Community Fic: no one goes to the video store anymore
I don't even know, dude. You're pretty convincing with your capslocks and your graphic spams and hey, what do you know, it was your birthday. This definitely started out as one thing. Then it became another thing. Then it went from another thing to another thing and whoops, 5K of fic. BASICALLY I WAS DETERMINED TO FINISH THIS, MARY. So to a very happy, belated birthday for 0penhearts. You're an enabler of the very best kind.
no one goes to the video store anymore
community ; jeff/annie ; 5,300 words ; pg
they’re a lot better at the non-issues. in fact, they invented them all.
-
"This is your fault," she tells him, and it's like sure, fine, whatever since telling Jeff Winger things are his fault isn't exactly anything new.
But it's Monday afternoon, and it's just the two of them, sequestered off at the study table since she's, like, always early and Jeff and his crackberry are attached at the hip again, and he just happened to wander into the wrong room. He's choosing not to leave. She's convinced, really.
Jeff smirks. "Your commitment is never endearing - you could always leave and come back, if you really want to study."
She throws her hands up. He buries himself in his phone again, his eyes glued to the screen, his fingers stumbling lazily against the keys. The whole room is filled with that stupid, god-awful clicking sound and all Annie wants to do is grab it and heave it across the room. Preferably so that it hits a window. And shatters into a million pieces. And a million of millions of pieces. Ugh, god.
This isn't anything new.
Britta tells her to leave it alone.
"I mean, whatever. It's like the equivalent of mental masturbation, Annie." She pauses and drinks her coffee. Their professor is in the front of the room spinning a tale about her latest coup d'état of her husband's mother-in-law. So much for girl power, or whatever.
Annie sighs. "Doesn't it bother you though?"
The other girl shrugs. "Jeff Wringer doesn't pay my rent," she says. "There are some things that I have to let go of."
Annie snorts, but she doesn't say anything. She doesn't say anything because that's totally, totally not true since all of them are, inevitably, concerned with something stupid that Jeff does. And really, all she wanted to do was study in peace. He knows the little things get to her. In fact, she knows that he knows the little things get to her. It's that kind of thing.
"We all can't be you, Britta," she mutters.
Britta smirks. "But don't you wish?" she asks.
Annie rolls her eyes. Britta and Jeff are weirdly incestuous, sometimes.
Jeff does pull his phone out when he's walking to his car and she's walking out with him. She's gotta catch the bus home today since, one, it's easier to think and, two, she's going to be meeting her mother for their monthly dinner of how she fails at everything her mother wants for her. Which is whatever.
"I bet you can't spend a day without your phone," she says to Jeff. She looks up at him. She's calm. He looks at her with sudden panic - wide-eyed and, like, offended that she'd even suggest that he and his phone take a health break from each other.
But then he rolls his eyes. "Britta told me that you asked her for advice." His mouth quirks. He doesn't talk about the phone. "And how did that go?"
"Jerk," she mutters.
He shrugs. "You like me."
Her mouth closes tightly. She doesn't answer, she can't answer; it's one of those stupid, stupid, small moments where he just catches her off-guard. Her hand curls around the strap of her bag.
"What?"
She blinks. Jeff pockets his phone.
"You have that look on your face, you know - the doe eyes. The lip thing -"
"- the lip thing?"
"Whatever," Jeff mutters. "The point is that you've got that look on your face and that look on your face only means that some long, long boring - like ridiculously boring - conversation is coming about and -" he pauses and he's pulling his phone out of his pocket, "- er, whatever."
She throws her hands up and she's, like, sick of getting trapped into these conversations and he's attached to his phone for most of it. And then there's the stupid, inexplicable need to pull him away from it - but she remembers the time Shirley went and tried and, well, there was a lot of Jesus, after, like, plenty of Jesus after. But in the girl's bathroom and with Britta and Annie alternating a shared tissue duty.
"I'm just thinking," she says slowly, and she's not really thinking, pulling out her bus pass as she steps around him. He's looking at her strangely. Well, when does he not. She spins around though and gives him a little grin, cocking her head to the side. "I guess I'm going to have to start calling you if I want to talk to you. About things."
"Things?" Jeff is frowning.
"Things," she drawls, and the exaggeration is lazy, oh well, but she cannot help herself. She's pushing. Part of her knows this is a terrible, terrible idea since this is, like, Jeff and Jeff is pretty much a shoe in when it comes to terrible, terrible ideas that she doesn't think about.
"Annie," he warns.
She grins, waving her pass in front of him. "I'll just have to call you, of course."
Annie doesn't think twice.
She doesn't call him, actually. No, no. Not yet. She sort of forgets about it because there's her mom, well, there's some kind of dinner with her mom which turns out to be the fastest dinner out ever.
So her apartment is a little lonely, a little cold, and she finds herself pulling pictures of her parents off the bookshelf by her bed. It's stupid, you know? She's not even angry, or terribly hurt, it's just that it's her mom and she's disappointed and that disappointment is the worst. She's not even trying to prove herself to her parents anymore. Well, that's partially true.
But it's her phone that startles her, buried somewhere in her bed. She blinks, brushes her hands against her hips, and tosses the photos to the side. She'll worry about them later, she thinks. She finds her phone underneath one of her pillows and laughs out loud when she sees Jeff's name blinking against the screen. She considers not answering it.
"You didn't call," he says when she finally picks up, and she laughs, she laughs because she can't help it, dropping down to her bed. "You said you were going to call," he drawls. "I'm sorta - actually, I'm not disappointed."
"So you call me?"
"Whatever."
She laughs again. "This is one of those last word moments, huh?"
He doesn't answer and she stretches out onto the bed, her hair spilling over her pillow. Her skirt is pushing up every time she twists to get comfortable. She makes a soft noise and then yawns.
"You said you had things on your mind," he points out, finally. She barely hears him. Her eyes feel a little heavy. "I'm giving you a rare opportunity to get those things off your chest - limited time offer."
Her mouth twitches. "How's that different from any other time?"
"Point."
"I'm full of them."
He's quiet and she's picked a spot in her ceiling to start staring at. In a little while, the noise downstairs is going to start rolling into her apartment. She's thought about buying earplugs, but it's the city and that's stupid and this was her one, sole declaration of independence that she's really proud of. She's trying to learn to live with it, not be ridiculous about it.
Her fingers brush against her stomach. "I want to do something crazy."
Jeff snorts.
"I just had dinner with my mother," she says. "And I - I don't know. It's a long story and I'll spare you, but, I - I don't know. I want to do something crazy."
"You live over -"
"Doesn't count," she cuts him off.
"It doesn't?" he asks dryly. He even laughs which makes her blush. It's his voice and it's late, it's like really late, she's sure, so that the sound that comes out of Jeff's mouth is something that makes it go beyond blushing. "I mean," he says. "You don't want to be stupid."
"I know."
"So what's crazy and not stupid?"
Her lips purse and she twists, looking around her room. She can't go and get a tattoo because that involves needles and she hates needles - she really, really hates needles. But this isn't about that.
"Jeff?"
"Annie," he says in kind.
Her mouth twists and she can't help but laugh a little. She turns onto her stomach and her legs swing out, dangling off her bed as she fingers start to run against her covers.
"What are you wearing, Jeff?" she asks, and then catches herself, her hand slapping against her mouth, hoping to hide her giggle. The sound is muffled and over the line, she hears Jeff makes some noise that catches her off-guard too. She waits, waits for him to say something and feel her cheeks start to burn.
Jeff is too quiet.
She begins to think the worst. Really though, how can she not? In series of odd moments, she and Jeff have managed to get on famously with the weird moments and the buildup that comes with them.
"Jeff?"
"Shouldn't I be asking you that?"
Her eyes are wide. Oh god. Oh god? Really? "Do you want to know?" she asks, and her voice catches, the tone softening.
"Annie," he warns.
Then she starts to think about it. Like really think about it. There's nothing, nothing flattering about her skirt or her top or the fact that her mother's nice comment to her today was that at least, at least she looked nice. Or something like that. She shifts up then, pulling at the zipper of her skirt and trying not to think about what she's actually doing.
"I'm getting changed," she says absently. Okay, not so absently. But it sounds absently enough. This is becoming about getting under his skin. "Into my pajamas, into my really, really harmless pajamas. It's a t-shirt, Jeff. And shorts."
He makes a sound and she can't tell if it's disdain, or affectionate disdain, or the Jeff Winger's disdain of awkwardness that she gets a lot, like a lot, and where was she going with this? This isn't even hot. She's not trying to think about where this could go because it's not going anywhere; Jeff Winger's lazy, like a lot lazy, when it comes to taking things somewhere. Which, whatever.
"You don't where shorts to bed," he says. His voice is very low. Like ridiculously low. It's grainy and husky and it makes her stop, mid-short reach. Yes, she really wears shorts to bed. It's either really cold or really hot in her apartment. It comes with the noise. And the rent. Oh god.
She swallows. "I do. My landlord's kinda lazy."
"So you wear shorts?"
"We're not talking about my shorts," she says dryly. "Hold on," she adds. She bites back a laugh, dropping her phone and she's like, okay, sort of punishing him for being Jeff Winger and being attached to his phone. It's like an intervention. It's a little awkward, but in her defense, she's never done this before and this is Jeff, so it's even more complication. But what's a little more?
She lets herself actually reach for the shorts again. The t-shirt too - and changes lazily. She's careful to make a lot of noise. There's fabric against the phone. She lets it rub against the phone. She watches the active light blink and he's there, he's still there, and there's a little bit of a thrill to that.
She picks up the phone and laughs. "Sorry," she says.
"What are we even talking about?" he blurts, and she's grinning, grinning widely because she can almost picture him. He's frowning and probably fidgeting. He fidgets when he's uncomfortable. It's about the small victories. She can take plenty of them.
"Your phone addiction," she says sweetly.
She hangs up, after.
Of course, he can't talk to her at school. Which is great. No, really. It's great. Annie feels a little smug sitting in between Britta and Shirley, paying some attention to her Anthropology notes as Troy and Abed gently introduce the concept of this week's Western marathon to all of them. Sure, nobody's listening; there's Pierce, and Jeff, Jeff across from her, deep in some stupid argument about a stupid something. Mostly it's something that Pierce did earlier in the morning. She doesn't remember.
"You're in a wonderful mood, Annie!" Shirley nudges her. Annie looks up, grinning a little. She catches Jeff sorta, kinda, maybe looking at her and tries not to grin even more. "How was - your English class?"
"Oh!" She's distracted. "Fine, really fine actually. I got the book I was telling you about. It helps with the noise sometimes."
"Noise?"
Jeff drops in, feigning interest. His eyes are narrowing. She bites the inside of her mouth to keep from laughing out loud. Next to her, Britta leans in and steals her extra pen from next to her books.
"Noise," is all Annie says. Shirley pulls her back into a conversation about the homework and that's, like, a mood killer for Jeff. It's not Pierce that gets his attention, it's Britta, and something she doesn't have the patience to listen to. She bites her lip and draws herself back to her books, pretending to pay attention to her work.
It's not like he's pushing. That, to expect that, is just stupid. She knows that Jeff hates the bigger picture and it's the smaller things, those things that linger and linger and then start to get to you weeks later - that's what bothers him. She also wonders if this is really about his phone.
It is. Really.
Really.
Really.
He corners though, after Anthropology, after Britta basically tells him that she'd prefer to get a dog than to have sex with him again - which, granted, is a pretty great comeback and Annie's laughing with her friend.
But then it's Jeff's hand around her wrist, weirdly tucked into her arm next as he drags her into a stupid janitor's closet down that hall. They found Pierce here once and she's trying not to think about it. It smells and there's dust everywhere and she's pretty sure if that she had any desire to look; there would be bodies and things of that sort. She blames the Dean, after all.
"This is ... weird," she says slowly, looking up at him. He pulls her books from her hands and then drops them to the floor. His follow and his pen skips, scatters, and is lost to some dark corner under some shelves. She wants to point out that it's pretty likely that he's never going to see that pen again.
His eyes narrow.
"Did you just try to have phone sex with me?"
Her mouth opens. Then it closes. Then she laughs - only because she's been holding onto it for most of the day anyway, and like, she's sure he spent all last night obsessing over it.
"You're phone's the closest to you that I can get," she says dryly, and Jeff snorts, eyeing her warily. "In fact," she adds. "I'm going to start texting you instead of talking to you."
'
"This is an awkward point," he mutters.
"Well."
"So..." his hands dig into his pockets. "You basically called me, unintentionally, maybe almost tried to have phone sex with me but it was really a mistake? Like a cutesy, weird Annie thing to do?"
Her hands go to her hips. She huffs. "A weird Annie thing?"
He shrugs. "It gives you character."
She blinks. She moves forward, trying not to weight her options because that's stupid, really stupid, since looking for Jeff's actual reasoning takes several headaches and ten more fights to get to the point. And she doesn't want to fight. This isn't about his phone either. Of course, she can admit that to herself, maybe on a good day, she can admit it to him in a serious, softer kind of way. When they're alone. When he's not too ready to be an ass.
"You make my head spin," she mutters. She pulls her hands to her face and she's rolling her fingers into her temples. "I mean, like, can't you just not drag me into a weird closet that we know Pierce spends a lot of ... time in? Maybe could you say: hey, Annie, let's go get coffee and talk like normal people? And for the record, Jeff, there is nothing sexy about the concept of phone sex. If I'm going to talk dirty to you, I want to see you - mostly because you'll be uncomfortable as anything - but there's just..."
He's watching her, wide-eyed. His mouth drops open and she can't help but let a little, surprised laugh slip. He waves his hand between the two of them and she shrugs, amused, certain even, that she's won some kind of small battle.
"I'm not asexual, Jeff."
He swallows. "I know."
"Or -"
He shakes his head. "Don't say it," he tells her.
"Say what?" Her mouth twists. Her eyes are bright and Jeff groans. "For all you know, all I want to do is talk about your unhealthy addiction to your phone not about the fact that everybody seems to be under the impression that I've never -" Jeff groans again and turns away from her, rocking on his feet. "Well, what? Sex, sex, sex, Jeff."
"I hate you."
She laughs delightedly. "You don't."
"I really do," he says, and then he's turning towards her, stepping into her space without asking. Jeff doesn't ask. Jeff, most of the time, doesn't know how to ask. And maybe, sometimes, people find that charming. She doesn't know if she does. But then he's reaching for her. His hand brushes against her jaw, his fingers against her cheek, and she kind of freezes because she never knows quite what to do when he really does something.
"You're crazy," she murmurs.
"Is this really about my phone?"
"You're on it a lot."
He makes a soft sound. He doesn't smile but she imagines it would be the sort of place he would, should this be something else.
She licks her lips. "Call it an intervention."
"That's just stupid," he says.
It's inevitable, she wants to point out, that they're going to have to talk about this, whatever this is supposed to be; she can almost hear Jeff awkwardly drive himself into some talk about ironies and why, okay, maybe there's something there but not really because she's young and he's gross and that should be enough for her to accept.
But she smiles, maybe wistfully, and leans up, brushing her mouth against his jaw. Her hands grasp his arms and his hands have somehow dropped to her hips. She laughs a little too.
"Try better habits," she tells him. "Don't be rude. And if you want to have a private conversation - an empty classroom, maybe?"
"School girl fantasy," he mutters.
"What?"
He blinks. He shakes his head too. "Sting."
"You -" he shoots her a look. "Fine," she says, holding her hands up. "We won't talk about Sting either. I'll give you that one."
"Thanks," he says dryly.
They sort of stare at each other then, and she's pulling back, aware, maybe too aware of how close she is to him. She's trying not to be too comfortable, or like, spook him into some tirade about how he's an ageist and really, whatever, she should just focus on the etceteras.
"I'm going to go," she says slowly. She steps around him, moving to grab her books. She's got a break and then class and then they're both going to sit through study group. Or something. She's suddenly charged too, maybe a little too much, which makes her kind of nervous.
She's not waiting though, not waiting for him to say one more thing, to indulge her - or him, since she suspects that there's something on his side too. They’re always his. She's sure that Jeff would like to hide or cling or just let everyone believe that he's a superficial ass that, if you grab him at the right time, may or may not be a cool friend to have. But this is in a place for her, much different than that, and in the long run; she's ready for any sort of decision.
So she doesn't hesitate. He doesn't stop her.
Jeff doesn't touch his phone in study group. It sits at his elbow. It buzzes, shudders, and occasionally lights up. There's no ring.
Abed eyes him curiously. "Trying new things?"
When she's home, finally, her apartment feels like a momentary relief; she's cradling her phone against her shoulder, on a three way conversation between Troy and Britta talking about what to get Abed for his coming birthday. Birthdays are big for the group. Or were. Or are still. Annie can't really decide if this is just another thing that falls to the wayside because they make nine other things up to obsess over. And well, mysterious illnesses and booze don't exactly scream an excellent track record.
"I gotta go, guys," she says, and they're not really listening because Troy starts talking about how it's really important to stick to a theme for Abed's birthday since his was, like, really lousy and Abed's his best friend. There are rules. Annie admires that about it him, and she's hanging up before Britta suggests calling Shirley and then, well, try Jeff.
But she tosses her phone when she hangs up, moving to her kitchen and trying to organize for her night - she should really buy earplugs but they're the worst and she doesn't want to develop some strange, deep-seeded fear of them getting stuck in her ears. Hey. Weird quirks, she accepts them.
Her phone rings again.
But Annie doesn't touch it.
It's, like, after one when the noise starts. There's a man outside her window yelling at some other guy. She hears glass and then a drunken laugh, sleepily wrinkling her nose when she imagines that he's probably peeing somewhere close to the door. Which is, as always, a disgusting assurance for the morning when she leaves.
She's in bed and her blankets are heavy though. She pulls her fingers over the covers, which, now, have twisted, around her legs. She remembers being hot early and that her pajama bottoms are somewhere floor. It's stupid, really, but if her landlord wasn't so creepy, she'd ask him to look at the system in her place, and if she were speaking to her parents, it would be the same sort of thing.
She tries not to think about though. She fails miserably. Her eyes are growing wider and she's suddenly not so sleepy; her mouth purses into a groan and she turns to her side, trying to settle back into her bed.
There's a knock.
Annie freezes.
The knock comes again and she's like seen too many crime shows to know that it's a terrible neighborhood, she's home alone, and she should just wait for the drunk whoever to start singing about bluebirds and Disney. But then her phone starts to vibrate on the table next to her bed, and she leans over, reaching for it. The screen is lit to blue and she sees jeff scrawled over a number, her mouth turning.
"It better be you at my door," she says. Her voice is husky and there's a groan. "Otherwise, I'm going to hang up and you can call me tomorrow."
"It's stupidly cold in your hallway," he says.
She hangs up and she's out of bed, annoyed and surprised, maybe, okay, maybe a little amused with anticipation. She's not entirely sure what to expect and jesus, he's come during the early end of when she usually doesn't get any sleep. She grabs her sweatshirt off the couch, pulling it over her and letting it drop over her legs. It's long enough, she thinks.
When she opens the door, Jeff's leaning against the frame, his hands pressing together. He's rubbing them hard and muttering something. She raises an eyebrow and he shakes his head.
"Let me in?"
"It's late," she answers, and the two of them stare at each other. Her mouth quirks. She turns one of the front lights on. "And you're obsessing," she guesses.
"Am not."
"This isn't exactly romantic."
He laughs. Jeff actually laughs. It surprises her enough to let him. She steps back and folds her arms over her chest. She's well aware that she's kind of a sleepy mess, still, and sighs when the floor starts to vibrate and outside, another shouting match starts up.
"Background noise," she mutters, and then decides that she doesn't like her arms against her chest. She moves away from Jeff, back to her bed to sit; she pulls the blankets over her legs, pressing her hands into the sheets. She tries not to watch him look around.
"Quaint," he drawls.
She shrugs. "It's mine," she says. "So why are you obsessing?"
He says nothing. He pulls off his jacket, tossing it over her couch. Pierce, she thinks, is really the only other one who's been inside her place. She doesn't find that comforting. She'd count Troy but god, he only got to the door. And in her defense, it was late and she, like, smelled like a truck driver.
But she waits, watches as he sort of looks around, trying to be discreet about it and then, well, really not. She's not entirely sure what to think about him being here. It's too late and she's trying to be polite - why is she trying to be polite? He kind of just came over.
"Jeff," she says.
"You're not weirded out by this?"
Annie sighs. He's not answering the question.
"Don't we have this conversation at least once a week?" she asks.
"Probably, who knows," he says. He moves closer to her and the bed. His fingers press against the metal railing. He's staring at her legs. "I'm not interested in sweet, Annie. I don't do declarations that, well, jesus, you know that at least. I'm always in a lousy mood. I like my goddamn space."
She blinks. "You want to have this conversation now?"
"In fact," he says, ignore her. He comes and sits on the edge of her bed. He straight, maybe too straight, like he's nervous and uncomfortable but this is the only way he can pretend to be okay with that. "I need my space. I don't even invite my mother over. There would be, like, flowers in the kitchen. It'll smell like cookies. And I haven't hung up anything on the walls."
Annie shakes her head. She's too tired to be amused and outside, the fight's stopped finally. There's a loud humming noise though, and it crawls into her floors, her bed shuddering. It catches Jeff in a moment of surprise and she lets out a little laugh, rubbing her eyes.
"I -"
"You said lay off my blackberry," he cuts her off.
"I did."
"So."
Her mouth twists and she brushes her hands against her face. "I'm tired," she says, "and it's probably not a good idea to talk about me almost having phone sex with you, or even thinking about it - I think I thought about it, maybe it did cross my mind for a moment but like I said, and since you're like, all the time, way too uncomfortable to accept that I think about sex and I'm curious and I'm curious about a lot of things despite already being past my first time. We're not going to have sex, Jeff. I mean, you still have a lot of growing up to do."
He makes a choking sound. "Shut up."
"I mean, we could have this conversation with breakfast."
"Protein shakes are a solitary experience."
She snorts. "Whatever."
"Your apartment is ... very you. Like in a nonchalant - stop looking at me like that, I'm tired."
"You're here," she points out, and he laughs. He drops back against her bed. The motion is sudden and abrupt. She moves over without thinking. She's under the covers and he's over them and there's something so weirdly them about the whole thing that she doesn't think about it too much. She leaves that for later. Or the later after later. Let's be sensible about the whole thing, really.
But his fingers graze over hers, over her knuckles, and she comes to terms with the fact that she's sorta, kinda lying in the dark with Jeff - or the almost dark. There's the light outside, and the light that's by door. It flickers briefly as the noise downstairs starts to calm.
They're quiet too.
The second time she wakes up that night, there's still Jeff and she's sort of, maybe a little closer to him than she was when she fell asleep. The problem is that she doesn't remember falling asleep again.
Her arm is tucked into his. Her fingers are wrapped around his wrist, kind of picking at the sleeve. He makes a soft noise, maybe a sigh and she has to guess if he's awake or not. She sighs a little and then turns onto her side, catching his eyes as they open. He stares at her. There's no smile, no stupid, inane comment about how he should go, how this is a stupid idea and maybe, just maybe, they'll forget about until it happens again.
"I should go," he says, and his voice is heavy; he's not moving and she feels his hand turn into hers, their fingers lacing together. Her throat feels a little tight. She thinks it's the sleep. It might be his palm against hers. She's trying not to get too romantic, impulsive even, but the stupid tendency is there.
Her eyes close. "You don't have to," she says slowly. "It's late and it probably smells like the men's room at school, outside. You might want to wait it out just a little bit." It sounds so reasonable, all of the sudden, and she lets her head drop against shoulder, turning her legs towards him too.
"I'll come earlier next time," he says.
Her lips curl.
"Seriously," he says.
"Don't worry," she tells him. "I won't ask about what we're doing."
He's quiet. She doesn't expect a witty remark. She's tired, and for whatever reason, this is less about what's coming next, whatever stupid, irrational play on words they decide on this week. I like you, she wants to say. Or will want to say. But he knows, and she sort of knows about what's sitting on his end; the decision isn't hers though and she's much more patient than he wants her to be.
"You're an idiot," she murmurs, and he laughs, like, really laughs. The sound is husky, thicker with sleep and he turns into her. His fingers are in her hair and her breath almost, kind of, maybe a little - it catches and her eyes are opening to see him stare.
She laughs too.
Jeff kisses her in the morning, after he leaves her place, after she meets him at school, or gets off the bus and runs into him, and it's more than sort of accidental. He's dropped his phone and she kicks it under the car without thinking and it's not about that, it's about his hand on her wrist, then her hair, and the slant of his mouth against her. It's wet, it's hot, and she swears, swears she feels his hand sneak under her sweater, then her shirt, with his fingers skirting over her skin. He tastes too much like coffee and it's way too sharp this early. Maybe someone sees them. Maybe they don't. It’s not going to matter in the end.
Later, he tells her: "This is all your fault."
Annie grins.
no one goes to the video store anymore
community ; jeff/annie ; 5,300 words ; pg
they’re a lot better at the non-issues. in fact, they invented them all.
-
"This is your fault," she tells him, and it's like sure, fine, whatever since telling Jeff Winger things are his fault isn't exactly anything new.
But it's Monday afternoon, and it's just the two of them, sequestered off at the study table since she's, like, always early and Jeff and his crackberry are attached at the hip again, and he just happened to wander into the wrong room. He's choosing not to leave. She's convinced, really.
Jeff smirks. "Your commitment is never endearing - you could always leave and come back, if you really want to study."
She throws her hands up. He buries himself in his phone again, his eyes glued to the screen, his fingers stumbling lazily against the keys. The whole room is filled with that stupid, god-awful clicking sound and all Annie wants to do is grab it and heave it across the room. Preferably so that it hits a window. And shatters into a million pieces. And a million of millions of pieces. Ugh, god.
This isn't anything new.
Britta tells her to leave it alone.
"I mean, whatever. It's like the equivalent of mental masturbation, Annie." She pauses and drinks her coffee. Their professor is in the front of the room spinning a tale about her latest coup d'état of her husband's mother-in-law. So much for girl power, or whatever.
Annie sighs. "Doesn't it bother you though?"
The other girl shrugs. "Jeff Wringer doesn't pay my rent," she says. "There are some things that I have to let go of."
Annie snorts, but she doesn't say anything. She doesn't say anything because that's totally, totally not true since all of them are, inevitably, concerned with something stupid that Jeff does. And really, all she wanted to do was study in peace. He knows the little things get to her. In fact, she knows that he knows the little things get to her. It's that kind of thing.
"We all can't be you, Britta," she mutters.
Britta smirks. "But don't you wish?" she asks.
Annie rolls her eyes. Britta and Jeff are weirdly incestuous, sometimes.
Jeff does pull his phone out when he's walking to his car and she's walking out with him. She's gotta catch the bus home today since, one, it's easier to think and, two, she's going to be meeting her mother for their monthly dinner of how she fails at everything her mother wants for her. Which is whatever.
"I bet you can't spend a day without your phone," she says to Jeff. She looks up at him. She's calm. He looks at her with sudden panic - wide-eyed and, like, offended that she'd even suggest that he and his phone take a health break from each other.
But then he rolls his eyes. "Britta told me that you asked her for advice." His mouth quirks. He doesn't talk about the phone. "And how did that go?"
"Jerk," she mutters.
He shrugs. "You like me."
Her mouth closes tightly. She doesn't answer, she can't answer; it's one of those stupid, stupid, small moments where he just catches her off-guard. Her hand curls around the strap of her bag.
"What?"
She blinks. Jeff pockets his phone.
"You have that look on your face, you know - the doe eyes. The lip thing -"
"- the lip thing?"
"Whatever," Jeff mutters. "The point is that you've got that look on your face and that look on your face only means that some long, long boring - like ridiculously boring - conversation is coming about and -" he pauses and he's pulling his phone out of his pocket, "- er, whatever."
She throws her hands up and she's, like, sick of getting trapped into these conversations and he's attached to his phone for most of it. And then there's the stupid, inexplicable need to pull him away from it - but she remembers the time Shirley went and tried and, well, there was a lot of Jesus, after, like, plenty of Jesus after. But in the girl's bathroom and with Britta and Annie alternating a shared tissue duty.
"I'm just thinking," she says slowly, and she's not really thinking, pulling out her bus pass as she steps around him. He's looking at her strangely. Well, when does he not. She spins around though and gives him a little grin, cocking her head to the side. "I guess I'm going to have to start calling you if I want to talk to you. About things."
"Things?" Jeff is frowning.
"Things," she drawls, and the exaggeration is lazy, oh well, but she cannot help herself. She's pushing. Part of her knows this is a terrible, terrible idea since this is, like, Jeff and Jeff is pretty much a shoe in when it comes to terrible, terrible ideas that she doesn't think about.
"Annie," he warns.
She grins, waving her pass in front of him. "I'll just have to call you, of course."
Annie doesn't think twice.
She doesn't call him, actually. No, no. Not yet. She sort of forgets about it because there's her mom, well, there's some kind of dinner with her mom which turns out to be the fastest dinner out ever.
So her apartment is a little lonely, a little cold, and she finds herself pulling pictures of her parents off the bookshelf by her bed. It's stupid, you know? She's not even angry, or terribly hurt, it's just that it's her mom and she's disappointed and that disappointment is the worst. She's not even trying to prove herself to her parents anymore. Well, that's partially true.
But it's her phone that startles her, buried somewhere in her bed. She blinks, brushes her hands against her hips, and tosses the photos to the side. She'll worry about them later, she thinks. She finds her phone underneath one of her pillows and laughs out loud when she sees Jeff's name blinking against the screen. She considers not answering it.
"You didn't call," he says when she finally picks up, and she laughs, she laughs because she can't help it, dropping down to her bed. "You said you were going to call," he drawls. "I'm sorta - actually, I'm not disappointed."
"So you call me?"
"Whatever."
She laughs again. "This is one of those last word moments, huh?"
He doesn't answer and she stretches out onto the bed, her hair spilling over her pillow. Her skirt is pushing up every time she twists to get comfortable. She makes a soft noise and then yawns.
"You said you had things on your mind," he points out, finally. She barely hears him. Her eyes feel a little heavy. "I'm giving you a rare opportunity to get those things off your chest - limited time offer."
Her mouth twitches. "How's that different from any other time?"
"Point."
"I'm full of them."
He's quiet and she's picked a spot in her ceiling to start staring at. In a little while, the noise downstairs is going to start rolling into her apartment. She's thought about buying earplugs, but it's the city and that's stupid and this was her one, sole declaration of independence that she's really proud of. She's trying to learn to live with it, not be ridiculous about it.
Her fingers brush against her stomach. "I want to do something crazy."
Jeff snorts.
"I just had dinner with my mother," she says. "And I - I don't know. It's a long story and I'll spare you, but, I - I don't know. I want to do something crazy."
"You live over -"
"Doesn't count," she cuts him off.
"It doesn't?" he asks dryly. He even laughs which makes her blush. It's his voice and it's late, it's like really late, she's sure, so that the sound that comes out of Jeff's mouth is something that makes it go beyond blushing. "I mean," he says. "You don't want to be stupid."
"I know."
"So what's crazy and not stupid?"
Her lips purse and she twists, looking around her room. She can't go and get a tattoo because that involves needles and she hates needles - she really, really hates needles. But this isn't about that.
"Jeff?"
"Annie," he says in kind.
Her mouth twists and she can't help but laugh a little. She turns onto her stomach and her legs swing out, dangling off her bed as she fingers start to run against her covers.
"What are you wearing, Jeff?" she asks, and then catches herself, her hand slapping against her mouth, hoping to hide her giggle. The sound is muffled and over the line, she hears Jeff makes some noise that catches her off-guard too. She waits, waits for him to say something and feel her cheeks start to burn.
Jeff is too quiet.
She begins to think the worst. Really though, how can she not? In series of odd moments, she and Jeff have managed to get on famously with the weird moments and the buildup that comes with them.
"Jeff?"
"Shouldn't I be asking you that?"
Her eyes are wide. Oh god. Oh god? Really? "Do you want to know?" she asks, and her voice catches, the tone softening.
"Annie," he warns.
Then she starts to think about it. Like really think about it. There's nothing, nothing flattering about her skirt or her top or the fact that her mother's nice comment to her today was that at least, at least she looked nice. Or something like that. She shifts up then, pulling at the zipper of her skirt and trying not to think about what she's actually doing.
"I'm getting changed," she says absently. Okay, not so absently. But it sounds absently enough. This is becoming about getting under his skin. "Into my pajamas, into my really, really harmless pajamas. It's a t-shirt, Jeff. And shorts."
He makes a sound and she can't tell if it's disdain, or affectionate disdain, or the Jeff Winger's disdain of awkwardness that she gets a lot, like a lot, and where was she going with this? This isn't even hot. She's not trying to think about where this could go because it's not going anywhere; Jeff Winger's lazy, like a lot lazy, when it comes to taking things somewhere. Which, whatever.
"You don't where shorts to bed," he says. His voice is very low. Like ridiculously low. It's grainy and husky and it makes her stop, mid-short reach. Yes, she really wears shorts to bed. It's either really cold or really hot in her apartment. It comes with the noise. And the rent. Oh god.
She swallows. "I do. My landlord's kinda lazy."
"So you wear shorts?"
"We're not talking about my shorts," she says dryly. "Hold on," she adds. She bites back a laugh, dropping her phone and she's like, okay, sort of punishing him for being Jeff Winger and being attached to his phone. It's like an intervention. It's a little awkward, but in her defense, she's never done this before and this is Jeff, so it's even more complication. But what's a little more?
She lets herself actually reach for the shorts again. The t-shirt too - and changes lazily. She's careful to make a lot of noise. There's fabric against the phone. She lets it rub against the phone. She watches the active light blink and he's there, he's still there, and there's a little bit of a thrill to that.
She picks up the phone and laughs. "Sorry," she says.
"What are we even talking about?" he blurts, and she's grinning, grinning widely because she can almost picture him. He's frowning and probably fidgeting. He fidgets when he's uncomfortable. It's about the small victories. She can take plenty of them.
"Your phone addiction," she says sweetly.
She hangs up, after.
Of course, he can't talk to her at school. Which is great. No, really. It's great. Annie feels a little smug sitting in between Britta and Shirley, paying some attention to her Anthropology notes as Troy and Abed gently introduce the concept of this week's Western marathon to all of them. Sure, nobody's listening; there's Pierce, and Jeff, Jeff across from her, deep in some stupid argument about a stupid something. Mostly it's something that Pierce did earlier in the morning. She doesn't remember.
"You're in a wonderful mood, Annie!" Shirley nudges her. Annie looks up, grinning a little. She catches Jeff sorta, kinda, maybe looking at her and tries not to grin even more. "How was - your English class?"
"Oh!" She's distracted. "Fine, really fine actually. I got the book I was telling you about. It helps with the noise sometimes."
"Noise?"
Jeff drops in, feigning interest. His eyes are narrowing. She bites the inside of her mouth to keep from laughing out loud. Next to her, Britta leans in and steals her extra pen from next to her books.
"Noise," is all Annie says. Shirley pulls her back into a conversation about the homework and that's, like, a mood killer for Jeff. It's not Pierce that gets his attention, it's Britta, and something she doesn't have the patience to listen to. She bites her lip and draws herself back to her books, pretending to pay attention to her work.
It's not like he's pushing. That, to expect that, is just stupid. She knows that Jeff hates the bigger picture and it's the smaller things, those things that linger and linger and then start to get to you weeks later - that's what bothers him. She also wonders if this is really about his phone.
It is. Really.
Really.
Really.
He corners though, after Anthropology, after Britta basically tells him that she'd prefer to get a dog than to have sex with him again - which, granted, is a pretty great comeback and Annie's laughing with her friend.
But then it's Jeff's hand around her wrist, weirdly tucked into her arm next as he drags her into a stupid janitor's closet down that hall. They found Pierce here once and she's trying not to think about it. It smells and there's dust everywhere and she's pretty sure if that she had any desire to look; there would be bodies and things of that sort. She blames the Dean, after all.
"This is ... weird," she says slowly, looking up at him. He pulls her books from her hands and then drops them to the floor. His follow and his pen skips, scatters, and is lost to some dark corner under some shelves. She wants to point out that it's pretty likely that he's never going to see that pen again.
His eyes narrow.
"Did you just try to have phone sex with me?"
Her mouth opens. Then it closes. Then she laughs - only because she's been holding onto it for most of the day anyway, and like, she's sure he spent all last night obsessing over it.
"You're phone's the closest to you that I can get," she says dryly, and Jeff snorts, eyeing her warily. "In fact," she adds. "I'm going to start texting you instead of talking to you."
'
"This is an awkward point," he mutters.
"Well."
"So..." his hands dig into his pockets. "You basically called me, unintentionally, maybe almost tried to have phone sex with me but it was really a mistake? Like a cutesy, weird Annie thing to do?"
Her hands go to her hips. She huffs. "A weird Annie thing?"
He shrugs. "It gives you character."
She blinks. She moves forward, trying not to weight her options because that's stupid, really stupid, since looking for Jeff's actual reasoning takes several headaches and ten more fights to get to the point. And she doesn't want to fight. This isn't about his phone either. Of course, she can admit that to herself, maybe on a good day, she can admit it to him in a serious, softer kind of way. When they're alone. When he's not too ready to be an ass.
"You make my head spin," she mutters. She pulls her hands to her face and she's rolling her fingers into her temples. "I mean, like, can't you just not drag me into a weird closet that we know Pierce spends a lot of ... time in? Maybe could you say: hey, Annie, let's go get coffee and talk like normal people? And for the record, Jeff, there is nothing sexy about the concept of phone sex. If I'm going to talk dirty to you, I want to see you - mostly because you'll be uncomfortable as anything - but there's just..."
He's watching her, wide-eyed. His mouth drops open and she can't help but let a little, surprised laugh slip. He waves his hand between the two of them and she shrugs, amused, certain even, that she's won some kind of small battle.
"I'm not asexual, Jeff."
He swallows. "I know."
"Or -"
He shakes his head. "Don't say it," he tells her.
"Say what?" Her mouth twists. Her eyes are bright and Jeff groans. "For all you know, all I want to do is talk about your unhealthy addiction to your phone not about the fact that everybody seems to be under the impression that I've never -" Jeff groans again and turns away from her, rocking on his feet. "Well, what? Sex, sex, sex, Jeff."
"I hate you."
She laughs delightedly. "You don't."
"I really do," he says, and then he's turning towards her, stepping into her space without asking. Jeff doesn't ask. Jeff, most of the time, doesn't know how to ask. And maybe, sometimes, people find that charming. She doesn't know if she does. But then he's reaching for her. His hand brushes against her jaw, his fingers against her cheek, and she kind of freezes because she never knows quite what to do when he really does something.
"You're crazy," she murmurs.
"Is this really about my phone?"
"You're on it a lot."
He makes a soft sound. He doesn't smile but she imagines it would be the sort of place he would, should this be something else.
She licks her lips. "Call it an intervention."
"That's just stupid," he says.
It's inevitable, she wants to point out, that they're going to have to talk about this, whatever this is supposed to be; she can almost hear Jeff awkwardly drive himself into some talk about ironies and why, okay, maybe there's something there but not really because she's young and he's gross and that should be enough for her to accept.
But she smiles, maybe wistfully, and leans up, brushing her mouth against his jaw. Her hands grasp his arms and his hands have somehow dropped to her hips. She laughs a little too.
"Try better habits," she tells him. "Don't be rude. And if you want to have a private conversation - an empty classroom, maybe?"
"School girl fantasy," he mutters.
"What?"
He blinks. He shakes his head too. "Sting."
"You -" he shoots her a look. "Fine," she says, holding her hands up. "We won't talk about Sting either. I'll give you that one."
"Thanks," he says dryly.
They sort of stare at each other then, and she's pulling back, aware, maybe too aware of how close she is to him. She's trying not to be too comfortable, or like, spook him into some tirade about how he's an ageist and really, whatever, she should just focus on the etceteras.
"I'm going to go," she says slowly. She steps around him, moving to grab her books. She's got a break and then class and then they're both going to sit through study group. Or something. She's suddenly charged too, maybe a little too much, which makes her kind of nervous.
She's not waiting though, not waiting for him to say one more thing, to indulge her - or him, since she suspects that there's something on his side too. They’re always his. She's sure that Jeff would like to hide or cling or just let everyone believe that he's a superficial ass that, if you grab him at the right time, may or may not be a cool friend to have. But this is in a place for her, much different than that, and in the long run; she's ready for any sort of decision.
So she doesn't hesitate. He doesn't stop her.
Jeff doesn't touch his phone in study group. It sits at his elbow. It buzzes, shudders, and occasionally lights up. There's no ring.
Abed eyes him curiously. "Trying new things?"
When she's home, finally, her apartment feels like a momentary relief; she's cradling her phone against her shoulder, on a three way conversation between Troy and Britta talking about what to get Abed for his coming birthday. Birthdays are big for the group. Or were. Or are still. Annie can't really decide if this is just another thing that falls to the wayside because they make nine other things up to obsess over. And well, mysterious illnesses and booze don't exactly scream an excellent track record.
"I gotta go, guys," she says, and they're not really listening because Troy starts talking about how it's really important to stick to a theme for Abed's birthday since his was, like, really lousy and Abed's his best friend. There are rules. Annie admires that about it him, and she's hanging up before Britta suggests calling Shirley and then, well, try Jeff.
But she tosses her phone when she hangs up, moving to her kitchen and trying to organize for her night - she should really buy earplugs but they're the worst and she doesn't want to develop some strange, deep-seeded fear of them getting stuck in her ears. Hey. Weird quirks, she accepts them.
Her phone rings again.
But Annie doesn't touch it.
It's, like, after one when the noise starts. There's a man outside her window yelling at some other guy. She hears glass and then a drunken laugh, sleepily wrinkling her nose when she imagines that he's probably peeing somewhere close to the door. Which is, as always, a disgusting assurance for the morning when she leaves.
She's in bed and her blankets are heavy though. She pulls her fingers over the covers, which, now, have twisted, around her legs. She remembers being hot early and that her pajama bottoms are somewhere floor. It's stupid, really, but if her landlord wasn't so creepy, she'd ask him to look at the system in her place, and if she were speaking to her parents, it would be the same sort of thing.
She tries not to think about though. She fails miserably. Her eyes are growing wider and she's suddenly not so sleepy; her mouth purses into a groan and she turns to her side, trying to settle back into her bed.
There's a knock.
Annie freezes.
The knock comes again and she's like seen too many crime shows to know that it's a terrible neighborhood, she's home alone, and she should just wait for the drunk whoever to start singing about bluebirds and Disney. But then her phone starts to vibrate on the table next to her bed, and she leans over, reaching for it. The screen is lit to blue and she sees jeff scrawled over a number, her mouth turning.
"It better be you at my door," she says. Her voice is husky and there's a groan. "Otherwise, I'm going to hang up and you can call me tomorrow."
"It's stupidly cold in your hallway," he says.
She hangs up and she's out of bed, annoyed and surprised, maybe, okay, maybe a little amused with anticipation. She's not entirely sure what to expect and jesus, he's come during the early end of when she usually doesn't get any sleep. She grabs her sweatshirt off the couch, pulling it over her and letting it drop over her legs. It's long enough, she thinks.
When she opens the door, Jeff's leaning against the frame, his hands pressing together. He's rubbing them hard and muttering something. She raises an eyebrow and he shakes his head.
"Let me in?"
"It's late," she answers, and the two of them stare at each other. Her mouth quirks. She turns one of the front lights on. "And you're obsessing," she guesses.
"Am not."
"This isn't exactly romantic."
He laughs. Jeff actually laughs. It surprises her enough to let him. She steps back and folds her arms over her chest. She's well aware that she's kind of a sleepy mess, still, and sighs when the floor starts to vibrate and outside, another shouting match starts up.
"Background noise," she mutters, and then decides that she doesn't like her arms against her chest. She moves away from Jeff, back to her bed to sit; she pulls the blankets over her legs, pressing her hands into the sheets. She tries not to watch him look around.
"Quaint," he drawls.
She shrugs. "It's mine," she says. "So why are you obsessing?"
He says nothing. He pulls off his jacket, tossing it over her couch. Pierce, she thinks, is really the only other one who's been inside her place. She doesn't find that comforting. She'd count Troy but god, he only got to the door. And in her defense, it was late and she, like, smelled like a truck driver.
But she waits, watches as he sort of looks around, trying to be discreet about it and then, well, really not. She's not entirely sure what to think about him being here. It's too late and she's trying to be polite - why is she trying to be polite? He kind of just came over.
"Jeff," she says.
"You're not weirded out by this?"
Annie sighs. He's not answering the question.
"Don't we have this conversation at least once a week?" she asks.
"Probably, who knows," he says. He moves closer to her and the bed. His fingers press against the metal railing. He's staring at her legs. "I'm not interested in sweet, Annie. I don't do declarations that, well, jesus, you know that at least. I'm always in a lousy mood. I like my goddamn space."
She blinks. "You want to have this conversation now?"
"In fact," he says, ignore her. He comes and sits on the edge of her bed. He straight, maybe too straight, like he's nervous and uncomfortable but this is the only way he can pretend to be okay with that. "I need my space. I don't even invite my mother over. There would be, like, flowers in the kitchen. It'll smell like cookies. And I haven't hung up anything on the walls."
Annie shakes her head. She's too tired to be amused and outside, the fight's stopped finally. There's a loud humming noise though, and it crawls into her floors, her bed shuddering. It catches Jeff in a moment of surprise and she lets out a little laugh, rubbing her eyes.
"I -"
"You said lay off my blackberry," he cuts her off.
"I did."
"So."
Her mouth twists and she brushes her hands against her face. "I'm tired," she says, "and it's probably not a good idea to talk about me almost having phone sex with you, or even thinking about it - I think I thought about it, maybe it did cross my mind for a moment but like I said, and since you're like, all the time, way too uncomfortable to accept that I think about sex and I'm curious and I'm curious about a lot of things despite already being past my first time. We're not going to have sex, Jeff. I mean, you still have a lot of growing up to do."
He makes a choking sound. "Shut up."
"I mean, we could have this conversation with breakfast."
"Protein shakes are a solitary experience."
She snorts. "Whatever."
"Your apartment is ... very you. Like in a nonchalant - stop looking at me like that, I'm tired."
"You're here," she points out, and he laughs. He drops back against her bed. The motion is sudden and abrupt. She moves over without thinking. She's under the covers and he's over them and there's something so weirdly them about the whole thing that she doesn't think about it too much. She leaves that for later. Or the later after later. Let's be sensible about the whole thing, really.
But his fingers graze over hers, over her knuckles, and she comes to terms with the fact that she's sorta, kinda lying in the dark with Jeff - or the almost dark. There's the light outside, and the light that's by door. It flickers briefly as the noise downstairs starts to calm.
They're quiet too.
The second time she wakes up that night, there's still Jeff and she's sort of, maybe a little closer to him than she was when she fell asleep. The problem is that she doesn't remember falling asleep again.
Her arm is tucked into his. Her fingers are wrapped around his wrist, kind of picking at the sleeve. He makes a soft noise, maybe a sigh and she has to guess if he's awake or not. She sighs a little and then turns onto her side, catching his eyes as they open. He stares at her. There's no smile, no stupid, inane comment about how he should go, how this is a stupid idea and maybe, just maybe, they'll forget about until it happens again.
"I should go," he says, and his voice is heavy; he's not moving and she feels his hand turn into hers, their fingers lacing together. Her throat feels a little tight. She thinks it's the sleep. It might be his palm against hers. She's trying not to get too romantic, impulsive even, but the stupid tendency is there.
Her eyes close. "You don't have to," she says slowly. "It's late and it probably smells like the men's room at school, outside. You might want to wait it out just a little bit." It sounds so reasonable, all of the sudden, and she lets her head drop against shoulder, turning her legs towards him too.
"I'll come earlier next time," he says.
Her lips curl.
"Seriously," he says.
"Don't worry," she tells him. "I won't ask about what we're doing."
He's quiet. She doesn't expect a witty remark. She's tired, and for whatever reason, this is less about what's coming next, whatever stupid, irrational play on words they decide on this week. I like you, she wants to say. Or will want to say. But he knows, and she sort of knows about what's sitting on his end; the decision isn't hers though and she's much more patient than he wants her to be.
"You're an idiot," she murmurs, and he laughs, like, really laughs. The sound is husky, thicker with sleep and he turns into her. His fingers are in her hair and her breath almost, kind of, maybe a little - it catches and her eyes are opening to see him stare.
She laughs too.
Jeff kisses her in the morning, after he leaves her place, after she meets him at school, or gets off the bus and runs into him, and it's more than sort of accidental. He's dropped his phone and she kicks it under the car without thinking and it's not about that, it's about his hand on her wrist, then her hair, and the slant of his mouth against her. It's wet, it's hot, and she swears, swears she feels his hand sneak under her sweater, then her shirt, with his fingers skirting over her skin. He tastes too much like coffee and it's way too sharp this early. Maybe someone sees them. Maybe they don't. It’s not going to matter in the end.
Later, he tells her: "This is all your fault."
Annie grins.