Love, Hate, It's All The Same

Chapter 16: Aren't You Charming

Pacifica didn't mean to hug Dipper. In fact, she had sworn that she'd smack him upside his big head the next time she saw his stupid face. Obviously, things didn't exactly go as planned.

In her defense, her brain probably just wasn't working properly since she wasn't able to get any sleep that night. Her mind kept bugging her that her staying in Dipper's bed might've contributed to his behavior yesterday, so she tried sleeping on the couch instead. She tossed and turned, but no matter how tired she was, she just couldn't sleep. 

It was already 3-ish am, but she couldn't feel an ounce of drowsiness, so she decided she might as well get some sort of midnight snack while she was up. Her stomach gurgled in agreement.

Her trip to the kitchen was a quiet one, the silence broken only by the floorboards creaking under her feet. and the occasional croak from a frog. Her body seemed to move on autopilot, pulling out some bread, lettuce, cheese, and some (suspicious-looking) meat. Within a few minutes, she was holding a decent looking sandwich, although, she was surrounded by a bit of a mess. The Pines really ought to get a private chef, she thought.

No matter, she was hungry. She was willing to overlook that minor inconvenience. Just this once. She lifted her sandwich to her mouth, taking a small tentative bite. Not bad. Pretty good, actually. Almost good enough for her to completely miss the faint jingling of the doorknob at the front door.

She looked over just in time to see the door swing open, and for a moment, she was torn between ducking behind the counter, and throwing her sandwich at the intruder in what would've undoubtedly been an extremely effective defense against a home invasion.

Before she could make the decision however, a familiar head of messy brown hair peeked through the opening, and all sandwich-related attacks were gone from her mind.

"Mason goddamn  Pines," she spat, a dangerous gleam in her eyes as they narrowed to slits. Her body surged forward without her realizing it, her sandwich forgotten on the counter.

In hindsight, it was impressive Dipper managed to keep himself in place, considering how downright murderous she looked in the moment. Or maybe he was terrified, rooted to the spot. Pacifica didn't really care.

"When I get my hands on you, Pines, I swear to god—"

Dipper stiffened up immediately, taking a reflexive step back. He tried to stammer some nonsense— it was probably nonsense, Pacifica wasn't really paying attention to it —but before he could form any coherent sentences, Pacifica's body collided with his, her arms wrapping around his waist and her face buried in his shirt.

"Wha— Pacifica—?"

"Shut up."

She could feel the exact moment when his whole body went rigid in her arms, but she paid it no mind. Instead she found herself lost in the way his body felt against hers, his forest-y scent drowning her senses, his warmth soaking into her skin through his shirt. She would've been incredibly giddy, tingling with excitement, if she weren't so pissed off— which she was just now remembering she was supposed to be.

With a huff, she tore herself away from Dipper, her body protesting the action, but she forced herself to take a step back, fixing him with a withering glare. Though, the effect was somewhat dulled by the faint pinkness that now dusted her cheeks. Dipper barely had time to register it before she was hitting him on the arm.

"Don't ever do that again," she hissed, ignoring the his complaints as she jabbed a finger at his chest.

Dipper frowned, rubbing his arm gently. "Do what?"

A scoff of disbelief (and possibly indignation) left Pacifica's lips, one hand moving to clutch at the front of his shirt. "You know what, dipshit. The avoiding, the distance, the cold shoulder. That's what."

"I wasn't— . . . I wasn't avoiding you, per se, I was just . . ."

Pacifica's eyes narrowed as he trailed off, seeing right through the flimsy excuse of a lie.