Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

One sketch, two sketches.. three sketches.. fourteen sketches.. Wait–fourteen?

Enzo looked through the bus window, taking in the Oregon scenery around him carefully. He’d been sketching and drawing in his beloved sketchbook, with the words: Rock’s the Way on its cover. He’d always found such peace and quiet in drawing and anything artful, really. He counted the sketches he’d drawn just on the bus, fourteen full graphite sketches. Some of the bus’s interior, some of the cars around, some of the trees outside, one about this beautiful man two seats in front of him. He’d tried to convince himself that it was merely in the name of art. He did not think that man was attractive. He thought that man was attractive.

To Enzo, the world was always a sketch in progress—every detail, every color, every line waiting to be captured. It filled him with inspiration, but sometimes it overwhelmed him, the constant flood of imagery would leave him overstimulated by the time he made it home.

It’d been almost a second thought, leaving his home state California immediately after graduating art school. He’d made up his mind to go on a very long trip around the states that would last around a year, with the sole purpose of drawing anything and everything he would find amusing. Enzo had decided to go north first for the summer, to Oregon.

He played with a loose strand of his brown curly hair, daydreaming about what his first destination on this journey would unfold. His eyes widened as the bus passed a large, wobbly sign with the words “Gravity Falls” painted on it. He stared in confusion. Gravity.. Falls? He was pretty sure he’d never read or heard about the place during his research. He double checked his map and confirmed that it wasn’t on there either. To say he was intrigued would have been an understatement.

The bus eventually made its first stop in town. Enzo peeked outside the window to see a strange large shack. He almost tripped from excitement as he rushed outside the bus door, dragging his leather shoulder bag and his suitcase filled with his clothes along with him. First thing he noticed was the bright summer sun shining warm on his skin, that damn bus had nearly froze him to death. The second was the exquisite, refreshing scent of the forest around. I love summer, he thought in awe.

He stepped forward and around to take the full scene of the wooden building. “Mystery.. Hack?”

“Actually, it’s Mystery Shack, That damn ‘S’ never stayed on,” A low voice came from behind him. Enzo jolted and turned to the owner of the voice, only to see a tall, broad older gentleman, wearing a black suit and a red fez that topped his gray hair.

“Oh my god, you scared me!” Enzo exclaimed, holding his chest lightly.

“Ah, sorry for scaring ya, kid. You better come in, the tour starts in five minutes,” the man gestured to the front door of the Mystery Shack. Before Enzo could ask, he was already on his way inside. Tour? I love that shit.

He took a brief moment to admire the details of the building. He made a mental note to definitely sketch the Mystery Shack later.

Enzo realized he’d spent a few minutes longer than a moment, so he quickly walked through the door to the building, falling behind on the group of people that were already inside.

“Alright everyone! Welcome to the Mystery Shack! The magical hub of mystery that’s going to blow your minds! I am Stan Pines, AKA Mr. Mystery! Come in closer for our first exhibit in our tour!”

Hub of mystery? Enzo had a feeling he was unironically going to enjoy this. He’d always loved to pick on and observe quirky and unconventional bits every place he visited. He’d go as far as visiting the gift shop there and picking up something to remember that place by.

“As you can see for our first exhibit, we have the Crocochickebat,” Stan Pines gestured, shaking his hands theatrically for dramatic effect, to what looked exactly like one would think a Crocochickebat would look like. An amalgamation of different taxidermy parts stitched together to make a rather odd looking exhibit with a chicken head, a bat body, and a miniature crocodile tail. People walked in closer, some winced and flinched at the sight, some took pictures. Meanwhile, Enzo was already marking a free page in his sketchbook.

After around a full hour filled with weird and, quite frankly, silly exhibits that were supported by Mr Mystery’s obviously fake lore about them, the tour ended and Stan Pines gestured everyone to go into the gift shop part of the shack.

Enzo purposely waited in the gift shop until all other customers were done shopping, he had social anxiety and the thought of being in a line with people behind him was terrifying. He managed to pick up a Stan Bobblehead (because, come on, it was very cute and silly), a few bumper stickers, a couple magazines, some postcards, and last but not least; a UFO keychain. Yup, that was a lot of money to spend on his first stop, but he had already known this would happen anyway.

“And remember, we put the ‘fun’ in ‘No Refunds!’” Stan yelled, waving at the leaving customers. Enzo couldn’t help but giggle slightly at the line.

Finally, he double-checked around him to make sure there weren’t any more customers hanging about. When the coast was clear, he took a step forward towards the register hogging all his stuff, barely keeping them from falling. There was an unimpressed girl with long red hair waiting. Oh good, a teen. As if this couldn’t get any worse.

He contemplated for a second, then took a big breath and walked all the way to the register, putting his things on. Come on Enzo, she’s not gonna bite, and if she does, you already brought alcohol wipes and band-aids with you.

“Welcome to the Mystery Shack, name’s Wendy, your tour costs- WOAH! You got like, so much stuff dude! Hold on let me tell Mr. Pines,” How fucking great. “Yo, Mr. Pines! Come check this! Code dollar sign.”

Code dollar sign? did he really buy that much? No matter, those three words were enough to make an old Mr Pines come running. He nearly tipped Enzo over when he bumped into him. The size difference of their bodies was now more noticeable than ever.

“Woah, kid! You got so much ju- good stuff! Good call!” Stan’s face nearly popped like a balloon from pride. Enzo looked away, flustered. He couldn’t keep his skin from turning a bright shade of pink. It had always turned that very shade whenever he’d been embarrassed.

“Oh, haha! It’s uhh.. not that much, is it?” He gulped, forcing himself to have eye contact with Stan Pines while he was talking.

“Not much? Kid, the last customer to get that much stuff at once was way back in ‘87!” Stan looked kind of sad at the thought, which soon turned back into a prideful crooked grin.

Enzo thought Stan’s half smile was adorable, he must have looked at his lips a bit longer than he should have, because Wendy must’ve noticed the stare and interpreted it as discomfort. She patted Mr. Pines on the shoulder.

“Come on Mr. Pines, you turned the guy ghost-white.”

“Oh he’s fine!” Stan looked back at Enzo, to make sure he was indeed fine. Enzo forced a slight smile in affirmation. Stan continued. “I mean, look at this! 13 different bumper stickers! Most people don’t even know we have that many. 4 magazines, 6 postcards, a Stan Bobblehead—one of my personal favorites, not ‘cause it’s me but if I do say so myself, it’s objectively the best item—and a UFO keychain!”

“What can I say, I’m a sucker for quirky and mysterious merchandise,” He giggled, slightly feeling the tension on his shoulders loosening up.

“Quirky and mysterious is what I’m going for!” Stan looked immensely proud of the comment, even more so than before. Seriously, his chest was puffed full with pride. “Tell me, what’s ya name, kid?”

“Enzo. My name’s Enzo.”

“Well it’s nice to meet ya, Enzo! Heh, cool name. Never heard of it before.” He squeezed the side of Enzo’s arm slightly, his grin wide.

“Y–you too, Mr. Pines.” Enzo mustered the last line barely.

“Wait! I have to take a picture of us to go to the Wall of Fame!”

Enzo nearly jumped at the obligation. A photo? Wall of Fame? Could this get any worse? He had never been a fan of being in photos, rather getting exposed for the public eye in a Wall of Fame. He’d much rather be the one taking the photos, but he figured he had no choice. He couldn’t say no to Mr. Mystery, he literally owns the place. And what even was on that Wall of Fame anyway? A small town like this couldn’t have had many Mystery Shack celebrities.

Enzo jolted back to the real world when Stan slid right next to his side. He had already handed Wendy the film camera, was it in his suit jacket? The logistics didn’t really matter, Stan’s arm wrapped around his shoulder was enough of a distraction. His black suit was in direct contact with Enzo’s white tank top and black short-sleeve shirt with some pressure. He could feel the heat from Stan’s body transferring to his own like an efficient heating pad. God, were his arms and shoulders always this big? And those biceps.. They feel tougher than the rest of his body…

Before he could indulge that thought further, Wendy pointed the camera up and they both smiled. “For the Wall of Fame!”

“I’m gonna take that,” Stan snatched the pic as soon as it finished printing and slid it in one of his suit jacket pockets.

Wendy finished ringing Enzo’s items. “That’s about $75.”

Enzo looked down at his wallet which had two $50 bills and an emergency $20. Maybe it hadn’t been the wisest decision to buy that much stuff. But they’re so cute, no regrets, he justified.

Enzo finished paying for his things, and waved them goodbye. He heard “We put the ‘fun’ in ‘No Refunds!’” again, and smiled.

“Couldn’t return these if I tried,” he expressed, his smile wide.

It was the last call for all the passengers to get on before the bus moved to its next destination. He stopped at the door, feet glued to the ground. Something pulled him back. He couldn’t leave—not yet. He hadn’t even sketched the Mystery Shack yet. That had to be it, right? Why else would he stay?

The driver looked at him, waiting. Enzo shook his head, stepping away.

He went ahead and sat on an empty bench he had found in front of the shack. Grabbed his 2B pencil and flipped over to a designated free page on his sketchbook. He popped in his headphones in one ear in case someone called for him, shuffled Queen on Spotify, and began drawing.

After finishing the graphite sketch, he began inking the piece with a black 0.3 pen carefully.

“Not too bad,” he said in a quiet voice, reaching in his bag for a pack of cigarettes. He wasn’t exactly proud of the bad habit, he’d tried more times than he could count to quit. At least now, he was able to limit his intake to at most 4 cigarettes a day. He decided now was the perfect time for the first.. and the second. He lit the cig and took a deep drag.

It was now time to add color. Coloring was his favorite part, yet the most daunting. It’d take a long time to finish coloring a sketch, because he’d always wanted it to turn near perfect, an art school trait he’d been forced to adopt as his own.

He was deep into it and fully immersed. He added the browns, the reds, colored the background, added the darker pencil colors and layered and layered. Once he was content with the color combinations he had layered on the paper, he began blending and blending… shading, highlighting…

“Didn’t take you for a smoker,” Enzo took a quick breath in, looking up from the sketchbook to the source of that familiar voice that broke his focus. It was probably the first time he’d looked at anything other than paper and the Mystery Shack since he’d sat down. He must have been at it for a long while because now the sun was almost set.

“Art School does that to a person,” Enzo explained, a slight grin on his face, before turning back to his drawing. He felt Stan sit next to him, the wooden bench creaked under the combined weight of both of them. A testimony to how old this whole place really was.

“Mind if I take one?” Stan asked politely.

“Knock yourself out,” Enzo handed Stan the pack of cigarettes and his lighter, not looking up from his sketchbook. Stan lit his cigarette, and they both took a drag.

“Didn’t your bus leave over an hour ago? I got the impression that you weren’t exactly planning to stay,” Stan exhaled the smoke out.

“Yeah.” Enzo sighed, still focused on his drawing. “It’s going to Portland.”

“Ugh, Portland,” Stan replied. Enzo could almost hear the disgust in his voice.

“My exact thoughts,” Enzo laughed. “It was inevitable, there’s a really cool museum there with really wonderful pieces that I need to draw some sketches of, so I put it first on my itinerary. You see, after graduating Art School back in California, I wanted to go on this year-long trip around the States, simply to draw anything I find appealing or interesting. I’ve been planning this trip for over a year.”

“I hear ya, kid. Guess Gravity Falls wasn’t exactly planned?” Stan questioned almost jokingly.

“Not exactly,” he smiled. Enzo took the final drag of his cigarette before lighting another.

“So, why’d ya stay?”

“You want the real answer?” Enzo said hesitantly before continuing. “I just had to draw the Mystery Shack.” He could hear Stan break a chuckle, which almost sounded like one of pride.

“Art School, ya say..” He felt Stan scooting closer to him. The wool of his pants brushed against Enzo’s denim, making an audible scratch. His hand grazed Enzo’s ever so slightly.

Stan’s hand lingered, hesitating for just a second before he pulled away. He fixed his posture, scratching the back of his neck. His breathing pattern grew louder and faster than before.

The feeling of Stan’s hand brushing against his made Enzo’s heartbeat pick up its pace. The touch sent tingles down his neck. He couldn’t help but notice how rough Stan’s hands felt compared to his own. He thought the contrast between their hands was like the texture of a half-finished canvas—coarse, unfinished, but had potential.

Yet something about this moment felt.. surreal? He couldn’t remember the last time anyone’s hand had brushed against his, let alone how it made him feel. Enzo had made sure his dating days were over long ago, but having felt it again now—after all these years, and with someone much older than him—Stan Pines, no less, made him gulp, air thick in his throat.

It was a brief touch, in retrospect. That’s all it had been. It shouldn’t have felt like it was more, but it did. It meant something, and that something was a feeling he hadn’t let himself feel in years. He didn’t want it to start all over again, not after last time.

He tried to shift his focus, anxiety was boiling deep within his body, like a water pot that was about to overflow. He needed a distraction, something—anything to come back to reality. He looked at the rough texture of Stan’s hands and began to wonder, what kind of life did he have that shaped them this way?

He definitely used his hands a lot, but unlike the art Enzo made, it was something rougher, something harder. But what could the Mystery Man be hiding? What work did he do when the lights of the Shack went off? He couldn’t shake the thought off his head.

It was difficult to focus on the present when his mind was so loud. He knew he had to say something, anything. He couldn’t stay quiet, not after whatever this was. For now, he took a breath in, and smiled.

“What, I don’t look the type?” Enzo broke the silence, joking playfully, as he gestured to his whole outfit, making Stan look him up and down, taking in the full look.

Other than the black button down and the plain white tank, he was wearing black baggy jeans that were a bit slimmer on the waist. He had white stars scattered around his pants—ones he painted on himself back in his junior year of college—and a pair of black Dr. Martens that also had white stars and glitter to match the pants. He noticed Stan eyeing the stars on his jeans a little longer than the rest of his outfit.

“I love the outfit.” Stan paused for a second, his voice a whisper. “Those stars look good on you.”

“Thank you. I painted them on myself,” Enzo smiled, eyes still locked on the page. He could see Stan’s half-flushed smile from the corner of his eye.

Stan leaned his head just a little over Enzo’s shoulder, and took a good look at the now-finished drawing. “Wow, kid. Ya got some real talent there!”

The last line made Enzo finally look up from his sketchbook after adding the last touches. He looked at Stan Pines, Man of Mystery, and only now noticed he didn’t have his Fez on and his shirt was unbuttoned at the very top. His hair was soft and ruffled, his red string bow tie undone and messy. Guess he wasn’t planning on finding a customer outside.

Enzo’s eyes traced over Stan’s features—the way the sunset turned his face burnt orange, his hair glowing faintly purple. He could picture it so clearly in his mind, his fingers already itching to sketch.

Two lines, no—three on the nose edge, it goes down then up, the chin is sharp—no, dulled, big lines for the jaw, thick strokes for the hair. The eyes brown, almost a dark hazel. Skin soft, pink toned, small soft lines for his stubble, sharp and thicker lines for the glasses, lashes thin, big teeth, round edges for the lips…

Every minute outside his house was an internal sketching monologue. He couldn’t help himself, his eyes would automatically lock onto something and he’d think absentmindedly for several minutes how that certain piece would be sketched. He’d always seen the world as his own open sketchbook, full of inspiration and wonderful potential.

Stan attempted to break the silence, but he was looking into Enzo’s green eyes as well. As long as no one interrupted, there was no shame in looking for just a little longer. Enzo never liked his eyes, he thought they were too plain, too simple. He’d always wished he had dark brown eyes—ones exactly like Stan’s. The corner of Stan’s lip tightened the longer he admired them.

“Thank you, Mr. Pines. That means a lot,” Enzo said at last, smiling warmly. His eyes still looking into Stan’s.

“Call me Stan.”

“Stan.. I could get used to that. Will do.”

“Ya know.. I have a nag for art myself.”

“Shut up!” Enzo looked amused. “Are you being serious?”

“What? I’m serious.” Stan grinned.

“Oh you just..” Enzo hesitated. “Didn’t exactly fit the stereotype.”

“Hey!” Stan protested, hitting the side of Enzo’s arm playfully. His smile grew warmer.

“I’m kidding! Obviously art is more than stereotypes. Still, it’s a treat to know you’re interested in art, too.” He averted his gaze, feeling the red flushing on his cheeks. Thank god it was almost dark now or Stan would’ve noticed.

There was a long moment of silence between them, but not uncomfortable. The sun had fully set beyond the horizon, the forest breeze ruffled their hairs, now colder than before. The fresh pine scent was intoxicating, yet comforting.

“Wait.. if ya canceled on Portland and didn’t plan to stay here.. Doesn’t that mean you don’t have a place to stay for the night?” Stan asked, concerned.

“Fuck.” Enzo exclaimed. He broke the tension with a genuine laugh. “Of course I didn’t think that far.”

Stan held back a chuckle. “So what’re ya gonna do, kid?”

“Well.. I think I might head into town, see if they have any motels.” He quickly remembered that his wallet was nearly empty and definitely not enough for a full night. “And in the morning, I might pick another bus out of here.”

“First of all, at this time everything is closed. Gravity Falls citizens are quite the morning birds.” Stan expressed, his arms crossed. “Second, it’s a long walk from here to the closest town landmark. And finally.. I saw your wallet earlier. You aren’t exactly eligible to spend a night in any motel, kid.”

Enzo almost freaked out at the last remark, but he held his composure. “How did you see my wallet? Pretty sure I was far from you.”

Stan broke into a small laughter, which grew into a cackle. “C’mon, Man of Mystery didn’t build this empire on anything but the sweet cash. My eyes have adapted to instantly spot any hint of green bills in a 2 mile radius.”

“I don’t think that’s physically possible,” Enzo joked.

“Oh kid, you don’t even have the slightest hint of what’s possible in this town. Unless, of course, you stay.” Stan’s eyes were twinkling, the moonlight reflected off of them in a way that felt balanced, like it was the final detail that perfected a painting.

Enzo almost didn’t catch that last line, he had a feeling Stan didn’t exactly mean for it to be said out loud.

“You want me.. to stay?” Enzo looked at Stan, confused by the suggestion.

“I mean- it’s-“ For the first time since Enzo had come into Gravity Falls, Stan’s face was visibly bright red, even in the dark. His fingers were tapping fast against his thigh. It wasn’t long before the tapping of his foot joined the rhythm of his fingers anxiously. His gaze averted, like he was ashamed to admit it.

Enzo wouldn’t say it aloud, but he always noticed every little detail of Stan’s body language. As an artist, he’d grown very familiar with detail, things like body language and facial cues were like a readable pamphlet for Enzo. Always had been.

“Relax..” Enzo said calmly, smiling at his reaction. He noticed Stan’s anxiety and related it to his own; countless sleepless nights and never-ending panic attacks. He saw himself in Stan and his heart twisted. He softly, yet confidently put his hand over Stan’s with a pressure firm enough to be grounding, which was returned by a slight flinch from Stan’s end before he gave in. He felt Stan’s shaking hand fall to a calmer state against his palm. “If I’m going to stay, I have one condition. You’re going to have to show me around, this sketchbook isn’t filling itself if I’m canceling Portland.”

Stan almost glowed with content, he failed at hiding it. His smile was soft and warm. “You got yourself a deal, kid.”

“But really, what am I going to do? I might be able to find some place tomorrow, but you said tonight was a lost cause.”

“You can always.. uhh, sleep with me—I mean with us! In the shack! Not with me—I mean not like that!” Stan fumbled onto his words in a chaotic panic.

They both nearly fell over the bench to the ground in surprise. Neither of them expected him to say those exact words, certainly not out loud. Stan’s face was now redder than a ripe tomato.

Enzo wasn’t that close but he could hear Stan’s heart beating fast in his chest. The tips of his ears were starting to grow red like the rest of his face. Enzo would be lying if he told himself it wasn’t so darn cute. PC993 pink for the ears, he thought, before breaking into a long laughter. The confident, charming, and humorous Mr. Mystery fumbling onto his words and turning as bright a red as his Fez was an adorably entertaining sight.

“Stan, I get it, I know what you mean.” He placed a hand on Stan’s shoulder affirmingly. “I’d love to, but honestly I don’t want to impose. If I stay in the Mystery Shack for the summer I’m gonna have to pay for it. And we know how that last part will play out with the current economical turn of events.”

Stan rubbed the side of his chin and thought for a short moment, his brows furrowed. Enzo’s artistic and sensitive nature allowed him to hear the faint scratch Stan’s face stubble made with the contact of his thumb.

“You can work here, at the Shack. Pay for your stay by working mornings! Wendy needs another kid helping her anyway. That teen never worked much at all,” Stan said after a long pause, he looked nervous at the suggestion he just made, the tapping of his foot grew louder and more erratic.

Why did he want him to stay that badly? Enzo played a hundred reasons in the back of his head. It was sweet, especially since they had met only a couple hours ago. But offering to stay and work? He couldn’t believe anyone would do such a thing for a complete stranger. He felt delighted. It was a warm and endearing part of Stan Pines he hadn’t seen before.

“Work, you say?” Enzo paused for a moment to think. He decided to break the awkwardness with a joke. “So you can take all my money as rent?”

They both laughed, their voices echoing in the forest around them.

“C’mon kid.. I’m not that bad. You’ll probably get at least half the money ya earn. Probably, most likely,” Stan wiggled his eyebrows, his teeth showing through his grin.

“You know what, old man? You got yourself a deal.”

Stan’s face glowed in relief, his smile wide enough to reflect the ambient lights created by the moon, shining soft like a silky fabric against the rough grass of Gravity Falls. He noticed Stan’s body finally calming down slowly. His foot gradually stopped tapping, his hands motionless on his thighs, and his eyes locked with his.

“Deal.” Stan stretched out his arm for a handshake. Enzo returned it. Only now he actually took into perspective just how large Stan’s hands were. A firm handshake that just affirmed how confident he appeared.

Their smiles remained wide and intact; it might have been seconds, minutes, or even longer—completely unaware of the time passing. They observed as they sat amidst the quiet of the surrounding forest, enveloped in the peaceful silence.

“We should probably head back inside. C’mon, I’ll show you ‘round the shack and where you’ll be staying. Ya can meet the kids and everyone else tomorrow—after a full night's sleep, that is.”

A full night’s sleep was exactly what he needed. He waited for Stan to lead the way and followed, his art supplies bag under his arm.

Enzo admired the insides of the shack that he hadn’t seen before. I knew this was a full house and not just a Mystery Shack.

“Here, you’ll be sleeping here for now. Settle in, be comfortable and get changed. I’ll just go and grab a few sheets and pillows.” Stan said softly as he gestured around the small room downstairs. It looked old and slightly dusty, but Enzo couldn’t complain. Nothing was worse than those college dorms anyway.

He settled in and unpacked his stuff, switching his day old clothes for some fresh My Chemical Romance pajamas—his favorite. He went to the bathroom and did his skincare routine, brushed his teeth, and returned to his room, ready for bed.

The door was knocked three times, before Enzo allowed the visitor to come in.

“Here are some clean pillows and a blanket. Make yourself at home, anything in the kitchen cabinets or the fridge is yours to take.” Stan said quietly, his voice almost a whisper.

“Thank you M- Stan. Thank you so much, you’ve been so kind today.” Enzo took the sheets gratefully and began making his bed and getting ready. He almost missed Stan’s cheeks flushing pink at his last comment. He smiled to himself as he got in his bed and wrapped the blanket around his body, stretching his legs a good, deep stretch.

“Good night, kid.”

“Good night, Stan.”

Finally, after a very long day, he closed his eyes, barely holding his excitement and curiosity for what tomorrow and this whole summer had in stock.

Enzo felt Stan’s broad chest against him. It sparked a feeling of ecstasy as the little bits of his chest hair touched the fair skin on his collarbone. He felt his chin lifting up to look Stan in the eyes.

The feeling of Stan’s touch against his body was almost freeing. It felt just right. His hairy arms were soft, but protecting. Stan’s hands were holding his and their bodies were pressed with gentle pressure. His senses were heightened, he could feel every bit of fabric against his skin, every little chest hair, every tiny detail, how sweet and smokey Stan smelled, how smooth his body hair felt against his skin, and oh, was the sensory input heavenly. It was like a perfect sketch. The most perfect sketch.

Wait, where am I?

Where he was seemed irrelevant, everywhere around them was a blurry dark haze. The only light anywhere was the glow emitted from Stan’s figure. It was almost fantastical, the way Stan was the single source of color and warmth in the desaturated surrounding greys.

It wasn’t just the physical warmth that Stan’s body pressed against his own created. It was something much more personal, something more fulfilling, more vivid. His heart experienced a type of warmth that had been foreign to him, one that lingered deep in the fabrics of his very being. It was too perfect. It almost felt unreal, like something he couldn’t let himself have.

“Oh Stan.. You look lovely.”

“Can say the same about you, E.” Stan closed the distance, his lips an inch away from Enzo’s. He could feel the softness in Stan’s eyes as he looked right through him, like Stan was seeing a part of him that he didn’t allow anyone else to see. Stan’s body grew warmer and his touch softer. Right here, nothing else mattered. It was only Stan that shaped his world now, he was incapable of seeing or feeling anything else.

Stan pressed his lips against Enzo’s securely. The kiss was deep and warm, his lips soft and sweet against his own. Stan’s thumb traced the side of his jaw gently. At this moment, he knew he was safe. He knew it was a place where anxiety and past trauma could not interfere. He knew the moment would end, but he wished it would last forever.

At last, Stan parted with Enzo, still keeping the distance short. Enzo felt his hot breath against his lips.

“You kiss so nice, doll.”

His eyes shot open, feeling the heavy weight of reality crushing his chest. The cold morning air replaced any warmth that lingered in his body. The air rushed in and out his lungs in a disordered rhythm. He battled his feelings as he fell more and more into an anxiety attack. It took hold of him, almost freezing him in place as the heavy tide of emotions and hot flashes traversed his body. He took a good look around to see he was laying in bed in the storage room.

Right, of course. It was just a dream.

He could feel his anxiety worsening by the heartbeat, and in a state like this, there was only one thing that could calm him down and distract him from his panic; his pencil and sketchbook.

He grabbed them hazily, his hands trembling. Right before he could make contact with the paper, he stopped. Realization churned deep in his stomach, and an undeniable truth settled into his chest, obstructing his breathing.

Oh no. I have a crush on Stan Pines.

Chapter Text

“No. No! This isn’t right,” Enzo tore another page off his sketchbook, it was the third one he’d sacrificed since he’d started—or at least attempted—to portray his overwhelming emotions. They weighed heavy on his chest, and art was the only way he knew how to process them. 

Stan Pines? Really? He’d only known him for half a day. It didn’t make sense. Usually he would need to know someone really well before experiencing whatever these feelings were. He was a conman, a total scam. None of his Mystery Shack artifacts looked anything but half-assed and cheap. He didn’t really seem like he had much else to him other than his overwhelming love for cash. 

“Wrong.” 

Come on, it was just one day . He couldn’t have developed something already. He didn’t know him. He had barely spoken to the man. This dream was nothing important. Just another mind trick.

“Porra! Idiota!” Another page torn, thrown to the edge of the room, a pile of orphaned pages was getting more cluttered on the cold floors. What would even justify a dream like.. that? They were strangers. That’s all they were. It wasn’t a crush. It couldn’t be.

“Fuck. Not again.” He exhaled faster and heavier after every failed try. Whatever it was that made him feel this way was clearly not easily replicable on paper. Even though Enzo had acquired and honed a great skill of sketching anything thrown in front of him with ease most of the time, this was not one of them. 

“Again.” His thoughts raced faster, feelings weighed heavier on his conflicting heart. 

“Too flat, meaningless.” Again . The chaos of torn pages and shaven lead covered the entire floors of the room by now. 

“Too empty, too cold.” Again. He tried to ignore the atrocious feeling of his wet undershirt sticking to his body.

“No, no, no. This is not right. get it together Enzo, just..” draw. just.. draw. 

The pencils got shorter, the sketchbook pages thinner, yet he wasn’t getting anywhere close to representing those feelings with lead. 

He tried to slow down and breathe, but any hope of having a steady breathing pattern was long lost.

He ignored the rumbling in his chest, still determined to get this right, but he failed continuously on the only thing he knew how to do. The lines on paper were indistinguishable at this point. 

“Too fucking flat!” 

Every time he tried to add meaning, he fell short. It was always missing something, he couldn’t point at what nor why.

I can do this. I just need to calm.. down.. to.. focus.. 

His hands were near-black now with lead, the pencil shavings were pooling around him. He couldn’t stop shaking, couldn’t get his hands to go where he wanted them to. 

It’s just a drawing. Come on. Don’t be stupid . The vision was crystal clear in his mind, but the lines refused to behave. He tightened his grip. 

His hands shook uncontrollably regardless of his attempts to steady them. The breath raced its way to his lungs like it was his last. 

He pressed hard on the page, his grip got even firmer, like the pencil was gonna fling off of his hand if he didn’t hold it so strongly.

His sketches became more and more abstract, now looking like random disoriented scribbles. He could feel the walls of his stomach contracting, making him sick, the acid reflux battled its way to the top of his throat against his will.

Small line here…

He couldn’t stop. He couldn’t accept the possibility of defeat, not with something he’d grown so accustomed to and perfected like it was second-thought. 

Very delicate, very sof—

A loud snap made him flinch—his pencil broke in half. 

“FUCK!” He yelled involuntarily before he shoved his hand against his mouth, the last thing he wanted at that nightmarish hell of a moment was for Stan to wake up and see him in this horrifying mess. “Fuck, fuck, fuck! Come on, you fucking idiot! This is horrible! You’re a failure. A FAILURE!” He pouted, tears gathering in his eyes, his throat closing. 

He grabbed another pencil. One.. more.. time..

His last failed attempt made him fling the sketchbook against the wall. If his loud voice didn’t wake Stan up, the sketchbook definitely did now. He caved, accepting that there was no way out of this attack. Not this time. He curled up on his side, holding his knees close to his chest. The room spinned around him, his lungs collapsing onto itself. 

B-breathe.. come on ju-just br-breathe.. 

The door creaked open slowly, the faint fluorescent lights from the hallway shined into the dark room. 

“Enzo?” 

Shit. Shit! Stan couldn’t see him like this nor the room in such a terrible mess. He tried to shove the papers back into his bag. There were too many scattered everywhere.

“Can I come in?” Stan hesitated. The door creaked audibly as Stan peeked inside. After multiple call-outs and no response from Enzo’s end, he just walked in, footsteps slow and heavy. 

Stan stopped near the door frame, worried, his eyes hovering around the room. Enzo tried to hide the sketches before Stan could see them, but it was far too late. 

“I.. I heard some noise, so I came to check in. Are.. are ya okay?” Stan asked, his tone concerned. His eyes glossed over Enzo’s shaken frame. “Are you uh.. crying?” 

God fucking damn it. 

Enzo couldn’t help it. He’d lost control the moment he’d woken up and grabbed that pencil. His mind told him to run as far away from here as possible, but his body acted on its own, falling onto Stan’s stomach and his arms wrapping around his waist. The oceans gathered in his eyes finally found a safe haven to fall onto, Stan’s chest. 

And I’m crying. 

“Enzo? W-What happened?” Enzo was crying heavily on his chest and all he could think was that it was somehow his fault. His hands hovered over Enzo’s back, hesitantly, before he replaced the doubt with confidence. He rubbed his back gently. 

Here he was, crying on the shoulder of a man he met yesterday. 

“Come on now, kid, let it out.” Stan's breaths were heavy, unsteady, as if he were trying to calm himself. 

“Hey, hey, now.. Focus on me, okay? You’ll—you’ll be okay. You’re safe here.” Enzo’s head was spewing nothing but deafening, self-depricating torture. His eyes were unable to look up at the face above him.

Enzo’s body was tense and rigid against Stan’s touch, the only sound coming out of him was his heavy sharp breathing and his heart beating fast and loud. Stan didn’t stop, he kept caressing his back and began humming a song, his chin laying gently on top of Enzo’s head. 

“Hush now, hush now, you will be okay. Don’t you worry, you are safe, I got you today.” He hummed and hummed, his voice low and coarse, yet had a unique softness to it. As time went by, he tightened his arms around Enzo more. 

Enzo would instinctively stretch an arm out for his sketchbook every once in a while in Stan’s grip, before remembering where he was. Art had always been his only way of coping with anything. But now, he was wrapped by the arms of this complete stranger, confused on why he hadn’t just ran away like he always did. 

The humming seemed to help ground him back to the real world, added with the feeling of Stan’s hand caressing his back, his face buried in his robe, and the sound of Stan’s heartbeat—calm and steady. He took a deep breath in, and out. In, then out again, taking note of the route the air took in his lungs, how his body felt as it slowly, yet steadily started exiting fight or flight, or well; freeze or flight.

Sweet and smokey. Just like the dream. 

All of a sudden, the walls around him vanished into thin air, hot sun shining on his body, feeling a humidity around him that wasn’t the same as Gravity Falls’, birds chirping outside. Not any birds, though. Birds he’d heard when he was just a little kid. A distinctive cacao smell entered his nose, kids playing around him with joyous laughter, the feeling of hot concrete under his feet even though he wasn’t barefoot.

He kept looking around, this wasn’t Gravity Falls anymore, it was his hometown in Brazil when he was five, Rio de Janeiro. When he looked back to where Stan was, he’d disappeared, only an emitting glow from where his frame used to be was left behind. 

Enzo walked slowly to explore the street he was in, confused, but intrigued. He continued checking the scene, the houses on the street were eerily familiar, he could swear he knew this neighborhood. Trying to find out more he started to go down the street slowly, but his attempt was disrupted by a random kid that tugged at his hand. 

“Porque você parou de correr? Enzo, vão te pegar.” 

As if this wasn’t weird enough, this random kid grabbed his hand telling him to ‘run before getting tagged’. Pega-pega? He muttered ‘tag?’ under his breath, his vision blurry. 

“Oque?” Enzo exclaimed to the kid, bewildered, and only now realized that this wasn’t a random kid, but his best friend from his early childhood. 

He waited to get an explanation, but his childhood’s best friend just sighed, letting go of his arm and running away. Before he could ponder longer about the weirdness of this all, a familiar warm voice called his name; it was his mother. 

Come inside! Help me roll Brigadeiro or you’re not gonna get any if you’re late. You can play afterwards.  

He furrowed his brows following the sound of his mother. His jaw unclenched, his grip loosened. 

The moment he opened that door with sheer excitement to experience his childhood once more, his vision blurred out, and a thick red rope slowly morphed back into the picture. He looked up, and there he was again, Stan, looking down with glossy eyes. Though this had never happened to him before, he shrugged off the unexpected childhood train, and went back to Stan’s chest, his forehead pressed against it. 

“Don’t ya worry, kid. I’m not going anywhere ‘till I know you’re okay.” Stan continued rubbing his back. Enzo could feel the warmth from Stan’s neck and shoulder slowly transfer to his forehead. The smooth texture of his red robe was grounding, and it smelled great, too. 

It took about ten minutes of Stan humming and caressing him for Enzo to finally fall to a calm state and out of the panic attack. It felt weirder this time, trying to calm down with company around, he’d always had to do it himself. He’d never felt safe enough unless he had been completely alone. People coming in on him mid-panic-attack had only made him feel worse every single time. Getting yelled at by his father and being told to quit crying like a whiny bitch had never stopped a panic attack. Go figure. 

And yet, it was comfortable, for some odd reason he felt safe around Stan, a reason he couldn’t completely point out. 

Enzo exhaled a big breath, his knees suddenly became weak; they’d been holding all this tension for so long. “I-I’m so sorry, Stan. I..” 

“Shh now, it’s okay kid. Ya don’t have to be sorry about anything. Ya feeling any better?” Stan asked with a tone that was soft and assuring, his hand patting Enzo’s back. 

“I’m… yeah. I am. Thanks to you, Stan.” Enzo finally lifted his face off of Stan’s red robe, wiping the salty tears off his cheeks, and tried to look up at him. Stan’s shoulders dropped, his chest puffed out a big breath.

“I’m really glad. We don’t have to talk about it now, okay? Let’s get ya out of here for some fresh air. Put on some new clothes, we’re going out.” Stan squeezed Enzo’s shoulder, his eyes soft and genuine.  

“Going out?” Enzo took a breath in, then out. “Where to? Sorry I’m uhh.. my head hurts, I don’t know if I can go anywhere.” 

“Ya hungry?” Stan asked, now smiling. 

“Oh, I think so, it was kinda hard to focus on my hunger during… well, that.” 

“Well, nothing to get rid of a headache like a good hearty breakfast and a hot cup of coffee. Come on, wouldya join me? My treat.” 

Enzo smiled, he felt a slight coldness on his shoulder when Stan’s hand left it. 

“Coffee? I mean, you don’t gotta say it twice. I’ll get changed and um, clean this mess… Sorry about that.” Enzo looked down around him, observing the chaos of his own creation, before getting interrupted by Stan’s hand almost cupping his face. Stan’s thumb softly traced around his blue star earring. His touch sent tingles in the back of his neck. He held a breath in.  

“Did ya sleep in this?” Stan nodded to his earring, grinning. Enzo exhaled sharply. 

“Being cool sure comes with its own consequences,” He laughed awkwardly, Stan joined him, but his laugh was genuine. “No seriously though, I was too tired and lazy last night to take them off, I don’t usually sleep in them.” 

“That so?” Stan let go of his face, once again leaving a trace of warmth behind. “C’mon, we can catch it early before it’s too crowded, have a quiet time.” 

“Meet you at the door in ten?” 

“I’ll be waiting for you.” 

Enzo started cleaning up his room, listening to Queen in his headphones. The more he cleaned, the more he felt like it was an endless trap. 

He managed to pick up all the pages, shoving them in the trash. He saved just one, to keep record, of course.

He shuffled through his suitcase hazily for something to wear. His wardrobe wasn’t much of a bright color fest; filled with earthy tones and dark blues and blacks and the rare whites (band shirts, mostly). The single pop of color in the bunch was a purple dress shirt and a fancy set of black pants he packed for special occasions. He finally picked out a forest green knit sweater and a pair of black denim with some black Converse. 

“Hey, sorry for being late. Finding every pencil shaving turned out to be a nightmare.” Enzo approached the door, rubbing his eyes, and only now noticed that Stan was wearing something different; a blue Hawaiian shirt with a white flower pattern, unbuttoned, revealing his white undershirt beneath, and a pair of khakis. Enzo smiled, it was a different look compared to his signature Mystery Man suit. 

“No worries about that. Ya ready?” Stan asked. “Nice sweater.” 

Enzo nodded. “Thank you! I see you’re wearing something different today?” 

“What, ya don’t like it?” 

“I do, Stan. It looks comfortable.” Enzo walked up to Stan and smoothed out the top of his shoulder, where his shirt was crinkled. 

“Good, ‘cause it is.” Stan laughed.

“Didn’t expect the Mystery Man act to drop so soon, though.”

“Ya not getting rid of that one easy,” Stan grinned. “Mystery Man by day, good ole’ Stan Pines by night.”

“So you say?” Enzo smiled. His eyes darted to the golden chain that popped up from beneath Stan’s chest hair. “The thrill of the double life, huh? I like it.” 

“You could say that,” Stan grinned. He opened the door for Enzo. “After you.” 

“So, where are we going?” The cold early morning breeze ruffled his hair when he stepped out, the sun shining soft on his skin. The smell of fresh pine made him take a deep breath in. 

“Follow me.” 

Stan walked to the side of the Mystery Shack where the cars were parked, heading to a beautiful red convertible shining in the distance,  Enzo followed suit. 

“So… whaddya think?”

Enzo’s mouth dropped. “Woah! Is this your car?” 

“Yup. my sweet ole Stanmobile, a ‘65 El Diablo that I’ve had for more years than I could count. She’s a beaut’, ain’t she?” 

“A beaut’ is an understatement, I mean, look at her! ” Enzo's hands reached slowly for the shiny exterior, his fingers tracing over the edges of the top which was matte white. “The paint is gorgeous, this shade is perfect. The texture is smooth but rustic, the accents are lovely, it fits you perfectly Stan. Don’t think I've seen anything like it before. They really don’t make ‘em like they used to.” 

“That’s what I keep saying! No one has ever appreciated my girl like you do.” Stan laughed loudly, his hand brushed Enzo’s for a second. “She’s been with me through thick ‘n thin. Not sure what I woulda done if I didn’t have her with me all these years.” 

“And you named her your Stanmobile? Aww.” Enzo smiled warmly. 

Stan looked away for a second, his cheeks turning pink. “Yeah. You like the name?” 

“I do.”

Stan opened the door for Enzo to get in. The first thing he noticed was the positive sensory input flooding his brain. The smell of that rustic leather was wavering out of the car, the seats in front were brown leather, connected. Enzo took a good look around, admiring the quality of the interior. 

“C’mon, we’ll be late for pancakes.” Stan gestured, he went ahead to his door and went inside, the leather squeaked under the weight of his body. 

“Oh, we cannot be late for pancakes! One of the seven deadly sins, I’m pretty sure.” Enzo said theatrically. Stan’s side of the El Diablo looked like it fit him perfectly. His seat shaped his figure comfortably, while on the other hand the passenger seat looked almost new. 

“The seven deadly sins?” A chuckle left his lips, his brows raised.

“Yeah, greed, envy, gluttony, missing pancakes, of course, you know the rest.” Laughter filled the car with a smooth, gentle air as Stan started the engine, then reached out for a compartment in his door, picking up a metal case. He took a brown cigar and offered Enzo another. 

“Oh man, haven’t had one o’ these since freshman year of college, was a bad one too. Thank you,” he reached for the cigar in Stan’s hand, his fingers accidentally touched with his. Enzo didn’t move his hand right away; it lingered for a moment. Stan was warm against his cold skin. He took the cigar, Stan cleared his throat. 

“Ya know how to smoke it? Need me to walk ya through it?” Stan asked, his tone soft. 

“Of course I know how to smoke it, Stan,” he laughed. “Hand me the cutter and the lighter.”

Enzo proceeded to cut the cigar’s head with Stan’s silver cutter in one sweep motion. He placed it between his lips and started lighting the foot with the lighter, rotating it consistently and taking short huffs until it was fully lit. He took a longer drag, admiring the taste of fine tobacco on his tongue. 

“Looks like ya know what you’re doin’, I’m impressed.” Stan threw a smug face in Enzo’s direction. 

“Think I can’t smoke a fucking cigar, Stan? You think so little of me.” Enzo laughed, Stan joined him. He handed Stan the cutter and lighter back before Stan began lighting his cigar. “This is incredible. Where’d you get these from?”

Stan took a long huff of his cigar, waiting a moment for the tobacco to linger on his tongue before answering. “Colombia. Got about 25 boxes from there before I returned to the states. Fine stuff.” 

“Colombia? Did you smuggle the cigars? There’s no way they let you carry 25 boxes into the country without a permit.” Enzo laughed, taking a huff of his cigar. 

“What do you think?” Stan was quiet for a moment, the realization set in and they both broke into a cackle, Stan laughing louder. 

“I think…” He watched the smoke leave his mouth slowly, the aroma of fine tobacco and old leather was pure bliss. It had been a long time since Enzo experienced this. A sense of comfort and familiarity he’d only felt with his closest friends. “I should’ve never asked that question in the first place.” He glanced out the window, taking note of the pine trees around them. “Of course you smuggled them.” 

“Ha! I think you’ll learn a lot more about this side of me the more we hang out.” 

“Bring it on, Mr. Mystery.” 

Enzo looked around him in the car, hesitating for a second. “Two very important questions.” 

“Shoot.”

“The first: can you put the sunroof down? I need to have the ‘wind through my hair’ experience at least once in my life.” Enzo waited eagerly. 

“Ya got it,” Stan pressed a button and the sunroof started coming down, disrupted by a squeal of triumph from Enzo’s side of the leather seat. The magical wind of Gravity Falls pushed their hair back, driving through the early morning serenity of the woods. No annoying family members to bug him, no obnoxious college mates, no one to interrupt. Just them, the wind, and fine tobacco. 

“Lovely,” Enzo sighed deeply. “Important question number two: Do you have any cassettes? I would kill for some music.” 

“Yeah, you can find ‘em right under…there. Pick whichever one that feels right to ya.” 

Enzo shuffled through the cassettes, which were mostly random sixties and seventies bands he wasn’t very familiar with, except one he almost missed, hidden at the bottom of the pile. 

“Oh my GOD!” Enzo yelled so loudly it startled the older man. “There’s no way!”

“What happened? Ya alright?” Stan shifted his sight from the road to look at Enzo, who was holding a cassette with an excitement resembling a puppy getting a brand new toy. 

“Am I alright? Are you kidding me? It’s ABBA!” His pitch was higher than the trees above them, waving the cassette in Stan’s face. 

Stan chuckled, returning his eyes to the road. “That’s a good one.” 

“Oh oh oh, Stan Pines, you have no idea what you’ve just done.” Enzo pushed Best Of ABBA through the car's cassette player. “No. Idea.”

“I got it back in the eighties. They had a show in a neighboring state. I lured the security guard by making noise around the bins, sneaked in from the backdoor when he wasn’t lookin’ and watched the show from the corner. I managed to snatch a cassette on my way out when the guards started chasing me.” Stan laughed, his tone soaked with nostalgia. 

“You went to an ABBA concert?” Enzo exclaimed with a quick turn of his head. He cleared his throat awkwardly. “That was a bit louder than I expected…” 

“Ha! I see, kid. You really like ABBA, don’t you?” Stan smiled at him, patting Enzo’s left knee. 

“Hell yeah I do! My favorite band of all time. I love them so much. It’s one of my dreams to go see them live.” 

“You will one day.”

Dancing Queen by ABBA started playing on the car speakers. 

“See that girl? Watch that scene! Digging the dancing queeeeen!” Enzo sang ecstatically while Stan smiled with a warmth that wasn’t familiar to him. Seeing Enzo sing so freely and happily made his heart warm.

Enzo sang along to the music, his voice getting louder every passing second. Normally he’d rather bury himself in a pit before letting anyone hear him sing, but here, he didn’t feel the need to. It came naturally, the lyrics sung in perfect harmony. Stan didn’t know all the lyrics like Enzo did, but his eyes would switch to Enzo’s then back to the road every now and then. Stan smiled, his grip soft on the wheel.

“Ugh, what a great song. Deserves all the hype.” Enzo said as the song finished up, playing into the next. 

“Sure does.” Stan chuckled. 

Several songs later and many-a-broadway performances by Enzo, the car started slowing down, parking next to what looked like a log building, with the words Greasy’s Diner on top.

“We’re here, C’mon, lemme show you ‘round. introduce you to some people before sitting down.” Stan stepped out of the car and opened Enzo’s door for him. Enzo’s hands started shaking a little at the mention of people and introductions , he tried to hide it, steadying his hands and taking a deep breath in. 

“Hey, it’s gonna be okay. These people are harmless, I promise. Don’t even gotta say a word kid, I’ll do the introductions for ya.” Stan said confidently, stretching out an arm. 

Did he really notice? Enzo’s hands were shaking for mere seconds before he put the social mask on. He took Stan’s hand and stood out of the car.

“Thank you, Stan. I’ll be okay! Just a little nervous to meet new people is all.” 

“I know,” Stan smiled softly. “All is well here.” 

First thing Enzo did after stepping foot on the ground was take a proper look at Greasy’s Diner. It was definitely something he hadn’t seen before. The diner was shaped perfectly like a brown log resembling the tall trees Gravity Falls was known for. It looked cozy and welcoming. 

“I’m definitely sketching Greasy’s, by the way.” 

“Of course you are.” 

The guest doorbell rang when they walked in the diner. Enzo was hit with the much welcomed scent of fresh coffee, butter, and bacon. Ah, America. 

“Mornin', everyone,” Stan waved to the town’s folk in the diner before sitting at a table, Enzo sat on the opposite bench. 

“This place feels so…” Enzo drifted, looking around him carefully, 

“Warm?” 

“Yeah! It’s so cozy.” Enzo sighed in relief, his shaking legs calming down slightly. 

“That’s Greasy’s for ya. Everyone comes here, breakfast, lunch, and dinner served all day. See that old lady over there?” Stan pointed to an older woman in the distance with long blown silver hair, she had blue eyeshadow and a nude lipstick on, wearing a pink apron. She gave Stan a greeting nod and a smile before returning to wiping the counters. 

“Yeah, who is she?”

“That’s Susan, she’s the current owner of Greasy’s. She wasn’t the original founder but she’s been workin’ here for as long as I can remember. People call her Lazy Susan, because she has a lazy-eye. Which… is a little funny story–well not really funny but I might have accidentally been the reason she has a lazy eye. A story for later, I suppose,” Stan rubbed the back of his neck. 

“You gave her a lazy eye?” Enzo chuckled. “Yeah I have to hear that story sometime.” 

“You will.” Stan smiled. “See the guy over there with the red hair sitting at the counter?”

“You mean the 400-pound-looking block of muscle? Yeah I see him,” Enzo looked behind Stan at the man sitting at the counter. He had wide shoulders and chest, his shirt looked like it almost ripped open against his muscle, his red hair seeping out from under his hat. 

“That’s Manly-Dan,” Stan said. 

“Manly-Dan? Is that a nickname you have for him or something?” Enzo asked curiously, his eyes darting back and forth between Stan and Manly-Dan.

“No, that’s what he calls himself, weirdly enough,” Stan huffed, looking confused. 

“Well, he does look pretty manly I guess,” Enzo joked. 

“Eh, I guess so, I don’t think you have to carry an 800 pound log to be considered manly though.” Stan grunted, his arms crossed.

“If you’re asking if you’re manly enough, Stan, just say so.” 

“Wh-What no! I’m not asking that, of course I’m manly enough! Do you.. think so, though?” Stan looked away avoiding Enzo’s gaze, tense, his fingers tapping against the cold table. Enzo laughed loudly, making Stan look back at him. 

“Stan, you’re manly enough, whatever that means,” Enzo affirmed. “I think masculinity is being weaponized these days, men care too much about how manly they appear to others because they’re afraid they’re gonna get made fun of. It’s sad, I know I struggled with my masculinity all my teen years when I showed the slightest sliver of femininity or vulnerability. Society made us think there’s one way that ‘Masculinity’ presents. Hell, I think Manly-Dan might have gone through a similar thing. Maybe it was trauma or something that made him feel the need to present that way.” Enzo trailed off. 

“Yeah, you’re probably right.” 

“To answer your question in more detail, though, you are pretty masculine to me. Not in the way society wants to see masculinity, but in the way that actually matters.” Enzo leaned in against the table. “You’re masculine because you’re yourself. You’re honest when it matters, and you strike me as the type that fights for what he believes is right. I think you are brave, that you challenge your fears and overcome them even with time, that you stand true to your virtues even if everyone else is against them. Now, I don’t know you long enough to know these things for sure, but that’s the impression I got.” 

Stan was quiet for a moment, he then corrected his posture and smiled. “You got all this spot-on after knowing me for a day? Are you a wizard or somethin’?” 

“Might as well be,” they both laughed. “I’m told I’m good at reading people.” 

“You sure are,” Stan smiled. “Anyway, Dan is Wendy’s dad, the kid that works at the Shack, you met her yesterday. Dan owns a woodworking shop with his family.”

“Yeah I remember Wendy! I knew he resembled her closely, makes sense he’s her dad.” Enzo’s eyes darted to a man sitting at a table alone in the far corner of the diner. “What about him? The awkward guy with the glasses sitting over there?”

“That’s Toby Determined, he’s a total geek but he’s pretty harmless.” Stan shrugged. “That’s about all of ‘em right now, at least for the ones in the diner, since we came in pretty early. More people come in a bit later in the morning.”

Lazy Susan walked up to their booth, laying two menus on the table. 

“Morning Stan! Who’s that new pretty face with you?” Susan asked, then turned her eyes to Enzo. “You look wonderful darling,”

“Says you! Walking down to us like a goddess descended from the heavens! Also, that lipstick fits you perfectly, sweetheart,” Enzo said warmly. Stan looked at him with surprise. 

“Oh you sweet little thing! Aren’t you the cutest? Aren’t you gonna introduce me to your adorable friend, Stan?”

Stan cleared his throat, “Yeah, that’s Enzo, he came in from out of town and I gave him a job, so he’ll work at the Mystery Shack for the summer. I just gave him introductions of the people here.” 

“Well isn’t that sweet! Look at ya, giving the kid a job on his first day here!” Susan said, her voice and whole demeanor was bubbly and welcoming. Stan coughed, looking away for a second then back at her. “Here are your menus, let me know when you want to order! I’ll just be over there behind the counter.” 

“Will do! Thank you, Susan,” Stan said. 

“You’re much welcome! And Enzo, it was nice meeting you! Please come by sometime this evening, I’ll bake you a fresh batch of cupcakes, consider it a welcome gift for joining our little community for the summer!” She smiled warmly, her face bright. 

“Oh you are too sweet! Thank you, darling, it was nice meeting you as well! I’ll make sure to stop by later for these cupcakes, I have such a sweet tooth.” Enzo greeted her warmly, she smiled and left. “Well isn’t she the cutest thing?”

“What was that?” Stan laughed. 

“What was what?”

“The way you talked to Susan, it was all… confident, sweet? I thought uhh, it was hard for you to talk to strangers, but you handled that pretty well.” Stan hesitated. 

“Oh, yeah, that’s the courtesy of the social mask,” Enzo laughed, playing with the sleeve of his sweater. “It’s not that I can’t be social with people, in fact, I excel at it when I have to, but I dread it so much and it ends up leaving me charging my social battery in solitude for three weeks.” 

“Makes sense,” Stan laughed. “So what do you wanna order? Did you take a look at the menu yet?”

“Ooh good question!” Enzo flipped through the menu. “Coffee, for starters.” 

“Obviously.”

“I’m not sure what to order, I would love to have pancakes, but eggs and bacon sound so good too.” Enzo’s fingers tapped against the menu, puzzled. 

“We can order both and share, if you’re okay with that,” Stan said, smiling.

“That’s an incredible idea, Mystery Man.”

“Then that settles it,” Stan gestured to Susan and she came over. 

“So have you decided?” Susan asked, holding a little notebook and pen. 

“We’ll have the egg bacon special and Greasy’s pancakes, with two coffees please.” Stan ordered as Enzo watched carefully. His eyes darted back to that golden chain popping against his thick silver chest hair. He tried to stop himself, really he did; but something about that golden chain spoke to him in a way that piqued his interest. The view of his chest muscles wasn’t bad either, if he was being honest.

“You got that! I’ll get that started for you.” She headed into the kitchen.

“I can’t wait, I’m starving.” Enzo expressed, fidgeting with his fingers. There was a long moment of silence before he spoke again. “Listen, Stan, about what happened this morning—”

“Hey, we don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, okay?” Stan said softly. 

“I know! I want to.”

“Then go ahead, I’m all ears—literally—look at my big ears,” Stan joked, Enzo chuckled quietly. 

“What happened today.. It’s not exactly an unusual thing. I get these… panic attacks regularly. I’ve always had them.” 

Stan leaned in closer, his hands perfectly still on the table, the sound of his suit crinkling was audible.

“I have General Anxiety Disorder. It’s… crazy, because this is the first time I’ve said it to anyone other than my mom. I was diagnosed at a young age, 9 or 10 years old. I’ve had these, these nightmares, or I guess they were daydreams but… bad? I’m not making much sense, I’m sorry.”

“No no, I’m listening. Go on, if you’re comfortable, of course.” 

Enzo took a moment to gather his thoughts. “I’d be scared, at all times. Seemingly of nothing at all. These thoughts would take a hold of me and my body, freezing me in place. It’s not always triggered by something. Of course, it worsens with stress, like school or emotional distress, but it always happens regardless. These anxiety attacks were constant. Sometimes they turn into a panic attack, like the one this morning.” 

“I see.”

“I guess the reason why I’m saying this isn’t to.. to warn you or anything, or that you should expect to do what you did today which was, was—“ Enzo choked. He felt tears gathering at the corners of his eyes, so he corrected his posture and cleared his throat, shifting his mind to his happy place for a moment. “Sorry, as I was saying, what you did today was wonderful. I don’t… expect you to do it again, it’s not why I’m telling you about this, I just need you to be aware that this might happen again, and it isn’t because of you or anything. It’s me.” 

Stan took a moment of silence which didn’t last long, he leaned in a little closer against the table. “I understand, kid. Believe it or not, I’ve had my fair share of anxiety and panic myself, back in the seventies and eighties when it was really bad. I get it. I still have them every once in a while, ya know? Less frequent but definitely still there. I hear ya, kid. It’s not easy.” 

“Thank you Stan. For what you did today, for… being you. It’s not easy to find someone who can understand.” 

“I can say the same about you.” Stan smiled, it looked genuine, like it was filled with joy. He leaned back against the bench, his posture more relaxed now. 

“I have an idea! Let’s play a game.” Enzo spoke.

“A game?”