17) things you said that I wish you hadn’t *punk/ballerina au
ALL THE THINGS SHE SAID (RUNNING THROUGH MY HEAD)||ACCEPTING
Pacifica feels the fire in her chest, the anger and pain turned inferno raging in her. She whips around to her boyfriend, blue eyes lit with the anger that burned her. “What?” Her voice scratches, burns him.
“We’re going on our first nationwide tour.” His voice is more subdued but no less passionate. This is what he’s been dreaming of for so long. This is what he wants.
Her eyes water, pride and anger mixing in her stomach. He wants to leave her, but he’s finally getting what little happiness the world owes him. And shouldn’t his joy bring her joy? Then why does she feel like he’s ripped her heart from her chest and shown it to her? “Th-” She stumbles, wipes her eyes and tries for a brave smile. “That’s great, Dipper.” Suddenly her fiery rage has left, replaced by the sound of the wind whistling where her heart used to be.
His hands rest on her shoulders, brown gaze drilling into her, concern on his every feature, and suddenly the blaze is back. She doesn’t need his concern! She is perfectly fine! So he’s leaving for like, eighteen months! She’ll be too busy with ballet to care.
His face hardens, like he can read her mind just by looking at her. “What’s wrong?” He lets out a long-suffering sigh. “We can’t do this if you can’t tell me when something’s bothering you.”
She meets his eyes, hard stare for hard stare. “What’s wrong is you’re leaving.”
“In two months, Paz! I told you as soon as I could! I thought you’d be happy for me!”
“Well, I’m not.” Record scratch, stop the music.
His eyes glare at her now. “You’re not?”
She matches him, “I’m not happy that my boyfriend is going on a disappearing act for eighteen months.”
“It’s not a disappearing act! We’ll talk all the time! I’ll get you a list of the cities! You can come to a show if you want!”
“If I want? Like you don’t want me there?”
“That is not what I meant by that-”
“So what? That’s how it sounded!”
His hands curl and uncurl at his sides. “You. With your big dreams of prima ballerina stardom or whatever? Schooling in another country! At least I’m keeping to the U.S. border, Paz!”
“Oh, that is not the same thing! I’d still be able to come home for breaks!”
“And just find me here, waiting for you? Like I don’t want to go out there and chase my own dreams?”
She curls her hands into fists in front of her and squeezes her eyes shut, resisting the urge to scream. What’s so wrong with that? That I want to come home to you. “Is there something wrong with me wanting to come home and know you’re there? Is it so selfish of me to want to know I’m coming home to you? Like you don’t already know you’re the only person that makes it bearable!”
Dipper’s eyes stay on her, watching her fidget and physically hold herself back. Something about it makes her seem so much smaller than she usually does. He’s a good chunk taller than her, sure, and she stays small and lithe (her word not his) thanks to her dancing, but it’s almost like she’s twelve again. She seems tiny and vulnerable and his chest aches to protect her. But he can’t give this up. This is what the band has been striving towards since their beginning. Something he’s wanted for years is finally happening. Why can’t she just be happy for him?
He’s been quiet too long, her eyes are on him again, practically pleading for him to cave. They’re all watery and her face almost looks tear-stained and he breaks. He collapses onto her frilly pink bed and rubs his eyes viciously with the bases of his palms. He feels her come sit next to him, a delicate hand placed just above his knee. “I’m sorry.” Her voice sounds twelve again too, a shocking flashback to the night in her mansion with the ghost. He can see her in his head perfectly, head bowed, diamond earrings glinting as she switches the flashlight off and on.
He looks over at her now, her bun is frazzled and messy, there’s a run in her tights, but she’s still hunched up on her bed, knees pulled to her chest, tear-stained face bowed with her forehead on her knees. Her hand still rests on his leg, gentle and warm, and he takes it in one hand.
She looks at him, a careful hope in her eyes. “What?”
“I think we need to sleep on this. We’re both exhausted. We’ll think better in the morning.”
She nods, goes to pull her hand from his but seems to think better of it.
“I’m sorry, too.” He adds, eyes locked on hers. He doesn’t want to leave her like so many have before, and he doesn’t want her to leave him.
Pacifica pulls on his hand, tilting her head towards her pillows. “They’re not home again, tonight. Would you mind-”
“Of course not.” He toes off his shoes and sheds his jacket before they settle together on the mattress, still in their clothes from the day. They hadn’t ever even turned on the light. He wraps his arms around her, pulls her close, breathes in her intoxicating, addicting scent. She’s facing him, clutching him back, her face buried in his chest like she never wants to come out.
“I love you.” Her words are a reminder, and he can hear the tears in them.
“I love you, too.” His heart feels like it’s breaking under the weight of it, but he does.
Eventually, they give way to exhaustion and fall asleep, clinging to each other like a lifeline.
