(no subject)
Barry was getting married. Big whoop-de-doo. His stupid cousin Barry who was actually a lawyer. His stupid cousin Barry who was nice enough but had the unfortunate habit of hanging out with all the people Jeff used to - all the people Jeff was trying to avoid.
And there was a good reason to. They were some fickle little bunch. And mean-spirited. Not that he hadn't done his share of ostracizing when he was a 'lawyer' - he wasn't the most un-sarcastic or un-arrogant person in the world. He guesses that this is what his mom used to call 'karma'. Fate. Reaping what you sow. Getting what's coming to you. Whatever.
But he had sucked it up (he liked to think he'd matured enough to do that, at least) and slapped on a suit (a nice suit, thank you) and walked in with his head, not so high, but not bowed low and clapped when he cousin tied the knot. That was the easy part.
Now he was at the reception. And the worst part was - he wasn't getting any insulting comments or faux concern about the state of his life right now (though he heard quite a few things of that vein behind his back), no, he was getting silence. Not even the cold shoulder. It was simply like he didn't exist. And these were people he'd known since he was 25. Ten years. And not one civil word. Not even an evil eye here or there.
Then there was his father to deal with. Or ignore. The latter of which Jeff always opted for.
So he stationed himself near the archway that led out to the patio (the empty patio - just a step away, if he could just get there without anyone noticing his escape) and was currently watching the crowd.
This is not where he wanted to be. Sigh. There weren't even any hot girls - women- here. Jeff did a quick survey, a glance honed over years and years of checking ladies out. Well, except that one. And that one.
And maybe that one - no, yes, no. Maybe. If she was the last woman alive, she might do.
Man, he was bored.
And it was this boredom that probably racheted up the annoyance he felt when he suddenly felt someone randomly poking him in the back. Not just the back, though, the small of his back which- thank you very much - was quite personal (and ticklish) to him and not there for careless touching. Really now, who just goes around poking strangers in the back?
But as he starts to turn to deliver a cutting remark (or a fist, depending on how he felt once the turn was completed) he hears the low, drawn out syllables of a shy "hi" and its so achingly familiar and . . . missed.
It's Annie. Why? He has no idea. But she's here and he feels himself smiling - not a smirk, not a patronizing grin, but a real smile that feels unnatural and like someone pulling at his cheeks with hooks - because he hasn't seen her in weeks (ever since that depressing but kinda, sorta awesome night at the club when he'd been the only one there for her) and, wow, he really missed her. So much so that he's blushing and can't seem to stop himself. Not that he has to - he can blush if he wants to, dang it. And it's really none of anyone else's business, is it?
"Hey," he responds, feeling a bit stupid.
But it's a strange happiness he feels. Happiness? Yes, definitely happiness. And who gives a flying rat's tinkle what his family and those other people (those people) are thinking, cause she's pretty and cute and adorable and here for some reason. And it actually makes him happy. The snide comments and being ignored aside, it's suddenly looking like a good day. Man - he is such a nerd. And it's not the kind of happiness that comes from winning an argument, from getting a girl to flirt with him, from standing up in court and winning because - get this - he doesn't even have a degree. No, it was the kind of happiness that came from waking up when he was 8 and finding out his mom had bought him a Thunder Cats limited edition toy, from finding out that they had fish sticks in the cafeteria at Greendale - a simple happiness. Sincere.
Should he hug her? He felt like he should, but was 3 weeks really a hug worthy absence? Plus, hugging never went well with them. But he wanted to hug her, or touch her. Touch, yes, that would be good. He feels himself suddenly simultaneously wanting to flee from her and wanted to step just a bit closer into her space. Settles on not moving at all. Goes for the forehead kiss, cause that's paternal enough. The word makes him cringe cause, sweet baby St. Nick on a stick, he is not. old. enough. to. be. her. FATHER! - well, okay, maybe he is, if he got a really early head start on the manwhoring he's known for now, even though (you wanna know a secret?) he's not that much a manwhore now and even when he 'was', it was more a case of not being able to keep himself from getting drunk on his nights off and doing things he couldn't even remember the next day cause night's off meant nothing to keep him occupied and nothing to keep his mind off how stupid his life was, how stupid his father was, how stupid he was and, you get the picture, but no one needs to know all that cause that would ruin....something. Something important. And he didn't need any pathetic pity. From anyone. Ever.
But the forehead kiss isn't so paternal, not by a long shot, and he lingers just a bit too long cause his nose is near her hair and its soft and smells good and he has the terrible urge to move down a bit and kiss her on the cheek and then. . . but he doesn't. He moves back and blushes some more and tries to ignore the stares of his former lawyer people and family who are probably shaking their heads in disappointment at how far he's fallen (but really, they'd be so lucky to have someone like Annie here for them. And they can all hold hands and take a flying leap of a cliff together, for all he cares, at the moment.)
"Hey." He already said that. Tries to fix the slip with a quick, "What are you doing here?"
She shrugs, but she's doing that adorable thing she does when she wiggles back and forth like a little kid waiting for candy (which suddenly makes him shift on his feet, cause, there's no candy - just him and is she waiting to get him?), and he feels himself smiling again, large and beaming. It must catch on, cause her mouth widens into a huge grin too.
"Abed texted me and said you had a wedding to go to. But . . . he said you were going by yourself and...." she trailed off and then gathered her breathe, trying be formidable again, but he had no idea why or to who, "I felt like that wasn't the way it should be. So I came." That was lame. And she knew it. But he didn't care at all.
But the idea of Abed texting her makes him feel something so shockingly unpleasant that his smile falters, just a bit. Not jealousy, really. Just worry. Cause she was texting Abed. Abed was texting her. It was probably the same for the rest of the group. She was gone, off to Greendale University, and she was still in touch with the rest of them.
He hadn't spoken to her in 3 weeks. It wasn't that he didn't want to. He had picked up his phone more than once to text her something silly, something random. But he didn't have much of an excuse anymore - she was 20 and he was 35 and they couldn't really be friends, could they? He used to have the old "do you have the hmwrk for 2morow?" texts to fall back on, or the "I need answr to #8", or "hw do u conjgte 'moving'?" or the great "stop staring at Chang - get a room" that he had texted to her one day in Spanish class, expecting her to get all red and irritated at him, but instead, from his spot behind her, he could see her cheek rise up in a smile and it had made him so weirdly nervous and happy that his leg had started bouncing around with so much pent up energy that Britta had turned and glared at him.
"Oh." He tries not to let her see that the idea of her talking to Abed bothers him, so he touches her lightly on the arm, and smiles again, suddenly at a loss for words.
She's still wiggling. She looks downright giddy. Which is - suspicious. He narrows his eyes at her, cocking his head.
"What are you up to, Edison?"
"Jeff! I can't believe you haven't noticed." Good heavens, he loved the way she drew his name out so long.
Noticed what?
He gave her a quick over-view - she was wearing her hair down (why? Why would she do that to him?) and a cute little black button down shirt and black skirt - very conservative. Almost uncertain, as if she didn't quite know what to wear to a crashed wedding. His eyes kept flickering back to her hair, all long and a bit darker that he seemed to remember it, and he really, really wanted to touch it. Hopes she doesn't remember (hadn't noticed at all) that he had pressed his face there that night at the club when the back of her head was so close to his face.
"Noticed what?"
She rolls her eyes. Dramatically. It's adorable. And then she bounces with glee. Yes, bounces up and down on her heels -
Heels.
He takes a look, almost disbelieving. She has his heels on. All 5 inches and studs. It's so at odds with her outfit, so . . . right. So very, very right. Does she know what's she's doing to him? He's starting to suspect she does.
He's gaping. She can't possibly understand --- the heels, the modest outfit. He should run. Run for his life.
"Can you walk?" That was a stupid thing to say. But much better than all the other things running around in his head (which would just scare her).
"Yes." She manages to make that sound like the most obvious thing in the world.
"Let me see you." Really? That's what he decides to say?
She looks a bit shocked and scandalized (but a bit pleased) and swats at him, "Jeff! Ew."
"I just meant across the room. I wanna see you walk in them." He so, so, so, so wanted to see her walk in them. Preferably away from him. And then back towards him cause, well, he didn't want her to go away for too long, so she had to come back? Right? To where she belong----
He cut that thought off.
She looks a bit exasperated, but she's blushing, and then she turns and takes a few steps away from him. She's not putting on a show - she doesn't switch her hips ridiculously or draw each step out - she merely walks nicely and normally (it's wonderful, by the way) and then turns and comes back, though he can't help but notice that this time she ends up a step closer and he feels himself draw up a bit on instinct, towering over her, because she should feel. . . something. And he wants to make sure she does.
"You wanna dance?" that seems safe enough - so far they'd managed to engage in this activity without too much discomfort (though he had to admit that there was a horrible - great - moment at the club that her hand went just a bit low on his back and he had to fight the urge to flee, once again).
She glances around. Nods. But then she takes a hold of his sleeve (Armani and all, but he doesn't care enough about scrunched material to tell her to stop, because at the moment, she could do anything to this stupid suit and he wouldn't give it a second thought), and tries to pull him out onto the empty patio. And it's not a sexy let's-be-alone thing - it's more a I-don't-want-you-to-be-embarrassed-dancing-with-me-here thing. And it makes him angry and indignant cause, how dare she think he'd be embarrassed to be with her? No man would be embarrassed. And he may not really be a lawyer (may never be - he was rethinking that whole career completely), and he may be attending a community college, and he may be unmarried and childless and lame in every other way, but Annie was awesome and hot and one of the few things he was not ashamed of (was she one of his "things" at all? He hoped so. He hoped she was his in some way, even if he didn't want to think about it too hard).
He takes her hand, a bit roughly, and pulls her back out into the main hall, making his way into the middle of the dance floor, pretending not to notice the subtle but firm resistance she's trying to assert (without making anyone think she was fighting him, cause that would do nothing to make him seem less pathetic). And when he turned and stepped into her, she tried to take a corresponding step back but he didn't let her.
"Jeff," she started, her voice unsure and young (but no so young), "people are going to talk about you." It was blunt and to the point (just the way Jeff preferred things) and he leaned down and kissed her on the cheek, NOT paternally.
"I want them to talk."
And there was a good reason to. They were some fickle little bunch. And mean-spirited. Not that he hadn't done his share of ostracizing when he was a 'lawyer' - he wasn't the most un-sarcastic or un-arrogant person in the world. He guesses that this is what his mom used to call 'karma'. Fate. Reaping what you sow. Getting what's coming to you. Whatever.
But he had sucked it up (he liked to think he'd matured enough to do that, at least) and slapped on a suit (a nice suit, thank you) and walked in with his head, not so high, but not bowed low and clapped when he cousin tied the knot. That was the easy part.
Now he was at the reception. And the worst part was - he wasn't getting any insulting comments or faux concern about the state of his life right now (though he heard quite a few things of that vein behind his back), no, he was getting silence. Not even the cold shoulder. It was simply like he didn't exist. And these were people he'd known since he was 25. Ten years. And not one civil word. Not even an evil eye here or there.
Then there was his father to deal with. Or ignore. The latter of which Jeff always opted for.
So he stationed himself near the archway that led out to the patio (the empty patio - just a step away, if he could just get there without anyone noticing his escape) and was currently watching the crowd.
This is not where he wanted to be. Sigh. There weren't even any hot girls - women- here. Jeff did a quick survey, a glance honed over years and years of checking ladies out. Well, except that one. And that one.
And maybe that one - no, yes, no. Maybe. If she was the last woman alive, she might do.
Man, he was bored.
And it was this boredom that probably racheted up the annoyance he felt when he suddenly felt someone randomly poking him in the back. Not just the back, though, the small of his back which- thank you very much - was quite personal (and ticklish) to him and not there for careless touching. Really now, who just goes around poking strangers in the back?
But as he starts to turn to deliver a cutting remark (or a fist, depending on how he felt once the turn was completed) he hears the low, drawn out syllables of a shy "hi" and its so achingly familiar and . . . missed.
It's Annie. Why? He has no idea. But she's here and he feels himself smiling - not a smirk, not a patronizing grin, but a real smile that feels unnatural and like someone pulling at his cheeks with hooks - because he hasn't seen her in weeks (ever since that depressing but kinda, sorta awesome night at the club when he'd been the only one there for her) and, wow, he really missed her. So much so that he's blushing and can't seem to stop himself. Not that he has to - he can blush if he wants to, dang it. And it's really none of anyone else's business, is it?
"Hey," he responds, feeling a bit stupid.
But it's a strange happiness he feels. Happiness? Yes, definitely happiness. And who gives a flying rat's tinkle what his family and those other people (those people) are thinking, cause she's pretty and cute and adorable and here for some reason. And it actually makes him happy. The snide comments and being ignored aside, it's suddenly looking like a good day. Man - he is such a nerd. And it's not the kind of happiness that comes from winning an argument, from getting a girl to flirt with him, from standing up in court and winning because - get this - he doesn't even have a degree. No, it was the kind of happiness that came from waking up when he was 8 and finding out his mom had bought him a Thunder Cats limited edition toy, from finding out that they had fish sticks in the cafeteria at Greendale - a simple happiness. Sincere.
Should he hug her? He felt like he should, but was 3 weeks really a hug worthy absence? Plus, hugging never went well with them. But he wanted to hug her, or touch her. Touch, yes, that would be good. He feels himself suddenly simultaneously wanting to flee from her and wanted to step just a bit closer into her space. Settles on not moving at all. Goes for the forehead kiss, cause that's paternal enough. The word makes him cringe cause, sweet baby St. Nick on a stick, he is not. old. enough. to. be. her. FATHER! - well, okay, maybe he is, if he got a really early head start on the manwhoring he's known for now, even though (you wanna know a secret?) he's not that much a manwhore now and even when he 'was', it was more a case of not being able to keep himself from getting drunk on his nights off and doing things he couldn't even remember the next day cause night's off meant nothing to keep him occupied and nothing to keep his mind off how stupid his life was, how stupid his father was, how stupid he was and, you get the picture, but no one needs to know all that cause that would ruin....something. Something important. And he didn't need any pathetic pity. From anyone. Ever.
But the forehead kiss isn't so paternal, not by a long shot, and he lingers just a bit too long cause his nose is near her hair and its soft and smells good and he has the terrible urge to move down a bit and kiss her on the cheek and then. . . but he doesn't. He moves back and blushes some more and tries to ignore the stares of his former lawyer people and family who are probably shaking their heads in disappointment at how far he's fallen (but really, they'd be so lucky to have someone like Annie here for them. And they can all hold hands and take a flying leap of a cliff together, for all he cares, at the moment.)
"Hey." He already said that. Tries to fix the slip with a quick, "What are you doing here?"
She shrugs, but she's doing that adorable thing she does when she wiggles back and forth like a little kid waiting for candy (which suddenly makes him shift on his feet, cause, there's no candy - just him and is she waiting to get him?), and he feels himself smiling again, large and beaming. It must catch on, cause her mouth widens into a huge grin too.
"Abed texted me and said you had a wedding to go to. But . . . he said you were going by yourself and...." she trailed off and then gathered her breathe, trying be formidable again, but he had no idea why or to who, "I felt like that wasn't the way it should be. So I came." That was lame. And she knew it. But he didn't care at all.
But the idea of Abed texting her makes him feel something so shockingly unpleasant that his smile falters, just a bit. Not jealousy, really. Just worry. Cause she was texting Abed. Abed was texting her. It was probably the same for the rest of the group. She was gone, off to Greendale University, and she was still in touch with the rest of them.
He hadn't spoken to her in 3 weeks. It wasn't that he didn't want to. He had picked up his phone more than once to text her something silly, something random. But he didn't have much of an excuse anymore - she was 20 and he was 35 and they couldn't really be friends, could they? He used to have the old "do you have the hmwrk for 2morow?" texts to fall back on, or the "I need answr to #8", or "hw do u conjgte 'moving'?" or the great "stop staring at Chang - get a room" that he had texted to her one day in Spanish class, expecting her to get all red and irritated at him, but instead, from his spot behind her, he could see her cheek rise up in a smile and it had made him so weirdly nervous and happy that his leg had started bouncing around with so much pent up energy that Britta had turned and glared at him.
"Oh." He tries not to let her see that the idea of her talking to Abed bothers him, so he touches her lightly on the arm, and smiles again, suddenly at a loss for words.
She's still wiggling. She looks downright giddy. Which is - suspicious. He narrows his eyes at her, cocking his head.
"What are you up to, Edison?"
"Jeff! I can't believe you haven't noticed." Good heavens, he loved the way she drew his name out so long.
Noticed what?
He gave her a quick over-view - she was wearing her hair down (why? Why would she do that to him?) and a cute little black button down shirt and black skirt - very conservative. Almost uncertain, as if she didn't quite know what to wear to a crashed wedding. His eyes kept flickering back to her hair, all long and a bit darker that he seemed to remember it, and he really, really wanted to touch it. Hopes she doesn't remember (hadn't noticed at all) that he had pressed his face there that night at the club when the back of her head was so close to his face.
"Noticed what?"
She rolls her eyes. Dramatically. It's adorable. And then she bounces with glee. Yes, bounces up and down on her heels -
Heels.
He takes a look, almost disbelieving. She has his heels on. All 5 inches and studs. It's so at odds with her outfit, so . . . right. So very, very right. Does she know what's she's doing to him? He's starting to suspect she does.
He's gaping. She can't possibly understand --- the heels, the modest outfit. He should run. Run for his life.
"Can you walk?" That was a stupid thing to say. But much better than all the other things running around in his head (which would just scare her).
"Yes." She manages to make that sound like the most obvious thing in the world.
"Let me see you." Really? That's what he decides to say?
She looks a bit shocked and scandalized (but a bit pleased) and swats at him, "Jeff! Ew."
"I just meant across the room. I wanna see you walk in them." He so, so, so, so wanted to see her walk in them. Preferably away from him. And then back towards him cause, well, he didn't want her to go away for too long, so she had to come back? Right? To where she belong----
He cut that thought off.
She looks a bit exasperated, but she's blushing, and then she turns and takes a few steps away from him. She's not putting on a show - she doesn't switch her hips ridiculously or draw each step out - she merely walks nicely and normally (it's wonderful, by the way) and then turns and comes back, though he can't help but notice that this time she ends up a step closer and he feels himself draw up a bit on instinct, towering over her, because she should feel. . . something. And he wants to make sure she does.
"You wanna dance?" that seems safe enough - so far they'd managed to engage in this activity without too much discomfort (though he had to admit that there was a horrible - great - moment at the club that her hand went just a bit low on his back and he had to fight the urge to flee, once again).
She glances around. Nods. But then she takes a hold of his sleeve (Armani and all, but he doesn't care enough about scrunched material to tell her to stop, because at the moment, she could do anything to this stupid suit and he wouldn't give it a second thought), and tries to pull him out onto the empty patio. And it's not a sexy let's-be-alone thing - it's more a I-don't-want-you-to-be-embarrassed-dancing-with-me-here thing. And it makes him angry and indignant cause, how dare she think he'd be embarrassed to be with her? No man would be embarrassed. And he may not really be a lawyer (may never be - he was rethinking that whole career completely), and he may be attending a community college, and he may be unmarried and childless and lame in every other way, but Annie was awesome and hot and one of the few things he was not ashamed of (was she one of his "things" at all? He hoped so. He hoped she was his in some way, even if he didn't want to think about it too hard).
He takes her hand, a bit roughly, and pulls her back out into the main hall, making his way into the middle of the dance floor, pretending not to notice the subtle but firm resistance she's trying to assert (without making anyone think she was fighting him, cause that would do nothing to make him seem less pathetic). And when he turned and stepped into her, she tried to take a corresponding step back but he didn't let her.
"Jeff," she started, her voice unsure and young (but no so young), "people are going to talk about you." It was blunt and to the point (just the way Jeff preferred things) and he leaned down and kissed her on the cheek, NOT paternally.
"I want them to talk."