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Dipper's left side hurt.
He was collapsed on the sofa, one arm thrown over his face to block the glaring living room lights, one sockless foot dangling.
And his left side hurt. Specifically, his ribs- and this worried him more than he cared to admit to himself, but he simply didn't have the energy to get up and do anything about it.
He'd first noticed it in the mirror, weeks- no, he mused, turning so that the cool leather of the couch pressed into his cheek- it must've been months ago. He'd been changing in a rush, too much of a rush to bother retreating to the corner of the room to avoid the mirror, when he'd seen it. An indent in his skin- tiny, like a dint in the surface of a carton of milk. But it wasn't on his other side, and that was enough to worry him.
After he'd seen it, he began to feel it increasingly. He often considered, vaguely, that he should ditch the elasticy death-trap, that he affectionately referred to as his "binder," but he'd tried a bra on, and it had been intolerable. So the "binder" it was, for now, anyway- even if it had been designed for completely flat pre-teen girls.
Occasionally, his chest hurt. Sharp, stabbing pains, sometimes enough to force him to brace against a desk or a wall, but after a day or so, they'd always pass. But today he felt fundamentally uneven, and all he could do was lie there, gradually melting into the couch cushions.
Although both apparently harmless, the mark and the pain combined made for an almost constant source of anxiety. He could be damaging himself permanently, he thought, every time he ghosted his hands over his ribs to confirm its existence. This could critically inhibit his ability to solve the problem in the future.
He should take the "binder" off. He knows this. He could keep his hoodie on over it- there'd be no visible difference. But after the day he'd had, he really, really did not want to.
Quite suddenly, he heard the turning of the lock, keys jangling, and he sat up abruptly, whipping out his phone and trying to look busy. But the door flew open and it was only Mabel, back from the extracurricular he'd cut to mope, and he relaxed a little, leaning back to greet her.
"Hey Mabel."
"Hey bro-bro!" She sang out, tossing her rucksack to the floor, and instinctively he shushed her.
"What?" She dropped her voice, pausing. "They're not home are they?"
"No," Dipper admitted, and Mabel sighed in relief, coming to plop down beside him. "But you didn't know that! You've got to be more careful."
"Pffpht." Mabel replied eloquently, tapping him on the tip of the nose. "I'm always careful! Anyway, weirdo, what are you doing in a hoodie when it's so super hot?"
"You're one to talk, sweater girl." Dipper replied, and he was smiling, but his eyes darted to the floor guiltily.
"Oh." She frowned for a moment, and then her eyes lit up. "Oh!" She sprang to her feet. "Stay here!"
Before Dipper could open his mouth, she had disappeared in a quick flurry of footsteps.
He didn't have to wait long before she came flailing back into the room, stumbling to a stop in front of him, and thrust something into his lap.
"It came this morning but I didn't have the chance to give it to you with Mom and Dad around and-"
Her words faded into the distance as Dipper stared, stunned, at the fabric in his hands.
A binder. His mind told him. Like, a real one.
No way. Logic replied.
The tears that'd been prickling behind his eyes all day emerged, and he couldn't even find it in him to be embarrassed about it.
"Wh-Where did you get this?" he sniffled, swiping at his face with one hand.
"The internet, duh." She answered brightly. "I had to guess your size but-"
She was interrupted when Dipper ambushed her with a fierce hug.
"Thank you," he said, still clutching at the binder. "Thank-you-thank-you-thank-you-thank-you-!"
Getting over her surprise, she laughed easily and joined the embrace with equal vigour.
"You gonna thank me all day dippin' dots, or are we going to go try this on?"
Dipper nodded, speechless.
Hand-in-hand, the twins thundered up the stairs.