The evening had fallen over the Mystery Shack, and I was sprawled on the couch, trying to get lost in a book. I hadn't been in the mood for a party, and the headache I’d been nursing all day was making me more irritable than usual. The house was quieter than I’d anticipated, and I was appreciating the peace when Pacifica’s voice sliced through the calm.
“You know, Dipper, you should get out more,” she said, her tone light but carrying a sharp edge. “You’re always so stuck here, reading or working on some mystery. It’s like you don’t even want to have fun.”
I looked up from my book, feeling frustration tighten in my chest. “I’m perfectly fine. Just because I don’t want to go to every party doesn’t mean I’m missing out. I have my own way of having fun.”
“It’s not just about parties,” Pacifica snapped, surprising me with the edge in her voice. “It’s about living a little. You shut yourself off from the world, and you don’t even realize it. Sometimes I wonder if you really care about anything beyond your little mysteries.”
Her words cut deeper than I expected. I sat up, confusion and irritation battling for dominance. “Whoa, where is this coming from? I thought you liked that I’m focused and dedicated. Why is it suddenly a problem?”
Pacifica stood up, clearly agitated. “It’s not just that! It’s—” She paused, searching for the right words. “It’s like you’re so distant, and I’m trying to be close to you, but you just push me away. You’re always so wrapped up in your own world, and it feels like you don’t even see me.”
My frustration bubbled over. “You think I’m pushing you away? I’m just trying to handle things the best way I know how. And if you’re feeling neglected, maybe it’s not just about me. Maybe you’re also not being clear about what you want.”
“Being clear?” she echoed, her voice trembling with hurt. “I’ve tried to be supportive, to be here for you. But you’re so wrapped up in your own issues that you don’t even notice when I’m right in front of you. It feels like you don’t care about us—about me.”
Her words stung, and I was on the brink of losing my patience. “I do care, Pacifica. But I can’t be everything you want me to be. I’m not perfect, and I’m not a mind reader. If you want something different, you need to tell me directly instead of getting all worked up and accusing me.”
“You know what?” she shot back, her voice breaking. “Maybe I’m tired of always being the one who has to make things work. Maybe I’m just not cut out for this.”
"Cut out for what? What do you mean? What are you trying to make work!? I thought we were friends why are you -"
In the heat of the argument, Pacifica suddenly blurted out, “I love you, Dipshit!” Her words hung in the air, both a confession and a cry of frustration.
I was taken aback, my mind spinning. The weight of her declaration crashed over me, leaving me momentarily stunned. Before I could respond, Pacifica’s expression shifted from anger to sadness, and she turned abruptly, heading for the door.
“Pacifica, wait!” I called out, but she didn’t stop. She opened the door and stepped outside, leaving me alone with the enormity of her confession.
The silence that followed was deafening. I stood there, heart pounding, struggling to process what had just happened. The night outside seemed to close in on me, and the realization of my own feelings—alongside hers—left me standing at the threshold of an uncertain future.
