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

See You Again

MONDAY, JULY 11th

Dipper still hadn't left his apartment. He had lost a few pounds from the lack of food but didn't want to clue Mabel into his situation by constantly ordering delivery from their shared DoorDash account. There were several times he'd ordered a pizza directly from the establishment, paying in cash, so there'd be no trace of the transaction for his sister to possibly find. He felt ridiculous but wanted to spend the time wallowing in his own self-pity. He tried to channel his feelings into his writing but couldn't find the words to convey what he wanted to. The trash bin next to his desk was overflowing with crumbled papers, exploded pens, and his hopes and dreams.

Every now and again, he heard those same noises coming from across the hall, from Apartment 304. And he hated it every time he did. Even when he could successfully block out the noises by blasting early 2000s emo music, he still found himself thinking about it. And then it would happen all over again: the crisis, the panic attack, the unspeakable actions. He grew more and more miserable as the routine continued. He knew it was stupid, it was pathetic, it was sad. But he couldn't figure out how to stop feeling the emotions that boiled in his veins.

Since the first time it happened, Dipper stopped looking out the peephole and checking in on Bill. He could hear when the door would shut loudly, indicating someone was coming or leaving. Sometimes he noticed the purple glitter on the ground when he'd retrieve the pizza, but convinced himself that it was just leftover from the first time it'd appeared. Or maybe it really was from Mabel — not that she'd come up to the third floor recently. Not that Dipper was aware of, at least. Please don't tell me my sister is visiting Bill, too.

Dipper laughed at the thought. Mabel wasn't the type of person to engage in one-night stands, let alone hook up with strangers. While she was no longer a virgin — and Dipper loathed that conversation — he knew that she was only interested in people that she knew. It was silly for him to even consider it a possibility. He was also quite sure that Mabel knew from the get-go that he'd end up with a crush on the blonde man. She always seemed to have that kind of intuition.

It was ten o'clock at night and Dipper laid on his mattress, staring at the ceiling. He hadn't moved for hours from the spot, feeling a complete lack of motivation to do anything. Realistically, he knew he couldn't keep doing this, as he would run out of money eventually and had to publish something, but even this couldn't convince him to leave the confines of his bedroom. He'd continue to stare blankly at the ceiling, void of feelings and thoughts, until he eventually passed out and awoke the next morning. Even then, he'd probably stay there tomorrow, too.

What was that? Dipper thought as he heard a noise come from the front of the apartment.

It sounded like a knock.

He sat up — reluctantly — and waited for the noise to repeat itself.

It was a knock.

"Who the hell?" he muttered, swinging his legs to the side and standing up. The knock came again and again, increasing in frequency and almost in annoyance as he waddled towards the front door.

"I know you're home, kid!" a voice yelled out from the hallway. Dipper raised his eyebrow.

Why was Bill knocking on his door at ten o'clock at night?

He paused in his steps, wondering if he should even open the door and acknowledge his existence. It's not like Bill had acknowledged his. This was just him returning the favor, right? Giving him a taste of his own medicine.

The knocking continued, insistent and definitely full of annoyance now.

"Come on, kid," Bill said, knocking again. Dipper relented, rolling his eyes at his own lack of self-control, before opening the door.

Bill's fist was raised in the air, clearly about to knock some more.

"What do you want?" Dipper asked bitterly, staring at the blonde man. He was dressed in a plain t-shirt and sweatpants, looking like he'd just returned from a run. Dipper noticed that going on runs was something that Bill did when he wasn't coming home drunk or bringing a random stranger home. On occasion, he saw Bill coming home with groceries, and wondered if he liked to cook. He was curious about the things he did in his free time but there was only so much you could learn from a person without actually interacting with them. Or without being creepy about it.

"Well, I felt kind of bad about ignoring your existence," he admitted sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck. Dipper had never seen Bill express any sort of vulnerability and he was shocked by it. He was also incredibly confused. Why would he change his mind all of a sudden? And what did he even want? Was he just here to apologize? If so, why was he doing it in the middle of the night? Couldn't he have waited for a reasonable time? Or just written a note and slid it under the door?

"Okay, and?" Dipper prompted, hoping he'd continue or leave so he could return back to his depression nest. Bill pursed his lips, looking like he was trying to figure out the words to say. Why didn't he figure this out before he knocked on my door?

"Stop, I'm trying to apologize," Bill said, irritation lacing his voice. He sighed, his expression returning to the one he held before. He rubbed between his eyebrows with his fingers and Dipper couldn't help but notice that he actually looked extremely tired. There were light purple bags underneath his eyes and it was as if he hadn't slept in weeks. Maybe he hadn't.

"For what?" Dipper asked, knowing full well what he was talking about. He wasn't even sure if he wanted to forgive him. It kind of startled him how fast his behavior was changing towards him. He was so... One way... and then suddenly, a completely different way. It made Dipper feel uneasy.

"For... You know..." Bill trailed off, his eyes focused on the ground. "That one time."

"Uh huh..." Dipper almost felt a little smug.

"Look— I'm sorry that I was an ass," Bill continued, refusing to make any eye contact with the brunette. "I just... Am not used to people... helping me. At least, not without wanting something in return. So, uh, yeah. I'm sorry."

"It's fine," Dipper muttered but neither of them believed the lie.

"It's not," Bill retorted, shaking his head. "I want to make it up to you, so, uh, do you want to get lunch or something?"

"Lunch?"

"Yeah. Or something."

"With you."

"Yes."

"Just you."

"That's the idea."

"No, thanks, that's fine," Dipper said bitterly and shut the door in Bill's face.

He paused for a moment, not walking away from the door. Why did I do that?

He heard Bill mutter something but was unable to make out the words. Looking out the peephole, Bill was clearly incredibly annoyed but there was also... Disappointment (?) in his eyes. If Dipper wasn't confused before, he surely was now.

He watched as Bill waited a few moments — either realizing that Dipper wasn't going to open the door again or deciding he wasn't going to even try again — then turned on his heel and walked swiftly across the hall and back to his own apartment. The door slammed shut.

"Way to go, Dipper," he groaned, burying his face in his hands. At least he could return to his pity party. But now he had yet another thing to keep him in his funk.