And I Told Them I Invented Times New Roman [billdip]

I Have To Go Return Some Video Tapes

FRIDAY, JUNE 17TH — SATURDAY, JUNE 18th

It was nearing one in the morning. Dipper had been stooped over his laptop, frantically typing out every idea he could think of. Several of them surrounded his thoughts on Bill, though most of them were made-up fantasies of what he could be like. Dipper had still only had a singular conversation with the blonde man, yet completely failed to erase him from his mind.

He was in the middle of yet another paragraph of his incessant rambling when he heard a loud thump! from the hallway outside his door. Curious, Dipper got up and quickly looked out the peephole, shocked at the sight.

Bill was stumbling around the hallway, clearly incredibly drunk. Dipper swore he could smell the alcohol from here. Unable to stop himself, he flung open his door and approached Bill with a reasonable amount of concern.

"Bill?" Dipper asked softly, walking up to the blonde as he perched himself over a trash can and vomited.

"G-go 'way," Bill murmured in between his gags. "'M f-fine."

"I don't think so," Dipper said, kneeling down with him and pulling the blonde hairs out of his face, though there was some vomit in his hair already. "How much have you had to drink?"

"B-blevent-teen," he answered. Dipper was pretty sure that wasn't a number, but didn't push for an actual answer. Bill wasn't exactly in the best position to be talking at the moment, anyways.

He continued to gag, though it seemed like there was nothing left for him to throw up. Eventually, he pushed away Dipper's hands and pulled himself off the floor, stumbling as he tried to stand up straight.

"Do you have someone I can call?" Dipper asked him, grabbing the key from his hand and unlocking his door.

"'M fine," Bill repeated, shaking his head as Dipper took his arm over his shoulder, helping him in. He shut the door behind him with his foot and continued half-carrying Bill into his living room.

"You can't even walk straight," Dipper retorted, setting him down on the couch. He left for the kitchen, grabbing a glass and filling it with water from the fridge. "Look — at least drink some water."

"Wha'ver," Bill mumbled, grabbing the glass from Dipper's hand. It slipped through his fingers and spilled onto the ground. "Sonnva bitch."

"No, stop, I'll clean it," Dipper insisted, pushing Bill back onto the sofa. He grabbed another glass of water and held it up to Bill's mouth so he couldn't drop it. He drank a few sips before pushing the cup away from his mouth.

"Why're you bein' so nice?" Bill asked, laying his head on the armrest of his couch. "S'not like you know me."

"I know what it's like to drink too much alcohol," Dipper answered. He was curious about the sudden change in personality. Every time he'd interacted with Bill, he was smug, confident, and just... Dipper wasn't really sure how to describe it, but the way he was acting now was so different. He seemed much more vulnerable than he normally felt. He wondered if it was the alcohol and if it was... did it change his personality too? Was Dipper a different person when he was drunk? Suddenly, he felt a pang of guilt in his chest for every single time Mabel had to drag his drunk-ass home because he was too inebriated to function on his own.

"N-no, I d-din't drink too much," Bill slurred. His eyes widened and he threw himself off the couch and ran straight towards the bathroom, heaving over the toilet once more.

"Right," Dipper mumbled, running after him and holding his hair out of his eyes again. With his free hand, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and sent Mabel a text.