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Ford was staring at Bill with that stupid look on his face again. He always did this when he was buzzed. A few drinks in and the tension melted from his shoulders and his eyes seemed to drift to the triangle like his extraocular muscles only responded to Bill Cipher oriented stimuli. Bill had absolutely no problem with this, obviously. He lived for the attention, though the constant uninterrupted eye contact made his bricks stand on edge. Is this how people felt when he—
Bill blinked his eye forcefully to will away the thought; this was no time for another empathy spiral. Those lasted anywhere between two seconds and a billion years, and he didn't want to risk Sixer turning into literal dust in the middle of his grand plan. If he wanted to pretend to care about other people, he could save if for after the Portal completion.
"Bill?"
Bill realized he'd been talking and suddenly stopped. He couldn't, for the immortal life of him, remember what the fuck he'd been saying just seconds prior. It was probably important, as all his words are, and also complete and utter bullshit.
"What—you made me lose my train of thought!"
Ford laughed awkwardly, glancing away before returning to gaze at Bill with eyes that looked like they'd been plucked straight out of a puppy. Bloodshot sclera included!
"Sorry, it's just—you stopped talking for a while there," Ford said, swishing his glass just to have something to do with his hands. Some splashed out and floated away as bubbles of liquor.
The ice cubes in his drink were starting to melt, which was odd because this was the Mindscape and that shit wasn't supposed to happen.
"Your hand get cold?" Bill asked. He took a sip of his Something from a silly straw—he forgot what he made for himself but it burned his insides nicely.
"Ah—slightly, yes," Ford responded. He looked down, embarrassed over being caught doing something so stupid. His eyes suddenly shot open and he dropped the glass with a shout; it floated off, the liquid spilling out in mesmerizing crystal shapes.
Ford looked at his hand before meeting Bill's gaze. His face looked angry and hurt and confused, but it softened into an uneasy smile when he saw the happy curve of Bill's eye. He laughed, shaking his head and massaging the warmth back into his hand.
"You're really something else," Ford said, mostly under his breath, but his smile became more genuine.
"You know it!" Bill responded proudly.
"If the drink being cold was so important to you, you could have just told me."
"It was on the rocks, Sixer! We're not doing any of that erosion shit around these parts!"
Ford laughed.
"Well, I guess I could find other ways to warm my hand…" Ford said, darting eye to Bill and away again.
Man, this nerd was fucking obvious.
Bill swooped in, curling his arm around Ford's to drag his hand to his exoskeleton. Bill probably wasn't supposed to be warm, but he projected the heat anyways. Ford's face was dusted red, and he couldn't keep the nervous giggles down.
"You're so…" Ford said, gaze turned away.
"Hot? Powerful? Sexy? Funny?"
Ford laughed. "Well, yes, but I was thinking of the word fascinating."
"Always so curious, huh?" Bill asked, his grip tightening. Ford just splayed his fingers out on Bill's yellow surface.
"You know me so well," Ford said, fond yet distracted. His lip pursed for a second as he thought of what to say next. "I'd love to know you that well, one day."
Bill coiled his arms around Ford's body, ready to pop him like a grape. Ford made a noise of struggle as the arms wrapped around his ribs. A hand crawled its way towards his face as if ready to slap over his mouth.
"If you'd let me," Ford mumbled into Bill's palm before kissing it. "My Muse."
There was something so delightful in Ford's title for Bill. The reverence rang clear with every syllable he spoke, even as the dream air was being squeezed from his dream lungs. (Ford was getting so much better in not losing himself to the Mindscape, but Bill couldn't blame him for stumbling. He had that effect on people.)
He never hid his worship of Bill; between the shrine and the journal pages salivating over Bill's divinity, the man was basically a prophet. Sure, he defaulted to calling him Bill, almost like they were equals—even though Ford gladly drop to his knees. It just made the nickname all the sweeter.
"You're getting bold, Six."
There was a flash of panic in Ford's eyes—did he overstep? Did he ruin it?
"Keep pushing," Bill said, loosening the snaking arms to reposition them. "I like showing you your place."
"My place," Ford said with a wheeze. "By your side?"
Bill's eye curved into a sharp smile.