stupid things we do instead of sleeping
(Willdip Week prompt #2- snow)
AN: late/short but damn if I aint posting at least one thing before logging off for tomorrow smh
Summary: Late nights, old houses, vinyl, and a snowstorm.
Dipper brushed a hand along the book spines, dozens and dozens of hardbacks passing beneath his fingertips in a faint staccato of tatatatating. It was barely audible, barely there. He pulled back and shook his hand off, flicking away the accumulated dust and walking further into the musty room.
The attic wasn’t beautiful, nor was it clean, cluttered up with hundreds of years of Gleeful history, treasure chests and travel trunks, boxes filled with old books and photo albums, mirrors, artifacts, memories. The remnants of a heritage layered in dust, piled on unpolished pinewood hewn from their very own forests. Messy and ill-organized, but he could overlook that because it yielded a privacy that the rest of the mansion didn't.
The ceiling beams were shrouded in shadow several yards up and they creaked, wind giving muffled wails as it rushed past the roof and rattled at the window latches. Dipper reached out, a hand clenching into a ghost cloth and sweeping it off in an arc, fluid mimicry of the storm blurring past the skylight overhead. There was a wooden record player underneath it, and he let the dust cover crumple to the floor as he brushed a thumb over the filigree lock. A dulled flash from the gemstone at his throat, and it clicked. He glanced over his shoulder. “Are you ready?”
There was no answer, and after dropping the first vinyl from the stack of cardboard envelopes into the player he turned, pausing once he'd caught sight of William. A soft smile tilted up the corners of his mouth and broke the usually stoic composure.
The demon's face was tipped back, eyes half-lidded and glimmering in peaceful contemplation as he stared up at the skylight overhead. The glass was cranked open a touch, and wisps of snow, held together like so many tufts of cotton candy were sliding through the opened pane of glass. They never melted, even at the change in atmosphere, never hit the ground but hovered and shifted in blue magic, a mini storm fluttering skittishly between the demon's hands.
“You look happy.”
Will roused a little as arms slid around his waist from behind; he craned his neck to look up at Dipper with a little laugh. “S’ the first storm this year,” He explained excitedly, holding up his collection of swirling snow as if to show Dipper, as if he hadn't already noted, loving how the seasonal shift never failed to excite Will, as if it were his first time seeing them even after all these years.
Dipper reached out to brush a hand over the snow, expecting it to disintegrate at his lightest touch. Instead, at a whispered word from Will it drifted up to meet him, curling up to twine around his hand like trails of freezing ivy.
Will's smile widened at the questioning glance he received. “Temporary enchantment,” He explained quietly, ”So…so the crystal structure won't be destroyed.” Will suddenly turned with a glint in his eye. “Let me show you something,” the demon whispered softly, glancing to the record player and snapping his fingers.
The speakers were old and the needle crackled and popped once the needle dropped down gently, but neither noticed because their arms were already tangled round each other as Dipper acquiesced with a questioning nod, starting to waltz as soft rock drifted out.
It had been so long since they’d danced; so long since they’d been able to get away and before a few minutes passed Will’s cheeks were flushed and he was already grinning, but there was a synergy to it as if it were a nightly habit.
And then Will held threw out a hand and the windows opened and white poured through each one to join in the middle where they danced, and they were spinning with it, a bright cacophony of hot touches and frigid snowflakes dancing against skin, and Will was grinning at him and the magic was pulsing through his eyes and the drumbeat. The snowflakes formed ciphers and mandolas and flowers, effortlessly woven designs that surrounded the two with a blur and moved with them, and muffled yellow light soaked in through the flurry.
The base pulsed softly, the rumble of Dipper's chest against his cheek and he laughed and the painfully sweet ache of happiness blended together and Will found he could mute it all out and let his legs run almost on autopilot, letting himself focus simply on the feeling, wishing it could go on, and on and on.
Dipper’s hands pressed into his back, against his slim shoulder blades and then tangled into his hair as the ringing electricity in the guitars bounced about the space. The walls were spinning and Dipper was lilting out a hum of harmony with the music, and Will was laughing breathlessly.
And then he hooked his thumbs into the taller boy’s belt loops and tugged him back, and didn’t stop until his back crashed against the wall. The snow fell, sticking against mocha and blue curls, and puddling to the ground at their feet like it was freshly fallen powder.
“Love you, I love you,” He whispered, and Dipper’s eyes melted all over again as their noses and forehead brushed, shifted.
“Love you, always,” the brunet huffed. Lips met his and kissed softly, and the music died down and bled into static as Will fell even deeper for the human he'd learned to call his.
