Archive of Our Own

Ford didn’t expect to have a soulmate.

It happened, on occasion. Dreams that stayed utterly banal and ordinary, the person on the other end distinctly silent. For the first thirty years of his life, there was nothing, and he learned to live with it. Accept that he would have no one to connect with; that while Stanley got a soulmate, his dreams would be forever solitary. It wasn’t the end of the world, certainly, and he told himself he was too focused on his research to even have the time to find his soulmate, if they did exist. And besides, it wasn’t uncommon to marry someone else. His parents weren’t soulmates, but they made it work regardless.

That’s what he told himself, but, really, he was a romantic at heart.

His muse—no, Bill—had come to him in his dreams. The soulmate he had always wished for, except all-powerful and all-consuming. He was so blinded by desperation and hunger, he didn’t see it for what it was; a sham. A clever ploy to make him feel special, to use him for his intellect. And like any old idiot he fell right for it.

He promised himself he wouldn’t get mixed up in anything like that again, and traveling through the multiverse had been a thorough distraction, removing any further thoughts of soulmates from his mind.

When he came back, it was as silent as always. Dreams must not be able to cross dimensions, he mused, but even if he had a soulmate by now, he was more certain than ever that he didn’t want to find them. Didn’t want to drag someone else into his mess of a life. He had Stanley. He had the kids. And he could barely stomach the thought of dreams anymore, his always seeming to turn to nightmares. 

It was for the best, and this deep ache in his chest would just be something he had to live with.

The universe did seem to love to surprise him, though.

He was in a space of eternal darkness, a never-ending black for as far as the eye could see, sucking up any light and leaving him breathless as he gasped for air, for sun, for anything. He felt his way through the void, clawing through it as though it were ink he could scrape through, any attempt at escape futile. He heard all too familiar laughter in the distance, and he shut his eyes as though he could block the sound out.

“Hello?” a voice called, high and soft and making him flinch. He tried to place it, couldn’t. Too mature to be Mabel, too kind to be his own mother. He felt blindly through the dark, taking steps toward where he thought the voice came from.

“Is anyone here?” it called again, distinctly feminine. He felt his heart seize and then lurch, recoiling as he heard it closer than before. Another trick, another sick game his mind played on him. All these years and it still couldn’t quite shake the paranoia, the needling feeling that he was still lurking around her somewhere.

He took a halting step back, swinging his head around, trying to spot anything other than darkness. Another step, and he swore he could hear the soft pants of another person—

“What is this place?” she asked, incredibly close, and he whipped around to see a woman, standing with an umbrella held up like a shield. She looked at him, wary, but curious, and he leaned back as though dealing with a wild animal.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, incredulous, eyeing her with distinct distrust. She flinched, drawing the umbrella back behind her like a parasol, and he was hit with the absurdity that it was red. 

“I’m dreaming,” she said matter-of-factly, like that explained anything. “The real question is, who are you and what are you doing in my dream?”

“I’m dreaming,” he asserted, none too kindly. “The mind is incapable of conjuring new faces; it must draw upon what it has already seen. Therefore I must have seen you somewhere today…” he trailed off, trying to think. But it was impossible, he’d only been in the lab and shack today. Nowhere else to see unfamiliar faces.

“Well I have definitely never seen you before.”

“If you would please stop talking,” he said, rounding on her. “You’re just a manifestation of my mind. It’s repetitive if we both talk; I just need to think.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, lifting up his glasses.

“You’re making no sense. This is my dream, and I have no idea why I would even imagine you of all people in the first place, so if you wouldn’t mind being a little more polite—“

“Wait,” he interrupted, not noticing as she crossed her arms, unamused. “If we both think we’re dreaming, then that must mean…” He turned to her, eyes wild and suddenly far away. “What is your name?”

“What?” she asked, confused.

“Just say it.”

She gave it to him, and he furrowed his brow. Not a name he recognized. And he feared he knew exactly what that meant.

When he didn’t respond for another minute, she spoke in turn. “What’s your name?”

“Stanford Pines,” he said automatically, wringing his hands together. She looked down and noticed the six fingers, barely strange in comparison to the situation they were in. 

“We’ve never met before,” she supplied, slowly filling in the gaps as he nodded. “But we’re talking in our dreams, therefore we must be—“

“Soulmates,” he finished grimly, looking as though the weight of the universe had been thrust upon him with that word. Looking up at him, he turned to her, his gaze focused and clinical.

They stared at each other for a few long moments, feeling as though their heartbeats could be heard, rapid and unfamiliar, through the darkness. Ford studied her with a kind of careful uncertainty, a small flicker of hope blooming in his chest against his will. She was lovely, really, now that he looked at her. With a red umbrella held like it was just another accessory, brows furrowed in confusion, and eyes that shone like silver.

Immediately, he shook his head. He was not some lovesick teenager liable to fall in love at first sight. He had no information at all about this woman, except her name and her stubborn manner—

“I didn’t think I had a soulmate,” she said quietly, breaking the stillness. All of a sudden, the black void felt less like a prison and more of a gentle cover, caressing them as moonlight, cloaking their words in a soft hush. She took a deep breath, and he saw it; saw her chest rise and fall, as delicate as a quivering flower. He wondered what he must look like in her eyes. A deranged old man, paranoid and worn out. Nobody’s first pick for a soulmate.

He responded against his better judgment, finding it harder to hold his tongue here in his own mind. “Neither did I,” he said, just as soft, looking down at the ground because all of a sudden looking at her was too much.

“You must have been waiting a while,” she said, matter-of-fact, and he cringed. What sick joke was being played on him now? A soulmate suddenly appearing at his age, it was unheard of, laughable, even.

He opened his mouth to speak. What, he didn’t know, but he knew he wanted to, was going to, he just had to—

He woke up abruptly, jolting upright on the soft orange couch, sunlight streaming through the stained glass window. Scrambling, he glanced at his watch, recoiling when he saw the time. Half-past four, he must have fallen asleep midday. He ran a hand through his hair, letting out a deep sigh.

He leaned back on the couch, hand behind his head, staring up at the ceiling. His memories of the dream came back slow, hazy. Bright eyes and a red umbrella and a voice softer than silk. Immediately, a sensation akin to missing found its way under his skin, even though, rationally, he knew that was absurd. 

The only fragment he had of her was a name, ghosting on the tip of his tongue, sending a shiver down his spine.

The realization came slowly, like his brain was still playing catch up with the rest of him. As the initial shock wore down, he was left with an incredulous, giddy sort of feeling. Laughter came bubbling up, the sheer insanity of the situation dawning upon him.

He had a soulmate.

***

Another week passed before he dreamed again, and he was decidedly disappointed at the lack of contact, then immediately scolded himself for feeling such a way. He had gone his entire adult life without the need; certainly he could be patient now. But the nagging feeling that it really was all just a dream was hard to shake off, the idea that his mind would conjure a faux soulmate just to torture him was certainly not out of the realm of possibility, and he was wary of getting his hopes up.

His hopes, of course, refused to listen to logic, frantically beating their wings like doves in a cage, attempting escape no matter how many times he tried to tamp them down. He pushed the matter to the back of his mind, trying to focus on more pressing matters. The issue of securing all his old facilities, attempting to coexist with a strange young man and his stranger grandmother. Rounding up all his experiments numerically. He had no time to be dreaming of soulmates.

Funny how things always seem to happen when you least expect them to. Perhaps another aspect of his unifying theory of weirdness he ought to study. For now, though…

This time, he was definitely not within his own dreamscape. That place was a familiar one by now, dark and isolated and nothing like the place he currently found himself in. A forest clearing in the middle of a summer rain, sunlight streaming through the gaps in the trees and reflecting off the puddles of water. The ground was damp and the air clean, the quiet hum of insects and distant thunder the only things he could hear. It was…peaceful. Ford had admittedly forgotten that dreams could be as such, and it was like breathing fresh air for the first time in, well, forever.

“I’ve been looking all over for you,” she said, and he looked to his left to find her standing there, barefooted in the rain, red umbrella over her shoulder. All of a sudden the accessory made sense, seeing as his own hair was quickly getting soaked in the gentle drizzle.

“Sorry?” he asked, having not quite heard what she said. She smiled at him, those doves flapping their wings frantically in his chest, and he swallowed, turning to her.

“We must be in different time zones,” she said idly, looking around through the trees. “I’ve fallen asleep early every night this week and we haven’t seen each other.”

Immediately, Ford thought guiltily to the way he’d subsisted on mid-afternoon naps the entire week, the possibility of intentionally trying to catch his soulmate never even crossing his mind. The thought of her intentionally trying to see him again, however, did strange things to his heart.

“Ah, well, no,” he said sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck in a nervous habit. “We may very well be in the same time zone, I just haven’t been, well, sleeping at night.”

“Oh, do you work a graveyard shift or something?” she asked politely, and he shook his head, wincing.

“Not exactly…I’ve mostly been sleeping in the afternoon,” he explained, inexplicably feeling bad. He had this strange thought that he wanted her to like him, but shoved it down as quickly as it came. Soulmate or not, he didn’t even know this person, and he wasn’t one to rush into quick friendships.

Much as his heart might resist that noble thought.

She nodded, though, seemingly in understanding. After a soft beat, she moved to stand next to him, lifting the umbrella up higher so it covered them both. He shivered at the way they nearly touched, feeling the heat of her skin so near his own.

“Now I think about it, I suppose I was napping too the time we met,” she said quietly, her words petering out as the rain picked up. Ford felt the need to say something, but for the life of him he couldn’t seem to grasp a topic. He had never been good at conversation, and it seemed all those lost skills were rearing their ugly heads now.

Fortunately, she seemed well-equipped to pick up the slack.

“Do you sleep in that?” she asked, and he looked down at his attire. The same trench coat over a turtleneck as always, with dark pants and muddy boots that were serving him well in the current weather. He looked over and saw her in what he realized were pajamas, a white linen robe and bare feet. Of course, he thought, recalling some old textbooks about the dreamscape he’d read a lifetime ago. 

People appeared in dreams wearing what they had on when they fell asleep. This had led to, if he remembered correctly, several fads of people wearing fancy ball gowns and suits to bed, in the hopes of making a good first-impression on their soulmate.

He cringed then at his own attire, realizing what it meant. It was true, he often didn’t mean to fall asleep, leading to him usually wearing the same things during the day as in slumber. But previous experiences had also taught him to wear hardy clothes to bed, in preparation for whatever situation he might find himself in when he awoke. A holdover of paranoia that was disturbingly hard to break free of. Truthfully, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d worn proper pajamas to bed.

“…yes, I do,” he answered eventually, making a mental note to invest in some night clothes and shuddering at the very idea. Perhaps just losing the coat and boots would do.

The topic of clothing, however, brought forth a question he’d remembered he wanted to ask.

“Do you sleep with an umbrella?” he questioned, not unkindly, and she laughed, ducking her head, embarrassed.

“Yes,” she answered, smiling. “I keep it with me whenever I sleep, it helps with the weather,” she said, gesturing around them, and it was then Ford realized she was straining quite a bit to keep the umbrella over both of them. Wordlessly, he took it from her hand, and she smiled in thanks.

“Is this a place you know?” he asked, deciding it was easier to ask her questions than to deal with explaining his own life. She sighed wistfully at his words, gaze focused far beyond the trees.

“No, I wish. I’ve always wanted to live in the middle of the forest.”

“I live in the middle of the forest,” he responded immediately, then blushed when he realized what that sounded like. Turning to him, she raised a brow, the rain letting up and the sunlight brightening her eyes.

“Well are you looking for a roommate?” she asked, deadpan, and he blushed further. She laughed at his reaction, and he realized he liked the sound.

“I’m kidding, of course. I know some people love to jump immediately to meeting each other but, if it’s alright with you, I’d prefer to take things slower,” she said, her voice soft, birds singing in the distance. “I’ve never done this before, obviously, and I kinda want to savor it.”

He nodded immediately, feeling a million times better after hearing her words. He supposed it should have been expected that he’d be on the same page as his soulmate, of all people, but it was nice to feel like there was no pressure.

“Of course,” he agreed, matching her soft tone. The moment seemed to call for it, wrapping around them in quiet serenity as he took the umbrella down, the sun shining brightly overhead.

“But that doesn’t mean I don’t want you to have something to remember me by,” she said playfully, pushing the umbrella back toward him as he tried to hand it to her. He felt a familiar slipping at the back of his mind, a telltale sign that he’d be waking up soon, and stared bewildered at the object in his hand. 

“What?” he asked, but she was already gone, and he found himself back in his room, the sun barely peaking over the horizon.

And a red umbrella at his side.

***

Ford had always, at best, looked at his dreams with vague detachment, and at worst with downright fear. Now, however, he found himself actually looking forward to his nights, knowing it was the time he’d get to see her again.

He told himself they barely knew each other. Told himself they were just barely becoming friends, that it was hasty to jump to any conclusions, soulmates or not. But his treacherous heart seemed unconcerned with his logic, blowing up every small interaction into a momentous deal.

They continued to meet in her dreamscape, and he figured that was for the better. Attempting to explain the reasons for the black void of his mind was best left a conversation after she had gotten to know certain things about him, and he was content to hold those off for as long as possible. The forest clearing was pleasant, and he was sure to bring the umbrella with him each time, the ritual becoming a familiar and easy one alarmingly quickly. 

The weather seemed to change each time he was there, sometimes rainy as it was the first time, sometimes cold and snowy or dreary as fall. Sometimes night and lit up with fireflies, others bathed in the cool light of morning. Always calm and inexplicably warm no matter the weather, Ford felt a stupid sort of irony at the thought that his soulmate had a peaceful mind. Opposites attract, or something like that.

They’d sit or stand in the grass and talk quietly, umbrella between them. He’d been concerned about conversation at first, but it always seemed to flow easily, and the few silences were never uncomfortable. It felt nice, in a way, to just get to know someone. Ford couldn’t really remember the last time he’d had a pure friend, no strings attached.

In all honesty, he wasn’t certain he could at all.

But she was interesting, and she listened intrigued to all his tales of weirdness and research, taking his career in stride. She told anecdotes from her own life, voice smooth to listen to and always kind, never pushing him too far on any subject. He found himself lamenting all the years he’d never had this, this easy companionship that he hadn’t realized he’d been searching for all his life.

Tonight, a shadowy dusk had fallen over the forest, the shadows long and the crickets loud. They sat against the gnarled roots of an old-growth tree, chatting more animatedly than usual.

“But that makes no sense, how on earth could it even..?”

“That’s what I was curious about! I wasn’t willing to test it further without preparation, though, but the next day I came back and it was gone. It probably could have saved me a whole lot of trouble, looking back on it, but then again I’m not sure how much one should trust omnipotent mailboxes—“

“That’s just—goodness, that’s certainly something!” she said, laughing. “That’s even crazier than your story about unicorns!”

He smiled in return, feeling his heart flip as she laughed, the sky pink and yellow overhead. As they fell back into comfortable silence, he was struck with just how easy it was to exist with her. 

He kept her red umbrella in his room, away from prying eyes. In a moment of rare vulnerability, he had held it earlier that morning and just stared at it, contemplating. He ran his hands over the handle and imagined he could feel her touch. 

That was the tricky part about dreams; you couldn’t really feel anything. And Ford was realizing, dangerously, that that was something he craved. He wanted her touch. Sometimes he’d look at her hands and be hit with a sensation of longing so strong it shook him to his very core.

She traced her hand through the grass, fingers running through the blades and snagging on a stray dandelion. He thought about all the years he’d spent alone in the woods, denouncing human connection as it suited him. He thought about his humbug attitude toward soulmates, the way he’d laugh at people in college who mooned over the people they saw in their dreams.

He thought about how he’d told himself he wouldn’t fall, and look where that had left him?

“What even made you think to search out all these anomalies in the first place?” she asked, breaking the silence and making him look at her. She plucked the dandelion from the ground, twisting it in her fingers, and he watched as it blossomed into white-tipped seedlings, scattering to the wind when she blew on them.

He looked down at his own hand and held it out in front of them, stretching his six fingers and flexing all of them in turn.

“Ever since I was kid people made fun of me for this,” he explained, squeezing his hand into a fist before relaxing it. “I was labeled as ‘weird.’ Different. And people don’t like different,” he said mournfully, looking back up through the trees. “It was sometime at the end of my college career that I decided I wanted to research more weird things like me, find out why they existed. See if there was something that connected them all.”

She nodded, looking deep in thought. The sun was very nearly below the horizon, the air quickly turning chilly with the first strings of night. He looked at her in her linen robe and felt a sudden rash and sentimental thought rise through his chest.

“Sounds like a noble cause,” she said finally, and his heart seized. If only she knew what that ‘noble cause’ had left him with. He’d tell her, eventually. 

He shook his head lightly. What was up with him? Already making future plans? When had he decided he was going to tell her those things? When had he realized he wanted to?

He blinked and looked at her sideways, seeing her content smile as the crickets started to sing. She shivered imperceptibly, and he said to hell with it. He’d spent a lifetime overthinking. Maybe it was finally time to stop.

In one fluid movement, he shrugged off his coat and swept it over her shoulders, making sure it covered her arms. She startled slightly, looking over at him in question, and he just smiled.

“Something to remember me by,” he echoed, admiring the way she looked at him, mouth slightly parted, eyes wide with wonder and confusion. He thought the universe must know something, if this was the person it paired him with.

They stayed quiet together for a while longer, watching as darkness fell further and further before that by now familiar tug at the back of his mind signaled morning. She waved goodbye at him as they both woke up, trench coat wrapped firmly around her shoulders.

He doesn’t bother buying a new coat, insisting to Stanley that he’s decided it’s too warm to wear one anymore, and all he gets is a raised eyebrow from his brother and a “whatever you say, Sixer.” 

He thinks about her wearing it, and giddy doves fly frantically in his chest.

***

He knew, on some level, that he could only hide this from his family for so long. That eventually someone would begin to suspect why he was actually getting a decent night’s sleep every night. It only got worse when summer came, and the twins, perceptive as ever, rarely let him have a moment alone.

“Grunkle Ford, you look different,” Mabel said to him the second night after she and her brother had arrived, looking at him curiously as she finished painting his nails (one finger for each color of the rainbow). He couldn’t remember exactly how or when she’d gotten him to agree to this, but then Mabel had a way of getting people to do things without them even realizing. 

He mirrored her inquisitive look, flipping up his glasses with his free hand and squinting at her. 

“If you ask me, my dear, you’re the one who looks different. I’m certain you’ve grown at least a foot since last summer!” he declared, making her giggle. She put a hand up in faux-humility, fluttering her eyelashes and grinning.

“Staw-hp,” she said, punctuating the ‘p,’ and he grinned back at her. He lamented the fact that he hadn’t spent much time with his niece last summer, and was determined to do so now. What he had initially dismissed as her childishness, he had come to appreciate. Perhaps he needed a bit more childishness in his life, anyhow.

Or, he thought, as he watched her stand up and rush to the attic to show Dipper their nails, perhaps Mabel was simply wiser than he had ever given her credit for.

Unfortunately for him, wisdom was both a blessing and a curse.

If only he’d ever actually had a decent sleep schedule, then no one would ever suspect a thing. But as it was, his frequent retirement to his room was nothing short of extraordinary, and he was actually shocked it had taken this long for anyone to say anything.

Though, perhaps they had noticed, in hindsight, and he was being more obvious than he realized.

“Well, I’m off to bed Stanley. See you in the morning,” he called over his shoulder after dinner, maybe just a slight hint of a spring in his step. Stan, unamused, lowered his newspaper to level a skeptical glare at him.

“Alright, what’s with you? I go from practically having to drag you to bed after three days to you acting like some teenage girl about to have a sleepover. What gives?”

“Please refrain from comparing me to a teenage girl ever again,” Ford cringed, narrowing his eyes at his brother. “And for the record, I happen to be tired tonight, and am intending to be well-rested for an expedition I have planned for the kids and myself tomorrow morning.”

“Uh-huh,” Stan murmured, unconvinced. “That’s why you’re smiling so often too now, huh?”

Ford drew in a sharp breath through his teeth. Physically refraining from running his hand through his air, he leaned on the doorway with as unaffected an air as possible.

“What exactly are you implying, Stanley?”

Stan didn’t bother looking back at him, cooly inspecting his own hand. “Mabel thinks you look less tired, more happy. I’d hazard a guess she’s right. And with you being all of a sudden so excited about sleep…” he trailed off, but the implication was clear. Ford didn’t bother dignifying that with a response, 

He knew that admitting this to Stanley meant the whole house would know, and for some reason he just…wasn’t quite ready for that yet. This thing with her…it was fragile. Ephemeral and strange, he had the strange desire to keep it close to his chest for as long as possible. She’d said the perfect thing: savoring it. He wanted to savor this for himself for a while longer.

Not to mention that telling the family would make it that much more real. His heart was still too fragile to handle that just yet, their relationship still too up in the air. Nothing was concrete in dreams, and a part of him, though exhilarated, was still hopelessly scared.

What if he told them, only for her to decide it wasn’t going to work out? What if when she learned more about him, she decided she didn’t want him? The thought that he wouldn’t want her, of course, never crossed his mind, but then he was never particularly good at self-examination.

He would tell them, eventually. Just not right now.

He shrugged at Stan, as calm as he could. “See you in the morning,” he repeated, more firmly, and to his relief Stan didn’t push it further, just eyed him sharply before going back to his newspaper.

Little did he know Stan would be the least of his worries.

“Woah, Grunkle Ford, what is that?” Mabel exclaimed, swinging ahead of him and Dipper and pointing out a rather large bird flying high overhead. Shading his eyes from the sun, he looked up and squinted at the creature.

“Looks like an American goshawk; good eye, sweetie!” he called, and she whooped in excitement, the gray bird giving a loud screech in return as it veered left and out of sight. Dipper craned his neck to see it over the trees, making a small note in his field journal.

“Grunkle Ford, how do you know all this stuff? Did you just memorize a bird guide or something?” he asked, frustratedly staring at his scribbled notes. Ford gave a slight chuckle, patting Dipper on the head and making the kid look up, sheepish.

“It’ll come with time, Dipper. Don’t worry about it much now; you’re still young. You have all the time in the world to remember the names of every bird species in North America!” he joked, and Dipper rolled his eyes and grumbled but he could see a hint of a smile on his nephew’s lips. The kid reminded him scarily of himself sometimes, and that made him worry a bit. He had no desire to see him walk the same path in life.

He watched Dipper put away his notebook and run to catch up with Mabel, the two twins colliding and laughing as they fell to the ground. He let out a sigh. Much as he worried, he got the feeling that Dipper would turn out far better than he had.

“Grunkle Ford, Grunkle Ford!” Mable called, waving frantically at him from about ten yards ahead. “We made it!” she yelled, and he jogged to cross the short distance to them.

They stood at the edge of a cliff overlooking the large valley of Gravity Falls. Mabel put her arms up and he immediately lifted her, swinging her to sit over his shoulders so she could get a better view. For a moment the three of them just stood there, soaking it all in.

He felt a small pang of longing, thinking of her and how much she’d like to see this. How excited she would get at the view of the mountains and the forest. He realized with a start that he wanted her here with him, to see everything. Wanted to show her everything about Gravity Falls and watch her eyes light up as he did.

He was in deep, maybe too deep. It should have scared him, should have made him wary. He had always had such sharp control over his heart, letting his head rule over all.

Mabel wriggled from his grasp, dropping to the ground and joining Dipper at the cliff’s edge, gazing down. He wondered if she’d like the kids, wondered if they’d get along. Mabel would love her immediately, he thought, smiling as he pictured his niece dragging her into crafts or baking or whatever wild thing she was into next. Dipper would probably be more reserved, but with how curious and kind she was, Ford had no doubt the kid would enjoy pouring over his own discoveries with her, happy to have a captive audience.

“You’ve got that look on your face again,” Mabel said, snapping him out of his thoughts. Shaking his head, he cleared his throat and looked down, finding her staring at him smugly.

“What look?” he asked, maybe a tad bit more panicked than necessary. She put her hands on her hips, the picture of his own mother, and leaned forward while Dipper joined her.

“Like this,” she said, then demonstrated with a love struck look on her face. He swore he’d have to do some tests on her eyes, as her pupils seemed to somehow form themselves into the shape of little hearts.

Shaking his head, he rolled his eyes, trying not to think of the way his heart sped up.

“I certainly do not look like that,” he asserted, and Mabel looked at him skeptically.

“You so do,” she replied, and he cursed the fact that she was a teenager. What was it with teenage girls and somehow always knowing what you were thinking, anyhow?

“That’s preposterous; why on earth would I have cause to look like that, anyway?” he questioned, and Mabel eyed him suspiciously. Dipper joined her, crossing his arms so they looked like a pair of miniature sleuths.

“Now that I think about it…Grunkle Ford has been acting strange lately,” Dipper commented, and Mabel nodded along.

“Exactly,” she asserted, “and there’s only one reason he’d look like that.”

Ford stood still as a deer in headlights, eyeing his niece and nephew like they were piranhas that would pounce on him at any second. The sun sure felt hot, didn’t it?

“What reason?” he asked nervously, tugging at his collar. He suddenly regretted the lack of trench coat, the high neck made it easy to hide behind.

Mabel brandished a wide smile, looking like the cat who caught the canary. “Obviously, you have a brand-new super-secret science-y project! And Dipper and I want in!” she declared, Dipper nodding along enthusiastically. Ford immediately relaxed, letting out a large sigh of relief at having been handed the perfect excuse on a platter.

“Right, of course! You caught me,” he lamented dramatically, hand on his heart. “I suppose now I must let you kids in on my secret, but prepare yourselves, for it is a dangerous road ahead of us!”

Mabel hid her mouth behind her hand as she giggled, and Ford was satisfied with the cut in tension.

“Now, let’s say we race home for lunch?” he asked, and both twins jumped up.

“First one back to the shack is a gnome!” Dipper cried, immediately launching into a sprint with Mabel hot on his tail. Ford jogged to keep up with them, a smile tugging at his lips.

Yes, she would fit in quite well with his family, he thought. When the time came.

Perhaps sooner rather than later.

***

For the first time in months, he dreams in his own mindscape.

This time it’s an open field, the sun hidden behind sickly yellow clouds. He had forgotten what it was like, the impending feeling of all-consuming doom and dread. No sunlight, no crickets softly chirping or birds singing in the distance. Just a vast, empty expanse of wheat as far as the eye could see.

He clutched the umbrella in his hand tightly, swinging his head around, searching. Nothing, no sound. Just a prickling sensation at the back of his neck, tugging at him uncomfortably.

He heard a whisper off to his left and snapped to it, trying to trace the sound before it faded. Another to his right, and he was twisting in circles, trying to pinpoint the source of the noise. 

Whispers at the back of his mind, in his head. Swirling around like tormenting ghosts he could never catch, crawling along his skin like spiders in a trap. Pattering footsteps echoed behind him, and he swung around, brandishing the umbrella like a sword.

“Who’s there?” he called, knowing it was futile and yet feeling the need to speak anyway, if only to drown out the ever-growing madness. Blackness teased the edges of his vision, and sharp, unmistakable laughter rang out from everywhere and nowhere at once.

A chill ran down his spine, every muscle tense. A flash of yellow ran across his vision, and he flinched back, gritting his teeth. Another echoing laugh, closer this time. Sinister and deadly. 

“Show yourself!” he yelled, spinning wildly as the whispers grew louder, the laughter more forceful. It seemed to be coming from all directions, closing in on him, trapping him in place. Footsteps running behind him, a door slamming in the distance, the creak of rusty metal hinges and laughter, laughter everywhere.

Ford broke into a sprint, panting as his feet seemed to move slower than his brain, like trudging through molasses, the infinite expanse of void stretching out before him. The footsteps grew closer, hot on his tail, taunting him. Faster and faster and faster, they were chasing after him, laughing as though they already knew he would lose. Step step step step, and a hammer slamming down a nail, over and over and over and over, faster and faster and slam, back again, laughter overhead, laughter everywhere, laughter he couldn’t get away from, couldn’t escape, couldn’t—

He tripped on air, falling heavily onto solid dirt, scrambling, flipping on his back, trying desperately to stand up, but it was no use. The ground seemed to pull on him, grabbing hold of his limbs and forcing him downward, eating him alive, making him one with infinity, with nothingness. He fought but it was no use, black, starless night like quicksand, pulling harder the more he fought, making him gasp for air, unable to scream, unable to cry for help. Like trying to keep his head above the tide, he felt himself sinking down down down into oblivion, pain clawing at his chest, nowhere to go, nowhere to escape, darkness forcing his eyes closed.

“Ford!” a voice called, and he was being pulled forcibly out, like squeezing through a tight tunnel. Hands on his shoulders, shaking him, and he blinked his eyes open, coughing and sputtering against the burning pain in his lungs. Bright eyes and a kind smile, she looked down on him, worried, the inky black melting into sunlight around her. Like paper in water the void dissolved into gentle warmth, the scenery melting into the quiet comfort of his own room.

They were sitting on the carpet, her hands on his, but they weren’t really there, and he longed to truly feel her touch. To draw strength from their connection, like she could somehow fill every part of him that cracked. He realized she was saying something, her mouth moving, and he focused to hear what it was, ears ringing like tin bells.

“—are you alright? What happened?” she asked, her figure coming into focus. He shook his head, trying to think, every thought sluggish and slow.

“…sorry?” he said, then slumped forward. She caught him easily, soothing hand on his back, but still not on his back, and he closed his eyes, breathing deeply. He didn’t know what she smelled like, but he wanted to know. Wanted to know every part of her, good and bad.

“…was that a nightmare?” she asked quietly after a while, and he nodded slowly. He raised himself back up to sitting, and saw her in her usual pajamas, with the addition of his trench coat slung around her shoulders. His heart warmed at the sight, burning, and he thought inanely of her falling asleep in his coat, wondering how good it would feel to actually have her in his arms.

Impulsively, he drew her toward him, clutching her to his chest, imagining the feel of her heartbeat in his. She took it in stride, holding him back, the steady rise and fall of her chest a comfort and yet not enough. He needed more of it, more of her, if only to chase away the darkness that threatened to consume him from the inside out.

“Ford?” she questioned after the silence had stretched out, drawing him back. He sighed, taking a slow breath, in and out.

“There are some things you should know about me,” he began quietly, finding his voice. “My past isn’t pleasant, and sometimes—“ he coughed, a sudden pain passing over him. He waited a moment to subside before continuing, drawing back from her embrace. 

“Sometimes it comes back to haunt me,” he explained, and she nodded once, slow, encouraging him to continue. 

“I told you I came to Gravity Falls to research anomalies, but after several years I hit a wall. Everything seemed to be pointing to some common origin, but I couldn’t figure it out. In desperation, I found a hidden cave with an incantation carved into the walls, and like a fool I recited it,” he explained, the words tumbling out fast before he could overthink them.

“It summoned what I believed to be an angel of wisdom, but he turned out to be a demon of monstrous proportions. He convinced me to create a portal that would supposedly connect me to the dimension of weirdness I had been seeking, but he lied. I had instead created something that would bring about the end of our very universe.

“I sought to destroy it, and enlisted my brother to help. But, well, it had been years since we’d last spoken, and we fought,” he explained, wincing as he thought of it. “The portal ended up activating, and I fell through it.

“I spent years traveling through the multiverse, fighting to survive. My brother managed to open the portal again and bring me back, but thirty years had passed, and the demon who tortured me still sought to destroy us. We were eventually able to get rid of him once and for all, but…” he trailed off, remembering the haunting sounds of laughter.

“…sometimes he still lingers,” he finished, looking down at his own hands. His life story sounded ridiculous even to his own ears; he didn’t want to know how she would react. They sat in frightening silence for several slow beats, Ford swallowing harshly. Was it possible to lose a soulmate? Could they simply decide not to choose you, severing the connection permanently?

Suddenly, small hands grabbed his own, and he looked up to find her smiling gently, every emotion he could have ever hoped to express contained in her eyes.

“That sounds absolutely awful,” she said, laughing in slight disbelief, and he couldn’t help but smile back. How was it she made everything feel so much easier?

“Much of it was my own fault,” he confessed, letting go of her hand to rub the back of his neck. “So many things could have been avoided if I’d just handled it better.”

She hummed thoughtfully, looking around the room. “From the sounds of it, probably,” she replied, and he cringed. He deserved that, certainly, but she continued. “But that’s all in the past now, right?”

He nodded, swift, and she pursed her lips.

“Look, Ford. I didn’t know you then. But I know you now, sort of,” she said shyly, looking down at his hands. “and I’d like to get to know you better. Your past is a part of you, and it’s my privilege to learn about it. All of it,” she emphasized, “no matter what that entails.”

Ford wasn’t sure he’d ever felt like this his entire life. So very seen by someone who chose to. Someone who knew everything and still chose him regardless, not because they had to, but because they wanted to. He didn’t think anyone outside his own family would ever do that.

He wanted to give her the world, he thought. He wanted to know every part of her, inside and out. Wanted to repay her for every kindness she’d ever shown him tenfold, to make her feel as special as she made him. Wanted to hold her hand for real.

He never thought he’d fall in love until he was in the middle of it, suddenly arrived at the destination when he’d had no clue he was on the journey to begin with. He looked at her and knew, irrevocably, that he was in love.

“What on earth did I do for the universe to give me someone as perfect as you?” he asked rhetorically, and she laughed, eyes bright as the stars.

“Who knows?” she joked, falling back into the carpet and staring up at the ceiling. He joined her, laying side by side, the stained glass window casting warm shadows on their skin.

“Is this your room?” she asked conversationally after a beat, instantly moving them back into comfortable territory. He was once more struck by how easy it was to exist with her, everything about them seemingly simpatico.

“It is,” he affirmed, nodding, and she looked over at him with a brow raised.

“Then where’s your bed?”

“I sleep on the couch,” he explained easily, not noticing the look of horror she gave him.

“You’re telling me you sleep on a couch?” she asked incredulously, sitting up, and he followed her, confused.

“It’s quite efficient, yes. I never felt the need for a proper bed, and this worked well enough to suit my needs.”

“But—a couch is not a bed,” she emphasized, and he shrugged.

“It’s never bothered me.”

“Well it’ll bother me; how on earth am I supposed to fit on there?” she asked, and he snapped his head toward her, mouth agape. He could’ve sworn he saw a hint of amusement in her gaze, tugging at her lips as he flushed pink.

“Y-you fit…on there?” he stuttered, mind failing to comprehend a scenario in which she was there, laying on the couch with him. She laughed at his reaction, falling back onto the carpet with a content smile.

“You are going to be so fun to mess with,” she said playfully, flicking his knee with her finger, and he looked down at her, fond.

“I’ll look forward to it,” he said sincerely, and she melted into a wide grin at his words.

“You better, Stanford Pines.”

***

Summer fell into an easy rhythm of long days spent in the comfort of family and sweeter nights spent in the safety of acceptance. After so many years spent fighting for his life, always looking over his shoulder, it was a welcome respite to relax into simple routine. 

He invested, sheepishly, in some proper pajamas, buying flannel pants and a long sleeve that didn’t cover up as much of his tattoo as he would have preferred. Still, he was pressed to admit that it was in fact, more comfortable. Certainly better than sleeping with literal boots on his feet.

“Goodness, look at you!” she exclaimed, wide grin as she inspected him from head to toe, admiring his new red-patterned pajamas. He held the ever-present umbrella in his left hand, twisting it around his wrist in a nervous habit. She was, as always, dressed in white, his very own coat slung comfortably over her shoulders.

“I thought it was time for a change of pace,” he replied, rubbing the back of his neck. Immediately, her eyes drew to the yellow star inked there, and she gave him a look that said ‘really?’

He flushed pink, his ears warm, and she laughed, fond. 

“It looks good on you,” she said sincerely, making him blush further. Suddenly self-conscious, he cleared his throat, attempting to tug on a collar that wasn’t really high enough to do so, and he missed the way she smothered a laugh.

The clearing was moonlit and snowy tonight, a faint dusting of frost on the ground as soft flakes fell from the sky, melting into warm honey on their skin. More out of habit than anything else, he opened the umbrella over them, filtering the stars to a soft red glow. 

“Is it winter where you are?” he asked, staring at the snow-covered pines. Every surface was reflective, brilliant white crystal that shone like jewels.

She shook her head. “No, it’s the middle of summer. Guess I’m just wistful,” she sighed, looking sideways at him. “It’s summer in Gravity Falls too, right? Any fun summer plans?”

“Just my niece and nephew visiting us.”

“The ones you told me about?”

“Dipper and Mabel, yeah,” he answered, smiling. “They’re growing up so fast, soon enough I won’t be able to keep up with them.”

“Mmm, that sounds nice.”

“What, getting old?” he joked, and she swatted his arm.

“No, spending time with family. What I wouldn’t give for that,” she sighed, wistful. He looked at her and wished he could run his fingers through her hair, feel her shiver under his skin.

“You could have it. I mean, you could have mine—family, that is,” he said suddenly, immediately stumbling over his words as he spoke them. “I mean, I know you said you wanted to take it slow, and if you wanted to wait longer, I’d completely understand, but I’m ready whenever you are to—“

She placed a hand over his, and he snapped his mouth shut, feeling preciously vulnerable. He wasn’t quite ready to say the words out loud yet, but he felt them. Felt more sure than ever, as he looked at her, that he wanted her to come and to stay.

They stood there in silence for a bit and she laughed, quietly, almost in disbelief. He bit back the desire to nervously wring his hands, waiting for her response. Hoping he hadn’t just ruined it all.

“I didn’t think I’d be ready this soon. But, yes, I want to come see you. I want to meet your family, and I want to—“ she cut herself off, looking at him. “Did you ever think it would feel this way?” she asked, and he knew exactly what she meant. Did he ever realize that it would feel this perfect, that soulmates would truly be just that?

“I couldn’t have fathomed,” he answered honestly, and she smiled. 

“I’ll start looking at tickets to Gravity Falls, then.”

Two nights later, and they had a date and a time and a giddy feeling rising in his chest. In a little over a week, they’d be meeting in person. No more half-touches that weren’t real, no more imaginary heartbeats. Real, true presence. Hope bloomed full and steady in his chest, a bouquet of dreams realized. He was going to see his soulmate. The word still felt awkward on his tongue, but it was the only true descriptor he could think of to perfectly encapsulate what she was. 

He quickly realized, though, that her visiting meant that he would have to explain everything, somehow, and his family sure wasn’t going to make it easy for him. It seemed like each time he tried to bring it up, something got in his way, making it impossible for him to broach the topic.

Dipper and Stan were out on a ‘boys trip’ fishing, and for whatever reason that meant he and Mabel were left behind at the shack. Not that he minded spending time with his great niece, but spending a day attempting to bake ‘sparkle cupcakes’ was a task he was certain would daunt even the most seasoned of patissiers. Worn out from a day of failed attempts, and full from the few that had gone right, they had retired to the couch on the back porch, watching the stars. Mabel seemed to appreciate him pointing out the constellations they could see, and he enjoyed making her laugh with tales of Orion and Draco. 

Night had long since fallen, and Dipper and Stanley were not yet back. After a long stretch of silence, Ford was certain Mabel had fallen asleep, and was preparing to carry her up to bed, when he felt a slight tug at his side.

“Grunkle Ford, do you know anything about soulmates?” Mabel asked suddenly, slumping on the couch to lean on his shoulder. He heard a slight note of wistfulness in her voice, and looked down to see her frowning. The expression was rare on his niece’s face, and he immediately melted into concern. 

“Why do you ask, Mabel?”

She sighed, long and loud. “It’s just that Dipper already has his soulmate dreams and it’s like, when am I gonna have that? It’s not fair that your twin gets to know their soulmate before you,” she huffed, and Ford winced in sympathy. He remembered exactly how he felt when Stanley first started having his dreams, the pool of envy that sat heavy in his stomach. 

“Dipper knows who his soulmate is?” he asked instead of trying to come up with any sort of comfort, knowing he would be lousy at it. Mabel rolled over and looked at him upside down, groaning.

“Yeah, Pacifica,” she said, making barf noises while she pointed at her mouth. Ford chuckled, ruffling her hair.

“I thought you and Pacifica were friends.”

“We are, but you should hear what a dork he is when he talks about her,” she grumbled, before dissolving into laughter. “They’re too cute, it’s like I’m watching a real-life rom-com!”

“That sounds like your dream come true, Mabel.”

“It is,” she said forcefully, grabbing ahold of his sweater and squeezing the fabric. “It’s just that, when is it gonna be my turn, you know? I mean, I’m so good at romance, but I have no one to romance over here!”

Ford couldn’t help but laugh as Mabel shoved her face into the fabric of his sweater, groaning loudly. Perhaps a few months ago he would have had a more cynical view on the topic, but now…he thought of a red umbrella in his room and bright eyes and a ticket to Gravity Falls by bus. Maybe once upon a time he would have thought it impossible, but, he thought, patting the top of Mabel’s head. It seemed like the universe knew exactly what it was doing.

“I have no doubt, sweetie, that when the time comes you will have the best time in the world with your soulmate,” he assured, smoothing back her hair, and she looked up at his words. “Until then, just be patient. It’ll happen when it’s meant to.”

She sat quietly for a moment, then crept a small hand to worm its way into his. He held it, staring out at the forest beyond. He may be bad with heart-to-heart interactions, but he could tell she needed this.

“Thanks Grunkle Ford,” she said after a while, and he pressed a kiss to her hair in response. 

“Of course, sweetie.”

Stan and Dipper ended up not coming home until well after midnight, grumbling about an easterly wind and lousy fish. The twins were put to bed with the promise of pancakes in the morning, and Ford decided that declarations of soulmates could wait another day. No need to add to an already eventful night.

Which is what he told himself the next night. And the next.

And the next.

And he realized he was no closer to explaining himself to anyone.

Why on earth was this so difficult? It should have been easy; just call a family meeting, make an announcement, let it run its course. He could put up the inevitable teasing, he knew he’d have their full support.

…wouldn’t he? 

It was terrifying. There were so many unknown variables, but it would be fine, surely. His mind drifted, inevitably, to her, imagining her bright eyes and wide smile, and…he cringed, she was young. Younger than he, at least, and wasn’t that bound to raise some eyebrows? 

And what about the future? What if it didn’t work out? What if he said something to screw it up, like he always did, and she left for good? He’d have to deal with their sympathy, their knowing glances, their silent judgment. Worst of all, he’d have to deal with—he couldn’t even stomach the thought.

He was very nearly spiraling when he fell asleep that night, stepping into a warm and quiet sunrise, butterflies flapping bright yellow and orange wings. Seeing her was like diving into cool water, a gentle reprieve from the chaos of his mind. She was wearing something different tonight: flowy pants and a checkered shirt, and his trenchcoat like a shawl.

“Hi there, stranger,” she greeted, stepping barefoot in the grass. A light breeze made her hair sway, made his heart swoop in his chest.

“Hi,” he responded, melting into a smile. She frowned at him, though, stepping closer to inspect him thoroughly with a piercing gaze.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, and he swallowed. Was he really that transparent? Sighing, he ran a hand through his hair, looking down at the mushroom caps in the soil.

“I don’t know how to tell them,” he said simply, and she tilted her head, brow furrowed.

“Tell who? About what?"

“My family,” he sighed, “Stanley and the kids. I haven’t told them all this time…and I don’t know how to.”

She hummed, thoughtful, putting a reassuring hand on his shoulder that wasn’t nearly as real as he needed it to be.

“Well how do you think they’re going to react?” she asked, and he shrugged, shaking his head.

“Well the kids…Mabel will be ecstatic, probably. She’s been having her own love troubles lately, I’m sure she’d love the distraction of watching someone else,” he said, thinking out loud. “Dipper would be a bit more skeptical, maybe, but I know he’d like you. And Stanley…” he trailed off, worrying his bottom lip. “He had a soulmate, but it didn’t end up working out.”

“Are you worried it’ll hurt him?”

“No—No, I’m not. He’s happy just having his family all back together. I suppose I’m just feeling…scared. Of the unknown. Of how things will change.” He looked her in the eye, struck by just how bright they were, shining like stars. “That if it doesn’t work out?” he admitted, and he knew she knew what he meant. Solemn, she nodded, sitting cross-legged in the grass and dragging her hands through the wildflowers.

“It might not work out,” she said after a long moment, and he snapped his gaze to her, slightly horrified. She smiled placatingly, patting the grass beside her, and he sat down without really being aware of what he was doing.

“My own parents weren’t soulmates,” she continued, smiling fondly at a memory he couldn’t see. “But that didn’t mean they loved each other any less. And you hear stories of people whose soulmates died…only for them to find a new soulmate years later. Or people who never got a soulmate at all, but still have perfectly fulfilling lives. And I guess, in my mind,” she trailed off, tilting her head to look at him.

“In my mind, it’s less about who you dream with, and more about who you choose. Cause, really, there’s a lot we don’t know about each other. I don’t know if you snore in your sleep, or if you don’t know how to cook, or how you look when you’re in the middle of a research project or whatever,” she said, laughing. “We have no idea if we’ll work outside of our dreams. I want to—” She looked at him, full of meaning. “—but I guess the fact is that we won’t know until we try.”

“So,” she shrugged, “you’ll just have to put up with a little bit of uncertainty in the meantime, and we’ll figure out the rest later.”

She finished speaking, and they let the silence trail out, long and thoughtful. Ford reflected on her words, thinking. He supposed he had always imagined scenarios of perfection, of everything suddenly clicking right into place. And while they had, to some extent, he had never thought about it in those words. Of choosing to love. But, really, hadn’t he already done that? He’d chosen to love his family, even when it was hard.

He looked at her, content and soft. He could choose to love her, and they could figure it out together.

“Where have you been all my life?” he asked, mostly facetious, and she shoved his arm, fond.

“In your dreams,” she responded, winking.

***

In the end, it was less dramatic of a task than he thought. He came into breakfast late, declaring he had something to announce. He had explained, in as clinical a fashion as possible, what had transpired, and the upcoming visitor they would be expecting. The reactions were reasonably close to his hypotheses.

Mabel let out a squeal that he was certain could break the barrier of sound, running delightedly around the room and shaking him so hard he could barely breathe.

“Grunkle Ford why didn’t you tell me sooner?! I could have helped you!” she exclaimed, tugging on his sweater sleeve, and he could only smile in response, charmed as always by her antics.

Dipper had stared at him for a full minute before sheepishly shrugging, giving him a solid thumbs up and a small nod. His junior research partner, much like himself, was not much for the touchy-feely, but he knew his nephew would easily come around.

Stanley had seemed equally shocked. The kids had run out of the room, Dipper dragged upstairs by Mabel to start ‘planning,’ whatever that entailed. It left the two brothers alone, staring at each other for a moment before Stan let out a long, dramatic sigh.

“So it finally happened, eh Sixer? I always said you were a late bloomer, but I didn’t think it would be this late,” he joked, clapping Ford on the back. “Tell your new girlfriend I say hi tonight, and let her know that the only thing any of us can cook around here is pancakes.”

“She isn’t—we haven’t discussed—she is not my girlfriend,” he stuttered out, insulted by the very presumption on her behalf, and Stan laughed outright.

“Yeah, and that’s why you’ve been acting like a lovesick teenager for five months straight,” he shot back, rolling his eyes. Ford glared at him, unamused.

“Look,” Stan said, suddenly sincere. “I don’t know the gal yet, but she’s gotten you to actually get a decent night’s sleep, and that’s a lotta points in my book. Don’t screw this up, Poindexter,” he warned, punctuating the statement with a finger to his chest. Satisfied, Stan took a large swig of his coffee and walked upstairs, intending to join the kids. Ford could only stand there, smiling slightly in disbelief.

Yeah, maybe he didn’t need to worry so much after all.

***

The day arrived soon enough, Ford barely able to get any sleep the night before. What little time he was able to get in was spent confirming last-minute plans, matching dopey smiles on their faces as they prepared to meet face-to-face for the very first time. It was agreed that he alone would go to pick her up at the bus stop, overriding a hard campaign by Mabel that they all be there to greet her. Stan had ultimately made the final decision for them, explaining that Ford would need to “get all his sappy crap out early,” him and Dipper making retching sounds and laughing about it.

The teasing was worth it, though, as soon enough he was standing at the city limit bus stop, heart threatening to race right out of his chest at every breeze that rushed by. He tugged at the collar of his sweater, nervously clicking the pen in his hand. He had for some reason grown suddenly self-conscious of his appearance that morning, staring at his clothes for a full minute in the mirror, dissatisfied until Mabel had come rushing in brandishing a red turtleneck.

“You can always trust Mabel to have a sweater for the occasion!” she declared, shoving it toward him and grinning widely as she awaited his reaction. He unfolded the maroon fabric to reveal a single patch stitched onto the front: a golden, six-fingered hand that perfectly matched his original journals.

“You made this?” he asked, slightly in awe, and she twirled her hair around her finger.

“Psh, oh, that old thing. I’ve had it lying around for ages—do you love it?!” she asked, and he looked up at her, laughing at the eager grin she wore.

“It’s perfect, sweetie, thank you!” he affirmed, wrapping her in a hug. A moment later, Dipper came walking through his door, hands behind his back.

“And this is from me—well, and Soos—you can click it when you get nervous,” he explained, revealing a blue ballpoint pen with a slogan on the side that said ‘Ad astra per aspera!’ in block white letters. Ford took the pen with all the reverence it deserved, winking at his nephew and patting him on a shoulder.

“With these, I think I’m as prepared as I’ll ever be,” he declared, and the twins inspected him as he shrugged on the sweater, nodding.

“Wait!” Mabel cried, digging around in her pockets. “Just one final touch—there!” she said, taking a sprinkle of glitter in her hand and blowing on it so it dusted his shoulders and hair. “Now you’re ready.”

Properly armored and sparkled, Ford nodded back at the two, giving them a double thumbs-up. They saluted him with all the air of miniature soldiers, and he walked out of his room to meet Stanley waiting for him.

“Go get ‘em, Sixer,” was all he said, shoving a red umbrella Ford didn’t know he knew about into his hands, and he couldn’t help but smile, grateful for all their support. 

He was lucky to have them. And with any luck, they just might be gaining a new addition to the family.

An old greyhound bus came screeching down the road, slamming to a none-too-gentle stop in front of him. He held his breath as the doors opened, certain his heart was ready to reach terminal velocity.

Ready or not…

She stepped out with all the grace possible when descending from a bus, hair ruffled with travel, eyes as bright as he had always known. She held a sunhat to the back of her head, clothes flowing in the breeze, and he thought he could stare at her for the rest of eternity.

She broke into a wide smile the moment she saw him, immediately dropping her small suitcase on the ground to rush forward, stopping short just a foot in front of him. They stared at each other for a long moment, drinking the other in, corporeal for the very first time.

“Hello, stranger,” she greeted, slightly breathless, and he felt the overwhelming urge to pick her up and spin her around, butterflies threatening to overtake his stomach.

“Hi,” was all he could muster, at a loss for words as he looked at her, completely, utterly besotted.

She looked him up and down, smiling at the red umbrella clutched tight in one hand, curious at his handmade sweater. She eyed his hair and couldn’t resist, reaching up a hand to ruffle it, laughing as pink sparkles came showering down.

“Glitter?” she asked, amused, and he nodded, absolutely spellbound. Her touch, warm and real, was unlike anything he could have ever imagined, and he instantly craved more. Shyly, he reached out with his free hand to grab hers, entwining their fingers as they had done so many times in their dreams.

“I can’t wait to meet your niece,” she said, smiling, and he squeezed her hand.

“Trust me, she can’t wait to meet you.”

***

It felt something like a big family reunion, the whole mystery shack coming together to celebrate. Stanley and the twins, of course, and Soos and his girlfriend and grandmother. Pacifica, which Ford was still unclear as to whether she was dating Dipper or not, and the girl that the twins always hung out with; he was pretty sure her name was Wendy. Mabel’s two friends, and those teenagers that he sometimes ran into hanging out in the woods. There was cake that Mabel made and hot dogs from Stan’s grill, and he couldn’t have been happier to have a proper Pines family welcome for her.

It helped that she was positively radiant, basking in the glow of the party, easily floating between conversations. She could be discussing video games with Soos one moment then immediately turn around and laugh at one of Stan’s jokes about tax fraud. She eagerly listened to Dipper telling her about his encounters with the undead, and was more than happy to be dragged by Mabel into seeing who could make a taller stack of tater tots.

Actually, he felt just a little put out that he couldn’t monopolize her time a bit more. Realistically, he knew that would be nigh impossible with their living situation, but…still. It was only so good to watch her from far away, and they hadn’t touched at all since holding hands on the walk back to the shack, and—goodness, Stan was right, he really was acting like a lovesick teenager.

Ford was therefore all too happy as the party wound down, the kids climbing to the roof to set off illegal fireworks, laughing as they tripped over each other. Stan declared that it was time for ‘Cash Wheel’ and that if anybody was dying they should call Ford. Eventually that left them alone on the back porch, watching as the sun sunk further beyond the horizon.

He took a chance and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, only relaxing when he felt her lean into it, sighing. The motion was so familiar and yet so foreign, every touch a new sensation he was eager to catalog. Ford had never considered himself one for physical contact, and yet now he seemed to relish it, craving more with each passing moment.

But, he cleared his throat, he was getting ahead of himself. All in good time. He was rather known for ‘coming on too strong,’ as it were, whether in research or in life, and he knew that if he wanted this to go well, he would have to relax a bit.

She made it easy to, though, staring off through the trees, her smile content and warm, everything he had quite literally dreamed of. He recalled their forest clearing and thought about how this was so much better, bringing her to the forest for real.

“It’s just as beautiful as you said,” she murmured, resting her head against his shoulder. He could hear the tinge of sleep in her voice, and warmth bloomed in his chest. How exciting, to learn so many new things about her? To find out what she sounded like when she woke up, how she took her coffee, if she took coffee. To see her, messy and tired, bathed in the warm summer sun. It was his privilege, he thought, to learn each and everything about her. The greatest anomaly he would ever catalog in his life.

He hummed quietly, resisting the urge to press a kiss to her hair. “It’s getting late, do you want to go to bed?” he asked softly, and she shook her head no.

“I don’t wanna miss out on the fireworks,” she protested, but her tired eyes told otherwise, barely staying open as she fought against sleep. He chuckled and grabbed her hand, leading her to sit on the back porch. Here they would have a decent view of the sky, for as long as she managed to keep her eyes open.

He intended for them to sit side by side, but it seemed she had other plans. Nudging him until he was sitting on the soft ground, she sat behind him, crossing her arms around his neck and nestling her chin in his hair, sighing contently. He tried to act as though her touch didn’t affect him, breathing deeply as he relaxed into the sensation. It felt…nice. Better than nice, really. 

He thought that maybe he could sit like this forever.

They watched as bright sparks rained up in the sky, Ford idly explaining what combination of elements led to the creation of what colors while she hummed in response, peaceful. When he sensed her feeling more like dead weight on his back, he nudged her with his hand, shaking her arm.

“Mmm?” she mumbled, and he turned his head, trying and failing to look at her.

“Stan got an air mattress in an extra room for you, if you want it. Otherwise you can room with me; whatever you’re more comfortable with,” he explained, and she nodded, blinking slowly.

“You’re more comfortable,” she said by way of answer, shrugging off him and standing shakily. He immediately followed and steadied her, lending his arm for her to lean on.

He led her to his room, her eyes widening as she spied the presence of a real life bed in the corner, aesthetic matching the mid-century modern vibe he had going with the decor. It had plush green blankets and gauzy curtains around it, and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t buy it with her exactly in mind. He knew, truthfully, that the couch was already too small for one person; he couldn’t imagine having to fit another.

Besides, this arrangement might have its perks.

Like they way she immediately crawled into bed, barefoot and still in her day clothes, sans sun hat. He stood for a moment just to watch her, thinking of how perfectly she fit in here, in his room. How perfectly she fit into his life—but he shook his head. No getting ahead of himself.

Just savoring the moment.

He changed in the bathroom and followed after her, slightly nervous as he slipped under the covers, her eyes already fluttered shut. He assumed she had already fallen asleep, but she flipped over to face him, her arms stretched toward him.

“You’re so warm,” she murmured, shuffling so she could wrap her arms around him while he lay on his back, the weight of her foreign but not unwelcome. Almost immediately, her breathing evened out, and he lifted a hand up to gently comb through her hair.

A dreamless sleep awaited him, he knew, and he was more thankful for it than ever. There was no need, after all, to dream of your soulmate when they were right there next to you.

***

He awoke to a gentle weight on his chest, and it took him several moments to remember. A city bus and a party and a soft hand in his…

He looked down to see her sleeping on his chest, hand resting over his heart, and he warmly covered it with his own. He had never slept beside another person like this, and it was strangely comforting. A warm, heavy reminder that he was not alone.

She stirred slightly at his touch, and he ran a gentle hand through her hair. She lifted her head up to look at him, smile tinged with sleep, feeling his hum vibrate through his chest.

“Morning,” she murmured, rubbing her face with one hand. He reached out and brushed the hair out of her eyes, smiling as she blinked rapidly, adjusting to the morning light.

“Morning,” he echoed, and she sighed, slumping back on his chest.

“‘S weird not dreaming,” she slurred, flexing her hands. “Good weird.”

He couldn’t help but laugh, taking her hand in his own. “I like weird.”

“I know y’do,” she said, finally sitting up and stretching her neck, the soft light from the stained glass window making her skin glow pink. Yawning, she pushed a hand through her hair, eyes darting around for a clock.

“What time is it?” she asked, and he sat up too, grabbing his watch from the nightstand.

“Half past eight. The kids and Stan will still be asleep, probably for a while.” He laid back against the headboard. “Plenty of time.”

She looked at him with a brow raised. “Plenty of time for what, exactly?”

He smiled sheepishly, trying to act more confident than he felt. “Whatever you want.”

“Whatever?” she asked, pushing the blankets off herself and sitting on her knees. “That’s a dangerous proposition.”

He blushed crimson, and she laughed, the sound musical. Leaning toward him, she ran both hands through his hair, making him shiver under her touch.

“It’s so nice to finally do this,” she whispered in his ear, gratified when he sucked in a sharp breath, hands ghosting over her hips. Though flirtation had always been something of a game she played, he was struck with how suddenly real all of that could be. He looked forward to seeing her playfulness played out in real life, much as it probably wasn’t good for his heart.

He hummed in agreement, squeezing her waist and earning himself a little gasp in response. Already he’d catalogued so many of her little quirks, the sounds she made and the way she moved. He looked forward to the many more he had surely yet to see.

Ford caught himself; already planning for the future? Truly, where had the cautious, scientific man gone? But as he looked at her, stretching her arms up and settling her hands on his shoulders, he knew he’d throw all caution to the wind if it was for her.

She leaned back into his arms, hands around his neck, and he let himself indulge for a while. He breathed in the scent of her hair, feeling her chest rise and fall against his. She buried her face in the crook of his neck, warm lips barely grazing his skin. The perfect lazy morning, the kind he’d never had the privilege of before.

Eventually, she wearily sat back up, declaring that it was high time for breakfast, and he could only agree. They padded barefoot through the silent house, hand in hand, grinning like children. With the only breakfast food available being pancake mix, they set about preparing a batch, listening closely for any signs of stirring within the rest of the house.

He was immensely pleased to find that they worked perfectly with each other, moving about the kitchen in fluid sync. With the decision made that he would cook while she prepared the batter and toppings, they chatted quietly as they worked, the whole scene feeling shockingly domestic. He found an apron for her to wear and tied it in a bow, the fabric patterned red and white hearts. Perfectly fitting, he thought, missing the way she admired his arms when he rolled up his sleeves.

None too soon, Mabel and Dipper came walking in groggily, having stayed up much later. They claimed Stan was outside with Waddles and would be joining them shortly.

“If you kids could set the table, we’ll have pancakes for you in a minute,” he called to them, flipping a chocolate chip pancake over. They had sprinkles and edible glitter at the ready, just the way Mabel liked them.

Dipper rubbed his eyes, yawning as they fulfilled the request. “Grunkle Ford, can we still go out looking for beetles today? You said we were going to last week…” he trailed off, questioning. Nodding swiftly, Ford turned to face his nephew.

“Of course, Dipper. Why don’t we go after breakfast?” Dipper nodded in answer, and Ford handed off a plate to Mabel. 

“Sweetie, do you want to come with us?” he asked, and Mabel’s head shook. 

“Nah, I don’t want to listen to you two dorks talk about bugs or whatever. Grunkle Stan promised I could be the first to ride his new motorcycle, anyway.” Her eyes grew wide, mischievous. “He said I could bedazzle his helmet!” she squealed, and Dipper rolled his eyes.

Ford chuckled. “Suit yourself, young lady. And you,” he said, turning to the woman next to him. “I’m sure Dipper wouldn’t mind you tagging along on our expedition.”

She shrugged, not wanting to intrude. “Oh I wouldn’t want to get in your way,” she answered nonchalantly, but Ford was quick to push the subject.

“You wouldn’t get in the way,” he said immediately, looking at his nephew. “What do you think, Dipper?”

Dipper shrugged, smiling. “I don’t mind. Do you like hiking?”

She grinned. “I love hiking.”

Half an hour later, and they were walking through a thick copse of trees, sunlight barely filtering through the branches. Dipper had his field journal open, scanning the mossy ground as they meandered along, walking to inspect rather than to reach a destination. He gasped sharply when he saw a flash of metallic blue, fumbling to put a glass jar above it.

“I found something!” he called, and they rushed over to inspect it, admiring its distinct color.

“A lovely alder flea specimen, nice work Dipper,” Ford commended, screwing a cap on the jar and tossing it into the bag they’d brought. Dipper was hoping to add whatever they collected to a terrarium, his fascination with the natural world seeming to grow each year. And Ford was more than happy to encourage it, giving his nephew the help he wished he would have had as a boy.

She smiled at the interaction, giving the beetle the proper amount of admiration. Already, she had found a couple other species, possessing a keen eye for the small insects. Her sun hat and warm smile already had his heart doing flips, and Ford couldn’t help but feel a surge of pride as he looked at her, every little thing she did making him fall that much further.

“Ooh Dipper, check this out!” she called, showing off a neat grouping of morels growing out of a log. Dipper nodded in eager fascination, pulling out a disposable camera to snap a picture and no doubt practice drawing later.

The scene was enough to make his heart swell, warm and content. He knew he was jumping the gun a bit, knew it had been not even twenty-four hours into her stay in Gravity Falls, and yet he already knew he wanted her to stay forever. 

“You coming, Ford?” she asked, shaking him out of his thoughts, and he looked over to see her and Dipper, already walking further down the path. Nodding, he slung the bag over his shoulder and jogged to catch up with them.

“Coming!”

***

The next few days continued much the same, charmingly domestic. They settled into a routine startlingly quick, everything just feeling so very easy. 

They went on more hikes, one day gathering flowers Mabel had requested to press within her scrapbook. Happy to humor her, they had ventured out alone, Dipper doing something with Wendy and Soos.

Unfortunately there was a small incident involving a stray branch and a sharp rock, and he had insisted on fussing over her, perhaps overreacting just slightly.

“It’s really just a scratch, Ford, I’m fine,” she insisted, smiling at the way his brow furrowed as he dug up his first aid kit. He huffed at her comment, grabbing a band-aid and antiseptic wipe, irrevocably fond.

“You never know what’s lurking in the woods; I won’t let you get an infection on my watch,” he grumbled, the effect not very intimidating when she was laughing at him. He carefully cleaned the barely bleeding cut and put a band-aid over it, pink and sparkly courtesy of Mabel.

“My hero,” she declared dramatically, putting a hand over her heart and faux-swooning. He rolled his eyes and pulled her to stand, letting his arms linger around her waist.

“You’ll thank me when you don’t catch a cold.”

“How could I ever be cold with you around?” she teased, running a finger along the collar of his turtleneck and making him shiver. His eyes darted away, his ears burning.

“Better safe than sorry,” he replied, and was rewarded when she pushed herself on her toes, pressing a kiss to his cheek. It was chaste and entirely friendly, and yet it sent his heart beating wildly in his chest, so loud he was certain she could hear it. She grinned at his clear reaction, sliding her palm down his chest so it rested over his heart. He stood there frozen for a long moment, simply staring at her in disbelief.

“You look like you’re short-circuiting,” she teased, tracing a finger along his hairline. His mind catching up with his body, he wrapped his arms more snugly around her, pressing an experimental kiss to her forehead in return. He was gratified when he saw the faint pink on her cheeks, wondering how he could make her do that again.

“Come on,” she said, ruffling his hair playfully and unable to look him in the eye. “Mabel is probably dying for us to bring back the flowers.”

He nodded his assent, but as she started to walk away he grabbed her hand and pulled her flush against him, feeling oddly bolder than usual. He noticed with a strange sort of pride that she was breathing heavily, her eyes wide and lip trembling. It felt good to know she was just affected by his presence as he was by hers.

His eyes strayed unwittingly to her mouth, momentarily mesmerized, and he very nearly leaned forward and closed the distance before the loud screech of a hawk had them jumping apart.

She was the first to start laughing, breathless and a little awkward, and he joined her immediately, feeling just a little ridiculous. The moment passing over them, he melted into a warm smile, taking her hand.

“Let’s head back,” he said, getting his heart rate under control. She nodded swiftly, squeezing his hand in return, and they walked back to the shack while he tried not to think about exactly how much he wanted to kiss her.

All in good time, he supposed.

***

Stan had warmed up to her almost immediately, seeing the way she teased Ford and deciding he liked her based on that alone. 

He liked her enough, anyway, such that when she and Ford had volunteered to pick up groceries at the store, he stopped Dipper and Mabel from coming along, insisting that he needed their help with something outside. While Ford would rather die than thank his brother for something like that, he did catch the wink Stanley threw at him as they got into the car, and begrudgingly saluted back.

All this domesticity was seriously getting to him. He could live like this forever, he thought, watching as her hair blew in the wind as he drove, her arm lazily hanging out the window. Gravity Falls suited her, the lazy town and woodsy charm surrounding her like a well-worn jacket, perfectly fit. Its anomalies a thing she celebrated rather than feared.

The store wasn’t busy, half-empty at midday on a summer Sunday, and they waded through with ease. He pushed the cart while she carried the list, rattling off the various items they’d been instructed to buy.

Canned meat and beans for Stanley, beef jerky and energy bars for Dipper. Way too many things for Mabel, ranging from pineapples to mint chocolate chip ice cream to crazy glue. It was certainly an eclectic family, she thought, staring at their scattergories game of a cart. But, as she looked over at Ford contemplating whether to buy a hot pink cat keychain for Mabel or an electric blue one, she thought that she wouldn’t have it any other way.

“The electric blue,” she said, sidling up to him with a warm grin that he returned easily. “It’ll go with her sweater.”

“Blue it is,” he agreed, immediately throwing the trinket into the cart. He brushed her shoulder as he passed, winking, and she smiled broadly.

“Hey gramps, shouldn’t you be with someone your own age?” a snarky teen called as he swept by, his friends cackling like hyenas as they rode a couple shopping carts down the aisle. Ford froze in place, fists clenched. A moment later two security cards came running to stop them, but he barely noticed, standing stock still with his hands resting on the cart.

He sucked in a harsh breath, biting his lip. He had been feeling so confident lately, bolder than he ever would have been before. His feelings seemed to be reciprocated, her actions nothing but enthusiastic, and the domestic bliss they’d been sharing had been an easy balm on all his worries. But with a single careless comment they all came flooding back, repeated blows to his psyche.

Age gaps weren’t uncommon between soulmates; the universe didn’t exactly care how old you were when it happened, just assured that whenever it did, it was at the right time. Hence why he assumed their dreams hadn’t started until much later in life for both of them, the appropriate time for them to meet necessarily needing to be longer. But just because fate decided something didn’t mean the rest of the world was particularly accepting of it.

And it worried him. What if it was too much for her? What if she decided, justifiably, that it was just something she didn’t want to have to deal with? Something she didn’t want to have to explain for the rest of their lives? It was easy, in the dreamscape, to push away the cares of the world, but this was real life. Harsh and unforgiving to the realm of dreams.

And, if he looked at himself, what was he, really? A man with greying hair and tired eyes, nothing special to look at. Nothing worthy of her, who was as beautiful as she was kind. Surely, had they never been soulmates, she wouldn’t have given him a passing glance. 

She shuffled them out of the store quickly, and he paid while barely registering what was happening. They packed the groceries in the car, sat down, and just sort of…stared, silent.

After a long, slow heartbeat, she broke the silence by…laughing? He turned to her in disbelief, seeing her eyes scrunch up as she laughed warmly, covering her mouth with her hand.

“Goodness, that was just—that was so ridiculous,” she mused, unable to stop smiling, just shy of incredulous. He could only look at her in shock, seeing her somehow completely unaffected by the entire interaction.

“Ridiculous?” he questioned, and she turned to him, wiping joyful tears from her eyes and furrowing her brow when she saw his expression.

“Well, yeah,” she said, shrugging like it was no big deal. “Those kids seriously misjudged the situation, I mean, come on. Gramps? They need to learn some better insults.” She started laughing again, seemingly amused by the mere thought.

“You’re not bothered by it?” he asked, incredulous, and she looked at him with an expression that said ‘seriously?’

“Of course not, why would I be?”

“Well,” he said, running a nervous hand through his hair. “I mean, aren’t they rather correct? If we weren’t soulmates, you’d likely be, well, with someone closer to your own age. It’s not as though I’m something particularly worth choosing,” he explained, laughing in a sort of self-deprecating manner. “Not when there’s more attractive young men to be found.” 

She frowned at that, leaning over the console a bit to be closer to him.

“When have I ever said that?” she asked, serious, and he swallowed.

“Not to say that you ever have, but I just, well I—I assumed, naturally—“

“Well it’s not natural,” she posited, crossing her arms. “I will have you know, Stanford Pines, that not once in my life has an ‘attractive young man’ turned my head.”

He swallowed. “No?” he asked, feeling rather small, and she shook her head. Leaning back against her chair, she looked out the windshield, contemplative.

“Do you find me attractive?” she asked quietly, and he nodded.

“Of course—you’re lovely—“

“Good, because I think you are as well,” she asserted, cutting him off. “I mean, do you really think we would have gotten this far if I hadn’t?” she asked, punctuating her statement with a free hand that gently wrapped around his. He returned the gesture, squeezing back, and she smiled. Even if it seemed too good to be true, he knew she had never lied to him.

“I don’t care what the world has to say, Ford. I like you. Exactly as you are.” She pressed a kiss to his cheek for good measure, and he felt his face go hot under her touch. 

“I don’t deserve you,” he said instead of thanks, and she tilted her head fondly.

“I think I’m exactly what you deserve, Stanford Pines.”

***

They had popcorn and ice cream for dinner, since, ‘It’s summer break! You don’t need to eat real food!’ and who could argue with that? It was Mabel’s turn to choose a movie, and she picked some fantasy rom-com involving knights and dragons and a tall prince with pointy ears. Ford didn’t think he’d ever understand his niece’s taste in media, but then again, he supposed he didn’t have to.

As the rest of the family wound down for the night, full of mint chocolate chip and ready to sleep it off, Ford led her quietly out of the house like a couple teenage delinquents. Insisting he had something special to show her, he held her hand as they walked through the moonlit forest, taking their sweet time as they went.

He’d told her it would be chilly, and she’d grabbed his own trench coat out of her bag, wrapping it around her shoulders as she always had. It was a little surreal, actually, seeing her as she had always looked in their dreams, only actually physically there. She’d grinned as she’d shrugged on the trench coat, and out of habit he’d grabbed her red umbrella, swinging it over his arm and enjoying the playful smirk she gave him.

He’d admit he was feeling a little nervous, classic butterflies in his stomach as they neared their destination. But, he reasoned, they had done this sort of thing so many times in the dreamscape. There was nothing to be worried about now.

Probably. That didn’t stop his hand from shaking just the slightest bit in hers.

Eventually they reached a wide clearing, surrounded on all sides by tall evergreens and cloaked in starlight, creating a kind of private haven that she gasped with delight at, turning around in a circle to admire.

He stayed back to admire her, watching the way the moon caught on her hair, making it shine like silver. It was almost strange, he automatically expected her to be barefooted, chuckling slightly at the practical shoes she wore instead. The ground here was definitely less forgiving than in their dreams.

“What are you staring at?” she asked coyly, walking up and resting her hands on his chest. He put his hands over hers, gently rubbing his thumbs over her wrists, and she smiled.

“You look lovely,” he answered sincerely, drawing one of her hands up to kiss her palm. He felt her shiver under his lips, her mouth slightly parted.

“Charmer,” she accused with no heat whatsoever. She let him lead her to the middle of the clearing, the motion a familiar one, and they sat down in the long grass.

“So you like it here?” he asked quietly, setting their umbrella off to the side, and she nodded, looking up at the sky. 

“It’s great; better than I could have imagined,” she answered, words soft. He took the hand still in his and pressed another kiss to it, obsessed with the way her breath hitched when he did so.

He had been a little worried, at first, that she could make him so easily flustered while she always seemed to remain cooly unaffected. He realized now that she was just better at hiding it, proximity making it easier for him to pick out the subtle signs of affectation.

And goodness, if they weren’t affecting him now.

It was a dangerous game they were playing, maybe, alone in the middle of the woods, but neither seemed to care. He sat back and she automatically crawled in his lap, assuming a position that was becoming all-too familiar. Her eyes shone with a kind of sudden hunger he was certain mirrored his own, her hands breaking away from his to rest on his shoulders. She was a vision, he thought, an absolute vision as the wind whipped through her hair and she leaned in closer toward him.

As much as he enjoyed her chaste kisses on the cheek, he couldn’t help but let his eyes fall to her lips. Despite sleeping in the same bed for several nights, they had yet to actually kiss, and Ford could admit that, maybe, he was just a tad bit eager to. His embarrassment was only tempered by the fact that she seemed to feel the same, fingers lacing behind his back as she leaned forward shyly, lips a whisper away from his.

“Kiss me?” she breathed, and he would be a fool to say no.

They say the first kiss with your soulmate is different from any other. It was a popular trope in romance novels that he didn’t read for that first kiss to be described as, ‘stars falling into place like puzzle pieces in perfect formation.’ He’d never thought that made much sense but now, in the reality of it, he found it was the only true descriptor.

She trembled against him, gasping as he drew her closer, her fingers threading through his hair. Her mouth was sweet and warm against his, and he easily relented when she moved to deepen the kiss, his hands dragging down to her thighs. In a miscalculation of balance, he toppled back into the grass, and she followed him with a gentle thud.

“Sorry,” he breathed, lifting up his glasses and looking at her hovering over him, a grin ghosting her lips. She traced a hand down the front of his sweater, making him shudder under her touch.

“For what?” she asked facetiously, leaning down so she could nudge his nose with her own. He attempted to lean up but she drew away, intertwining a hand with his.

“For—“ he sighed, cutting himself off as she kissed his neck. He was fairly certain his eyes had rolled back, pleasantly overwhelmed by sensation as her warm mouth traced up his pulse.

She hummed against his skin, teasing her nails over his scalp, and he had half a mind to flip her over before she kissed him again, slow and deep, and he lost himself in the feel of her. How many times had he imagined this, daring to wonder what it would be like to feel her skin against his? Never in his life did he think he would reach this, the company of another person somehow managing to overrule his own solitude. And yet here he was, wanting this for the rest of his life. Wanting to kiss her goodnight and good morning, her soul his privilege to discover.

He would choose her in every universe, he thought. Even in the ones they weren’t soulmates, in the ones where they never met, he would find her and choose her a million times over. Kiss her like he was doing now, hold her until everything else fell away and it was just them. Two souls intertwined, universe or no.

She pulled back just a fraction, breathing heavily to take in air, and he admired her swollen lips, her half-lidded eyes. Enchanting was a word that came to mind, and he thought he could look at her for all eternity without getting tired of it. 

Taking advantage of their small break, he flipped them over and switched their positions, making her gasp. He pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead, smoothing back her hair and smiling warmly.

“This ok?” he asked, and she nodded, wrapping her arms around his back.

“Yes,” she whispered, leaning up to his kiss, her heart rapid under his hand. He felt his own speeding dangerously, the blush on his cheeks surely perpetual, and he couldn’t have cared less. Right now he felt as though he were flying, floating on calm air, and he never wanted to come down.

He broke away if only to admire her, letting them catch their breaths in gentle quiet. He took the time to experimentally run a hand along her side, eyes widening as he heard the way her breath hitched, muscles twitching in clear restraint. Intrigued, he ran a gentle hand over her thigh, and she gasped, sensitive.

He grinned mischievously and she swallowed, running shaky hands through his hair. He could do this all night, cataloguing her reactions to each and every touch, but he knew he should stop here for now. They had all the time in the world, after all, to figure everything out, and he didn’t want to get ahead of himself. Instead he leaned down to kiss her once more, soft and slow, and very nearly moaned into her mouth when she opened her lips against his, teasing his bottom lip with her tongue.

She tasted of rose water and mint ice cream, her tongue making him gasp and pant against her mouth, completely ruined in her. She really had no idea what she did to him, making his heart beat wildly in his chest as he slowly pulled away, admiring everything that was her.

It was then that she yawned, short and precious, and he chuckled, pressing one last kiss to her nose before sighing fondly. Sleep finally catching up to them, he rolled off her to the grass, keeping ahold of her hand. For a long moment they both stared up at the stars, immersed in the immense beauty of the universe, not quite comparing to what they saw in each other. And if he carried her back to the shack, tucking her lovingly into bed with a kiss to the corner of her mouth, well, no one but they would know.

This barrier broken at last, they fell into comfortable, dreamless sleep, Ford completely certain that this was all he ever wanted.

***

“Bye!” Mabel called over her shoulder, waving dramatically at the shack as she and Dipper clambered into the back of Soos’ truck, intent on a day of doing whatever it is teenagers do nowadays. Ford smiled as they went, startled by just how fast the kids were growing up. He teased Stanley about his soft spot for the twins, but, really, he was no better himself.

She stood at his side, reaching a hand to his shoulder, and he leaned into her touch. He had mentioned needing to take care of a few things in his study, and she had automatically volunteered to help, insisting she would be more than happy to. Though he felt wary of bringing her, he couldn’t say no, not when she looked at him so earnestly.

He opened the door to the basement with a flourish, pleased when she smiled in wonder. It was entirely unnecessary but he led her down the stairs anyway, feeling a slight sense of dread the further he walked. She already knew everything about his story, but it still worried at him; the pain and embarrassment of his past was nothing he wanted to relive.

He stood behind her in the elevator, rubbing her shoulders, and she swatted his hands away playfully.

“You’re acting like a nervous kid,” she accused, and he sighed, leaning back.

“Sorry,” he apologized automatically, and she swatted him again, making him look up in confusion.

“Don’t apologize, Ford. Just talk to me.”

He nodded, worrying his bottom lip. “Wait until we get there?” he asked, and she nodded her assent.

She smiled warmly as the elevator doors clicked open, revealing a cluttered study that he seriously needed to clean. He hung back a bit as he watched her tread lightly through the space, fingers drifting over every surface.

“Looks like a wizard’s tower,” she quipped, eyeing a worn tome that resembled a prop spellbook. He chuckled good-naturedly, stepping forward to guide her.

“I’ll admit, it needs some cleaning up…” he said sheepishly, running a hand through his hair. “I’ve rather avoided this place for a while, the memories I have here are, well, not the best,” he lamented, and she turned to him with a look of understanding.

“I was just hoping to grab a few things from down here, and then we can be on our way,” he continued, making his way toward a cabinet. She nodded and continued to meander about, looking curiously at the objects he kept. In its heyday it was quite the collection, and even now covered in dust and worn with time it was still impressive. Ancient books and curiosities lined the shelves, shiny crystals catching her interest, and she was curious as to what about this place could ever make him ashamed.

Ford searched methodically through his files, but it was difficult to focus when he tensed each time she picked something up. He had told himself beforehand that he had nothing to hide, that she already knew the worst of his past.

Easier said than done, maybe.

“So…are you gonna tell me what you were so nervous about?” she asked casually, picking up a triangular prism, and he winced. He really needed to get rid of all of those.

“Ah, I…” he trailed off swallowing harshly. He opened his mouth to respond, but her eyes widened as she picked up a torn piece of paper, revealing half of a triangular figure surrounded by fire with people bowing down, worshipping him.

“What is this?” she asked cautiously, smoothing it out, and Ford wrung his hands together to stop them from shaking. He took a deep breath, closing his eyes for just a moment before walking to her.

“You recall the demon I told you about?” he asked quietly, and she nodded automatically. He took the paper out of her hand gently, staring at the all-too-familiar yellow pattern.

“This is him,” he told her grimly, hearing the way she sucked in a breath. His hand shaking, he looked at her, eyes pleading.

“It’s not a nice story, I—are you certain you want to know?” he asked, and she slowly nodded.

“Only if you’re ready to tell me,” she assured, hand on his shoulder, and he thought for a moment, though he knew the decision was already made.

Taking the glass prism off the shelf, he held it up in one hand, twirling it around so it reflected the light. He took a deep breath, closing his eyes before he spoke.

“I—well I, I worshipped him, I suppose you could say,” he began, having no idea why he was telling her this and yet needing to. “I freely let him into my mind but…when things turned sour between us, that became a curse.” He crumpled the paper in his hand. “He could only possess me when asleep, and though I took several measures to ensure I slept as little as possible…when it did happen he made sure to make it count."

Ford shuddered at the memories, the taste of bile sharp at the back of his throat. “It was in this study that some of the worst moments of my life occurred. I have little wish to dwell on them,” he told her honestly, slouching down to lean on the shelf behind him, suddenly very tired.

She was silent for several long moments, seeming to stretch out an eternity. He heard her gentle, slow breaths, in sharp contrast with his own. Regret and exhaustion crept over him, dreading what she’d say.

She finally spoke with a gentleness he didn’t deserve, her words deliberate and soft. 

“The more I hear about your past, the more I wish I was born sooner,” she lamented, facing him. “Maybe I could have saved you some of the heartache,” she whispered, taking his hand in hers. He hummed in acknowledgement, wistfully thinking of what it would have been like to have her with him back then. An extra hand in his experiments, someone to hold through the long nights. Someone to snap him out of it when it all got to be too much.

She crept her hand along the collar of his sweater, forcing him to look at her. A mischievous glint overtook her expression, and he furrowed his brow, confused.

“Maybe you can’t rewrite history,” she started, dipping a finger below his neckline. “but what do you say to making some new memories here?” she asked, leaning close and speaking into his ear. He took in a shuddering breath, all lingering regrets quickly forgotten as he reacted to her touch, still bemused as to what she was doing.

“Make some new memories?” he questioned, and she only smirked before showing him, her meaning quickly becoming abundantly clear. She pressed her lips to his quite suddenly, making him gasp against her mouth as she wasted no time in darting her tongue to his lips, drinking him in like a woman possessed. 

He leaned back against the cabinet behind him and she followed, the full length of her body pressed against his. He could feel her heart racing in her chest, her hands shaking as they threaded through his hair. He couldn’t think of anything besides her, all previous emotion leaving him in favor of surrendering to sensation.

Taking a chance, he gently pushed her back and broke the kiss. She looked up at him dazed and curious, and he couldn’t help but smile like a tender lovesick fool as he put his hands on her hips, gently guiding her to the desk so she could lean against it. Seemingly satisfied with this new position, she wasted no time in wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him again.

After just a few minutes he was breathless, breath ragged as he leaned on the desk, his hair almost certainly wild with the way she ran her fingers through it. He looked at her and saw a hungry look in her eyes, one he wanted to take full advantage of.

“This was an excellent idea,” he murmured in her ear, pressing long, hot kisses to the skin of her neck that made her shiver. She leaned back further against the desk, moaning prettily when he reached a particularly sensitive area, and Ford knew that whatever previous memories he had attached to this room were long gone.

“Mmm I—I thought so,” she breathed, voice shaky, and he couldn’t help but smile. Here before him was this beautiful, kind, vision of a woman, and she was with him. He wished he could go back and find himself at eighteen and reassure that insecure, lovelorn fool that he had this to look forward to.

That after crossing dimensions and stopping the end of the world and dealing with crazed demons, he would have her to come home to.

He kissed her, sweet and loving, and thought about how he needed to bring her down here more often. Something told him the place could use a feminine touch.

***

The kids wanted to go tree climbing, and with Stan adamantly refusing to do so, it was up to Ford to supervise. He had told her she didn’t have to come, reassuring that he understood if she’d rather stay on the ground.

So it was with a little surprise, and perhaps a tiny shiver of pleasure, that he watched her easily scale the low branches, joining Dipper and Mabel in leaning against the trunk.

“You coming Grunkle Ford?” Mabel called, hanging upside down by her knees, and he grinned before lunging up, catching a higher branch and pulling himself onto it with ease.

Two could play at that game, certainly.

The kids’ reasoning for wanting to climb this particular tree was that there were cherries near the top, and the only way to reach them would be by climbing up. Mabel wanted to use them for a pie, and so it was Ford’s duty to carry a bucket as the kids picked the fruit, haphazardly throwing it in and forcing him to dodge on more than one occasion just to make sure it landed.

She was also grabbing her fair share of fruit, handing it off to Ford a little more gently. He was more than a little impressed, watching her easily weave through the branches. Creature of the forest, indeed.

He found a way to hang on the branch next to her, making sure to bump his shoulder against hers every so often. She smiled cheekily at him, nimble fingers grabbing bright red cherries and getting stained in the process.

“Where did you learn to climb so well?” he asked teasingly, and she swatted him on the shoulder before popping a cherry in her mouth.

“You don’t know everything about me,” she answered coyly, making a slight show out of licking cherry juice off her fingers. He swallowed, quickly turning away before he could blush further.

“Is this enough cherries, Mabel?” he asked once the bucket was near to full, the weight seemingly easy for him to carry. She nodded eagerly, showing off her braces in a wide smile, and Dipper sighed in relief.

“Yep, looks good!” she called back.

“Good, I’ve had enough of this tree to last a lifetime,” Dipper declared, shuddering as he looked down. The poor kid had stayed mostly toward the lower branches, constantly nervously eyeing the ground. Ford was certain he could’ve caught the kid were he to fall, but better safe than sorry he supposed.

Their day, however, was far from over once they scaled down the tree. Mabel declared she would need sous chefs to help make her pie, and of course they were called upon to help. It felt like he blinked and suddenly the entire kitchen was covered in flour.

“The recipe card calls for two cups of sugar,” she called helpfully to Mabel, pushing the bag to Ford who opened it up. Mabel blew a raspberry, making a dismissive wave of her hand.

“Recipe shmecipe, you measure sugar with your heart,” she asserted, proceeding to take the entire bag and begin pouring it into the saucepan. Ford could only grimace, making a mental note not to eat too much pie later.

They shared a look over Mabel’s head, and she had to turn away before she started laughing. Domestic bliss, as they say.

Luckily for Mabel the pie came out mostly edible, and they ate it on the back porch while watching the sun set over the horizon and pointing out funny shapes in the clouds.

“That one looks like a wasp fighting a gorilla,” declared Stan, an arm around each of the kids. Dipper shook his head and laughed.

“No way, it’s totally a guy getting into a car,” he asserted, and Stan pulled him into a headlock.

“You take that back right now, mister,” he grumbled jokingly, and the twins dissolved into laughter. Ford sat back watching it all with a smile, a hand casually resting over hers. 

They went to bed that night spooning, his hand draped over her waist and their legs tangled together, warm and comforting. However, as he reflected on their day together, something pulled at his mind. An uneasiness, like bile rising at the back of his throat. The same sensation his nightmares would always give him. A voice whispering too good to be true…

He shoved it down and away. It was a nice day. A nice time. No need to ruin it with his own paranoid mind.

He closed his eyes, breathing deeply, the scent of her hair sweet and grounding. No need to ruin a good thing…

Of course, his mind wasn’t exactly known for being able to shut things out.

***

He was a stupid, hard-headed ass.

What was he thinking? No, what had even happened? It had felt like nothing and then all of sudden had crept up on him until he didn’t even know why he was saying what he was.

A part of him knew that he was in the wrong. That he’d been snappy over nothing, that he’d hurt her for no reason. The same part that blamed himself, that wanted to rush and apologize.

But there was another nagging part of his brain, loud and frightened, that said that they were soulmates, and there is no way they should have been fighting like that in the first place.

Had the universe made a mistake? Had all these months been just a farce, a pretense. It couldn’t be, he knew it couldn’t be, and yet…he spiraled, his thoughts chaotic as they hadn’t been in weeks, making him question everything. That familiar paranoia crept up on him, the dread that had been his constant companion for years rearing its ugly head.

What had happened?

He’d needed to work in the lab. Stanley had come to him with a broken watch and a request to fix it, and of course he’d jumped at the task. He’d told her she was welcome to sit in the lab if she wanted, that he didn’t have much for her to do but would enjoy her company. She had graciously declined, citing a promise to go with Mabel to get their nails done. It had been an easy arrangement, nothing particularly special or worrisome.

Except fixing the watch had turned out to be quite the task when the circuitry was completely fried, and what was ideally a two hour project quickly turned into a much longer scenario, such that by the time Ford finished he was completely mentally exhausted.

And then Dipper and Mabel had come by asking for help building a fort, and while he loved spending time with them, it was rather a difficult task when coupled with his already tired brain.

And on top of that, when he’d returned to the shack, he’d found that stupid goat eating one of his favorite sweaters.

The day had gone from bad to worse to unbearable, and, ill-equipped to deal with it, Ford was really not feeling his best.

He’d trudged back to his room, intent on finding the nearest flat surface and collapsing. It was there he found her, sitting on the sofa with a book in hand, already in her pajamas. 

She looked up when he came in, smiling and setting the novel down. She stood to greet him, pressing a sweet kiss to his cheek and helping him take off his coat. She frowned, however, when she noticed him barely react.

“Is something wrong?” she asked, neatly draping his coat over the chair. He sighed, shrugging, and she stood in front of him.

“Hey, talk to me; you don’t seem alright,” she pushed gently, putting a hand on his arm, and he shrugged her off.

“I’m just tired,” he answered, turning away from her. She frowned and watched as he methodically brushed his teeth, holding the toothbrush in a vice-like grip. He dragged a comb through his hair with an almost animal-like severity, and she cringed when he flopped into bed with an audible thump.

“Are you sure you’re fine?” she asked one last time, voice tinged with concern, and he rounded on her with a swiftness she didn’t know he possessed.

“Would you stop asking me that?” he ground out, teeth gritted, and she frowned.

“That’s not fair. I’m only concerned that something’s wrong, and it clearly seems like there is,” she pointed out calmly, and he narrowed his eyes.

“I already told you there wasn’t.”

“Your actions are telling me there is. If you’re truly tired and don’t want to talk, fine, but don’t be a jerk about it,” she answered cooly. He just got more upset at her words, irrationally being stubborn even though some part of his conscience knew it was a stupid thing to do.

“Don’t you believe my word? Don’t you trust me?” he threw back at her, but she was having none of it. Crossing her arms, she eyed him with a vague frown, unimpressed.

“I do, and you know I do. But I also think that sometimes you have a tendency to make assumptions, and I don’t think getting upset is a good way to—“

“Well you shouldn’t assume you know anything about me!” he growled, and her mouth snapped shut, looking at him in disbelief. A long moment of silence passed and mounting regret built in his chest, berating him for saying something so stupid and meaningless. He should take it back, he needed to take it back right now, he was going to—

“Fine, if you’re going to act like this, then I’m not staying here tonight,” she declared, grabbing her umbrella and moving to walk out the door. Every inch of him was screaming to stop her, to grab her hand and never let go, but he held back. That nagging voice in his head whispering I knew it was too good to be true.

A part of him had been worried, this whole time. Bile at the back of his throat, a sense of creeping, creeping dread. A warning voice that told him that she was going to leave, that one day she would wake up and leave, that she’d decide she’d had enough. The same voice that laughed and laughed and laughed in his head, the same one that made him look over his shoulder at every turn.

You think anyone else could ever understand you, Sixer? That they’d ever just like you for you? Newsflash IQ: that doesn’t happen in the real world!

He stood and sat on the couch, head in his hands. The voice that just wouldn’t leave, he thought, smacking his palm to his temple. 

But shouldn’t it have been perfect? They were soulmates, shouldn’t they not have even been able to fight in the first place? Wasn’t that the whole point?

He deserved her leaving, really. He wasn’t fit for her, soulmate or not. An anxious, paranoid, miserable old man. He’d leave him too.

He shut his eyes in frustration, furrowing his brow. This would be all that he ever deserved.

***

He couldn’t sleep that night.

He tossed and turned, frustrated with the knowledge that she wasn’t there, frustrated at all the reasons why she wasn’t there. It didn’t help that the wind was howling outside, rain pelting the metal roof, all combining such that there was no way he was getting any sleep tonight. He worried, too. Worried where she was, if she was ok. If she was getting any sleep.

Eventually, he gave up. It wasn’t as though he was a stranger to getting little sleep, much as he’d been spoiled these last several months. He could deal with the consequences later. 

He stood and blindly grabbed his coat from the chair, shrugging it on haphazardly and heading outside. Almost immediately he became soaked through with water, the heavy wind and ominous thunder in the distance making it impossible to avoid. Unable to find it in himself to care, he trudged on, boots squelching in the mud.

He didn’t know where he was going, just kept walking further and further into the forest. With some time to cool off, he couldn’t help but feel that he had made a horrible mistake. Why on earth had he even snapped in the first place? What could have possibly possessed him to—stars, it made him nauseous just thinking about it.

He had messed things terribly. She wouldn’t want to stay, he knew, and she’d be completely justified. Clearly, the universe had made some kind of mistake.

He continued through the woods, getting soaked to the bone. This forest that was so achingly familiar seemed to share in his sorrows, weeping for his wrong decisions as he wandered helplessly. Eventually, he came upon a clearing, surrounded on all sides with tall, thick trees, and he stood at the center. His heart ached like a festering wound, the place all too familiar and yet not quite right without her there.

He hung his head, water dripping from the ends of his hair. Fitting that he should end up right back where he started, alone in a place that couldn’t quite compete with his dreams.

He was about to trudge back to the shack, to sigh and decide that if he stayed out here any longer he’d surely catch a nasty cold, when the sound of an all-too-familiar voice rose up against the heavy rain.

“How did I know I’d find you here?” she asked, and he snapped his head up to see her, white pajamas and a red umbrella swinging loosely from her arm. She looked at him with a narrow, scrutinizing gaze, and he winced. He deserved that.

“You should head inside before you get sick,” he said, because he didn’t know what else to say. She rolled her eyes, arms crossed, and took a step forward.

“Yeah, we’re well past that,” she answered, and he looked down at his boots, unable to hold her gaze.

“I understand if you want to go,” he said, shoving his hands in his pockets. He half expected her to walk away right then and there. What he did not expect was her exasperatedly fond sigh, decidedly closer than he remembered her being.

“You can be so dense for someone so smart,” she huffed, and he looked up at her, slightly offended.

“What on earth are you saying?” he asked, and she shook her head. The rain had her soaked to the skin, too, hair plastered to her face. He didn’t allow himself to think that she was beautiful.

“I’m not leaving. There’s no reason to. We just had a little fight is all, and you’re acting like it’s the end of the world over here—“

“We’re soulmates! We’re supposed to be perfectly compatible, something like this should never have happened,” he argued, not knowing why, and she sucked in a breath.

“Things happen, Ford. A couple isn’t going to agree on everything, all the time. Arguments aren’t a sign of a failed relationship, dealing with them poorly is,” she emphasized, stepping toward him in the wet grass . “We may be soulmates but we’re still two distinct individuals; we’re going to disagree.”

“But what if it just doesn’t work out?” he asked, voice suddenly small, and she sighed. 

“Is this what you’ve really been worried about?” she asked, the still? clear in her tone of voice. He ran a hand through his hair, messing it up even further.

“It’s just I-I—I never knew who to trust,” he began, ranting, “for the longest time. And now—now I trust you and it’s terrifying. And I can forget about it—for days I can forget about, I can be happy and then—“ he cut himself off, breathing deeply. “It all comes rushing back and I don’t know what to do.”

She looked at him and he saw profound sorrow in her eyes, a sympathy that was painful to look at. Slowly, she unfurled her umbrella, holding it over her own shoulder as she had so many times before.

“Ford. You’re standing out here in the rain, letting yourself get soaked,” she said, speaking softly. “And I’ve got an umbrella right here. I want you, Ford. I want to stay. I want all of you, past and fears and all. But I can’t force you under the umbrella with me.”

Her eyes were warm and kind as he had always known them, shining with tears, and he felt himself falling all over again. He wanted to give her the world, he wanted to wake up with her each morning and say goodnight each evening. He wanted to know every part of her, good and bad, and wrap them all up in his heart.

He swallowed. “How do I make this better?” he asked, voice small, and she gave a quiet shrug, her smile a little watery.

“If we’re going to do this; if we’re going to choose each other, then you need to realize that when we argue, you can’t push me away. You need to use your words, Ford,” she explained gently, taking his hand. “And well, maybe I need to not walk away,” she said sheepishly, rubbing his thumb, and he smiled in return.

“Do you remember what I told you, about choosing to love?” she asked, and he nodded, holding her hand like it was a precious object to be preserved. Rain continued to fall on him, but he barely even registered it.

“The same thing applies,” she continued. “Relationships are hard. You have to choose to be in one, to make it work.”

“I want to make it work,” he said automatically, and she smiled. “I’m sorry, you’re right. Perhaps I’ve been thinking about this all wrong…”

“Maybe…” she said cheekily, and he couldn’t help but laugh.

“But I want to try, I—” he cut himself off, looking at her. A warm smile and eyes brighter than the sun, he knew exactly what he wanted.

“I love you,” he whispered, the words feeling right in his mouth, and she looked at him with an expression that carried the weight of the world.

“I love you too,” she asserted, and his heart skipped a beat. “Now are you coming under this umbrella or not?” she asked playfully, and he took it from her without question, holding it over them both.

“I wouldn’t dream of doing anything else,” he answered, and a crack of thunder sounded out overhead. She looked at him with undeniable fondness, skin wet from the rain, and he felt his heart settle in his chest, at peace.

He kissed her, gentle and slow, and felt as the little voice in the back of his head crumpled to ash.

***

“Sixer! You and your girlfriend better hurry the hell up, we’re all waiting on ya,” Stan called from outside the shack, leaning on the car with Mabel and Dipper already inside. Ford walked casually out the door, hand joined with hers, completely unamused.

“You told us we were leaving at five-thirty, Stanley. It’s five twenty-nine on the dot,” he commented, looking at his watch. Stan just rolled his eyes and got in the car, patting the hood with his hand.

“Take it up with the kids, I’m just the chauffeur,” he answered, chuckling good-naturedly as they all piled into the car.

They were headed up to the Northwest Family’s annual party, one that, while begrudgingly held, was undeniably fun, and the Pines family wouldn’t miss it for the world. Dipper, specifically, was jonesing to go, and was likely the reason they were leaving so early in the first place, Ford mused.

Still, it was definitely fun to get a little dressed up and indulge in some free drinks and food. While Ford may not have preferred a full suit, she certainly looked lovely in a gown, their outfits matching in ‘true couple style,’ as Mabel had put it.

And certainly, getting to twirl her around the dance floor was the highlight of his week, watching as she laughed and looked at him warmly, whispering I love you when he pulled her close. They laughed together as Stan danced with Mabel on his shoes, and Ford had a singular thought as the night ended.

The universe sure did know what it was doing.