Chapter Text
It has been a long, drizzly afternoon studying with your mentor. He had recently encountered a new, abnormal species that originated from exposed plasma from the ancient UFO that landed in Gravity Falls a long time ago. The amount of research it took for your mentor to reach that conclusion is unfathomable in your brain.
The log cabin he owned was nicely sized. The study room you resided in was cozy, especially when the fireplace was stoked. The only light source was illuminated by a chandelier hanging from the ceiling, surrounded by deer antlers and oak. The tips of the deer antlers are stained, however. Your mentor, one time, commented on how his twin brother sourced it from unknown origins and gifted it to him. You have yet to meet his twin brother.
The calendar is marked January 16th. Your gaze looks out longingly for a glimpse of the sun to fuel your motivation. Or perhaps another rare personal conversation between the mentor you had a back-burner crush on. Work was more important, yes, but it’s tougher when the person you work for is sickeningly charming and is capable of such great achievement. It made you wonder what kind of other milestones he’d ever reach in his life, such as what kind of husband he’d be. These questions were only for fun, you told yourself. So it’s best to keep it as a hobby rather than eat up your entire career.
“Y/N, what are you staring at?” Your mentor piped up, walking into the room with two mugs and sitting across from you. He handed one of the mugs over, the one that is designated for you only.
The sentimental scent of coffee drifted into your nose, rejuvenating you.
“Nothing, it’s just that we haven’t seen a sunny day in a week and a half.” You said, picking up the mug, gauging the temperature of the hot coffee.
“I know. But, it’s going to be like this until mid-April, I guarantee. Best to make the most of it by staying indoors and working on the boring stuff,” He said, “No FOMO.”
You let a chuckle slip out. “You know what FOMO means?”
“I may be old, but it doesn’t mean I can’t be hip.”
A cringe pressed into your chest, but you couldn’t help but replace the feeling with fondness for his attempts.
“Since when did you care about being hip?”
“Never.” He said, opening his notebook.
A beat of silence rang between you two.
“I was joking, by the way.” He blurted.
Your eyes widened at the unexpected clarification.
“I know.”
You return to staring at your mug again, finally deciding it was safe enough to drink without any burn. You lifted it up to your lips, drinking in the robust and aromatic flavor. Once you felt satisfied, you set it down and returned to reviewing some of his notes.
In your peripheral vision, you could see his eyes drift to you occasionally. This happened for the next few minutes, enough time for you to muster up the courage to ask about it.
“Ford?”
His eyes widened, feeling caught by your sudden utterance of his name and your intense gaze into his. He readjusted his glasses to compensate for his personal discomfort.
“Sorry. I’m feeling distracted at the moment as well. I must’ve caught whatever you have.” He answered gingerly.
You nod, looking around the room and thinking. A sudden opportunity flooded your mind, and you dared share it with Ford.
“Should we take a break? Perhaps we could use this time to fill in some gaps between us.”
His expression became quizzical. “What do you mean?”
“What I mean is that… we’ve been working together for a few months now, but I feel as if I don’t know much about you.” You say, drawing in air and exhaling it as you articulate your words. “All we do is talk about work. If we’re going to be researching and I, learning from you, then maybe we could improve the work experience by developing a more acquainted relationship.”
Ford takes a moment to consider. He smiles once he’s ruled out all the variables, reaching the conclusion that his student has a valid point. Whenever he thinks of you as his student, his stomach squirms. How could such a beautiful and intelligent person like you want to be mentored by somebody like him, a basement dweller? Book sniffer? A locked-in lunatic in his isolated cabin? Whenever he was with you, he felt entitled to defy those titles and instead refer to himself as a teacher. A teacher, who, in reality, is the one trying to actively impress his own student more.
“Okay, I see your point. How would you like to start?” He asks, closing his notebook and setting it aside.
You smiled, a bit flustered. “Let’s just… ask each other questions?”
He laughs. “Okay. I’ll go first. Y/N, what were you up to before we met?”
Your smile dropped into a poker-faced memory recall. “I was working in a supermarket in a nearby town by Gravity Falls… and I heard some rumors from the locals about some strange things coming from there. I didn’t have much going on for me then, it was just… routinely going from my apartment to work, then back home.”
Once you finished talking, you recognized how he’s been intently listening. You subtly feel flattered. But the silence feels awkward, so you fill it in with your own question.
“When is your birthday?” Is all you could come up with.
“June 15th.” He replied, fiddling with his hands. “When is yours?”
“Y/B.” You answered, your foot beginning to tap the floor nervously.
He smiles gently, taking the hint that he should fill in more of the quiet.
“Do you like being my student? Is it a fulfilling experience?” He asks gently.
“Yes, I do. I’m learning so much more than I ever knew I could. It’s exciting.” Your voice suddenly grows hushed. “You’re very nice too. Accommodating. Not all teachers are like that. Do you like being my teacher?”
Stanford’s face tinted pink. He cleared his throat, growing nervous. His chest was tightening and fluttering, A side effect of the spike of cortisol your climate brings about in him. The sudden commitment to personalizing the relationship between the two of you is beginning to unnerve him, in the best way possible.
“Absolutely. You’re a willing, quick learner and go above and beyond not only as a student but as a helper. You have great potential and even have surprised me sometimes, too.” He says seriously.
You giggle at the compliment. “Thank you.”
He smiles in response. “No, thank you.”
Another period of silence strikes the two of you again. The on and off eye contact, the giddiness in both your chests, it’s so much to bear. Even if it’s repressed, the attraction felt is worming its way up. Even if you two have known each other for four months now, the tunnel-vision research was so severe that it left no room for interpersonal growth. The two of you are suddenly dumbfounded by how much you like each other but know so little.
“Are you seeing anyone?” You asked, taking a leap of faith. It may have sounded unprofessional, but you wanted to test the waters.
Stanford took a long drink of his coffee, the steam fogging up his glasses. “No, I am not. Why do you ask?”
You laugh it off. “Oh well, I guess I just would have expected you to be married or at least have a girlfriend.”
“What makes you think that?” He says in disbelief.
You take another sip too. “Well… you’re self-sufficient, have a clear direction… and harbor good looks, so I just assumed so.”
Stanford’s cheeks are rosy now. “No, but I’m flattered you think so highly of me in that department.”
He takes a moment and hesitantly raises the question back at you. “What about you? Are you seeing anyone?”
You shake your head. “No, I’ve been single for a while now.”
“Ah.” He says. “Now, see, I surely thought you were preoccupied with another partner of sorts. I guessed wrong.”
You sigh wistfully. “No, I’m so single,” You say, zoning off to the window beside the two of you and looking out at the trees again. “So pretty but so gloomy.”
The magic of your frame, illuminated by the winter evening glow, fueled something deep within Stanford. He had to have guessed that no person would casually be asking such touchy questions in the manner you nor him have. Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps… he’d test the waters too.
“Y/N. I have a proposition for you.”
You turned back to him, regarding him seriously. “Yes?”
“I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t interested in you. It may be a bit inappropriate, considering how you’re my student and all. However, if you’d be interested in courting each other, I'd be more than happy to get to know you better… i-in a deeper sense.”
Your eyes lit up. Your heart soared at the intimate and respectful gesture. You grinned, grabbing one of his hands and embracing it into your own.
“I’d love to, Stanford.” Now you felt a blush creeping up on your cheeks.
He chuckled and joined his free hand upon yours to squeeze it. “Thank you, Y/N.”