InsaneJournal

Who: Stanford Pines and Bill Cipher
What: What starts out as Bill trying to wheedle Ford from his studies ends out in disaster of the drinking and making out kind.
When: Back in college years, ages 20, 1996
Where: At the crap shoot of a college the two go to
Rating/Warnings: Yeah, basically gets graphic and explicit here eventually.
Status: Ongoing


It was fairly late already. Noises of partying and laughter stretched and echoed the hallways of the dormitory, but in this particular room Ford was just left to himself, as always the young man scratching furiously at a notebook with an impressive spreading of open textbooks, endless notes, and graph paper hitting his desk like a typhoon. It was obvious which side of the dormitory belonged to Ford on just first glance, what with the chaotic storm of endless towerings of books, frankly just impossible castles of them; with endless scfi magazines, posters of famous scientists, X-Files or Star Trek or otherwise, D and D sheets and game boards and graphs, rubix cubes and scientific journals that stacked precariously on every open space. Stanford was, if nothing else, efficient in his chaos. But it was chaos none the less.

He bit, nibbling at the butt of his pen, muttering tightly under his breath, “And if this is the conclusion of the five figures...no, x doesn’t end up there, that’s wrong,” and scribbled away against the paper in sheer, distracted frustration. It wasn’t unusual for him to spend nights here like this. So wrapped up and enveloped into a problem, an equation, an impossibility that the rest of the world faded away entirely, time speeding away from him. If he were honest with himself, he could spend hours losing himself in his studies, determination filling him to push harder, go farther, become better. Better and better, he had to keep getting better. Smarter. More efficient.

Six fingers drummed against the table top, idly the man wishing their neighbors would keep it down. He honestly couldn’t stand this college. It hadn’t been his first choice, or even his second. But, it’s where he ended up. He wasn’t rich enough, at all, to afford anything else and the highschool they came from, even with his top of the line grades (beating every student that had gone through there) held back a lot of schools from considering him for any scholarships. It had been a poor school in a poor district.

He grit down his teeth.

Honestly. It all still felt so fresh, the betrayal of what had happened, the reasons of being here in the first place. A strong, red pulsing twinge wrung through him, hot and deep and sharp like a needle, driving his eyes back to his paper, scanning it in determined, stubborn defiance. He didn’t want to think about Stanley right now. Every time he even tried, that anger welled up, fire filling him in a cold anger.

Even despite his wants, it happened anyways, causing his fists to clench.

How could he.

How could he.

How could he be so selfish!? To simply throw Ford’s future away. Throw away his dreams. His hopes. His desperation to finally be somewhere he could find acceptance, could challenge himself, reach out with wings that could take him somewhere. Outside that trash of a town they grew up in. Finally getting away from it all. But Stanley never cared about that. All Stan cared about was clipping those wings. Keeping him with him, out on the sea, or more than likely stuck at home jobless and manning the pawn shop. That was the more likely reality. That was probably what would’ve turned out, right? Stan would’ve been content to drag him down forever.

He bit down, the edge of his teeth clenching at each other, trying to drown out the fierce hurt and betrayal of it all.

No, his brother didn’t care. And honestly, this rage, that sharp betrayal had pushed Ford to study all the harder. Go even further. He used it to drive him forward. The young man never took a break if he could help it, and if he could, he would push himself and his studies to the grave. Or. At least...if it were of his own volition. His mind briefly wavered, traveling momentarily to what basically amounted to his other brother, that chaotic adopted one, the bundle of energy who he wasn’t really sure where he was off to right at the moment.

All for the better, he decided abruptly, pulling up a book to check his work. If he were here, undoubtedly they’d get caught in something. They always did. Bill seemed to want his attention like a burning flame, never to be out bested by his studies. It was always something. A chess game. Gossip. Going out, drinking. Or, by Ford’s preference, any number of scientific or political theories the two could share. Bill was brilliant. Much more than himself. And the other hardly studied, at least when compared to himself.

His mind briefly and favorably trailed back to their childhood, to a simple scene of one of their countless sleepovers when they’d be stuck in his and Stan’s room, the three of them piled under a fort of blankets and pillows, flashlight in hand. Even hours after Stan had fallen asleep the two would stay up, excitedly discussing and Ford gushing about the paranormal, the weird and unholy, the bizarities of the world. Ghost stories were a plenty, and he could just remember himself starting at Bill’s jumping at him with a yell before unraveling into a fit of laughter.

“Stop it, Bill!” But even as he’d clutched at his chest, feeling as if he’d had a heart attack just at age eight, he’d been grinning too, six fingers propping up his glasses as he’d turned to his childhood friend. The chaotic devil.

They sure had a lot of good times together. And Ford still couldn’t place why they got along so well, what force of cosmos binded them so well; two pairs of freaks, two impossibly intelligent freaks woven in by the allowance of destiny. Honestly. They’d been best friends for as long as he could recall, back when he and Stan had gotten separated in their classes at just the ages of four. Bill and him had been the outsiders in a class of rampant preschoolers. When tricks and mischief was Bill’s fortay, as well as being cast out of the group; even the teachers seeming to give him a cold shoulder and wary, concerned looks. Ford knew better than anyone that there was something off with his friend, something beneath the surface that went deep and, in his perception, made people, at least back then wildly uncomfortable. But it was just that in which they’d bonded over. In which had given him the courage to step forward and introduce himself. Because Ford could see his own kind any day.

“Hey, check it out.” He’d recalled, usually so timid, working his way over to the isolated boy all alone and shunned by their classmates, grinning meekly and holding out his six fingers. “I’m weird too.” And he’d held out his tiny hand then, bracingly, “My name’s Stanford Pines. You wanna be friends?”

It had kind of devolved into all unholy chaos from there. No matter what they were doing, even if it was just kicking along the beach of New Jersey looking for lost treasure, or dreaming of sailing the great big ocean, Bill was right there. A whirlwind of energy and Ford laughing, just trying to catch up to him. Like a big flaming sun, him trailing after the rays and just itching to grasp at their lines. And oh boy, were the two inseparable. Even if there was, of course, a lot of conflict when it came to his twin. It had taken Stanley years, eons it had felt, to accept Bill into their beforehand dynamic duo. Ford could still remember wrestling as a liaison between the two, stepping between them and constantly trying to smooth out all those constant uneven edges. Stan had hated that. Jealous to the bone and always badmouthing Bill. He could recall his brother off on a tangent, back when they were kids, and him as always shaking his head and trying to get some sense into the other.

“Come on Stan, don’t be like that. He’s our friend.” More over, he was Ford’s friend. And he never did stop trying to include Bill despite the hefty protests. Even when being dragged out of classes, and getting into all manner of mischief and trouble, something Stan sometimes managed to draw him out for, but nothing at the rate Bill did. Bill was, simply, a bad influence on Ford through and through. And Ford never really minded, always with a toothy grin, trying to pull the two (and sometimes three) from getting involved in anything too far. For Ford, there was always a line, a general compass, and it so happened that he was good at guiding both “brothers” in where that line of morality lay. It was honestly any wonder his mother let Bill and him be so close, considering this fact, and the sorts of things they’d get into.

He felt himself calm at the memories, looking distantly at the problem out against his paper, a weak grin now at his face. “Honestly,” He whispered. There was nothing to mention for Bill’s absolutely infuriating genius either. Bill made him look like a child comparatively...and maybe that, that intellect, that energy as great as the sun, that bright luminosity was just a part of what made him so enticing to Ford. What he admired the most. “Like a burning star.” He mused. to himself, chuckling slightly, tipping his pen between his fingers, gaze a bit lost in thought now.

Some days it felt like he and Bill would be tethered forever, always looking to the next horizon, Ford always, somehow impossibly, inextricably dragged off by his hand to this and that impossibility or brand new Bad Idea with entire capital letters. He snorted, shaking his head, smile softening as his gaze turned to the framed photo of the pair that stuck on his desk. It included the rest of his family as well, and it had been taken at a large park when they were kids that had included hotdogs and an invitation to Bill as, with how his mother put it, “Well! He basically lives here doesn’t he so he might as well come to the reunion and have some hotdogs.” Stan had really not been too happy about that. Not at all. The softness took to him more fully, smoothing frustrated or distracted edges and his admiration of the other seemed to swell over him in a surge of genuine fondness. He honestly couldn’t help it at times, feeling that way. Bill just tended to do that to him, pooling his sharp edges into something so much smoother.

His fingers gently went to touch the frame, bringing it up idly, sighing to himself. “You’ll probably be the death of me one day Bill, I swear.” But it was spoken, softly, and with a weak yet bracing smile.

----------------------

It could be considered late or early depending on who you talked to. To those engaged in the party a few doors down from where his less exciting counterpart was buried in books and equations, it was early. The night still had plenty left to offer and Bill was better than his roomie at the whole carpe diem thing. Day, night, no use splitting hairs. The point was to take advantage of the time while it was there.

“Don’t go! You’re gonna miss the party!” The protest came from a girl who took to him over the night. This was fairly common, what could he say? He was a charmer. Sharp in contrast to the little monster he was as a child, though that part of him still lingered just beneath the skin, waiting to be let free at any opportunity. Other people… he kept them at arm’s length. The ones who would be apt to turn on him as soon as his worse nature was let loose.

“What’cha talkin’ about? I’m taking the party with me!” With two beers tucked between his knuckles on one hand, Bill waved over his shoulder was he turned on his heel to head off down the hall. Honestly, Sixer needed to relax once in awhile! All work and no play made Fordsy a dull boy and Bill just couldn’t stand for that too long.

He knew. He knew why Ford worked so hard. He, afterall, was the grandmaster of that plan whether anyone else realized it or not. Well, Stanley saw it. He wasn’t yet quite the accomplished con man Bill heard tell that he was these days back then. Bill on the other hand fully acknowledged his own selfishness. Sure, he could have followed Ford anywhere… in a perfect world. But the truth of it was, life ain’t fair. Not all men were created equal and when you came from a no nothing town, you usually stayed there to drown and rot in the decay of what was once the American dream.

Did he have regrets? He did. He was selfish, not devoid of complex emotion. Stanley was like a second brother he never had. They scrapped once in awhile and both were just as vying for Ford’s attention, only one of them was craftier and found a way to get it. It was terrible, he was the worst… but Ford was fairly well an addiction to Bill. Drawn to him like a moth to a flame, Bill couldn’t keep away if he tried. Stanley was a necessary sacrifice along the way.

Whatever helped him sleep at night, eh?

It was simpler back then, wasn’t it? In ways. Back when their biggest problems were grade school and whether or not Bill was going to give someone a heart attack that day. When he was a little scrappy thing doing literally anything he could in order to get attention, even if it was the negative sort. Something was better than nothing. He acted out and it either earned him praise or a degree of loathing from his peers. Even fear. When he didn’t get what he wanted, he would lash out, causing others to shy away from him, even adults. He tended to look wild and unkempt, an odd thing with untamed blonde hair and eyes that were mismatched, one having the constant look of being permanently dilated due to a, ah… tragic childhood accident. Nevermind that he couldn’t explain then how out of place he felt in his own skin. No one seemed to know what to do with him… until Ford.

“Heh, heh… that’s so cool!” He remembered gazing in wide eyed wonder at Ford’s extra digit when they were tots, seizing his hand to examine more closely. “Bill Cipher…” And the rest, as they say, was history.

Bill found himself adopted into a family at least more functioning than his own. Out on daily adventures with Ford and Stanley at their heels, trying his best to usurp Bill’s position in Ford’s life. Try as he may, it never worked. Better it would be for them to accept the role the other played in Ford’s life and for awhile that even worked. Not without some scraps along the way, but no machine worked perfectly. Jealousy would always hang in the air like an umbrella over the three of them, waiting to snap shut around them at any given moment. And the one to get them free of it was always, inevitably, Ford.

Necessary sacrifice.

Bill told himself that too often for it to be genuine. A mantra driven by guilt he refused to acknowledge. If he had to choose between Stanley and Ford, the decision would be the same every time. Was that really true when in essence he was choosing himself? Effectively being the one to clip Ford’s wings for his own sake and deflect all blame from himself. This was better for them both and you couldn’t change his mind.

Now that the ruse brought them this far, there was no going back. As long as he had to, Bill would manipulate what he had to in order to maintain it. They were intertwined in a way now that separating them would prove impossible and catastrophic for anyone who tried. That wasn’t to say it was all a lie. The Pines became his family, the one he depended on more than his own. Getting Ford and Stan into trouble just came with the territory of Bill. Mischief was written into every part of him and somehow it never got him turned away the same way it had his whole life.

Opening their door with a BANG! he was sure Ford wouldn’t appreciate, Bill sauntered over to where Ford sat at his desk, tsking at him with a shake of his head. “Sixer, Sixer, Sixer… you are the only one on the entire floor shut up in their room and I think we both know this isn’t acceptable.” He held out the hand still clinging to the two bottles, a gentle tinking noise coming with the motion. “Come onnn! Live a little. Aren’t these the best years of our lives or whatever?! You can’t spend it all with books when you should be spending it with me.” He perched himself on an open edge of Ford’s desk, opening both bottles before putting one into the other’s hand.

“I’m not gonna take no for an answer either, so you might as well humor me or I’ll have to take more drastic measures to convince you and I don’t think we want that.” Or maybe one of them did, Bill always loved being challenged, knowing he could rise to the task in almost any given situation. He just happened to be particularly skilled at convincing Ford.

--------------

Ford jumped perhaps a mile in the air, if he were to record it, eyes wide and sharp; the small framed photo he’d held in his six fingers clattering onto the desk. He let out a sharp breath of air, glancing behind him at Bill. And just speak of the devil. There that chaotic man was. Standing there like the fire of the world itself.

Honestly. Bill always seemed to know how to get under his skin like this, it was every day with the two. He would’ve liked to say that Bill was just lucky enough that he’d been considering and remembering the other in a good light, that if he were buried in research he may have been irate or at least stubbornly avoidant at the outburst. But he wasn’t...and well, frankly he wouldn’t have been. If there was one thing that Ford ever often had trouble admitting to himself, it was that he always had trouble saying no to him, not unless it was something serious. The man really, really knew how to flawlessly nest himself under Ford’s skin and just bask there in the warmth of it. He couldn’t get rid of Bill if he tried. And frankly he never had. Quite the opposite, really. Boy, what people must say about the pair.

He would’ve loved to say he’d refuse that extended hand, would’ve loved to claim he could shrug the other off and just continue to his work like he absolutely would do if it had been basically anyone else. Ford the shut in. Ford the science geek. The loner. Other than Fiddleford, another brilliant science major a few dormitories down, Ford had no real friends or acquaintances outside the current company. Simply put, these days he was someone who didn’t exactly…”socialize.” This had been a very real consequence of his fall out with Stanley. Aside from Bill, he’d pretty much closed off those walls to everyone else.

Still.

His gaze flickered up to Bill’s mismatched ones, that suave, eccentric disguise. And with it, a bit of an amused, wry grin pushed past him and he laughed, shaking his head, running his fingers through the mess of curls. “Jesus, Bill.” But he was grinning all the same. “Honestly, couldn’t you knock? And come on, you know I have a research paper I have to finish.” Scratch that, he had five of them. Despite himself, he held onto that bottle slipped into his hand, considering it. This was definitely one of those capital letter Bad Ideas he had just been thinking about. He chewed at his tongue for a moment, gaze flickering to the other again at his insistence and challenge to simply making him do it. He snorted.

For just a second Ford was even tempted to push him. He grinned a bit, a slight of defiance in his tone.

“Is that a threat?” He challenged, but they knew very well how this was probably going to end. Come on. Not that he didn’t stand his own when necessary, but most of the time these situations really only led in one direction. At least mostly. At least when he was looking at him demandingly and teasing him like that. But hell, it didn’t exactly mean he’d have to back down immediately either and somehow, wasn’t about to.

-----------------

"Heh, heh don't have a heart attack, it's waaaay too soon for that," he offered ominously, as if he could know such things in the first place. He leaned over to look at what Ford had in hand when he came in, and dropped, smirking to himself. Getting sentimental again, Fordsy? He got to thinking about Stanley from time to time, there was no avoiding it on either side. Stanley was the other part of their little trio, content as Bill was to be a duo, Ford was another story. He supposed if he dug down deep, you could say he missed Stan. They had a certain bond in the most terrible of ways that often involved teasing Ford mercilessly, but it was there.

Maybe in some distant future they could reconcile over a good old wrestling match and laugh it off. Heh. If only this were such a childish problem as Bill snatching up the last of the popcorn or his obnoxious tongue. No. This was how he wanted it and going back meant admitting his own guilt. That in turn risked the one thing Bill was unwilling to let slip through his fingers.

What must people say about them? Bill heard whispers. Theories. Terrible gossip. People loved talking when they didn't realize anyone was listening. Oh so often the question was why Ford? Why would he devote such time to a nerdy shut in when he could make others so easily eat right out of his palm? They didn't understand, couldn't see Ford the way Bill did. It was the whole reason Bill got away with swaying Ford how he would and why Bill was impossibly drawn to him. They saw each other. Minor… manipulations aside… if he had genuine care for anyone it was Stanford Pines.

"Since when do I have to knock? I've never had to do something so absurd as seeking out permission to invade your space," he scoffed, making a point in sliding closer to Ford, kicking up a foot on the edge of his chair. "Just one?" Oh, he knew. He knew the load that Ford took on and how it annoyed him that he didn't apply himself more to his academics. He was light years beyond their peers and he knew it. He didn't need to prove it to anyone else. Ford knew it and that was enough. "Easy peasy. What's a few research papers when you have me?" It never took much to sell Ford on his next BAD IDEA. Bill was an excellent salesman when it came to the business of leading his freakish partner astray.

This was a familiar sort of dance between the two, where Bill wanted to lead and Ford would fight him, spinning them back in the other direction into horrific things like reason and responsibility. "Maybe it is, do you wanna find out?" Now he couldn't necessarily force Ford to drink with him, but what he could do was make himself the worst distraction on the planet until he got what he wanted. "The thing is, you want to party with me, or you would have already said no, so I don't have to threaten you. Now it's a game of making you give in and tear yourself away from this desk." And it was no secret that Bill loved games. Physical, mental, anything that gave him a challenge and some amusement. Ford never ceased being good for that in one way or another.

"Take a break and I'll make it worth your whileee~" Ford was about the only one he would make such open ended compromise with. Still… he wasn't specific on how he would do that. It was open to interpretation that he could still spin in his favor.

--------

Again he let out a snort, looking the other over in a definite amused fashion. “Yes, well, let’s hope a heart attack is still a ways down the line.” Not that with his study schedule it wasn’t tipping and toeing onto the lines of being entirely possible at this point. These days Ford would’ve drowned himself in work if he could. Thank god for small miracles like Bill Cipher.

Though...it was strange. When Bill talked like that, teased like that with certain phrases, certain words, there was something almost...off about it that spread over him. These little moments littered through their lives, strange stars in a vast endless night sky, these instances that seemingly itched their way into Ford’s mind. Like some kind of misplaced but powerful deja vu or as if remembering dream he’d had once and, aside from the pressing ghost of their emotions, entirely forgotten. Strange. Very much so. But, considering their dynamic, who was he to really pick apart something that was already so impossible to explain. Ford certainly wasn’t going to try, and never felt particularly the need to get into and unfold the details of his relationship with Bill, or why he was constantly at his side, not to anyone or anything. Simply put, he didn’t need to. Bill, he could only assume, understood him well enough. And he was content in that. More than content.

Still, it was safe to say Bill certainly had a lot more finness than Stanford. And a lot more people skills. And, well, frankly just a lot more all around. Both had diverged and grown and changed from their little kids phase certainly, or rather...at least on the surface, but they remained close as ever. Though then again he was sure if you found them out on the town or talking all manners of ideas into the late hours of the morning, you’d see the same shine of smiles and shared looks they may have shared at those early ages. Ford liked that though. For some people, perhaps the constant variable of someone there from dawn to dusk would have driven them mad. But then for him, it couldn’t possibly. Not ever. How could it? He really couldn’t get enough of reaching his hands against the other’s company just to grasp some of Bill’s light. His intellect, his wit, his charm, his strange and bizarre weirdness that just seemed to work so well with Ford. The two were a very strange pair, an unlikely one, that was for certain. And many, if not everyone outside of their sphere seemed to struggle to grasp it at all. But hell, they didn’t need to. And maybe that was the best part too, frankly. They didn’t get to.

Again he offered a slight and familiar laugh, rolling his eyes, but with very little annoyance behind it. “Right, right, I forgot. You own all areas of personal space in this dominion, I suppose?” He grinned jokingly, even as Bill took the opportunity to slide in right next to him. He tensed, but just a fraction.

Ah...right. Oh boy.

Well, that was...a thing that happened often enough. Not that Bill ever had qualms about invading any and all space he deemed his own, but...well. There was a specific something about Ford’s end of this relationship that he had locked down and secured, keeping very thoroughly to himself. Something he doubted even Stanley knew, which had once upon a time been saying something. It had, foolishly, horribly, trailed after him in bits and broken pieces, plaguing him and following their relationship since they were only in middle school; leaving a littering of rash emotions, viable humiliating instances, and a horrible awkwardness where it most definitely was not welcome. At least on his end. He’d always assumed Bill must’ve just chalked it all up to him...frankly being awkward at times. At least he hoped he did.

The very last thing, the one nightmarish reality Ford could picture was Bill discovering about this entire blasted side of Ford and that he would be very content to just drown and leave be and it would cause a rift between them. They’d only gotten so much closer since Stanley’s departure, and...what then, if it destroyed things? Would he be left on his own? Not that he couldn’t do it. Not that he didn’t have the stomach to be alone, however...the truth was, it scared him. Quite honestly. It dug very deep, into a place that was cold and even thrilling with dread. He’d always been another half of the chaotic boy beside him. And without that…without Bill...

He’d rather not explore that idea. Ever, if possible. It haunted him, causing a preliminary pain and regret that wasn’t worth it. He was fine like this. Very fine, happy even. And that was the truth. Some things, once and a while he supposed, were better kept to himself.

He glanced over as Bill spoke up.

“Oh, well...alright. Maybe more than one.” He admitted finally, grin a bit more awkward as he grabbed onto the subject presented there firmly, ironclad with both hands to pull himself from such thoughts. He rubbed at the back of his neck distractedly, before letting out a small chuckle, leaning back to look at his roommate. “I’m afraid that won’t be much for my grade.” Not that Bill couldn’t nail these subjects with an ease that both astounded, impressed, and simply baffled Ford.

Actually. It was almost...almost kind of nice, really. That it seemed as if he were the only one to really understand or comprehend the extent of how brilliant Bill truly was. How farther ahead he was even to Ford, eons over anyone he knew. It was really just another thing seemingly tethered their relationship together. Even with how disappointed, with as much as he scolded or reprimanded Bill for not pursuing that intellect, sharing it with the world, making something for himself...it was also...well, really almost, almost rather nice. That the two of them were the only ones that were in the know. Like it were simply another piece the two of them kept to one another. Another puzzle piece in a cipher that only they could solve.

And his grin came back, relaxing into the one saved for their usual banter, snorting again, “Oh, is that so? You seem to be entirely confident about that.” He wheedled, voice still challenging, but they already knew the game was won before they’d set their pieces on the board. Bill and him both saw that checkmate in this play through miles in advance. His laugh came out more genuine at Bill’s final offer, unable to help himself and finding something warm to flood over him, stifling all wariness and calculated distraction he’d been caught up before the other had busted in like the crack of a gun. He shook his head and looked again to his beer, tipping it, “Right. I suppose you had something in mind, then.” He asked wryly, still grinning.

May as well admit defeat early. He may have been challenging the other, Ford liked doing that, but it didn’t really mean anything serious at this point. To hell with it. What was a few more sleepless nights getting caught up? And if he really needed an ear to bounce ideas off of, well, Bill was more than capable enough to be that sounding board.

---------------

Bill Cipher and strange went hand in hand from his earliest memories. From his behavior to the company he kept to his name stuck out at strange angles from what was considered normal. In contrast to their youth, he came by a way of coping with feeling like everything about him was out of place. A means of curbing his odd obsessions with things with one eye and triangles, the grotesque and paranormal. Only Stanford knew these things that Bill confided in him. Not in fear of what others thought, but seeking some reason for why. He came to accept that there was no reason for it that could be grasped at tangibly.

At what point he went from being equally awkward and downright off putting to others around them, he could tell you exactly. Middle school.That central hub of change for all the youth of the world, when caterpillars formed their chrysalis that would turn them into something beautiful. Bill managed to find a way to hide what made him so turbulent to other people just beneath the surface, allowed to seep out at moments to allow him the ability to maintain the facade for as long as possible. Then, with Ford, there was no need to hold back who he was. That seemed to be enough to keep him in check in a way that he hadn’t gotten them both killed yet.

“Mostly just yours, though there are plenty of people who would be happy having me invade their personal space, ya know.” There wasn’t anything to the comment really… or maybe it was the slightest of jabs, but what Ford thought he kept so close and tight lipped and to himself, Bill knew for years now. The way he tensed up when he got closer and thought he didn’t notice. The extra dose of awkwardness that came with flushed cheeks and stammering. Stanford was clever, but not clever enough to keep his darkest thoughts away from the prying eyes of Bill Cipher. He positively thrived on flattery, knowingly given or otherwise.

Would it have made things easier to tell Ford those feelings weren’t so one sided? It would have. He could have eased Ford’s concerns with ease and yet… Bill had his own. Oh yes, genuine concern that he would be the one to blow it all to smithereens. Were mutually shared feelings enough to stand up to his tendency for destruction, self and otherwise? It was a toss up, a risk that yet neither were willing to take. Honestly, it was as ridiculous as the concern was warranted.

The torment of being one another’s Achilles heel aside, there were shenanigans to be had and Bill wasn’t about to back down. “Pssssh… I am insulted, Stanford. As if I couldn’t write at least three of those papers of yours myself.” How did he do it? Innate capability, or so he claimed. These things simply came to him with an ease he couldn’t even explain. Among his oddities was a photographic memory, impairing as it was impressive.

Perhaps no one else would truly appreciate either of them in their time, but it was fairly certain they would be intertwined for the rest of time. To remove one from the other was like taking the skeleton out of a person and expecting them to walk. That no one else could understand them fed a certain obsession in Bill, an irrevocable need for Ford’s attention lest the fire that made Bill Cipher die down to a flicker… or rise into an inferno. Stanley was testament to how hot those flames could burn when he felt any manner of slighted.

“We’re still talking, so I like my odds.” If Ford were serious about finishing his paper, he’d give Bill that patented That’s Enough look he hated so much. Then he’d have to turn up the charm or admit temporary defeat. That happened rarely as he had a skill in enticing Stanford into listening him that followed them to this day. He had Sixer as good as wrapped around his finger, which made Bill grin. “Something,” Bill considered his own drink, hardly his first of the night, but with enough space he maintained a pleasant buzz. “Guess if you wanna know, then you’ll follow me.”

The bottle was drained in the next few seconds, finding a home on Ford’s desk with a hollow thud as Bill spun round, giving Ford’s chair a tug to drag him a foot or so across the room in his wake. Familiar cackling followed, along with his steps back out the door into the hall where the party spilled over in spots in the form of drunk sorority girls and boozed up bundles of testosterone battling over beer pong and table hockey. “Come on, Sixer! Live a little!”

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While Bill was definitely the embodiment of strange, Ford would be a downright liar if he claimed that the weird, unnatural and paranormal didn’t also fascinate him. He’d found a bed there with those things. The unusual oddities, the deformities, the wrong and displaced of the world. He’d always found them completely fascinating, particularly seeing as he was among them. It was not unusual for him to be taunted, ridiculed or bullied over his extra fingers and, quite often as a child, to extremes. It was a pedestal, an out and center thing that he couldn’t hide; the physical idea of what Ford knew himself to be inside: he’d never say it aloud, the word holding too much meaning, too much pain, but...a freak. A freak.

“GROSS! DON’T TOUCH HIM!” He recalled kids recoiling, throwing stones, laughing or pointing. Even adults turning in surprise, taken aback, avoiding his gaze. Staring. He’d felt so much guilt once upon a time. Enough even to swallow him whole. So much guilt and shame and desperation at being the reason that Stan didn’t have friends. At why his brother, who while maybe seemed a bit dim, was sociable. Played sports and got along with people. But not Ford. Not the freak. And with that, he’d dragged Stan to his level.

Somehow it was all the more that he’d found solace in Bill. His counter-freak. His double. He wasn’t alone anymore. As much as his brother was such a huge part of his life, as much as he had loved Stanley, Stan was still...on the other side of things. Dragged down into a hole by just hanging out with him. Being brothers with him. Stan was clean, untouched. Not Ford. Ford was born to be an otherwise.

And here? He and Bill were born in this place together. Born in the strange, the rejected, the abnormal. They were freaks, the pair of them. It was as easy as looking at the other’s once disheveled hair and misformed eye. ‘We were born in this hole.’ The idea of Bill having avid fascinations and obsessions with triangles, with odd one eyed beings didn’t phase Ford in the slightest, on the contrary. Even the manic, wild, dangerous sides of Bill never phased him or scared him away. He took them with a steady gaze, a strangely calm and gentle demeanor.

And honestly too, he found something there, a touch, a tingle, a piping curiosity at the symbols and obsessions Bill brought his way. There was something about them he couldn’t place, something so goddamn familiar and fascinating and adored in them. He loved sharing that strange idea, that space with Bill. Another piece of their personal puzzle that went unexplained between them from the rest of the world. And too not just in these things; ending spreading his room with glass triangles and one eyed drawings, but finding fascination too in everything weird. It was a little space, a home, a reality for him. Weird tended to attract its own kind, after all. And in that pit, it was nice to have this company. Maybe too it had let Stan a little breathing room, not having to be tethered so strongly to his “deformed” brother. After all something had always been wrong with Ford, at least that was how he felt. Feeling that his fingers were only the representation of the real reality of that.

He felt, at times, that it was just a representation to a truer nature that lingered deep down, something that dug deeper beyond his surface. Beyond even his intellect that set him so apart from others. Ford knew, in very real ways, he was definitely unordinary. Something that was beyond skin deep. And normally he loved it. But sometimes, well. It got to him.

After all, he felt, who could be so bizarre? So bent?

And even then, what kind of person fell in love with someone that basically represented as something of a best friend and brother…? Who was...well, a man?

It was nonsense, all of it. The latter of which was really better left buried in a hole in the sand on that beach the trio used to tear along, promising each other a better future once and for all.

“We’re going to build a ship and travel out of this place forever!” He’d even recalled exclaiming in bright confidence, bringing his hand in to the other two in a form of promise while standing next to the small broken “Stan Cipher o’ War”

He guessed they were on their way now, technically.

This college may be a dismal pit of a ship to lead them out of those rocky waters, but at least it floated. At least it was opportunity. And even if Bill never applied himself, Ford would gladly, willingly, be the one to drag them both there hand over fist into a new life. A brighter life. Better than where they were. He’d man the oars single handedly if that was what was needed.

He laughed then however, “Right, of course. I’m sure I’ve garnered plenty of jealousy along the halls.” Again with that same teasing, rough tone. Some may mistake it for flirting. Ford wasn’t good enough at that for it to be anything other than entirely genuine. He shoved the other’s shoulder lightly, an easy banter of a touch, “Right. I know you could, you all knowing devil. Not that I’ll ever understand it, but I have no doubt.” Not that Ford would ever let him. No, he was far too stubborn. Far too dedicated. His grin widened, “Do you now?” Before abruptly finding his chair pulled backwards with a tug, a yelp escaping him as he clung to the bottom of his seat to keep from jolting off. “BILL!” He yelled in reprimand, but it came half in shock and half in an authentic laugh, tossing a disbelieving look as he was quite literally dragged right out of the dorm room.

Music, talk, laughter filled his ears, clear and suddenly very present. And he found himself oddly red. Mostly at just the way Bill’s tone came across at his words. He took a hand to his face, laughing into it with shaking shoulders. “Jesus christ, Bill.” And he turned his grin back to his best friend and brother, bracing a hand out and grabbing Bill’s as if a form of agreement had been made; an unconscious, natural thing for him to do. “Alright. Alright! Fine. Fine. You got me. Let’s go.”

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They were two weird peas in a strange shaped pod. Birds of an unusual feather. Just as it wasn't uncommon for either of them to be teased over anything from Ford's extra finger to Bill's oddball eye to the fact they were poor, Stanley was dim, whatever have you that kids could find that made them stick out, Bill would be the one to retaliate in kind unless Stanley bear him to the literal punch. He earned his reputation for being unhinged. Blame it on the parents. It was easy to get a pass for certain things coming from what they called a broken home.

If he shared one thing in common with Stanley without a doubt, it was that he knew neither of them felt dragged down by Stanford. You couldn't blame him for the fact society was shit and they made some mutual decision to stand by one another through it all. What it cost never outshined their long standing plans to see the world together until Bill drove the wedge in deliberately.

But that was another thing entirely.

They were two sides of the same freakish coin and Bill would argue that people simply weren't fully prepared for what was their true brilliance most couldn't hope to comprehend. The way they saw the world for what it could be just beyond normal sight couldn't be shared by those with such closed minds. He fully believed there was a higher understanding, more knowledge than any one person could hope to contain locked away somewhere just out of reach. As if this college would help him reach that potential. Bill could crash course his way through any class here and then teach it. Maybe he was just cocky. Some people had a right to be.

He stayed here to humor Ford. More than that… there was no Ford going anywhere without him. On Bill's side, her brimmed on near obsession. Not being with Ford was a thought that drove him mad… hence, the whole manipulating Stanley. Was it such a strong emotion that he failed to process that he confused obsession with love? The two could go hand in hand, not that you could call it healthy. But do you know where thinking about it too much got you? In a bigger mess. At the end of it all, whatever was between them moved organically without bringing too much thought into it. Ford accepted him in and out, weird for weird, and Bill did the same in return. Why go and complicate things? What they had between them never needed labels before and they didn't need them now. One day they would break past the confines of this college and redefine their place in the world. Bill wouldn't spend his entire life being ridiculed and like hell Ford would either. Ford wasn't the only one with his sights set on bigger and better things. Their definitions of such might just slightly differ, but the point was they had the same goal in mind.

"I mean, I'm a hot commodity. Do you have any idea the opportunities I turn down just so I can stay in and bother you?" How much truth that really held could easily be put up for debate, but they weren't here for that. Honestly, he believed that he could actively flirt with Ford and he would miss it entirely. It was so sadly endearing. He dramatically leaned over at the shove as if Ford put much more behind it than he actually did, catching himself before he fell over. "Hey, hey easy on the goods and don't be jealous. These things just come to me." He shrugged, stretching out casually with a grin like the cat who got the cream.

"Heh heh heh heh!" There was no stopping him, reeling in that bright energy that spilled over the edges of his very being. He grabbed another drink as he passed by an open door with a cooler propping it open. "I always knew you'd see it my way." He grinned, taking an odd, intense delight in Ford giving him his way, in that familiarity that some cosmic deal was just made and sealed. "I'm gonna teach you how to live, IQ!" He pressed another drink into Ford's empty hand despite him not being done with the first. "Bottoms up, you're waaay behind."

Bill wasn't interested in diving headlong back into the middle of the party, but rather drag Ford with him along the edges of the halls and rooms humming with music and bodies moving freely with the flow of alcohol. Pressed close, a hand at Ford's shoulder, Bill steered them along with a few passing greetings and a sort of air that suggested it wouldn't be smart to bother them. Bill didn't want to spend his time deflecting stupidity right now either. "See? Not so bad coming out into the real world, is it, Sixer?"

It took a lot more to take down his inhibitions than it did Ford, he already knew this. Call it an ongoing social experiment in which Bill tried to see how far he could push it each time. What Ford would do under double the influence when Bill was a force of his own. Add in Ford with liquid courage and the results were often hilarious.

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Two peas in a strange shaped pod? Ford was alright with this. Hell, more than okay with this. It was practically their song and dance. Really, the three once upon a time had gone through a lot. He could still see himself, scratched up and bruised and swollen from getting the jump in one of the rare occasions he wasn’t at Bill’s or Stan’s footsteps, still see the expression on Bill’s face, that rampant energy turned manic and crazed. That...happened. When things got rough, for the three of them, for the two of them, or even just for himself. There was something lingering behind Cipher, something beneath the surface that wasn’t what people might call...natural. Something manic, monstrous, and even so far to say, perhaps depraved. He’d seen it as a child...and oddly, it hadn’t driven him away. It hadn’t shaken him. Even at the times when he had been scared, or startled on some level, it had only motivated and moved him to ground the other, to use his own emotions and nature to try and settle and ground that tantrum of wild energy. He knew Bill, and had for what seemed like forever. And these aspects, deeper realities of him that dove beneath the surface, these darker parts...he saw them clearly. And somehow, it didn’t bother Ford. It didn’t shock him. It didn’t drive him running. If anything, he stood his ground against their storm if and when they arrived. Especially at this point in his life.

Suffice to say, as much as they were bullied, it wasn’t long left unretaliated. Especially if it was Ford who became the focus. He had two brothers to be there and watch his back, and they were more than quick to leap at the chance to make sure he was safe from those that would target him for his deformity.

Not to say Ford didn’t stick up for himself, but…

He’d never been one for violence. It just wasn’t in him. Even when their father had tried to force him into boxing lessons - something Stanley had far out excelled him in.

“Talking things out is the best way to get through to a person!” He’d explained to the two brothers confidentially and with entire certainty, going so far as to quote Bill Nye, Picard from Star Trek and a few other choice heroes he’d had at the time. He’d never found it right to just devolve into fists and punches when things went so far south. There were maybe a handful of times that he had gotten into scraps, and every time had either been on the tail end of a scheme of Bill’s that had gone horribly wrong, or when Bill or Stan had been the ones on the end of that cruel bullying among their classmates or elders. Most of the time, Ford preferred words to win his battles. A lot of the times, unfortunately, that never impressed his tormentors, it seemed. Well...not that it stopped Ford from trying.

Back then he’d also used his words, his hands, his touch to try and calm Bill or reel him in at the worst of times. When that inner turmoil seemed to break. Never really being put off or scared by the manic swing of his friend, so much as compelled to help, pulled in a desire to settle, to simply be a part of a space the other could maybe calm and ease into. Even at the worst of times, Ford wasn’t one to turn away from the chaos or the rampant fire, not at all caring if he would be the one to get burned by it. He could handle a little burns, every now and then. Especially for Bill. The connection between them was a testament to that.

Despite his demeanor, Ford could certainly handle himself and he had never been ready to ditch Bill when things got difficult or chaotic. Hell, he’d heard what people said about Bill’s family. And he’d seen it with his two eyes. All the more reason to drag him, beaming and pleading, to their family’s home and unofficially adopt the boy into a terror trio. He could still recall piling on pillow after pillow into their blanket fort, collapsing beside his friend to sleep there for the many countless nights, laughing and telling ghost stories or odd ideas well into the night.

He let out another chuckle, “Ahhh, yes, of course. I’m certain those opportunities are far out from my humble league, hm?” He played along, still teasing in his tone before he gave a clear raised a brow at Bill’s unnecessary, but certainly amusing drama. Bill, ever the showman. His grin widened. “Oh please. As if I was really going to say no this time.” He laughed, already feeling particularly lighter now, still gripping Bill’s hand before surely, as it always seemed to go, letting it go just to follow after the other, trailing along the mess of partiers and drunks. He always seemed to follow after Bill and his antics, his glow, his form. And as much as Bill loved threading him along in his wake, Ford seemed just as eager to catch up. Perhaps one day it would be him who was at the lead. Fat chance, but one could imagine, couldn’t they?

Still. Honestly, this was, as it was typical, simply not his scene at all. At least usually. Somehow, this was always just the one single exception, that was, when it came to his friend. Frankly he could almost see that it could’ve been the pits of hell before the two and he’d probably be convinced by the other to wander in, arms open, to a front row viewing of the apocalypse roaring and screaming overhead. Wouldn’t that be a sight. Really, Bill just had that horrible, damning effect on him. Ford wasn’t easily swayed by others, not particularly, especially not when he got his stubborn streak in, but that just seemed to drive Bill’s heels to dig in further, make things even more a struggle towards getting his way. And, he had to admit, sometimes that struggle was actually fun to banter their way through together.

He gave Bill a bit of a wry look at the second drink. Really, now. What was Bill thinking? It was true he was a lightweight. He supposed he’d just...well, he’d watch out for himself. But boy how he wished it wasn’t beer he was holding. Beer was more of a Stanley thing, at least in his mind. But then he also couldn’t particularly back down now, could he? And not like Bill would let him either. The young man rolled his eyes, but took a long sip of the bottle. “Yes, well...I suppose it isn’t so bad out here.” He conceded with an amused if not rough edge to his voice, though he was sure they both knew that was only due to the present company. His eyes lingered momentarily, ears and face going slightly red at a couple pressed against the hall as they made their way along. He hastily drank more of the beer. Honestly, didn’t anyone in this campas have even an iota of decency? If he were alone with this whole atmosphere, Ford seriously wouldn’t have been able to stand it. Plus, it was awkward. These were not Ford’s type of people. For good measure, he quickly finished the bottle off, avoiding meeting anyone’s gaze or looking around quite as much as they pushed passed it all. In these situations, perhaps it was better to allow Bill to lead.

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Once, when they were kids, he bloodied up one of their classmates so badly, no one ever approached him - and by extension - Ford or Stan again. Snide side comments were one thing. Outright attacking someone different from you solely for that reason was another. Bill saw everyone else as a plague on society, not people like them. If anything, he believed them to be a chosen elite, even in his middle schooler brain. It was an injustice he kept ahold of more quietly, the outlandish and manic thoughts spilling over only to Stanford, who was the only anchor he had in the world. The slightest of things had a way of setting him off kilter, forcing Ford to drag him back into some sense of stability that no one else could manage. How he never scared the other away, he never really knew. Recognized the reality that he probably should have been afraid of him, but he would never really hurt Ford.

Doing massively morally questionable things to stay at his side, that was another story. Using others around him for his own gain. It was a cosmic game of chess that some of them were better at playing than others. If Stan were a piece on that board of life, it would have been knight. Not so sacrificial as a pawn, yet still tasked to be the one diving in headlong until the battle was over.

It wasn’t like Ford never did his best to even them both out for having a tendency to do that. They saw the solutions to some problems differently, namely one: people. Bill wouldn’t stand for their blatant ignorance and stupidity and it just so happened that Stan shared in a simpler version of that sentiment. It really was unfortunate that he had to take the fall for this mess, Bill even liked him from time to time.

Still, therein lay his obsession: Stanford was the only one. The only one who understood him inside and out. Who took the time to smooth down his frayed edges and offer a warmth that he wasn’t used to. In the same way Ford chased after his brilliance, Bill was constantly after that warmth. Without it, he felt like the ground might fall out from beneath his feet. Being assimilated into the Pines family was a blessing for the wild boy who needed stability. Someone to latch onto. Ford wouldn’t easily be rid of him, not that he ever tried to shake Bill off.

“Nah, but they’re outta mine.” Bill put himself up on a pedestal, no one needed to do it for him. Was he a show off? Absolutely. He practically oozed dramatics and Stanford fueled it without even trying. “Can you ever say no to me?” He batted his eyelashes like some innocent school girl before breaking back into a grin. If Bill had it his way, it would always be like this. The two of them after the next bright star in the sky, even if that star was currently a lower rung college that they stood at the top of.

That Ford was out of his skin wasn’t lost on Bill. Hell, this wasn’t even Bill’s scene, so to speak. Sure, he liked a good party. He’d be the life of it. But these people only accepted that side of him. The one that was fun and charming, spurring others on into discourse with nothing but a smile. But there would always be one person that he enjoyed taking by the hand and leading into chaos more than anyone else and that was Ford. Bill would do anything to push and sway Sixer into his wild plans, often only a quarter to a half baked, winging it on the winds of a challenge always set out by himself and no one else. It was all about action and reaction, what Bill could make happen and manifest as their own reality.

Two? Two wasn’t that much. Simply, he was thinking on the fast track to having fun, to getting Ford to let loose. This was a college party, he couldn’t help there was beer literally everywhere, but it would suffice for his needs for the time being. Bill knew better than to drag Ford into the heart of the party either. He smirked some to himself, noting Ford’s flush even in the dimmed light. Oh,Fordsy. So sheltered. “Relax a little, no one’s gonna bite. Except maybe me.” And he did like to try to get to Ford, giving him a wink as he leaned over closer to snap his teeth over his shoulder. Honestly, how he really thought Bill didn’t notice the Painfully Obvious Crush after all these years, he didn’t know.

“Tell ya what, give me a hour,” and to enforce that was the only reason he drug Ford so far away from their room, eventually dipping out a doorway into the common area outside. Ford didn’t do socializing and dancing and quite honestly, Bill was good with that. A chill hung in the spring air that didn’t do much to bother him. The music still pulsed out of windows and doorways into the night. “Better?” Now, Bill was most definitely selfish, but if he would go out of his way for anyone, it was Ford. Somewhere in the pockets of the jacket Bill was wearing there was the tinkling of more bottles against each other, procured in passing through the halls.

“I’ll tell ya a great storyyyy.” It felt more like when they were kids, off at the fringes of the main event doing their own thing. As soon as Ford agreed, Bill launched into one of his fantastical tellings that was far beyond any reality they knew. Featuring them in death defying situations and the like. It would get Ford to loosen up, if nothing else. Bill leaned himself against one of the outside walls, talking animatedly with his hands for the next ten or so minutes until he concluded with: “And then, I woke up.”

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He laughed, shoving his hand at that eye batting oh so “innocent” face. If only. “Well, I suppose I can always try.” He had his moments. There were times he was sure he’d managed to stand his ground against the other’s mischief and pullings at this or that wild, insane plan. Not that they were always successful mind you, but there definitely were a few.

Frankly, Ford would be glad to chase these flames together forever. While the future still loomed, barely in his grasp, fighting through the tide the world had presented them with, the low stacks of poverty and the difficult road out, he still felt a certain cold steel, a certain sureness that they’d claw and bite their way free of it together. Get across that horizon, perhaps to even start off to find a new one. One day things would get even brighter. He had to be sure of that. Even as that angry, bitter part of him still cropped up every now and then from the school he almost had at West Coast Tech, with desperate thoughts of “what if” in relation to where he could’ve led them to, he had to push passed it for both their sakes.

Ford glanced at his half finished second beer, already starting to feel a buzz sweep into every sensation. It was a warm feeling, softening the edges and layers of his thoughts and emotions, putting a familiar and welcomed blanket over the world all around. Well, small blessings he supposed it wasn’t something nicer like scotch or whiskey or, god forbid, tequila. One straight shot with no filler would have the man wasted and two blacking out entirely, most likely. He had an embarrassingly low tolerance at times. After all he only drank when Bill deemed it appropriate for the two to hit the town or otherwise, he’d absolutely never seek it out on his own.

The other bad thing about drinking though was...well, inhibitions. After all, they were meant to be there for a reason and honestly he never quite seemed to grasp that fact until the morning after in which he’d once again vow, with the bits and pieces he even remembered, to never touch alcohol again. And of course, Bill would change his mind on that soon enough. Frankly, in the heat of the moment it seemed perfectly okay to just let go and just be with the other.

His face crept on a bit more red than was usual, laughing awkwardly, voice hitching as Bill winked, snapped and leaned back toward him. The bastard. He always liked to tease him, and it was just the way Bill was, but the proximity and mock-flirting seemed to cause his heart to lurch a bit more than usual under the steady buzz of both beers tingling over him. Make those familiar beating flutterings in his chest spread up through him. “Well, yes, I’ll try and be careful.” He assured the other solemnly all the same, keeping time with his usual joking, bantering tone, albeit the heat on his face and ears telling its own story.

As soon as the crisp, clean, cool air hit them, he felt his earlier tension dissipate. Because damn it all, was it nice to get out of those damned stuffy halls. He felt a measure of relief overtake him as they left it all behind. Better? That was an understatement. Even while he would’ve plowed in right in behind the other, even stumbling over himself to answer the “party goers,” he would’ve been yearning for an escape the entire time. Ford found a deep gratitude that Bill hadn’t dragged him into the middle of all that nonsense, even if it had probably been just to tease him.

Instead he felt himself relax more fully and without thinking about it, leaned closer to Bill as the two walked, catching up beside him and practically bumping shoulders with a grin. He beamed a bit at the proximity, looking up with rapt relief, voice entirely too genuine to the question Bill posed. “Much.” That was another thing about the first stages of drinking with him, that light, tingling buzz that filled everything; Ford tended to become much more light, easy and thoroughly authentic. The worries and nerves and anxieties or downright obsessions of the world dying away against the warmth of the liquid. He had no qualms about personal space with the other on these occasions, nor embarrassment or stress about it, that was for sure.

He then looked on in rapt attention as Bill started to tell his tale, again holding quite close to Bill’s figure as the two leaned against the school. Grinning at the right moments, laughing slightly under his breath at the details, and looking positively curious as Bill wrapped it all up for him. “And this was all a dream?” He asked, making to take another drink before realizing his beer had already been emptied out. Ah. Well, right when he had started not minding the taste so much. It honestly figured.

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