Who: Stanford Pines and Bill Cipher What: Panicking over crushing on his best friend in his dream diary journal When: Maybe age 13, 1989 Where: On the beach in New Jersey Rating/Warnings: None at all Status: Ongoing Ford clutched at his journal, complete with tiny lock, feeling a bit sick. Sick in a way he wasn’t really sure how to cope with right now. Like a hot bundle of flooding nerves. Like a whole net full of butterflies hitting up and bouncing there against the edges, desperate to escape. Like spending far too long on a merry go round, with no real exit in sight. It was new. And unnerving. And definitely, definitely not good.
Gosh, he wished he could talk to Stan about this. Really, he did. He wished he could just open up about his problems like they sometimes did, him late at night in the bottom bunk just talking until his jaw hurt. About whatever problems came to his mind, whether it be school or their parents or their future for the three of them. About classes, and grades, and his hatred for PE or the bullying. It was nice to have a twin brother you could share all your feelings and troubles with. His twin was honestly just great like that.
But this particular subject...he glanced across the way to Bill as they sat at the beach, waves lapping closer. Nope. No. Oooh no. No, no, nope, no. He buried his now very red face back down to his journal, pulling it open and burying himself there with a pen to scratch at its pages, knees hunching up over his face awkwardly.
Yep. He’d have to just bury it down. Real good. Crush it into the ground, beneath this sand forever. And ever. And ever.
Beside, he was crushing on Cathy Crenshaw, right? That was...he was sure that was true...right...?
He fidgeted, trying to bury that thought too. Because, he’d certainly thought so. He was planning on asking her to the middle school dance; both Bill and Stan knew as much. He just hadn’t gotten the courage for it...
But then. So...either way, it should be fine, right? He’s got to be just imagining this. He wasn’t queer either. Right, that was true, wasn’t it? He just wasn’t like that. But then again, what was wrong being like that? Stanford was...already a freak, right? What was one more thing? It wouldn’t change who he was. An outcast. A freak.
Something nervous shifted in him at such thoughts. Things...better left at the side of this. It was apart from his issues anyways, that thought. After alll, no, he was getting off track. Really, really that wasn’t even the point. Point being, this was just...well, obviously, clearly a misunderstanding. He was just...confused. It sure felt confusing enough for that to be true. Definitely.
Even though as much as he wanted to cling to any notion of denial, it didn’t exactly explain everything though. Like how lately his voice had become a little too loud around Bill. Hands a bit too sweaty. Face a little too flushed at any given time.
Just what exactly had happened? When had his boyish best friend and brotherly love devolved into something so...so...twitchy? So nervous? So stupid? He was acting a lot more awkward. Smiles a bit too wide and nervous. Stumbling to keep up to the other. Jokes a bit too corny and edged on a strange earnest hope.
How had it been that they could throw mud balls, laugh, run and play without so much a single disturbance, with him full of wide grins and beaming discovery, taking Bill’s and Stan’s hands as if they could tackle the world...there hadn’t been any of...of this back then. It had all been so easy and free. Heck, no one knew him better than the two sitting with him now. So why was it like this now...? What in the world had changed?
He hunched a bit more, cheeks flushed red. Maybe he’d just...started noticing things? Subtle things. Maybe he just loved the way Bill was. How much he took to his attention. The way he laughed. How weird he was. Just like Ford.
He was writing an awful lot of his thoughts down, though in a cipher that needed a code word to crack of course, shooting uneasy glances at his friend.
His friend, yes, that, he reminded himself firmly, stubbornly. His best friend. He wasn’t going to ruin things between them even if by some crazy magical coincidence this was a real thing. Bill was like his brother and best friend all wound into one. And well, often times Bill was almost like fire to him too, wasn’t he? Sometimes he could even swear he’d burn himself on just his touch. He felt himself go more red at the thought.
Ugh. What was he thinking?
His eyes found his words on the page. Unlocked, it read:
‘Gosh, things are weird recently. Why do I even feel these things!? Stupid brain! Stupid...self! I really need to calm down. I think he’s looking at me. Geez I sure hope he doesn’t see through me. He’s way too good at reading people sometimes. And too good at...being Bill. I just can’t stop thinking about him! Maybe if I just ignore it, it’ll go away. And we’ll just be exactly the same. You can do this, Stanford. Just don’t be weird for once, and you’ll all be okay.’
He stared down at the words, nerves running through him. He could at least pretend to believe them if he looked long enough. Boy. He grimaced. He was...seriously in trouble.