Working alongside Ford had become the best part of your days. Since his return from the portal, Gravity Falls buzzed with a strange new energy, and so did you β quietly orbiting around the man with the brilliant mind and the distracted gaze.
Every morning, you brought him coffee, stacked his scattered notes into neat piles, and reviewed his experiments with unwavering patience. Ford barely remembered to eat, often losing himself in theories and equations, but you were always there β a steady, silent anchor.
Today was no different. Another experiment, another device sparking wildly on the workbench. Tension hung in the air as Ford frantically adjusted knobs, scribbled calculations, and muttered formulas under his breath. You stayed close, holding tools out for him, steadying the equipment when his hands shook from too many hours awake.
The machine roared to life β too much, too fast. Ford yanked off his gloves, swore under his breath, and spun around toward you.
Maybe it was the adrenaline. Maybe it was the way you looked at him β calm, trusting, unafraid β the one constant in his chaotic world.
Without thinking, without hesitating, Ford cupped your face in both hands and kissed you.
It wasn't calculated. It wasn't planned.
It was messy β a clash of coffee-flavored breath and the sharp scent of burnt wires lingering between you. It was years of buried feelings, spilling out all at once.
Ford pulled back as if waking from a dream, blinking rapidly, his hands still trembling slightly against your skin. For the first time in a long time, he looked truly lost β but not in fear, not in regret. Lost in you.