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

The Difference Between Medicine and Poison is in the Dose

THURSDAY, AUGUST 11TH

The two men had stayed at the club until its closing time at two o'clock in the morning. While Bill had asked Dipper if he wanted to leave earlier, the brunette shook his head, continuing to drink throughout the night. The blonde had tried his best to limit what he had consumed, but there were several drinks that he had snuck and by the time they were leaving, Dipper was incredibly out of it and could barely walk straight. His words were slurring to the point of being barely understood and he was saying things that didn't make any sense. His thoughts were scrambled and all over the place, nothing kept in a straight line. He hadn't been this drunk in a few years, not letting himself get caught up back in the realm of misuse. But something about tonight scared him enough to lose his focus and drink way more than he was supposed to.

What if there was an ulterior motive? Nothing had made sense. Bill and him barely knew each other, he'd been scolded by the blonde already once but then his emotions took a compete one eighty, being consumed with concern and worry. Bill looked genuinely upset at the knowledge of him hurting himself, but he was so angry a month ago. It didn't make any sense. Nothing made any sense. It was nonsense.

Bill had helped Dipper home — mainly by carrying him, because he could not make his legs move properly — and reminded him that if he needed anything, call him. He recognized that Bill probably wanted to stay to watch him, but he had been so insistent that he was fine, that the blonde believed him and went to his own apartment. The brunette had sat on the ground in his foyer, unmoved since arriving home. He was kind of tired but his thoughts were so consuming, he couldn't help but be awake to think them.

As the minutes passed, he could feel himself slowly sobering up, allowing his anxiety to creep back in. Memories of past failed relationships and friendships filled his head; he'd never truly had a friend, never truly had someone who cared about him outside of Mabel. But Mabel wasn't going to be there forever. She had several friends, had a great deal of relationship experience, she was a social butterfly. She would marry someone and leave him behind. She had her own life and Dipper couldn't fucking function enough to make the decision between drinking water or soda. How was he going to function when she left him behind? How was he going to do anything when he was all alone?

Maybe he'd follow through with the plan he devised for himself when he was in high school: if things don't start working out by the time he's twenty seven, then that's it. He's done. He'll join that club — not that anyone would remember him for years to come afterwards. He'll give life a shot but if nothing is all well to end well, then he'll take care of it himself. The thought gave him comfort, knowing that he had a plan, knowing that he could still control something in his life. It was fucked up and he would never tell another living soul about it, but he had something to go off of. That was really the only motivation that kept him going most days. That it wouldn't be forever, because he would end it when he was ready.

Maybe he could make it look like an accident. Then Mabel, the Stans, his parents... none of them could blame themselves for what had happened. He'd never got as far as developing an actual method to go through with it — that made it feel a little too real. Maybe it was because he was too much of a chicken. Maybe it was because he still had five years to bare through before it would even be an option. Maybe it was because he didn't want anyone to find out, so if he couldn't formulate a thought about it, he couldn't accidentally reveal it. Maybe he was just too drunk and was sad about literally nothing.

Breaking temporarily from his thoughts, he glanced at the clock emanating from his laptop's screen — he'd forgotten to turn it off again — and saw it was close to four thirty in the morning. He was still a ball of nerves and it felt like the walls surrounding him were enclosing around him. He'd never really been one to be claustrophobic but the apartment was giving him that sinking feeling.