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

Hot Mess

SATURDAY, JUNE 18TH

Bill awoke from his restless slumber. With an aching, pounding sensation in his head, he peered towards the alarm clock on his nightstand, seeing it was about nine o'clock in the morning. He wondered how he could be up so early, considering he had been out so late. The memories of last night were incredibly fuzzy, though he recalled seeing Dipper at some point before he had made it home. How did he make it home?

He rolled out of bed, realizing he was left in only his yellow boxers. His clothes were scattered on the floor and reeked of alcohol and vomit. That's gross. But unsurprising.

Making his way to his closet, he pulled on a plain orange t-shirt and exited the room. He entered his bathroom and quickly brushed his teeth, trying to get the taste of vomit out of his mouth. Spitting out the toothpaste, he put up his toothbrush and walked to the living room. He did not expect to see his neighbor and a girl-version of him sleeping on his couch. They looked incredibly uncomfortable, as they'd both fallen asleep sitting up.

"What the hell?" Bill shouted, waking the two twins up from their sleep. Dipper was the first to move, scrambling up off the couch and panic lacing his features. The girl looked annoyed that her sleep was interrupted but otherwise was unfazed.

"Morning," the girl beamed, rubbing her eyes with her hands. She looked up at Bill from the couch and he figured that this must be Dipper's sister. She looked just like him, aside from the fact that her hair was significantly longer. Twins.

"Pine Tree?" Bill exhorted, exasperated. Confusion knitted his eyebrows together before forming a look of condescension towards the brunette boy. "What are you doing in my house!?"

"Do... you not remember last night?" Dipper asked, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. Last night? What about last night? Bill knew he had left to go the club around eight o'clock, he had gone up to the bartender and ordered several drinks — some given to him for free by other patrons — and vaguely remembered talking to a random guy in a green hoodie with black hair.

Bill noticed his cheeks tinted a hue of red. Wow, he blushes a lot.

"Uh. No?" Bill answered. He opened his mouth to continue speaking but was unsure of what really to say. He didn't bring Dipper home, he'd remember if he was also at the club. And once again, why was his sister in his living room, too? Did they bring him home? No, he moderately remembered walking home from the club, though he did run into quite a few things and couldn't really move straight. Were they helping him do something? No, that didn't make sense either. Bill didn't let anyone help him. He didn't have to. He could take care of himself.

"I heard you outside my door," Dipper started, breaking the growing silence between the three. "And so I came outside, and then you started upchucking in a trash can, and you couldn't like, walk straight, at all, so I helped you in, and I called Mabel because I wasn't really sure how to help, because I am usually on the other side of this situation."

"What a run-on sentence, bro-bro," Mabel chuckled. Dipper ignored the comment while Bill sent her a glare. She didn't seem to care.

"And like, Mabel said we shouldn't leave you alone, so... We took turns checking in on you and I guess we fell asleep," he finished, shrugging. Bill just continued to stare at him, and Dipper wanted nothing more to be eaten up by a black hole and erase himself from this awkward moment.

"Uh... thanks? I guess?" Bill finally said, feeling incredibly uncomfortable with the gesture. He doesn't ever need help and when offered, he declines. This has always how it had been and how it always would be. He could handle himself. He could take care of himself. So, he made that known to his neighbor, "but I would've been fine. I can handle myself."