Dipper couldn't focus in class for the rest of the day. It felt like someone had lodged a knife deep into his chest. I can't believe he felt that way about me. No one's ever felt that way about me before. Despite himself, a curious, pleased heat rose to his cheeks. It faded quickly. The image of Bill's heartbroken face played in his mind again and again. I hurt him. The sick guilt returned.

When school let out, Dipper found Mabel waiting for him outside the building's entrance. She was tapping away at her phone. That's weird. I'm usually the first one here. When he got closer, he asked, "Did your last class get out early or something?"

In a flash, Mabel looked up and tucked her phone in her pocket. The sudden movement caused Dipper to freeze up with surprise. "Oh. Yeah, Mr. Davids had a, uh … a medical emergency. His, um, octopus," she winced, "was in labor."

Dipper frowned, gaze flicking between her and her pocket. "Really? Well, good for him, I guess."

"Yup yup."

"Right …" Seeing as how they had no one else to wait for, they began walking home. Dipper kept to himself, struggling with his emotions. Mabel was peculiarly silent, but he didn't bright it up. Silence was good. Silence helped him think.

When they got home, their mother greeted them from her place on the kitchen table. "Hey kids," she said over her laptop. "How was school?"

"It was fine," Dipper said detachedly.

Mom quirked a brow but didn't press. Mabel only mumbled her reply, keeping her eyes averted, and ran straight for her room.

"Where's Bill?" Mom asked, craning her neck as if Bill were hiding behind Dipper's backpack in some way. "Didn't you two have a movie night planned?"

The knife twisted a bit, and a dash of disappointment was added to the broiling mixture. Right. We did have that planned … "Yeah, but he's not feeling well. He home early."

Now she was frowning, seeming to pick on his despondent tone. "Are you okay, sweetie? You're looking kind of down."

"Yeah, no. I'm fine. Just … long day. Kinda tired."

While clearly suspicious, she didn't press, and for that he was grateful. He retrieved a juice box from the refrigerator and retreated to his room as well. Now, he could be left alone to battle through his feelings in peace.

How could Dipper not have known? Was he just that oblivious? Has Bill been dropping hints this whole time and Dipper could just never pick up on them? He does like to follow me around a lot. And he always tells me about personal stuff, like with what happened to his eye. What about when he waited in line for ages to get me the new Capers book for my birthday? Was that all because … the way he felt?

Does he not even want to be friends anymore?

Groaning, Dipper covered his eyes and rolled onto his side. What do I do what do I do what do I do … Suddenly, the house phone began ringing. It was from the school district, something about Mabel. Mom picked it up a moment later, but not before an idea sparked in his head. I could try calling him.

No. That's crazy. How would that help in any way?

But Dipper always talked to Bill about things that bothered him. Over the years, it had become close to habit. Adding the crushing uncertainty that he might lose Bill as his friend made him want to call him that much more, to set the record straight, to clarify. And Mabel always said that communication is important …

Not giving himself time to dwell on the sheer terribleness of the idea, he scooped his cell phone out of his backpack and punched in the familiar contact icons. This is a bad idea, this is such a terrible idea, I shouldn't be doing this, I'll just make everything worse—

It rang, then it beeped. It went to voicemail. He didn't know whether to be relieved or disappointed.

'Please leave your message at the tone.'

He opened his mouth.

…

"Bill? Are you there? It's, uh, me. Dipper."

From across the room, Bill stared at the blinking machine, his eye wide. He had just gotten out of an icy shower and was scrubbing his hair with a towel when the familiar voice floated through his house.

"Umm. Yeah. I just wanted to call and say … just wanted to ask …" A pause, then a slow, drawn out sigh. "Uuugh, how do I put this ...?"

Bill stood there, torn between picking up the phone and ignoring it. What could he be calling about? He wished Mabel was there to give him advice. She said … she said to take my time. I shou—

"Bill?" his voice had dropped to a whisper. "Please pick up the phone … if you're there?" He sounded desperate. "Please …"

Bill's heart twinged. He could never say no to Dipper, and it looks like that hasn't changed, even now. Tossing aside his towel, he strode over and picked the phone up out of its cradle. "Pine Tree?"

"Bill!" Dipper sighed up relief. Upon hearing it, a small knot in Bill's chest loosened. He was really worried I wouldn't pick up.

"Yeah, that's me," Bill replied softly, sitting down on the couch and bringing his knees up to his chest. "What's up?"

A small grunt, and then silence. Bill waited, ears strained as he barely picked up breathing on the other end of the phone. Familiar panic creeped up on him. Why isn't he saying anything? Was I being too direct? He cleared his throat, wanting to never experience such throat choking awkwardness again. "Sooo … any particular reason you called?"

"Oh … not really—" Bill allowed himself a brief moment of disappointment. So he didn't change his mind. "—Well, actually, that's kind of a lie. I just, well, really needed someone to talk to. And I talk to you about everything."

Now Bill fell into silence.

"…Bill? You know, we still have movie night tonight, if you wanted to come over? I've really been looking forward to it …" A trace of hope wove through his tone, and Bill could imagine the tiny smile that was probably on his face. He tried to picture being with Dipper, now that he knows. The look in his eyes, the pity and discomfort. Never getting too close, flinching away if they were to brush elbows. Crushing awkwardness. The knot tightened.

"Maybe … maybe not tonight, Pine Tree."

"Oh …" He imagined the smile crumbling, and his chest began hurting again. "Okay. Well, invitation's always open, in case you change your mind. I guess I'll … catch you later?"

"Yeah. See ya, Pine Tree."

A full three seconds passed before he heard the familiar beep of a disconnected line. Sighing, he hugged the phone to his chest and flung himself down onto the couch. I was looking forward to movie night too …

So why don't you just go, then?

Bill reflected on Mabel's parting words. 'Move on, I guess. And you don't have to do that now. Take your time.' He summoned the image of Dipper's crushing discomfort and pity. Isn't it a bit too soon?

I don't know. Is it?

Bill found that he didn't have an answer for that. Was there a set time limit for how long one should take to get over a rejection? Was it different if it was between two old friends?

All I know is that he wants you there. Didn't you hear how sad he sounded when you said no?

At the thought, a bit of the pain in Bill's chest diminished. Mabel had insisted that Dipper wouldn't hate him after this disaster, but it was still relieving to hear confirmation from Dipper himself. But what if he was just being nice? What if … what if I was imagining how sad he sounded?

Look, if you keep tiptoeing around him like this, you'll never move pass this awkwardness. Pretty soon he'll think you don't want to stay friends, and he'll never invite you over again. Is that what you want?

No. Not at all.

Soooo? What are you going to do?

Bill stared dazedly at the ceiling, trying to come up with the best solution.

…

During dinner later that night, Dipper learned that Mabel had been grounded. Neither she nor his mother or father would tell him why, only that she wasn't allowed to play any video games for the entire weekend. Dipper couldn't make sense of it, but he wasn't in much of a mood to ask questions.

He returned to his room and curled up in bed. Desperate for a good distraction, he continued with the next installment of his Hunters bookseries.

'A cold draft cut through the darkened room. A creak broke the silence. Jason whirled around, flashlight in hand. His breath left him in panicked gasps. She's here, he thought.

He shouldered his way into the abandoned bedroom. The room had been stripped, sans a single doll propped up against the wall. Its eyes were carved out. Hollowed blackness stared up at him with a small, painted smile. His hand shook.

Something tapped on the window—'

A sharp thud on his window caused Dipper to gasp and jump upright. A face peered at him through the glass and he choked on a scream. A hand appeared alongside the face and waved, and Dipper realized that the face was not the ghost of a dead doll maker, but Bill. Holding a hand over his pounding heart, Dipper angrily strode over and yanked open the window.

"What are you doing?" he hissed. "You nearly gave me a heart attack!"

Bill quirked a brow. "Why? Were you reading that dumb ghost hunters book again?"

"No!" The heat on Dipper's face suggested otherwise, but he ignored it. "W-what are you even doing here? It's night time!"

Bill's smile slipped. "Oh. Um. I just … you said that the invitation was still open …"

That was when Dipper noticed the plastic bag of DVDs Bill held. His kneejerk annoyance drained out of him, only to be replaced with embarrassment. "Oh. Yeah, of course. I figured that you didn't want to …"

Bill huffed, looking away, embarrassed. "I did say maybe." When Dipper continued to stare, he snapped, "I changed my mind, okay? Now quit interrogating me about it and let me in!"

"Right." He stepped away from the window. "You could have just used the front door, you know."

"Your window was closer," was all he said. He grunted as he lifted himself over the windowsill and into the room. He dropped the bag of DVDs and took a deep breath. "Hmm. I've forgotten how nice your house smells."

Well. He's still as weird as ever at least. Dipper cleared his throat. "Sooo … what do you want to do now?"

"Um. I guess we could set up the fort, first?" He posed it like a question, pressing his two index fingers together. I hate seeing him so nervous. Dipper nodded, happy for a distraction.

"That's a great idea. Start setting it up, I'll grab some pillows from the living room." He made to leave, but paused at the doorway and turned around. "You want some popcorn?"

Bill snorted. "Is that even a real question?" Then his faced flushed. "I mean, sure. Yes. Please. Thank you."

Dipper frowned, but exited the room nonetheless. He found his mother reading on the couch. Dad must be in the shower. When he opened the pantry door, she glanced up.

"What are you looking for, sweetie?"

"Oh, just some popcorn," he answered as he took out a packet of Extra Butter Buttered Popcorn. "Bill's here. We're gonna watch some movies now."

"He is? I didn't hear anyone knock."

"He came in through my window." After putting the packet in the microwave and inputting the time, he hopped over to the living room. He pointed to the throw pillows. "Can I borrow those?"

Mom blinked, dazed. "Oh, um, sure." She scooted to the side and Dipper scooped them up, alongside two of the couch cushions. "Why didn't he go to the front door?"

Dipper shrugged. "He's weird."

She frowned, but didn't seem inclined to disagree. The microwave chimed and Dipper went to collect the spoils. Just as he was about to run back into the hallway, his mother asked softly, "Are you two going to be alright?"

Dipper paused, and then looked back. His mother's brow had furrowed. She couldn't possibly know what happened, right? Dipper swallowed, hoping his thoughts weren't painted all over his face. "Yeah. We'll be fine."

She held his gaze for a moment, before smiling, releasing him. "Would you like me to bring you some ice cream later?" she asked, returning her eyes to her book. Dipper released a deep breath.

"Yeah, that sounds great. Thanks Mom!"

She smiled and returned to her book, and Dipper returned to his room. He found Bill sprawled out in front of the small television set, having already dragged Dipper's mattress and several pillows onto the ground. He looked up when he heard Dipper entered, and smirked.

"Nice. I'm starving."

"Didn't you have anything for dinner?" Dipper asked as he placed the pillows from the living room, sitting cross-legged next to Bill.

"Nah." Bill took the popcorn from his hands and ripped it open, scooping a handful into his mouth. Then he wiped his hand on his shirt. He's so gross … "I just grabbed whatever I could find in the pantry."

"Oh, well, we have some leftovers if you're hungry."

Bill didn't answer for a moment, chewing and staring thoughtfully at his shoelaces. Once he swallowed, he turned to Dipper and smiled faintly. "Thanks."

Dipper blinked, and then looked away, suddenly feeling awkward. "D-don't mention it." That's right. Everything's weird now. He cleared his throat. "So! Movies. What should we watch first?"

"Oh! Um. Well, what do you wanna watch?"

"I dunno. What do you want to watch?"

Bill hummed in thought, tapping his shoes together as he mulled. "How about Flesh Eater's Genocide?"

Dipper grunted. "I dunno, it's kind of early to start off with something that hardcore."

"Got anything better?"

"Hmm." Dipper brought a hand to his chin. "…South by Southeast?"

Bill immediately groaned. "Nooooo, that movie is so laaame. It's a billion years old!"

"You just don't know how to appreciate classics!"

They bickered for a while, operating on the grunt system to determine what to watch first. The popcorn was gone by the time they settled on something. The Enigma of NIMH. A classic. The movie barely started before Mom appeared with two bowls of cookie dough ice cream, which they eagerly accepted.

"Is there anything else you'd like, Bill?" Bill shook his head and gave her a thumbs up. She nodded in understanding and smiled, and then said, "Try not to stay up too late, kids."

"Kay," they replied in unison, and she closed the door.

About ten minutes into the movie, Dipper realized that Bill had taken to curling up on the furthest side of the pillow fort. He had tucked his knees into his chest, trying to make himself as small as possible. Is he doing this because of what happened? Usually Dipper would chalk it up to his paranoia, but given Bill's tendency to consume every bit of space that his gangly limbs could reach, he figured he was right to be concerned in this moment. What should I do? Should I get closer? Would that be leading him on? Should I stay put? Urrgh! I hate this!

Dipper tried to pay attention to the movie, but found he couldn't do it, not with this tension distracting him. What would Mom tell me to do? She'd want me to … offer a snack, first of all. Okay, did that. Tell them to get comfortable. Well … He eyed Bill's rigid posture. No. What else would she say …?

Be honest.

Dipper sucked in a deep breath. Yup. That sounds like her. What could I even say to fix this? I guess it doesn't really matter. I have to say something.

So, Dipper cleared his throat. Bill looked up from his ice cream bowl.

"Bill … about what happened today …"

Instantly, Bill averted his eye, a blush rising to his face. "Pine Tree, you don't have to—"

"No. No, I think I have to." Dipper took a deep breath, steeling himself one more time. Don't say anything stupid. "You're my best friend, you know that?"

Bill didn't seem to expect that, as he straightened up. "Well, yeah—"

"And I'm your best friend. Right?"

He blinked. "Of course you are—"

Dipper held a hand up. "Let me finish." He waited for Bill to settle before continuing, "So, yeah, we're both best friends. And we both may have said some things today that we might regret—" No, no, I'm messing this up. "I mean, you're just like any other friend to me—" That's worse! He cursed under his breath, and slumped. After a few moments, he mumbled, "Everything about this sucks, doesn't it?"

Silence. Dipper peaked up underneath the brim of his hat to find Bill staring at him, expression blank. Then, Bill sighed, and turned away.

"Yeah. Yeah, it really does." He fidgeted with the spoon in his dish, seeming to collect himself. "I was so worried you'd hate me if I told you, that you'd think I was some sort of creeper if you knew."

"I wouldn't hate you for something like that," Dipper whispered. He scooted himself forward until they nearly bumped shoulders. "And, well, you are a bit creepy, but in a good way. I like it."

He waited until Bill turned around. A tiny smile had formed on his lips. "Shooting Star said something like that. Creepy is such a harsh word, though. I prefer 'eerie' or 'macabre'."

Dipper laughed. "Call it whatever you like, it doesn't change the truth. Wait," a thought caught up to him, "you talked to Mabel?"

"Yeah, didn't she tell you? She skipped class to give me a pep talk."

So that must be why she got grounded. Dipper sent a tiny telepathic thank you to his sister, for being for his friend when he couldn't. Maybe I can sneak her some time on my game console when Mom and Dad aren't home.

Bill continued speaking. "I guess it's good that you know now. It was so awful sometimes, keeping it to myself. Secrets are the worst."

"They really are," Dipper mumbled. Already, he felt like some of the weight had been lifted off of his chest. Things weren't back to the way they were, but it was a good start. "So, back to the movie then?"

Bill nodded. "Yeah. Think you can get some more popcorn?" he added, kicking out his legs and tucking his arms under his head. Dipper mockingly rolled his eyes, pushing himself up to his feet.

"Oh sure, eat me out of house and home, see if I care!"

"You don't even have a job, brat."

"'Brat?' You're only two months older than me!"

"Yeah, and three inches taller." Bill smirked. "Now fetch me sustenance, slave!"

Dipper groaned but did as he was told, grumbling something about 'growth spurts' under his breath. He forced down a small smile. Yup. It's definitely a start.

When Mrs. Pines opened the bedroom door the nest morning, she found the two of them sleeping on the floor, sprawled out. Dipper lied spread eagle on a mountain of pillows with one arm trapped underneath his body. Bill had thrown his legs over Dipper's torso and slept on his stomach, his hair matted by a puddle of drool. She rolled her eyes at the sight before closing the door, leaving them to their rest.