One day late, but I needed this before the finale destroys me. Incredibly short and very sappy, so be warned.

Pacifica's not one to fret about her appearance – well, okay she's not now, anyways, besides, have you seen what she looks like? That's not the point, though – but she's certainly almost fretting right now. Half-fretting. Like, she's half concerned about how he's going to react to this.

While her hair is immaculate as always, even against the chilly February winds, her fingertips are still stained in sharpie ink, and her hands shimmer with the early morning light at every movement, still coated in a fine layer of glitter, even after violent scrubbing. There are tiny granules of glitter still ground beneath her fingernails, driven further from her incessant picking at them. And while hands are easy enough to hide, she sort of needs them for something. Namely, to hold the tiny, lightweight, accursed bane of her existence behind her back.

She shifts awkwardly before the door, glaring at another cluster of glitter on her sleeve. She feels like Mabel, fresh out of arts and crafts hell. Which, she supposes, might be a good thing. The way to Dipper's heart is through Mabel, after all-

She clamps down violently on the thought. That is not the subtext of this. This is…this is just…

She doesn't know why it bothers her so much. Insults her, really. It's not like it was even a recent thing, Mabel had said – fourth grade is a long time ago from their current high school woes. And it's not even as if it's her business, if his stupid class was a bunch of blind assholes-

Well – she does know why she's angry. He's her best friend, and somebody – no matter how long ago – hurt him. And he takes hurt to heart, believes in that hurt. And that's….not something she's okay with.

(She ignores whatever underlying emotions she may have. There is no subtext here).

She hears the stairs creak from inside the house, and her heart jumps. She hadn't really planned on them being awake yet, even if she probably should give it to him in person – though it makes sense, their brief weekend away ends today.

The doorknob rattles and Pacifica's mind promptly decides to dissolve into panic.

The door swings open, an almost-heavenly gust of heat suffusing her as it escapes the house. Dipper stares at her, hair a rumpled mess and eyes still bleary from sleep, still clad in his ridiculous Star Wars pajama pants and t-shirt. An absent part of her mind notes that his feet are bare.

"Oh, hey, Pacifica," he says, half-stifling a yawn. He gives her a small but genuine smile. "What's up?"

Pacifica takes a breath – and stops. Her mouth is drier than the damn Sahara. Dipper raises an eyebrow at her.

This may be the most humiliating thing she's ever experienced.

"Are you, uh, here for Mabel?" Dipper says, uncertainly, glancing behind him. He's quite obviously at a loss – though not nearly as much as she is. "I can go, uh, get her, if you want-"

"Here!" she half-shrieks, shoving the accursed card into his hands. Dipper barely catches it, eyes wide at her sudden outburst as he nearly smacks against the doorframe. "HappyValentinesdaydork-"

She manages it in one breath before she turns on heel, sprinting back to the safety of her car. She all but dives headfirst into the driver's seat, her cheeks aflame as she shoves the keys in the ignition to escape this – this utter humiliation.

She glances back once as she pulls away, and she's glad she did.

Dipper's turning her card over in his hands carefully, a tiny, disbelieving smile playing on his face.

When she gets home, there's one unread message on her phone. She unlocks her phone in trepidation.

A smile splits her face, lit by a buoyant happiness she can't quite place.

Happy Valentines, Paz.

Thanks.