//1920s AU//

Dipper Pines has this problem. His problem is that he can never say no to his sister. One time this had resulted into sneaking into their great uncle Stan's room to steal his radio for the day. That did not end too well.

Not even when she suggests a bar, of all things. Y'know, with drinking and dancing and music and loud people and more dancing and drinking.

This was obviously not Dipper's forte.

Dipper Pines was more the type to stay at home and write his book. Not party. That's right, Dipper is 22 years old and has his life figured out...but does he?

In the taxicab, Mabel screamed, "We're here!" which made the driver with the handlebar mustache cringe, but he didn't say anything.

Pacifica Northwest, Mabel's friend and Dipper's ex-enemy, rolled his eyes.

Dipper pursed his lips when he looked out the window at the bright building: it was brick like the rest of the buildings of the streets were and there was a row of light bulbs on a string above the door and the windows. There were a few people outside sitting in chairs and Dipper could hear the instruments being played inside and he hadn't even gotten out of the taxi yet.

Someone knocked on the window. It was Mabel. She was already outside the taxi with Pacifica and Dipper was too spellbound by the exterior that he hadn't even noticed that she got out in the first place.

Dipper said his thanks to the driver and opened the door. The sounds and the smells of the street and the bar and of people was like a punch in the face as soon as he left the car.

Dipper adjusted his hat and his vest and his tie self-consciously as he followed the girls through the door.

And wow. Yellow-orange light, chatter, loud music, and the smell of alcohol greeted him and the new sensations were so new and different and sudden that he just stopped in his tracks.

"Dip! Come dance with us!" Mabel knocked Dipper out of his own thoughts as she reached for his hand. She was fixing the clips in her carefully-done hair with her free hand.

Dipper smiled politely at his sister. "Maybe later. Lemme get a drink first, okay?"

Mabel stuck out her tongue at him. "Suit yourself, brother! It's only gonna be Paz and I experiencing the fun!"

Dipper waved goodbye to her and chose a cushioned stool to sit on at the bar. The bartender went up to him and asked him what he wanted to drink. Dipper was about to say something, but—

"We'll both get vodka sodas, sir. On me."

Dipper's head whipped toward the new person sitting next to him and his eyes widened.

Anyone with eyes would know that this man did not belong in the state of Oregon with his flashy yellow vest and slacks and bowtie—were those sequins? To top it off, golden hair that was combed to the side. His choice of style easily put Dipper's blue and brown outfit to shame.

"Um, thanks," Dipper said slowly, "Do I know you?"

"Nope. Just a man wanting to buy a drink for you," the golden man said, and put his cigar back into his mouth and took a long drag. Dipper noticed the bartender give them both the drinks and he nodded at him while the other man blew out a thin cloud of smoke.

He put the cigar to the side and sipped his drink. "Well, your name?"

Dipper blinked. "Oh! You can call me Dipper. But my real name is Mason."

The man looked at his fingernails. "So should I call you Mason?"

"Dipper."

The man turned his head to smirk at him. "But what if I want to call you something different?"

Dipper tasted his drink. The feeling was familiar as it burned down his throat. "Like what?"

"I dunno," the man shrugged his shoulders and the sequins caught the light. "What about Pine Tree?" He stuck his finger at Dipper's hat, which had a pine tree embroidered onto it.

Dipper smiled. "Fine. I didn't catch your name."

The man took a short drag from his cigar, leaned forward and said, "I didn't throw it," while the smoke from his mouth blew softly onto Dipper's face when he spoke. He didn't mind. He was quite intrigued. "Do you want to dance?" He held out his arm.

Dipper felt the self-consciousness seep back into his bones. He hadn't even noticed it was gone. "But won't people see?" He looked around at the crowd around them.

"It's 1925, Pine Tree," the man grinned. "This is somewhat acceptable now. Besides, everyone is out of their minds with alcohol so no one will really even care."

Dipper mentally told his insecurities to fuck off and said, "Sure. Why not?" So he allowed the mysterious man to take him by the arm into the sea of moving people.

The roaring sound of jazz in his ears and the movement around him made his body want to lock up. The man took his hand into his and put his other on his hip then swayed to the music.

Dipper willed his body to relax. Should've drank the rest of that drink, he thought. He focused not on the people around him, but on the lyrics of the song and the man in front of him instead.

I'm burning like a flame, dear;

Dipper stared at the man's face. First, his cheeks that were dusted with freckles, he hadn't even noticed them at first, but he did now now that he was close enough.

Oh, I'll never be the same, dear;

Next, his lips. The lips that were mouthing the words to the song. The lips that were mouthing: I'll always place the blame, dear,

Last, his eyes. Dipper's own eyes had no choice but to widen as he saw yellow, brown, and green all in the same. So beautiful.

On nobody but you,

Yes, you,

You're driving me crazy!

The beautiful man smirked at him and pulled him along to where the bathrooms were.

"Where are we going?" Dipper yelled over the music.

"A secret place!"

Dipper let the man take him through the hallway to a door that had a stairway leading up. The man opened the door for him and Dipper went in first, and reached another door. He put his hand on the handle and turned it, opened it, and he was met with the bustling night.

They were on the roof. From on top of the building, Dipper could see the rest of the busy cars and people and the lamps on the street. He heard the chatter and engines and could smell the exhaust and the cool night air. He could see the stars.

He could feel warmth as the yellow-clad man took him by the hand to the middle of the roof and bowed like a prince.

"Would you care for a dance?"

"Okay," Dipper smiled softly.

This time, Dipper's arms were around the charming man's neck and there were arms around his waist. He could still hear the music, and it was muffled, but it was there.

This time, this dance was slower and more personal, their bodies close together.

This time, without the clashing smells of everything, he could smell the man's cologne. He smelled of smoke and nice things.

This time, there was no self-consciousness or awkwardness.

It was just them.

Then the man kissed him, his lips soft upon Dipper's. It was like an explosion. Dipper's heart felt like it was going to jump from his chest and he felt like he was going to melt, but not of embarrassment. Not of shame, either.

But from something unfamiliar. Unfamiliar, but good.

Dipper's arms tightened around the man's neck. Their mouths opened at the same time and Dipper gasped at the sensation. He smiled into the kiss as they pulled each other closer.

Dipper moaned and felt his eyes roll when the man's lips moved from his lips to his jaw and to his neck.

Then he heard a certain voice outside from the street. It sounded like Mabel and Pacifica.

"What...what time is it?" He gasped.

The man rested his head against Dipper's collarbone as he checked his pocket watch. "It's 11:30. What's the matter?"

Disappointment welled in Dipper's chest. "Shoot. That's when I'm supposed to leave."

"Already?" The man kissed his lips.

"Unfortunately," Dipper said against his mouth, smelling the smoke and alcohol from earlier from the man's breath.

"Will we meet again?"

"I don't even know your name. How will I find you?"

The beautiful man winked with his beautiful hazel eyes. "Leave that to me, Pine Tree."