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

I'm Made Of Wax Larry, What Are You Made Out Of?

FRIDAY, JULY 15TH

A knock on the door summoned Dipper quickly over. He was already dressed for the occasion — well, wearing his usual garments — and ready to go. Mabel had almost convinced him it was a date but he knew better than that. If there was one thing he got the memo of, it was that Bill was the type of person who didn't do dates.

Swinging the door open, trying to hide his enthusiasm, Bill flashed him a soft smile.

"Hi," he said, waving his hand halfheartedly. Dipper pursed his lip, anxiety bubbling in the pit of his stomach.

"Hi," Dipper repeated, stepping out of his apartment and locking the door. He eyed the blonde man; he wore a white button-up shirt with its long sleeves rolled up to his elbows, along with a pair of black jeans and black sneakers. He suddenly felt underdressed.

"Ready?" Bill asked, tilting his head slightly as if he was a dog begging for a treat. Dipper's cheeks flushed pink as he nodded quickly. The blonde man gestured for him to start walking.

The walk to the diner was short and quiet but comfortable. There were a few times where Dipper swore he felt Bill's hand brush against his but any glances he stole at the blonde man were filled with an expression of indifference. I must be imagining things again.

They arrived and sat down at an empty booth, facing across each other. A waitress came over, handing them each a menu, before walking away as fast as she'd came.

"So..." Dipper trailed off, trying to break the silence but was unsure of what to say.

"So..." Bill mocked, smirking at him. He was having fun revealing in Dipper's awkwardness.

"Nice uh... weather we're having?" he squeaked. Bill stared at him blankly for a moment before bursting out into laughter.

"Yeah, sure," Bill managed through his hilarity. "Kid, you're terrible at small talk."

"I'm very aware," he muttered, burying his face in the menu in an attempt to hide his blush.

"Oh no you don't," Bill smirked, grabbing the menu out of his hand and placing it gently on the table. "C'mon, kid. Talk to me."

"About what?"

"Anything," he shrugged. There was a moment of silence, Dipper staring off into space and unable to say anything, before he spoke again. "Okay, fine, I'll come up with something, then. How about... The nightclub."

Bill smirked at the sudden blush across the brunette's face.

"It... was... fun." Dipper stammered out, tilting his head so the brim of his hat hid his face.

"Kid, I can't talk to you if you're hiding," Bill snickered. Dipper rolled his eyes but obeyed, bringing his head back up but not shifting his eyes from the table.

"Sorry," Dipper muttered.

"Somethings telling me you don't really want to be here," he frowned.

"No, I do. I just... I'm not good in social situations. My sister is much better at this than I am."

"Guess I should've asked your sister out, then."

"What?"

"Nothing."

Dipper stared at him in disbelief. He knew from his tone that he was just joking but something in the pit of his stomach was bubbling. The amusement returned to Bill's face, waiting for him to start talking again.

"Okay..." Dipper trailed off, trying to restart the conversation while silently berating himself for not keeping the flame going. "So, um. Yeah. The nightclub. Yeah. It was... fun."