Archive of Our Own ^beta

The bus rumbled to a stop with a sound that could only be described as “tired.” Dipper pressed a hand to the window and peered out, heart doing that dumb fluttery thing it had been doing ever since they passed the “Welcome to Gravity Falls” sign about five miles back. Same trees. Same sky. Same weird energy in the air that felt like the forest itself was side-eyeing him.

He smiled, just a little.

Dragging his suitcase off the bus, he adjusted the strap on his backpack and took a deep breath. The air here smelled like pine, damp moss, and vaguely like tax fraud. Home sweet home.

It had been almost a year since he was last here—between school, exams, and that whole science fair disaster that nearly exploded half of Piedmont High School’s gymnasium. But now summer had officially started, and Gravity Falls was exactly where he wanted to be.

The Mystery Shack was just up the road, and Dipper knew without a doubt that the moment he walked in, something weird, mildly dangerous, and probably completely unnecessary would be thrown at his face. And honestly? He missed it.

Junior year had been a lot. Not bad, exactly. Just… a little too full of people who thought they were smarter than him and not enough ghosts. And definitely not enough people who knew what he meant when he mumbled things like “dimensional instability” under his breath.

He started walking, suitcase wheels rattling on gravel. His phone buzzed in  his pocket—probably Mabel, asking for the fifth time if he was sure he got on the right bus and didn’t end up in like, Des Moines or something. She departed from Piedmont a week earlier—mainly due to Dipper needing to pay the consequences of said gym near-explosion. She had this theory that Dipper had “main character of a Netflix true crime doc” energy. He would never admit she was kind of right.

He didn’t text her back, not yet. He wanted to see it for himself first.

And when the Shack finally came into view, tilted and loud and absolutely unchanged, Dipper felt his chest relax for the first time in months. The gnomes were probably still lurking. Waddles would be somewhere knocking over Mabel’s things. And Soos—Soos would probably tackle-hug him at the door.

Yeah. He was back.

Summer had officially started.

The first thing Dipper noticed when he stepped through the door of the Mystery Shack—after narrowly dodging a flying rubber chicken unintentionally launched by one of Soos’ own tourist-trappy-attractions—was that Mabel wasn’t alone.

She practically tackled him with a glittery hug, wearing a sweatshirt that read “WELCOME BACK DIP-DOP” in puff paint, rhinestones, and what might have been dried macaroni. So far, so normal.

But then Pacifica Northwest leaned casually against the counter, sipping from a can of LaCroix like she owned the place.

Dipper blinked. “Pacifica?”

She arched an eyebrow. “Wow. He remembers names. Color me impressed.”

He opened his mouth to say something sarcastic—because of course she was here—but the part of his brain responsible for banter apparently missed the bus. Instead, he just stood there like an idiot, eyebrows doing all the heavy lifting.

Mabel looped her arm through his, beaming. “Surprise! Pacifica and I are basically besties now. Isn’t that wild? I mean, not wild wild like feral raccoon wild, but like, unexpected sitcom crossover wild.”

Diaper made a noise in his throat that could have meant “sure,” or “what the hell is happening.”

The thing was, this wasn’t totally out of the blue.

Every summer he came back, Pacifica seemed more and more present. First year, she showed up at a town event and didn’t actively insult anyone. Second year, she and Mabel got stuck on a haunted paddle boat together and somehow came out of it giggling like co-conspirators. Last year, she started dropping by the Shack “for the TV and movies” and stayed for hours, pretending not to laugh at Soos’ jokes.

And now? She was here before he was.

Dipper tried to play it cool. Emphasis on tried.

He rolled his suitcase toward the living room, tossing a half-hearted “Didn’t know we were running a country club now” over his shoulder.

Pacifica didn’t miss a beat. “Oh, good. You brought your suitcase full of emotionally repressed comments. I was worried we’d have to order a new one.”

Mabel’s eyes sparkled like she’d just witnessed a very specific kind of magic. “Aww. You guys missed each other.”

“Nope,” Dipper said quickly. Too quickly. “Just surprised, that’s all. Didn’t realize we were doing sleepovers with the elite now.”

“Please,” Pacifica scoffed. “If this place was any more ‘elite,’ it’d have plumbing from this century.” She grinned as she said it, though. It wasn’t the cruel smirk she used to wear like armor back when they were younger. It was relaxed. Almost fond.

And annoyingly, Dipper’s stomach did this little flip thing it had no business doing.

Because here was the problem: he’d noticed her. Really noticed her.

Ever since that whole Northwest Mansion debacle years ago, when she stood up to her parents and let those ghosts destroy a family legacy—yeah, that stuck with him. He remembered the exact moment she’d turned around, pale and shaking, eyes wet but defiant. The moment he realized Pacifica Northwest wasn’t just a name on a country club membership card. She was real. And she was brave. And kind of badass.

And now?

Now she was friends with his sister, and had somehow become a semi-permanent fixture in his summers. She laughed more. She let Mabel paint her nails weird colors. She called Dipper “Pines” in this offhanded way that always made his pulse beat inconveniently.

And worst of all, she was here all the time.

Mabel called it a coincidence.

Dipper called it suspicious.

So he pretended to be mildly annoyed whenever Pacifica showed up, like it bothered him that she helped reorganize the Shack’s haunted mirror display or made fun of his sock collection. Like he definitely didn’t notice how her hair curled at the ends when it rained. Like it didn’t matter that she kept calling him out in front of everyone, like she was waiting to see if he’d snap back.

He never did. Not really.

He just kept pretending it was fine.

Just Pacifica being Pacifica.

Just Dipper being very normal about all of it.

It started, like most things that ended in psychological warfare, with a Mabel idea. “We never hang out as a group anymore,” she announced dramatically, halfway upside down on the couch. “It’s always just me and Pacifica doing cool bestie stuff while Dipper’s off in the woods researching fungus or reading about interdimensional political systems or whatever he does in his alone time.”

“I don’t study fungus,” Dipper muttered, not looking up from his notebook. “I was looking for mushrooms with potential psychotropic—” He stopped, looking up. “Okay, yeah, that doesn’t help.”

“Exactly,” Mabel said, flipping upright. “We need a day out. All three of us. Something normal. So we can bond as a friend triangle.”

Pacifica, lounging nearby and filing her nails like the diva she was, didn’t even blink. “Are we calling it a friend triangle now? Should we get jackets made?”

Mabel gasped. “We should. ”

Dipper squinted. “Wait, is this happening? Like, actually happening?”

Mabel and Pacifica exchanged a look. One of those silent, dangerous looks girls were terrifyingly good at. “Yup!” Mabel chirped. “Bring your hiking boots and an open heart.”

That was how, two hours later, Dipper found himself standing in line for Gravity Falls’ annual Local Oddities Stroll & Market, a community event that sounded suspiciously made up but had apparently existed since 1994 and had not once passed a safety inspection. Mabel was hyped. Pacifica looked like she belonged on the cover of a vintage travel magazine. And Dipper was wearing a flannel that he thought made him look lowkey rugged but probably just said “tries too hard.”

Still, it wasn’t awful. There were booths with weird little trinkles, jars full of probably-cursed jellybeans, and someone selling “limited-edition” Summerween masks that looked suspiciously like last year’s. Mabel darted from stand to stand like she was powered by sugar and red 40, occasionally looping back to show them “super earrings” or a “real invisibility charm.”

Pacifica, to her credit, didn’t bail. She walked beside Dipper, sipping an overpriced lemonade, making occasional biting commentary on the booths. (“That mask is at least 40% mold.” “That spellbook has Comic Sans on the cover.” “Who puts glitter on beef jerkey?”)

She was relaxed. Casual. Totally unreadable in that specific Pacifica Northwest way that made Dipper feel like he was constantly in the middle of a pop quiz he didn’t study for.

They were weaving through a particularly crowded stretch of booths when a bunch of kids in oversized monster masks barreled past them. One of them, a tiny banshee, nearly clipped Dipper’s shoulder.

He instinctively leaned back. Pacifica’s arm shot out. It was casual, natural, like she’d done it a thousand times. Her arm slid across his back, light but certain, and she pulled him in closer—just a little, just enough to move him out of the way.

He didn’t even register what happened at first. His brain short-circuited mid-step. One second he was walking, the next he was practically tucked against her side like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Pacifica didn’t say anything. Her arm stayed there loosely, easily, like it belonged.

And that’s when Dipper’s brain finally caught up. He stiffened slightly, unsure if he should shift or joke or die on the spot.

But she didn’t let go. Pacifica was looking ahead, not at him. Her eyes flicked to the crowd, scanning the kids that just passed, then back to the booth displays like nothing had happened.

Except—except she hadn’t pulled Mabel closer. She hadn’t even flinched when the crowd surged. She’d moved him. Chosen him.

And then there was the pause. Not even a full second, but it was there—just long enough for Dipper to notice the tension in her shoulders right before she relaxed, like she hadn’t planned it, like maybe she hadn’t even meant to.

Which made it worse.

Or better. He didn’t know.

Her fingers brushed his arm as she adjusted the way she was holding him. Still casual, still nothing more than a friend triangle moment.

Right?

Dipper felt his entire internal system trying to reboot. He was deeply aware of how close she was. How good she smelled. How her arm was warm against his back and how she still hadn’t moved it.

His voice, when it finally came out, cracked like his 13-year-old self hitting puberty for the first time. “So,” he said. “Crowded.”

Pacifica looked at him then, just a glance, eyes cool, expression unreadable except for the hint of amusement at the corner of her mouth. “You’re welcome for saving your life,” she said lightly.

“Oh yeah. Definitely would’ve been mauled by a toddler.”

“It would’ve been embarrassing for both of us.”

Her arm stayed where it was.

Mabel, two booths ahead, looked back and flashed the world’s most suspiciously innocent smile. “You guys coming or what?”

Pacifica didn’t answer. She just gently tugged Dipper forward—arm still slung over his shoulders like it belonged there.

And for some stupid reason, he let her.

She was walking like nothing had happened, like they did this all the time—just two casual not-friends walking side by side with one arm casually slung around the other. Dipper could feel the heat of her where their shoulders touched, her knuckles grazing lightly against the back of his arm every few steps, and his brain was, in scientific terms, freaking the hell out.

He wanted to say something. Anything. Something cool, something normal.

Instead, he said: “So, is this a rescue maneuver or a dominance display?”

Pacifica glanced sideways at him without breaking stride. “Please. If I wanted to assert dominance, I’d have dragged you across the street and made you buy me a sweet treat.”

“Good to know the hierarchy involves snacks.”

“I’m just saying—if I save your life in a crowded street, the least you can do is feed me.”

Dipper swallowed a smile. It was too easy with her, sometimes, like they were always half in a fight, half in a joke. But he was still wildly aware of her arm, of how easy it would be to just… lean in a little more. “Okay, but hypothetically,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady, “if you were asserting dominance, what snack would seal the deal?”

Pacifica tilted her head, pretending to think. “Probably a funnel cake. Extra powdered sugar that gets everywhere.”

Dipper snorted. “Weaponized pastry. Got it.”

“Exactly. Plus, I’d get to laugh at you when you inevitably end up looking like you got in a fight with a bag of flour and lost.”

“Nice to know I’m the designated mess in this scenario.”

She glanced over again, and this time she caught the look on his face before he could mask it. Her expression shifted slightly.

There was a beat. A small, shared pause where neither of them spoke, and everything suddenly felt a little heavier in the silence.

Then Dipper cleared his throat. “So, you gonna let go, or is this just my life now?”

Pacifica smirked, but her arm stayed put. “You’re the one who hasn’t moved.”

Touché.

He tried not to smile. Failed. “Right. I’m just—being polite. Wouldn’t want to ruin your hero moment.”

“Generous of you.”

“You’re welcome.” Another pause, more comfortable this time. She looked ahead again, her voice dropping just slightly. “You really didn’t see that kid coming, huh?”

“I was reading a cursed jelly bean label,” Dipper muttered. “In my defense, it said it could cause visions of the future. That seemed important.”

“And now you have me as a human shield. Bet that wasn’t in your vision.”

“Nope. Unless this is some kind of weird metaphor for emotional growth, in which case, yikes.”

Pacifica laughed. A real one—sharp and surprised and barely-contained, like he’d caught her off-guard. Her grip around his arm relaxed slightly, fingertips brushing his skin before falling away entirely. “I’m not gonna lie,” she said, still grinning. “That was a solid weird metaphor.”

“Thanks,” he said. “I aim for ‘deeply uncomfortable but thematically on point.’”

And now that her arm was gone, he hated how much colder the summer air felt.

—

Dipper thought he was being subtle.

He really wasn’t.

He also thought that maybe—just maybe—Mabel hadn’t noticed anything weird about the walk through town the day before.

She had.

Which is why, the next morning, she cornered him in the kitchen with the fake subtlety of a kid planning a surprise party while holding a confetti cannon. “So,” Mabel said, appearing out of nowhere like an excited ghost, “how was yesterday?”

Dipper didn’t even look up from his cereal. “Fine.”

“Oh, just fine?” she asked, dragging out the last word like it had three extra syllables.

“Yes, just fine,” Dipper said flatly. “We walked around. You bought a pair of earrings that may or may not be whispering your name at night. Pacifica almost got scammed into buying glittery beef jerky. You know, a normal Gravity Falls afternoon.”

Mabel squinted at him. “You’re being suspiciously calm.”

“That’s because nothing weird happened.”

“Exactly. Suspicious.”

Dipper gave her a look. “You’re projecting again.”

“I’m detecting, ” she corrected, tapping her temple with one sparkly fingernail. “You’ve been acting super weird ever since Pacifica got all touchy.”

He choked on his cereal. “She wasn’t—what?”

“Touchy! The arm thing!” Mabel gestured vaguely toward his shoulder. “The casual flirting maneuver. Very classic. Ten out of ten.”

Dipper went red. “It wasn’t—she wasn’t flirting.”

Mabel gasped. “Oh my gosh. You liked it.”

“No, I—” He stood up, taking his bowl to the sink like that would somehow help. “It was just… a reflex. She didn’t mean anything by it. She saw a stampede of children and instinctively grabbed me so I wouldn’t fall over.”

“Mm-hmm.” Mabel followed him, arms crossed. “And the way you melted into her side like a marshmallow in a microwave?”

“I did not— ” Dipper cut himself off, then pinched the bridge of his nose. “Look, can we not turn this into a romcom subplot? We’re just friends. We tolerate each other. That’s it.”

Mabel’s eyes sparkled like she was already storyboarding a musical montage. “You wish that was it.”

Dipper didn’t respond. He just muttered something about needing to check the trap cameras in the woods and bolted.

Meanwhile, across the Shack, Pacifica sat on the porch with her legs propped up on the railing, sunglasses on, and a LaCroix in hand—fully committed to her daily performance of unbothered rich girl aesthetic. She’d been replaying the arm thing in her head since yesterday.

Not that it meant anything, obviously. It had just happened. No big deal. He was in the way. There were children running. It was a reflex.

She hadn’t thought about it. She definitely hadn’t done it on purpose, or kept her arm there too long, or notice how solid he felt under her hand, or how he didn’t pull away, or how he’d kind of leaned into it for half a second—

“Heyyyy, Pacifica!”

She nearly flinched. Mabel had appeared out of thin air like a glitter-scented wraith. “What?” Pacifica said, already suspicious.

Mabel plopped down next to her with way too much cheer. “Soooooo. What’s up?”

“...The sky,” Pacifica said dryly.

Mabel grinned. “Dipper said you’re now his personal bodyguard. That true?”

Pacifica raised an eyebrow behind her sunglasses. “Is this an interrogation?”

“Of course not! Just a friendly chat. Two gals, hanging out, laughing,” Mabel said proudly. “So. Arm thing?”

“There was no ‘arm thing.’”

“Oh, there was totally an arm thing. And a ‘lingering contact’ thing. And a look. ”

“I didn’t look at him.”

“You did.”

Pacifica sighed, pulling her sunglasses down just enough to level a glare at Mabel. “I moved him out of the way. He was about to get run over by a six-year-old in a vampire mask.”

“And you didn’t have to touch him for that long. But you did. ”

Pacifica paused, just for a second. “I didn’t realize it was that long.”

Mabel’s smile was gentle now, quieter. “He didn’t mind.”

Pacifica looked away, lips twitching like she was trying not to react. “Well… he should.”

Mabel bumped her shoulder. “You like him.”

Pacifica said nothing. She didn’t deny it.

—

The thing about Soos was—he meant well. He always meant well. That was the problem.

Dipper figured this out (again) roughly five seconds after stepping foot into the Mystery Shack’s front entrance and seeing the handmade banner that read, in proud block letters:

COUPLES SCAVENGER HUNT: LOVE IS THE REAL TREASURE

“Oh no,” he said, coming to a dead stop.

“Oh yes, ” Mabel chirped from behind him, clearly delighted with herself. “Soos and Melody have been planning this for days. Isn’t it cute?”

Dipper turned slowly to look at her. “You knew about this?”

“Obviously! I helped pick the prizes. First place gets a gift basket with homemade cookies, temporary tattoos, a crystal love swan, and two tickets to a sunset paddle boat ride!”

“That’s… weirdly thorough.”

“Love requires effort, Dipper.”

Dipper opened his mouth to object further, when Pacifica appeared beside him, arms crossed and wearing an expression of skeptical doom. “Oh cool,” she said flatly. “This isn’t a trap at all.”

“Y’all!” Soos’s voice boomed across the space. “You made it!” He jogged up to them, beaming, clipboard in hand, wearing a “Love Hunt Coordinator” sash that was definitely just toilet paper with glitter glue on it. “Alright, alright, team assignments!” Soos said, flipping dramatically through his clipboard. “Mabel, you and your new guy are Team Pink Fluffy Heart!”

Mabel beamed and turned to gesture toward a tall-ish guy with slightly crooked teeth, nervous eyes, and the unmistakable energy of someone who didn’t realize what he’d signed up for. “This is Kyle!” Mabel said proudly. “He’s from Portland, he likes falcons and obscure board games, and he’s not gnomes stacked on top of each other.”

Kyle waved awkwardly. “Hi.”

Dipper stared at him. “How did you meet this guy?”

“Greasy’s Diner. He complimented my sweater. Obviously I invited him to the scavenger hunt.”

Kyle nodded, still looking faintly dazed. “She has very persuasive energy.”

“ Thank you! ”

Soos moved down the list. “Alright, next up—we got Dipper and Pacifica!”

Both of them spoke at the same time. “Excuse me?”

Soos beamed, unfazed. “Aww, don’t be shy!”

Dipper’s hands twitched like he was calculating five different escape routes. “Soos, we’re not—this is a couples scavenger hunt.”

Soos nodded. “Exactly. And Mabel says you’re two people who could be a couple. That’s, like, 90% of the way there!”

Pacifica pinched the bridge of her nose. “You realize how insane that logic is, right?”

“Totally! But it’s also romantic. ”

She shot Dipper a sideways glance, and he returned it, both of them silently debating whether spontaneous combustion was a valid exit strategy.

Mabel leaned in between them. “C’mon. Do it for the gift basket.”

“I don’t want the basket,” Dipper muttered.

“You do, though,” Mabel whispered. “There’s a mystery soda in there that’s banned in three states.”

Pacifica sighed dramatically, crossing her arms. “Fine. But if we get paired with a cursed riddle or have to dig up a skeleton, I’m suing someone.”

“Yay!” Soos clapped, then handed them a crumpled sheet with glitter pen clues and tiny heart stickers all over it. “Team Star-Crossed Lovers, you’re up!”

Dipper looked down at the list. Pacifica looked over his shoulder. Both of them groaned at the same time.

“First clue,” she read aloud. “‘I am where first dates often start / Grab a drink and spill your heart.’”

“That’s the diner,” Dipper said automatically.

Pacifica sighed again. “Cool. Can’t wait to flirt over stale fries.”

They started walking. Behind them, Mabel and Kyle watched with interest.

Kyle leaned over and whispered, “Are you sure they’re not already dating?”

Mabel grinned. “Not yet. ”

—

Clue two led them to the old train car behind Greasy’s Diner. It was technically off-limits. But then again, this was Gravity Falls, and “off-limits” was negligible.

They climbed in through the bent side door, stepping over a broken bench seat and into the soft dust-filtered light. The inside still smelled like old oil and cotton candy.

Pacifica scrunched her nose. “This place gives me tetanus just by looking at it.”

“You’ve had your shots, right?” Dipper asked, pushing a broken curtain aside to scan the walls for their next clue.

“Obviously. I was vaccinated by a private doctor in a helicopter.”

Dipper smirked. “Of course you were.”

She wandered down the aisle beside him, arms loosely crossed. “This whole town is so weird. Who hides a romantic scavenger clue in a possibly haunted train car?”

Dipper tilted his head, reading a red marker scrawl on the window. “Someone with impeccable taste in vibes, apparently.”

There was a pause, just long enough for the silence to start feeling weighty. Then Pacifica said, more quietly, “You’ve really memorized this place, haven’t you?”

Dipper glanced over. “Kind of hard not to. After three summers, I’ve got most of Gravity Falls mapped in my head.”

“And memorized where all the ghosts hang out,” she added.

He grinned. “Yeah, well. You never know when you’ll need to dodge a Victorian-era librarian or a sentient fog bank.”

She smiled a little. “You always remember stuff like that. The weird specific things.”

Dipper blinked. “Is that… a compliment?”

“I’m still deciding.”

He laughed, a real one this time, and they both paused in front of a booth with a cracked heart sticker under the table. The next clue was wedged behind it, rolled up and secured with sparkly pink twine. Dipper handed it to her. She took it, but didn’t open it right away. Instead, she studied him for a second—really studied him.

“What?” he asked.

“You’ve changed."

He frowned. “Is that a nice way of saying I got taller?”

“I mean, you did get taller.” She leaned one shoulder against the booth’s edge. “But also… I don’t know. You’re more comfortable, like you’re not trying so hard to prove everything all the time.”

He ducked his head a little, a quiet flush creeping up his neck. “Well. You know. Years of supernatural trauma. Really puts things in perspective.”

Pacifica snorted. “That, and puberty.”

“Harsh.”

“I meant it in a good way.”

He looked up.

“You used to be so tightly wound all the time,” she added. “It was like watching a string about to snap. Now you’re just… Dipper.”

He didn’t know what to say to that. So he went with, “And you used to be an absolute nightmare.”

Pacifica’s lips twitched. “Wow. Thank you.”

“I meant that in a good way,” he said, meeting her eyes.

She blinked.

“Back then,” he continued, slower now, “you were kind of awful. But also trying, like you wanted to be better but didn’t know how yet.”

She stayed quiet.

“And now you’re—you know,” he shrugged. “You’re you. In a way that feels real.”

Her mouth opened, then closed again. She looked away for a beat. “That might be the nicest thing anyone’s said to me in a while.”

“Don’t get used to it.”

She bumped his shoulder with hers. “Too late.”

They stood like that for a moment—neither moving to grab the next clue, neither rushing to fill the quiet.

Then Pacifica gave a small sigh and said, “Okay. Enough sentiment. We still have, like, give riddles left and I refuse to lose to your sister.”

Dipper smiled. “Now that’s the Pacifica I know.”

She turned to walk ahead, but not before he caught the faint smile tugging at her lips.

—

It was quiet for once. The kind of still, late-summer quiet where the air is heavy with leftover sunlight and the only sound is the lazy buzz of bugs in the grass. They’d ended up behind the Shack, sitting on the back steps because neither of them wanted to go inside just yet. The scavenger hunt was over. They hadn’t won, technically—Mabel and her date had—but Soos had insisted on giving everyone “emotional participation trophies,” so Dipper was now the proud owner of a glitter-covered rock that said “U R Seen.”

Pacifica twirled hers between her fingers, eyes squinting up at the sky like it had personally insulted her. “God, it’s too hot. Why is it still hot?”

“It’s July.”

“That’s a garbage answer.”

Dipper chuckled, then let the laugh taper off into a quieter silence. He shifted, rested his arms on his knees, picked at a scuff on his sneaker. Pacifica sat beside him, legs stretched out in front of her, the toe of her boot tapping a slow rhythm against the wooden step.

This felt like one of those rare, weightless moments where the world slowed down just enough to say something in your ears.

So he took the chance.

“Hey,” he said, softly enough that it didn’t feel like pressure.

Pacifica glanced over. “Hm?”

“I was just thinking…” He hesitated, searching for the right angle in his mind. Something light, something casual, but still honest. “Today was… kind of fun. Like, weirdly fun.”

Her expression was unreadable. “Is that your way of saying you enjoyed being dragged around by your childhood rival in a forced romantic setting?”

He snorted. “I’m saying I didn’t not enjoy it.”

She arched a brow.

“I just mean,” he continued, pushing forward before he lost nerve, “you’re… you’re easy to talk to now. When you’re not using your laser words to vaporize everyone.”

Pacifica rolled her eyes, but not with real irritation. “That’s not a thing.”

“It’s totally a thing. You should be registered with the local authorities.”

She didn’t answer right away. Her foot stopped tapping. For a second, she looked thoughtful.

And that gave him enough of an opening to try again. “I’m not trying to make this weird,” he said. “But if today meant anything to you—like, actually meant something—I wouldn’t mind if we…” He trailed off, testing the air for resistance.

Pacifica immediately threw up a wall. “Oh my God, Dipper, are you trying to have a feelings talk?”

There it was. That sharp, practiced tone. The defensive pivot.

Dipper’s stomach sank, just a little. He tried to laugh it off, but it came out thinner than he meant it to. “Well, I mean—only if you’re willing to fill out a feedback survey afterward.”

She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Let me guess,” she said, flicking her glitter rock across the grass. “Next you’ll ask me what my intentions are. Should I be worried about impressing your grandpas or something?”

“My grunkles love you, actually.”

“That’s even more terrifying.”

Dipper didn’t push further. He could feel the space between them harden—just a little, but enough to notice. He nodded slowly, eyes dropping to his hands. “Yeah. Okay.”

The quiet settled in again, but it wasn’t peaceful this time.

Pacifica didn’t say anything for a long moment. Then, just as he was starting to stand, she said, quietly, “I didn’t mean to shut you down.”

Dipper paused. He didn’t look at her yet.

“It’s just…” she went on, voice more brittle now, “I don’t really know how to talk about that kind of thing. Not without sounding like a total idiot. Or like I’m… not being serious.”

He turned his head slightly, caught the corner of her expression—tight jaw, lowered gaze. “I get it,” he said, gentle this time. “It’s okay.”

She still didn’t look at him, but she gave the smallest nods.

They sat in silence again, but this instance felt different, like maybe the door wasn’t closed. Just cracked, enough for light to leak in.

Pacifica walked home alone. Well, technically Mabel had offered to walk with her—chipper as ever, bubbling over about her scavenger hunt date like it was a romcom montage—but Pacifica had begged off with a casual, “Ugh, I’m exhausted.”

Mabel didn’t buy it, but she let it go. Maybe because she saw something in Pacifica’s face she didn’t want to press.

So Pacifica walked, boots hitting the road in slow, steady steps, the gravel crunching like static beneath her feet. Her glitter-covered rock trophy bounced inside her purse. She didn’t know why she hadn’t thrown it away.

The thing about Dipper—annoying, awkward, dorky Dipper Pines—was that he had this completely unfair ability to be sincere without it coming off like a trap. He wasn’t like her parents, who only ever spoke with subtext, or her old friends, who wielded compliments like currency. He didn’t play games. He just said things. Honest things, kind things, things that made her chest feel tight and buzzy and hot all at once.

And today… today he’d tried. He’d tried to say something that meant something, and she’d steamrolled it with sarcasm, like she always did.

Pacifica groaned and dragged a hand down her face. What was wrong with her? She’d spent so long perfecting the armor that she didn’t know how to take it off. Now even when she wanted to. Especially not when she wanted to. Because the second she let something real slip out—just a little—her brain screamed, Abort! Shut it down! We don’t do this! Vulnerability was weakness. Vulnerability was risky.

Except Dipper had sat next to her with his stupid flannel sleeves rolled up and his knees drawn in like he was trying to make room for her, and he’d said nice things, and asked nice questions, and she’d panicked. And now she was pretty sure he thought she didn’t care. Which sucked, because she did. Way more than she liked to admit, even to herself.

She kicked a pinecone hard enough to send it skidding down the road.

The worst part? She saw his expression shift, just for a second, after her joke landed. That flicker of retreat in his eyes, like he’d been reaching out and she’d slapped his hand away.

“Ughhghgh,” she muttered, dragging both hands through her hair now.

Why was this so hard? Why couldn’t she just say what she meant, like he did? Something simple. “I liked today too.” “You’re easy to talk to.” “I think about you more than I should.” Instead she cracked a joke about helicopter vaccinations like an idiot.

She reached her driveway. The Northwest walls were still too tall, too cold, too pristine, for the “downgrade” her parents cried about. She paused in front of them for a long moment, her keys dangling from her hand.

For a second, she wanted to turn around. March back to the Shack. Say something—anything—to undo the part where she made him feel small for being open.

But she didn’t. Because Dipper probably thought she didn’t care. And now she wasn’t sure if she had the right to fix it.

She slid the key through the lock, and the front door creaked open with its usual sigh. Pacifica stepped inside and told herself she didn’t look back towards the direction of the Shack.

She lied.

—

August crept in without permission. The days were lazier and hotter now. Gravity Falls shifted into that deep-summer mode where everything slowed down and smelled like melting popsicles and pine sap. The Mystery Shack, per usual, doubled down on its seasonal weirdness: Soos had added a “Haunted Hamrock Experience” that was just a regular hammock with an aggressive squirrel living in it, and Mabel had taken to organizing themed movie nights, complete with homemade tickets and extremely specific dress codes. Tonight was Outdoor Movie Night: Cryptid Love Edition.

Dipper was already regretting the outfit. “I look like a possessed scarecrow,” he muttered, tugging at his oversized, patchy top. He was supposed to be a “romantic mothman.” Mabel had added glitter to his eyebrows and stuck two plastic googly eyes to his beanie.

“You’re beautiful,” she said from behind her popcorn cauldron, not looking up.

Pacifica showed up late, as usual. But when she appeared—casually strolling past the porch like she hadn’t been internally debating whether or not to even come—Dipper forgot how to breathe for a second.

Her cryptid costume wasn’t anything dramatic. Just black jeans, combat boots, and a dark green jacket with a fake tail sewn on the back. But the way she wore it—confident, almost daring—made something rattle loose in his chest.

She gave him a nod like they hadn’t been semi-avoiding each other for two awkward weeks. “Hey, Mothboy.”

Dipper blinked. “Hey. Uh. Lizard… thing?”

“Glamorous chupacabra,” she corrected. “Obviously.”

“Right. That tracks.”

They stood there a second too long. The movie hadn’t started yet, and most of the chairs were full. A few blankets were scattered around the lawn.

Pacifica glanced at one near the back. Empty. Mostly out of sight. She gestured. “Wanna claim that one before the gnomes steal it?”

“Yeah,” he said quickly. “Definitely.”

The movie started—some old, melodramatic black-and-white thing where a fish-person fell in love with a human girl who could talk to frogs. Mabel sobbed audibly during the first act.

Pacifica said nothing for most of it. She pulled her knees up, picking at the corner of the blanket, biting at the edge of her nail polish. But her eyes kept darting sideways toward Dipper.

And then came the arm.

It wasn’t sudden this time.

She shifted, scooted the tiniest bit closer, and gently rested her arm behind him along the top of the blanket. A careful hover, like she wasn’t sure if she had the right.

Dipper didn’t move. His heart was tap-dancing in his chest. He stared straight ahead like if he looked at her, the spell would break.

Then Pacifica took a breath and let her hand rest lightly on his shoulder. He felt the warmth of it seep through his shirt like electricity.

Seconds passed. Then he blurted, low and fast, “Did you mean to do that?”

Pacifica stiffened, just a little.

Then, to his surprise, she laughed. “Wow. Okay. So you’re still that guy.”

“I have no idea what that means.”

“The guy who narrates his own emotional breakdowns in real time.”

Dipper opened his mouth to protest, but then—

“I did mean it,” she said, quieter now.

He froze.

“Like,” she added, “I thought about it. And then I did it. So.”

He turned to look at her. Her eyes weren’t mocking. Her usual smirk was gone. She looked… like she was bracing for something.

And maybe that’s why he said what he said next.

“Cool,” he murmured. “Because I’ve kind of been waiting for you to do that again since July.”

Pacifica blinked. “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Another beat. Then she said, without looking at him, “You could’ve said something.”

“You could’ve meant your sarcasm less.”

“Touché.”

Their shoulders brushed. Neither of them moved away.

One screen, the fish-person was confessing his love in dramatic slow motion while the human girl translated through a chorus of frogs. Mabel sobbed again.

Pacifica looked at Dipper and said, very softly, “Do you wanna maybe… talk for real after this?”

He nodded. “Yeah. I really do.”

She gave him the smallest smile. And for once, nothing felt half-said.

The movie ended with a dramatic musical swell and a splashy kiss between the fish-creature and the frog translator. Everyone clapped, Mabel sniffled into her “Team Amphibian Romance” T-shirt, and the gnomes—who had in fact stolen three chairs—were chased off by Soos with a pool noodle.

Dipper stayed seated. So did Pacifica.

They didn’t speak for a moment. The warm buzz of leftover popcorn and string lights filled the quiet between them.

“Wanna…” Pacifica stared, then gestured vaguely toward the trees behind the Shack. “Walk?”

“Yeah,” Dipper said, getting up too quickly. “Yeah. Definitely.”

They ended up in the clearing just behind the Shack, where the trees thinned and the stars bled through the branches in a lazy sprawl. The air smelled like pine and leftover s’mores.

Pacifica stuck her hands in her jacket pockets. Dipper shoved his into his jeans. They stood like that for an entire minute, not talking.

“This is already going really well,” Dipper said.

Pacifica let out a short laugh. “Nailed it.”

Silence again.

Finally, Dipper turned to her. “Okay, so. Just—straight up. What was that back there?”

“You mean the arm thing?”

“I mean the arm thing. The movie thing. The multiple arm things this summer. The… everything.”

Pacifica stared up at the sky like she was asking it for help. “Do you want the answer I usually give people, or the actual one?”

“Let’s aim high and try for the actual one.”

She sighed. “Fine. Okay. So… maybe I like you.”

Dipper blinked. “Maybe?”

“I do like you,” she corrected. “I just… haven’t said it out loud yet. Until literally right now.”

A pause.

“Okay,” Dipper said, and his voice cracked slightly, which she definitely noticed, “that’s good. Because I also like you. Like, annoyingly so.”

Pacifica raised an eyebrow. “Annoyingly?”

“It’s interfering with my ability to do normal things. Like make eye contact or talk without sounding like I’ve swallowed a whole pinecone.”

She snorted. “That explains a lot.”

“I’ve liked you for a while,” he admitted, a little quieter now. “Even before this summer. Since, like, the haunted mansion. Which is objectively messed up. Who develops a crush in a room full of taxidermy?”

“To be fair,” Pacifica said, “that was the first time someone ever told me I didn’t have to be my parents.”

They both laughed. And then the quiet came back. But this time, it didn’t feel like avoidance.

“So…” Dipper said, shifting on his feet. “What do we do now?”

Pacifica hesitated, then took a step closer. “Well,” she said slowly, “normally, this would be the part where someone makes a grand gesture and we kiss under the stars or whatever.”

Dipper nodded. “Right.”

“But honestly?” She looked at him. “I kind of just want to hang out. Like we’ve been doing. But with, you know… context. ”

Dipper smiled. “Context sounds good.”

She reached out and laced her fingers with his, casual but certain. His heart did a small backflip. “So,” she said, mock-serious. “You and me. With context.”

“And arm things?”

She squeezed his hand. “Definitely arm things.”

They stood there a little longer, letting the moment breathe, letting the awkwardness melt into something easier.

Eventually, Dipper looked up and said, “Okay, but real question—what kind of name is ‘romantic mothman,’ anyway?”

Pacifica grinned. “Don’t start. I still have glitter in my ears, Pines.”

And just like that, they were them again. But now, with context. They lingered in the clearing, hands still linked, like they were both waiting for someone to cue the next part, but no one did. The trees just rustled quietly around them, like they were being politely respectful of the moment.

Pacifica glanced at Dipper. “I wasn’t gonna do the kiss thing,” she said suddenly.

Dipper’s eyebrows rose. “Okay.”

“I mean, not not do it. But like. I figured we were keeping it chill. Felt like we earned a couple more weeks of agonizing eye contact and emotional repression.”

He laughed softly. “Yeah. That sounds like us.”

They both looked at each other again. This time the silence didn’t last.

“Okay, screw it,” she muttered, and leaned in.

It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t staged or timed with a swell of music or a cryptid bursting out of the woods to interrupt them. It was just a kiss—quick, warm, a little uncoordinated. Her nose bumped into his. His hat nearly fell off.

And then they pulled back. Barely.

Dipper blinked. “So we’re doing that.”

“Yeah,” Pacifica said, already leaning in again. “We’re doing that.”

Dipper’s heart thumped so loud he was sure she could hear it. She probably could. She had that look on her face again—the one she used when she was trying to pretend she wasn’t nervous, even though he knew her well enough now to tell.

And then, without fanfare, she kissed him again.

This time it wasn’t quick. This time, it unfolded slowly, like they both realized at the same moment that they didn’t need to rush it, that they’d already waited long enough.

Her hands slid up, one curling lightly around the side of his neck, thumb brushing the edge of his jaw like she was memorizing it. His free hand hovered awkwardly for a second before settling at her waist, a little unsure, a little reverent. His fingers curled slightly in the fabric of her jacket.

She tilted her head a little. He followed her lead.

It was still a little messy—he could taste cherry lip balm and popcorn, and he was pretty sure he bumped her teeth for half a second—but none of it mattered. None of it made it worse.

They stayed like that for a long moment. Long enough for the August air to settle into their clothes, for the quiet to press in from the trees again. Long enough that Dipper stopped thinking entirely and just felt her hands, the warmth of her, the simple fact that this was actually happening.

When they finally pulled apart, it was like they both knew when it was time, like a natural pause in a song. They were both smiling before they even opened their eyes.

Dipper squinted at her. “You liked me first, didn’t you?”

Pacifica scoffed. “Please. You were practically heart-eyes after that mansion ghost thing.”

“I was respectful. And concerned. There was ectoplasm. You’re making it sound weird on purpose.”

She smirked. “I’m just saying, I was pretty sure you were into me when you looked like you wanted to walk into traffic.”

Dipper groaned. “I was being nice.”

“It lives in my memory rent free.”

They both laughed again, the kind of laugh that untangles knots in your chest.

Pacifica bumped his shoulder with hers. “Okay, fine. Maybe I liked you a little bit first.”

“Thank you.”

“But you definitely liked me more. ”

“Oh my God.”

“Just admit it.”

“I will not.”

“Coward.”

“Snob.”

She grinned and kissed him again quickly, sealing the deal. “Whatever,” she said. “We’ve got time to argue about it later.”

He didn’t let go of her hand. “Yeah,” Dipper said, looking at her like he could finally stop guessing. “We really do.”