InsaneJournal

Who: Stanford Pines and Bill Cipher
What: An every day look into Bill and Ford. Grading papers, talking, flirting and dancing
When: March 1st, evening
Where: In their new Apartment in Orange County
Rating/Warnings: You never know with these two tbh, for the moment none.
Status: Ongoing


Ford lay spread out against the sofa, shuffling through the papers he still needed to grade in one of his far more advanced, higher level Quantum Theory classes. He chuckled and it was a warm thing, relaxing as jazz music played in the distance of the newly set up living room, washing out against their record player in the corner. A marker cap remained set in between his teeth as he jotted a few notes down on the page.

“Bill, you’re never going to believe this.” He called with some measure of casualness, a slight amusement on his tone, bringing the cap out from between his teeth as he glanced over his shoulder toward their room. “There’s this boy in my class that’s writing about the idea of the quantum singularity of realities, rather, in the possibility of countless different dimensions and universes. It’s fascinating.” He chuckled, turning back and shifting through the paper, gaze reading through it in a fast, tracking movement. “Well. Honestly, I’m half suspecting he’s just aware that it’s my field of expertise, but all the same…” It wasn’t so out there for students to either try and weasel their way into his good graces, or to take advantage of the theories he put out there into the scientific world.

As it was Ford never did stop studying the great bizarrities, the strange impossibilities, the ludicrousies of the world or the theories that held there under the surface. Never pausing to analyze all the strange. The impossible. The freakish and weird and abnormal. All of it took to him and entranced him like nothing else could. It had been the focus he’d set for himself since graduating, now something on twenty years of constant pressing research. The idea too of traveling the multiple spans of separate realities, of separate dimensions, struck in him a kind of fire and vibrant passion he couldn’t really, truly explain out of the inspiration driven from him and Bill’s endless discussions and debates on the subject, or the dreams and stories his friend had shared with him since they were children. And while no one could really deny his brilliance, the entirely new level of innovation he worked from, he also really didn’t quite have the sway in the scientific community that he would have if he’d focused on more...well, traditional ideas and goals. If he’d just settled into something like medical research or practical theory he probably would’ve made it as a millionaire, or at least recognized for the level he really ran from. As it stood, he most definitely was a far, far cry from anything close to that, thanks quite certainly from his choices in study and often mocked and barred from events more often than not.

But, well. He didn’t mind. Not in the least, actually. He had more than his fair share of things in his life as it was. One of them being the man just around the other room.

His grin subtly lit up further as he continued to grade the paper. “Brilliant, Andrew Baker, but...still horribly, terribly wrong.” He muttered the words, jotting a few more notes against the paper. The ideas brought him back to the days in college, when he and Bill had first started dating, back when everything had been somehow so new and fresh and alive with the sorts of heats and fire that existed only among the vast of the cosmos, he was certain. It brought back certain feelings, reminiscences, and he had to shake his head at the whole of it, laughing gently to himself. How long had it been, yet still, still, it was almost as if nothing could’ve changed at all. Somehow the bond there growing, chains winding deeper, stronger, the parallel of light and sun feeding into one another. He supposed the only real change being they never tried to hide it anymore.

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While Ford was taking up the sofa with his grading, Bill wasn't far away in the other room, moving a few of the volumes in a series of books there out of place while his better half wasn't paying attention. He could have been unpacking one of the boxes still sitting nearby, which he had been a minute prior. Bill's attentions shifted with the wind unless something demanded his absolute focus. Ya know, like crime scenes and whatever weird topic of the day Sixer brought up. Or sometimes him. Point here being, two things earned his undivided attention: Ford and his job. That was about it. Few other things warranted him to focus so much on. People especially.

"Heh, heh..." The chuckle was low and familiar, a short clipped sort of thing that could have so much meaning depending on inflection. He loved hearing about Fordsy's kids, they could be just so darn adorable with their theories that were so terribly, horribly wrong. "Don't let 'em butter you up, Sixer," he poked his head around the doorway, dropping into the office chair nearby, pushing off from the desk so he could rolllll over to where Ford was sitting, reaching a hand out with wiggling demanding fingers. Reading these kid’s papers was a special treat, more so when they were obviously trying to play Ford at his own game. "Lemme see." Just never make the mistake of letting him near an essay and a pen at the same time. He'd been able to mimic Ford's handwriting since they were kids kicking around on the beach back in Jersey.

Had he chosen to, he could have walked along the same path as Ford and for a while he even did. For years he followed after the other on this expedition and that on Ford’s grants, digging deeper and deeper into the weirdness that existed in the world. Tagging along with the other on the next research project, the next lead, the next whatever until it smacked him what it was doing to Ford. Bill saw it in ways since they were kids, but when college hit and Stanley, ah, forcibly out of the picture that deep seated need Ford had for knowledge turned into something obsessive. It was odd being entirely aware of your own horrible traits in another person, meaning all the more Bill knew exactly what hummed under the surface of that need. More would never suffice, it would never be enough until something put a solid stop to it. Something in this case happened to be him and he wouldn't regret the subtle bit of manipulation it took to get them here.

In the end, it was better. Healthier than letting Ford work himself into the ground. Besides, he was an awesome dorky professor. Shaping the dull minds of tomorrow and what have you. At the arm of the sofa Bill leaned his elbows, until paper met his hands. Bill wasn't cut out for teaching even college kids unless you wanted the sort of experience you would definitely never forget. Ford was good with dumb kids, Bill would take his work over dealing with kids any day. Well, there was a certain exception to that rule, but that was family, alright?

"Aw, your kids are just the cutest, I.Q. Make sure to give him a gold star," he smirked once he finished giving Andrew Baker's paper a look over and dropped it back into Ford's lap like he was bored, which he was. "You almost done? I could help." It wasn't even so much an offer as a threat and while Ford wouldn't let him help per se... this was Bill. He usually got what he wanted one way or another. Which right then and almost always was Ford’s attention in some way, shape, or form.

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“Fly me to the Moon” drifted to life from across the room, a gentle melody to fill the living room as Ford wrote carefully in the margins of his student’s paper, chuckling slightly. He couldn’t help the grin that came to him as Bill ricocheted against the wheeled chair like they were goofing off back in college, eyes pulled still with a certain amount of humor to them as he met the other’s. “Oh no, I wouldn’t dream of it.” He grinned then and obligingly handed the paper over albeit, for his part, holding the pen back. He’d rather not risk another flurry of confused and wayward students asking endless follow up questions on all too correctly (if not rather...uh conflictingly worded) papers. Honestly, the other man could probably teach every one of these classes and more better than he could hope to, should he ever find the interest. He knew more about almost any subject than anyone Ford had ever even come across and, years later, still outshone Ford in every single way. Ford may have 12 phds, spoke over 40 languages (living and dead) and had a more than impressive track record in the academics than most could hope to dream of...but it was all just bolster. A show. If anyone was a prodigy and genius, if anyone could have been the next Einstein, it was the man sitting there beside him.

He couldn’t help but let his gaze wander somewhat, taking the other in as Bill looked over the paper, a slight warm, if not distracted thing. He often let his eyes hold against the other (albeit sometimes with the idea being a little more towards...something far more towards ulterior motives than when they were much younger), something warm and rather considering reflecting in the look now. He could practically read the other without even trying at all by now and well, he supposed it had been this way since they were children really, if he thought about it.

The two had always been together, never separated, the two freaks, the two weird and outcast best friends and...eventually the two brothers. With Stan, it made three. He seemed, especially as their bond grew, to almost connect intuitively, to weave an understanding of Bill without trying at all. It was a strange thing the two shared, one that often took people for surprise, but one he wouldn’t trade for the galaxy or even beyond. Hell, he was so used to Bill’s presence that it felt more natural than even being with his own. With Bill, he had nothing to hide, nothing that wasn’t involved and woven there in their life together. And he had never stopped chasing after the other either, it seemed, even after large or mounting rough patches in between. He always seemed to fall into this...endless pursuit for the tide of energy that lingered, burning there just beneath the surface. That vibrant light, growing of flame, that eternal sort of thing that shined from every inch of who and what Bill was.

Ford loved it. And could never stop reaching for it or being swept up against the chaos the other provided the both of them.

Hell. He’d been chasing after that golden light since they were children and somehow, seemingly, fallen so deeply into it all that he honestly had no way to disentangle himself now. It was a part of him too deeply and without it he would most likely lose every sense of who he’d become.

“Help, hm?” He asked finally, a wry, if not far too knowing grin on turning there.

Even all these years later, the two were still playing their games. It would most likely always be a thing. Until the end of everything, he supposed, bantering back and forth, taking up challenges, friendly threats, making certain kinds of deals to work things together. It was a certain rhythm, a certain beat for the two, a kind of game that never seemed to end. And Ford even enjoyed it like that. His wry grin only grew. “You know.” He began then, setting the paper down. “I think I can probably turn it in for the night.” And he climbed off the sofa, stretching wide before clapping his hands together. He knew a threat he wasn’t willing to be tackling when he saw it. “I suppose you had something in mind? Unless, well. You think we should keep unpacking?” With a bracing smile, he turned to look around at the different piled boxes that still needed attending to. Ford was something of a kleptomaniac when it came to all things fascinating, weird and terribly bizarre. He stuffed his office back in his old university to the brim with these things and often more than not the odds and ends found themselves poking out here and there among their collections in house. There was always something of a war between Bill’s clean kempt style and his chaotic organized artifacts and tomes.

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Some things never seemed to change. They might be older and could be considered wiser, but that didn't mean that energy died out. "Heeey, don't you even act like you don't love it when they try." There might have been the slightest pout when the pen was taken out of his reach, but Bill skimmed over the paper all the same, smirking some to himself. "Oh, these kids..." It was true that Bill was sharp as a tack and just as capable of popping a hot air inflated bubble. Honestly, he couldn't help that they were wrong and needed to know and he just so happened to have the ability to correct their incredible wrongness with ease. Bill was only trying to help, really! His tendency to be biting and, ah, blunt just came with the package, he didn't know what else to tell you about that one. “They try so hard, don’t they?”

Oh, he didn't miss that look either, if Ford thought he was being slick. Bill was all about ulterior motives. It was difficult to say what he was truly ever after when it seemed that he turned any situation at hand with ease. When it came to Ford, Bill's whims could change at the drop of a hat. Then again, was his worming in on Ford's grading truly all that innocent to begin with? The answer was ha, and no. It all hinged on if he got blown off with a I'm busy or not now, Bill, but as far as he was concerned Ford was more than opening the door for him to pull at more.

It always sort of worked like that. Bill would push at his boundaries all while watching for Ford's reaction, gaging it, seeing how far he could go before he was told to stop. Like a child testing the patience of their parent. They worked a lot like that, but this was something which ran much deeper. A connection that you couldn't replicate with force and, to his surprise, stood against hardships others wouldn't be able to withstand. How it always worked, he stopped trying to figure out. He and Ford, all they were simply was. Not meant to be understood in the same way other things were processed. It wasn't like learning a subject, more like living it, being the sole expert on something no one else could comprehend.

And there was the obvious that set them apart from everyone else. Their collective weirdness that the two embraced and were constantly expanding on and seeking out more of in the world. That remained even now well into their adulthood. Ford with his theories that were viewed as crazed by the scientific community despite their inherent brilliance. Bill who edged on a fine line between understanding and being the sort of person he trekked after every day and it showed, but in the same way no one could deny that he got results. It was just another quirky mechanic on how the two fit into the world when easily they could have been running it.

But that was a thought for another time.

"Mhmm, you know I'm great at helping," he raised his brows just so, nothing there at all to hide the motive.

The two of them were terrible, there was no other way to slice it. If they weren't engaged in the lastest nerdy category of the week or trying to get one up on the other in their ongoing rivalry of sorts. "Ohh? That so?" He chuckled some, letting Ford take the paper from between his fingers. Bill followed suit, rolling his chair around in a circle to keep it out of his way when he stood up. "Pssssh, unpacking?" Bill waved the idea off visibly, shaking his head. Nah, who wanted to do *that*? It did need done, for sure, and Ford probably easily had twice as much stuff he's accumulated from this outing and that than Bill, but that could waaaait.

"Why would I waste time unpacking when there's such a good song on?" Which only meant one thing. That Bill was going to take Ford by the hands and pull him up close with a grin. Now, Ford was the romantic one. All gooey and bashful once upon a time, though he might have easily still been considered gooey. Bill on the other hand would claim he wasn't like that, but that was the funny thing about spending twenty plus years with someone. You sort of started to bleed into one another and you did things that maybe you didn't think were you. "Dance with me, Sixer." There had to be, ya know, a little foreplay before the ulterior motives kicked in, right?

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Well, frankly that much was true. He gave a slightly knowing grin. He honestly couldn’t deny he did really enjoy it. There was something entirely rewarding for Ford in guiding and mentoring students, seeing their growth, drawing out from them a desire and ability to learn and become fascinated in the sciences and languages. And nothing more that he loved more than seeing them grow, evolve, change and become better through that teaching. He’d started to even feel a certain possessive pride for those that came under his wing, a certain sort of protectiveness for those under his studies, even the ones that seemed to call far more towards Stanley’s abilities of learning. It had touched a certain part of him, something that he hadn’t seen outside those moments taking care of their youngest brother, and later, after the twins had been brought into their lives. Something that he’d embraced over the years and found even a pride in himself in. An excitement at mundane or far easier subjects, if just to bring those in his studies to that same level of enthusiasm for them.

He was generally known as that weird, strange, enthusiastic and quirky teacher, one who was willing to go the extra step, who saw kids outside office hours and was often the talk of gossip for the spread of oddities in his office and the strange field of subjects he followed. A quack who had been tossed from the scientific community for his bizarre paranoid and off color theories, through and through, was the word on the street. There was once a version of him which would have hated that. Despised and resented that, and spent years pursuing a way to show the world up in his own way, in his own path even if it meant the death of him. Some ego filled, ever determined part that would fight it till he dropped.

But that part of him was long buried, somewhere lost in the mix of things. Somehow, he’d settled down. Really settled down. And somehow he enjoyed it too, the home of it, and these labels of “freak,” “weirdo,” and someone “strange,” didn’t seem to hold the same impact anymore. He supposed it was easier when he’d spent a lifetime celebrating those ideas with a partner in equal freakish crime.

Regardless, Bill knew him well in those aspects, hell he supposed the other must’ve seen the potential for such things in him long before he could’ve ever imagined them, ever the loner once, seeing as his best friend and partner was the one to convince and pull him into the field in the first place. Even he’d been shocked at how much fondness he’d gained for the job and those students involved in it. “Oh yes, they do certainly.” He agreed readily, smiling even in the reality of that.

Bill was really quite lucky. Not that Ford could ever honestly be frustrated or angry at him, but there was something to be said for that kind of stern, parental finality that came to his voice when he was caught in a fluster of things, when he was swept up in the flurry of work and grading and research. Something to be said when he was a bit too focused to spare a moment. But it seemed a far more relaxed thing then, and for the last number of years marked those moments a lot more far and in between compared to times much long passed, making it all the easier for the other to weave his hands into the situation.

Somehow his face went somewhat red despite himself in the comment, a laugh escaping him even so. Some things didn’t change. Many did, but, well. Not this it seemed.

“You...yes, you definitely are.” He agreed then, albeit a bit too bluntly maybe. It was probably good that Ford had never dated anyone else in his lifetime, he really would have been awful at it. How it had come up on twenty years together and still he struggled with the finer points of flirting (not always mind you, but somehow being flustered seemed to just be there in his genes, wanting to break free) was a genuine mystery. Especially considering how often the two were together, how often they were intimate, and how well it worked when they were. Bill had a touch for Ford that no one else could drive from him, no one else could pull from him. Had a way of things he could take out there. And somehow the other could convince him of almost anything too, no matter how horrible, obscene, or the location of it. No one else had that kind of sway over Ford. Not anyone in this world.

Ford had to smile, clearly amused at Bill rolling away in a spin, laughing a bit to himself. Honestly, in some ways Bill hadn’t changed at all either. Always the same mischievous kid that got them into far too much trouble. He quirked a brow, but really didn’t seem too surprised at Bill’s waving off of the work at hand, the music still gently wafting through the room. He raised both brows then however as he mentioned the song and if possible, even went further red as the other pulled him close, but in it was too also a very bracing, genuine smile.

He laughed, relaxing a bit, grinning into Bill’s shoulder at it.

“Sway” by Frank Sanatra and Dean Martin transitioned through the air.

“You are impossible, Bill.” But it was a compliment at this point, honestly, and his voice came there gentle and genuine between them. His hands curled around the others, years upon years of the two meeting there drawing to a touch of ease and familiarity, even with Ford’s bizarre extra digit. And too with a far too kind of ease of practice, he allowed Bill to take point on the dance, laughing softly into it, feeling entirely too comfortable, entirely too at home there with the other, even if he couldn’t quite stop the smile that lingered there softly. It was in times like these Bill could really draw him back to their youth without even trying.