper is brave enough to come out of the bathroom, Pacifica is gone.
Somehow, though the song should have passed a while ago, “Emerald Eyes” is still playing.
Emerald eyes is a mystery, starin’ through to the heart of me.