Chapter Text
Pacifica Northwest wakes to birdsong.
Her eyes flutter open gently, the gauzy pink canopy of her bed still blurry but slowly coming into focus. She stretches her legs out under her heavy, plush duvet, pulling her arms languidly above her head. The lure of sleep still pulls at her, and she indulges in a few more luxurious moments of peace in her bed before the birds’ singing becomes marginally louder.
Yes, yes, I’m getting up, she thinks, pretending for a moment that she’s a fairy tale princess and her animal companions are attempting to rouse her. It’s a fantasy she tells no one about, because, like, how lame, but she figures a little private daydreaming here and there never hurt anyone’s social cachet.
Her bedroom window is slightly ajar, and she feels a welcoming, warm breeze waft in. The birds grow louder, insistent that she leave her fluffy refuge. With a yawn and another slow stretch, she pulls back her soft covers and twists to lower her feet into a pair of fluffy pink slippers resting perfectly situated next to her bed. She’d put them there herself last night, just for this moment. Who said self-care had to be expensive?
Well. Who said it had to all be expensive?
The birds grow louder, and for the first time, she feels marginally annoyed. She pushes the feeling aside. She’s going to have a perfect day. Good attitude, good day.
Forget that her whole life is getting turned upside down.
She wanders up to her vanity, leans on the glossy wood with one palm, and peels away the silicone under-eye patches from her face. Tosses them aside. Her phone buzzes from where she left it on the vanity’s surface. Her breath catches. Damn it. Her eyes jump down faster than she can stop them. It’s a text, but only a spam ad. She doesn’t let herself focus on how her heart sinks.
The birds sing louder still.
She straightens her back abruptly, pulls out her hair from its protective sleeping cap and loose braid. Her perfect tresses tumble down around her shoulders. Another buzz. Her eyes snap down. It’s her mother this time, reminding her to do her morning teeth-whitening routine. She throws the phone on her bed, a little too roughly.
The birds are positively belting now.
She pulls open the double doors of her ornate armoire. She has a normal walk-in closet as well, of course. But her special outfits go in here. It feels a little magical, whimsical in a way she secretly likes. She shuffles through her finest gowns until her fingers settle on her chosen dress. It’s a simple one, but a favorite, and she always feels good in it. She smiles as she pulls it out and is just about to spin it around to drape on her dressing screen when her phone buzzes again from her bed. She freezes, her eyes jumping to it immediately. She tries to stop herself from running over there, she really does, but it’s a hopeless endeavor and a moment later the device is once again clutched in her perfectly manicured hands.
Her chauffeur, asking when she wants to leave.
“Ugh!” she cries, once more throwing the phone aside.
The birds screech at her.
Eyes narrowed, she marches over to her fancy imitation-sunrise alarm clock, complete with a whole plethora of nature noises pre-programmed to “wake you to your best self.” Her palm comes slamming down on the top button, and the bird sounds fall silent.
So much for being a fairy tale princess.
Pacifica huffs as she straightens herself. Whatever, it doesn’t matter. Fairy tales aren’t real anyway. Princesses don’t live in towers. They don’t fall in love with peasant boys. Especially not ones that—
Nope. Doesn’t matter. Moving on.
She tosses on some music and moves through the rest of her morning routine quickly and with almost automatic precision. Wash, buff, lotion. Scrub, oil, blow-dry. Primer, foundation, setting spray.
When she’s all done, she eyes herself in the gleaming, floor-length mirror of her bedroom.
Make-up? Flawless.
Hair? Glossed.
Outfit? Tailor-made.
She flips her hair over her shoulder and then peers over said shoulder to focus on the clear, baby-blue eyes of her reflection.
“Alright, girl,” she advises herself. “This isn’t how you thought this year would go, but it’s what you got so you’re going to make the most of it.” She gives herself a determined nod, then turns on her heel to snatch up her purse and class registration papers from where they both sit on her wide oak desk.
Truth is a lot has gone differently over the last few months than she’d expected. The most outwardly obvious being that she was transferring out of Northwest Academy, where she’s been enrolled since pre-Kindergarten. Practically since she exited the womb.
(“Never too early to begin training—er, I mean— education,” her father had explained.)
Never mind that the school is freaking named for her family— that hadn’t mattered when her mother had sat her down and explained that one of her father’s ill-advised investments had gone belly-up, and, well, they had to choose between the yacht and her tuition. Pacifica knew right away which would be the first the go.
Sending her to Gravity Falls High could be spun as an act of practical education. Shipping her off for a year among the common folk.
(“Like studying abroad!” her mother had tried.)
Let her see how their minds work, her parents had reasoned, so when it’s her time to take her place in society she could consider how to best manipulate—uh, lead —the masses and keep her position at the top. It was a weak excuse at best, but better in her parents’ minds than having to explain why they went from a 70-foot pleasure craft to a dinky speed boat. Nope, this was the only logical choice.
And it doesn’t matter, Pacifica assures herself in the mirror. She wasn’t happy at the academy anyway, and the most important thing at this point is just getting a perfect diploma and getting out. Out to where… well, she thought she had all that figured out, but then a stupid boy had to go and throw a wrench in that—
But whatever . Fine. She’ll figure it out on her own. Out somewhere is the point. Somewhere where she can make her way in the world.
And that’s what her plan comes down to. Good grades, good extracurriculars, stay out of drama and keep her head down. Oh she’ll be friendly with people of course. She doesn’t want to be miserable. But she doesn’t have any intention on getting involved in cliques or angst or dating or any of all that. Besides, she knows all too well what can happen when you let people get too close. She’s not about to make that mistake again.
Who cares about the fact that her best friend just like totally disappeared on her and she can’t seem to stop thinking about him and how dorky and dumb and sweet and funny he is and god how much she misses—
No. She snaps her head up, stopping just short of slapping herself across the cheek. Instead, she texts her chauffeur that she’s ready to go.
So yeah, regardless, this year is going to be good, she tells herself. Never mind that she knows like three people at GFHS. Never mind that her parents have none-too-subtly hinted that the future of their family rests on her shoulders. Never mind that her favorite person in the world, the boy she thought she’d be facing whatever her future is alongside just completely ghosted her out of literally nowhere four months ago. Who cares?
Not her. Her hair is perfect, her heels are high, her lips are glossed and her confidence is at one hundred. She’s about to start the rest of her life. And nothing will hurt her, because there’s only one person who can and he’s six hundred miles away.
Dipper Pines wakes to the screaming of some godforsaken feathered menace.
He rolls over in his small twin-sized bed, plants his face in his lumpy mattress, and tugs his thin pillow over the back of his head to cover each ear.
It’s no use. His tormenter seems to have only hopped closer to Dipper’s open bedroom window, and the tiny terror screams louder than ever. Dipper considers getting up to close the window, but there’s no AC up here and he knows the room tends to get stuffy, especially in the late summer months. He’s familiar enough with it by now.
So he tries hard to ignore the bird and go back to sleep. It’s a big day and he knows he’ll do better with as many minutes of shut-eye under his belt as he can manage.
The bird disagrees. It screeches and screeches until finally with an exasperated huff Dipper throws off his old quilt to march over to the window and face his audio-assailant. Yep, right there perched just below his windowsill sits a small mockingbird. Of course. He’s got his back to Dipper at first, facing the forest, but must sense his audience because he hops around in a circle to face inward. Dipper tries to shoo it off the ledge, to go get it to spread it’s morning cheer somewhere else, but the bird just hops barely out of reach and lets out the loudest screech yet.
“God, seriously, man? Today?!”
The bird just tilts its head and lets out another series of calls.
Dipper gives up on winning this battle. With one last forlorn look at his bed, he shucks on some sweatpants from where they were left haphazardly on the wooden floor, sniffs some socks and deems them good enough for family breakfast time. He heads toward the stairs. Mabel had said she was going to make confetti pancakes to celebrate their first full day back in Oregon. He’s pretty sure the confetti will just be sprinkles but you never really do know, so perhaps it’s best he’s awake now anyway so he can supervise. It’s weird not sharing the attic with her, but they both decided that while a couple months out of the summer was no big deal, it might be kind of annoying and impractical and gross to have to spend a whole school year in such close proximity with each other.
Dipper had offered to take the attic, AC-less though it was, and Mabel set up in one of the Mystery Shack ’s seemingly endless number of random overlooked dens.
It had all started just before the end of Junior year. Their dad had moved to Atlanta following the divorce years prior, so when Dipper and Mabel got home that afternoon after school to find he and their mom sitting together in their Piedmont living room, it’d been a surprise to say the least.
Their mother, the college professor, had gotten a new job. Beginning the upcoming school year. In Southern California.
(“I’m so sorry, kids. We never would have wanted things to work out like this.”
“It’s okay, mom. We know you can’t pass this opportunity up. We understand.”
“So… we’ll leave it to you two. Sunny LA or humid, buggy Georgia,” smiled their mom.
“Land of southern hospitality and green grass, or vanity and concrete,” their dad added, shooting a teasing smirk at their mother.
It was weird, honestly, how much better they got along now that they’re divorced.)
Georgia would have given them the time with their dad that they’d been sorely missing over the last few years. But staying in California would provide the least disruption—they could still call their friends and be in the same time zone, wouldn’t have to update their driver’s licenses, but…
Dipper remembers feeling his brain spiraling. Inconsequential details threatening to overwhelm him into decision paralysis. Thankfully Mabel had spoken up, throwing in the dark horse candidate of doing away with all this pesky choosing-between-parents business and just moving to Gravity Falls for the year. Surprised and a little bit stunned he hadn’t thought of it himself, Dipper’s heart rate had picked up with hope. Their parents’ faces had both fallen just a bit, but they’d passed a look between one another that seemed to contain an entire conversation neither Dipper nor Mabel could bear witness to, and then with an understanding nod and only slightly reluctant smiles, had agreed to call the grunkles and see if it could be arranged—with the promise that the twins would stay home over the summer and split the holidays between them of course.
Dipper had nearly sprinted to his room with excitement. It wasn’t like he hated Piedmont High. He’d made a few good friends, but he’d never been able to shake the feeling that his destiny and heart rested about a seven-hour drive north. And now he was going to live there. Not just for the summer, but for the whole school year. He’d be able to see the town through three seasons he’d never experienced. Be able to dig out a proper place for himself. Connect with Stan and Ford and Soos and Wendy on a level heretofore impossible. And Pacifica! They could be together all the time. He could tell her how much he thinks about her. They could make it work. Be a real—
He’d stopped on the stairs. Be a real what?
It was no secret that he thought she was pretty. She knew that. He knew that.
And it was no secret he loved spending time with her. They both knew that too.
It certainly wasn’t a secret that Mabel already had her bridesmaid dress picked out, as well as half her wedding speech written.
And if he was really, truly honest with himself, he knew he liked her as more than a friend too. Maybe even loved her. But with the distance it had never really seemed to be a real possibility to him, so there was no reason to explore the feelings too hard. He could just long for her quietly and feel sorry for himself about the hands of fate and deal with whatever real hope he had when they both went away to the same college, just as they had planned to. And it was fine when that was still over a year away. He had time.
And now he didn’t. And he was freaking out.
So he’d done the most reasonable, most ill-advised thing a sixteen-year-old with social anxiety and no idea how to handle these feelings would do. Ignore her.
It’s not like he meant to, of course. He’s not a jerk. But when she’d texted that night (“ughhh worst day today - game later?“), he just didn’t know what to say all of the sudden. And that was a weird feeling, especially with Pacifica whom he’d almost never not freely expressed his thoughts with. He’d told himself he’d respond the next day. He’d have his worries under control by then. And then the next day he found the conditions were still not optimal, so it could wait until the next day, surely.
And so it went on for weeks. Her texts became increasingly agitated—ranging from worried to confused to angry, and he knew he’d dug himself into a hole he needed to explain. But how was he supposed to now not only explain why he’d disappeared on her but also that he was moving there in a few months?! It was too much. He’d figure it out the next day, he decided. Again and again, he decided this. And weeks turned into months.
And now they were here, grace period for explanations long expired, and he had no idea what he was going to do.
It’s only when Mabel clears her throat loudly that he realizes he’s somehow made it down to the kitchen and has been awkwardly standing in the doorway for lord knows how long. Dipper shakes his head, clearing the cobwebs of worry from his mind.
“Back on earth?” Mabel asks good-naturedly as she flips a multi-colored pancake.
“Yeah, sorry, just got caught up in my head.”
She gives him an understanding smile.
“You’re going to have to talk to her at some point,” she ventures, reading his thoughts. “She’s going to hear we’re here, or we’ll run into her or something. That would be way more awkward than just reaching out now.”
“Or I just hide for a year,” he suggests. “Or fake my death. I think that’d be better than facing how pissed she must be, honestly.”
“She’s only going to be more pissed the longer you wait. Come on, just call her.” Mabel sets down the spatula and holds up an imaginary phone to her ear and mimes talking into it. “‘Hi, Pacifica! It’s Dipper. Look, I’ve been a giant idiot but it’s only because I’m secretly in love with you and can’t handle my emotions. How about I buy you a smoothie and you tell me all the ways I suck and then we go make out by the lake? Perfect, see you then!’” She drops her imaginary phone and turns back to Dipper. “Would that be so hard?”
“Okay, one: I’m not in love with her. I just waited too long to tell her we’re moving here and now it’s weird.” Mabel scoffs loudly and rolls her eyes, which Dipper ignores. “Two: I will call her and apologize. I just gotta get through starting a new school first, okay? Like, one thing at a time. I don’t think that’s too much to ask. She’s probably busy getting ready to start her own school year anyway.”
“Okay but if I run into her first, I am not taking the blame for us not telling her. I will throw you right under that bus, I hope you know. She’s already kind of peeved that I haven’t given her answers as to why you disappeared on her.”
“Wait, she asks about me?”
“Duh. But like, in her Pacifica way. Like she doesn’t want to admit that she wants to ask.”
“Examples please.”
“Ooh, look who’s suddenly all curious about what the girl he’s totally not in love with is asking about him.”
“Mabel.”
“Maybe later.” Mabel waves her hand dismissively. “We gotta get going. Go shower—you stink. I’ll have these ready by the time you’re done.”
With a groan and a glare at his sister, Dipper pulls himself back upstairs and runs through his routine. Scrub, rinse, towel. Done. As he dresses, he forces his brain away from the Pacifica problem to the much more present problem of starting a new school, choosing classes, and making friends. But maybe he doesn’t need to make too many of those. It’s just one year, and he’s focused on getting the grades he wants so he can get into the college of his choosing. He and Paz did have that all sorted out, but, well, he’s not really sure what her plans are now so maybe it’s best to keep his options open too.
Ugh, there he goes thinking about her again. He’s really got to patch things up, he’ll go crazy if he doesn’t soon. He resolves in his mind that he will, just as soon as he gets through today.
He scarfs down his breakfast (the “confetti” was indeed sprinkles and not paper, thankfully), helps Mabel clean up, and they both snatch up their registration papers as they head for the door.
“Ready?” Mabel asks, looking back with a supportive smile as she pushes open the door and the early morning light pours in.
“Nope,” Dipper replies. He gives her a wry smile. “Let’s do it.”