#aged!dipper

In the end he decided to slip one into the poem he’d written, but the focus was really on the poem and less on the cipher. Though he’d also figured out how to order flowers online and have them shipped to Dipper’s house and he’d put another part of the code in the little card that went with the flowers. He’d picked each flower in the arrangement specifically. Pink camellias for longing, white ones for being adorable. Red carnations to say, “my heart aches for you,” and yellow tulips for, “there’s sunshine in your smile.” Blue hyacinth for constancy and white heather for protection. Coupled with the cipher, he was pretty sure the florist thought he was nuts with the request, but it was worth it if it made Dipper laugh. And if he looked up the meanings of the flowers, which he was sure he would, then maybe he’d also make him swoon a little. He kind of hoped so.

He wished he could be there to see his reaction.

When a letter came from him in the mail the day before Valentine’s Day, Wirt had eagerly placed it on his table in his room to wait for the next day. He thought about opening it first thing in the morning, but he wanted to wait until he could call Dipper immediately after so he could tell him how much he loved it. It was a Sunday, so school wouldn’t get in the way, but they did have a three hour time difference to keep in mind.

He knew Dipper had already received his letter, he’d sent it so far in advance, fretting over the possibilities of it getting lost in the mail or bouncing back to him for some reason or any number of things, so he’d been able to breathe easier knowing it was safe at Dipper’s home in Piedmont. The flowers were scheduled to arrive at his house at ten-thirty in the morning, giving Dipper plenty of time to wake up, but not enough time for him to call him so they could talk about their respective Valentine’s Day cards for each other. He wanted him to have everything before he talked to him.

Or maybe he should be on the phone with him when the flowers arrived, so he could hear his reaction, Wirt wondered on the morning of Valentine’s Day, pacing his bedroom with the letter in hand. Yes, he’d do that. He’d call a few minutes before ten-thirty Pacific Standard Time. Wirt glanced at one of his three bedroom clocks. He still had two hours to go.

Lips pressed together, he toyed with the fold of the envelope absently. He really wanted to see what it was. But he could wait. He could definitely, absolutely wait.

Wirt sat down on the edge of his bed and opened the envelope. No, no he couldn’t. Dipper would understand, and this way he could collect his thoughts so he could properly gush over it without sounding like a complete idiot.

It was hand-written. Wirt grinned brightly as he recognized Dipper’s script, missing how familiar his handwriting had become while watching him piece together mysteries. Wirt, he traced the lines of his name with his thumb, careful not to smear or smudge it, then started to read.

Wirt,

I am not a poet.

I have a really pathetically full trash can filled with proof of how not a poet I am, so you’re getting a list instead.

He read it once. Then he read it again. The third time he read it, his lips formed each word as his heart finally decided to start beating again, though the skipping of his pulse made him dizzy. Well, it was either that or the swell of pure adoration that welled up inside him. Wirt clasped his hand over his mouth, trembling as he read it a fourth time.

I love that you’re brave. I love that you can be hyperventilating about something, but will still do it. I love the way you make me trust you. I love the way you make me believe that you’ll always be there.

When he was brave, when he was scared. Every little thing about him, it seemed, was documented there on paper. It wasn’t the first time Dipper had said any of those things, but it was the first time he’d taken the time to write them all out, to try and write him something that resembled a poem, to lay it all out there on the page. Dipper loved him. He loved all of him.

It still blew him away that he was worthy of that.

Wirt shot up from the bed, gingerly laying the letter on his table, keeping it smooth aside from the three creases from where Dipper had folded it to fit it in the envelope. He traced all three lines, then bolted for his phone, fumbling with the speed dial before pressing it to his ear and holding his breath.