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brokentoy Title: 5 Times Jeff missed his opportunity with Annie (and the one time he didn't)
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
brokentoy85
Fandom: Community
Pairing: Jeff/Annie
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 4170
Spoilers: not really
Disclaimer: sadly, none of the characters are mine. if they were we would all be together lounging in PIerce's fantastic outdoor pool, and Jeff would be pouring me a drink.
Author's note: this has been prompted bykhan81 at the ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
community_tv Deconstructing Disney - Annie fanworks meme. It was too good a prompt to leave it alone :)
It's during another one of the infamous Greendale dances.
He's been looking at her all night, trying not to think too much about what this little obsession of his means. It's pathetic, really, but if you asked him he wouldn't even be able to tell you what she's wearing, because all he's been focused on it's her face.
The way her eyes lit up every time Abed, or Troy, or even Pierce for god's sake, asks her to dance. How she smiles at every little jump or shake or whatever you call those silly dance moves they're making, and the sound of her laugh going all the way through the ballroom just to tease him and make him miserable in his little, depressing corner.
It's silly, and there's no reason why it should bother him, other than it does.
It would be so much easier for him to just get up and go home, take a shower, drink the last of his scotch and go to bed. All would be forgotten in the morning, and these stupid thoughts would be out of his mind and it will be fine.
Still, it must really seem rude of him to be the only one in the group that didn't ask her to dance, right? So maybe he could, just once, just out of politeness, you know. He danced with Britta and Shirley already, and yes, it may be strange but it was fun, so why not? All he needs to do is get up, take her hand and dance, like it's not a big deal. And it isn't, right?
Right.
Maybe another drink, and then he'll do it.
But when he's finally done with his punch, taking his time to find a place to leave his glass, he turns around and she's nowhere to be seen.
Troy is there, in the middle of the dance floor pop-and-locking with Abed, Shirley is not too willingly dancing with Pierce and Britta is trying to avoid the Human Being and the dean at the same time.
He scans the room but there's no sign of her.
He sighs, pretends he doesn't care, and goes back to his corner, taking yet another glass with him.
***
(What he doesn't know is that she's been waiting for him to ask her to dance all night. She's been feeling his eyes all over her, wondering when he would make that extra step in her direction, ready to fall into his arms and smile and laugh and shake and jump and. )
Anthropology sucks. It's bad enough that Duncan is their teacher, but seriously, could a subject be any more boring?
He's been working on his Bejeweled record for 20 minutes now, and before that it was Angry Birds, and before that, who knows, maybe Tetris or something, but the fact is, he's bored and he hates it.
And that, and only that, is the reason why he texts her.
<Don't try so hard to understand what he's saying, I can see smoke coming out of your ears>
He can hear her gasp her surprise, and he resists the urge to turn and look at her expression. He knows her too well and has no doubt about the mix of annoyance and curiosity painted on her face.
Nonetheless, it takes her only 15 seconds to answer him.
<Shut up, Jeff, we're in class!>
He smiles a little and continues in his anti-boredom mission.
<I'm not really talking, you know>
Her response is immediate.
<You know what I mean. I need to take notes, and so do you!>
<Actually I don't, i'll just borrow yours once you're finished>
<You won't>
<I will>
<Be quiet>
<Will you pass your notes?>
<There won't be any if you don't shut up!>
<Again, not really talking<
<Jeff!>
<Annie!!>
She radiates exasperation and he can feel every bit of it on his skin.
<Ok, you'll get my notes, now would you please be quiet?>
<Sure. I'll buy you coffee for your trouble.>
And after that, there's no answer. Not that he's really waiting for one, it's just that it's strange, that's all. So much so that he's thinking about waiting for Duncan to be over with whatever it is he thinks he's teaching and go to her and ask her again to have coffee together. Not that he really asked to begin with, but you know, just to be clear. Coffee would be nice, in a friendly i'll-pay-you-back-for-your-notes way. Nothing more. Just coffee.
So when the bell rings he packs his books and is more than ready to go after her, except that that's the moment Duncan and Chang choose to corner him and ask about watching another soccer game at his apartment, with allusions to another after party.
He only has time to see her walk by, her eyes landing on his for a moment, and then she's gone and it's too late.
He sighs, knowing that with this moment gone there's no way he can go back to suggesting coffee without it being a clear sign to an interest that absolutely is not there, and turns to shot the two men down (metaphorically, what a pity), fighting for his right to have a nice, quiet evening home.
***
(What he ignores is that she didn't answer to his last text because she hoped he would ask again in person, even if it was really just a 'thank you' coffee for her notes. She waits 5 minutes outside of class for him to come out, but when she hears Chang start to cry and Duncan screaming he wasn't as fashionable an american as he thought he was, she gives up and leaves. She still has another class to take notes for, you know.)
Dioramas. Dioramas are evil.
He accepted to help her finish what must be the hundredth diorama of the year, and now they're stuck in the study room, late at night, smelling of glue and with nobody around.
He must admit that for the pain in the ass that the damn thing was, it actually looks quite good. He's still not sure what it's about (he wasn't paying that much attention), but from her satisfied expression it's safe to say that they did a good job.
So that's why now they're just chilling on the sofa, tired but relaxed, with their eyes almost closed and some inconsequential attempt at conversation. Every once in a while he cracks his eye open to look at her, and she's there, her cardigan full of stains, paint and glue everywhere on her face, and he wants to say something significant, something to let her know how much he enjoys the time they spend together.
But of course he doesn't, because he's Jeff Winger, and Jeff Winger only helps people if he can't avoid it, and it wouldn't be in character for him to actually enjoy it.
So he stays there, talking but not really, and when he sees her dozing of, her head bobbing and her eyelashes casting long shadows on her cheeks, he just scoots over a little more, just enough to feel her warmth next to him, and says no more.
When they wake up, her head is on his shoulder, his arm around her and their feet next to each other on the coffee table.
Neither says a word until it's time to go, and when she unexpectedly hugs him murmuring a 'thank you, Jeff', there's nothing he can do but hug her back for a second too long and let her go with a sigh.
***
(Of course, he doesn't know that his looks weren't as subtle as he thought, and every time he cracked an eye open she would feel it on her skin. She wished for him to say something, to do anything other that stay there and be Jeff Winger, nonchalant and cool, but she takes what she can get, and if for this time it's just a little nap next to him, well that's ok. For the moment.)
It's her 21st birthday, and of course they go out to celebrate in a bar, like the last time didn't teach them anything at all.
There's no arguing about where to go, since this time it's Shirley that takes command. It's Annie's birthday, her Annie, and she won't accept any suggestion from any of them. Jeff volunteers to be the designated driver along with her, and if anybody thinks it's strange there's not a word about it.
They end up in a little irish pub with a green door, huge beer barrels as tables and one too many little leprechaun hidden in the décor. He has to admit that it's quite nice, and the look on Annie's face makes him think it's the right choice. He directs a thumbs up to Shirley, and they start they celebrations.
The evening passes by between darts tournaments, pool games, rounds of beer and silly dances to even sillier songs. Abed and Troy go the extra mile to make sure the birthday girl feels like there's no one else in the world tonight, and as her eyes shine he's sure it's really working. She looks so happy, a smile so wide she could light up the room, and he's so glad to be there, to witness such joy that he feels invincible. And for once, he doesn't care if anyone else can see the emotion on his face.
Let them see, let them pick it to pieces and ask themselves what happened to him, where did Jeff Winger go, and who's taking his place.
It's his turn to dance with her and now she's laughing even more. He must look ridiculous, a wide grin on his face, his eyes on hers and all the rest just kind of disappears. The song ends and he takes a second too much to let go of her hand. One last look and it's over, back to the group, the games, the drinks.
The night ends with Troy so wasted Abed has to pick him up from his stool. Britta tries to help, but she's not so sober herself, so she kind of leans on Pierce, which is kind of an amusing sight. Annie is enjoying her first real buzz, and taking her arm in his they all go out to their cars.
Shirley takes Abed and Britta with her, and he takes charge of the rest of group. He drops off Troy and Pierce in a huge mansion than cannot possibly be really a Hawtorne property, because really, that's not fair, and by the time their arrive in that awful neighborhood of hers Annie is asleep in the front seat.
He takes a couple of minutes for himself then, watching her eyes flutter and the ghost of a smile still lingering on her lips, then takes courage, gets out and goes to her side of the car. He'd love to take her up to her apartment himself, in his arms like some kind of prince charming, telling her how beautiful she looked tonight and kissing her goodnight, but as he touches the handle of the car door
she jolts awake, the magic is broken and in a moment she's all smiles again, looking up at him with big bright eyes, her cheeks red and her hair a bit on the wild side.
She had one too many drinks, but she's still too fast for him, and before he can make sense of anything she's up on her tiptoes, her hands around his neck, squeezing him so tight he almost can't tell where he ends and where she begins.
A kiss on the cheek and then she's gone, running up to her apartment door, leaving him feeling cold all of a sudden.
Not a word said, just a brush of her lips and the night is finally over.
He smiles, goes back to the car and waits to see her window light up before driving away.
***
(He doesn't know that she would have kissed him, really kissed him, right there, right that moment, if she wasn't so worried about the memory fading away in her dazed mind, and so she went for a hug, inhaling his smell and willing it to cling to her senses until the morning)
Thursday night is movie night. It has never been decided in an official manner, but after weeks of finding themselves in Abed's dorm room always on the same day, the study group silently accepted it as an appointment never to be missed.
They went through it all: westerns, horror movies, thrillers, sci-fi, musicals, b-movies, disney movies, epic biblical ones, shakespearean adaptations. Abed had it all, and since he had a knack about finding the right movie for the right week, nobody ever complained.
So the plan for tonight is three huge popcorn bowls for the seven of them, a seventies horror flick in the dvd player and a couple of blankets to hide behind when needed.
Shirley, curled next to Britta with her handbag clutched in her hands, is shrieking every two minutes, complaining about how baby Jesus would never forgive that crazy psychopath for murdering all those pretty ladies, and hiding behind the blonde's curls at every drop of blood.
Britta, for all her coolness, can't help but squeeze Troy's arm at every shriek coming from her right, to a point where the poor boy is almost in tears.
Abed, completely engrossed in the movie, is not really paying attention to anything but the on screen action, only moving once in a while to shush Pierce and his sexist/racist comments.
The five of them, plus two bowls of popcorn, are all squeezed on the sofa, leaving Annie and Jeff, the ones who arrived 35 and 59 seconds late, to sit at their feet, on a couple of pillows, leaning on the foot of the couch.
Which is, of course, the least comfortable position to enjoy a movie.
Except, none of them complains, busy as they are ignoring the fact that they are buried under the same blanket, side by side, sharing warmth and leaning into each other, trying to eat popcorn from their bowl without bumping hands and at the same time enjoying the fact that their other hands are so close that they fingertips are touching.
Jeff doesn't even try to follow the plot. This much he knows: there's someone who's trying to kill somebody, and he's completely ok with it. He doesn't care in the least, doesn't care about anything in this room other than the little movements of Annie's fingertips next to his. He carefully takes a handful of popcorn, and slightly turning his head to the side, sneaks a peak at her. She appears to be totally engrossed in the movie, but he's pretty sure he can detect a faint blush on her cheeks when the light from the tv is bright enough.
Also, he thinks she's breathing a little too fast than normal. But then again, so is he.
Being so close to her is almost too much for him, and yet, he can't bring himself to get away. He wants nothing more than take her hand and put his around it, squeeze it softly and caress it with his thumb. He would love to reach for the side of her face, pulling gently at a lock of hair to make her turn, and finally kiss her.
It would be sweet, and tender, and a million other things.
Her fingers twitch, and he finds himself touching just that little much more or them.
He hesitates just a fraction of a second, hears her sharp intake of breath, and then it's done.
They're holding hands.
He gives a squeeze.
She squeezes back.
His thumb brushes lightly on her skin, and she's breathing a little harder.
He has to get a grip on himself, because this? Is too much.
Too much feeling, and emotion, and whatever it is she does to him. He turns to look at her but her stare is glued to the television set so he follows her example and looks in the same direction.
The psychopath is running through a crop field shouting and chasing someone.
He doesn't care if he finds what he's looking for and if he'll cut it to pieces or not, because his hand is as warm as a ball of fire, and nothing apart of this brief moment in time, where they're touching and it's alright, matters anymore to him. Freedom tastes too much like popcorn, and it's ok.
And so it is that by the time the credits start to roll over they're still joined, fingers entwined. The others start stretching, moving and talking, and too soon for his liking the magic is over. He looks at her, and finds her eyes on him, big and blue and surprised but not that much.
He smiles apologetically, gives her hand a last squeeze, and lets go.
Movie night it's over, and everybody stands up, gathering their things and ready to go.
Goodbyes are said, and one after the other they go to the door, until Abed and the two of them are the last one standing in the room.
He doesn't want it to end like this. Wants to say something, acknowledging their 'moment', but he's too embarrassed and confused by his own actions to do anything. He senses her on his side, like she's waiting for something too, but under the curious gaze of their friend all he can do is bid them goodnight and make his exit like nothing ever happened.
***
( He should know, but of course he doesn't, that she's a bit disappointed in him. She thought they were finally on the same page, ready to take that step, and the realization that it was only an illusion hurts. On her way to the car, she's resolved to never ever feel like this again. She'll eventually come to terms with it, accepting that no, they're never going to be. But maybe she'll start from tomorrow, for her hand still feels warm, and even if it's impossible, she can still feel the ghost of his touch on her skin.)
He must be stupid. Really, he must be.
Running away from Abed's dorm room without even looking back and then stopping at her car, pacing back and fort like the fool he is, trying to make up his mind about what to do.
Wanting to go home, but at the same time incapable of doing so. Thinking about what it might be if he owned up to his actions and started making some sense out of these insane emotions he is feeling.
It's not fair. Not fair at all. He's not used to this, all these insecurities and palpitations and breathing hard and feeling flushed and whatever. Not fair.
And it has to stop, it can't go on like this, not when all he can think about is how nice it would be to stop fighting it, to give in and enjoy the possibility of finally, finally rest his head on hers, hold her like he wants to, kissing her like she's supposed to be kissed.
He doesn't know how to do it, though, because all he's ever been good at is putting up a cool exterior and be Jeff Winger, lawyer extraordinaire slash ladies man. He's never been the person who opens up, that has real feelings for god's sake, and just when he's one second away from screaming to the sky a discreet amount of obscenities, frustration boiling in his stomach like never before, he hears a sound, a sound like someone clearing her throat. Like Annie clearing her throat, actually. And then he realizes he's still next to her car, hands in tight fists and his entire body filled with tension and well...this is great, just great.
Hm...are you...are you ok?
He looks up to the sky in the most menacing manner possible and slowly turns around, trying to find it in himself to smile like everything's fine, great, peachy.
Fine, great, peachy.
Maybe he should have tried a little harder.
Mh...ok? You seem a little, I don't know...are you sure you're ok?
Yeah yeah, I was just...i was just looking for the keys, actually. I can't seem to find them.
The keys...to my car?
Smooth.
Yeah...well no. No, no. Of course not. That would be stupid. My car is just over there, and I was just...hm...well, you know. Looking for my keys.
Oh. Ok. All right.
This is awkward. It's really awkward and stupid and it shouldn't be. He's better than that, he should be able to make a graceful exit and go back to his apartment to wallow in self pity nursing his favorite tumbler with his favorite scotch and yes, his favorite ice cubes thank you very much and then puff! Sleep it off so he can go back to ignore everything worth ignoring in the morning.
But his feet are rooted to the ground. He can't move and the uncomfortable reality of the situation is that he's blatantly staring at her, like she's some kind of landscape and he's a fucking romantic poet for christ sake.
Frustrated to the highest level possible he makes an effort, a huge one at that, and shakes himself out of this ridiculous trance. Literally shakes himself out of it, confident in the realization that he can't do much worse to make the situation less creepy than it seems.
He clears his throat.
So...
She's looking at him, half amused half concerned.
So...
He wants to say something meaningful to explain his current state of mind, but at the same time he can't really find the words. He feels warm all over, like he's almost blushing, his face burning like his hand did just about half an hour ago, and he doesn't want to let it go. This warmth is nice, and suddenly he makes the conscious decision to welcome it in his life, to keep it there as long as he can, keep her there with it, never let her go.
He takes a step forward.
She takes one back.
He's looking at her when he takes yet another one, and she's holding his stare when she backs up a little more.
He's tired of this, and with no warning almost runs for the few more feet separating them, and she yelps in surprise as he takes her in his arms and just holds her there. Nothing more. No words, no kissing, nothing but his arms around her, squeezing her into him, taking all her warmth and absorbing it, storing it in a corner of his mind so he'll never be without.
She's rigid in the embrace, doesn't move a muscle. Her breathing is a bit harsh, and he can tell she's still surprised, maybe even shocked, at his sudden actions. He caresses her back, one hand going to her hair, running lightly through it, and murmurs:
I'm not crazy.
She relaxes a bit, as if she was really afraid he was, and the reassurance quiets her worries.
Is just that i've been wanting to do this for so long. I think I reached a breaking point or something.
He can feel her hands on his jacket. She's not really hugging him back, just moving them around . Until he feels it. Un unmistakable motion.
Annie...Are you patting me? Seriously?
He feels her smile in his chest, and he's hugging her even closer now, and his head is buried in her neck in an awkward angle, for she's so small, so very small she could disappear in his arms.
He's still confused, still doesn't know what to say, how to say it.
But this is nice, this is warm and perfect and he wasn't lying, he's been wanting to do this for so long, he can now let himself bask in the moment for a few more minutes.
She hasn't said anything yet, but that's not a problem. If she wasn't on the same page she would be screaming now, clawing at his chest and punching him in the gut.
So he moves his head just a bit, enough to peek a look at her and see that her eyes are closed, and kisses the top of her head. Like it's nothing, like he's been doing it all his life.
She squeezes him back then, burying her head in his shirt, and hugs him tight.
***
(She will tell him, for he doesn't know yet, that she's been wanting to do that for longer than he has, and she would have waited some more if it meant that she could have him for herself.
Now she does, he will say, and he would look at her seriously but not too much, grinning like an idiot, kissing her full on the lips.)
Author:
brokentoy85 Fandom: Community
Pairing: Jeff/Annie
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 4170
Spoilers: not really
Disclaimer: sadly, none of the characters are mine. if they were we would all be together lounging in PIerce's fantastic outdoor pool, and Jeff would be pouring me a drink.
Author's note: this has been prompted by
khan81 at the community_tv Deconstructing Disney - Annie fanworks meme. It was too good a prompt to leave it alone :)Five times Jeff missed his opportunity with Annie (and the one time he didn't)
i
i
It's during another one of the infamous Greendale dances.
He's been looking at her all night, trying not to think too much about what this little obsession of his means. It's pathetic, really, but if you asked him he wouldn't even be able to tell you what she's wearing, because all he's been focused on it's her face.
The way her eyes lit up every time Abed, or Troy, or even Pierce for god's sake, asks her to dance. How she smiles at every little jump or shake or whatever you call those silly dance moves they're making, and the sound of her laugh going all the way through the ballroom just to tease him and make him miserable in his little, depressing corner.
It's silly, and there's no reason why it should bother him, other than it does.
It would be so much easier for him to just get up and go home, take a shower, drink the last of his scotch and go to bed. All would be forgotten in the morning, and these stupid thoughts would be out of his mind and it will be fine.
Still, it must really seem rude of him to be the only one in the group that didn't ask her to dance, right? So maybe he could, just once, just out of politeness, you know. He danced with Britta and Shirley already, and yes, it may be strange but it was fun, so why not? All he needs to do is get up, take her hand and dance, like it's not a big deal. And it isn't, right?
Right.
Maybe another drink, and then he'll do it.
But when he's finally done with his punch, taking his time to find a place to leave his glass, he turns around and she's nowhere to be seen.
Troy is there, in the middle of the dance floor pop-and-locking with Abed, Shirley is not too willingly dancing with Pierce and Britta is trying to avoid the Human Being and the dean at the same time.
He scans the room but there's no sign of her.
He sighs, pretends he doesn't care, and goes back to his corner, taking yet another glass with him.
***
(What he doesn't know is that she's been waiting for him to ask her to dance all night. She's been feeling his eyes all over her, wondering when he would make that extra step in her direction, ready to fall into his arms and smile and laugh and shake and jump and. )
ii
Anthropology sucks. It's bad enough that Duncan is their teacher, but seriously, could a subject be any more boring?
He's been working on his Bejeweled record for 20 minutes now, and before that it was Angry Birds, and before that, who knows, maybe Tetris or something, but the fact is, he's bored and he hates it.
And that, and only that, is the reason why he texts her.
<Don't try so hard to understand what he's saying, I can see smoke coming out of your ears>
He can hear her gasp her surprise, and he resists the urge to turn and look at her expression. He knows her too well and has no doubt about the mix of annoyance and curiosity painted on her face.
Nonetheless, it takes her only 15 seconds to answer him.
<Shut up, Jeff, we're in class!>
He smiles a little and continues in his anti-boredom mission.
<I'm not really talking, you know>
Her response is immediate.
<You know what I mean. I need to take notes, and so do you!>
<Actually I don't, i'll just borrow yours once you're finished>
<You won't>
<I will>
<Be quiet>
<Will you pass your notes?>
<There won't be any if you don't shut up!>
<Again, not really talking<
<Jeff!>
<Annie!!>
She radiates exasperation and he can feel every bit of it on his skin.
<Ok, you'll get my notes, now would you please be quiet?>
<Sure. I'll buy you coffee for your trouble.>
And after that, there's no answer. Not that he's really waiting for one, it's just that it's strange, that's all. So much so that he's thinking about waiting for Duncan to be over with whatever it is he thinks he's teaching and go to her and ask her again to have coffee together. Not that he really asked to begin with, but you know, just to be clear. Coffee would be nice, in a friendly i'll-pay-you-back-for-your-notes way. Nothing more. Just coffee.
So when the bell rings he packs his books and is more than ready to go after her, except that that's the moment Duncan and Chang choose to corner him and ask about watching another soccer game at his apartment, with allusions to another after party.
He only has time to see her walk by, her eyes landing on his for a moment, and then she's gone and it's too late.
He sighs, knowing that with this moment gone there's no way he can go back to suggesting coffee without it being a clear sign to an interest that absolutely is not there, and turns to shot the two men down (metaphorically, what a pity), fighting for his right to have a nice, quiet evening home.
***
(What he ignores is that she didn't answer to his last text because she hoped he would ask again in person, even if it was really just a 'thank you' coffee for her notes. She waits 5 minutes outside of class for him to come out, but when she hears Chang start to cry and Duncan screaming he wasn't as fashionable an american as he thought he was, she gives up and leaves. She still has another class to take notes for, you know.)
iii
Dioramas. Dioramas are evil.
He accepted to help her finish what must be the hundredth diorama of the year, and now they're stuck in the study room, late at night, smelling of glue and with nobody around.
He must admit that for the pain in the ass that the damn thing was, it actually looks quite good. He's still not sure what it's about (he wasn't paying that much attention), but from her satisfied expression it's safe to say that they did a good job.
So that's why now they're just chilling on the sofa, tired but relaxed, with their eyes almost closed and some inconsequential attempt at conversation. Every once in a while he cracks his eye open to look at her, and she's there, her cardigan full of stains, paint and glue everywhere on her face, and he wants to say something significant, something to let her know how much he enjoys the time they spend together.
But of course he doesn't, because he's Jeff Winger, and Jeff Winger only helps people if he can't avoid it, and it wouldn't be in character for him to actually enjoy it.
So he stays there, talking but not really, and when he sees her dozing of, her head bobbing and her eyelashes casting long shadows on her cheeks, he just scoots over a little more, just enough to feel her warmth next to him, and says no more.
When they wake up, her head is on his shoulder, his arm around her and their feet next to each other on the coffee table.
Neither says a word until it's time to go, and when she unexpectedly hugs him murmuring a 'thank you, Jeff', there's nothing he can do but hug her back for a second too long and let her go with a sigh.
***
(Of course, he doesn't know that his looks weren't as subtle as he thought, and every time he cracked an eye open she would feel it on her skin. She wished for him to say something, to do anything other that stay there and be Jeff Winger, nonchalant and cool, but she takes what she can get, and if for this time it's just a little nap next to him, well that's ok. For the moment.)
iv
It's her 21st birthday, and of course they go out to celebrate in a bar, like the last time didn't teach them anything at all.
There's no arguing about where to go, since this time it's Shirley that takes command. It's Annie's birthday, her Annie, and she won't accept any suggestion from any of them. Jeff volunteers to be the designated driver along with her, and if anybody thinks it's strange there's not a word about it.
They end up in a little irish pub with a green door, huge beer barrels as tables and one too many little leprechaun hidden in the décor. He has to admit that it's quite nice, and the look on Annie's face makes him think it's the right choice. He directs a thumbs up to Shirley, and they start they celebrations.
The evening passes by between darts tournaments, pool games, rounds of beer and silly dances to even sillier songs. Abed and Troy go the extra mile to make sure the birthday girl feels like there's no one else in the world tonight, and as her eyes shine he's sure it's really working. She looks so happy, a smile so wide she could light up the room, and he's so glad to be there, to witness such joy that he feels invincible. And for once, he doesn't care if anyone else can see the emotion on his face.
Let them see, let them pick it to pieces and ask themselves what happened to him, where did Jeff Winger go, and who's taking his place.
It's his turn to dance with her and now she's laughing even more. He must look ridiculous, a wide grin on his face, his eyes on hers and all the rest just kind of disappears. The song ends and he takes a second too much to let go of her hand. One last look and it's over, back to the group, the games, the drinks.
The night ends with Troy so wasted Abed has to pick him up from his stool. Britta tries to help, but she's not so sober herself, so she kind of leans on Pierce, which is kind of an amusing sight. Annie is enjoying her first real buzz, and taking her arm in his they all go out to their cars.
Shirley takes Abed and Britta with her, and he takes charge of the rest of group. He drops off Troy and Pierce in a huge mansion than cannot possibly be really a Hawtorne property, because really, that's not fair, and by the time their arrive in that awful neighborhood of hers Annie is asleep in the front seat.
He takes a couple of minutes for himself then, watching her eyes flutter and the ghost of a smile still lingering on her lips, then takes courage, gets out and goes to her side of the car. He'd love to take her up to her apartment himself, in his arms like some kind of prince charming, telling her how beautiful she looked tonight and kissing her goodnight, but as he touches the handle of the car door
she jolts awake, the magic is broken and in a moment she's all smiles again, looking up at him with big bright eyes, her cheeks red and her hair a bit on the wild side.
She had one too many drinks, but she's still too fast for him, and before he can make sense of anything she's up on her tiptoes, her hands around his neck, squeezing him so tight he almost can't tell where he ends and where she begins.
A kiss on the cheek and then she's gone, running up to her apartment door, leaving him feeling cold all of a sudden.
Not a word said, just a brush of her lips and the night is finally over.
He smiles, goes back to the car and waits to see her window light up before driving away.
***
(He doesn't know that she would have kissed him, really kissed him, right there, right that moment, if she wasn't so worried about the memory fading away in her dazed mind, and so she went for a hug, inhaling his smell and willing it to cling to her senses until the morning)
v
Thursday night is movie night. It has never been decided in an official manner, but after weeks of finding themselves in Abed's dorm room always on the same day, the study group silently accepted it as an appointment never to be missed.
They went through it all: westerns, horror movies, thrillers, sci-fi, musicals, b-movies, disney movies, epic biblical ones, shakespearean adaptations. Abed had it all, and since he had a knack about finding the right movie for the right week, nobody ever complained.
So the plan for tonight is three huge popcorn bowls for the seven of them, a seventies horror flick in the dvd player and a couple of blankets to hide behind when needed.
Shirley, curled next to Britta with her handbag clutched in her hands, is shrieking every two minutes, complaining about how baby Jesus would never forgive that crazy psychopath for murdering all those pretty ladies, and hiding behind the blonde's curls at every drop of blood.
Britta, for all her coolness, can't help but squeeze Troy's arm at every shriek coming from her right, to a point where the poor boy is almost in tears.
Abed, completely engrossed in the movie, is not really paying attention to anything but the on screen action, only moving once in a while to shush Pierce and his sexist/racist comments.
The five of them, plus two bowls of popcorn, are all squeezed on the sofa, leaving Annie and Jeff, the ones who arrived 35 and 59 seconds late, to sit at their feet, on a couple of pillows, leaning on the foot of the couch.
Which is, of course, the least comfortable position to enjoy a movie.
Except, none of them complains, busy as they are ignoring the fact that they are buried under the same blanket, side by side, sharing warmth and leaning into each other, trying to eat popcorn from their bowl without bumping hands and at the same time enjoying the fact that their other hands are so close that they fingertips are touching.
Jeff doesn't even try to follow the plot. This much he knows: there's someone who's trying to kill somebody, and he's completely ok with it. He doesn't care in the least, doesn't care about anything in this room other than the little movements of Annie's fingertips next to his. He carefully takes a handful of popcorn, and slightly turning his head to the side, sneaks a peak at her. She appears to be totally engrossed in the movie, but he's pretty sure he can detect a faint blush on her cheeks when the light from the tv is bright enough.
Also, he thinks she's breathing a little too fast than normal. But then again, so is he.
Being so close to her is almost too much for him, and yet, he can't bring himself to get away. He wants nothing more than take her hand and put his around it, squeeze it softly and caress it with his thumb. He would love to reach for the side of her face, pulling gently at a lock of hair to make her turn, and finally kiss her.
It would be sweet, and tender, and a million other things.
Her fingers twitch, and he finds himself touching just that little much more or them.
He hesitates just a fraction of a second, hears her sharp intake of breath, and then it's done.
They're holding hands.
He gives a squeeze.
She squeezes back.
His thumb brushes lightly on her skin, and she's breathing a little harder.
He has to get a grip on himself, because this? Is too much.
Too much feeling, and emotion, and whatever it is she does to him. He turns to look at her but her stare is glued to the television set so he follows her example and looks in the same direction.
The psychopath is running through a crop field shouting and chasing someone.
He doesn't care if he finds what he's looking for and if he'll cut it to pieces or not, because his hand is as warm as a ball of fire, and nothing apart of this brief moment in time, where they're touching and it's alright, matters anymore to him. Freedom tastes too much like popcorn, and it's ok.
And so it is that by the time the credits start to roll over they're still joined, fingers entwined. The others start stretching, moving and talking, and too soon for his liking the magic is over. He looks at her, and finds her eyes on him, big and blue and surprised but not that much.
He smiles apologetically, gives her hand a last squeeze, and lets go.
Movie night it's over, and everybody stands up, gathering their things and ready to go.
Goodbyes are said, and one after the other they go to the door, until Abed and the two of them are the last one standing in the room.
He doesn't want it to end like this. Wants to say something, acknowledging their 'moment', but he's too embarrassed and confused by his own actions to do anything. He senses her on his side, like she's waiting for something too, but under the curious gaze of their friend all he can do is bid them goodnight and make his exit like nothing ever happened.
***
( He should know, but of course he doesn't, that she's a bit disappointed in him. She thought they were finally on the same page, ready to take that step, and the realization that it was only an illusion hurts. On her way to the car, she's resolved to never ever feel like this again. She'll eventually come to terms with it, accepting that no, they're never going to be. But maybe she'll start from tomorrow, for her hand still feels warm, and even if it's impossible, she can still feel the ghost of his touch on her skin.)
I
He must be stupid. Really, he must be.
Running away from Abed's dorm room without even looking back and then stopping at her car, pacing back and fort like the fool he is, trying to make up his mind about what to do.
Wanting to go home, but at the same time incapable of doing so. Thinking about what it might be if he owned up to his actions and started making some sense out of these insane emotions he is feeling.
It's not fair. Not fair at all. He's not used to this, all these insecurities and palpitations and breathing hard and feeling flushed and whatever. Not fair.
And it has to stop, it can't go on like this, not when all he can think about is how nice it would be to stop fighting it, to give in and enjoy the possibility of finally, finally rest his head on hers, hold her like he wants to, kissing her like she's supposed to be kissed.
He doesn't know how to do it, though, because all he's ever been good at is putting up a cool exterior and be Jeff Winger, lawyer extraordinaire slash ladies man. He's never been the person who opens up, that has real feelings for god's sake, and just when he's one second away from screaming to the sky a discreet amount of obscenities, frustration boiling in his stomach like never before, he hears a sound, a sound like someone clearing her throat. Like Annie clearing her throat, actually. And then he realizes he's still next to her car, hands in tight fists and his entire body filled with tension and well...this is great, just great.
Hm...are you...are you ok?
He looks up to the sky in the most menacing manner possible and slowly turns around, trying to find it in himself to smile like everything's fine, great, peachy.
Fine, great, peachy.
Maybe he should have tried a little harder.
Mh...ok? You seem a little, I don't know...are you sure you're ok?
Yeah yeah, I was just...i was just looking for the keys, actually. I can't seem to find them.
The keys...to my car?
Smooth.
Yeah...well no. No, no. Of course not. That would be stupid. My car is just over there, and I was just...hm...well, you know. Looking for my keys.
Oh. Ok. All right.
This is awkward. It's really awkward and stupid and it shouldn't be. He's better than that, he should be able to make a graceful exit and go back to his apartment to wallow in self pity nursing his favorite tumbler with his favorite scotch and yes, his favorite ice cubes thank you very much and then puff! Sleep it off so he can go back to ignore everything worth ignoring in the morning.
But his feet are rooted to the ground. He can't move and the uncomfortable reality of the situation is that he's blatantly staring at her, like she's some kind of landscape and he's a fucking romantic poet for christ sake.
Frustrated to the highest level possible he makes an effort, a huge one at that, and shakes himself out of this ridiculous trance. Literally shakes himself out of it, confident in the realization that he can't do much worse to make the situation less creepy than it seems.
He clears his throat.
So...
She's looking at him, half amused half concerned.
So...
He wants to say something meaningful to explain his current state of mind, but at the same time he can't really find the words. He feels warm all over, like he's almost blushing, his face burning like his hand did just about half an hour ago, and he doesn't want to let it go. This warmth is nice, and suddenly he makes the conscious decision to welcome it in his life, to keep it there as long as he can, keep her there with it, never let her go.
He takes a step forward.
She takes one back.
He's looking at her when he takes yet another one, and she's holding his stare when she backs up a little more.
He's tired of this, and with no warning almost runs for the few more feet separating them, and she yelps in surprise as he takes her in his arms and just holds her there. Nothing more. No words, no kissing, nothing but his arms around her, squeezing her into him, taking all her warmth and absorbing it, storing it in a corner of his mind so he'll never be without.
She's rigid in the embrace, doesn't move a muscle. Her breathing is a bit harsh, and he can tell she's still surprised, maybe even shocked, at his sudden actions. He caresses her back, one hand going to her hair, running lightly through it, and murmurs:
I'm not crazy.
She relaxes a bit, as if she was really afraid he was, and the reassurance quiets her worries.
Is just that i've been wanting to do this for so long. I think I reached a breaking point or something.
He can feel her hands on his jacket. She's not really hugging him back, just moving them around . Until he feels it. Un unmistakable motion.
Annie...Are you patting me? Seriously?
He feels her smile in his chest, and he's hugging her even closer now, and his head is buried in her neck in an awkward angle, for she's so small, so very small she could disappear in his arms.
He's still confused, still doesn't know what to say, how to say it.
But this is nice, this is warm and perfect and he wasn't lying, he's been wanting to do this for so long, he can now let himself bask in the moment for a few more minutes.
She hasn't said anything yet, but that's not a problem. If she wasn't on the same page she would be screaming now, clawing at his chest and punching him in the gut.
So he moves his head just a bit, enough to peek a look at her and see that her eyes are closed, and kisses the top of her head. Like it's nothing, like he's been doing it all his life.
She squeezes him back then, burying her head in his shirt, and hugs him tight.
***
(She will tell him, for he doesn't know yet, that she's been wanting to do that for longer than he has, and she would have waited some more if it meant that she could have him for herself.
Now she does, he will say, and he would look at her seriously but not too much, grinning like an idiot, kissing her full on the lips.)
